When The Music Started
Or, how to upset people in 5 useless lessons
“Do these jeans make me look fat?” she asked
“No, your body makes you look fat,” he said.
That’s when the music started.
She stormed in, slammed the door, threw herself on to the chair, ignored the nice chamomile tea I had made, thumped her elbows on the table and stared at me.
“God, that darned headmaster!” she exclaimed. “He employed his niece as the liaison officer, whatever that is, and she sits around filing her nails and chatting on her phone. Does nothing at all. When any of us complain to him, we’re threatened with expulsion or demotion.”
As she took a breath, I helpfully suggested, “What you need to do is …”
That’s when the music started.
He barged in the back door, his hands and face covered in sweat, oil and rust stains. A face like thunder.
“God, that bloody neighbour!” he yelled. “Whatever time I mow the lawn he tells me to stop as his baby is sleeping. The he follows me around, on his side of the hedge, telling me how to mow the lawn – mow closer here, do this, do ruddy that. Then I get to the back lawn and if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, Doreen, don’t scatter your cursed metal pegs on the ground. Broke the blade, the mower’s stuffed …”
“Darling,” I helpfully suggested, “just calm down.”
That’s when the music started.
She arrived back looking like she’d just lost her favourite toy – all quiet and eyes down.
“You want to talk about it?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, nodding slowly. “Oh, Bill, I feel so sad for our young Jennifer. We were running a bit late for school. I started the car, took off and it stalled across the pavement. Then that exasperating neighbour yelled at me to get out of the way and stood in front of the car to make his point, for ages. Now we’re running quite late. Then the car stalled at the lights and I had to wait at the next sequence while a line of cars behind tooted madly at us. We get to school really late and they’ve shut the gates. I have to phone the office to let Jennifer in and, her first day of school, she’s already got demerit points and a bad reputation. The poor girl, I just hope she’s alright – she must feel just awful.”
“Yes,” I replied helpfully. “I told you before that you need to pull the choke out, start the car, let it idle for at least a minute and not push the choke in till you’ve moved off.”
That’s when the music started.
“Hey, Gordon,” I yelled as strode up to him. “I haven’t been running for over ten years and I am so thrilled. I just did two kilometres!”
“That’s nothing,” I said, encouragingly, “I’ve been doing at least ten kilometres a day.
That’s when the music of our friendship stopped.