Will clearly knew Manchester well as he led me up various side streets until we arrived at a cosy pub with beamed ceilings, wooden floors, leather high-backed armchairs and chilled music playing. It was only late morning so we ordered a pot of tea for two to start with.
‘I can’t get over how beautifully you play,’ he said, shaking his head at me. ‘You play with your heart. You don’t just read the music, you feel it too. That’s such a gift.’
I stared at him, mouth open, stunned at such incredible feedback, especially when Will was an exceptionally talented pianist himself.
He laughed lightly. ‘I gather you haven’t had much feedback on your playing.’
‘Barely any. What about you? Why thedifficult relationshipwith the piano?’
‘My wife left me,’ he said. ‘She wanted to be with someone else – an acquaintance of mine, actually – which wasn’t great. Apparently guitarists are sexier than pianists and pianists are boring.’
‘Oh, Will, I’m so sorry. How long ago was this?’
‘Four years back. I’m over it now but it completely blindsided me at the time. She said we’d been having problems for ages and couldn’t understand why I was so shocked, but I honestly thought we were fine. We had the occasional niggle – usually a difference of opinion over parenting – but nothing serious enough to constitute a problem. Not in my eyes, anyway.’
He was a dad? Somehow it endeared him to me even more.
‘How many children do you have?’ I asked.
‘Two. Liberty’s fourteen and Mackenzie’s eleven, so they were ten and seven when Eleanor and I separated. They took it all in their stride and I’m so proud at how resilient they’ve been.’
Will told me more about his marriage break-up and his children. His eyes shone when he spoke about them and it was obvious to me that he was an amazing dad. He told me he’d have loved a third child and perhaps even a fourth and my mind drifted off into a fantasy where I was the mother of those children.
The insults his wife had hurled at him about pianists being boring had massively impacted how he felt about playing, which wasn’t ideal considering his job as a music and drama teacher.
‘I couldn’t escape from the piano,’ he said, ‘but my love for it had gone. I was playing the notes but I wasn’t feeling them. It was like I’d forgotten how to and then I met you, heard you play, and felt the passion and the love I had for the piano flooding back. It was as though everything I’d felt about it before had been trapped in a bubble above my head and your playing was the magic pin that burst it. Thank you.’
‘I’m so sorry you went through that, but I’m honoured to have played a part in helping your love for music return. Perhaps we were destined to meet.’ My heart pounded as I said the words.
‘I believe we were,’ he replied, his voice husky. ‘Last night, I was picking Liberty up from a dance class. I do it every Friday evening and I’ve never once walked past Pianos of Distinction. It’s out of my way. But something drew me there last night and there you were.’
His eyes held mine and the chemistry sizzling between us was unmistakable.
‘You’re going to tell me you’re married, aren’t you?’ he said.
I’d taken my rings off when I arrived at the country hotel – something Cliff had suggested I do to help me think about a single life – and I self-consciously looked down at my naked ring finger.
‘I am, but it’s complicated.’ I stroked the space where my rings had been. ‘I’m here on my own because we’re having some time apart while I decide whether I’m in or out.’
‘That’s a big decision,’ he said.
I looked at him. ‘Huge. And I thought I’d made it, but…’ I bit my lip as I held his gaze once more, convinced he knew the end of that sentence without me needing to say anything.
He nodded slowly. ‘Something stronger than tea next?’
‘Yes, please.’
Across the afternoon and over a couple of bottles of wine, I told Will everything – about my childhood, my early friendship with Cliff and the conversation that led to his proposal. I talked about Dad throwing me out and how destroying my piano stopped me playing, and I shared how confused I’d been over the past few years, questioning what was missing in my marriage balanced against how good our relationship was. Will could have acted shocked or perhaps even been freaked out that I had no experience at all of sexual intimacy, but he wasn’t. He listened, asked questions, showed absolute understanding of the situation I was in and why the decision to stay or go was so difficult. All the while, the chemistry fizzed between us.
We talked about so many other things from what had drawn us to the piano and the pieces we loved the most to the countries we’d visited and those we longed to see. Will shared that, having visited Venice with friends, it was on his bucket list to revisit with the right person, and I headed into another fantasy world where I pictured us there together, having a romantic meal by the canal, holding hands in the opera, kissing on a gondola. We had so many favourite things in common – bands, books, films and musicals – and shared the same values. I liked everything about him, from the way he leaned closer when I shared something deeply personal to the adorable way one of his fingers circled the back of his hair when he was nervous.
The afternoon merged into the evening and, as we’d skipped lunch, Will suggested dinner. I was starving and desperate to prolong our time together. He led me down another backstreet to a quaint Italian bistro and we slipped into a small candlelit table right at the back. Our legs were almost touching and, every time I reached for my drink, my hand brushed against his, sending desire flowing through me.
All too soon, we were the only customers left and it was time to leave. I didn’t want to go. There was still so much I wanted to learn about Will but we couldn’t stay there forever. Will insisted on paying and, as the waiter opened the door for us to leave, we both gasped. Being so far from the window, we hadn’t noticed the turn in the weather.
‘I think it might be raining,’ Will joked as we huddled under the canopy, staring at the torrential downpour.
‘We’re going to have to make a run for it,’ I said.
