The Forget-Me-Not Sonata(157)
‘I’ve been different from birth. None of the other children had spirit friends like I had. Of course they all had them, we all have guides, but they couldn’t see them. People are afraid to believe in what they cannot see.’
‘Which is silly considering we’re surrounded by things we cannot see which are proven by science, like radio waves.’
‘Have you ever wondered where the world comes from? Why are you you? If you weren’t you, who would you be? What would you be? Would you be at all?’ When her uncle frowned at her again, this time in amusement, she continued with haste, her eyes wide with excitement. ‘Most people are too caught up in the world to wonder at it. They take the rain and the sunshine for granted without wondering why. Why, when science has invented all these clever machines to give us more time, like dishwashers and washing machines, do we have less time? Do you ever take a moment to lie on the lawn and stare up into space and question eternity? Do you?’
Louis chuckled. ‘You really are full of questions.’
‘But I don’t have the time to answer them,’ she replied in frustration.
‘Well,’ he sighed indulgently. ‘Let’s start with the first question, what was it?’
‘Have you ever wondered where the world comes from?’
‘Ah, that’s a hard one. Open the bottle of wine, there’s a good girl. It’ll oil the cogs in my mind and get them turning, they haven’t turned for many years.’
Louis and Grace lay on their backs gazing up at the mobile of leaves that shimmered above them as the breeze tickled their spines and sent them dancing. They questioned their existence with the fervour of ancient philosophers and the humour of students embarking on an existential journey for the first time. The wine loosened their tongues and their throats and they laughed with their bellies until they ached with happiness. When the evening shadows began to lengthen Louis looked at his watch and realized that it was already time for supper. ‘I should have bought two baskets, one for lunch, one for dinner, then we could have set up a tent and continued all night,’ she said, packing the picnic away. Louis loaded the boot of the car and was about to get in when she handed him a small cluster of yellow buttercups. ‘These are “happy-making” flowers,’ she said with a grin. ‘Put them on your piano to remind you to play happy tunes.’
He took them from her and recalled his dream and her laughter that had filled him up. He hadn’t felt this full in a long time.
Chapter 33
As the cold autumn winds whispered through the shortening days and the Indian summer of their picnic dissolved into morning mists and frost Grace’s relationship with her uncle grew in depth and strength. She was elusive by nature and didn’t bond easily with other young people but in Louis she discovered a soul mate, someone whom she could relate to, someone who saw the world as she did. They lay under the stars and questioned eternity, they went to concerts and cried in the same places, they sat together on the piano stool and played the same music instinctively, composing the tunes as they went along, laughing when they clashed, which they didn’t do very often, and smiling when they blended with such perfection that their music might just as well have been composed by the angels themselves. Grace cooked for him, badly, but he didn’t mind for he loved her company. His grimace was worn away by so much gaiety and the spontaneity that had once captivated the heart of a reticent young woman returned to enchant her daughter.
Then one day she heard him play a piece of music she had never heard before. She was lying on the sofa in front of the fire, preparing an essay, while Louis tinkered away on the piano. It was early December and the rain was almost turned to sleet, rattling against the window panes with icy fingers. He played quietly so as not to interrupt her studies. They had spent the morning discussing the subject and working out a strong argument so that all she needed to do now was read some theory. She liked to lie reading while he played, and often she would join him for a break, taking her place beside him on the stool without speaking. But suddenly he began to play a haunting melody of such beauty that she felt her whole body ripple with shivers as if the window had opened to let the winter in. She put down her book and concentrated her attention on the music. Then she turned onto her side and watched him, her large joyful eyes melting with sorrow. Of all the tunes he had played this he played with the most drama. It was as if the vibrations consumed him so that he became the notes he was playing. Grace watched transfixed, trying to work out what he was thinking and why this piece of music was so different from every other piece she had heard him play. Finally, she got to her feet and walked softly to his side where she put a hand on his shoulder. When he felt her hand he opened his eyes and blinked, as if disturbed from a deep sleep. His hands stopped and he breathed deeply, slowly waking up. The colour returned to his face and his mouth extended into a sheepish smile.