Page 14 of The Key to My Heart

Carl, jangling with the back door key, smiles in agreement and ducks outside.

‘Carl hasn’t got a clue what he’s doing by the way,’ Jodie whispers, opening the cupboard above her head. ‘He’s going in blind. Clueless. Like a puppeteer performing brain surgery.’

‘I did wonder how much a psychology professor knows aboutplumbing.’ I can’t help but smile. Carl knows everything there is to know about the human brain, but he once tried to hang a picture on Christmas eve, and blew the electrics. They had to move in with Mum and Dad for Christmas, wait for the electricians of the world to come back from Christmas break.

‘He of course knows sod all.’ Jodie puts a pile of plates on the counter. ‘He just wants to be useful. But you know, look at it this way – he’s qualified tocounsel you to a high standard if it all goes wrong and your house falls down. Help you rewire your neural pathways.’

‘True,’ I say, taking a seat at the breakfast bar, and Jodie runs a knife along the edge of the orange, ceramic lasagne dish.

‘So, are you all right? Has today been …’ Jodie’s words drift off, but she eyes me carefully, her freckles a splatter across her nose. I was in awe of Jodie when I was teenager – and, naturally, a tiny bit jealous, but she’d have never known. I was taller than her, despite being three years younger, and I went through a phase of being paranoid my nose was unnaturally big, especially next to hers, with her dainty little cartoon-princess point. Jodie wasn’t striking, but she was cute and neat. Sensible, organised, never missing a birthday or her after-school swim classes. My reputation of after-school activities was like a smouldering graveyard. I tried everything. And gave up on everything. Tap dancing, swimming, karate, circus-training (and that was only because I fancied one of the men who taught fire-eating). It’s amazing to me, among unicycles and pottery courses, that I never thought to take a piano lesson outside of what I taught myself at home on that old, eyesore of a piano. It always just felt like breathing, I guess. Something that was part of me, like the colour of your eyes, like foods you’ve always despised.

‘It’s been okay,’ I say. ‘Nobody texted me though. I thought I might hear from his brothers but—’

‘Did you text them?’

‘I did in the end. Teddy didn’t reply, and Rob – he just said: hope you’re okay. They all seem pretty together. Pretty fine.’

‘Whereas you …’ My sister leans forward and picks a croissant crumb from my jumper. ‘You just got lost in some pastries, my love.’

‘I did.But I’m glad you’re here. I mean it.’

‘I’m glad you’re glad,’ says Jodie. ‘And I’m glad I brought you some proper food.’

‘I eat proper food.’

Jodie stops, looks at me, spatula in hand like a fly swatter. ‘Priya said you ate cold hot dogs out of the tin the other Sunday.’

‘Yeah, well,’ I huff, ‘Priya fancies Clive the scaffolder. What does she know?’

‘That cold hot dogs are not a meal,’ Jodie says in unison with hoisting up a square of lasagne for my plate and sitting opposite me. ‘Seriously. You’re lucky it didn’t give you the shits—’

‘Jesus.’ There’s a bang from outside, followed by Carl’s despairing voice. ‘Flipping hell! This is … Christ on a bike …’

Jodie looks at me, our forks poised, and we laugh. Jodie starts eating, but I don’t feel like I can eat a thing until I’ve told her.

‘Jodie, there was more music.’

‘What?’ She chews, clueless.

‘More music was left. Today. In the stool, at the train station.’

She swallows, a hand at the chest of her thick, mint green jumper. ‘Why must you always tell me these big bombshells while I’ve got my mouth full?’

‘Sorry.’

‘So did you – see anyone?’

‘No. But the song … It was our wedding song. Our first dance?’

‘Fuck right off.’ Jodie puts down her fork with a clatter. ‘Seriously?’

‘For real.’

‘God – are you a hundred per cent sure?’

‘Yeah.Undoubtedly. And I was late there too. Super late. And I wasn’t going to look again, because I’d already looked and it was empty—’

‘Holy shit—’

---