by Sharon Booth
"Oh, God," Redmond said wearily. "You mean her collection of Bibles, don't you?"
"Not just Bibles," Mum assured him. "She has lots of books about the Holy Land, and the Catholic religion, and the lives of the saints, and—"
"Thought you said she didn't read fiction?" Susan's nose wrinkled in distaste. "I don't want all those things cluttering up my bookshelves. What would my boss say, Redmond?" She leaned forward and murmured, "Between ourselves, he's paid to have himself cryogenically frozen after death, so I hardly think he'd approve of that sort of reading material."
"Jesus," said Tamsin.
"Quite," Susan said primly.
Tamsin blinked. "Well, anyway, what about me?"
Mum beamed at her. "She left you her Rosary beads, and her treasured painting of Pope John Paul II. I told her all about your posh new house. She must have thought it would look lovely on your living room wall."
Unfortunately, Brad had just made his way to our table, and caught the gist of the conversation. "You can forget that," he told Tamsin. "No way am I having that monstrosity on my wall."
"Pope John Paul wasn't a monstrosity," Mum said, horrified. "He was a lovely man. As Popes go, anyway. They made him a saint, you know."
"I don't give a monkey's," Brad said. "I'm not dissing the subject, I'm dissing the artist. Whoever painted that picture clearly flunked art GCSE. The poor fella looks cross-eyed, and he's got orange skin."
"We're into modern art," Tamsin explained hastily. "And we don't really think it will complement the rest of our furniture."
Dad shrugged. "Something else for the skip," he said. "Oh, well. At least we can get rid of everything now. Sick of it cluttering my garage."
"What about Cara?" Susan said. "What has she got?"
They all looked at me, and I waited, thinking Granny had probably left me nothing. She had washed her hands of me, after all.
"Ah, well, Cara got the jackpot," Mum said, sounding anxious. "She left you the most valuable thing of all."
I stared at her, waiting.
"I don't know how big your flat is," Mum admitted, sounding rather ashamed, as well she should have, given that she'd never visited my home once in the whole eight years I'd lived there, "but you'll need to clear some space, love. She's left you her piano."
#
"Five hundred pounds," Tamsin said, as we left The Cock and Bull and headed up Main Street. When I’d announced I needed a walk, she’d hopped up to come with me. "Honestly, I thought she was loaded. Just shows you."
"Well, five hundred pounds is better than nothing, and more than I expected," I said. "Thanks for lending me the train fare here, by the way. I'll be able to pay you back sooner now."
She tutted. "Don't be daft. I don't want it back. I'm quite sure I'm not that desperate for money."
So, why keep banging on about only being left five hundred pounds, then? "That's really kind of you. I've never had five hundred pounds before. I can't believe it."
She gave me a pitying look. "Just make sure Seth doesn't get his paws on it." She clapped her hands together and shivered. "Bloody hell, it's freezing. We must be mad. Still, it's good to get some exercise. Need to burn off the calories from that buffet."
I'd have thought she'd have done that just by breathing, but I decided not to say anything. She had lent me the train fare, after all.
"Where do you want to walk to?" she asked.
I didn’t really have a plan, but as we walked, my legs seemed to carry me of their own accord down Hutson Road, where Granny Reed's house was situated.
We pulled up short when we realised someone had stuck a To Let sign outside.
"They didn't waste much time, did they?" Tamsin said.
"She'd been in a home for nearly a year," I pointed out. "They've probably already had another tenant in there since then. Clearly, they didn't want to stay."
"Would you?" she said, staring distastefully at the narrow, terraced house. Its front door stood right on the street. No front gardens down that road. "All damp, and musty, and gloomy. Mind you," she conceded, "they've put new windows in. That's something."
So they had. The old sash windows with the yellowing net curtains had gone, replaced with uPVC frames, double glazing, and vertical blinds. Granny would have been furious.
"Remember the biscuits?" I said.
Tamsin's face cracked into a smile, disturbing her makeup. "God, do I! Always soggy. She kept them in that mouldy old pantry. Riddled with damp, wasn't it? We used to shove them in Mum's handbag, remember?"
I giggled at the memory. "And the glasses, all coated in dust."
"Ugh, that horrible cheap orange squash she used to give us, with fluff floating on the top. I don't know why we had to visit every month. It was awful. She was such a dragon."
"I don't know how you can say that," I said. "She thought you were wonderful. Such a pretty girl," I said, imitating Granny's voice. "Like a little angel."
"Redmond was her favourite," Tamsin argued. "He was clever, academic, top of the class."
"And captain of all the sports teams," I added. "Don't forget that."
"How could I? He reminded us enough times. Granny thought he was wonderful. Mind you, he was Mum's favourite, too. Still is."
"And you're Dad's." It was a fact, and one I'd accepted a long time ago.
"Don't be daft," she said, but didn't meet my eyes. She knew as well as I did that it was true. She was everyone's favourite, really. She'd always been so pretty, and at school she'd practically had her own fan club. Other girls had followed her around, hanging on her every word, wanting to look like her, wear their hair the way she wore hers, nagging their parents to buy the same shoes as hers. Boys, meanwhile, gazed at her adoringly and fought over her—literally, on two memorable occasions. I wondered if Robert Jones and Luke Whitaker still had the scars.
"It was a long time ago," she said finally.
Quiet for a moment, we stood on the pavement, staring up at the house that held so many memories.
"Why did you do it?" she asked suddenly.
I started. "Do what?"
"You know what. Leave home. For him."
Where on earth had that come from? "I loved him," I said. "At least, I thought I did."
"Mum warned you he was going nowhere," she said. "Why didn't you listen? Why on earth would you run off with someone with so few prospects? How could you leave a decent home to live in a squat with someone like Seth?"
"He said he loved me. He said I was beautiful. He was the first person to make me believe it.” I drew in a long breath and let it out again. I'd had a lot of time to think about it, having asked myself the same question many times recently. “I thought we were soulmates, and that I was the most important person in the world to him."
She stared at me. "And that's all it took?"
"You wouldn't understand," I said.
"You're right. I don't." She sighed. "And what about now? Do you still feel the same way about him?"
"No." It felt odd to admit it, and I had a pang of guilt as soon as I had. I'd never been disloyal to him before. What was happening to me?
"So, why don't you leave him?"
I shrugged. Where would I go? And what would be the point, really? I may as well stay where I was. It wasn't great, but if I left, would things be any better? Better the devil you know, right?
Seth wasn't my soulmate, I’d grown sure of that, but I no longer believed in soulmates. Sadly, I no longer believed in true love, either, which was a bit ironic, given my surname. "Nowhere to go, and I couldn't afford to leave, anyway."
"You could go home. I'm sure Mum and Dad would have you."
I grinned. "What, even with the piano? Dad's relieved it's going at last. It's been stuck in their dining room since Granny moved into the home."
She laughed. "I'd take it off your hands," she lied, "but I really haven't got the room. Besides," she admitted, "it's terribly ugly, isn't it? I mean, if it was a baby grand, I might consider it, but it's such an
old-fashioned mahogany upright. And mahogany just wouldn't go with my oak."
"Well, obviously." I smiled at her. "I don't mind. It’ll go in my spare bedroom."
She blinked. "You're going to keep it?"
"Why not? It's all I have of her, and I'd like some keepsake."
"But the piano, of all things. I mean, you hated it!"
I leaned back, resting my elbows on the window ledge. She was right. I had hated it. For a long time, that piano had been the heavy price I’d had to pay to visit Newarth—ever since that fateful visit, one Sunday, when I was eight. I remembered it all too clearly.
We'd been ushered, as usual, into Granny's back ‘parlour’, a small room which’d led onto her kitchen. The parlour was dark and gloomy, looking out over an equally dark and gloomy, and rather overgrown, garden. There’d been a fake coal fire in her old tiled fireplace, and a large crucifix on the wall above it. A big, dark table took up most of the wall opposite the fireplace, while a two-seater sofa was pushed against the back wall, and an armchair stood under the window. The armchair was Granny's. Mum and Dad got the sofa, while we three children sat on the floor, nodding politely, though reluctantly, when Granny offered us orange squash.
"How are the children doing at school?" Granny enquired, as she’d shuffled into the kitchen to make the drinks.
"Oh, very well," Mum called, looking flustered. "Redmond's just been made captain of the school football team."
"Of course he has," Granny said, as she entered the room again, and handed the little prince his orange squash. As she shuffled back into the kitchen, she added, "And what about the girls?"
Mum and Dad glanced at each other. "Tamsin's just been cast in the school play. She's playing a princess."
Granny returned, carrying a glass in each hand, and bestowed a beaming smile on my sister, who looked suitably modest. "What else would she play? Look at that face, and all that beautiful fair hair."
We took our drinks from her and shook our heads furiously when she offered us a biscuit. Then came the words we all dreaded.
"And what about Cara?"
As Granny Reed turned away, Mum surreptitiously reached over and brushed the dust off the rim of Tamsin's glass. "Oh, she's not doing too badly," she said, a note of desperation in her voice. "She's very good at reading, isn't she, Ray?"
"Oh, she is," Dad agreed.
Granny tutted as she eased herself into her chair. Not that ‘eased’ was a word I'd connect with that high-backed, firm-cushioned piece of furniture. Clearly, Granny didn't believe in comfort. "Reading's all very well if it informs the mind. What does she read?"
Mum looked at me anxiously. I stared back at her, puzzled. Mum was the one who took me to the library. She must remember, surely? When her mouth opened and closed again without her uttering a word, I decided to take matters into my own hands.
"Matilda," I said eagerly. "And Malory Towers, and Charlotte's Web, and The Railway Children, and..."
Granny rolled her eyes. "Thought as much." She gave a big sigh.
Clearly, I'd disappointed her yet again.
Mum and Dad exchanged glances. Dad cleared his throat. "She's learning the recorder, isn't she, Sally?"
Mum looked relieved. "Oh, yes. She's learning the recorder. Doing ever so well. She can play London's Burning all by herself." She gave me an encouraging nod.
Granny didn't look too impressed. She shook her head. "The recorder, eh? Proper squeaky din they make." She brightened suddenly. "So, you like music?"
"Mm, yes," I said doubtfully. Did I? Well, I liked listening to music on Tamsin's radio, that was for sure. And I quite enjoyed my recorder lessons. Not so much for the music, though. More for the fact that we had the lessons in the only spare room available at that time—the staffroom. It was cosy and cheerful, with lots of comfy chairs, and a sink unit and a fridge, making it seem homelier than the classrooms. Best of all, it had French doors that opened out onto a small garden, with neat flowerbeds, which, right then, were a colourful mass of golden daffodils and scarlet tulips. The recent warm weather meant that the doors were opened during the recorder lessons, and it was proving quite difficult for me to concentrate on the teacher, when I wanted to turn the other way and gaze at the garden.
Granny startled me by hauling herself to her feet and holding out her hand. "That's it!" she proclaimed, with more excitement than I'd ever heard her use before—to me, at least.
"Er, that's what?" said Dad, as I reluctantly accepted Granny's hand. It felt dry and bony, and made me cringe inside.
"Music! Clearly, her talent lies with music. Tamsin got the looks and the personality, Redmond is academically gifted, as well as being a great sportsman. Cara's talent is obviously music."
My parents looked as doubtful as I felt. "Really?" Mum said faintly.
"Of course! We must nurture this gift." She began leading me towards the door.
I cast a fearful look over my shoulder, to see Dad looking quite anxious, and Tamsin sitting with her mouth open. Redmond sniggered, and Mum nudged him, quite fiercely.
As we left the room, I heard Redmond call, "Can we put the telly on now, Granny?"
Granny waved a hand. "If you must." The door closed behind us, and I was alone with her. She led me down the hall and stopped outside another door. I looked up at her, alarmed. The white room! It was Granny Reed's front room, and I had never been allowed inside before.
I'd heard Mum and Dad talking about her sacred white room, though. Mum had said it gave her the creeps. ‘Honestly, it's like a bloody shrine. I'm surprised she hasn't rolled a stone in front of the entrance instead of having a door.’
What had she meant? What was in there?
Granny pushed the door open and ushered me in. I stepped inside and stood, trembling. The room was painted white, and there was a somewhat dingy grey carpet on the floor. A thick layer of dust covered every surface. It seemed Granny hadn't been in there much recently, either.
A rather unpleasant musty smell pervaded the room. I felt uncomfortable and wanted to leave. I never imagined I'd think fondly of Granny Reed's parlour, but it seemed positively cosy in comparison. There were two pale grey chairs either side of a fireplace, and pale grey curtains hanging at the window, along with a rather yellowing net curtain. There was a dark, hideously ugly sideboard against one wall. On it stood some faded black and white photographs, and a large clock, with a threatening tick. Other than that, the only thing in the room was a piano.
A piano!
I stared at the instrument in fascination. I'd only ever seen a piano in the school hall before. It wasn't the sort of thing I'd ever imagined a normal person would have. Then again, it was Granny Reed we were talking about.
Granny went to the fireplace and picked up a box of matches. Given how damp the room felt, I was amazed they still worked, but they must have been industrial strength, because she struck one and, after three attempts, it caught. Solemnly, she lit a white candle that’d been set beneath a huge painting dominating the chimney breast. It was of an old man in a white dress and a little white cap—a bit like the one my cousin Katy had worn when she was a bridesmaid at a wedding the previous summer.
I stared up at him, curious.
"Do you know who that is?" Granny asked me.
I swallowed hard. Was it some kind of test? "Er, God?"
I didn't think that was a bad guess, considering all the other pictures in the room. After all, there were paintings on every wall of Jesus and Mary. I knew about them, of course, from school. There was Jesus holding a lamb under his arm. Jesus knocking at a door, a lamp in hand. Jesus sitting at a table, surrounded by men who seemed to be having quite a party. Jesus hanging on a cross. I didn't like that picture. It was cruel and made me feel sick. Then there was Mary, who was Jesus's mum. She had a heart glowing in the middle of her chest on almost every painting. In one, she was dressed all in white, with a crown of stars around her head. In another, she wore blue, and nursed a golden-haired child on her knee. In the fi
nal one, she stood in the clouds, surrounded by baby angels. That was a particularly weird one. If Jesus and his mother were in the other pictures, it stood to reason that his father was the subject of one in the white room, surely? And everyone knew that God was Jesus's father.
Granny stared at me with evident sorrow. "It's a disgrace," she muttered. "An absolute disgrace." She leaned towards me, her eyes piercing. "This, Cara Truelove, is His Holiness, the Pope. Does that mean anything to you?"
I considered the matter, but had to admit, it meant nothing.
Granny went quite pale. She seemed very upset about something. "The Pope," she informed me, "is the father of our church. He is God's representative on Earth. Every word he utters is a commandment from God."
I gaped at her. "What, every word?"
She nodded. "Every word. He speaks with God's voice." She gazed up at the portrait, clearly awestruck.
I examined the Pope's face. How strange it must have been not to have your own voice, I thought. Imagine opening your mouth and having that booming sound exploding from you every time. Not that I knew what God's voice sounded like, but I thought I'd quite like to hear the Pope talk so I could find out. We stood, not speaking, for a moment. The clock ticked loudly.
Then she turned to me, suddenly quite business-like. "The piano."
My eyes widened. "I can play the piano?"
That, I thought, would be fun. Mrs Hambleton played the piano at school, and no one else was allowed near it. Even Tamsin and Redmond had never played the piano.
She shuffled over to the piano stool and lifted the seat. I peered inside. The stool was also a hiding place for lots of papers. Granny flicked through them, then drew out a sheet of paper, a bit like the ones we were given in the recorder lessons, but old and yellowing.
"This will do to start with," she informed me. She placed the sheet on a stand on the front of the piano, then patted the seat. "Sit down."
I climbed onto the stool and stared at the sheet. Despite the recorder lessons, I still couldn't read music, but I could read the title all right. "That's The First Noel," I told her with a frown.
"What of it?"