As far as a first foray back into dating went, I suppose it could’ve been worse.
Chapter Six
I was grateful for the mellow buzz of the whisky when I stepped out onto the high street. I’m sure it was half the reason I wasn’t heading straight home and hiding under the covers after the epic day I’d had to deal with…also probably why I felt hungry. The air was scented with smoke and spice and the irresistible allure of pig fat. My stomach growled in response and I began a slow walk around the street to try to find the hog-roast stall, skirting as close to the bonfires as I could but not really gaining any heat as each was surrounded by a circle of people.
The drumming performance had long since ended but there was usually more than one band playing into the night and as I went to cross over from the memorial island, a group of musicians began heading in a pack down the centre of the street, their instruments on their backs.
‘Miss Keenan,’ one of them, a tall teenage boy with curly brown hair, called to me. He paused, letting everyone file past him and waving to me with his free hand – the other holding on to the strap of his guitar. It took me a second to recognise him, but it was the use of my surname that clicked it in place for me.
‘Callum?’ I’d given him guitar lessons when I was still living at home, doing my music tutor training. It’d been six years ago; he’d been thirteen. No wonder it was hard to place him. A little bubble of pride welled up in my chest. ‘You’re still playing.’
He nodded emphatically and came over. ‘I am. I loved your lessons. I’m in a band now. We’re about to do a set here.’
‘That’s brilliant.’ I studied his face and saw a pinch of tension around his eyes as he glanced down the street to where his bandmates were nearing the small stage. ‘Have you played many gigs yet?’
‘A few.’ He let out a shaky breath. ‘Fewer people than this normally though. Are you staying for a while? Will you come and listen to us?’
‘I wouldn’t miss it,’ I told him, and he smiled again.
‘Great, I’d better run.’
‘Of course, go, go. Break a leg.’
He jogged off through the crowd, his guitar banging on his back, and I took a deep breath. I’d taught him for a year, and he’d been lovely and enthusiastic, and I really, really hoped his nerves didn’t get the better of him. I didn’t know what it was like to have children obviously, but I imagined being a teacher was sometimes like being a parent. You did your best to teach them and it was fun and sometimes hard work and then when they were ready to go off and do things independently a bit of your heart went along with them.
For the first time in months, I admitted to myself that I missed the tutoring. Working in that music shop, demonstrating on instruments to customers and advising them had been salt in the wound and I’d go home itching to play but also so frustrated that I only had a tiny sliver of my day to dedicate to it. Whenever Peter caught me being grumpy about it, he told me that he never understood why I’d taken the job anyway. He’d said he would support me to be a music tutor and he just wanted to see me happy.
But that wasn’t how he acted. The stress of the financial trouble he’d got himself into and was trying to hide from me leaked out constantly. Looking back, I was always getting mixed messages from him; he’d say one thing but act a different way. Not a recipe for a great relationship. And I think all that confusion and resentment infected my love of teaching. Trying to figure out the roots of the problem and fix it so I could move forward with my life felt like trying to unpick a knotted up bunch of Christmas lights. I couldn’t work out where the ends were, whether I was making more of a mess of it as I pulled, breaking the lights as I went along.
Perhaps seeing a student perform was what I needed. I shouldn’t have been staying even later at the festival. I really needed to try and get back to the hotel by the time Marvin was closing up the bar and with any luck my mum would be arriving back soon, but just a couple of songs couldn’t hurt. I’d get something to eat and wander down once they were set up and started playing.
I walked around the stalls along one side of the street and managed to snag one of the last carvings off the hog roast, wrapped in a bun with apple sauce. It was a heavenly mix of salt and fat and sour-sweet sauce.
‘No, Joseph, I told you we can’t buy it. It’s Christmas in a couple of days. You’ll be getting presents then and not throwaway tacky things like that.’
I looked up from a jewellery stall as I recognised Henry’s voice close by and saw him and his son a couple of feet away from a table with novelty, flashing reindeer antlers.
‘But look, you get a nose with it too.’ I could barely hear Joseph’s croaky voice, although he was obviously better enough now to be out but bundled up in a thick scarf and hat.
‘It’s rubbish. I can’t afford to waste my money on junk that will just get used a couple of times before it’s chucked away.’
‘Everyone at school got one when I was sick.’ Joseph heaved a sigh and coughed into his hand, giving his dad a puppy-eyed look.
‘No.’ Henry was firm and grim. ‘We need to go home. We’ve stayed out too long as it is. Come on.’
‘Can we just look over there?’ Joseph pulled Henry across the road and I moved along the mingling line of people to the table they’d been standing at. It was a fiver a go for each of the reindeer antler sets, which was a bit of a rip-off and I could understand Henry’s reluctance, but I also remembered what it was like to miss out on stuff when you were a kid.
I finished off the last bite of my roll and bought one on impulse, hurrying through the crowd to catch up with them before they left.
‘Hiya, Henry, Joseph.’ I found them by the antique shop with the big Christmas display in the window.
‘Hi, Beth.’ Joseph smiled at me and looked at his dad, but Henry just gave me a tight nod.
‘It’s good to see you’re feeling better.’ I brought out the antlers from behind my back. ‘Listen, I bought these earlier, but I think the headband is a bit small for grown-ups. Would you like it?’
His eyes lit up and he reached for them, but Henry’s hand came down between us.
‘No. He doesn’t want them.’ His voice was cold. He leaned closer to me and lowered his voice further. ‘We’re not charity cases for you to pity. Who do you think you are?’ The curl of his lip made me swallow hard. ‘I want Joseph to understand the value of things and working hard,’ he continued. ‘Not everyone can be handed things on a plate by their parents and I’m glad. It means he won’t grow up to be entitled and spoiled.’ He moved away again, taking Joseph by the arm and turning away. ‘Come on. We’re going home now and no arguments.’
