Making The Grade
Only little kids and grannies were called Grace, he thought, as he looked at the official letter he’d received. In the waiting room, Todd pulled his copy of Grade One Piano Pieces to his chest and shut his eyes. There wasn’t much chat; the only noise was coming from the traffic pulling up at the lights outside.
‘We could play to each other over Skype, Dad,’ Em had said. ‘It will give you something to do. You won’t miss me so much.’
Like hell. Six months they’d be gone. Australia. And that’s after the court said he could have fair access. How do you square that? He should never have agreed.
His stomach groaned and the noise of it startled him. He glanced up. They were all looking: all the mothers of various ages, shapes and sizes, and all their respective children clutching their music and their instruments. They would go home together afterwards, because they lived on the same continent.
‘Don’t worry so much,’ Em had said during their last conversation. ‘It’s easy.’
‘So you say. I’m not as nimble-fingered as you.’
‘You’ll be fine. Honest. Love you.’
‘Love you too, Squeaks. Speak Saturday, yeah? Let you know how I got on.’ The screen had gulped back to the desktop photo of him and Em at the Tower of London on her tenth birthday. He’d cropped off Roz.
It had taken a lot of persuading to get someone to cover for his class: Friday afternoons were never fun. In the end he needn’t have worried, he was last on the list and the examiner was over-running.
He looked at the letter again. Her name was Grace Channing-Doyle. She’d be the same age as his mum probably.
Gradually the waiting room emptied. He wiggled his fingers. They looked the same as always but felt as fat as bananas. Why hadn’t he got himself a proper teacher? OK, he’d had a couple of lessons when he was a kid, worked his way through Em’s old books and got the CD of the pieces, but an exam? It had been a joke, then a bet.
You’re a stupid idiot, Todd Saunders, he thought. The trouble was he wanted to pass. Badly. Em’s disappointed face kept popping up in his mind’s eye but almost more than that, while Grade One was hardly rock ’n’ roll, he’d worked hard and looked forward to the practice every day.
A bus went by the window and he wondered why on earth they held music exams in such a noisy place. Then he hoped for a whole fleet of buses to go by when it was his turn.
‘Mr Saunders?’
If Grace Jones had been sitting there, she couldn’t have been less like his mum, certainly not with all that amazing red hair that frothed to her shoulders. She only said hello, but he felt a great thumping in his chest, sweat on the back of his neck and he replied with a croak. It was nerves, that’s all. Just nerves. He’d faced more lethal situations in his time but never in such attractive company.
‘Don’t look so worried, Mr Saunders, I won’t bite you.’
She had a tune in her voice. He gave another croak, then coughed, wondering when breathing would be possible again. Beneath the little table, she crossed and uncrossed her legs. A low slung ray of sunlight flashed by her feet. There were gold bows on her shoes. She smiled. Neat teeth. Neat all over.
‘Please,’ she said, indicating the piano stool. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’
He managed to sit down and, fumbling, opened the music and put it on the piano. She lurked in his peripheral vision. On the page, the notes jiggled about and looked unfamiliar. Did he need glasses? When did your vision start to go? Thirty-eight seemed a bit young.
‘Would you like to warm up with some scales, Mr Saunders?’
‘Todd,’ he said. ‘It’s Todd.’ Get a grip, man. She doesn’t need to know that.
‘Well, Todd,’ she said, not quite disguising her amused surprise. ‘Would you like to warm up with the right hand and the C major scale?’
His fingers were someone else’s, surely? Forcing them to the starting line, he began to play. The surface of the keys was cool and the only thing reminiscent of his clanky old upright piano at home.
Six notes in, he realised he was playing with his left hand. He stopped at once and turned round.
‘You said right…’
She was looking straight at him. In the silence that followed the moment swelled, plumping itself into the corners of the room, until it was deflated by the sudden zip of a two-stroke engine passing outside.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, smiling. ‘I expect you’re left-handed.’
‘Yes…but I’m not deaf.’
‘I’m glad to hear it, Todd.’
She weighted his name a little and he didn’t want to turn away. ‘I expect that happens a lot, does it? The wrong hand.’ He waved his own, then felt stupid. She was being polite and professional, that’s all.
‘Indeed it does,’ she said, nodding. ‘Would you like to try again?’
He blundered through the rest of the scales. The piano sounded so different. Were the keys narrower? There was the slip off a black note that sounded calamitous and then, a complete blank about what a chromatic scale was.
‘Take your time, Todd,’ she said.
At the sound of her voice, he remembered at once. He took a deep breath. It was time to get his act together and stop behaving like a fool. What would Em say?
The first piece wasn’t too bad even though time had never felt more elastic. It seemed to take ages to get going and yet, seconds later, he had reached the end.
Everything went swimmingly in the second piece. He was even hearing the music in his mind’s ear, almost like when he had his phones in, rather than the cacophony of noisy thoughts he’d begun with. It was a lullaby, which helped. Calmed him down. He played the nice smooth bit, nice and evenly. The rocking cradle, rocked gently and he could imagine the little baby, pretty as Em had been, lashes fluttering on her rosy cheeks as she nodded off. Quieter and quieter, he played the few notes of the melody that repeated slower and slower until…
The warning was brief: just a squeal of brakes outside. He’d only half turned when the window exploded into the room.
Time stretched taut. He saw glass mosaic towards them. Her arms slowly, so slowly, rose in defence. Red hair swung round, a small scream and then another red, drops of something brighter, splattering across the papers along with the showering glass and one wing mirror belonging to a Ford Ka impaled on the railings outside. It rocked on the corner of the table before crashing to the floor.
Shock rocked through the room and he felt the wall of it like a wave as he leapt across to her.
‘Bloody hell…Grace?’
Her face was masked over. For a moment he thought the worst but then she winced and pulled her hand from behind her head. Blood dripped down her fingers. Todd felt something in his gut clench.
‘Here, let me.’ There were several small cuts that he could see but the window was old and the glass now a million tiny shards. Many of which sparkled in Grace’s hair and on her clothes. There could be more.
‘You’re all right,’ he said, trying to sound reassuring, ‘but we’re going to the hospital just to check. I just need to check the driver doesn’t need an ambulance.’ Saying that he turned and stepped through the broken window to the figure in the crumpled Ka.
Moments later he returned, satisfied the driver was OK.
Grace closed her eyes for a moment and he had another spasm of anxiety. Perhaps she wasn’t all right. Then they opened and a little colour came back into her face.
‘My God,’ she said. ‘What on earth happened?’ She began to stand but then a thick trickle of blood escaped from the end of her sleeve and plopped onto the table. Two little dents appeared in the middle of her forehead. A slash in the arm of her jacket revealed a deep cut.
The invigilator opened the door, her face draining of colour as she took in the scene.
‘Where’s the First Aid kit?’ Todd said. ‘I need a bandage.’
A minute later, she was back with the little red box. It contained an eye bath, two fabric plasters and one crêpe bandage.
He began binding Grace’s arm. ‘This will have to do for now. Pity there’s no sling.’
‘Here,’ said Grace, ‘use this.’ She began pulling down a stocking. It had lacy elastic at the top that under other circumstances…
‘Brilliant,’ he said, tying it up. ‘We want to keep the wound higher than your heart.’ From outside the window came the sounds of people shouting and the twisting of metal but he knew that only the cars were injured. ‘You’re coming with me,’ he said. ‘I’m parked round the corner.’
‘Shouldn’t you wait for an ambulance?’ the invigilator said. ‘I can phone.’
‘It’ll be quicker if I take her.’ He turned to Grace. ‘Ready?’ he said.
‘I need to take these.’ Grace began pushing the mark sheets into her bag with her free hand.
‘Here, let me.’ Todd took over and noticed his own name on the top sheet specked with blood. He stuffed it in with the rest.
‘But she might need someone qualified,’ the invigilator protested as Todd helped Grace down the stairs.
‘I know,’ he yelled back. ‘Good job I’ve got my St John Ambulance certificate.’
‘The last time I came here,’ said Todd, pulling into the hospital car park, ‘Em had slotted a teddy bear’s eye into her ear. I remember seeing it looking back when I shone in the torch…’ He felt that it was important to keep talking about nothing much in case she went into shock and stopped responding.
‘Really?’
Todd felt encouraged. ‘Yes. I had the teddy when I was a kid. I don’t think you get eyes like that anymore. Too dangerous.’ He hopped round and held the door open for her. ‘Here,’ he said, as she struggled with her bag. ‘Let me take that.’ He slung it over his shoulder.
‘Oh thanks. If you wouldn’t mind…’ She glanced up at him and he felt a squeeze in his chest. Her face looked paler than before, her eyes larger, compelling, dangerous even. She shivered. Bare legs in December wasn’t clever. He grabbed a scarf of Em’s from the back seat.
‘Nearly there now. Don’t worry.’ The scarf he wound round her neck but he put a supportive arm round her waist and felt its smallness.
‘I have to phone.’
‘Not now. Later.’
‘But,’ she stopped for breath.
On the wall next to the entrance, a large notice prohibited the use of mobile phones once inside.
‘Let’s get you seen first,’ said Todd. The dark stain on the sleeve of her jacket was spreading. ‘I’ll come out and call for you, if you like. Yes?’
She leaned against him. ‘Yes…thank you.’
Later, when he turned on her phone, Todd suddenly felt the true weight of the bag still over his shoulder. Grace had trusted him with more than results of a day’s music exams. Her phone could reveal most of her life to him if he cared to look. ‘Ring Ian,’ she’d said. Simple. No problem.
Sometimes simple things could be big problems: a stray shot from a sniper and a child dies. A mate steps on an IED and…He’d seen both with his own eyes in Iraq.
So Grace had a man. Of course, she did. It was just a little dent in a little hope, that’s all. He should feel cheery that he’d even hoped. Em kept on at him. It was about time he found someone –as long as she got the thumbs up from her, of course. Had he thought of going on the net?
Ian sounded suitably upset. Yes, he’d be there as soon as possible. About half an hour.
Todd sat in his second waiting room of the day with the bag between his knees. Grace had been led away some time ago. His exam seemed distant now, in some other world.
He’d handled the fat sheaf of marksheets very roughly and he reached down to smooth the corner of one. It was his. The name was clear, although blood had leached the ink into the paper making the outline fuzzy.
What did it matter if he looked at the marks he’d got? Half an exam was no exam at all. Even so, guilt led him to glance round. He pulled the sheet clear of the others and found that the scales had been as bad as he’d thought: one mark under the pass. ‘Unfortunately, too many errors today,’ she’d written. That was kind. He’d passed the first piece though. Not brilliantly, but three marks over was good enough. ‘A little insecure but captured the spirit very well.’ Ah, that was nice. In the column for the next piece there was no mark but she’d already started on the comments. ‘This was very p…’ it said, before she was interrupted by a flying wing mirror.
What? The only word that sprang to mind was ‘pedantic’. It was unlikely she’d be allowed to say plonky. Pretty perhaps. Had he being playing prettily? Again, it didn’t seem likely but was a bit more positive. Positive! Maybe that. Or plaintive?
Ian was a man who wore a suit on a weekday: a smart grey suit with a tie that matched his shirt. Todd didn’t hang about. There didn’t seem much point. He asked him to give his very best wishes to Grace, gave him the bag and then left. When he got in the car, he noticed a spot of blood on the passenger seat. It didn’t matter. His old Focus wouldn’t mind and it would certainly fade.
At about midnight, he skyped Em.
‘Oh Dad! That’s like sooo bad.’
He laughed. ‘Well, there’s worse things.’
‘Yeah, but after all your practice and stuff.’
He told her about his piece being ‘very p…’
‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘I reckon it’s perfect.’
‘You can’t be very perfect, Em.’
‘You can, Dad. I bet that’s what it was.’ How he loved her. ‘So,’ she went on. What was she like then, the examiner?’
‘Nice,’ he said, ‘very nice.’
Even from the other side of the globe, his daughter had no difficulty sniffing the whiff of a rodent. Perhaps it was a slight change in his tone of voice. After all, Em had an excellent musical ear.
‘What’s her name, what’s her name?’ she said, bouncing up and down and causing virtual earthquakes.
Eventually, in spite of all his denials and after she’d squeezed every last bit of information from him, he said goodbye.
The night’s silence closed around him and he looked round, feeling bereft. For the past two months he’d played the CD of the Grade One pieces to himself last thing, hoping that he would learn them by osmosis. Now he wondered if his copy of the music was still on the piano surrounded by broken glass. It was very late but he poured himself a generous whisky. At least the next day was Saturday.
His thoughts ranged about, revisiting events of the day but always they returned to a beautiful smile and a little lace on a stocking.
He woke on the sofa a couple of hours later when the computer pinged the arrival of an email. Em had turned detective.
Lo Dad
I googled Grace C-D and there’s like mega entries. She’s a singer. It doesn’t say anywhere she’s married. Even on Wikipedia. Take a look. I think she looks nice. She’s done loads of concerts. And made an album too. You can download it. I was going to gift it but Mum says it’s not your birthday. You can probably listen online though. Love you. Em xxxxxx
Bleary-eyed and still shaking the pins and needles out of his left hand, Todd typed Grace Channing-Doyle into Google with his right. He figured she wouldn’t be the subject of all half a million mentions, but she was top. When he clicked on Images, a shock ran through him. The best photo was a close-up of her face looking up directly into camera. Her eyes were pale blue with a darker ring round the edge; he remembered them clearly. With the mouse, he traced the side of her cheek and imagined doing it for real then he accidently clicked and found himself at GraceChanning-DoyleSings.net. There was no mention on the site of her private life but there was a link to her album and two sample songs.
He sought out the pair of headphones he kept in his trainers and plugged them into the computer. Living in a terrace, it was one thing chatting to Em at midnight but quite another to play music at two in the morning. Besides, he wanted to turn up the volume. After twenty minutes, he turned away, deciding there was only so much exquisite torture he could endure. He’d played ‘She Moved Through The Fair’ three times and Mozart’s ‘Voi Che Sapete’ two a half times before tearing the headphones from his ears and shutting down the computer.
Madness, it was madness. Perhaps he was suffering from a touch of shock. He’d seen men taken in all sorts of ways by it. His time in the Territorial Army had taught him many things and that was certainly one of them. Go to bed, man, he said to himself. This time of night, the imagination’s a mosh pit.
The ambulance seemed a good distance away. The siren wailed, snaking towards him, but it would it be in time? Louder, much louder until his mobile became too insistent and he woke up. Why would anyone phone him at ten to nine on a Saturday morning?
‘Mr Saunders? Joan Parsons here. The music exam invigilator.’
Todd frowned. ‘Oh?’
‘The Board has asked me to enquire whether you wish to re-sit your exam. At no extra fee, of course.’
That was big of them. ‘Is Grace OK?’
‘I understand Miss Channing-Doyle is quite recovered but we have a replacement examiner for today.’
Miss Channing-Doyle. Her stage name probably. He looked across at the computer and remembered the silk of her voice moving through the fair. Unlike his own, fur-coated from the late night and whisky. He swallowed and coughed trying to clear it. ‘That’s grand,’ he said.
‘The piano is being moved to another room as we speak. Would you would care to come today at four-thirty? I have your music here.’
At four twenty-nine, he was walking home with the music under his arm. Em need never know. Perhaps it was delayed shock, that feeling he had when he went in. Or maybe exam nerves again. Either way, he hadn’t the heart for it.
He downloaded her entire album, put it on his iPod and went for a couple of long runs. He’d be bound to tire of her sooner or later.
On Monday morning he looked for the jack to plug the iPod into the car stereo and nearly arrived late for assembly. Work was good. He hardly thought about Grace until home time.
The hall mirror grabbed him by the collar a few days later when he came in from another run. ‘It’s time you stopped all this nonsense,’ it said. ‘See those bags under your eyes? And your hairline’s not where it was once either. Stop behaving like a lovesick boy. Get yourself a hobby or, better still, go somewhere you might meet people. Women sort of people.’
The thought of socialising irked him. He was never going to meet anyone playing the piano but he liked the pleasure of hearing the pieces begin to vaguely resemble the little delights on the CD. Perhaps he could have a go at a new piece. He imagined Em being pleased, how her mouth would make that funny O shape before it settled to a smile.
When he got home from school the next day, an envelope lay on the mat. It was franked with ‘The Kings Hall’. He roamed the city in his mind, trying to locate it without success. Inside was a ticket: An Evening with Grace Channing-Doyle Admit One Dress Circle Row B Seat 14.
Stunned, Todd stumbled back against the doorframe. He turned the ticket over and over until a small idea crept into the back of his mind. Maybe it was a thank you. After all, he had been quick off the mark with the first aid. One ticket was a bit odd, but…his mind catapulted away. That meant only he could go. Had he told her he was on his own? He remembered babbling as he drove her to the hospital. What about Ian?
In the mirror, his reflection immediately began the usual hectoring about his appearance and shocking lack of grooming. He’d buy a new razor the very next day. And get a haircut. He looked at the ticket again: a whole week to wait.
In the meantime, the world was a cheerier place. He practised two new pieces and whistled their happy tunes about the house. Em was right. He needed to get out. Do new things. Not that he was stupid enough to think anything might come of meeting Grace Channing-Doyle again, but he would go backstage to thank her for the ticket. She could solve the ‘very p…’ mystery too.
On the table the dictionary lay open. He looked through as far as ‘pavonine’, quite sure that ‘being of or like a peacock’, wasn’t the word she had in mind. He passed lightly over ‘painful’ and ‘pallid’, not quite so sure.
After school that Friday, he went for a drink with the rest of the Humanities department. Ms Physical Geography was very interested to hear he was learning the piano. Could he accompany her playing the clarinet? Not just yet…
Friday night was Em night and for once he had something to tell her. Actual news. The screen kaleidoscoped into life and she waved. Always, he felt it a miracle: arm’s length and ten thousand miles away.
‘Hi Dad,’ she said. ‘I can’t see you. Turn your camera on.’
He fumbled with the switch. Even miracles required a little help at times.
‘How’s that?’
‘Better.’
He waved at the camera. ‘Hi Squeaks, how’s life in the sun?’
‘Raining.’
‘Yeah? I’d ask for a refund.’
‘Sooo?’ She wriggled, pixilating into a monster.
‘So what?’
‘Have you got any news?’
‘As a matter of fact I…’ He stopped, suddenly breathless as realisation thudded into his chest: she knew already. He could see it in the sparkly eyes and eager leaning forward.
‘Did you get it, Dad. Did you?’
‘Err…I got something.’
‘I did it all on the internet. Mum helped with the paying.’
‘Right.’
‘You’ve got to go. It’s an early Christmas present.’
‘I’m not sure…’
‘You have to.’
The mirror sneered as he went past the next morning, and a flush of shame prickled along the back of his neck. It wasn’t so much the disappointment but the size of it. He’d seen men get fanciful under a Middle-Eastern sun, believing stuff they’d made up. No wonder the Greeks had their love-god flying about with a bow and arrow. Yes, Grace had been nice. Leant against him and given him the glad eye. But the woman had been injured. End of story.
He’d talked himself into something. Now it was time to talk himself out. After all, why would he want to go to the concert of someone who hadn’t even bothered to thank him?
He took the car to the post office, the back seat full of his Christmas presents for Em, but while stuck at the lights by the library he caught sight of a poster for Grace’s concert. He steeled himself, refusing to stare. Just a brief glimpse, maybe. She looked stunning in an emerald frock as she gazed serenely from the poster.
Driving back, he had an idea. On Monday he would ask Ms Geography –Laura –if she’d like to go to the cinema. A thriller maybe, nothing too soppy.
When he arrived home, his neighbour’s pick-up had blocked Todd’s drive. Todd parked opposite and crossed over. On the other side of the tall hedge he heard the neighbour’s voice and, unusually, it wasn’t loudly complaining but sounded polite and rather soft about the edges.
‘That’s his car there. You’re all right now, love.’
‘Thank you,’ said a voice with a tune so familiar it stopped Todd in his tracks. Another step was impossible. ‘I’ll move my car very soon.’
‘Long as you like, love. No problem.’
He heard the door click and then the crunch of gravel. Todd threw back his shoulders and stood tall. Now, now, none of this feeling weak in the bowels lark. You’ve been a soldier in your time, man. Seen and done things that would fell a tree without an axe.
‘Hello, Grace,’ he said. There she was. Not his fantasy Grace nor the virtual Grace of her website. She was real, in a duffle coat and even more beautiful than he remembered.
‘Todd…’ she said, smiling but with worry in her eyes. ‘I do so hope you will forgive me.’
‘Forgive you?’ he said, startled. ‘Whatever for?’
‘Because I haven’t been in touch to thank you.’ She bit her lower lip and held out something in her hand but he didn’t want to take his eyes off hers. ‘I had a concert up in York. I know I could have phoned, but I wanted to come personally. Here,’ she said. ‘I’ve bought you something. Really though, it’s not much of a thank you.’
‘Will you come in?’ said Todd. ‘It’s perishing out here and I could do with some coffee.’ He turned to his front door, without taking whatever it was she held out. She might go away if he did and he so didn’t want her to.
‘Oh, yes please,’ she said as if it was exactly what she wanted.
This time the raw energy of hope wouldn’t be denied. Yes, he’d seen loss and he’d used its black shadow to cocoon him from the worst that war could sling in his direction, but in this bright moment he saw he owed his lost friends and he owed his child: he must make an effort.
‘Ian not with you?’ he asked.
She looked confused. ‘Ian?’
‘Yes…at the hospital, Ian.’
‘Oh, that Ian,’ she said. ‘He was my deputy examiner. I had to give him the results.’
He ushered her into the sitting room and busied himself with the cups, coffee and kettle to avoid singing the Hallelujah chorus out loud.
From the next room came the sound of his piano like he’d never heard it before. Still the same old clanking but notes trapezed from bottom to top then…silence.
‘Don’t stop,’ he yelled.
‘I only wanted to see what it was like.’ Grace was standing at the door. ‘I see you have one already,’ she said, holding the concert ticket. Then she held up another. ‘Not much of a thank you then, is it? Can I get you something else?’
He handed her a mug of coffee. ‘It’s enough that you’re here. And –’ he said feeling a bit light-headed ‘ –you can tell me why someone who’s performing solo concerts needs to spend time examining the likes of me.’
As soon as he said it, he realised his gaff.
‘Well…’ said Grace, her eyes twinkling. ‘What can I say?’ His embarrassment set them both giggling like children. ‘It’s steady money,’ she went on. ‘There aren’t many musicians who make money actually doing it.’
It was his turn to pretend shock.
‘Stop it,’ she said, amidst more laughing and with a feeble wag of her finger. She put the tickets on the worktop. ‘I’m very flattered that you have one already. Thank you.’
‘Em got it for me after I told her what had happened.’
‘I wonder if you told her what a hero you were.’
‘I was hardly Superman.’
‘You were to me,’ she said.
‘Anyone would have done –’
‘No, no,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Not anyone. You.’ Why was he holding the kettle and not her?
‘Did you retake?’ she went on. ‘I was wondering how you got on.’
‘I nearly did but…’ He shook his head, feeling sheepish.
‘Oh no,’ she said, and the two little dents he remembered reappeared on her forehead. ‘But you were doing so well!’
‘You’re only saying that,’ he said, handing her a mug. ‘Besides, I failed the scales.’
‘How do you…’ Her eyes widened then she laughed. ‘You bad man! You peeked.’
‘Of course, I did. Wouldn’t you? Left alone with temptation?’
She tapped a finger on her lips. ‘Hmm, yes, probably. But I’m sure you would have passed. You were getting better and better. That little lullaby was very persuasive.’
Todd, mouth full of coffee, nearly choked. ‘Persuasive!’ So that’s it. Not ‘peculiar’ then.’
‘No,’ she said, bewildered. ‘Definitely not. It was lovely. Very persuasive.’
‘Really?’ He moved towards her, expecting she might retreat at any moment.
‘Yes,’ she said, looking directly up at him. ‘In fact, I thought you were very persuasive in almost every respect.’
‘Only almost?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But I could be convinced.’
Without taking his eyes from her, he took her mug from her hand and set it down on the worktop.
‘Like this?’ he said, as his lips touched hers.
‘Not quite,’ she said. ‘Would you like to try again?’
‘I think I might need to practise.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Practice makes…’