Untouchable Things (4 page)

“What are you looking at, you frigid old…”

“Fred! Out.” Mrs Pratt grabbed his arm and escorted him from the room. Catherine felt like a beacon pulsing with shame, marooned on the piano stool.

A bony finger touched her shoulder. “Don’t you worry yourself about him. He’s just a nasty piece of work with too much brandy inside him.” It was Ada Hartley, her ‘friend’ on the inside. “I thought you played that wonderfully.”

Catherine smiled. “Thank you.”

The old lady winked a crinkly blue eye. “Mind you, you might want to do something a bit more lively next. Funeral marches are a bit too close to the bone for some of us, you know.”

Catherine’s face flared pink. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think of it like that – I just thought it was a beautiful piece of music.”

Ada patted her knee. “I know, dear, and why should you?” The lady in the next chair was craning forwards, trying to listen.

“Have you asked her for ‘Roll Out the Barrel’, Ada?”

“Shut up, Jean. You know that’s not the kind of thing she plays.”

Another woman put her hand to her ear. “Are we doing ‘Roll Out the Barrel’? Do you know ‘We’ll Meet Again’ as well, dear?”

A barrage of song requests buffeted her. Catherine shook her head. She had a Chopin prelude lined up as an encore; this was a disaster. Mrs Pratt stuck her head round the door and snarled.

“Mary, go and sit down. Now, Cath just plays the classics, don’t you, love?” Catherine stiffened at the abbreviation of her name. “Besides, you know we’re not having sing-songs after what happened last time.” She looked around and let her words hang in the air. “Now, settle down and let Cath finish off.”

When it was over she had a cup of tea with Ada in the lounge as usual. Ada had played the violin as a child and seemed to appreciate these visits the most. Sometimes, on days like this, Catherine wondered why she bothered. She’d started doing it as a teenager; one of their neighbours was a nurse in a care home and thought the residents would appreciate a bit of music. And they did, some of them. Others snored or chatted through the slow bits, but a few were entranced. One of them, a lady called Polly with severe dementia, sang and rocked through everything. On one occasion, when Catherine had just finished the first movement of the Moonlight Sonata, Polly looked at her with tears in her eyes and said, “That was beautiful.” Apparently it was the first coherent sentence anyone had heard her utter in years.

Catherine knew she was no good at small talk and never knew what to say to cheer people up, but she did believe that music could reach out and say something better than any words. In that sense it was the music, not her, that was helping. The distinction helped her feel less presumptuous, less of a do-gooder. So when she moved to London and realised there was a care home on her road she’d offered her services. She came every other Saturday, alternating with bingo.

Ada was looking closely at her and Catherine realised she hadn’t been listening properly. The old lady squeezed her upper arm. “Thin as a rake, you young girls. When did you last see a proper hot dinner?”

“Um… does a baked potato count?”

Ada shook her head and tutted. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Not got a young man distracting you, have you?”

“I’m afraid not,” Catherine replied, but her rising colour whispered otherwise. It was stupid but she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Seth, that crazy encounter in Draper & Sons and the coffee afterwards. The way they’d talked.

“Now there’s a blush if I ever did see one.”

Flashes of their conversation.
My parents are dead.
(The reason he had money to burn.)
My parents are dead inside.
(The reason she had a ‘safe’ career.) She shouldn’t have said that. But he drew things out of her, listening with his gaze combing the contours of her face.

“Leave the poor girl alone, Ada.” Edna Haworth parked her zimmer frame in front of them. “I’m sure she’s got better places to be.”

Catherine tipped the last of her tea into her mouth. “I should be going.”

Ada squeezed her hand. “Look after yourself, love. Make sure he treats you well.”

Catherine shook her head, smiled and gathered up her music. “I’ll see you in a fortnight.”

She stepped out into premature December darkness and the usual blur of feelings. Old people lumped together with little dignity and less stimulation, waiting to die. Fred Worthington, rude though he was, had only put into words the truth of their situation. Catherine shivered, not wanting to dwell on this. And today there was another feeling, wriggling around to create space for itself. She smiled as she remembered Ada’s teasing. Seth had given her his card, told her to call him to book ‘first play’ on the piano. A week had passed and she’d lost her nerve. Meeting him had been like peeping into a room filled with sunshine and laughter. The people in her life, herself included, seemed suddenly grey whereas he was… luminescent. Her heart craved the light but her head warned her off. They didn’t belong in the same worlds.

She walked briskly, London style, towards the empty weekend ahead.

Miss Jarret, I appreciate your level of detail but if we could get to the point here?

Of course, I’m sorry. I’ll speed things up.

[Twilight. A woman walks along a tree-lined street. Suddenly a rain-coated man emerges from the shadows and takes her arm. The woman screams.]

Scene 5

I assume you joined his group, Miss Laurence?

He sent me an invitation…

She stumbled into the theatre late the next morning wearing sunglasses. No performance that evening but the director had called an extra rehearsal to iron out one or two ‘niggly things’. Jason had already been on the phone, quizzing her because she’d not taken his calls after the show. Scenes from the rest of the night were bursting into her head like fireworks.

First she needed to get some water. But there was Jez, smirking at her and barring her way.

“Whoa, girl, slow down. Someone looks a little peaky.” He gave her one of his winks. “Have a good time, did we?”

She tried to look cool. “Yes, it was okay. Didn’t stay out long. Sorry Jason called you, by the way. You know how he is.” She wrinkled her nose. “And thanks for, er…”

“Covering for you? Well, I didn’t want to worry the poor boy, did I?” His words were obscured by sudden gales of laughter across the foyer. “Oh yes, Greg has something for you. You’d better go and collect it.”

“What?” Rebecca looked at the group in the corner, heads bent over something. “A review?”

“I think you might have to answer that one. I’m going to grab a coffee before we start.”

She walked over to a chorus of cheers and wolf whistles.

“The
lady
herself,” said Greg.

“What are you talking about?”

“Think this might be for you.” He was waving some sort of card in front of her. She grabbed for it but he pulled his hand away. “Not unless you ask nicely.”

“Ask for what? Is it a review?”

“Come on Greg, let her see. Let her explain herself.”

With a leering look, Greg handed her a postcard, which on first glance appeared to be a drawing of a man performing oral sex on a woman. She turned it over, mouth open in shock. On the back, in an unfamiliar, sloping hand, was scrawled
Lady, shall I lie on your lap?

“What the…”

Roars of laughter surrounded her.

“So come on, fess up. Who’s the guy? Not our Jason, methinks.”

“I’ve no idea.” Her heart was beating fast. She tried to think above the clamour.

“You don’t expect us to believe that.” Simon knelt in front of her and put his arms round her waist. “Lady, lady, shall I lie in your lap?”

“Fuck off, Si.” She pulled herself free. Nothing made sense. Who would send her something like this? Obviously someone who knew the line in
Hamlet
, knew she was in it. Would Seth do this? It didn’t seem to fit. But what did she know about him anyway?

“Jez reckons you were getting quite friendly with some bloke in the pub last night.”

“Bullshit. Jez was off his head.”

“He sounded pretty sure of his facts. Come on, spill. You
know
you can trust us, darling.” Greg batted his eyelashes.

“There’s nothing to spill. I bumped into someone. Someone from school.”

“Look, there’s a date and address too.” Simon lifted the card out of her hand.

“What?” She snatched it back, saw the small block capitals at the bottom.

FRIDAY 18TH, 8PM, 15B LINFIELD GARDENS, NOTTING HILL.

“No prizes for guessing what he’s got lined up for the evening. Make sure you have a good all-over wash, darling.”

The crowd exploded and Rebecca couldn’t help smiling, dealing Greg a mock blow. He put his arm round her and gave her a squeeze.

“I’m just jealous, you know.”

“Hang on a minute, it was you, wasn’t it? One of you?” Hope and disappointment battled it out.

Greg shook his head and folded his arms. “Uh-uh. You’re not getting off the hook that easily, young lady. Come on, Jez is calling us in. I’ll deal with you later.”

It wasn’t even a temporary reprieve. The director started with the middle act, which led up to the line from the postcard. Jez’s voice wobbled and the director looked baffled by the sniggers around her. She knew better than to let the joke take hold and called a break. Rebecca was sneaking out for a few minutes quiet when Leah rushed over and dragged her into a corner.

“A man’s been here asking for you.”

“What man?”

“Tall, dark and handsome with the most intense eyes.”

Seth. Rebecca ran a hand through her hair. “Sounds like one of my school friends. I ran into him last night.”

“You went to school with someone like that! Is he single? Can you introduce me?”

“Um, maybe. Did he say what he wanted?”

“No, he said he’ll pop back later. I told him when you’d be done.”

“Cool.” Rebecca tried to look neutral.

“And don’t worry.” Leah squeezed her arm. “I’ve got some lippy in my bag.”

The rehearsal finished with a few scenes from Act IV. After one of his entrances, Jez whispered in her ear, “There’s a tall, dark stranger waiting for you at reception.”

They carried on their stage dialogue, with Hamlet’s
Get thee to a nunnery
sounding a little more emphatic than usual.

“Stop!” The director cut through the famous speech with a gesture of irritation. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you all again. Jeremy, I presume you were whispering to Rebecca to alert her to the fact that she’s standing slightly too far to the left?” Her eyebrows were raised.

“Yes, sorry I was.”

“Very helpful of you but save it in future. We’ll leave it there. See you all tomorrow.”

Scene 6

So you are… one moment while I check your details… Michael Stanley, school teacher, Flat 6, 47 Hill Lane, N4 3JQ?

That’s correct. Could I ask how long this will last?

I can’t say at this stage, Mr Stanley. We’ll be as quick as we can. I’m sure you appreciate the seriousness of the situation.

Possibly.

Possibly, Mr Stanley?

I mean it’s possibly a serious situation and possibly not. I take it you have no more news?

We’ll get to that. First of all I need you to tell me how you met Seth Gardner. Mr Stanley, could you please sit down?

Is it really necessary to rehash all this? I mean, shouldn’t you be asking me about the last three months?

As I said, we will come to that. You seem rather agitated, Mr Stanley. Rather… angry, if I might say. I thought we were talking about a friend of yours?

Ex-friend would be closer.

But you were in a group together?

Yes.

Good, well I’d like you to take me through how you met and how you ended up becoming part of this group. Details that may seem unimportant to you may help us more than you realise.

Fine. We met three years ago. March 1994. I don’t know the exact date but it was a Friday night.

Go on.

I was doing this thing, a collaboration, with the Barbican. An exhibition of the kids’ work in response to a piece of classical music. We had a stand in the foyer and the press officer had organised a bit of a reception.