Upright Piano Player by David Abbott Page B

expected, but lowered his forehead onto the rim of the steering wheel.
    “Henry, what’s happened?”
    He looked up.
    “It seems I have a grandson.”
    She did not answer.
    “They have a child. A boy. His name is Hal and he’s almost four years old, for pity’s sake. Four years … and I didn’t even know he existed.”
    He opened the glove box, looking for tissues.
    Maude sat motionless in her seat, wanting to comfort him, but at the same time repelled by his distress. It made her feel uncomfortable. She noticed the softening line of his jaw, the tears on his cheek. What on earth was she doing here?
    “I’m so sorry, Henry.”
    The road map was still on her lap.
    “You can drop me off in Fakenham and I’ll get myself back to London.”
    When he answered, she could hear the bruising in his voice.
    “Would you? That would probably be for the best.”
    He left her at a hotel in the center of town where she could get a taxi to Norwich and then the train to Liverpool Street. They had parted awkwardly.
    “I must give you some money.”
    “I have a credit card.”
    “No, no.”
    He shifted on the seat, reaching into his trouser pocket. The seat belt made it difficult, but he did not think to release it. Maude sat looking straight ahead.
    “I’m sorry it’s turned out like this.”
    She took the money. He walked round the car and let her out. They did not touch. A flutter of hands and she was in the hotel.
    It’s over, he thought as he drove away. She’s not going to sleep with a bloody grandfather.
    Driving through a small town he saw a newsagent with toys in the window. He stopped, hoping to find something for Hal. He tried in vain to remember what Tom had played withat four. A train set? Or was it Lego? In the event, it did not matter, for the main toy section on the first floor was closed. On Sundays, they sold only things for the beach—balls, kites, crab lines, and fishing nets. He bought a kite that looked unlike any kite he had ever seen, assured by the teenage shop assistant that it would do the business.
    He wanted to stop at a pub and steady himself with a large whiskey, but feared arriving with alcohol on his breath. He did not want that to be his defining aroma when meeting Hal.
    Outside Tom’s village, he pulled off the road. He was shaking. He prayed that he would be able to hide his anger. He locked the car and clutching the kite walked into the village.
    Tom and Hal were at the window of the front bedroom watching for the Mercedes.
    “I guess it will be a Mercedes,” Tom said. “That’s what he always used to drive.”
    “I don’t think he’s got a car, Daddy.”
    At that moment Tom saw his father in the distance. He knew him instantly: the same spare frame, his hair still dark, and worn slightly too long as he remembered. As often with tall people, his father walked with his eyes downcast as though the ground were treacherous; but now the steps were more tentative and Tom realized that Henry was aging and the knowledge made him gasp.
    “There he is—that’s him.”
    Hal was gone—out the front door and running down the street, disregarding every parental warning. From the window Tom saw that the road was safe and fought back the inclination to shout out a warning. He saw the small boy run up tothe man and stop. He saw the man kneel down and place a hand on the boy’s shoulder, the kite lowered carefully to the ground. They were talking, the boy uncharacteristically still as one question followed another. When the man finally stood up, the boy held out his hand and brought him to the house.

15
    “Grandpa, do you like organic vegetables?”
    The boy had insisted that Henry should sit next to him at lunch and had kept up a merry chatter throughout the meal.
    “They’re very good for you, you know.”
    Henry had told a story. Once on holiday with Nessa in Venice, they had sat next to a large party of American socialites at lunch. The hostess was a woman called Nan something or