How To Choose a Sweetheart (3 page)

“It’s OK.  He was always telling great stories about his friends.”

Max cringes, his guts seeming to shrivel up and dry out as he stands there. A distraction is what he needs, so he goes over to one of the pictures to get a closer look.

“That’s my favourite,” Cath says. Lucky strike, thinks Max. “It’s called ‘A Piece Of My Heart’.”

The relief at his choosing her favourite washes through him and settles his guts. Next, all he needs to do is avoid a cheesy response. “It’s really very beautiful,” he says. That will do. No gushing yet, he’s seriously in control.

“It was by a lady called Kitty. I met her when I was little.”

Kitty?  More posh.

She picks up a photograph from a shelf and hands it over to Max. He takes it and studies it as if he’s about to take an exam on the subject.

“I used to watch her paint when I was very young,” Cath tells him.

It’s a nice photograph, but there’s nothing about the lady that helps Max think of anything interesting to say. He passes it back and she carefully returns it to the shelf.

“Please sit down,” Cath tells him.

Max puts his satchel next to the armchair and sits. The cushion gives, but keeps its firmness so that he doesn’t sink in. Pure luxury. “That’s a beautiful piano.” And it is.

“It was my father’s.”

“And remind me how old your daughter is.”

“Alice has just turned six.”

“That’s a good age to begin.” It probably is. “Do you play?”

“Not really.” She runs her fingers through her hair and Max lets his eyes drop just this once, catching the neat outline of her breasts and the pattern of freckles that decorated the space between them. If she’s wearing a bra, it’s a very subtle one. A lump forms in his throat as she carries on. “Just one piece Father taught me – Moonlight Sonata. The introduction. I’m afraid I’ve got two left hands.”

Max coughs to clear his throat. “I’d love to hear it if you don’t mind.”

Cath sits on the piano stool and tucks herself under. “If you blink, you’ll miss it.”

Her movements are full of grace. She lifts the piano lid. Her back is perfectly vertical, her hair looking even longer now it’s straight. As she plays, her head tilts to one side like she’s listening to something far away. Max sits back in his chair, completely captivated by the melodies that fill the air. 

The introduction comes to an end. Cath pauses as the piano continues to hum, then looks over her shoulder smiling, like Natassja Kinski in Paris Texas Max thinks.

Her smile quickly breaks into laughter.

“Are you sure you need to pay a teacher?” He can hardly believe he’s asking – does it sound like he’s turning down the job?

“I told you, I don’t have the time, and that tune’s all I know. I’d like her to get to be better than I managed.” It makes a lot of sense to Max. “Anyway, now it’s your turn,” which makes sense but can’t be allowed to happen.

It’s the thing he’s been dreading, being tripped at the first step. He ignores the guilty glow that warms his ears and tries a body swerve. “No, no. I couldn’t after that. Besides, I get nervous in front of strangers. And I haven’t even met your daughter yet. She might not like me.” Is it a protest too far? Max holds his breath while he waits for the verdict.

Cath leans forward and calls through the open balcony doors. “Alice, come over here, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Alice appears at the edge of the room and takes a tentative step onto the shiny, wooden floor. Her blond hair is tied back into a ponytail that’s held in place with a pink scrunchy. A pair of blue glasses brings out the lazy colouring of her eyes. She’s wearing the summer uniform of one of the local schools, a red and white checked dress. Max notices she has no shoes on her feet. She looks at him very quickly, turns pink and looks away, hiding her hands behind her back.

Cath reaches out, inviting Alice to walk over, but Alice doesn’t seem to want to get any closer. “This is Max. I hope that he’s going to teach you to play the piano.”  Cath looks over to Max. “And I hope he’s still interested after my exhibition.”

Max is almost as unfamiliar with children as he is with pianos. Standing before this little girl, he feels as though he’s faced with trying to communicate with someone who speaks a different language. English being all he has, he decides he’d better try something using that. “Hi there. I’d like to teach you. If you want.”

Alice tilts her head like her mother did earlier. It’s as if she’s waiting for the answer to come from some higher power that only she can hear. To Max’s surprise, she nods a tiny nod and then steps back onto the balcony.

“Then I’ll look forward to our first lesson,” he says. “Maybe we could start next week.”

No response from Alice.

“How about next Thursday?”

She nods again.

Max feels himself grow a little taller. He could hug the little girl for giving him the green light. “Great. I’ll give you a call and we can think of a time that works for all of us.” He picks up his satchel and puts the strap over his shoulder. “Sorry to dash, but if I don’t go now I’ll be late for my last shift at the shop.” He steps over to the open doors and gives Alice his best smile. “Nice to meet you Alice. See you next week.”

Cath walks with Max to the door. When they get there, she moves in close. He takes in the scent of her hair and melts a little on the inside. “Sorry about that,” Cath says in a whisper. “She hasn’t been herself for a while, which is why I had the idea of piano lessons. Her grandfather was going to teach her, but he didn’t quite make it. It has to be worth a try.”

Max puts his hand on her shoulder. He’s surprised at the softness of her skin and the heat it’s giving out. He removes his hand and wiggles his fingers in the air.

“Don’t worry, there’s magic in these fingers,” he says. “I really do have to go now. I’ll give you a call.”

Cath opens the door and Max steps through.

“Nice to meet you,” Cath says.

“You too. I’ll be in touch.”

Controlling himself and resisting the urge to kiss her cheek, Max walks over to the steps and hears the door close behind him.

As the lock clicks, he stops immediately, looks at his fingers and wriggles them in the air. “Magic? Jesus, Max.” He rubs his temples, shakes his head and skips away down the stairs, taking his cigarettes from his satchel so he can light up as soon as he leaves the building.

T
he customers, browsing the book tables like grazing sheep, turn to look at Max as he walks by carrying a large, awkward parcel. There’s a bounce in his step and, even before he exits, the customers are staring at each other and pulling odd faces of disbelief.

It’s the same when he gets onto the street. The passers-by gawp at him as if he’s an escapee from the Muppets.

With some skill, Max manages to manoeuvre the parcel between the tiny gaps in the sea of pedestrians and the static lines of cars and makes it across the road to the alley. From then on he has a clear run all the way to the Garbanzo.

Before he’s had time to put his coat on the back of his chair, Jazz enters the cafe carrying a long package which she struggles to get through the door. They smile upon seeing each other and kiss warmly.

Jazz catches her breath, leans her parcel up against the wall and takes a seat.

“You didn’t forget then,” Max says.

“I wouldn’t have dared.”

“You’re not off the hook yet, mind.  I still don’t know what you’ve brought.” It looks interesting and his fingers are buzzing in the anticipation of getting to work.

The waitress walks over, nodding over at the parcels. She’s more tanned than she was the week before, but she’s not been on holiday and the weather hasn’t been that good. If Max needs putting off, the idea of dating a sun-bed girl or, worse, a fake-tanner, does the job brilliantly.

“You finally got rid of your parents.” She smiles at Max and the white of her teeth shows off the hint of orange on her skin. “I always knew there was something weird about you guys.”

Her sense of humour makes up a little for the tan issue. “Us weird?” he says. “It was you who suggested it.”

Jazz is having none of it. “Two coffees please.”

“And your mum and dad?”

“Just one last coffee son,” Max says in his best BBC voice and hoping it seems as though it’s coming from the corner.

He leans over to speak to the package. “Look Dad, you know you’ll just leak like a sieve and leave this young lady with more work.”

“He’s got a point.” The waitress is playing her part well.

“Just the two coffees then,” and he raises a hand towards the package, as if to keep it quiet.

Jazz is smiling. Possibly thawing a little. “Any more from you and we’ll throw you into the river.”

“And then we’d have to change your name to Bob.”

They laugh. Max passes over his gift. He’s impatient for her to open it. To see her reaction. She’ll see the amount of thought he put into it and remember how well he knows her.

“Happy anniversary darling.”

The parcel’s crudely wrapped in three different kinds of paper. There’s the red paper with Santas, the blue paper with white dots and a few pages of yesterday’s Guardian. Jazz opens it with more respect than it deserves, picking neatly at the wrinkled tape. A life-sized cardboard cut-out of Elvis is staring at her. He’s wearing a black, sequined dress that’s rather glamorous in spite of being second-hand.

“Wow!  It’s wonderful.” Her face is radiant and Max knows he picked well. “Can I keep the dress too?”

She stands up next to Elvis, then behind to get a better impression.

The waitress brings over the coffees and puts them on the table. “How can a man like that have such good taste?”

“I can get some things right then.”

Jazz’s smile fades.
“
But I feel awful now. I didn’t really know how to choose a breaking-up-anniversary present. It’s not the usual kind of thing.”

“It’s got to be a bonus. I wasn’t expecting you to remember anyway.”

Jazz hands over her gift, perfectly wrapped in silver paper furnished with a black ribbon. Max picks it up and is surprised by the weight. Before getting stuck in he tries to imagine what it might be. Nothing comes to mind.

His fingers tear at the paper and reveal an ironing board with a Frank Sinatra LP record tied to it. ‘Songs For Swinging Lovers’.

“Are you trying to tell me something about my record collection or my wardrobe?”

“You should have put a pair of scissors in there too,” the waitress interjects. “Then he could’ve done something about his hair as well.”

Max gives her his best stare. “Don’t you have work to do?”

She turns and walks away with a cheeky smile and a wiggle in her hips.

Jazz strokes at the fabric of the ironing board. “I thought that if you had fewer creases it might help you with your fairy tale, that’s all.”

“And Sinatra?”

“He’s to help ease the pain of the ironing.”

Max smiles. He pictures himself straightening his clothes humming ‘One More For The Road’ and imagines there must be sadder ways to live. “You won’t believe this, but I think I’ve met her – the girl from the fairy tale.”

Jazz coughs into her drink and a spray of foam finds its way onto her nose. Wiping it away with a napkin seems to help her regain her composure. “No!” There’s a high note of surprise in her voice. “When did all this happen?  I mean, are you sure?”

“I think I’m sure.” To be more truthful, he should say he’s not really thought about any of this, but he likes the way Jazz is reacting – it’s good for his ego.

“Have you actually met her or is she just a vision?”

“I’ve been to her house.” Like that means anything. “I fitted perfectly.”

Jazz leans forward and bites her bottom lip. “Tell me more. It’s fantastic news.” Now she seems genuinely happy for him.

“Well, it would be, only there are a few complications. I had to lie to get to meet her.” Hearing his voice point this out doesn’t do much for his confidence.

“You never have to do anything.” Always big on personal responsibility is Jazz.

“Okay then, I lied to get to meet her.” Max wants to change the subject. He looks at the door and fights off his instinct to run.

“If it really means so much to you, perhaps you should come clean now before the damage is done.” What she says makes a lot of sense. “If I found out the guy I was seeing was a fraud it’d be over there and then. Why don’t blokes manage to understand even the simplest of rules?  Slow bloody learners the lot of you.” Now Max feels he’s letting down his entire gender                                          

“I’m afraid it’s a little complicated for that.”

“Then you’d better uncomplicate it right now.”

Maybe he could run off. Buy a cottage in Wales. The idea could work. “No can do. Besides it’s only a small whitish lie,” and he wonders what other shades of lies there might be. Red lies? Pink?

“Then all you can do is hope for the best.” Right again.

“And buy a piano.”

Jazz’s jaw drops. “A what?”

“You heard.” She did.

“You can’t afford that. What about your trip to the States?” It’s true. He’s been saving up for ages.

“If things don’t work out I’ll sell it and move on. Besides New York would just be another place to be lonely.” The image of him ironing to Sinatra flashes through his mind and he looks at his presents once again.

Jazz takes his hands like an older sister or concerned aunt might. “If it was anybody else I’d think they were crazy, but I already know that you are. Where are you going to find a piano?”

“We could leave our stuff here for a while and pop over to Mullens’. They always seem to have one and I’m feeling lucky.”

He can’t believe he’s actually going to look at pianos, especially in his lunch hour.

Max stands and Jazz seems to follow him to her feet without any need of further explanation. They put their jackets on and Max turns to speak to the waitress as they head for the door. “Will you look after Mum and Dad for a while?”

He picks the gifts up and takes them to the counter while Jazz deals with the mess of wrapping paper.

Max kisses the waitress on the cheek and, taking Jazz by the arm, walks over to the door. Just before they leave, Max turns around and points at Elvis. “And remember what I said about playing army.”