The Lesson

I counted the flowers on Mrs Farrell's curtains instead of learning where middle C was. Thirty-seven roses. I counted them every Tuesday for two years.

The boy had no ear, no interest and no intention of developing either. Lovely hands. Wasted on him entirely but his mother paid on time.

I sat outside in the car because Mrs Farrell said I made him nervous. I could hear scales through the open window. They sounded beautiful.

The old piano’s against the wall. I lifted the lid for the first time in years. Middle C is still where it was. Mum isn't.