The Key of my Heart Chapter 14

Chapter 14 It almost felt like an invasion of my privacy, of my carefully-built life, hearing Jasper’s voice inside my home. I snapped the radio off, fast, and hoped that it wouldn’t happen again, that it was just a one-off. It wasn’t just a one-of, alas. Jasper’s band, greenstone, was featured more and more on Radio Caudex. And Amber became a huge fan. Magnus Culmen fell right out of favour with her! I heard Shadow Girl played more times than I cared to think about, but the constant repetition did at least get me used to it. And when Amber said that the song was supposed to be autobiographical, I felt a slight sense of satisfaction, thinking that some-one had left Jasper high and dry, just as he had left me behind.
But apart from that, life was definitely getting better. Amber talked me into getting a decent haircut and buying and wearing some make-up. I had to say, I did like the results. Then she started talking about new clothes for me as well. This was definitely odd, and I asked her why she thought I needed new clothes. After a bit of umming and aahing, she came clean. “Mr Ainslie – our new music teacher – well, he wants to start a parent/student choir. And I’d love it if we could go to it together.”
I beamed at the thought. “But why the new clothes?”
“Well, you know Deedee, the girl in my year who was so horrible about you?”
I remembered.
“Well, she’s going to go to it too. And I wanted you to look really good. I mean, I’m so proud of you, and you’re so pretty – and I wanted to be able to show you off a bit?”
She ended sounding a bit dubious, but I was flattered.
“And your voice is great – and I wanted it to go with your looks too.” I hugged her, fiercely happy that she was proud of me. And I could see her point. We could afford some better clothes for me now – it was just habit that kept me from spending on myself. I promised to let her take me shopping that very weekend! I wasn’t sure who was more nervous – me or Amber – when I turned up for the first rehearsal. But the new clothes did help. “Okay, Amber, let’s go blow away the opposition!”
Amber laughed. “I think we’re supposed to co-operate in a choir, not compete!” We headed for the door together, and I was nervous. But I needn’t have been. We had a fantastic time. Mr Ainslie had a passion for getting people singing, and it soon became the highlight of our week. He complimented me, saying he could see where Amber got her lovely voice from – though she was in the altos, and I was in the sopranos. We sang all sorts of things – modern, classical, early music, things Mr Ainslie had arranged specially for the choir. Like Amber, I enjoyed the part-singing, and acquired a whole new vocabulary including SATB and a cappella. I had to say that Deedee was just as unpleasant as Amber had painted her. And also patently jealous of Amber’s voice. Amber was getting solo parts – Mr Ainslie was really good at arranging songs so that there were four or five small solo parts per song – regularly, but she was good! And she learnt the words, didn’t show off, could take a background role when necessary. Deedee wanted the limelight all the time.
Deedee was also a huge greenstone fan – and forever boasting about how one of her dad’s friends knew someone who knew someone who would get her in backstage so that she could meet the band when they were next in the area.
“Honestly, Mum, she’s only been a fan since they became famous – well, so have I – but my friend Laura, her dad’s liked their stuff since the beginning, and Laura knows all their songs and loads about them, but Deedee won’t listen to anything Laura says, even though Laura’s right. And she’s always rubbing it in that Laura’s too poor to go to the concerts, because since her mum got ill, they’ve been really pushed for money. I wish I could get hold of a couple of tickets and give them to Laura and her dad, but that’s not very likely.” We weren’t quite as poor as we had been though, even if we couldn’t run to greenstone concert tickets. It was kind of Amber to want to give them to Laura and her dad, even though it was only a dream. I wondered what she’d say if she knew who her father really was – but I wasn’t going to tell her!
Occasionally, we discussed moving house to something a bit larger, but we both decided against it. Ma Woodward was not only a great landlady, but also a good friend, and that wasn’t something to put aside lightly. And I wanted to see our savings go on growing, for Amber’s education when she finished school. She wanted a guitar, so she got a baby-sitting job, and I said I’d match her earnings if her schoolwork didn’t suffer. And she did it, and practised every day – we couldn’t afford lessons, but Mr Ainslie fixed her up some unofficial free ones from time to time. Sometimes we just had a silly time together, and danced around the house to the radio. Amber’s friend, Laura came round occasionally – Amber didn’t mind her seeing how little we had, as they were so tight for money as well. Mostly Amber went there though, as Laura’s mum couldn’t be left on her own for too long. She’d take her guitar, and she and Laura would do impromptu concerts which her mum loved to listen to. One weekend, I took a Saturday off for once, and Amber and I had a day out together. We went to the park.
“This is the very park where I got the grass seed for our lawn! I came here with Pierre, and he carried you most of the way.” “I remember Pierre and the others! They were all so nice to me. We only really see David now – and not much of him since he got that three-year contract overseas. He’ll be back from that soon though, won’t he?”
“He’s looking for something over here at the moment. He’s got some interviews lined up next month, so he’ll drop in on us at the same time.”
“That’ll be nice – I like David.” She paused, and then went on in a different tone.
“Mum – will you tell me the whole story about having me and everything? But right from the beginning – from before you even met my father? Last time we talked about it, it was all a bit – you know. I’d like to listen properly. If it’s not too upsetting?” I thought about it for a minute or two, but she’d asked really nicely, and why shouldn’t she know a bit more of my story? So I told it. I started right at the beginning, with my happy childhood with my parents – until their death in that plane crash when I was eight. I told her about life with Gerda and her endless procession of men – plus the children! And about how Gerda expected me to do all the housework and so on. Then I told her about how I used to escape to the park whenever I could, and about meeting Jasper there. Only I was careful to call him Jake – and if Amber noticed I was hesitant about using his name, she just assumed it was because it still hurt a bit to mention him. She was genuinely shocked when she heard about how Gerda went off with the children on holiday and left me with no food and next to no money.
“But you were only seventeen! What did she expect you to do?”
And she was pleased when I told her how angry her father had been about it, and how he’d insisted I couldn’t stay there on my own.
“So he wasn’t all bad. He did care about you.” When I described the contrast between Gerda’s house and the swanky apartment that Jasper’s dad was staying in, she became thoughtful. She could see the gap between us: she’d been round to one or two big houses with friends from school, and she’d found it a bit over-awing. I told her that we’d only slept together the once, and then decided that was something we wanted to leave until later.
“We were planning to get married, to go away together and start a life on our own. You weren’t just the result of a casual fling with someone who meant nothing to me except a meal ticket, Amber. I wasn’t, and never have been, like Gerda. But then Jake changed his mind, and Gerda wanted me to get rid of you – so I ran.” Amber thought for quite a while after I’d finished telling her my story, and I sat there in the sun, exhausted from the telling, but in a good way. It made me realise how far I’d come, and how much I’d achieved – and how much I’d gained on the way.
“Weren’t you really cross with him?” “Hurt – desperately hurt. But now I look back and think: he was only nineteen. He was frightened of being a father so young. His dad talked him out of it. And I have you!”
“And you’re glad you’ve got me?”
“Hugely! I love you so much, and I’m so proud of you!”
“Well, I’m proud of you too! You were so brave!” Then she got out her guitar, which she’d brought with her, and said, “Listen to this, will you, and tell me if I’ve got it right?”
She’d been working out the chords for the song I’d sung to her all her life – the one Jasper and I had written, based on the nursery rhyme that my father had used to propose to my mother. “That’s really good! Well done. Do you know, I remember sitting in another park and writing that with your father.”
“Should I not play it then?”
“No! Do play it! It’s your song now – it used to be the one you liked best to fall asleep to, even when you were a baby. It suits your voice and your style. Keep it, Amber – it’s my gift to you.”
And I listened to her playing until the sun began to set, and then we went home together, closer than we’d ever been. “Thanks, mum, for everything,” Amber said when we got home. And I knew what she meant. Next day, Amber was reading the arts and music section of the paper after we’d had a lazy breakfast together, when she suddenly exploded into life.
“Wow! Listen to this! I can’t believe it!”
The words came spilling out of her.
“It’s unbelievable – greenstone are doing auditions for an all-girl choir – it’s for a charity thing they’re doing. Listen! It’s perfect! You have to send in a CD with two songs on it, sung a cappella, no pop song covers please, but something traditional or classical or folk or world music stuff – well, I know loads of that from choir, I can do that! And then they’ll be doing final live auditions later from the basis of the CD you send in. But I could send a CD in, couldn’t I – it won’t cost much. And I know I probably won’t get through to the final auditions, but it would be such fun to try. I can, can’t I, mum?” I had to say no to her, and I hated doing it. I left for work sad to my heart at having to disappoint her. It never crossed my mind that she’d go ahead and send in an audition CD anyway.

The Key of My Heart Chapter 13

Chapter 13 Pete and Jenny were grabbing a quick bowl of soup together, before she had to go out. Watching her as he ate, he was struck by how sad she looked all the time. His bright, sparky little sister had vanished. He came over to the barn, in search of me. By now, I knew him so well – it was like having the brother I’d never had.
“What’s bugging you?” “It’s Jenny – she’s so miserable. That school just doesn’t cater for her. It’s okay for Charles – he’s not academic. All I ever wanted was my music. And when the older two were there, the school was better. But Jenny wants to learn, to be challenged. And it’s not happening." “Can’t your parents send her somewhere else?”
“Farming’s too unpredictable. They can’t afford it.”
I knew what private schooling cost – Mum had told me, and Dad had occasionally thrown it in my face. And I knew what Pete and I were making from our music.
“But we could afford it! You and I together – as long as your parents will house us and feed us.” “You’d do that for Jenny? Really? We’re talking a five year commitment here.” But I thought: why not? What else have I got to spend my money on? Why not at least make Jenny’s life a bit happier? And a few weeks later, a very nervous Jenny was standing in the doorway, in her new school uniform, ready to leave. She was going to be a weekly boarder, and come home at weekends – it was too far to travel each day.
“I feel stupid in this.”
“Yes, but you’re not stupid! Go and enjoy it, Jenny. Grab your chance to really learn at last.” It was odd without her there at first. I’d got used to her – to her intelligent comments on things, and her slightly surreal sense of humour. We all missed her, but after a rocky first few weeks, she was beginning to find her feet and make friends. Her texts, emails and even letters got progressively more and more cheerful, and her end-of-term reports were positively glowing.
“I’m still playing catch-up a bit,” she said in an email to me, “but I’m getting extra help where I need it. And I’m not stuck on anything; I just hadn’t covered enough ground at Airhead High (her pet name for her previous school, Aldred High). Miss Higgs says my physics is really promising, and Mrs Boson positively smiled at my last maths practice paper.” Pete’s and my days fell back into their old rhythm – practising, helping on the farm, and doing as many gigs as we could. After all, we had a child to put through school! We started work on another album – the first ones were selling steadily, if moderately – and I was writing more songs for it this time. And when Charles left school, we had a bit more free time yet. We played anywhere and everywhere we could! Some places didn’t pay quite so well… We did outdoor stuff for people’s parties (mostly covers), indoor stuff at old peoples’ homes (a lot of jazz there: we both enjoyed that a lot) and local club circuits, where we played a real mixture, but featured more of our own stuff. The next album started selling as well, steadily, if not spectacularly, and we were earning enough between us not only to keep Jenny at school, but to let her go on to full boarding as she moved up the school and her timetable got busier. Each time she came home, it was obvious how much the change of school had suited her. She looked happier, and she was regaining her old confidence and sparkle. Jenny – the real Jenny – had come back. My mother totally approved of what I was doing with my earnings. She’d been to stay regularly – well, as regularly as her somewhat irregular life would allow – and really liked Jenny. Her last visit had coincided with Jenny being home, and she’d phoned me to tell me again what a difference she saw in Jenny this time round. Then she got personal.
“Jasper – I don’t want to be a nosy, interfering mother, but are you really happy?”
There was nothing I could say in reply to that. She knew me too well for me to be able to lie to her. “I sort of got the feeling that something happened that summer, all those years ago, when you had to go and stay with your dad. You don’t have to talk to me about it – and I could be completely wrong…”
“No. You’re not.” Suddenly, it all rose up inside me again – Elf’s sudden and complete disappearance, without so much as a word of farewell.
“Have you thought of trying to write it out of your system? That’s how I cope with some of the things I’ve seen and heard about.”
And then, wise woman, she changed the subject completely, and started asking me what Pete and I could do to help further her latest project. My mother had been right! I started messing round with some ideas, and it all came pouring out – the frustration, the sadness, the sense of loss I’d had bottled up inside me for so long now. When I’d roughed out the lyrics and melody, Pete began putting the percussion to it.
“This isn’t like anything you’ve written so far! Much angrier in parts. But quite romantic in others. This is going to be fun!” “She’s like a shadow girl.
Dancing at the edges of my mind.
She’s like a shadow girl.
Hiding in the corners of my heart.”

The song began soft, romantic – sounding like it would go into a minor key any moment now. Pete was beginning to make the percussion talk, but it still needed more: the tension that I wanted to convey was missing. We worked on it for a few weeks, then had to put it aside for a while. It was Jenny who provided the next breakthrough with the song. She was home for the holidays before her last term at school. She’d had a triumphant final year so far, academically, socially – you name it. She had blossomed into the girl she was meant to be. She’d also abandoned her glasses for contact lenses, and looked pretty stunning, actually. She read the lyrics, listened to us playing through what we’d already written, and then began playing around on the piano. I was surprised to hear just how good she’d become at playing – it was a while since I’d heard her.
“What about this?”
“Getting there – but there’s still something missing…”
“Pete – if you beef up the drums a bit in between the words – and if we take a longer break between the lines, slow it right down, can we build up a sort of suggested conflict? A bit like the beginning of the Mars movement from The Planets?”
And she was right. The romantic opening became a little bit menacing, left you a little bit uneasy. And the chorus, under her hands, became downright aggressive, almost. Pete really let himself go with that, and I enjoyed ripping into it as well.

“Shadow girl, I’m sick and tired of chasing after dreams.
Shadow girl, I told you once just how much you mean.
Well, now I’m done with all that hurt, I’m putting it aside.
The love that I once had for you, my shadow girl, has died.”

We both agreed that the song needed a bit more, a final twist, but we couldn’t find it, so we put it aside, to mature, and went on with our normal run of stuff. Jenny took her final exams, did brilliantly, and headed off to university full of hopes that, I reckoned, she would realise very nicely indeed. It had been a long time since that first tour, when Chris Deakins had spotted me playing in the park I’d been part of this family for more than a decade now – I’d seen Jenny grow up from a bright sparky six year old to a bright sparky university student. And these had been good years, I thought. I fitted in with Pete’s family very nicely. My mother really liked them too. My dad hadn’t had much to say about what I was doing: I think he thought I was wasting my time, earning very little, and he’d have had a fit if he’d known I was helping to support Jenny at school, instead of investing my earnings. But my mother thought it was a really good move.
“If you think, where should I give my money away? then it will never have a hold over you,” she said. “If you always have giving as your top financial priority – even if you only have a very little to give from – then money will serve you, instead of you serving money. And if you’re not changing anybody’s life for the better, then what are you here for?”
She’d been right about something else as well. Writing about Elf, putting it into words and music, had set me free from missing her, set me free from my past. I’d thought about throwing away the ring that I had bought for her all those years ago, but in the end I’d kept it. I’d decided that I didn’t need to expunge every memory of her from my mind. And I’d found the final twist we needed for the song; a gentle farewell.

“So goodbye, shadow girl,
This time it’s me who’s leaving you behind.
But though I’m moving on
Your memory can stay a little in my mind.
Your memory can stay a little in my mind.”

The last line trailed softly away, with a soft interweaving of my guitar and Jenny’s piano. For the rest of our lives, Pete and I were grateful for those years we’d had, mixing music and performing with hard physical labour. That was what kept us firmly grounded in the hectic and giddy time that followed. Because once we’d finished it, we started playing Shadow Girl at gigs, and everyone liked it. Chris suggested to Jake that we released it as a single, and Jake agreed. And suddenly we had a hit on our hands! Along with all the publicity, razzamatazz and hoo-ha that went with it. Radio Caudex started playing us – “And now folks, here’s the new release from greenstone, a promising new band…” and apparently Magnus Culmen got a bit huffy and sniffy about us, and called us hayseeds and yokels, but we didn’t care. My mother promptly upgraded her plans for us. She’d been wanting us to help her raise some money for her Albania project. This was the one she’d been starting when I went to stay with dad all those years ago. She was trying to do two things at once – address the people-trafficking problem, specifically of young women, and also give girls an education so that they could aspire to something better, and not be such easy targets for traffickers. Her original one village primary school had grown into a network of about a dozen, and now she wanted to start building and equipping secondary schools. For girls.
“Let’s get girls from this country involved. Let’s get girls here singing to raise money for girls there. And let’s get them educated about the problems that are being faced elsewhere as well – let’s raise a generation of women here who will care about what happens to other women, in other places. Because if you educate the girls, then they in turn can educate their children. Educating women lifts the whole community, benefits everyone.”
So we agreed. We’d do a charity single, with schoolgirls from this country, but not as a here-is-your-moment-in-the-limelight thing. We’d do it as part of a whole education thing. Chris wasn’t too keen, as he couldn’t see what the financial advantage would be to us, and the publicity might backfire, but Jake was all for it. Writing that song had changed Pete’s and my musical direction as well. We were picking up new influences, and were having fun playing around with a more classic-rock based approach to things. Chris got us to change how we dressed for stage and publicity appearances – on the farm, it was still workwear!
“It feels a bit like dressing up,” Pete said, and I agreed with him. But in an odd way, the dressing up also seemed to let us be a bit different too – I suppose that’s why actors like costume, because the clothes help you be the person.
Life was definitely changing. This was something very new – and a bit like riding a roller-coaster without a safety belt on – but on the whole, Pete and I reckoned it was a good thing, and that with a bit of luck, and a hefty dollop of common sense, we’d be okay.