Page 17 of The Key to My Heart

I look over the table to her, meet her soft, understanding eyes, and I nod, reluctantly, as if … what? As if someone is watching from somewhere, judging, saying, ‘That beautiful little cottage she’s got, in that beautiful place, that her poor husband loved the bones of, and she says it’s getting her down! Can you believe the gall of her? The brass neck!’

‘Well, look – I told you already, my sons – let them help. They can do it all, and if you need them …’ She holds up her hands, like someone presenting something.

‘I know. Thank you.’

‘I mean it, Natalie.’

We sit and watch a plane bumble low overhead, and Shauna shields her eyes with a hand as she tips her face to the sun, to watch it. There’s a blue stripe on its tail. I wonder where it’s going in the world, what time zone it’ll visit, all those pairs of feet resting on the plane carpet, thousands of feet above our heads.

‘You know what,’ she says, glancing at me. ‘Whoever it is leaving this music, they must be leaving it at a specific time. Did you say you’ve checked and there’s been nothing, and then when you’ve checked later—’

‘It’s appeared.’

‘So, I reckon it’s during a specific frame of time. Perhaps when whoever it is is passing by? If you don’t mind, I’ll mention it to Jason, and Sasha, too, the barista on a Wednesday. They can both keep an eye out.’

I sip my coffee, lukewarm now, cooled by the breeze. ‘Who could itactuallybe though? It sounds mad, I know, but I feel like ithasto be someone that knew us.Knowsus. Of course there’s a chance it’s just some giant coincidence. Some other pianist, or something, with the same taste in music. But I don’t know. Russ’s favourite song – it was by this band that had, like, two hits and we saw them live once, and barely anyone knew who they were. It felt like we were the only people in London there. We loved it.’

Shauna smiles.

‘I just … I feel something. In my chest, in my gut that … it means something.’

‘Well, there you are then,’ Shauna says gently. ‘And maybe if it isn’t Russ, maybe it’s someone meaningful leaving it. Someone who … has you in their thoughts. Someone who cares.’

‘So, what, like, maybe one of his friends?’

‘Have you contacted any?’

I shake my head. ‘Not for a while. And, honestly, people just don’t know what to say.’ This is one of the things I’ve noticed. People know exactly what to say when someone first dies – oh I’m so sorry, or life is so cruel, it’s so unfair, or he’s in a better place and he’s watching over you, blah blah. But fast-forward a few months, when they realise you aren’t completely back to normal, they’re stumped. They treat every word out of their own mouths like a little bomb.If I say I love my husband, will Natalie think that’s insensitive?If I ask her how she is, will she burst into tears? I’m no good withcrying, me. I can’t cope with it.And I get it. I do. And while my friends and family were the ones that got me through the first few months after, very soon I started daydreaming about having a brand-new start, with a brand-new clean slate of fresh, new people who didn’t have anything to measure me against. Nobody who expected me to ‘get better’. How could they, when they had no idea who I used to be?

‘I find most people don’t know what to say, because they’re too busy trying to find the perfect words,’ Shauna reflects. ‘They don’t realise that you’d rather them say,what a pile of shit you’ve been handed, I’m gutted you’re going through it.’

‘Yes.That’s exactly it.’

‘It’s like me,’ says Shauna, and for a moment, she looks over her shoulder, as if to check we’re still alone. ‘I had a cry on the phone to my friend after the wedding. After Don wouldn’t dance with me and wouldn’t letme.Then we had the most dreadful argument about it.’

‘Oh, Shauna. That’s rubbish.’ I knew it.Dastardly bloody Don.

‘Oh, it’s fine.’ She waves a ringed hand in the air, but her eyes flick to the table, away from mine, and I don’t quite believe her. ‘But I just needed to rant, you know? I just wanted her to listen, but she stuttered and stammered and said,Oh, but Don means well. He’s a good provider. He’s always worked hard.’

‘Well, what’s that got to do with dancing?’

Shauna cocks her head to one side and her eyes close, slowly, like an owl’s, as if to say, ‘Exactly.’

‘It’s a pile of shit you’ve been handed,’ I say, ‘and I’m gutted you’re going through it.’

Shauna smiles. ‘Same to you, darling.’

We tap our cups together, in a gentle, knowing cheers. The sheet music, anchored under the saucer on the table, curls at the edge in the breeze, as if itching to take flight.

‘I’m glad I’ve got my dancing, though,’ Shauna continues. ‘I went again a couple of nights ago.Loved it.I feel like I’m … letting go when I’m there. You know? It’s like therapy.’

I smile. ‘I’m so glad. It makes me sort of jealous too.’

‘Come with!’

‘Ha,’ I laugh. ‘I’m not really a dancer. But I do sort of wish I had a hobby. Something I did, out of the house, something else, something new. Everyone has hobbies. Gym. Amateur dramatic groups. Somewhere to let go—’

‘Oh my God.’ Shauna puts a hand in front of her, like a lollipop lady stopping traffic. ‘I just thought! Hang on.’ She jumps up and, within a minute, is back, putting a small, shiny leaflet down in front of me. ‘Of course, no judgement here whether you do, or don’t, but we’ve started allowing some local businesses to stick posters up on the pillar, by the cakes, and a customer of ours put this up …’

---