Page 86 of All the Things We Never Knew

There was another sound too – music. I could hear it only faintly, and when I tried to open the window to be sure I found that the sash was stuck. Frustrated, I turned and hurried downstairs. But when I reached the kitchen, it was chaos – unwashed glasses and leftover food everywhere, the aftermath of a party.

I’d have to clear up before I could go outside. I began gathering up plates and glasses, but realised that there was no dishwasher where it should have been, nor any sink. I was going to have to stack everything in a washing-up bowl and carry it upstairs to do in the bath, the way I had for months during the house renovations, when we’d had no kitchen.

Why had we thrown a party in a building site? It seemed we had. Perhaps our guests were still there, outside, and that was why music was playing.

I could hear it more clearly now: the notes of a piano drifting in like feathers carried by a breeze. And there were feathers too – thousands of them, as if it was snowing indoors. Augustus must have caught a bird. I would have to find its body and clear that away too, in case one of the children saw it, before I could trace the source of the music.

But the call of the sound was too strong. Abandoning the messy kitchen, I pushed open the glass doors leading to the garden (how were they there, when they had been installed after the rest of the kitchen?) and stepped outside.

Somehow, it was no longer autumn but full summer. The climbing roses Gray had planted along the fence were in full bloom – perhaps it was their petals I had seen drifting in the air, and not feathers after all? But I didn’t look at them, because there, in the centre of the garden where the birch tree should have been, was a grand piano.

The sun glinted off its polished top, making it almost too bright to look at, as if it was topped by a mirror instead of a piece of mahogany. But, despite the glare, I could see Gray sitting there, smiling, his hands floating over the keys, the music everywhere.

I sat next to him on the stool. I could smell his cologne – violet and sandalwood – and feel the warmth of his body next to mine.

‘I’ve forgotten how to play,’ he said. ‘I’m out of practice.’

I said, ‘Let me help.’

I reached my hands out and placed my fingers on the keys. I didn’t know how to play – I’d never got past ‘Chopsticks’ as a child. But now the notes came easily from under my hands, my fingers moving in sequence like ballerinas on stage. I played faster and faster, but I couldn’t keep up with the tune alone until Gray’s hands joined mine, his fingers slotting into the spaces between my own.

The music surged, louder and louder, faster and faster. We couldn’t sustain this pace – the notes were becoming discordant and jumbled.

‘We’ll wake the children,’ Gray said, and I remembered him saying that once before, when we’d had sex out in the garden on a summer night after too much champagne.

I said, ‘They’re fast asleep. It’s after midnight.’

But our rhythm was broken now.

‘Stop,’ I said. ‘This isn’t working.’

Gray didn’t stop, even though I asked him to over and over, struggling to hear my own voice above the crashing chords. Somehow he was still playing even though I could feel his hand on my shoulder, shaking me almost roughly.

‘Mum.’ I heard Barney’s voice; we’d woken the children after all. ‘Mum? Are you all right?’

Now I could recognise the tune we had been playing – it was the alarm going off on my phone. The piano stool became the sofa in the front room – the ground floor space that we seldom used. Why was I there? I must have fallen asleep there after Laurel had left.

I opened my eyes and my hangover hit me like a brick.

‘You were having a nightmare,’ Barney said.

He was squatting down next to me, his face full of confusion and concern.

With difficulty, I sat up. I was fully dressed except for my shoes, which I must have kicked off before I fell asleep. I must have set an alarm too, but I had no idea why.

‘What time is it?’

‘It’s six o’clock. It’s nearly dinnertime.’ Barney’s tone was almost accusatory. ‘You were saying, “Stop, stop.” Was someone hurting you in your dream?’

‘No.’ I wiped my face with my hand. I’d been drooling – how, when my mouth was as dry as sawdust? ‘I was having a dream about Dad. He was still alive.’

‘I have that dream too,’ he said. ‘Lulu does as well.’

‘I suppose it’s a thing.’

‘Mum. You don’t usually sleep on the sofa. Were you…?’

‘I’d had too much to drink, when Laurel was here earlier.’ And more after she left. In fact, come to think of it, I’d been drinking solidly since meeting Seren that morning. ‘I’m sorry.’