Lizzie

"As it should," Dwight said. "Okay. What can I do for you?"

Lizzie told him, and went to where Joe was sitting. "How's life?" she said.

"Good, good - almost finished preparations for Saturday night. Can I persuade you to sing?"

"Yes! I did some singing on the way - chanced upon a nice do. It felt like the old days with Zeb. I met an old friend of his, actually. We played one of our old songs."

"Alright! So do tell me..."

They sat talking music enthusiastically. Lizzie sang a few verses of the Prickly Bush to him.

"Think we can do that," Joe said. "Will you sing the melody?"

"If you can do so, I'll sing harmony. I've worked out a countermelody I'd like to try. I'll give you a copy of the words; they're really repetitive, so it shouldn't be a problem."

"Right! Good, we'll be having fun! Looking forward to it."

"So am I. You know -"

But then the number of her meal was shouted from the bar and Lizzie went to collect it. Joe told her there would be a change in the weather soon - she'd been very lucky it had stayed good for so long. She grinned at him and enthusiastically ate her food. The Oak was a really nice place, she thought. It always felt like a warm nest, and she was glad to be home.

The next week went by in a whirl. She travelled to town to discuss her new commission with Kevin and found it to be entirely to her liking. She could use some of the sketches she'd made on her walk. Jane Carlton's book was selling well, Kevin said, so she'd be in for some very decent money. "Lunch?" he said. "It's really a cause for celebration!"

Lizzie accepted eagerly; she had an appetite, and she liked Kevin. He had a lot of flair and style, and his lunches were always good. They walked to the small restaurant he frequented, and had a great meal together while Lizzie told him all about her walk.

"So you met a part of Zeb's past," Kevin said. "Was he nice?"

"Yes, he was. He's a nice bloke, cultured and musical. A bit like Zeb."

A big difference was that Dan was getting grey, she thought. But then, so would Zeb if he had lived. She smiled. It really was a long time now...

When she got home she found a small parcel on the mat. There was a CD inside with a short note from Dan explaining that this was the cassette with five of the songs he'd played with Zeb all those years ago. He regretted there weren't any more of them; hopefully she'd like it, he wrote.

She put it into the CD player straight away. The five tracks were obviously not really professionally recorded, but they were clear enough and Zeb's beloved voice came through beautifully. There was one recording of Zeb singing solo, and there were two duets with, she thought, Dan. The other two were instrumentals prominently featuring Zeb's mandolin, and there was a violin on one of those, too. She listened to the short CD twice, and then carefully put it down on the small table next to her favourite chair.

She found a card with one of her illustrations and wrote a short note back, thanking Dan for the CD and telling him that yes, she did like having it very much indeed. She took it to the post straight away. When she came back, she decided to give Geoff a call. She told him she would paint his pub in oils, some 16 x 26 inches big - or small, she said, but big for her. Would that be alright with him?

Geoff responded very enthusiastically. It definitely would, he said. Would she want him to come and collect it some time later?

Lizzie said she didn't quite know about that yet. She'd better go and paint first; it might not come off anyway.

Geoff replied that he hoped it would, and that he was very happy she would give it a try. He would wait to hear from her then. Okay?

The next morning Lizzie prepared a canvas; she had to give her new commission some thought first, and she had been mulling the pub thing in her mind. She wanted to try her hand in oils again, and when the canvas was ready for use she put it down on the easel and had lunch. After lunch she went over to Joe to try out her harmony vocals to the Prickly Bush. The weather was changing slowly. There was a slight drizzle and temperatures had dropped.

Joe and his wife Ellen were in the kitchen, doing the washing up.

"Hello, Lizzie," Ellen said. "I heard from Joe you had a good walk? And you must let me listen to your arrangement."

"I'll want to try it first. It may not be right, after all."

"I think you'll get it right then, won't you? Joe is determined to play the song with you this Friday night, and I would love to be the first to hear it."

"I promise we will let you have the first agony," Lizzie said with a grin. "Okay?"

"That's nice. Joe, give me that cloth. You go off and practice."

They went to Joe's study where his guitar hung on a nail. "Let me try," Joe said. "I suppose it will still be in tune..."

He took it off the wall and played a few chords. "It is," he said. "Let's do this in D, right?"

Lizzie nodded. "Perhaps you'd better play and sing the first part first, okay?"

Joe sat down on a stool and started to play; then he broke into the song, singing it rather like Dan had - but Dan had the nicer voice, Lizzie thought. Not that Joe's was bad, on the contrary. And she really appreciated his efforts to get the thing right.

"Okay?" Joe said.

"Yes! Very good! Shall we try and do the thing together?"

"Here goes. My fancy intro first..."

Lizzie let Joe sing the first stanza alone, and then she sang along. She found there were a few minor points that needed alteration, but after having gone through the song a couple of times she thought she had it right.

"Yes," she said. "That's it, I think. Okay?"

"It sounds very good to me," Joe said. "Shall we play it to Ellen? She is quite critical as a rule, so she will be a good touchstone, I think."

"Yes, please. Let's go and bother her."

Ellen listened to their performance without showing anything in her face. When they were ready Joe raised his eyebrows. "What do you think?" he said.

"Good. Very good; it's a nice tune and the harmony is really well done. You should try and turn it into four part harmony, Liz."

"Maybe, yes. Oh dear, I do have to give that some thought. But we won't be booed playing it this way?"

"Definitely not! Alright, folks - shall I put the kettle on?"

Lizzie stayed for about an hour, telling Joe and Ellen about her walk. Ellen, who had befriended her from the moment she came to live in the village, was happy to hear about the contacts she'd made, though she didn't say so. Lizzie seemed to be quite happy going it alone, and yet Ellen wasn't so sure. She didn't think that living alone would eventually suit her friend, not when the years were getting harder and longer. She always found that it was good to sit with Joe and talk, and that the simple fact that you could share your thoughts, and have someone react, maybe reassure you or just smile, worked wonders for her when days were grey.

Lizzie seemed quite unaware of all that, though. But the walk had been fantastic, that much shone through.

Once she was home from singing, she started on her painting. She wanted it to express the joy she'd found seeing it that morning, in a flash of colour - the warm red brick amidst the trees, with some barks already showing some autumnal yellow, and the packhorse bridge and the church flanking it.

She worked on it until seven and then she had to call it a day because of the light. She stood back and looked at it critically. It was coming on nicely, she thought. She knew she would be thinking about it in bed until she fell asleep, and that the outcome of all those thoughts would be manifest in the morning, so she could apply it to her canvas.

Time for dinner - a salad with smoked chicken and some pasta, and a glass of red wine. After dinner she went to the living room and put Liquid Acrobat into the CD player. She first played track four -

"And when the moon is misty

Through the trees right now

She says, 'I want to be your little girl...'"

Oh Zeb, she thought, how I miss you!

Then she played the album in its entirety, thinking of past times and of her walk. When the album ended she went to bed early.

She spent the next few days working on her painting. It somehow almost seemed to paint itself, she thought - she didn't have to rework it the way she often had, and it progressed much faster than she'd expected.

On Friday, when she was about halfway, she didn't paint; instead she went shopping in the next town, and she bought a nice new sweater to wear that night. She had a big lunch in town, and before the music night began she had a couple of sandwiches at home.

Okay. Time to go, and see how her song would fare. She put on her coat and left for the Oak. When she walked into the bar she felt there was a very tense atmosphere. She had no idea what it was, but she often knew when there was something wrong; there definitely was now. She got herself a drink and sat down. It wasn't long before she was sought out by Joe, who gave her a grim smile when he squatted down beside her chair.

"Hi Joe. What's wrong?" she said.

"You mean you haven't heard? Charles's place got burgled when he was visiting his sister in London. It seems they didn't take anything - he doesn't have anything worth stealing, I suppose - but they made a mess of things. They broke the back door and they wrecked the neck of his mandolin. It's irreparable. He refuses to come here tonight - he says he doesn't just want to sit and listen. Fred went round to try and persuade him to come, but he won't change his mind."

"Oh no... Poor Charles. He loves playing so much..." She sat looking at Joe, aghast at the senseless destruction of an old man's joy. Then she suddenly brightened up. "I've got an idea. I'm going to try and get him round. Won't be long!"

"You'll never get him to come."

"I'll have a flaming good try. Just you wait!"

She got up, turned around and walked out into the night air again. Five minutes to reach home, then another five to Charles's place. This was absolutely intolerable. And it was a much better idea to give Zeb's mandolin to Charles than to let it sit indefinitely on top of the study bookcase.

She had a momentary qualm when she took the instrument down from its perch, but when she opened the case and looked at it, she was quite certain of herself again. It would be used the way it should, and when she pictured Zeb's face in her mind, he grinned at her. Right! It felt exactly right. She quickly dusted the case with her handkerchief and went on her way.

Charles lived in a small cottage, that was as well-kept as his meagre pension allowed. He sat disconsolately staring at nothing with his head in his hands, wondering how on earth he would be able to buy himself a new mandolin. His old one had been expensive and he didn't want to use a cheaply-made, tinny-sounding plaything. And he was damned if he was going to sit there listening to the others play, while he was reduced to a mere part of the audience... Participating was half the fun. He had to fight his tears. Damn, he was too old for those!

Lizzie hurried up the narrow path to his front door, and insistently rang the bell. Charles got up reluctantly. If it was another of these men trying to get him to come... It was Lizzie. He really liked the lass; she was a good un'. But he thought she would probably have been sent by the men.

"I'm sorry, love - but I'm not coming. I'm afraid I can't..."

"Charlie, please! I've brought you Zeb's mandolin. It's been waiting for a new owner and fingers to play it again for years. I think it's a good instrument... Won't you try?"

Charles stood transfixed, looking at her. "Zeb's mandolin? But..."

"I'll be glad to hear you play it!"

"Do you mean that? Really?"

Lizzie nodded. "Yes!" she said. "Please! I'd be very happy if you would have it."

Charlie looked at her wide-eyed. He took the case from her with trembling fingers, opened it and picked up the instrument, and touched the strings. "It has a lovely sound," he said. "But it's out of tune."

"It would be - it hasn't been touched since Zeb died."

Charlie started to tune it. He had absolute hearing, and it didn't take him long. Then his fingers lovingly started to play a dance tune, and he grinned at Lizzie with tears in his eyes.

"Damn," he said, and sniffed. "I had promised myself not to cry... Thank you so much, Liz - this is fantastic!"

"Good," she said. "I can buy you new strings, too. Shall we go and join the others?"

Charles nodded. He wiped his eyes, carefully restored the instrument to its case, put on his coat and picked up his keys.

They walked to the pub together, with Lizzie doing the talking. Charles felt too overwhelmed to say much, but he nodded and grinned at her.

The regular gang at the pub had seen Lizzie leave again without giving her a ghost of a chance. They knew Charles, who was a truly mild-mannered, soft-spoken fellow, to be very stubborn at times. And this definitely was one of those. But somehow it prevented them from getting into the right spirit and the playing they did, didn't feel right. As if someone had died, Joe thought. Small wonder that when Lizzie and Charles entered, the bar fell silent. Then they were met with a loud cheer.

"Good evening, boys," Charles said. "I have been given Lizzie's mandolin to use. Now isn't that wonderful?"

Judging by the enthusiastic applause everyone thought it was. Dwight, the publican, who knew his regulars' preferences, drew them a pint of stout and half a cider, respectively.

"That's on the house," he said with a grin. "Good to see you, Charles!"

Charles grinned and nodded. "Thank you," he said. Then he sighed deeply, sat down, took out the mandolin and almost reverently touched its smooth body and felt the strings. He looked up for a moment to flash Lizzie a warm smile, and put up his thumb. She grinned back.

Joe eyed Lizzie for a moment and nodded at her appreciatively. Just like her, he thought. Then he looked at Charles with a wolfish grin and picked up his guitar. "Charles," he said, "The Hag with the Money?"

Charlie nodded, got up and walked over with his new instrument to where Joe was standing. He played a G, and Joe tuned his guitar to Charlie's standard height. Then he nodded at his friend and they broke into the jig with verve.

It was a good, lively rendition. Somehow the players all fell right into the spirit of things again, and the strained atmosphere was entirely forgotten. James Barnes, a lank, awkwardly moving fellow with a wicked sense of humour but a very sensitive soul, rosined his bow and joined the two others, jiggin happily along, making faces and grinning like a devil. When they'd reached the end, there was a thundering round of applause.

Lizzie loved it. She thought the music was wonderful, spirited and bright, and the best thing was the blissful look on Charles's face. She looked at him and gave him the thumbs-up. He nodded at her, and walked over to where she was sitting.

"Thank you so much, lass!" he said. "You don't half know how much I appreciate this!"

"That's alright, Charles - I'm so glad to see you look your old self again. Loved the music!"

Charles grinned and gave her a hi-five. "Good!"

Then he walked back to his usual haunt. Lizzie sat back, enjoying the atmosphere and her drink, and looking at her old friends play.

Then Joe announced he would go and play the Prickly Bush. "I only just learnt this from Lizzie this week. It's a song that was done by Eddie and Finbar Furey, but the harmony is by Liz. Coming?"

Lizzie went to the open space and nodded to Joe.

"Alright?" he said.

"Ready!"

Joe started, playing his fancy intro, and then sang the first verse.

"It's oh, the prickly bush

Pierces my heart full sore

And if ever I get away from that bush

I'll never get caught any more..."

Then Lizzie joined him. Her contralto warbled around Joe's lines with gusto and finesse, and the audience sat listening to them smiling. Only about half of them could remember Zeb, but the ones who did knew she used to sing with him and think up harmonies. So she hadn't lost the knack!

They were cheered when the song ended. Joe shook hands with Lizzie, and they grinned at each other.

"Care to sing anything else?" Joe said.

Lizzie shook her head. "Maybe next time," she said. "I'm tired. But I'd love to arrange things for another time!"

"I'll keep you at your word! You heard what she said, folks?"

The people near nodded.

"We did. I'm looking forward to more from you. I didn't know you could sing!" one of them said.

Lizzie smiled, and walked to the bar to get herself another drink. Then she sat down and ran her hands over her face. She was tired, really tired, and she finished her drink while listening to the men play and then went home.

There was a slight drizzle, so she came home wet and she was so tired she stood swaying on her legs. But she was happy she'd gone - and the smile on Charles's face had been worth millions!

XII

Progress on her oil painting stalled a little. Over the previous week the illustrations for the new project had formed in her head, and she wanted to commit her ideas to paper now they were still fresh. The oil painting was about halfway, and she knew exactly how she wanted to continue, so that could rest. She had wheeled her easel into a corner of the studio and went to work at the drawing board, first indicating some contours in a very soft pencil, and then putting down the outlines with a thin brush. When she had ensured she wouldn't lose the ideas again in time she selected the one she would finish first. She put the others in a folder. Then she began working in earnest, filling in the shapes and colours she had envisaged in the time between waking and falling asleep, the time when she got the best ideas if she didn't actually dream about her work.

She always worked following a rigid routine, from nine to five with a thirty minute break at twelve, but one with enough coffee to keep going. The coffee stood on a side table. Once she had upset a cup over a nearly finished painting, and she wasn't going to do that ever again. Her drawing board contained just the stuff she really needed and nothing else.

The commission was not too hefty, and she expected it would cost her between two and three weeks on a four-day scheme. Kevin had asked for the stuff to be ready within five, so she had more than enough time. It would be nice if she could finish sooner, though. She nodded to herself as she saw the first picture grow from some vague, grey smudges into the real thing. It was exactly how she had pictured it while half asleep. After another thirty minutes she felt it was ready. She always got a slight shiver down her back indicating it was time to stop, and if she didn't obey her hunch she was certain to ruin things. It worked every time.

She consulted her watch. Twenty to five; time to call it a day. She made the studio presentable and cleaned her brushes. It was good to start with a clean slate. The finished picture was left on the drawing board; she would put it into her portfolio the next morning. Okay - time for a drink.

Lizzie went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of red wine. The weather was not nice enough to sit in the garden any more, so she went to the living room. She put Zeb's CD into the player and sat back to listen. A couple of days ago she had tried to sing along, but that had given her such a pang of loneliness that she'd decided not to do so any more.

She loved to listen to it, though. The voices of the two young men - she didn't know exactly when the songs had been recorded, but it must have been before she'd met Zeb; he would certainly have told her - blended together well. She wished she'd known Dan too, way back then. She recognized his voice, she thought, but his grownup voice was fuller and more confident. It was a little lower than Zeb's, but still too high for a baritone. She pictured him standing in the pub in her mind's eye, holding his guitar and announcing that she would be singing the Night Visiting Song. Yes. He was a very nice guy.