Barbra

"French?"

"Italian, usually. Or Jamaican."

"Okay. Mmm, yes. Better than this?"

"Different. Not better, no. This is really good!"

They happily ate their meal together. Afterwards, Barbra got up to collect some more drinks, and they talked until ten thirty when Barbra felt really tired.

"Ok, baby," John said. "I'll need a taxi. I definitely couldn't drive."

"And your car?"

"I had a friend of mine drop me off. My car is at home. Just a mo, please."

He produced his cell phone and called the local taxi service. Barbra couldn't help noticing it was an iPhone this time.

When John had arranged his taxi she asked him with a smile, "How many telephones have you got?"

"Oh, just a few." He produced his Samsung from his other pocket. "I use this one strictly for work. Look, shall I pick you up on Saturday for a movie?"

"Yes, please," Barbra said.

"Good." John entered the date in the agenda on his iPhone, and they talked until the taxi arrived.

Barbra gave John a peck on the mouth when he left. "Looking forward to Saturday," she said.

10 - Doubles

Barbra had put four empty CDs in her coat pocket that Monday morning. She didn't really like having to ask for new copies, but she really, really wanted to listen to the music again and so there wasn't anything much she could do about it.

She had a long day at work, so it was after four when she left off, and went to her car. She hoped she'd be lucky first time around, and that Andrew would be in. She drove down the road he lived on, and to her relief she saw his red car in the drive. It was a dull day, with some slight drizzle at times, and she expected Andrew would not be in the garden. She rang, very briefly, but apparently long enough, for it wasn't too long before she heard him come down the hall and open the door for her. When he saw her he treated her to a big smile.

"Barbra!" he said. "Come in! Can I take your coat?"

He put it up in the hall, and led her into the living room. It was a rather large room, with a few easy chairs, a low table and a stereo, and a small bookcase. On the wall opposite there was a big African mask. The main colours were brown and black, and the walls and curtains were off white. It was a quiet uncluttered room, she thought, without any knick knacks or junk.

"Would you like something to drink?" he said.

"Coffee, please," she said. "Andrew, I have a request I hate making, but er, I er... I'm afraid I lost my CD case with all the copies you made for me. Er... would you mind doing them again for me?"

She felt her face go hot. Fortunately Andrew didn't seem to mind.

He shook his head. "Of course not," he said. "No problem! Let me get us some coffee first."

He disappeared and returned shortly with two mugs of coffee. "No milk or sugar, right?"

Barbra nodded.

"I'll go and see those copies straight away. Would you like to stay here or will you come along?"

"I'll come with you," she said.

They went into the corridor and Andrew showed Barbra into the study, a room rather more crowded than the living room. There were two chairs, it held a big desk, a small table with a computer and it was lined with bookcases and a huge, homemade rack with CDs.

"This is where I keep my things," he said. "I'll get the CDs first."

He started up the computer and picked up three CDs. "I'll have to scan the fronts and print the inlays again later," he said. "I'm afraid I've run out of black ink."

"I still have the boxes," Barbra said. "So there's no need to."

"Right-oh! I'm glad I haven't deleted the Bechet-Armstrong things yet; it's a compilation from three albums. They're still on the flash drive I put them on."

"Okay. Oh, I forgot. I brought some empty CDs. Let me get them; they're in my coat."

"That's nice, but don't bother, please. I've got quite enough empty ones. Maybe you can copy some music that you like very much for me."

Andrew sat down at the computer and started Nero. Barbra looked around. There were three framed photographs on the desk, of a woman, a girl and a boy. The boy was African; he smiled into the camera and seemed, Barbra thought, a nice young man. The woman looked Irish. She had red hair and she was caught on film unaware.

Andrew had the programme running and turned on his swivel chair. He saw Barbra look at the photographs. Then she looked his way and raised her eyebrows, and he nodded at her.

"Those are the most important people in my life," he said. "Lizzie, my wife, my daughter Jenny and Barrie. He lived with us for years. He came to England as a refugee from Sierra Leone. He still calls me papa."

"Your wife isn't here?"

"Lizzie and Jennie got killed in a traffic accident, years ago. Thank God Barrie was there to give me some purpose in life. I've weathered the storm partly thanks to him."

"Okay. Oh dear. Life is hard, isn't it? It seems all the right people die on you..."

Andrew looked at her questioningly.

"I lost my parents and my husband all within two months."

Andrew nodded. "Yes," he said. "That must have been like the end of the world."

"It was." Barbra shook her head. "It seems they're still on my shoulder somehow. I miss them frightfully."

She took a sip of her coffee. "I'll have a look at your music if I may."

"Of course. I'll load the next CD, then."

There were rather too many CDs to have a good look. Barbra saw that they were ordered to genre and alphabet. She remembered her sister's CD and wondered if Andrew might have something by that McGraw person. He did, slotted neatly between Country Joe McDonald and Roger McGuinn. She took it out; it wasn't the one her sister owned, but a double one with number 1 hits.

"Is this good?" she said.

"That one? Yes, I think so. Matter of taste, of course."

"Yes. Er -- could you copy them for me, too?"

"By all means."

He took the box from her and put it on top of the others. Barbra looked at the rest of the room. He obviously liked books, and there were a few nice things on the wall. The study, or den, or whatever it was to him, seemed a nice place to be in -- a little like her own study. This one was much larger, though. His whole house was larger than hers. She spent the time Andrew needed to copy the CDs wandering around and inspecting the bookcases.

"Do you spend a lot of time in here?" she asked when he was almost ready.

"Yes, rather. I do a lot of writing, and er -- well, I suppose you can say I do my work from here, too. But I listen to music in the living room." He picked up his mug and emptied it. "Before the accident we lived in town; but I like this place. I couldn't stay in the other one anymore."

"Same for me. I used to live in the Midlands. I had some beginning of a breakdown, and my GP told me to go and get a change of air. I did, and it felt good, so I moved down here."

Andrew smiled at her. "Yes," he said. "That does sound familiar."

He turned round to extract the CDs from the computer and wrote the title on the copy. Then he handed her the copied CDs.

"Well," he said. "That's it. Shall we go to the living room for another coffee?"

"Yes please."

They left the study and went back to the living room where Andrew left her for a moment to make some more coffee. Barbra looked round critically. It was a good room, well-proportioned and well furnished. It was pleasant to be in but somehow it had a rather solitary air. Too little colour, perhaps, or too tidy? Austere was the word, she thought. Yes.

"This room is very different from you study," she said when he returned.

"Yes, it is. Which do you prefer?"

"Your study, I think. It may not be the perfect place to sit in together, I suppose, but it feels more comfortable. This one seems to frown on me."

Andrew nodded. "You're right. This room is pretty basic," he said. "I haven't yet decided how to change it -- I have my stereo here, and my poetry, and I have the occasional drink here while winding down. I don't want it clogged, but it should be a little less forbidding, perhaps." He shrugged. "It's maybe also because I'm inclined to be chaotic, and I don't want a mess here. Lizzie was a really tidy person and I want to live up to her standards."

"You are tidy enough, it seems," Barbra said. "This is a lovely house."

"Thank you. Mmm... Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"Er, I'd love to -- truly. But I'm afraid I can't. Em is coming over this evening. Can I take a rain check on it?

"Of course. Please."

He looked at her with a little hint of a smile. She blushed. Was she honest, and would she ever have dinner with him? He was really nice to her, and she was dead certain that whatever it was that Em held against him couldn't be his fault. She was determined to try and find out that night.

"Thank you," she said, "both for the CDs and for your offer. I'll see what I can do for you -- and I'll love to come around again!" And she realised she meant it.

When she drove back she played Tiny Parham. She wondered how long ago Andrew's wife and daughter had died, and how lonely he was. He was really nice. She'd expect an attractive man like that to have a girlfriend -- but then, she knew how hard it was to forget.

Oh well. There was Em to talk to and she'd promised to cook. She'd made a rum cake the night before, and now she was busy cooking a meal, with lots of red peppers, and garlic, and some aubergine and courgettes. Just the way her mother used to do it.

Em came in greeting her happily. "Look!" she said, and she held up her hand. "Great, eh?"

She wore a new ring. "Present from Beau," she said. "Oh, and by the way, when I was cleaning the car two days ago I found your CD case. Here you are!"

"Oh dear, so that is what happened to it! I already went back to Andrew this afternoon for new copies. I thought I'd never see them back."

"Oh. Well, may I have them then? I played them a lot, I must say. You know, Beau loves this music, too."

"Yes, he told me. Of course you can have them. I must have some empty cases around somewhere. Let me get them for you."

She went into the living room and returned to the kitchen with four slim cases.

"Thank you, sis," Em said and she transferred the four copies to the boxes.

Barbra hesitated a moment; then she asked, "Er, Emily -- what exactly was it that Andrew did that you were so pissed off about? I just cannot imagine he would do anything awful."

"He probably already told you in detail for a laugh!"

"He didn't. I asked him but he said I ought to hear it from you."

"Really?"

Barbra nodded. "Really."

Emily looked at her a little shamefacedly. "Remember I was angry that morning? I went walking and I wanted to go to the cove, and so I took that path down -- but I lost my footing and slid down the steep stretch. I thought that was it, and I'd closed my eyes, and he must have been coming up right then, for he grabbed my ankles just in time and stopped me."

"Oh Em, you could have been killed!"

"I know. And I felt grateful enough, but I was wet and miserable and angry with myself and so I just bit his head off. And I wanted to go further down but he just barred my way and told me to go and use the path at the other end." She paused for a moment. "And when he said hello at the concert and everyone was there I couldn't undo my bad behaviour so I just snapped at him. Do you think it still rankles?"

"I don't think he bears you a grudge whatsoever," Barbra said with a smile. "I was initially afraid he might have called you something racist, but he said he hadn't. And later I found he had given shelter to an African boy for a long time."

"Really?"

"Seems he and his wife took in a refugee some time or other."

"Oh wow. Didn't his wife come to the concert?"

"He's a widower, you know."

"Oh -- I'm sorry. Okay. I'll apologise to him when we meet again. Do you think he's nice?"

"Yes, I do. A bit of a loner. He lost his wife and daughter quite some time ago. Why did you call him Mr Mud?"

"He was covered in mud then, actually."

"Er -- oh. Well, that may have been because you sent up a spray of mud, I suppose."

Em nodded. "I was in a bit of a mess then," she said. "Having Beau makes all the difference." She thought for a moment. "I really will have to do something about this Andrew; it won't do to let it be."

"Okay. No haste, Em; I suppose he will be happy to hear you're doing fine."

She drained the vegetables and finished the cooking. They had their dinner in the kitchen, talking about their parents, and Beau and John.

"Beau really is the very first man who is just what I hoped to find all along," Em said. "Sweet, funny, clever, witty... He seems to think I am, too." She smiled, thinking of him. "We are planning to get engaged."

"Oh sweetie, how fantastic! You must be very happy!"

Em beamed. "I am, you know. I couldn't be more so, I think."

Barbra got up to hug her sister. Then she sat down again. "Yoghurt? Or ice-cream?"

Em chose ice-cream, and they finished their meal enjoying the cold treat and smiling at each other. Em left fairly soon after dinner, and Barbra went and did the washing up listening to more jazz.

11 - Catharsis

On Tuesday evening John called to tell Barbra he'd booked seats for a new movie in town. He would pick her up on Saturday and they could have a drink and a dance afterwards. They talked for a while and then John said he had to go. He had an appointment at the firm, he said.

Okay. Barbra felt it would be really nice to go to the cinema together, but she wished John had had more time to talk. Their talk seemed to stay a little desultory, a little shallow. With Mike she'd always felt they really talked about things that mattered. And she was a little worried about all the calls John made. He said they were strictly for work -- but he didn't look as if he were conducting business when calling.

John... Oh dear. Maybe her friends were right and she was turning into an old spinster? Would she have embarked on trying to turn this into a working relationship if they hadn't been so happy for her? John was a very handsome man. He was attractive, she loved dancing with him and he really seemed to try his best. But... She shook her head. Was she fair to him? Or did she keep him dangling? She heaved a deep sigh. She just didn't know. Those telephones... Whenever they met he seemed to be on the phone, and he always ended his call immediately. She wondered whom he was calling. Always business? She supposed so. She certainly hoped so.

She tried to drive those thoughts from her mind. Better go and do something instead of worrying. She went into her study and answered a lot of emails. Then she hoovered the ground floor and sorted out the laundry, and before she knew it was time to go to bed. Safe!

Wednesday was a relatively short working day, and she went shopping after work. Then she went home and made herself a nice cup of tea. It was still early in the afternoon, and she took it into the living room and took Tim McGraw from its box. She sat down with her tea while the first CD began, and listened to the lyrics this time. Live like You Were Dying was a nice song, she thought. The next track was a little predictable -- not bad but less startling in its idea. Then came It's Your Love. Somehow it struck her like a hammer. It reminded her of how she had hungered for Mike, and how Em had Beau's name on her lips whenever they met. Oh Mike -- and oh, how she missed her parents. Just to See You Smile didn't make her feel any better. Then the bell rang.

She went to open the door. Andrew was standing there, holding a CD box in his hand. She beckoned him to come in, and she closed the door.

"Hello," he said. "I came to give you the box for that music." He looked at her. "Er... Are you

alright? You look grey."

"I er... I'm a bit blue. I er..."

"If I can help..."

She looked at him, and she felt the tears burn behind her eyes. He pulled a questioning face at her, and then the floodgates opened.

He smiled at her a bit crookedly and awkwardly put his arms around her.

"What is it, Barbra?"

She sniffed and cried and held on to Andrew as if she were about to drown.

"I don't know... I thought I was over my losses... I moved here to start again instead of running aground altogether. Mum and dad and Mike -- and the house we used to live in -- and then the loneliness, and the cold, and the disbelief -- they sent an officer round to tell me Mike had been killed and I just didn't believe him at first. But it was only too true. And then I came here and life seemed nice and slow and just sunny, and there were Joan and Mary, and I quarrelled with Em but it seems we got on together better and better -- but we always loved each other no matter what -- and I thought I'd overcome my losses..."

Her face worked and she started to cry again. Andrew held her tighter, and rocked her a little from side to side, looking at her and shaking his head. He made the occasional encouraging noise, but he refrained from commenting.

Barbra sniffed and she hesitatingly told him all about her parents and her husband, and how they'd done things together, and how nice life had been, and how everything had changed.

Then she said, "You know how loneliness feels... I tried to forget and tell myself I wasn't and sometimes I wasn't but sometimes I was, and Em being near helped even when we quarrelled again, and then I ran into John, and Joan and Mary don't stop singing his praises and he is handsome and he seems to be trying his best to please me but I just don't know. He doesn't feel like Beau seems to feel to Em or like Mike was to me, and he is always on the phone and I sometimes wonder if there is someone else, and I don't know if I trust him. But I feel awful for not trusting him and I think I'm not fair, and that makes it worse. But I was sitting listening to your CDs just now and then that song about your sweet name came along and I thought Mike, oh Mike, why did you die and I wonder if I'll ever feel like I did with him again and I certainly don't feel like that with John -- not as yet anyway, and I just don't know..."

She sniffled. "Sorry," she said. "I'm being silly, aren't I?"

Andrew shook his head. "No," he said. "You're not being silly at all, I think. I know what you're talking about, a little at least. I miss my girls every day."

Barbra tried to stop crying, and she made a good effort. "Yes," she said. "You must."

"So what are you going to do?"

Barbra shrugged helplessly. "I just don't know. What would you advise?"

"I wouldn't advise anything, really. It would be a little presumptuous. You've had even worse luck than I, I think."

"But if I were a young niece of yours?"

Andrew grimaced at that. "Well," he said, "then I would probably say what she already knew, too, that building a relationship on doubt may not be a good idea."

She nodded. "It's not. I do have to make sure I understand what I feel. Thank you, Andrew. I don't know -- it's probably that song that did it for me."

"I know," he said. "He's recorded another duet that I find even more painful." He sighed. "Oh well, it's a good song. I came to bring you the box with the titles. Do you still want it?"

"Yes, please. I will play it again alright. It's just that it gripped me just now." She smiled, albeit a little watery still. "It was good to talk about it. I really needed to, I guess; I'm feeling much better now."

"Sure?"

"Yes. I want a strong cup of tea, and then I'll go for a ramble to let the wind blow everything out of my system. Want a cuppa, too?"

"Not really -- I was supposed to meet my publisher in town. He'll wonder where I am; I'm usually rather punctual in my business contacts."

"Oh -- I'm sorry!"

"Well, I'm not. First things first, and he'll understand. Are you sure I can safely leave you?"