Page 95 of The Key to My Heart

‘Oh, shit.’ And there I was thinking it was all about me. What is it Jodie always says? Nobody’s really watching. You think they are, but they’re too busy watching themselves. ‘Well, it’s her loss,’ I say, and Maxwell smiles.

‘Well, I’ve met someone else now. We’ve been together three months.’

‘That’s great, Max. Congratulations.’

‘Yeah,’ he says awkwardly, being sure to keep that emotion locked firmly inside. ‘She works next door to me. She’s a nail technician. Does pedicures and stuff. Anyway. Shall we go through?’ And I can’t help but smile to myself. Pedicures and flowers. Just what the doctor ordered for Maxwell Sowerby.

Maxwell follows me through to the kitchen, and I get some plates down from the cupboard.

He takes a seat at the breakfast bar, runs a hand along the tiles on the surface. ‘Did you do this?’

‘The tiles?’

He nods, impressed, checking the pads of his fingers, as if he might find pen marks, from where I’ve simply coloured them in with felt tip.

‘Well, a friend of mine, did. Tom. It’s paint. I wasn’t sure I believed it would do the job, but …’ I hold out my hands. ‘He did good, right?’

‘Definitely.’ Maxwell grins, lifting two cups of takeaway coffee from the brown paper bag. ‘It’s completely brightened the room. Transformed it.’

And I feel a tug in my chest then. It’s been a week since I saw Shauna and said goodbye, and I’d hoped, in some way, that she might mention me, prompt him to call me. But there’s been nothing. And I miss him. I miss him terribly. But – space. He wanted space. And I know what it’s like to need that, want that, as if it’s medicinal.

‘I’ve treated the damp too,’ I say. ‘And tried my best to clear as much as possible …’

Maxwell nods, munches into a chocolate chip croissant. I slide a plate across to him, catch the last couple of feathery crumbs. ‘Well, look, a cottage like this, Nat – totally sought after, regardless, really, of how it is inside. I mean, of course, the more neutral the better, but with access to the trains …’ He stops then, chews and swallows. ‘Did you want to sell? Sorry, Nat, I just assumed—’

‘I do,’ I say. ‘I didn’t think that I did, but I do.’

Maxwell nods, places the croissant down on the brown paper bag, crumbs skidding across the counter. ‘Why did you think you didn’t want to?’

I slide out a stool and sit down opposite him, and it means a lot, I realise now, as much as it shouldn’t, having Maxwell’s approval. ‘Russ,’ I say. ‘I felt guilty, selling it. I mean, you know how much he loved this place, Max. And he had so many plans for it. We both did. So I stayed. For a lot longer than I probably should have.’

Maxwell scratches his head, as if considering whether or not to do or say something. Then he just comes out with it. ‘Natalie. Russ … he loved you. More than any house. And I was here when you moved in, I know how excited he was. He loved it. And you loved it because … well, because he loved it. But that’s what this is, you know. It’s just a house. It’s just bricks. And – tiles.’

‘Tilepaint,’ I add, and he laughs.

‘Exactly. These are ten a penny, really. As much as they’re lovely, houses are just – houses. But your life – not so much. So, I say live in the way that you want to. That’s all he would have wanted.’ And hearing this from Maxwell, who not only apologises for simply having an emotion that isn’t hunger or pure indifference, but who knew Russ almost as well as I did, feels momentous.

‘Thank you, Max,’ I say. ‘I really needed to hear that.’

Maxwell walks around the cottage, and I don’t follow him, just listen to his footsteps creaking on the floor above. I don’t know if he wants to, but in case he does, I thought I’d let him say goodbye alone. He emerges at the bottom of the stairs after a good ten minutes.

‘His cricket hoodie,’ he smiles weakly. ‘I’d forgotten it until I saw it. Hanging on the door.’

‘Do you want it? Of course if you don’t want it, that’s fine. I get it can be a bit weird. Dead man’s clothes—’

‘No,’ says Maxwell, ‘no, I’d love it. If you don’t want it that is.’

‘Hate cricket.’ I smile. ‘But I know you and Russ loved it. Bored me to tears all those matches you’d watch …’

Maxwell tells me what the house is worth, he tells me he can put it on the market for me, through his agency, and to ‘shoot him an email’, and with the cricket hoodie over his arm, he leaves, before taking one final photo of the outside with a small smile.

Chapter Thirty-One

‘I want you to remember, there are no rules here. You can start with whatever comes naturally. The words and lyrics, the melody – and, by melody, I mean, just a little tune, plucked out of nowhere, something catchy, something simple. Something you can even hum. Or you can … take the guitar, play a few notes on the keyboard, see if anything jumps out. But there are no rules. We want you to feel comfortable enough to just feel and express and play and create, without judgement, and without resistance. Just let whatever wants to come out of you, come out of you. You’ll be surprised what’s there, when you just let go. When you learn to trust yourself.’

‘Thank you, Natalie,’ says Devaj. ‘And a massive thank you to everyone who’s been brave enough to walk through that red door. It’s one of the bravest things you’ll ever do. And it might just help change your life …’

Edie is waiting in the lobby after the first song-writing workshop ends. And I’m buzzing –beaming.My skin, flushed, my heart, bouncing. It had gone so well, andfiftypeople had shown up despite Devaj worrying nobody would, and songs and melodies and lyrics that didn’t existmoments before, sprung into life up there, in the studio, before our eyes and ears, like brand new spring buds. I feel like the opposite of that Natalie who stood here, with Edie, all those months ago, in the summer. Today, I feel like a different person. Steady. Strong. Ready.

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