The Waif and the Stray

As he's finishing, one of the station staff comes to stand over us.

"Alright, Jude? Charming the ladies again, are ya?" he jokes, his laugh sounding a false note after Jude's playing.

"Yeah, alright John," Jude moves his hands to his lap.

"Plays well, don't he? He's one of the best that come here, he is." John continues to grin, directing his comments to me but not waiting for a reply. "This your girlfriend is it?" and before Jude can squeeze a reply in edgeways, John continues, "'Bout time you got yourself someone, Jude. Always on his own, this one."

John switches focus between us at a bewildering rate.

"This is Lou, John, and mind ya business, cheeky fucker."

My brain starts filling up with questions to ask John, like how long Jude's been coming here to play the piano and how often, and is he always on his own, really? But John's lost interest now in favour of a large, confused-looking bunch of students in need of herding.

"Where did you learn to play like that?" I ask Jude.

"Friend of me Nan's had a piano in her front room. Caught me tinkering with it one day, so she taught me. I just play by ear, nothing fancy."

"Sounds pretty fancy to me. Do you practice?"

"Not really. Don't exactly have a baby grand in my front parlour, if you know what I mean."

"Shame. I bet you could play for money."

"They throw you out if they catch you busking here."

"I didn't mean here, Jude. There's gotta be pubs and hotels would pay you to play?"

He doesn't answer. His gaze holds mine until sweat starts popping across my shoulders, as if I'm not perspiring enough already.

"Maybe," he concedes, eyes dropping back to the piano keys. He pushes a key, the note sounding plaintive. "You're a funny one, Lou."

I slump a bit. "I'm sorry, Jude. I didn't mean to be rude the other night."

"Look, I get you don't like talking about yourself, Lou. But you can't keep everyone at a distance forever. If it's not me, fair enough, but you have to start learning to let someone get close to you."

I want to curl up and disappear. And also thump him for making me feel shit. And protest that if anyone was to get close to me, I'd want it to be him. I don't do any of these things until I sense him making to get up and leave. I open my mouth.

"Time for one more?"

I don't dare catch his eye and hold my breath so I don't miss his reaction. He stretches his fingers a couple of times. The little bird vibrates tight and fast as Jude lifts his hands to the keys. The first notes are high, slow and beautiful. I don't recognise the song, but it's gentle. His mouth moves, marking out the lyrics to himself and his body sways next to me. I'm enthralled by how much he loses himself in it. He finishes with a flourish. A middle-aged couple offer a smattering of applause and big smiles as they walk by.

"That was beautiful. What was it?"

"That was just for you," he grins crookedly. Then, "I gotta go, Lou, sorry. Places to be. See you around?"

I nod, disappointed, even if I have no right to be. "Sure."

"What are you doing here, anyway?" he asks, straightening up.

"Here? Oh, I was on a course up at Hayward's Heath. Never been there before. Or here," I gesture around us, at the station.

"The station?" He grins at me when I nod. "What was the course? Did you get that job, then?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. The course was boring -- computer stuff, mostly."

"You going back to Hove now? Because you know you could've just got onto a train from here and it doesn't cost you anything extra if you stay on the platform? Come on, I'll show you."

I follow him as he lopes across the concourse, his lopsided gait so familiar, and stand silently as he explains my mistake to the bloke at the barriers, asks me to show my ticket, and I get ushered back through the gates. I turn.

"Hey, thanks Jude," but he's already walking away, his back to me.

+++

"Do you think management would spring for a portable air conditioner, Kev?"

His guffaw is loud and rude. "What do you think, Lou?"

"Each time I think I can't get any hotter, I do," I moan, fanning my face, pointlessly.

Our offices are basically inside a big tin box of a building, so there really is no hope in this weather. Or in any weather, since winter was just as uncomfortable.

"Think of me this weekend, then. My sister's insisting I help her take some stuff down the tip on Saturday, including a huge sideboard thing and a bloody piano, for fuck's sake. I'm going to be sweating my body weight by the time we're done."

"A piano?"

"I know. Ridiculous, innit. She got it for one of the kids, but he's shown no interest for years now, so she's getting rid of it."

"To the tip? Why doesn't she sell it?"

"Her fella earns a packet. More money than sense, them two. And when Tina sets her mind to something, she needs it done pronto."

"Blimey," but I'm not really thinking about Tina's profligacy. I'm thinking about a piano going free. "She's really getting rid of it?"

"Yes." Kev shoots me a look from over his computer screen. "Why? Interested?"

"Maybe. Not for me, but a mate," I add.

At lunchtime, I step outside for some air. Leaning against the warm wall I dial Jude, half hoping he won't answer. But he does.

"Hi. Lou?"

"Yeah, it's me, Jude. You got a minute?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Oh, no, nothing serious. I just -- well -- see, the bloke I work with, Kev, his sister has this piano she doesn't want anymore. They're taking it down the tip on Saturday, which seems mad to me, but I wondered if you wanted it? I mean, I don't even know if you've got room or what sort of piano it is, and Kev's getting his sister to take a picture of it, to send you, but --"

He interrupts my jittery flow. "A piano?"

"Yeah, right? I thought of you straight away, because, you know." I halt, warmth blooming in my chest.

Waiting for him to laugh at me. There's a short silence followed by a weird burst of noise, then just the sound of Jude's breathing.

"Jude?"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, I just needed to move somewhere quieter."

"Where are you?"

"The racecourse. Doing a favour for a mate. So -- a piano? Don't they want to sell it?"

I repeat what Kev's told me, feeling daft I've called Jude so impulsively, and wondering why I've stepped so thoroughly out of character. I'm usually so cautious I can barely let myself breathe.

"Oh, wait, Kevin's just sending me the photos of it. I'll forward them on to you, hold on."

A couple of minutes later I'm back inside the oven of an office and telling Kevin that his sister's piano won't be going to the tip after all.

+++

I'm working on Saturday -- still taking extra shifts in the warehouse for the money, even with the new job -- but Kevin keeps me updated with a series of funny photos depicting the removal and delivery of the piano to Jude's house. Looks like a crowd of blokes were necessary to move it. When his last text arrives, I sit staring at it for a while before responding.

-Piano safe and sound. Jude seems a nice guy. He's the mate who found you the place in Hove?

I don't know why it wigs me out so much. Maybe the realisation that the two ends of my new life here have suddenly joined up. Work and home. Kevin and Jude. My only two friends. Except that's not the whole truth now I live in a house with others who might -- probably should -- count as friends. I text back.

-Good to know the piano is happy. Yes, he's the mate who helped me move to Hove

It's a bit of a stretch to put it that way, but then, my pride's always been a problem. I sigh, pocketing the phone but it buzzes again, so I drag it out. It's not Kevin, but Jude.

"Hi."

"Lou, you gotta come over to meet the piano. She's a beauty."

"I'm at work."

"When do you get off?"

"Six."

"Come over then. We'll get a takeaway. On me."

I squeeze my eyes tightly, unable to keep the gratitude from flooding into my voice. Like me, he doesn't waste words, ending the call once he's got my reply, and I'm left with the familiar fluttering in my ribcage. This time, it feels more excited than fearful.

+++

I'm later than I'd planned. Partly because I got delayed at work. Mostly because I'd taken a shower before walking over to Jude's. My hair's still wet but I don't want to be any later, and although I'd texted him to warn him, I'm still fretting about it. I crash into Elli on the landing on my way out.

"You look nice. Going out somewhere?"

"Oh, uh, just to Jude's." I stop, not wanting to get into the whole piano thing, since that's just too much information. "Nowhere special," I add, lamely.

"Well, you look lovely anyway," she smiles kindly. "Never seen your hair down like that. It's beautiful."

"Ok, uh thanks. It's still wet," is all I can manage.

I flee, nearly tripping over myself. Was that a kind smile, or a knowing one? I debate it as I practically march down the street, fighting myself over why I care what Eliza thinks. Wishing I had a band to put my hair back up with because, somehow, arriving at Jude's with it loose feels like a signal of some kind, and I can't bear the idea of being that readable.

I'm at his front door before I've reconciled any of these concerns when one more crowds in. I've never been to Jude's house before. I raise my hand to knock just as the door opens. Jude stands there, looking as startled as I feel, a black bin bag heavy in his hand.

"Hi," we both say and then laugh. His eyes are wide.

"Tidying up?" I ask.

"Yeah. A bit."

We sidestep awkwardly around each other so he can reach the bin.

"Come in, then."

He waves me inside. The house is basically the same layout as the one I live in, but this one was last decorated sometime in the nineties. As we move through the hall, I catch traces of Jude's smell. Distracted, I barely make sense of what he's saying about food choices and menus.

"So, what'll it be?"

"What do you want, Jude?"

"I'm always up for a curry, but is that ok for you?"

I finally focus on the menus laid out on the kitchen table. "Curry's great. Show me what you want. Read it to me."

I hold up one of the menus. He gives me the side eye, but takes the menu anyway, opening it up. I ask him to read the headings, since those are English words, then wait to see what else he can recognise without my help. He's tripping his way through 'chicken tikka' when a big guy stumbles into the kitchen looking like he's just got out of bed. We blunder through some inadequate introductions until he exits, scratching at his wild hair and mumbling about taking a shower.

Jude raises one eyebrow, picks up his phone and orders the food. The kitchen is plain but tidy. Someone's stuck a pair of extravagantly frilly pink rubber gloves to the fridge door using a magnet that says, 'Look busy, Jesus is coming'.

"Yeah, those are Jill's. Blames the Catholics bigtime for her OCD. Anyway, come and meet the piano."

We retrace our steps to the front of the house. Most of the furniture is displaced. One chair sits in the middle of the floor and we weave around it to a dark, shiny piano that's the only thing which looks like it's in its right position along one wall.

"Yeah, we had to move stuff around," he waves a hand at the chaos, "because this needs to be over here, away from the radiator."

He sits on the stool. It's padded and looks comfier than the one at the station. He taps it and, as before, I perch on the edge.

"Do your housemates mind?" I ask.

"Nah. And anyway, the lease for this place is in my name. Which," he glances at me, "is ironic, as I can't even read it."

"Bet you could read most of it by now."

He issues a sceptical noise before tapping at a couple of the keys.

"So, it's a good piano, is it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's really good. Kevin's sister had it tuned once a year, apparently, so it's in really good nick."

His fingers run over the keys, pushing and stroking at them, not playing any one thing in particular. It's fascinating to watch. Playing musical instruments was very far from my childhood experience.

"You must've practiced tons to be this good."

"It's not like I had much else to do, really. Living with Nan was great in lots of ways, but I was used to being surrounded by loads of kids at home, so it was -- different," hesitant over that last word.

I think 'lonely' would've been a better description, but I keep that to myself. "You never had proper lessons, though?"

He shakes his head, still playing. "Not really. Renee, that was Nan's mate, she taught me a bit, but she'd learned to play by ear too, so we didn't ever use sheet music or whatever."

"And you can pick up songs just by listening to them?"

"Yep."

"You can really play." I feel silly saying it, but he sort of grins and checks my shoulder with his.

The rapping on the front door makes both of us jump. I wait, unmoving, while he goes to the door, his absence making me weak. Low voices, sounds of money changing hands, of someone -- another housemate -- running down the stairs, a short exchange with Jude, and then the door is closed with a sharp smack that rattles the windows. Throughout, I sit still, trying to organise my feelings into something rational. Something safe.

"You coming? We can eat in the kitchen," he interrupts me.

The food is great. We eat at the table and I spend as much time looking at Jude's forearms as I do eating. We're both quiet. I waver between feeling awkward and feeling good. And wishing I could read his mind. Maybe he invited me here out of nothing more than a sense of duty, to thank me for the piano, not because he wanted to spend time with me. Except we're eating dinner together. I swallow some of the beer he'd put in front of me.

"This is great curry."

"Yeah, isn't it? It's Mo and Al's favourite place."

"Figures."

"You ok in that house?"

I sit back, full. "I am. I'm not sure I've ever really thanked --"

"It's nothing," he stops me. "I'm glad it's working out."

I chew at my mouth, wondering if it's a dismissal. If this is Jude calling us quits. Evens. One favour for another, and now we're done? I sigh, out of ideas and experience. I've had boyfriends before. And sex. But that was back when I was at school. Years ago, and now I feel desperately out of sync. As though I can't catch onto the rhythm of someone else anymore.

"What's in the bag? Brought another romance for me to read to ya?"

And, like that, he lightens some of my tension.

"Nah. Actually, it's something for you." I lean over to pull my bag closer. It's a writing book. I slide it across the table. "Reckoned you could try this. And I could try to help you, if you want."

He flips through the pages.

"Ok. Don't suppose it can hurt to try."

His tentative tone makes me wince. I want the cocky Jude back, even though I know it makes me a fool.

"You're picking up the reading pretty fast, so I'm sure you'll learn to write if you put your mind to it."

He smiles at me. Finally, a smile. The weakness, the fluttering, the warmth -- it all comes back in a rush. I can't believe he can't feel it too. Or see it. But he shovels one more forkful of rice into his mouth before pushing the plate away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fuck, I needed that. Didn't get anything to eat today."

He tips his head to drink. His hand stops me as I reach to clear the table up. "I can do that later. Come on."

We head back to the front room. To the piano.

"Let's see," he pauses, stretching his fingers, "what's going to be good to play on this. Wow, you know I can't believe it. My own piano." His grin totally lights up his face. "Honestly, it's brilliant, Lou."

I swear I can feel the energy buzzing through him now. I hold my breath until he starts to play. Something bluesy. Half familiar. Fast and slow. His body jiggles and moves to the tempo. His playing more fluid in some parts than in others.

"I'm still learning this one," his tone apologetic.

"Really? Show me how you learn a song."

"Got your phone? Mine's upstairs."

I take it out of my back pocket.

"Um, you'll have to do it, because it takes me ages to find stuff," his smile falls a bit and I bite on the inside of my mouth.

"Ok, what am I searching for?"

He tells me, but it brings up lots of results so I show him the screen. He jabs a finger at it.

"How do you --"

"I can recognise pictures, Lou," he cuts me off, tersely.

"Sorry --"

"Naw, ignore me. Sorry." He takes a deep breath. "Ok, play this video. It's the best one for the sound of the piano in the song, see?"

It's a clip from a gig. I don't know the band, but I really like their sound. It plays all the way through, with Jude watching it closely, then he returns to a couple of places and replays it, his fingers ghosting over the piano keys.

"Ok, let's try this," he says, as though he's talking to himself.

And he is so absorbed, maybe he's forgotten I'm here. Even though we're crowded together on the piano stool, hips pressed together. I'm hyper-aware of our contact. It's making me sweaty, but I'm not moving. Not even a fraction. He plays the song two more times. Even to my cloth ears, it sounds better each time. More fluid.

"That's how you learn? From videos?"

"Yeah. When Renee was teaching me, she'd play alongside me and show me like that. And play her records for me. Then Mo showed me how I could use YouTube."

"Play something she taught you."

"Renee? Alright."

It begins really soft and slow. But the surprise comes when he begins to sing. The intimacy is shocking, like a brand being burned to my chest. He has a nice voice but I'm sure it could've been crap for all I'd care, because this is the first time anyone's ever sung for me. It's bewitching. I watch the side of his face, but he's entirely focused on the keys until the end, which he signals with one, short, light, note.

"That's lovely. I've never heard that before."

"No?" He glances at me quickly. "It's by a bloke called Alan Price. Renee adored him, said he was a proper musician and a real Geordie. That's where she was from -- Newcastle."

"It seems like it's a sad song, though."

"Mmm, maybe. The whole album is sort of autobiographical. Some of it reminds me of you, actually," this last bit coming out more quietly. Shyly, almost.

"The album?"

"No. This song though -- these lyrics especially," he adds before beginning to play. More briskly than before.

I listen to the lyrics more carefully this time as he sings, "'He'll never see his mother's face, or feel his father's hand. Who can you show when you succeed, in never-never land? He's afraid to have his fortune told, for fear what it might mean. He doesn't want the picture drawn, of things he has to dream.'"

He pauses.

"Why does that make you think of me?"

He inclines his head away from me, putting distance between us. "I imagine that's what it must be like to not have any family. No one to show things to. Stuff like that."

"Yeah, I suppose," I say, eventually. My voice sounds odd. Tight.

"Sorry, Lou. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but you seem so alone in the world. I can't imagine it."

"Don't worry about me, Jude. I'm ok. But, anyway, what about you?" needing to shift the focus away.

"Hey, my family's a mad cast of thousands."

"But you're not with them."

"No, I'm not," he shoots me an amused look, "but they're really modern gypsies, Lou. They have phones. They even know how to use them. So it's not like they disappear into the mist for months at a time. We stay in touch."

I roll my eyes at him, still struggling to stay in control of the feelings he's set free, my chest a noisy, beating maelstrom. Maybe I'm not hiding it as well as I'd hoped, because Jude's arms tug me into his chest. It's rough and clumsy, but the generosity of the gesture is enough. I relax into his hold, into the rub of his hand along one of my arms and over my back.