Death and Tea at Three

17 Harold and the Piano

Despite the emphatic win, Isobel had other things on her mind, and one thing in her line of sight. She couldn't help but stare at Harold's piano. With its dark mahogany finish and aged, weathered look, it could have easily been a prized antique. But there it was, pushed into the corner of a dimly lit room, collecting dust. Isobel looked over toward Harold, and then back to the piano, and felt sad. She wasn't sure why, but the thought of anything old and forgotten made her feel as if there was a gaping hole in her chest.

Harold rose from his chair and headed toward the kitchen. "Want a cup of tea?" he asked, as he poured water into the kettle.

"No thanks," Isobel replied.

"Okay, so tea with cream and sugar," Harold said, as he prepared two mugs.

Isobel continued to sit and stare at the piano. She hardly noticed when, a few minutes later, Harold placed a cup of tea beside her.

"Thanks," she said, taking a sip, her eyes never wavering from the piano.

Harold placed his tea beside his armchair and sat down with a sigh of relaxation. There was nothing more relaxing than drinking tea after a United win. Harold lived for moments like this. It was one of the few moments in his life when death was not on his mind. He was free to imagine a world of possibility. His daydreams, however, were abruptly cut short.

"Can you play the piano?" Isobel asked. Her head swiveled toward Harold, who shot her a look of confusion.

"No," he replied with his right brow raised.

"Can I play the piano then?" Isobel said.

"No," Harold replied.

"Why not? We didn't even talk about it. You just said no, and gave me no reason," Isobel said.

"See, that's the problem with this generation. They always need reasons for things. It's always 'Oh, that's not fair' or 'but why?' and I'll tell you why- it's because that's the way it is. Sometimes, Isobel, you need to just accept things and move on. Tell your generation that as well. They could use the advice."

"I'll be sure to tell them at the next meeting," Isobel replied.

Harold turned his head, choosing to focus back on his television instead. He could almost feel Isobel's eyes piercing through him as she continued to gaze at him pleading.

Harold peaked at Isobel out of the corner of his eye. She continued to stare, waiting for him to make a move. He tried desperately to ignore it. He attempted to focus on his television show, but it was an episode of CSI Miami that he had already seen a handful of times. He tried humming to himself, but that was even worse - the music in his head reminded him of the piano, only irritated him further. Finally, he thought of his favourite thing – Manchester United. But that, too, proved to be insufficient, as it only reminded him that he and Isobel had just watched them play, and she was still there waiting for him to either play the piano or let her play.

"Go on then," Harold muttered, refusing to look away from his show.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Isobel light up with a wide smile. It made him feel good, though he would never dare admit it aloud.

Isobel still sat smiling on the couch across from him. Harold turned his head and looked at her. "Well," he said in confusion, "what are you waiting for?"

With a jolt, Isobel jumped up and rushed over to the piano before taking a deep breath and lowering herself onto the bench.

Harold was unsure why he had allowed her to use the piano. He had convinced himself that he never wanted anyone, let alone a child, ever playing it. As he racked his brain, trying to figure out why on earth he encouraged her, a sound he had not heard in many years began to spread from the corner of the room.

With every key pressed, the sounds of the piano filled the apartment. Harold closed his eyes. He could feel his heart slowing and his breath relaxing. He had forgotten how much he missed these sounds.

Isobel continued to play, though Harold would dare not call what Isobel was doing 'playing'. It seemed to him that Isobel was pressing random keys, hoping to create something out of nothing. "You're not doing it right," he muttered.

The music stopped as Isobel turned toward Harold, awaiting his guidance. Harold glanced at her and immediately felt guilty about his criticism. He wanted to tell her the truth, but he couldn't help but feel sympathy for someone who was trying.

"Why don't you look through the pile of sheets there? There are songs even a beginner can learn to play," Harold uttered, returning his attention to the television.

On the ledge next to the piano, Isobel found the sheets Harold must have been talking about. She shifted through the pages and booklets, coming across a wide range of music - everything from old jazz songs to even children songs. She settled on a booklet entitled The Jungle Book – The Bear Necessities. Isobel loved the movie and knew the music from it. She scanned the booklet, reading the instructions and clicking the corresponding keys slowly, hoping to learn the sound of every key as she pressed it.

As Isobel continued to play, the song became more cohesive and fluid, and it was not long before Harold himself was humming along. Twice, Isobel stopped playing to watch as Harold hummed the song to himself. It wasn't long, however, before Harold caught on, and stopped humming entirely.

Isobel began to sort through the songbooks, hoping to find new and interesting songs to play. With every new song she attempted to play, she felt like she was peeking into Harold's world - as if every song was a key into his world, and she couldn't wait to see what was inside.

Isobel continued to play for the next two hours. Neither Harold nor Isobel realized so much time had passed. It wasn't until Downton Abbey came on the television that Harold realized it was getting late.

"Isobel," he said, turning to her. "It's getting late. You might want to head back home."

Isobel lifted her phone and checked the time. It was past seven, and her mother would be home soon. She gathered her things and placed the songbooks back in order, knowing Harold would probably never let her play again if she didn't tidy up. As she tidied, she noticed a music sheet that she hadn't seen earlier. There, sitting at the bottom of the pile, was a sheet entitled Julia's Song. Isobel muttered the title of the song to herself numerous times. The name "Julia" gave her goosebumps, though she did not know why. She continued to repeat the title quietly to herself, until she began to feel a pit in her stomach. Isobel looked over toward Harold, who failed to take notice of her lingering or her gaze.

Isobel held the sheet firmly in her grasp. As she looked down at it, reading the notes and the lyrics, she felt both embarrassed and shameful. Deep within her very being, she knew what she was looking at was private, but she could not put the sheet down. It captivated her curiosity, and her imagination began to run wild. This sheet, more than any of the others, was a glimpse into the real Harold - the Harold who existed before she had met him. This single sheet embodied the Harold who had a wife, who, to her knowledge, felt love and kindness.

Without another thought, Isobel slipped the sheet into her pile of things, and briskly walked toward the door. Despite the minuscule size of the apartment, the door felt a mile away.

"Ah, enjoy the music," Harold said as Isobel placed her hand on the doorknob.

"I will. Thanks," she replied, turning back toward Harold.

Harold had taken his gaze off the television and had instead turned his attention to the girl at the door. A strange feeling came over him in that moment. He felt a lightness that he had not felt in some time. It was as if pieces of his armour had been removed, and all that was left was himself. At the very same time, however, he could feel a heaviness in his heart – the way one feels when overcome with emotion. Harold did not say another word. He simply nodded toward Isobel, bidding her farewell.

The door closed behind her and she stood frozen in the dimly-lit hallway. She quickly shuffled through her things, her hands shaking. Although Harold had said she could borrow the music sheets, borrowing Julia's Song made her feel as if she had committed a crime. Isobel looked one last time toward Harold's door before turning away and heading home.