How To Choose a Sweetheart (18 page)

Max takes a big puff on his cigarette and washes the smoke down with a mouthful of his drink.

It’s the big moment coming up. The one he’s been practicing for. At least this time, he has it on a piece of paper and he takes it out of his pocket.

“That stuff about composing a tune for you, it wasn’t my idea, but I wish I could have done it. So I sat down and tried to write you a letter in case I could describe it and it came out like a sort of poem instead. About you.” He offers it over. “Would you like to read it?”

“No.”

Max feels the ground soften under his feet and gravity gain strength. He’ll be sucked under and he doesn’t care.

“I want you to read it to me,” she tells him.

And gravity returns to normal and the ground hardens again.

“I’m not sure I can.”

“Please.” She wants him to, he can feel it. She wants him to pull this out of the fire almost as much as he wants it. He unfolds the paper and flattens it out.

“Remember that it’s only me thinking aloud,” the problem being that Max was always awful at writing poetry in school. C minus would have been one of his better scores.

He takes a breath and gets ready, but it just doesn’t happen.

“I won’t watch if it helps.”

She turns away.

This time the words come out.

“It’s called Balcony.

Others have been here before, but not like this.

Other days have been filled with perfection,

Only this time I am here.

I hold it gently

Let it pass between my fingers

Then rest my fingers on clouds of skin.

She laughs and I shiver to her music,

Staring greedily so none of this will be forgotten.

I burst open

And burst again,

Returning in tiny specks of me

To cover her room of objects

And flowers and things she has touched

Shining in those eyes that I want to keep

And landing in her waves of hair I want to keep,

And in the morning,

When brushing off the dust

A trace will remain

That can never be washed away

And so with her I will be.

Remember, one day,

Those parts of me.”

It’s done. He’s made it. He drops his head, feeling tears gushing up from his heart to his eyes and ready to explode in one enormous fountain. He looks up again hoping to keep them inside and blurts “I’m sorry...”

His sob is interrupted by Cath’s lips which have taken his and wrapped them up in warmth and safety. The kiss is tender. Caring. Full of love.

It’s beautiful. Max still wants to cry and lets the tears come, dripping down his face until he tastes the salt of them.

There’s a tap on his shoulder. Firm, like the hand of the police. Max looks up and sees the clown’s face bent towards him.

The clown’s left hand is holding out the flower from his bowler hat to Cath. His right is inside his shirt and is moving up and down like a beating heart.

Cath takes the flower and rises to kiss the clown on the cheek.

The clown falls backwards, acts bashful, and wanders away up the alley.

T
hey’ve taken their time over the break, Max not caring about work or about much else in the world, his life feeling as if it’s just been watered after a drought.

Still, he can’t take too much advantage of his friend being in charge so they head back to the shop.

When they get there and enter, there’s a crowd of people at the front till. It’s mostly the staff. In the middle stands Jazz who is surrounded by excited chatter.

Max and Cath go over to see what’s happening.

Angela pulls them through to the middle. “Get a load of this.”

In the middle of it all is a ring. A sparkling ring on Jazz’s hand.

Soon as Jazz sees Max, she holds it out to him. He takes her hand and gives it a gentle kiss.

“Alan asked me to marry him yesterday and I said yes.”

This time Max grabs her for an enormous hug that lifts her feet from the ground.

“I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Best of all,” Chris says, “there’s going to be a big party.”

“Already?” Max asks.

“Before we can change our minds,” Jazz says.

Amelie shouts out from the back. “Somebody give that girl a book.”

Max turns round and sees Cath leaving. His systems prepare to shut down.

When she gets to the door, she turns round. She smiles. Blows him a kiss. Mouths that she’ll phone and walks out onto the street.

M
r Evans has a healthy colour to his cheeks these days. Maybe it has something to do with the light being able to get at him.

He’s sitting next to Max on the settee in Cath’s flat.

Alice comes into the room dressed as a princess. She goes straight over to Max who lifts her easily up onto his knee. “Is she nearly ready?” he asks.

“She said that she was doing her face.”

“So we could still be a while.”

“Some things haven’t changed a bit.” Mr Evans chortles and reaches out to tickle Alice under her chin.

“Are you looking forward to your lesson today, Alice?”

“Can I play you some tunes while we’re waiting?” She’s already slipped off Max’s knee and is on her way to the piano stool before the answer comes.

“Show Mr Evans what you can do.”

She sits up straight and put her fingers on the keys.

Cath shouts in from her bedroom. “Nearly there. Rebecca should be here any time now.”

“Don’t worry,” Max shouts back. “We’re in good hands.”

To warm up, Alice plays the scale of C major with her right hand. It’s slick and smooth and better than Max ever managed to achieve.

The men on the sofa clap, but she’s keen to carry on.

“This one’s called Merrily,” she announces.

She opens the book and plays the tune through twice. When she’s done, she steps down and smiles to her applause.

“Bravo,” Mr Evans says. “Take a bow young lady. After a performance, one should always take a bow.”

Alice bows as instructed and with some style.

Max looks over at Mr Evans. “Do you think you can teach her?”

“Of course I can. A talented girl like Alice. She must have had a good teacher already by the looks of it.”

“And then I can teach Max how to play,” Alice says. “So he can write Mummy a song.”

The doorbell rings and he hopes that nobody notices his ears as they’ve just heated up at the mention of composition.

Cath runs out of the room and over to the intercom. She presses the button. “Hi. It’s Rebecca,” a voice gurgles. 

“Come right up,” Cath tells her. When she goes over to join the others, it’s like she’s flowing rather than walking. She’s wearing makeup for the first time since Max has known her. It’s subtle, but it emphasises the structure of her cheek bones, makes her eyes brighter than ever and gives her lips the shine that needs to be kissed.

“You’ll be good for Mr Evans and Rebecca won’t you?”

“I always try.”

“And I shall try too,” Mr Evans says.

Cath gives Alice a big hug and then its Max’s turn.

Mr Evans steps over to the piano and introduces his work. “My composition for Max to give to a beautiful lady. It’s called Ice Lolly Drip Blues.”

The gang gathers round.

His tune begins. The quality of the piano is evident with the hums and subtleties of the notes as Mr Evans touches the pedals with his feet. If he didn’t know better, Max would think this was the music played to dead souls as they made their way to heaven. On a stairway, perhaps. It’s moving and profound.

When Rebecca enters the room, she goes straight over to the piano. She’s a teenager with her hair tied back in a ponytail, who’s still dressed in a blue school uniform. On her back is a rucksack full of something that Max imagines to be homework.

The tune comes to an end and Mr Evans goes straight into some jolly number that takes the mood back a couple of decades.

“Sorry I’m late,” Rebecca says.

“I didn’t know you were. This is Mr Evans. He’ll be teaching Alice to play the piano.”

“Nice to meet you Mr Evans.”

Without breaking from the piece, he tells her it’s his pleasure.

“Everything else is as normal,” Cath says. “I left extra food to allow for the increased numbers.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Mr Evans says.

“Wait till you see what she’s left,” Rebecca says, “then you can make a decision on that.”

Max and Cath come together, picking up the bits and pieces they’ll need for their evening.

“We’d better get off.”

Cath gives Alice a final kiss and they set to leave.

As they open the door, Alice takes over from Mr Evans on the piano stool.

“Now Alice,” Mr Evans says in a loud, clear voice. “I’d like to start by introducing you to my way of remembering the way the notes are written on the page.”

T
heir cafe has been decorated so that it looks like the Golden Jubilee all over again. There’s bunting outside and in. Balloons of all colours strain at their leashes in a bid to escape. Miles Davis is blowing his lungs out through the speakers and the conversation from the party is lively and loud. The tables are full of bottles of wine, glasses and beer bottles.

Jazz and Alan have been cornered by the young waitress and a young guy who looks like a baby Elvis Costello.

“You’ll be the first married couple I really know,” the waitress says. “As friends I mean.”

“Growing up has to start somewhere,” says Jazz.

“They’ll be falling like nine-pins now, you just watch.”

The Elvis Costello guy screws up his face and you can practically see his brain moving inside his head. “Is there any chance you’ll be next?”

The waitress casually drops her arm onto the young guy’s shoulder. “Hey honey, don’t you think we should get to know each other a little better first?” She directs him to the wall and pins him to it. “What’s your name, age and shoe size?”

Jazz and Alan set off to mingle. It’s their day and they intend to make the most of it.

They skim past Jenny, who still hasn’t recovered from finding out her big love was married and a criminal. It’s the first time she’s been out since the disaster became clear to her and to the world. “He was a real pig,” she tells a girl in a long, red, summer frock.

“Are you still selling off your stuff?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know.”

Chris walks over to them with Angela. When they join the group, his nose snuffles into Angela’s neck and his hand rises to cup her left breast which is moulded within a tight, gold top.

“Talking of pigs,” Jenny says.

“Pigs are mighty fine animals, I’ll have you know.”

“And how’s their libido?”

“How long’s a piece of string?” Chris asks.

The girl in the red dress turns to Angela. “Well?  How long is a piece of string?”

Angela peels her boyfriend off and steps aside. “Now that would be telling.”

Chris holds up his hand as if surrendering and backs away. Angela turns and kisses him as he leaves. Chris goes up the counter and picks up another bottle of beer. He looks around for a bottle opener and finds it hanging from a purple Furby. He opens his bottle and stands behind Max and Cath who are sitting close together at one of the round tables outside so that he can smoke and eavesdrop at the same time.

They’re talking about Mr Evans, Max being happy to chat given that he’s been given the job of making the speech at the event and he practically has a thrombosis every time he remembers the fact.

“He’s a nice old man underneath that hard shell. I think he’s one of the real good guys.”

“He seems like a sweetie to me.”

“His face is full of stories don’t you think.”

“We all have our stories, Max.”

“And do you know?” Max says, leaning in to kiss her on the nose and therefore avoiding her carefully applied lipstick, “this is my favourite story of all.”

They kiss again and Max stands up. “Another?” he asks.

“Same again.” White wine. “And if there are any of those cheese sticks left, that would be great.”

On his way into the counter, Chris intercepts him and hugs him in a way that lifts him a couple of inches from the floor. Max feels his ribs click and as soon as he’s down, checks out the damage to his jacket to find there is none. As he heads inside, Chris swiftly takes his seat.

“Thank God you’re back,” he tells Cath. “I love him and everything, but he can be a bit of a grouch sometimes. I like him most when he’s happy and you make him happy. Please don’t hurt him.”

She seems to take it in good spirits. “I don’t intend to.”

“Good, because I think you’ve cast a spell on him that isn’t going to be easily broken.”

“It does feel like magic, but I really didn’t cast any spells.”

“Maybe it was our boss. She’s a bit of a witch. Not that I can see her being so benevolent.”

Max returns to the table with beer, wine and cheese. The cheese is cubed and stuck onto the end of cocktail sticks which have been jabbed into half a grapefruit to create a model of a hippy hedgehog.

“Great nibbles,” Chris says, diving in to get at the food. “Isn’t it about speech time?”

Max turns away, a sick feeling in his stomach, but Chris grabs his leg and shouts inside. “Speech. Speech everyone.” The word spreads through the crowd like broadband cables, hitting on the ears of everyone in the room.

There’s no avoiding it. The time has come. He walks into the main cafe, his friends in tow. Soon as he’s inside, he waves to get the attention of the girl doing the music and draws a finger across his throat. He wishes, for a moment, that his finger was a sharp as a knife.

The music stops and there’s a rumble of assorted noise that includes banging of tables and stamping of feet.

Eventually all goes quiet and things can begin.

First things first, a swig from his bottle.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Oh, and our host...” there’s muted laughter around the room and Max feels himself settle. “The guys at the shop thought we should make a little speech on this fine evening. I drew the short straw, but I’m glad I did.” It’s true. In spite of the shaking he’s doing on the inside, it’s important to him that he was chosen. He looks over at Jazz, her happiness seeming to warm the room and Max draws the courage to go on. “I felt it might be best if I put together a little composition. I tried to memorise it, but I’ve got it here just in case.”