Page 49 of The Key to My Heart

‘That’s so beautiful,’ I say. ‘And do you go back at all? To Dorset? To the hut …’

Joe shakes his head, slides his phone into his pocket. ‘Yeah, I’ve gotta confess, I’ve not been for ages,’ he says. ‘I don’t really like going back. But – you should think about it.’

‘About what?’

‘Getting a touch of theDIY SOSes,’ he smiles. ‘Doing something Russ wanted. Like the hut. It could help?’

‘Maybe,’ I nod, and I grip the railing and tip my face a little, towards the sun. Would it help? Say – putting in a greenhouse, or decorating the living room in that shade of green he wanted, going through our Pinterest board, trying to ignite that flame of excitement we both had when we bought the cottage …

A pigeon lands on the railing beside Joe, the feathers on his head ruffled and scraggy, like he’s had a hair wash and hasn’t blow-dried it yet.

‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Hey. Ratbag. I mean, nobody said you could join, but okay …’

I laugh. ‘So, this is what you swapped sandy beaches for, is it? London pigeons. Dirty canals. And the smelly room.’

‘Apparently so.’ Joe smiles. ‘And the smelly room isn’t so bad,’ he says, touching an arm to mine, ‘not now you play in it. Ain’t that right, Ratbag?’

It’s almost four by the time Joe and I leave the canal and walk back to the train station together, hot-skinned and exhausted and sun-sapped. I wait outside the tiny supermarket for him, as he ducks in for a pint of milk for home, and enjoy the wisps of icy air-con of the shop’s entranceway. The piano sits there, a few metres away, silent and empty, commuters whisking by it. I peer behind me, through the glass of the shop window. Joe is in a chaotic-looking queue, with at least two people left to go before him. And – ugh, I can’t help myself. Yes, I might feel disappointed, yes, it might deflate the joy that’s puffed me up from my afternoon with Joe, like a big ol’ giant pin to the human balloon that I am right now, but I can’t not. I have to check it. I can’t ignore the tingling and sparking beneath my skin when I think about the chance of there being something there again, in that stool.

I flit across the floor, almost tiptoe, like someone unhinged, like I used to when I was a teenager, sneaking into Jodie’s room at night, to sit on the end of her bed and make her psychoanalyse the texts Daniel Paphitis from biology class had sent me because ‘this time he said hello not hi!’

I lift the lid. Slowly.

And – there it is.

Another piece of music. As usual, freshly printed, but the paper, slightly thicker, this time, like card. This time: ‘Strawberry Swing’ by Coldplay. Everyone who knows me well knows I cried along to Coldplay CDs throughout secondary school. Russ agreed once, that ifI ever, in a mad turn of events, met Chris Martin and he, in an even madder turn of events, came onto me, I was allowed to kiss him on the lips, just the once …

As I turn, I see Joe crossing the floor towards me, looking at me like he might be regretting this – hanging out with someone who bounds towards him holding a piece of paper in her hand like Charlie Bucket waving a golden ticket. But the excitement shoots through me like a firework at the sight of it. I can’t help it.

‘What is it?’ Joe asks, half-smiling. ‘Seriously, what’s going on?’

‘So – this is gonna sound so weird, but – someone leaves me music.’ I’m breathless, smiling ear to ear, as I speak. I definitely must look deranged. ‘And … it stopped.’

Joe’s eyes are unblinking, a carrier bag in his hand.Never fear, Notebook Joe, I am quite normal really. In the right circumstances.

‘Anyway. Some has been left.Today.After weeks without it.’

‘Seriously?’ Joe still stares, but suddenly, with his free hand, he reaches up, takes the music from my hand. ‘Strawberry Swing,’ he utters. ‘Wow. This is so—’

‘I loved Coldplay,’ I jump in. ‘When I was a teenager. And the songs that’ve been left, they’re always sort of important to me. Poignant, you know? Like, they have meaning?’

‘And this was left – today? While we were at the canal?’ He turns over the page in his hand. Joe looks almost spellbound, even throws a glance over hisshoulder, as if he might spot the culprit hanging upside down from the ceiling, all in black. ‘Jeez …’

‘Yup.’ I grin, pull out my phone. ‘Definitely while we were out. I checked this morning. Sorry, I just need to text my friends and tell them. We’ve been on tenterhooks about this.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah!’ I laugh, and Joe lets out a confused half-chuckle then, of surprise at probably how hysterical I’ve suddenly turned. I feel high. I sound high. All squeaky, like it’s 1995 and Boyzone just crash-landed in my garden. That spark, that excitement, back in full force. I text Tom, then Jodie, then Priya, then Shauna. I would rush upstairs to tell her, but Jason said this morning she’s off sick, which I don’t think I have ever known to happen. ‘We’ve all been so intrigued, placing bets on who it could be. We even tried to catch them by staking it out.’

‘Did you see anyone? On your stake-out?’

‘No. Nothing. I still hope, somehow, it’s Russ.’

‘Russ …’

I look up at poor, confused Joe. ‘Yeah, maybe something he arranged. Sorry. I just literally bounded towards you and screamed about music in your face, you must think I’ve just landed from Mars. Because, of course, I’mactinglike I’ve just landed from Mars.’

Joe laughs, shakes his head. ‘Not at all. I just … well, it’s proper wild, isn’t it? The fact someone did this while we were at the canal. Who would … who would do that?’

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