The Key of My Heart Chapter 3

Chapter 3 The next time I went to the park, Jasper had a surprise for me. He’d brought some food and said he’d make me his famous hot dogs au jaspe.
“Au jaspe?”
“It’s French for Jasper.” They were good! I really enjoyed them.
“Who taught you how to cook so well?”
“My mum. She says everybody ought to be able to look after themselves properly – cook, clean, wash, iron, do basic sewing, DIY, decorating…She’s pretty amazing, actually.”
The way he talked about his mother was so different from the way he talked about his father. For the first time in ages, we weren’t alone in the park. There was a guy sitting on one of the benches, reading a paper. I was worried in case it put Jasper off playing for me, but I needn’t have been. “I brought something to show you. It’s the only thing I have left that belonged to my parents. I used to have my little toy xylophone as well, but Chablis trod on it on purpose and broke it.” Remembering that still hurt.
He read the title out loud. “The Puffin Book of Nursery Rhymes.”
“It’s really special.” I was beginning to worry that he thought I was a bit silly, showing him a nursery rhyme book, but he gave me that lovely smile of his.
“Tell me why.”
“It’s how my dad proposed to my mum. He was too shy to ask her face to face, so he sent her the book as a gift, with a note saying see pages 82 and 83.”
As I hoped he might, Jasper turned to them. “But this is lovely! I really like this – it’s more of a poem than a nursery rhyme. Though the gifts are a little dated, aren’t they: a lace cap, a silver bell and so on.”
He understood! The relief was so great that my eyes filled with tears.
“I wonder what a modern equivalent would be?” he went on.
“Oh, I don’t know...a Ferrari? No, that’s not a very good girly present.” “Here,” Jasper said. “You’ve shown me something that really means a lot to you – I’ll play you one of my special songs, the ones I don’t do at performances. I wrote it for my mum – after the divorce. It’s a kind of story about love, and love going wrong, and finding a different kind of love later.” He started playing – it sounded almost harsh and cold – and then singing.

It’s a winter road to trudge along,
face towards the bitter sleet,
pull my cloak about my form,
icy puddles at my feet.

And it’s an autumn road with falling leaves
and dreams that only drop and die,
and browning grass and fallow earth,
and early sunset in the sky.
There was a long guitar-only bit after the first two verses. I don’t know much about music at all, but Jasper was good, I thought. And slowly the bitter-sweet chords changed into something more hopeful. I watched his face. I could tell that this song meant a lot to him.

But it’s a summer road to stroll along
(gentle sunshine on my face
fields of flowers scent the air)
to an easy resting place.

And it’s a springtime road before my eyes
with everything ahead of me.
As buds and blossoms open up
it leads me where I want to be. “That was lovely. Thank you.”
And this time it was me who hugged him, before I raced off home as fast as I could, squawking about being late. I wanted to give Elf something. Sure, I’d taken her to the pictures and cooked hot dogs for her, but I wanted her to have something she could keep. But what? Then I remembered what she had told me the other day, and went out to find a toyshop.
I got them to wrap the xylophone up beautifully, and it was so worth it just to watch her face light up when I gave it to her. “A present? For me?” It was as though this hadn’t happened to her for ages. And I had a sneaking feeling that it hadn’t – that the last gifts Elf had received had been on her eighth birthday. She’d be eighteen in September – if I was right, that was nearly ten years with no-one ever giving her a present. “Elf. You do know, don’t you, you’re the sweetest, nicest girl I’ve ever met.” And then I laughed at myself.
“Oh dear, that sounded like a line from a really corny film. But it’s true. Elf, I’ve never known anyone like you.” I pulled her gently into my arms, and she came very willingly.
“Elf, I do love you.” And I leant forwards and kissed her, her mouth soft under mine.
I didn’t care that the guy with the paper was there again – Elf was in my arms, and kissing me back, and that was all that mattered to me. The school term finished, and it became harder for Elf to get away every day, but if she could make it she was there. And I was happier than I had ever been, playing for her, listening to her suggestions, cooking for her – I got the feeling that she didn’t always get quite enough to eat. Money was no problem – dad might not be giving me much of his time, but he gave me plenty of money. I’d buy something nice for lunch each day – and thanked my mother in her absence for teaching me how to cook! The guy with the paper was there most days for a while – Elf and I started making up stories about him. I said he was a spy, waiting for his contact. She said he was a talent scout, checking me out. I said he was really a ghost, waiting for his sweetheart to turn up again. She said his clothes were too up-to-date for that, and I had to try again. We wrestled with the lyrics for a couple more of my songs – Elf helped me put a polish on them that they’d lacked before. She said she was writing a modern version of her dad’s proposal poem, and she’d let me see it when she was finished – but not before. Because I was feeling so much happier than I had when we arrived, I wasn’t so annoyed by my dad either. In fact, I actually asked his advice before he left for work one day.
“Dad. Suppose there was a child whose parents died. What would happen to the assets? If the child went to live with a relative, who wasn’t very well off at all?”
I think he was quite pleased I’d asked his advice. “Let me ask a colleague, and I’ll get back to you on that one.” This slightly better understanding between us made it all the more of a shock when, the next evening, he said to me,
“Ah, Jasper. This business of mine is shaping up to be more complicated than we first thought. I’ve got to go to Oldport, to their daughter company, for a couple of weeks, starting Monday, before I can hope to finish up here. I’ve booked hotel rooms for us both…” I was so angry all of a sudden. I think I shocked dad a bit.
“No! I’m not going. What would I do there? Spend ‘quality time’ with you? I don’t think so. I’m nineteen years old. I’m staying here.”
Go away from Elf? Before I had to? No way! He was pretty cross, but for once I faced him down.
“You dragged me here, fussing about your access rights. We have breakfast together, because I get up early enough for it, and we’ve eaten one evening meal out together. Other than that, you haven’t really wanted access to me at all. Now, have we got this apartment while you’re away, or do I need to book into a hotel here for that fortnight?”
I wasn’t leaving Elf. I loved her, liked her, was happy in her company. And I think she needed me, needed what I gave her. I was beginning to try and work out how I could never have to leave here again, in fact.