Times of Trouble

After a couple of hours passed, in which I kept my mind distracted by playing the 72nd bar of 32 Beethoven Sonatas, mum came back in and sat down on the sofa.

‘Why don’t you play something for me?’ She always said that when she could tell I was playing a bar. It was so rare that I played whole pieces anymore and mum missed it. She hated the jumbled sounds of the 59th or the 104th or the 602nd bar of every piece I could bring to mind. I turned around on my stool, inviting her to tell me what was going on.

‘What would you like for dinner? I’ve defrosted some chops but we could have them tomorrow if you don’t feel like them now. It’s a bit hot for chops.’

‘Mum, why have you taken out a mortgage and stopped paying it? We could lose the house...’

‘Darling, it’s not your concern. Please don’t worry. I’m going to sort it out.’

‘So you're not going to tell me where the money went? You’ll just wait until the day they come to take the house, and then tell me I have to find somewhere else to live?’ Tears welled in my eyes.

‘Don’t be so melodramatic Ellen! I’ve got a bit behind on a mortgage which was used for something that doesn’t concern you. It’s my business, and I’ll tell you about it when I’m ready.’

Melodramatic. 114. I turned around and tinkled the 114th bar of Grieg’s Piano Sonata in E minor as I asked mum:

‘What are you going to do when they come to take the house? Ask them not to? Because it will be too late by then!’

Mum shrugged, and her head dropped. She was crying.

‘Please tell me what’s going on mum.’

‘Ellen, I promise it will be ok. I can see you're upset I haven't told you what’s been happening, but, well, you know how things have been with you, and I didn’t want to make it worse. I promise we won’t be homeless.’

‘The letter said we owe $610 on an $80,000 loan...’

Mum nodded. She knew how much numbers messed with my counting and how long it would take me to move on from these dollar amounts. She waited patiently while I tapped away, drumming my fingers on the side of the piano stool. Mum looked so small and frightened. It didn’t sound like much money, and my counting was doing it’s best to reduce it to something close to zero. But I knew that if mum had the money, she would have paid it already. And I didn’t have it. So we had to raise it somehow.

I left mum sitting forlorn on the sofa and walked into the study, letting the numbers work their way into thin air. My hands were shaking as I logged onto the computer. I had to act fast so I didn’t chicken out. I listed my piano for sale on eBay. I set the ‘Buy Now’ price at $6,000. My plan was to pay back the debt, and then have enough left over to keep paying the mortgage until we worked out how else to pay it.

Mum and I named my piano Picasso because we thought he was beautiful, even if he did take up most of the space in our front room. I spent more time with him than any other creature on the planet, other than mum of course. And, sad to admit, I thought of him as my friend. Sometimes I talked to him, telling him how I was feeling, or got angry at him when I was mad. I won him in a young performers’ competition when I was 17. I was absolutely sure I‘d won as soon as I finished my final piece, Schubert’s Sonata in B-flat major, D. 960. 960 is divisible by 6. My lucky number. I must have practiced that sonata hundreds of times in the weeks leading up to the competition. Mum knew every single note. She loved to sit and listen to me practising, wincing when my finger missed a beat. As I played the final triumphant bars that night at the competition, I risked looking out over the audience, and saw her with her chin resting on her clasped hands, willing me to play it perfectly. I wasn’t surprised when the judges announced me as the winner. I was so sure of myself back then.  I thought I was brilliant. I was destined to win every prize. Destined to win scholarships, get prestigious recording contracts and perform with famous orchestras. That’s why it took so long for my faith to waiver, and eventually come crashing down around my ears.