I pondered for a moment and a dream popped into my head that I’d forgotten about long ago.
‘There was something, but it really was the stuff of fantasies. I wanted to be a concert pianist.’
‘You play the piano?’ Veronica asked. ‘I didn’t realise.’
‘I haven’t played for years. I had lessons with Cliff’s mum from age ten and I passed grade eight, which is the highest grade you can get without going on to complete a diploma.’
When I was awarded my eighth distinction in a row, I told Mrs Kellerman that I was going to be a concert pianist, expecting her to laugh, but she’d looked at me solemnly and said, ‘You could be if you really wanted to, if you really believed,’ and then she changed the subject and I wondered if I’d imagined that she – the woman who barely ever praised, only sporadically muttering a nondescriptgoodorwell done– had given me the most enormous compliment.
‘Grade eight?’ Laughlin’s eyes widened. ‘You must be exceptionally talented. Noreen used to play. She made it to grade six and attempted seven a couple of times before giving up on the exams. She said it took considerable dedication and talent to get all the way through.’
‘Why don’t you play anymore?’ Milly asked.
My heart was pounding. What had possessed me to share that particular childhood dream? Of course it was going to lead to questions. Why couldn’t I have said something generic like wanting to be a nurse or a teacher? Everyone would have accepted that and moved on. I was ready to talk to them – but not as a group. When I shared my story, it needed to be one at a time, probably starting with Paulette or Milly. An audience was far too intimidating.
Everyone’s eyes were on me and I shuffled in my chair. ‘Erm, I just… Life, you know. I got married, Cliff set up his business, we moved house, and there never seemed to be enough hours in the day.’
Paulette caught my eye and gave me an almost imperceptible nod. Nobody else seemed to have picked up on my discomfort but I knew she had.
‘Did I ever tell you all that I used to play the violin?’ she asked, addressing the group. ‘I use the wordplayloosely. Bet my parents wished there weren’t enough hours in the day for me to play it.’
‘Were you bad?’ Milly asked.
‘Badwould have been a compliment. I was dire. No musical ability whatsoever. I sent cats fleeing, made dogs howl, made small children cry as their ears bled…’
Everyone laughed as Paulette continued her tale of musical incompetence. She caught my eye once more and I gave her a grateful smile. For the first time ever, I felt as though I had somebody in my life who I could talk to about why I didn’t play the piano anymore and I wanted to tell her sooner rather than later. Hopefully an opportunity would present itself.
Saffy rejoined us shortly after and, from her big smile, it had clearly done her good to catch up with her best friend. The conversation was still about music and Milly had surprised us by sharing that she was one of the few kids at primary school who’d been able to make the recorder sound pleasant. She’d graduated to a larger tenor recorder and she still played it most days to give her a break from her editing.
‘Saffy can play the guitar,’ Paulette declared, pride obvious in her voice, ‘and she’s got a beautiful singing voice. She was in a band at school and college.’
When we discovered Saffy had her guitar with her, we were eager to hear her play and sing, and she treated us to an impromptu concert which culminated in us all singing along to ‘Hey Jude’.
Driving home at the end of the evening, I couldn’t stop smiling. A year ago, I’d never have imagined a scenario where I spent an evening with a room full of people discussing going into business together and singing to The Beatles. When I’d writtenlivingin my journal as one of the things I wanted to start doing, I hadn’t been sure what that might look like. This was it! Iwasdoing it right now!
21
I spent the early part of Saturday morning continuing with my cross stitch for Laughlin before driving over to The White Willow to meet Paulette, Saffy and another two of Paulette’s grandchildren for lunch. Paulette’s youngest daughter, Julia, and her husband were at a wedding but the invitation hadn’t included children so their two girls – fifteen-year-old Mila and thirteen-year-old Naomi – were spending the weekend with their grandma.
When she’d rung to invite me first thing this morning, Paulette had told me she wouldn’t be offended if I said no because, now that she’d spoken the words out loud, she could appreciate that spending time with someone else’s grandchildren perhaps wasn’t that appealing a prospect. I assured her I was flattered to be asked and if Mila and Naomi were anything like Saffy, it would be a pleasure to meet them.
It would fit well with two of my journal entries tostop hiding myself awayand tosee more of the local area with my new friends. I’d wanted to dine in The White Willow so this was the perfect opportunity. As it was a dry and bright day, Paulette had told me the girls were planning to walk into Keswick afterwards and suggested the two of us go for a walk alongside the lake. I dressed in suitable clothes and put some thick socks, my walking boots, a waterproof coat and my hat in the car.
As I approached The White Willow, nervous butterflies fluttered round my stomach. I hated that I felt that way but I couldn’t be too hard on myself about it when the sensation came from so many years of hiding away from people and feeling anxious about meeting anyone new. It didn’t matter that they were a couple of teenage girls – they were still unknown.
I managed to find a parking space right outside the café and could see Paulette and her granddaughters already at a table perusing menus. Within minutes of joining them, the butterflies had settled. Mila and Naomi were as lovely as I’d anticipated and it was touching to see how close they were to Saffy and how much they looked up to her.
I recognised the woman who came over to take our order as the one who’d taken my cake order on New Year’s Eve. She greeted Paulette warmly and they commented on how quickly the first few weeks of January had flown by.
‘Yvonne, this is Kelly. She owns The White Willow with her husband, Aled,’ Paulette said. ‘Kelly, this is my good friend Yvonne. She lives in Pippinthwaite but is hoping to downsize and move to Willowdale so if you hear of anyone about to put their house on the market, do let us know.’
‘I will,’ Kelly said, smiling at me. ‘You look familiar. Cake? New Year’s Eve?’
‘That’s an impressive memory.’
‘I never forget a face but I’m not so great with names so please forgive me if I need prompting a few times before it sinks in.’
‘And these are three of my grandchildren,’ Paulette said. ‘Saffy’s staying with me for a while, and Mila and Naomi are here for the weekend. Saffy has a favour to ask.’
