Roger was a fairly ordinary person, quiet, friendly, musical. His life could be described as mundane. He was a small man, small in stature, but not, at this moment, in aspiration.
October the eighth was his sixtieth birthday, and next week, he was to have the celebration of a lifetime, a grand, life affirming party. He had decided to push the boat out and entertain and delight his musical family so had hired the St Paul’s Orchestra. Roger’s plan was to be the lead instrument in the performance of Mozart’s Piano Concerto Number Nineteen and for that reason, he had been practising daily for months
Roger was a piano teacher and his pupils were his musical family. He had few living relatives, only a male cousin and an old auntie. He also had Yurec, a Polish friend with whom he would sometimes go to a concert at the Royal Festival Hall, or St John’s Smith Square. Roger’s pupils, especially the adults, brought further interest and occasional excitement into his otherwise rather un-sensational life. His pupil’s had met a few times before; he liked to bring them together for a glass of wine, a Christmas lunch or a summer barbecue, but this sixtieth affair was on a grander scale, more high class than most had ever known.
The day arrived, the final rehearsal with the orchestra was to take place before the guests arrived. An expensive quality grand piano had been hired and was about to be delivered at any moment, and the musicians were due to arrive for a four o’clock rehearsal. Jane and Belinda, members of the musical family had come to the banqueting hall beforehand to arrange flowers for the tables, delicate blooms in blue and mauve with abundant sprays of lush green foliage. They became aware that although the duty manager had said an hour ago, the piano removal company was just parking, there was still no sign of the piano.
Belinda had already had a near disaster with the cake, a Grand piano-shaped gateau, exquisitely and professionally iced, a gift from the musical family. It was vital the cake arrived at the Hall in perfect condition, so she had carried it herself from the bakery with utmost care, never taking her eyes off it. She was so intent on holding the cake securely, that she failed to see the grating. Her heel caught and she went flying, her elbows take the impact while she hung on to the cake. Belinda showed Jane her bruises. It had not been funny at the time, in fact it had been very painful, but both women laughed out loud now as Belinda related the story. ‘Let’s hope the piano deliverers have not found a very large manhole and decided to dump the instrument down there!’.
The duty manager was irate. ‘There’s a big marquee in the grounds,’ he had told the men, ’So look out for the ramp alongside. You can take the piano into the main building that way. Those bleedin’ idiots heard the word marquee and that’s where they’ve gone an’ put it, and now there’s a kids party going on with bleedin’ chocolate and crisps and sticky fingers!’
The delivery men had left an hour ago and only professionally trained carriers can lift and place a Grand piano. The piano was stuck in the marquee. The tuner arrived and members of the orchestra drifted in for rehearsal, but there was no piano to tune or to play. The situation was serious, Roger had been preparing for this evening for a year and a half and the highlight of the evening was to be his musical party piece. The tuner phoned the removal company and a perplexed woman in the office said she had no idea where the men would be, ‘Gone home, I shouldn’t wonder; it’s Saturday afternoon and they’ll be looking forward to a night out.’ She said she’d have a go at finding them.
Roger arrived for his final rehearsal and knew nothing of the afternoon’s events. It was soon very clear what a tragedy it would be if the piano could not be relocated. He and the orchestra were stricken with inaction, none of them could safely move the piano, but the Mozart Piano Concerto could not be performed without it.
Roger had confessed his anxiety to his pupils; his great fear of losing his nerve or his place in the music, but never once had it occurred to him that he might lose his piano. If it couldn’t be moved in time, there would be no performance The enormous amount of money Roger had spent was out of all proportion to his monthly income. It would be money down the drain if there was no piano. Yesterday the gateau had almost gone down the drain, today he feared it was going to be his party.
It was five pm and Roger was panicking and then his phone rang. It was the piano remover boss, ’We’re on our way mate! Sorry to cause you bovver.‘ They arrived and with speed and expertise and profuse apologies, the piano was brought in. Alas, there was no time for rehearsal.
The flowers were on the tables, Belinda displayed the cake to her satisfaction, and Roger lifted his coat tails and sat down to play the magnificent instrument. His fingers touched the keys, but his usual lightness of touch was hampered by stickiness. His notes did not flow. Nor did his sustain pedal, work to satisfaction, it would not rise and fall. Roger’s embarrassment was clear; his page turner rushed to his assistance. She lifted the lid to see Hoola Hoops and Jammy Dodgers regaled along the strings, and breadcrumbs squeezed between the keys. Guests crowded round and helpful hands removed the party snacks, whilst kitchen spray was found to clean the ivories.
At last, Mozart’s tones and harmonies filled the air. It was to be a day to forget but without doubt, a night to remember!
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