Beat Girl

Chapter #4 | Brand New Start

The movers had arrived early, but I was home in time to let them in. I had just changed into my favourite pair of jeans when the doorbell rang. Pulling a white jersey top over my head, I rushed down the stairs. Fortunately, there was no one else in the house, which meant I could direct the workmen without any disturbance as they manoeuvred my mother’s piano into the house. There was one difficulty, though. The piano was grand, and the living room was anything but. Tom lived in a modest terraced house, and the living room was already filled to bursting point with African-inspired furniture, leaving scant room for the Steinway. 

The African theme in the décor was not a case of random taste but was, in fact, the imprint Tom’s second wife had left on the place. Despite the fact she had left him a year ago to go back to Africa, which I couldn’t help but feel was an act of karma, it seemed Tom was reluctant to let go of any of the pieces. Although, the truth may have been that he simply didn’t feel like forking out on a new living room. 

‘Okay, keep going, keep going…’ I instructed the movers as they attempted to get the instrument through the doorway.

‘Slowly, slowly… Easy!’ I winced as the piano nearly bumped into the wall.

‘Wait!’ My shout caused one of the movers to buckle, and it was thanks to the other two holding it up that the piano didn’t come crashing down.

I sensed the movers’ irritation.

‘I’m sorry. It belonged to my mother,’ I tried to explain, but my words appeared to fall on deaf ears.

All three of the men slowly placed the piano on the ground for a brief respite, before resuming their arduous task. However, just as they got the grand piano poised in the air once again, another voice boomed out, causing them to stop.

‘Watch the walls!’ Tom appeared in the doorway. The piano blocked his way from actually entering the room. ‘What’s going on?’ He stared at the piano, then looked at me pointedly. ‘I thought we had an agreement?’

Annoyed at his interference, I stood defiantly, arms akimbo.

‘This thing goes in the back room,’ Tom said in a decisive tone, prompting the movers to lift the piano and begin reversing.

‘The acoustics are much better in here,’ I challenged Tom.

The workmen, lumbering under the weight, began to emit stifled groans.

‘Carry on,’ I told the movers firmly.

But Tom was not so easily played. He inserted himself between the workmen and the spot that I had designated for the piano.

‘The condition for you bringing the piano into the house was that it would go into a room where you can shut the door and not disturb the rest of us.’ Tom tried to stay calm, but I could see he was struggling. 

I particularly resented the way Tom was now presenting the situation, as though it had been settled in some iron-clad contract. He had never once told me that there was an actual condition on the piano being brought to the house. Him showing me the study as the room he had designated for the piano did not constitute an agreement. And even if, in Tom’s mind, such a statement equalled to a stipulation, surely any agreement was based upon both sides actually agreeing? I didn’t recall saying anything about it. But why was I so surprised? Tom had never given me reason to believe he was either reasonable or understanding. 

‘Take your time, why don’t you? This thing’s light as a feather,’ one of the workmen interrupted us gruffly.

‘But this is the best room for it,’ I pleaded, frustrated that I had to practically beg. With all that I had been through, Tom should have been trying to make my life easier, not harder. Especially if he wanted to show me he was willing to make up for not being there for me. The situation was beyond exasperating.