The Key of My Heart Chapter 1

Chapter 1 This was not shaping up to be a good summer. To begin with, I was having to spend it with my dad – mum was going to Albania for three months, and he kicked up such a stink at the thought of me going too, and started insisting on his “access rights” so loudly, that mum said I’d better go and stay with him and keep him sweet.
That wouldn’t have been quite so bad, actually, except that his firm had posted him somewhere else for the summer. So instead of being in Newton, where at least I had friends from before the divorce who’d be quite pleased to see me again, I was in a fancy apartment in a place I’d never been before, and never wanted to go to again. I think dad felt a bit guilty, because he gave me the biggest bedroom. But it was all so impersonal. The apartment was OK – the kitchen had all the latest gadgets, including a fancy coffee-maker – but the town was, quite frankly, a dump. Dad’s a lawyer, and he was here to look into a complicated case of company fraud. Or not – it might just be incompetence. That was all he said to me, and I wasn’t even to say that much to anyone else. I slumped at the table in the smart kitchen, and contemplated the next three months with a sinking feeling. I knew dad and his work – it would be sixteen-hour days, seven days a week, either in the office, or here at the apartment. And when I poked my head into the sitting room, I saw that I was right – he was already pulling up documents and scrolling through them. There was a nice big TV, but I didn’t think I’d get to watch it much, except during the day, when dad was out. And I’m not really into daytime TV that much. But I had brought a few things with me, to try and make life a bit more bearable. Dad doesn’t get my passion for music. He really doesn’t understand how I feel about it. OK, I don’t expect him to approve of the posters and so on, but he can’t understand why I also like playing. Mostly guitar now, but I’m pretty good on the piano too – it’s amazing what an hour and a half a day practising can do for you. At least the bedroom looked a bit more like me now – and it was at the other end from the sitting room, so I should be able to play stuff without him complaining too much. But I couldn’t spend all day stuck in here – I was going to have to find somewhere to go out to. A week later, I found my somewhere. It was a little park – a quiet and slightly shabby place, but it suited my mood. It didn’t seem to have any dodgy characters hanging around in it, but it wasn’t busy either. According to the plaque on the gates, it had been founded by Miss Octavia Wilmington, in memory of her five brothers and fiancé who had been killed in the Great War, and a sum of monies had been set aside for its upkeep for ever, so that others might find the peace and tranquillity that she so badly needed herself. From the look of the place, the sum of monies hadn’t quite kept pace with inflation. I could play my guitar here, and forget myself in the demands of the practice. I could even write some new songs, and try them out. I was playing one day, something I’d written myself, concentrating hard, when I became aware of someone else. I looked up, and there she was, watching me. And I got the feeling she’d been there for a while too, but so unobtrusively that I’d only just noticed her. At first, I thought she was just a kid, and wondered why she wasn’t in school – I’d finished for the summer early because of my exams, but I knew that the schools didn’t break up for another three weeks yet. She was a skinny little thing, with a T shirt that looked a bit too small for her, and worn-out jeans. I don’t normally like people listening when I’m trying to write something, but there was something different about her. It was the first chance I’d had to get away from home for ages. My aunt had been “away” for several days, and I’d had to look after the children. But she was back now, and I’d slipped out of the house as soon as the children were off to school, leaving her sleeping in bed. Miss Octavia Wilmington’s park was one of my favourite places, and I only wished I could have told her how much it meant to me. Seeing as she’d died fifty years ago, though, that would have been a bit difficult. I heard the music as I went in through the gates. Normally there was no-one else here – no swings or slides for children, too far from anywhere for teenagers, too uphill for the elderly. He had his back to me at first, and I stood for ages just listening. Even when he turned round, he didn’t notice me for ages. That suited me just fine. It was such a change from the chaos and mayhem of home. And it was lovely listening to someone trying to create something, rather than destroy it. I watched him, his face intent on what he was doing, half-humming, half-singing to himself as he tried out different chord progressions, or a different arrangement of the words. Eventually he noticed me properly, and stopped playing.
“Don’t stop – that was lovely.”
“I need a break – I’m going brain-dead trying to get this right. Do you know, you’re the first person I’ve seen here, and I’ve been coming here for a week.”
“Well, I’ve been coming here for months, and you’re only about the fourth person I’ve ever seen too!”
He laughed, and sat down on the bench, inviting me to come and sit next to him.
“So you live round here?”
I nodded. “And you’re new here?”
“I’m only here for the summer – I’m staying with my dad, and he’s working here for a few months. But there’s not a lot to do round here.”
“I’m afraid that’s true!”
We sat and chatted for quite a while – until I asked him the time and realised that I’d better leave if I was to get home on time.
“Will you be coming here tomorrow?” he asked. “If I can get away. It all depends.”
“Then I’ll have to hope that you can get away. It would be nice to see you again.” I took the memory of his smile home with me. Wayne was outside the apartment, tormenting Tamara – but to be fair, she’d probably asked for it. My aunt has four children. No husband, nor has there ever been – and I’m not sure if she knows who all the fathers were, either. Chablis is her favourite, and the one who can do no wrong, and gets everything she wants as well. She was having a go at Jason as I went inside. When he turned round and had a go back at her, she pulled her “everyone picks on me” face, but it doesn’t work on me. Tamara came and whined at me as I was getting dinner ready for them all – and then, when I wasn’t sympathetic at all, said she’d tell Gerda on me; but we both knew Gerda wouldn’t pay any attention to her. I ignored her anyway – I was busy thinking about the boy I’d met in the park. And I didn’t even know his name.