“Fur Elise?” I said and her eyes instantly lit up.
“Yes, that’s the one. How did you know?”
“My mum used to play piano, and that was one of her favourite tunes. I have many, many childhood memories of sitting at home, reading, building models, or just listening to her play from my bedroom.” She nodded, set her wine glass on the coffee table, then took my arm and coaxed me up. She led the way, beckoning me to follow. In one of the back rooms, and to my astonishment, sat a Beale piano, the same type my mother still owned. It sat nestled against one wall, its deep chestnut covers shining with polish.
“This was my mum’s. I had to move Jude and I here when she passed away a couple of years ago, but this is the one thing I will cherish forever. She always played that song too although her own repertoire of music was quite large. She loved playing this,” she said as she ran a finger lovingly across the wooden fallboard. Her eyes were distant and I could tell she was having a moment. I stood quietly, leaning against the doorframe.
“How about your parents?” she suddenly asked without looking around at me.
“My father was a carpenter.” I suddenly laughed at a memory of my own surfacing, “he would always say ‘if it was good enough for Jesus, then it’s good enough for me’, every time we discussed my job prospects.” She smiled at that, then slowly uncovered the keys. Her fingers began to dance lightly across the white teeth, a soft tinkle dancing around the room. I didn’t place the melody, but it sounded familiar.
“And your mum?”
“She lives in Carlton. She’s always been a mad knitter,” I said smiling to myself, “so much so, that she could fully support herself with the money she makes from selling her wares at the Queen Vic market. Not that she needs to though. It’s just one of those hobbies that’s turned into much more.” Her nod told me she knew exactly what I meant. The sounds coming from the old Beale sounded incredible. “You play really well.”
“Thank you. It’s been a while since I’ve played anything. I really want to teach Jude as well. Carlton, wow. That was my first station after the academy.”
“Can I ask you a question?” I said, cautiously. She stopped playing for a moment, looking at me. Then she smiled, restarting the melody, and as she slowly began to tinkle the keys, I finally placed the melody. It was “In the Mood” by Glen Miller.
“Sure, of course.”
“Is Judith actually your sister?” Her smile vanished, and she stopped playing so suddenly that for a moment I honestly thought she was going to throw me out, the lines on her face becoming pronounced in an instant. I put my hands up in a surrender. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.”
“No, honestly, it’s OK,” she said, although her frown told me otherwise. “It was just unexpected, that’s all. It’s something that… well, I haven’t really discussed with anyone in so long.” She paused, looking at the piano keys with a look of puzzlement on her face. I waited, unsure of what she was thinking. Then she turned to me, seriousness replacing puzzlement. “Jim, can I trust you?”
10.
“Of course. It’s not like I run the local newspaper,” I replied, trying to sound humorous. She didn’t smile at that. Steph looked down at her fingers for a long time, and for a moment, I thought she wasn’t going to answer. And then without any warning, she began to cry, big tears streaming down and splashing onto the piano keys. She tried to muffle her sobs, but they came thick and fast, almost like an overwhelming asthma attack. I felt a little panicked, unsure of what I had opened within her.
“Steph, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”
“No, please, it’s OK,” she said through one hand, wiping away the tears from her cheeks. I went and sat next to her on the piano stool, putting one arm around her shoulders. She leant in and put her head on my shoulder, still sobbing lightly.
She suddenly forced herself to stop crying, stood and asked me to follow her back to the living room. As we sat back down on the sofa, the fire made her cheeks sparkle, the tears looking like glitter on her face. We sat facing the flames. Steph took a sip from her glass, took another, then held the glass in her lap protectively. It was a good five minutes before she began to talk again, her eyes never leaving the fireplace.
“His name was Toby Warner. We had gone to school in Ballarat together although he was in a higher class than me. He was a couple of years older than I was. Well, four actually. I loved him, Jim,” she said, looking at me. “Anyway, his father refused to allow us to see each other. They were Jewish and Toby’s father was very strict, demanding his son marry a sweet Jewish girl. It didn’t stop us. I don’t think anything could stop us.” She paused again, staring into the flames, the occasional crackle breaking the room’s silence. “We began to see each other more and more and of course his father opposed us more and more. Then, as if to bless our relationship, I fell pregnant with Jude.” I could see the tears well up in her eyes again, wanted to go and comfort her, then thought better of it. “If only his father had accepted us,” she croaked, her sobbing threatening to start again. She took another sip and regained control.
“Toby was so happy when I told him. He had, I don’t know,
