When I heard the song I Don't Know Why I Didn't Come, by Norah Jones, I was moved and intrigued. I wondered what the story behind the lyrics was. Here's my guess as to what happened and how the lyrics came to be written. (My thanks to the real life singer Norah Jones for the song and apologies for any liberties I might have taken in writing this fictional account of what transpired.)
I DON'T KNOW WHY I DIDN'T COME
Although I had dreamed of fame ever since I was a child, when it came it was sudden, unexpected and via a route I had never anticipated. Of course it all happened only because my sister, without my permission or knowledge, sent off one of my demo recordings to one of the TV talent spotting competitions. Next thing I knew I was being invited to appear on the show. So all in all I couldn't really be angry with her for what she did. The video clip of my appearance on the show went viral when one of my friends who knew nothing about the background to the song, decided to upload it to YouTube. I hated so much how I looked in the video that I felt obliged to replace it with one that showed the lyrics instead.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c2gwgvv7jog
All of that caught the attention of a recording company boss and quickly resulted in a record deal. Not long afterwards my song entered the music charts and I was catapulted from obscurity to being in the public eye.
I never imagined a very painful and regrettable experience in my life would be the cause of my popularity with the public. I would be lying if I said initially I wasn't ecstatic at the news that my song had entered the music charts. However the feeling was temporary and lasted only a month or two. Now I hate the song that resulted in my time in the limelight. I hear it so often on the airwaves that when driving anywhere these days, I've stopped putting on my car radio. The song not only evokes distressing memories but also serves to remind me that deep down I am a coward and incapable of making sound decisions about my relationships with men. If there is any other lesson to be learned, it's that one rash decision can unravel the life one's been living. Countless people are no doubt familiar with the famous line from the Rubaiyat about the moving finger having writ moves on. The words that follow that line, are for me, far more poignant and true. "Nor all thy piety nor wit will lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all thy tears wash away a word of it." I would have given anything to undo my foolish actions and despite the river of tears I shed, they were powerless to erase what I had done.
If you listen carefully to the lyrics of my song, you'll understand a little of what happened and my feelings at the time I wrote them. However for those of you for whom this isn't enough of an explanation I'll tell you the whole story even though my reason for going into the details is essentially selfish. In telling my story I'm hoping to better understand the motivations for my actions and my responsibility for what happened. Perhaps it will be cathartic and I'll be able to move on, although I doubt I'll ever be able to love again.
As a child I had often been told by my middle class parents and family members that I had a good singing voice. How much of that was simply encouragement on their part I can't be sure, but I did sing and hum a great deal during my childhood and teenage years. By the time I was eight or nine years old, my parents had signed me up for piano lessons although I personally preferred playing the guitar I had found in our attic. My parents didn't consider the guitar a proper musical instrument. Learning the clarinet held no appeal for me. To my young mind the violin was too posh and whiney an instrument to learn. That's why I agreed to learn the piano. However, I did twist my father's arm to have the guitar restrung and he gave me a few rudimentary lessons in playing it. That's how my music education began.
Many hours playing in school orchestras, entertaining friends and family at home and quite a few music exams later, my path was heading in the direction of studying music at university. The realism of finding a suitable job with a music degree was masked by an inordinate belief in my ability to make it in the world as a musician. So when my parents packed me off to university, I left them with the promise that one day I would make them proud.
I sort of drifted into teaching music when the relatively idyllic existence of university life crashed headlong into the real world of affording a roof over my head and paying off my student loan. It turned out a music degree couldn't be traded for the dreams I had nursed. That's how I became a secondary school teacher working with apathetic school kids whose interest in music was pretty much limited to listening to the latest pop music and the occasional unrealistic dream of being in a band. It was a hard slog. Don't let the public tell you teaching is easy because it's basically baby-sitting youngsters and the job comes with a short working day and lots of holidays. Teacher earn every penny of their money.
Teaching like many professions is basically incestuous, in that one generally forms relationships with those one works alongside. I confess I did make some good friends and most of them were married to or in relationships with other teachers. I still keep in touch with some of those people. One relationship I did form while teaching at my first school made me reassess whether I wanted to stay in the profession. Peter was a bit of a charmer. Unruly brown hair with hazel eyes and a smile that was infectious. He was an art teacher who no doubt had charmed many a young woman. The adolescent girls swooned over him. Rumours of him as a bit of a ladies man were rife but no one was prepared to support or deny them. When Peter tried his charms on me, I found myself liking him and his rakish reputation. Since there was no significant other in my life, as I had been repeated reminded by my parents and my older sister Gwen, I didn't see the harm in taking up Peter's invitations to go for a drink or catch a movie. He was passionate about art in the way I was about music. I don't know whether or not it's a stereotype that artists are a temperamental bunch, but Peter certainly was quick to become elated and just as quick to come crashing down into anger or depression. It was his anger that worried me at times. Despite that, I reckon I would have continued seeing him had it not been for a dear friend looking out for me. What she told me about Peter made me instantly change my mind about him. It turned out he was already married, although separated from his wife. For me that was reason enough to break off with Peter. I also decided I didn't particularly want to teach music - at least not in secondary schools. So I tendered my resignation and left full time teaching at the end of the summer term.
That's how I once more came to dream of a life in music and went about trying to make it come true. It was bloody hard work too. I still taught music but on a peripatetic basis for about half the week. That produced a steady income, at least to cover the cost of basics. Some of my time was devoted to private music tuition for middle or upper class kids who aspired to play musical instruments. The remainder of my time was spent on trying to twist the arms of pubs and clubs to hire me as either a singer strumming a guitar or playing a piano if the venue had one at hand.
Securing this sort of freelance work took a lot of phoning, emailing and face-to-face meetings with venue managers or owners. At first I played mostly at pubs. It was a struggle at the beginning and if my parents hadn't helped out financially I would have been eating beans on toast more often than I liked. Still what I did have going for me was that not all venues that were hiring wanted the raucous music of the latest bands. The gentler and more meaningful lyrics of Carole King, Joan Baez, Don McLean and Harry Chapin which I covered in my performances were more appealing to audiences past their twenties. Of course I occasionally threw into the mix some of my own compositions. It took time to be hired for such gigs, but when I did secure a booking, it often led to repeat bookings. Performances where I could showcase my talents were what I really lived for. I dreamed of doing that sort of thing full time. However to realise that kind of ambition meant securing bookings further afield than my home town and its immediate surroundings. That in turn meant more travel, often staying at a B &B or driving home in the small hours after a tiring day. It took about two years of hard work scrabbling for gigs before I found a suitable balance both financially and time wise between the four components of my working life.
During those struggles for recognition there was little opportunity to form or sustain any kind of relationship with men. Often I was alone, with only music and the occasional bottle of wine to keep me company. My socialising was largely confined to meeting up with some of my former teacher buddies for a drink, every couple of months. The remainder of my social interactions involved family. I would drop by to see my parents every few months. Even when I wasn't visiting them I spent time with them on the phone. Then there was my married older sister Gwen. She and I had always been very close, unlike my younger brother Tim who had recently flown off to Malaysia to take up a job teaching the locals how to speak English. In contrast, Gwen was only about ninety minutes' drive away. That also gave me the opportunity to spend some time with my nephew Robbie whom I adore. Ever since he was about three or four years old, whenever I visit him, he insists I sing him a song at bedtime. He loves listening to me play guitar. Even though he is only a child, his adulation does wonders for my self-esteem.
So when Gwen and Robbie decided to come and visit for a few days during the height of summer I was overjoyed. It would give us sisters some quality time together and I would be able to engage in numerous activities with my nephew. In fact when I heard they were coming to visit, I bought some tickets to a music concert in the adjoining town. I reckoned that orchestral renditions of some popular tunes and film scores would be a magical night out for an 8 year old. Between the beach which was 10 minutes' walk from my flat, and the annual fair which had just come to town a stone's throw from the beach, I knew Robbie was going to love visiting me. That's why I was relaxed about Gwen spending a day or two at my place and then leaving Robbie with me for the rest of the week. She would swing by on the Sunday morning and pick him up.
The first day of their visit was gloriously sunny so the obvious choice was to visit the beach. At this time of the year the beach was very popular with tourists. There would be other children for Robbie to play with if he became bored with adult company. There were some rock pools he could explore for small crabs and other tiny waterborne animals if he grew tired of building sandcastles or wading in the surf. Of course all of the activities would be supplemented with treats of ice-cream. What was there for a child, even a precocious one like Robbie, not to like?
The second day I had scheduled a visit to the fair. Gwen excused herself from the melee of the fair by saying I needed to spend quality time with Robbie. Apparently she was going to do some shopping and then later stay at my flat and just chill by sampling my extensive record collection. My nephew was too excited about the rides to care much about who accompanied him. I don't know if it was little boy bravado or whether he genuinely enjoyed the scarier rides as much as he said he did. I had one or two childhood memories of throwing up on rides so I approached them with a degree of trepidation and respect. Despite that, generally I had happy memories of time spent at fairs, eating pink candy-floss, candy apples and sweltering in the summer heat. I'd forgotten about the necessary but boring part of waiting in line to get onto the rides. Unlike me, Robbie the chatterbox wasn't fazed at standing in a queue for 20 minutes to get onto the Ferris wheel. The slow creep forward was bringing us closer to our turn on the Ferris wheel. We had a bit to go when Robbie developed a thirst that needed to be quenched. I wasn't prepared to leave the queue after all the time invested, and I certainly couldn't leave an 8 years old to hold our place while I went off to buy a soft drink. Slipping him some money I sent Robbie to fetch his own drink from one of the food stalls that was in direct line of sight from where I was standing.
The boy had barely gone a minute when some commotion started in the queue behind me. I tried to ignore the angry adult voices scolding young children and some children being obstreperous because they were determined to ride the Ferris wheel. A moment later the couple behind us, with four children in tow, left the line although the disagreement sounded far from over. Another couple with young children was shouting to the departing group to return. In the end, out of exasperation, that couple also left the queue. The number of people in front of me was more important than the number behind. I counted half a dozen people ahead of me. I was trying to estimate how many more times the Ferris wheel would turn before it came to a halt and the new passengers were permitted to board when I heard a male voice behind me. It took a moment to realise that the comment was addressed at me.
"Some people never outgrow their love of Ferris wheels."
I turned to face a slim clean shaven young man with neatly cut black hair. From the smirk on his face it seemed obvious he had been responsible for the remark.
"Sorry, were you speaking to me?" I asked as I looked the guy up and down.
He was a head taller than me and wearing a smart chequered blue shirt, faded blue denims and a fairly new pair of sneakers. His brown eyes twinkled with a certain mischief and he had a confident air about him.
"I was saying that it's not very often that you see an adult riding a Ferris wheel on their own," he elaborated. Again his face flashed with that same smirk.
"I don't particularly like Ferris wheels," I for some unknown reason heard myself explaining.
"But there you are waiting for ages to board one," he pointed out. This time the smirk was replaced by a smile. "There's no embarrassment in admitting that you don't even have a child with you to cover up your love of Ferris wheels."
From his accent it was clear he was a tourist, probably from further south. I was irked by the stranger's unsolicited comments but I thought it's too nice a day to get annoyed with the man. Besides he was only trying to make small talk to pass the time. He had been stuck in the queue for almost as long as I had.
"I actually do have a child with me - my nephew."
"Ah! The invisible nephew ploy," he mocked, rubbing his chin with his fingers in imitation of an analytical assessment that a therapist might give.
"He's not invisible. He's just not here at the moment."
Again a smile but this time a more winsome one.
"Not here at the moment as in invisible." His expression was one of triumph.
I couldn't decide whether to be irritated with him or not. As he stood waiting for me to say something, I decided he was basically engaged in harmless banter trying to provoke a response in me as young men sometimes do when trying to get to know a woman.
"My invisible nephew is over at that stall across the way, buying himself a fizzy drink."
"Oh," came the deflated response and in embarrassment he avoided my eyes and looked down at his shoes instead.
This time it was my turn to smile.
"So Mr Grown-up, what's your excuse for riding the wheel on your own?"
His face brightened on hearing the question which had been intended as a dig at him.
"You may have noticed this." He pointed to the expensive looking camera dangling from his neck. "I intend to take some aerial shots when I'm up top. On a clear sunny day like today, I should get a good view of the town on one side and the seashore on the other. That should make a good photographic memento of my visit here."
"I'm sure it will...So where do you hail from, Mr Tourist?"
"The name's Jeff."
"Pleased to meet you Jeff. I'm Norah," I added proffering a hand.
His handshake was warm and firm. Again that smile of his beamed at me.
"So, where you from?"
"Birmingham, the second city of Great Britain," he announced proudly.
"A Brummie. Well, that can't be helped."
I couldn't resist making the dig. He laughed it off.
"Just make sure you spend lots of money and help boost the local economy of our humble seaside resort, Brummie boy."
"I'll do my best...So what do you do for a living - if you don't mind me asking?"
"I teach music."
"You fit the bill."
"What's that mean?"
"If you don't mind me saying so, you sort of fit the image I have in my head of a music teacher," he explained showing a little hesitancy and embarrassment. His confident manner had momentarily taken a bit of a back seat.
"And what image is that?"
"All that big strawberry blonde hair and slightly hippy look going on. Add a bandana and I can just picture you strumming a guitar."
I guessed he was referring to my long, voluminous and frizzy head of hair that had given me trouble ever since I was a little girl. Yes, I usually wore loose ankle-length skirts a lot especially in the warmer weather and often they were floral prints. That, however, wasn't my idea of hippy. It was merely his caricature of the Woodstock generation of young women back in the late 1960s. I knew that period through my music studies in addition to the fact that the music of the 60s and 70s appealed to me.
"You're right about me playing the guitar, but the rest is way off the mark.
Jeff stopped paying me attention because he was distracted by what was going on behind me.
"The wheel's stopped and people are disembarking," he announced.
I looked back to confirm his observation. We would be boarding the carriages very soon.
"But Robbie isn't back yet."
"Don't worry, you've a few minutes yet."
"But what if he's not back in time?"
"Look, if you want, you can run and fetch him. I'll hold your place in the line."
"I best go get him. Thanks."
I was about to go when I spotted Robbie leaving the food stall and heading back towards the Ferris wheel.
"Oh, look. There he is," I announced to Jeff.
"Panic over then?"
"Yes."
To hide my embarrassment at my earlier reaction, I then looked over at Robbie and waved to him to hurry back.
A moment later I felt a tap on my shoulder and a voice said, "Come on, you two lovebird. Time to board."
A lanky youth probably in his late teens was ushering both Jeff and I to get into the empty carriage.
"We're not together," I explained to the youth who was leering at me.
"No need to be shy, Miss. Just get on board, will yah."
At this point Jeff intervened to explain that we weren't a couple.
"You can't have a carriage to yourself, Miss. There's too many people waiting in line."
"But I'm not on my own. My nephew is going to be accompanying me."
"I don't see no nephew, Miss. Come on. You're holding up the line."
"There he is over there," I said, pointing at Robbie ambling his way towards us. I shouted to Robbie to hurry up. Then turning back to the youth, I added, "He'll be here in a sec."
"He'd better be."
Then the young man turned to Jeff saying, "If you think you're getting a carriage to yourself, mate, forget it. We're just too busy today for that."
There was a steely determination in Jeff's voice when he replied.
"I've waited a good 40 minutes in line, and I'm definitely getting on that wheel."
"Can't be done, Mister. There's just too many people. Can't you understand that?"
At that point Robbie arrived casual as ever. I just grabbed him by the hand and tugged him towards the empty carriage. We quickly sat down and waited for the youth to snap the handrail into the locked position before we ascended to permit the next carriage to disembark its passengers. However the young man was still busily engaged in his dispute with Jeff about occupying the next carriage. The mother and child behind Jeff began to grow impatient and the woman loudly expressed her annoyance at the hold up. This was rapidly followed by other people in the queue complaining of the delay.
It seemed the right thing to do, so I shouted over to Jeff, "Jeff, come and join us."
"I shouldn't have to. My money's as good as anyone else's!"
"I know. But this way you'll get to go up and it'll save any further arguments."
Seconds later, Jeff was settling into my carriage causing Robbie some confusion and a little concern. As soon as Jeff was seated I explained to Robbie why I had asked a relative stranger to join us.
"Do you know each other?"
Robbie's question was aimed at me.
Jeff leapt in with "We got talking while your Aunt was waiting for you to return from buying your drink."
Robbie eyed Jeff suspiciously and asked, "Aren't you a bit old to be riding the Ferris wheel?"
That made me smile considering earlier I had been asked the same by Jeff.
"How old d'you think I am?"
"About the same age as Aunt Norah," was the hesitant guess.
"You see, that's where you're wrong. I'm just very tall for my age. I'm really only 8 years old."
"That's not possible!"
"It is but I don't blame you for making the same mistake as everyone else does. If you knew my secret you'd understand."
My nephew was now intrigued.
"What secret?"
"I can't go around telling everyone my secret - otherwise it wouldn't be a secret for very long."
"You can tell me...Please?"
"I could only tell you my secret if I could trust you not to blab to other people."
"You can trust me - honest."
"I'll share my secret only if you swear the special oath."
Robbie looked at me for moral support when he agreed to take the oath. I looked on, fascinated and intrigued that Jeff somehow had the boy under his spell.
"Repeat after me: cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye."
Somewhat warily Robbie repeated the oath, occasionally taking a side glance at me for reassurance.
"Now cross your heart like this," instructed Jeff showing the boy exactly how it had to be done. "Good. Now you're worthy of learning my secret. Come closer so that I can whisper it. We don't want other people to hear."
"But what about Aunt Norah?"
Jeff looked at me and gave a secret wink. "I think she seems the reliable type. Norah can hear it too - but no one else." Robbie was by now so enthralled he could only nod in agreement. "The reason I am 8 years old but so tall is that I belong to a tribe of giants."
"That's just silly!" scoffed the boy.
"You say that because you've never seen my Dad. He's 20 feet tall.
I had trouble stifling my laughter, while Robbie was asserting common sense.
"He is not 20 feet tall," insisted Robbie.
Jeff kept up the charade.
"My mother's just a few inches short of 18 feet. And as for my younger brother who's only three years old, he's as tall as you."
By this time I just exploded with suppressed laughter.
"You're just pulling my leg."
"Of course he is, Sweetie," I intervened to say between bouts of laughter. "Jeff's visiting, just like you, and he wanted to take some photographs from up top."
At that moment Jeff drew attention to the camera hanging from his neck. Immediately Robbie was captivated by the gadget. Young boys seem to have a fascination for gadgets of all sorts and my nephew ran true to form.
All the time we had been talking, the wheel a small bit at a time had carried us higher and higher. We were three-quarters of the way to the top when we began the first continuous revolution of our four revolution ride. For the first time we all began to take proper notice of our surroundings. Jeff became busy marvelling at the view and taking his photographs. Meanwhile I pointed out to Robbie some of the landmarks below. During the ride I whipped out my smartphone and took a few pictures and a couple of selfies with Robbie in them. I thought they would be a good memento for Robbie and Gwen. If they turned out really well, I would have one framed to hang in my flat.
When the ride came to an end and we disembarked, we said our goodbyes to Jeff and went our separate ways to enjoy the rest of the fair.
Two hours later Robbie and I were at a shooting stall. Hit the bull's eye and win a prize sort of thing. Somewhat unrealistically Robbie had his heart set on winning a cuddly toy. He had already tried and failed once before I decided I might have a better aim than he did. That didn't pan out. Now Robbie was on his second and final attempt. He was readying himself to fire the first of his three permitted shots, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned round to come face-to-face with Jeff again. His smile beamed at me.
"Hi, there. What were the chances of running into you again?"
"Oh, hi Jeff. Have you been having a good time?"
"Yes. I've been taking lots of candid pics of people enjoying the rides or stuffing their faces with ice-cream," he commented light-heartedly. Then he changed the subject. "So Robbie thinks he's a bit of marksman does he?"
Sotto voce, I quickly brought Jeff up speed on the situation. I had just finished when Robbie finished his last shots without success. The boy turned to me with his eyes glistening. He wasn't far from tears.
"Hi, Robbie. How you been?"
He just ignored Jeff on account of being too wrapped up with his own sadness at not winning any prize for his shooting.
"Aunt Norah, I didn't win the toy."
"I'm sorry, Sweetie but it's not as easy as it looks. Besides if it was very easy the poor man wouldn't have any prizes left to display," I explained, trying not to make a big issue of the matter.
"But I really, really wanted that cuddly toy."
Predictably, tears began to roll down Robbie's cheeks. I wrapped my arms around him comfortingly and his wet face nestled against my midriff.
"If you're so desperate for another cuddly toy for your collection, I'll buy you one before the end of your stay with me."
"Mummy won't let me have another one on account of me having too many already. But if I won it at the fair, I'm sure she'd let me keep it."
"Hey, Robbie!" Jeff called out.
While my nephew and I had been talking, Jeff had purchased a round at the shooting gallery. He stood looking at us with a tiny rifle in hand.
"One cuddly toy coming right up, little Buddy."
Jeff took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. He scored a bull's eye on his first shot. He turned towards Robbie and smiled triumphantly.
"That's one cuddly toy for you, Robbie."
The boy's surprise turned to whooping with delight.
Jeff addressed the stall owner and asked, "Just to clarify. If I hit a second bull's eye I do get a second prize, don't I?"
"No, sir. One prize per go."
"But the sign over there says, hit the bull's eye and win a prize'. It doesn't say anything about one prize per go."
"Look, fella, I'm trying to run a business here."
"And as a paying customer I'm insisting upon my rights." Jeff's face had a steely determination. "With that sign you've put up, your stance won't stand up before the law."
"Fine. Have it your way. The first shot was a fluke anyway."
The second shot suggested that the stall owner was probably correct. However the third shot proved Jeff did have some skills with a rifle after all. Robbie was ecstatic and jumping up and down with joy. A stranger had saved the day. The stall owner however had a long face on losing two prizes in quick succession to a member of the public. With poor grace, he handed over the cuddly toy that Robbie had chosen, and then Jeff chose one for himself. When I gave him a look that queried his maturity, Jeff held out the toy to me.
"Here, it's for you. Sort of payment for letting me go up on the Ferris wheel with you and Robbie.
"There's no need for that."
"Grown women can be seen with cuddly toys - not men," he remarked. "It would dent my street cred if I returned to Brum with it."
"OK, I'll help maintain your street cred. But tell me, where did you learn to shoot like that?"
He batted my question aside with the casual comment of "Let's just chalk it up to a misspent youth. The less said the better."
While I was wondering whether to take him seriously or not, Robbie had decided to give Jeff a rugby style charge and hang onto his waist in a long thank-you hug. Watching the two of them gave me a warm feeling inside.
Robbie was grinning from ear to ear from happiness that his wish having been fulfilled and I was relieved that there would be no more tears.
"Aunt Norah, can we come back tomorrow and maybe try winning another cuddly toy?"
"We can't come tomorrow, Sweetie. Have you forgotten your Mummy and I have arranged for us to visit the castle tomorrow?"
"I don't want to go to see some boring old castle. I want to come back here tomorrow."
"Well, we can't Robbie. The castle visit is planned for tomorrow. Your Mummy wants to see the castle with you. Then your Mummy is leaving you with me for the rest of the week."
"But there's nothing to do at the boring castle."
Jeff intervened to say, "I hear it's a terrific castle. It's in all the guide books, little Buddy. Even I had plans to fit in a visit while I was in the neighbourhood. Hang on a minute. I think I took a picture of it from the top of the Ferris wheel."
Jeff turned his attention to his camera and fiddled with some buttons and dials. He then showed Robbie the picture of the castle.
"It's quite small," said the boy, unimpressed. "Can't see very much."
Jeff pressed a button several times, saying, "You've forgotten this EOS camera has a picture zoom facility."
Again he showed Robbie the viewing screen.
"Wow! It looks brilliant! You can just about make out the stones used to build the castle."
"So you're now happy to go see the castle tomorrow?" I asked.
"Yes, but only if Jeff comes too."
"Sweetie you can't decide for Jeff when he visits the castle. I'm sure he has other plans for tomorrow."
"To be honest, I don't have any hard and fast plans. And I did intend to visit the castle at some stage. I could go tomorrow but I don't want to be a spare wheel at a family outing."
"Terrific!" announced my nephew who was only interested in the first part of what Jeff had said.
"Robbie, I still don't see why you need to drag Jeff along. What's wrong with just family going?"
"Because when Mummy and you get together, you talk about girly things all the time. And I'm a boy."
"The boy's right. He's out-numbered by two to one."
My nephew was nodding vigorously when Jeff pointed out the obvious.
"If it's OK with you and Robbie's mother, I'll tag along. I'm sure us men will have things to talk about while you girls talk about dresses and handbags."
"That's right," the eight year old chimed in.
"OK that's that settled then. Jeff, it's really kind of you to help out. By the way, you do know how to get to the castle, don't you?"
"Don't worry I'll find my way there."
"We're hoping to get there around 10 am. Stay there for a couple of hours and then maybe catch some lunch at the cafeteria. After that, perhaps heading back."
"Sounds like a good plan. I'll see you inside the entrance around ten, then." Jeff then turned to my nephew and said, "OK, little Buddy, I'll be going now. I'll see you tomorrow."
Then as suddenly as he had arrived, he was gone till we saw him next morning.
We all met up as planned and within minutes Robbie had commandeered Jeff, leaving Gwen and me to talk about anything we liked. Frankly it was a bit of relief not having to be constantly on the lookout that Robbie was safe and not getting up to any mischief. Provided he was in sight, my sister and I were relaxed and enjoyed our quality time together. I was very conscious that Gwen would be leaving the next morning and wouldn't return till the end of the week.
With the glorious sunshine and the cool breeze from the sea, it was a wonderful day to visit the castle. The view of the town from the hilltop on which the castle was perched was picturesque. Once or twice I caught sight of Jeff taking some photographs with his fancy camera gear. A few times Robbie pestered Jeff to be allowed to take some pictures too. There were occasional peals of laughter from them. Clearly Robbie had really taken to Jeff and both of them were having fun. Time just flew and a few hours later we were all in the restaurant having a spot of lunch. Gwen insisted on paying for the meal and thanked Jeff profusely for taking care of her son.
As we slowly headed towards the exit to the castle, Robbie pulled me aside.
"Aunt Norah, do you have a business card with your email address on it?"
"Yes. Why d'you ask?"
"Do you have one on you?"
"I have one in my purse. You still haven't told me why you want to know."
"Can I have one of your cards, please?"
"Not until you explain why you want it."
"Mummy can't remember our home email address on account of Daddy changing it recently."
"That still doesn't explain why you want my email address."
"Jeff let me take some pictures with his camera. He said he'd send them to Mummy by email, but she can't remember our email address."
"Oh, I get it. The photos will be sent to me and I'm expected to forward them to your Mummy."
"Yes. Then I can have the pictures printed to keep in my photo album."
"Yes, they'll make a good memento, along with the pictures I took of us on the Ferris wheel."
"But those you took won't be patch on the ones that I took on Jeff's Canon," he confidently asserted.
As soon as I handed over one of my business cards, he ran off towards his hero figure who was trailing behind, still taking pictures.
We were headed towards the carpark to retrieve our vehicles when Jeff gently steered me aside. It was clear from his expression he wanted to say something, privately.
"I was thinking Norah...I'm a stranger in town and all. I don't know anybody and I'm not one for going out on my own...Would you care to maybe have dinner with me tonight?"
To me, the invitation came out of the blue. It caught me off guard. I also realised from how he'd expressed himself, he had been nervous about asking me out. That was endearing. A part of me wanted to say yes immediately but the sensible part of me didn't see it as a practical proposition.
"Jeff as much as I'd like to go to dinner, I can't. Gwen and Robbie are staying with me. I can't just abandon them tonight. As for any other day, I'm looking after Robbie."
"I understand," he said a bit deflated. However, from the look of disappointment on his face, clearly he didn't understand. It made me feel mean.
As soon as I joined the other two again, Gwen wanted to know what Jeff and I had been talking about. My sister can read me like a book. She knew something was going on, even without her skills as a trained counsellor. I told her about the dinner invite. Without hesitation she said I should take up the offer. When I pointed out that I couldn't just abandon her and Robbie, she told me I was making excuses. She also added that she and Robbie weren't so much guests as family. She thought the dinner date would do me good. Gwen knew about my poor track record of relationships and had been urging me for months to stop cutting myself off from men because of what had happened in the past. As she pointed out, it would be a one-off thing considering Jeff was a visitor to the area and would be gone in a day or so. She told me I was making a big deal out of a one-off dinner date with a decent, good looking guy. So that was how I came to have my first date with Jeff Coates, the Brummie - the man about whom my song was written.
******************************************************************************************
Two weeks later, Robbie phoned me to ask if Jeff had sent the photos. I had completely forgotten about the matter. The poor boy was disappointed at the answer I gave. I urged him to be patient.
That conversation with my nephew triggered memories of the dinner engagement I had had with Jeff. It had been a very pleasant evening. The food had been tasty and the company very pleasant. I had felt relaxed in his company. We learned a lot about each other that night. I told him about my ambitions to become a nationally recognised singer and some of my struggles in achieving that goal. I don't know why but I was surprised to learn he worked in a car showroom selling top end cars. He was also a bit of a car mechanic and enjoyed fixing up older cars. Apparently he had learned that skill from his older brother Greg who used to buy clapped out second-hand cars, fix them up and sell them for a profit. Jeff came from a poor family that had always struggled financially. Then one day, when he was 14 years old and Greg 18, his father had suddenly upped and left their mother. Apart from working as a car mechanic, Greg had kept the family afloat financially by selling reconditioned used cars as a side line. When Jeff had spoken about his older brother, it had been with great affection but there had also been a certain sadness in his tone. Clearly there was something Jeff wasn't prepared to tell me, and I had felt it would have been intrusive for me to ask.
From what I learned about Jeff I remember thinking that had he lived locally, we would probably have become good friends. He was empathetic, confident and not self-absorbed. He appeared to get on very well with other people. Was that why he was a successful car salesman or was it he was good with people because he was a good car salesman? Jeff didn't take himself too seriously and could be self-deprecating or prepared to joke about himself. I have always valued a good sense of humour in a man. Yes I'll admit I found him quite appealing to the eye. I had picked up some of the subtler signs that he had found me attractive, but I didn't flirt with him or anything like that. It was best not to let my thoughts stray down that road since I knew we would never see each other again.
It turned out that Jeff was a man of his word. He did send me the photos that Robbie had taken. The photos for Robbie arrived by email a couple of days after I had spoken to my nephew. The accompanying message read:
"Hi Norah:
Hope you're well. Could you please forward the attached photos to Robbie's mother? They're mostly pictures he took on my camera. I have taken the liberty of throwing in a few of my own photos.
Thanks.
Dear Robbie,
How you doing little Buddy? I hope you're giving the cuddly toy lots of hugs. I hear teddy bears like that a lot. Sorry for the delay in getting the pictures to you. I was sorting out all of my holiday photos and there were lots of them! The pics you took were great. With some more practice you'll make a brilliant photographer one day. Even if you don't have your own camera, ask to borrow your Mummy's smartphone and practice taking pictures. If you're really pleased with any that you take, send me a copy. I'd love to see them.
Thank your Mummy and your Aunt Norah for letting me tag along with you all to see the castle. I had lots of fun.
Enjoy the rest of your summer holidays because before you know it, school will be starting again.
Best wishes,
Your Big Buddy, Jeff."
It was such a sweet letter and the photos my nephew had taken were surprisingly good for a child of his age. The additional two of his own that Jeff had sent were stunning. The view from the castle top looking down at the town brightly lit on a summer's day was breath taking. That man certainly had talent. Once I got over admiring the photos, I forwarded them to Gwen with a note to Robbie reminding him to send a thank-you email to Jeff for all his kindness. I also dropped Jeff a quick thank-you message and added how much I admired his photographic skills.
A few days later I had the opportunity to view more of his work. He sent me an email to acknowledge my thank-you message to him. It came with an attachment of several photos. A couple of them were of me and Robbie in the Ferris wheel carriage. They must have been taken when Robbie and I were busy doing our own thing. The other two were magnificent ones of the town from the top of the Ferris wheel. The email message from him was short and to the point.
"Hi Norah.
Thanks for your praise. Since you enjoyed the last batch of pics so much, here are a few more for you to keep as a memento.
Best wishes,
Jeff."
I read the email message several times. The more I read it, the more irked I became. The message to Robbie had been longer than the note to me and yet we had gone out to dinner together. I know it sounds petty but for some reason I was a little hurt at being ignored. And there I was thinking he found me attractive. Then I chastised myself for being so silly and melodramatic. I had given the guy no indication that I was interested in him and our meeting had been largely accidental. In any case, he lived far away and there was no chance we would ever set eyes on each other again. I put that idea to bed and also myself, but only after chilling out over a glass of wine and some soothing classical music.
While I enjoyed the summer break away from the routine of teaching music or musical instrument tuition, I also had to fit in the occasional gig I had managed to secure. I had put out a few feelers in diverse towns and cities in the hope of securing more work. It was much harder playing at out of town gigs during school term time. So I took every booking I was offered during the school summer break.
Having not long got back from one such engagement, coffee in one hand, I sat at my PC checking my email messages. I spotted and opened a new message that had arrived. I was elated that it was the offer of a new booking. The club manager had been apologetic about giving short notice of only two weeks. The act he had originally booked had fallen through. I was so happy at the prospect of another gig that the notice period didn't bother me at all.
It was only when I read the email again, more slowly that I realised the gig was quite a distance away. It was in Birmingham, the heart of the midlands. That would mean an overnight stay. I wasn't keen on big cities. They can be so impersonal, and I had never been to Birmingham before. It was going to be a long, lonely night in a city full of strangers. Perhaps one day I would have sufficient work to be able to pick and choose which clubs I wanted to play. Currently I couldn't afford to turn down the offer of work.
Once I had written to confirm I would play in Birmingham, I started a search for a suitable B & B near the venue. That was when I remembered that Jeff lived in Birmingham. I toyed with the idea that perhaps we could meet up after the gig and get ourselves a spot of late dinner. It would be comforting to meet up with a friendly face in a large unknown metropolis. Of course I had to consider what he would think about the idea. Then again it was just dinner. I dropped him an email suggesting that if he was available for dinner, he could meet me outside the club. I chose not to phone him. To me a phone call with its instantaneous exchange of messages and the ability to hear the other person's emotions, is a more intimate form of communication than writing an email or letter. I didn't want to give Jeff the wrong impression, or maybe it was really about protecting myself from emotional involvement.
Over the next few days, I chose the songs I wanted to sing and put in a great deal of practice for my performance in Birmingham
Evidently, I did put on a good show. During the short intermission the club owner praised my singing and even held out the possibility of a repeat booking. The applause from the audience was heart-warming. I felt tired but high as I began to pack away my guitar.
I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. When I turned round, Jeff was standing there with a broad smile on his face. What was a pleasant surprise.
"Oh, hi Jeff. I thought we were supposed to meet outside the club."
"I wanted to see your act. So here I am."
"What did you make of my performance?"
"Terrific. You've got heaps of talent. Spoke to some of the audience. They thought so too."
"Thank-you, kind sir," I commented with a faux curtsey and a mischievous smile.
"Shall we go eat? I think you need to try our local ethnic cuisine - the Balti dish. Birmingham is famous for its Balti dishes."
"I'll try anything. I'm famished. You just lead the way.
After we stowed my guitar into the boot of my rust-bucket of a car, we walked a few yards to where Jeff had parked his Sporty Golf GTI. Then we were off to eat.
Time seemed to fly and before I knew it we were back at my car saying our goodbyes. Altogether it had been a great evening for me. I felt happy.
"When you're next playing a gig in Birmingham, let me know," said Jeff giving me a polite hug.
"And what are the chances of that?" was my pessimistic remark.
"About 90% I'd say."
"How did you come up with a figure like that?"
"I own a crystal ball, of course."
"And what else does that crystal ball of yours tell you?" I asked, deciding to humour him a little.
"It says that Norah Jones is going to be rich and famous."
"You're good for my self-esteem and ego, you know."
"Really?"
"Yes." I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "'Bye Jeff. It was great seeing you again."
I then turned and got into my car, started her up and eased out into the traffic, heading for my B & B. A warm comfy bed awaited me 15 minutes away and I knew I would have no trouble sleeping.
The journey home, the next morning was a long one but I felt happy the gig had gone well and seeing Jeff had been a nice bonus. He was a thoroughly likeable guy. Why couldn't there be more like him in my home town, I wondered. I played upbeat music all the way home to reflect the mood I was in.
It was four or five days later that I received a cryptic email from Jeff. It simply said:
"Have you seen this yet? Click on the link below."
There was a web address and underneath he had written good luck, and then his name. Nothing more than that. I was intrigued.
When I clicked the link, it brought up a YouTube video. It was a recording of me playing at the Birmingham gig. At first I felt bowled over to see myself performing on video. Then reality crashed my brain and I thought how awful I looked. Maybe I should have worn a better outfit and tamed my frizzy hair a little.
It took a moment for me to realise who had uploaded the video. I thought it was really sweet of Jeff to post the video. I was really beginning to like this guy. While I was still excited about the video, I forwarded the link to Gwen and Robbie. I'm sure they would get a kick out of seeing it. Then I also did the same for my parents and some of my former teacher colleagues too. After all it's not every day that you see yourself in a YouTube video. It was only when that was out of the way that I penned a suitable thank-you to Jeff.
Normality and routines set back in over the coming few weeks and just when I was becoming used to it, I received the offer of another gig. This one was in Birmingham too. I was overjoyed at getting the work even though it meant another arduous trip and overnight stay. When I remembered what Jeff had said about contacting him if I ever was down his way, I couldn't help but ponder whether the universe was sending me a subtle message. Perhaps Jeff was meant to be in my life. But why did he have to live so far away? I decided to call him. It was time to dispense with emails and be more direct and spontaneous.
"Hi, there."
"Ah, Norah. What a pleasant surprise."
"I thought I'd let you know I'm playing another gig in your town."
I wondered what his reaction to the news would be.
"I know."
"That crystal ball of yours told you I suppose," I commented with a laugh.
"The club owner Derek Hannah told me."
I was confused and obviously missing part of the picture.
"How do you know the club owner?"
"Every year without fail, Mr Hannah trades in his car and buys a spanking new one from me. It's been that way for five years now."
"Fine...but why would he mention me to you?"
"Because I asked him to watch the video of your last performance."
At first I was stunned by the news, then I could feel my gorge rising. I felt disappointed that I didn't secure the gig under my own steam. It had all been down to Jeff's intervention. He on the other hand interpreted my silence as a signal to continue talking.
"The sound quality on the video wasn't the best given how far I was from you in the audience, but he liked what he saw. It's the same video that I posted on YouTube."
When I remained silent, he began to suspect something was amiss.
"What's wrong? Aren't you happy that you got the booking?"
"No it's not that."
"Then what? Why the sudden change in mood?"
"When I first learned of it, I thought I managed it on my own, but it seems I didn't. You persuaded Mr Hannah because of your business relationship with him."
He must have noticed the resentment in my tone.
"Norah, it was nothing like that," he protested. "All I asked was for him to view the video. He offered you the gig because of your singing talent. He wasn't doing it as a favour to me or anything like that. Honest. Derek's a level-headed businessman and he knows what's good for his club and the punters."
"I know you meant well, but Jeff I wish you hadn't intervened."
"Norah all I did was showcase your talent to a potential buyer. Success in this business is down to exposure. The more people who hear your singing, the more chance you have of getting bookings. The more exposure you have the more chances there are that your talent will be spotted by some music business scout."
"I suppose you're right, but right now it feels like a hollow victory to me...Look Jeff, I got to go now. Bye."
I had a couple of to go places when I feel upset or confused. I can retreat to my music because I have a playlist for every shade of mood I can relate to. The other place I go to, during all seasons, is to the beach which is ten minutes' walk from my flat. I decided I would go down to the sea and watch the sun set. I deliberately left my smartphone behind in case Jeff called back. I was not in the mood to talk.
It was nearly 10 pm when I got back. Out of habit I checked my smartphone in case anyone had called whilst I had been out. Nothing from Jeff. That was a relief. However there was a message from Gwen wanting to talk about the arrangements for Robbie's ninth birthday which fell on Sunday. I decided to return my sister's call.
A minute into the conversation and Gwen picked up on the fact that something was upsetting me. We were close and she knew my every mood and had seen me through good and bad times. I decided to tell what had happened and she listened without comment.
"Gwen I realise I was the one who was being unreasonable, but what I don't understand is why I reacted the way I did. He's a perfectly nice guy who tried to help and I shot him down. Why did I do that when I should be thanking him for his help?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"No, not to me it isn't."
"You're falling in love with him and -"
"But I hardly know him," I interrupted.
"That doesn't matter, Norah. That's not how love work."
"But I don't want to fall in love with Jeff!"
"You might have no conscious control in this matter. Call it biology, chemistry or personality, but it's leading you down a path called falling in love."
"If I'm falling for him why was I mean to him?"
"You're trying to push him away because you're scared of where your feelings might take you."
"You're not going to bring up that business with Jonathan again, are you?"
"Even though you broke up with him when you graduated from university, your relationship with Jonathan still affects how you relate to men. That's why initially you were reluctant to date anyone and when you final did restart dating, you never permitted it to get serious. You always sabotaged any developing relationship."
Even though my sister was a qualified counsellor, and I had heard her analysis before, I was disinclined to believe her because the implications of what she said were too difficult to bear. That's why I quickly switched the topic of conversation back to the matter of Robbie's birthday celebration. To bring the conversation to a close as quickly as possible I agreed to all of Gwen's suggestions.
As I cradled a freshly made cup of coffee in my hands, I tried to watch some television to relax. The therapeutic effect of the walk on the beach watching the oranges and reds of an awe inspiring sunset had been totally undone by my sister raising the matter of Jonathan. It had been several years since I had consciously thought about him and what had happened in our relationship. When his spectre came back to haunt me I was reminded of both joy and pain but largely the latter.
PART TWO TO FOLLOW!
Itti Si Khushi Sab TV
