Clinkerstone by Michael Kearns

Author:Michael Kearns
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781781484548
Publisher: Grosvenor House Publishing
Published: 2015-02-05T00:00:00+00:00

Rallentando e Smorzando

Given that I had rashly thrown my key into the garden before storming off, I had to scale the balcony and jemmy open the French windows. I was hungry, but so tired that after only half a bowl of Cheerios, I went off to bed. Why I kept buying that ridiculous food I’ll never know.

I woke a few hours later. The rain had stopped and without its constant rhythm on the roof, I felt strangely empty. But as I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, a faint but curious odour began to take my notice. Marion never wore any perfume but did exude a curious scent when she was tense or excited. The closest thing I can compare it to is re-fried spaghetti and meat balls, and although this sounds unpleasant, I have to admit to liking the smell. As she admitted much later, she was glad to come upon the half eaten bowl of cereal and my nakedness on the unmade bed.

With this scent in the air, sleep became impossible, so I tiptoed down the stairway and gently opened her bedroom door. I sat down on a cushioned stool beside her bed and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness she gradually appeared, the bedcovers moving to the rhythm of her breathing. Plenty passed through my mind, not that I can remember much detail now. One thing is for sure, I very nearly got in beside her. Her face was relaxed and still, with a beauty which seemed all the greater, given what I knew of her inner conflicts. As for me, my intentions swung between caution and abandonment – able to talk myself into either scenario. In the end I tiptoed out, and even now I’m not sure why the pendulum stopped at that.

The next morning I was up early with the clear notion to cook a serious breakfast – orange juice, omelette, bacon, toast, and proper ground coffee. The cheese omelette even had fresh flat leafed parsley cut into it, our first taste from the garden. I suppose it was partly to make amends and she took it well, very surprised that I could even cook.

But this was a mere prelude to the important decision – to show her the music, something that I should have done earlier.

‘And what may I ask are you doing?’ she inquired as I placed the manuscript on the piano stand.

‘Come have a closer look … Come, sit down!’

‘You know I do not play this monster,’ she still claimed. ‘So, just kindly tell me what this is?’

Marion hated to be cajoled into anything, and while it is not in my nature to demand things from people, I made an exception and insisted that she sit down. With twisted expression she finally lowered herself onto the piano stool.

‘This is Charles’s writing … And where did you find this?’

‘He gave it to me.’

‘Gave it to you? Now why would he do that?’

‘To be honest … I’m not completely sure

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