Notes Out of Time

By Ann Pattison

Juliette picks up a saxophone for the first time in years when Christian, who was once the love of her life, dies and leaves her a fortune. She is determined to give the money away but there's a terrible row. Her family have already made plans... To keep everyone happy, she tries to raise money another way, by giving saxophone lessons to a young boy with autism. His desperate thirst for music reminds her of Christian. At last the boy picks up a tune and plays it again and again, with no variation. This brings back memories. Before she can solve her problems, Juliette has to face up to the past...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 31, 2011
• ISBN: 9781447576655

Book preview

children.

Chapter 1

Juliette reached for the sponge, rubbed it with soap and stretched out, languishing in the coconut-scented lather. ‘We can pamper ourselves,’ she thought. ‘Travel. Somewhere exotic. Japan, Africa, Prague, Budapest and St. Petersburg. Holidays in France whenever we want.’

The bathroom door opened and Peter started to lower himself in.

‘Move up, can’t you, darling. Hey, this water isn’t half hot.’

Juliette slid back as far as she could to make room for Peter. He needed to relax a bit more, she decided. Forty-eight last month. Time to start taking things a bit more slowly. His hair was thinning on top and the lines round his eyes were getting longer and deeper.

‘I was thinking about all the places we could go to,’ she said dreamily.

‘We might even be able to get that boat you’ve always hankered after.’

‘Hang on a minute. Don’t get carried away. Claire might have got it wrong. Are you sure you’ve really been left all that money?’

‘Claire’s German is pretty good. She was brought up in Berlin. Her dad was in the forces over there. She wouldn’t have got it wrong.’

‘Even so, some third cousin twice removed could come crawling out of the woodwork. Ten million Schillings are a lot of money.’

Juliette squeezed out the sponge and put it on the side of the bath. ‘Christian’s lawyer seems to have checked everything.’

‘Who was he exactly, this Christoph or whatever his name was?’

‘Christian? Someone I knew in Austria years ago. I did tell you about him when I first met you. Don’t you remember?’

‘I was more interested in you than in all your ex-boyfriends. What was he like?’

‘Nothing special, bit of a know-all. Tall and angular looking. Drank too much. Spoke English with an American accent.’

‘Good musician, was he?’

She nodded. ‘People thought he’d become a concert pianist but something went wrong. He was too mechanical. Loads of talent but a bit of a loner. He took me to the opera once. Aida, I think. No, it was Fidelio. The one with the prisoners’ chorus. I couldn’t see that much. We had student seats and were stuck behind a pillar. It didn’t bother him though. He had his head in the score all the time.’

Peter blinked, screwing up his eyes two or three times in rapid succession. He always seemed to do that when he was a bit on edge.

‘Did he? I saw some people like that once when I went to Covent Garden. Seemed a bit freaky to me. Couldn’t quite get the point of going to an opera and not seeing anything.’ He jumped out of the bath abruptly. ‘If I don’t get moving, I’ll be late for work. Did you put out a towel for me?’

‘Sorry, I forgot. Take mine. I’ll use my bathrobe instead.’

Juliette ran some more hot water into the bath and lay back again for a moment. It was the day after Fidelio that she’d heard him at the piano. Her words came back to her as if she’d only just formulated them. ‘I’m sorry, Christian, I didn’t realise.’

‘Didn’t realise what?’

‘That you have music bursting out of every vein, that you have so much music inside you that you could explode if you don’t let it out.’

She stepped onto the mat and pulled out the plug. Poor Peter, she thought. The carpet’s been yanked from under his feet. What will he say to his friends? Nothing, most likely. He’ll pretend everything’s the same as it always has been.’ It wasn’t fair. She’d short-changed him somehow. There was a lot she could, no should, have told him about Christian. What words could she find to express it after all those years? The pain was so sharp she hadn’t allowed herself to think about him even. The letter had changed everything, engulfing her in a wave of fears, regrets and might-have-beens.

Peter came back into the bathroom. ‘I’m off now. See you tonight. By the way, I’ve been thinking. Why don’t you ring that guy Palmer? ‘

‘Who?’

‘Our solicitor. The one who did our wills for us.’

‘Is he still around? I thought he’d be retired by now.’

‘I don’t think he is. His name was still on the plate by the door when I walked past there the other day. It wouldn’t hurt to get some advice before we get our hopes up too much. It seems a bit too good to be true. Anyway, you might have to go out to Austria to sign papers and so on. They’re not just going to send such a large cheque through the post are they?’

‘I suppose not. You’re right. I’ll give him a ring. See you tonight. Don’t forget it’s my Keep Fit evening, will you?’ she said planting a kiss on his cheek.

Juliette shivered and pulled the towel tighter round her. Would she really have to go back to Austria? She was not sure whether she wanted to. Who would look after the kids? There was no way she could have time off work even if she was part-time. It was getting more and more complicated every minute. It was beginning to dawn on her. Since she’d been with Peter, things had been uncomplicated. She’d forgotten the complications that Christian had brought into her life. For her, he’d ceased to exist long ago. Their parting had been a kind of death. He had been pushed into a secret menu file in the back of her mind. Now he was gone, the file had been reloaded and she couldn’t delete it.

It was a chilly evening. There were only ten or eleven of them in the church hall. Strains of Country and Western music filled the room. There was Claire at the back, prostrate on her exercise mat. Spreading her rug out beside her friend, Juliette began to cycle in the air.

‘Backwards now,’ the instructor called out. As her legs tried desperately to move in the same direction, Juliette turned her head towards Claire. ‘Did you get here in time for the warm up?’ she whispered, watching her friend create perfect circles in the air.

‘Only just. I’m running out of puff already. Hey, what did Peter say?’ The instructor stretched up on her haunches, glaring in their direction. ‘On your feet, ladies. Time for the chair exercises.’

‘Tell you later,’ Juliette muttered, clinging on to the chair. She swung her right leg backwards and forwards at right angles to it. All the others, apart from a large voluble woman called Helena were swinging out with the left leg.

Claire reached across to open the door on Juliette’s side. ‘I don’t know about you, but I don’t half ache,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why I go sometimes. I couldn’t wait to get out of there tonight. Now what were you going to tell me?’ she wheedled. I’ve been thinking about you nonstop since Monday. I can’t get over it. Fancy you coming into all that money! What are you going to do with it?’

‘Steady on. I haven’t got it yet. It’s quite involved. I rang our solicitor today. He says I really ought to go over there.’

‘Where?’

‘Austria. I can’t say I’m very keen. Too many memories. I was wondering. Would you like to come along? It would make things so much easier. You know how rusty my German is. Don’t worry about the cost. I’ll treat you. It’s the least I can do.’

The engine stalled. ‘Do you really mean it? When were you thinking of going? I’ve got a week’s leave to take before the end of March.’

‘How about next month? In my half term. That’s if Steve doesn’t mind looking after your two. I’ve already twisted Peter’s arm. ‘

‘Steve’s always saying he’s better with them than I am. It’ll give him a chance to prove it.’

‘You’ll have to sing for your supper, though. Speak to that lawyer and so on. Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘Of course I don’t mind. I’m over the moon. There’s just one thing. When you came round on Monday, you promised to fill me in, but then as soon as I’d translated the letter you rushed off.’

Juliette blushed. ‘Sorry. It was a bit of a shock. I didn’t mean to be rude.’

‘That’s all right. No offence. But who was Christian? We’ve been friends for fifteen years but you never even mentioned his name. You really are a dark horse. What was he like? Where did you meet him? ‘

‘On a doorstep. In Salzburg.’

‘How romantic. So he picked you up then?’ Claire raised her eyebrows in mock prudery.

‘Not exactly. I was ringing my friend’s doorbell. But she was out. As I was walking away, this guy turned up, looking for someone else who was staying in Trixie’s flat. She wasn’t in either, so we went to the music shop to buy a record. You’re going to say I was a shameless hussy, going off with him like that, aren’t you?’

Claire giggled. ‘Never!’ she said. ‘Mind you, you never struck me as the forward type.’

There was a faraway look on Juliette’s face. ‘I never thought to refuse. He wasn’t a man you said no to. I’d have followed him anywhere.’

Chapter 2

Catherine bounced into the kitchen. ‘Mum, we’re going to a gig on Saturday night.’

‘Who’s we?’

‘Zoë and Tasha and me.’

‘And I, ‘

‘All right, Zoë and Tasha and I. we’re all sleeping over at Tasha’s.’

‘Where is this gig, then?’

‘Up town somewhere. I’ve been there before. That club with alternative music.’

‘New Age hippies, you mean?’

‘Mum!’ hissed Catherine. ‘It’s not New Age. It’s alternative.’ In her Doc Martens, baggy jumper from Oxfam and black micro skirt, Catherine was certainly that. At sixteen, too. ‘You know we’re not keen on your going up to London at night,’ Juliette ventured, in a token attempt at better parenting. ‘How will you get home?’

‘Tasha’s dad’s picking us up. He’s got a company car, a BMW, M3 Series. Dead swish.’ She waltzed off out of the room.

‘Mum,’ Ben asked suddenly, ‘Are you really going away at half term? Can we come?’

‘I’m sorry, another time perhaps. It’s a business trip.’

‘But it’s half term,’ he wailed. ‘What about all the things we were going to do? You promised to take Simon and me to the Trocadero.’

‘Dad’s taking you instead.’

‘Why can’t you go the week after, then we could all go somewhere at half term?’

‘I have to be in college Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays. You know I can’t just take time off when I want to.’

‘But I thought it was business.’

‘It is, but it’s personal business.’

‘What sort of business? I wish someone would tell me what’s going on. I heard Dad whispering something to Catherine. He sounded dead excited.’

‘I’ll tell you later when you’ve done your homework.’

‘Why can’t you tell me now? I won’t be able to concentrate.’

Juliette sighed. ‘If I tell you now, promise you’ll get on with your homework straight away?’

‘Promise.’

‘Well, I’m going to Austria because I’ve been left some money.’ ‘Have we got relations there, then? You never told me.’

Juliette shook her head. ‘It wasn’t a relation. It was someone I used to know a long time ago. ‘

‘A girl you went to school with?

‘No, a man.’

‘A friend of your dad’s?’

Catherine reappeared in the doorway. ‘Don’t be stupid, Ben. It was a bloke she went out with.’

Ben turned back to face Juliette. ‘Why has he left his money to you? Didn’t he have a family?’

Catherine glared at her brother. ‘Don’t be so nosy, Ben. Can’t you see you’re upsetting mum? He must have been mad about you to leave you all his money,’ she sighed, looking wistfully at Juliette. ‘Perhaps he spent all his life pining after you.’

‘I don’t think so. He wasn’t like that,’ she said, slicing the apples and sprinkling them with spice.

‘What are you going to spend the money on? Can we go to Disneyland? Simon went last year. He said it was cool.’

‘I’d rather go to Jamaica myself,’ Catherine said.

Juliette opened the fridge and took out a packet of pastry. ‘We’ll have to see,’ she said. ‘It’ll be a few months before it all comes through and I don’t know how much there’ll be. We can start making plans when I come back from Austria. Look, you’ll never get any Strudel at this rate. I’ve still got to roll out the pastry. Go and get on with your homework.’

Some cinnamon had been spilt on the worktop. She picked up a cloth to wipe it up. The smell suddenly reminded her of Frau Zimmermann. It was years since she’d thought about her. Was she still alive? Perhaps they could look her up. Not many landladies would have taken the trouble to teach the lodger how to make Strudel. Pity they hadn’t kept in touch. It wasn’t Frau Zimmermann’s fault. The letters and cards had kept coming for years but Juliette could never bring herself to write more than a Christmas or birthday card. You ought to be grateful to people who helped you when you were in trouble, she thought, but it reminded to you too much of the trouble, that was the problem. So, what happened was that you lost contact. By keeping them at arm’s length, you kept the memory of the trouble at arm’s length, too. Still, she did feel bad about Frau Zimmermann. She hadn’t deserved to be treated like that.

How many years was it since they’d last been in touch? Ten, twelve, fifteen, perhaps? She couldn’t remember. And how long was it since she was last in Austria? No need to work that one out. It was twenty-two years.

‘Twenty-two years,’ she repeated to herself. Twenty-two years since she last saw Christian. Twenty-two years since she last played. Where was the instrument anyway, up in the loft or under the stairs? She’d look for it tomorrow when the kids had gone off to school.

It wasn’t under the stairs. Everything else might be, but not what she was looking for. There was nothing for it, she’d have to get the ladder out and climb up into the loft.

As soon as she pushed open the trapdoor, her nose began to itch. The next thing she knew, she couldn’t stop sneezing. She put her hand on the light switch and flicked it down. The bulb flickered for a moment and went out again.

She climbed down the ladder again and fetched a torch. She turned it on and pointed the beam at some old tea chests. She might find what she was looking for behind there, under the eaves. She pulled back an old sheet covered in dust and peered underneath. Two old dolls were propped up on the rafters, Rosie, the one with the crack down her nose, and Angélique, the wooden doll from Canada, with black hair painted on her head. The blue fur-edged cape she was wearing was the one that Mum had bought for her.

Her eyes were beginning to water now. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket, dabbed her eyes dry, and then shone the torch round once more. A circle of light bounced along the wall, revealing a large black case. She prised open the catches, her heart beating. She’d found it at last! She released the mouthpiece section from its nest in the silky lining. It was almost a shame to disturb it. In the gloom, she ran her fingers round the mouthpiece like a blind person meeting a long-lost friend. She wiped it with the tissue and blew. The tone was good, considering. The reed was still playable and the other sections seemed to be okay, too. The C sharp pad had worked loose but apart from that, everything was fine. She closed the case and carried it down to the bedroom.

She rubbed grease on the cork, fitted the sections together and slipped the strap over her head.

‘One, two, three, four,’ she counted and started to play. It wasn’t a tune she’d played before. It came, unbidden, from the depths of her being. She felt the sax quiver and shake. Suddenly she stopped. ‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘It’s no good. I can’t.’

Chapter 3

Peter watched the two women disappear into the departure lounge. There was Claire striding through the barrier but where was Juliette? She seemed to have melted into the crowd. A thousand questions raced through his mind. Would she be all right? Should he have gone with her? Would she have wanted that? Would she come back with a fat cheque? What would they do with the money when they got it?’ What blurred his thoughts most of all was Christian. What was he like? How well had he known Juliette? Why had he left his money to her?

You could see the mountains from the hotel window if you craned your neck to one side and looked over the white-painted houses with their window boxes and slatted green shutters. ‘It’s not exactly the Hilton, I’m afraid,’ Juliette said, ‘but it was all I could get at short notice.’

Claire smiled. ‘It’s fine by me. Cosy and friendly. I love that bluestained wardrobe with the petals painted on it.’ She picked up her sponge bag. ‘I’m just going to pop in the shower before we see this lawyer guy. I won’t be long.’

The lawyer was a short, balding man in his early fifties. ‘Grüss Gott. Grüss Gott,’ he said, ushering them into his office. A tall girl with chestnut hair came into the room, carrying a large folder.

‘That must be the will,’ Claire whispered. ‘Exciting, isn’t it!’

Herr Schmitz muttered away in German for ages. Every so often, there was a pause as Claire stopped to fumble through the dictionary. ‘He wants to know if you have any questions,’ she said at last.

Juliette thought for a moment. ‘How long will it take for the money to come through?’

‘I’ve asked him that. A few months or so, he says. Good job you haven’t spent it all already.’

‘What about the funeral? Who arranged it all?’ Juliette asked, ignoring Claire’s remark.

‘The landlady. He left her plenty to cover it.’

‘Where’s he buried? Perhaps we ought to go and see the grave.’

‘Steady on. I can’t remember the word for ‘buried’. I’ll have to look it up.’

The lawyer answered Claire with a tirade of high-speed German. She frowned for a moment and thumbed through the Collins. Then she turned to Juliette.

‘There isn’t a grave. He was cremated.’

‘Was he? Well, if that’s what he wanted. By the way, did you find out what he died of?’

‘Hang on a minute. My German doesn’t run to medical stuff, but I’ll try.’

The lawyer’s impassive features clouded and the conversation slowed. Juliette recognised the odd word here and there but that was all. Claire was leaning forward, listening intently.

‘He’s using lots of long words I’ve never heard before but I think he’s trying to tell us that Christian drank himself to death, to put it crudely. Sorry, Juliette.’

‘I’m not surprised. He always drank too much. Especially after..’ Juliette stopped in mid-sentence.

‘After what?’

‘Nothing.’ She looked up, forcing