Paradise Lost?
I climbed the wrought Iron stairs and opened the door to our rooms in the Stable Suite after going out for a pre- breakfast run, almost knocking Nat off his feet as he stacked our bags in the entrance hallway ready for departure.
“Careful Boots, he grinned, “I see what your gran meant when she said you always arrive like a tornado…”
“I’ll just take a quick shower, Nat, then we can head over for breakfast. You have left me some clothes out? I did put some on the bedside chair…”
“You’re fine Boots, they are still there. While you are showering, I’ll take our bags down to Lemon Steroids then wander over to the breakfast room and order for us. Your breakfast will be ready by the time you catch up. Oh, and you might want to look at your phone. It’s flashed and beeped a few times while you were out running.”
As Nat picked up the bags and headed outside, I grabbed my phone from the table and glanced at it quickly on the way to the shower. Two missed calls and three texts from Mandy. All within about ten minutes of each other. That’s okay, it can at least wait until after I’ve showered.
The shower here is brilliant. It’s one of those really fancy ones they have in some hotels that have a range of settings and the ability to pulse the water at you. Me and Nat got some good use out of it last night before bed. Right now, I have it set to its highest power and alternating pulses of hot and cold water, like a needle effect, perfect for an invigorating post run recovery.
I’d barely stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel when my phone rang again, though this time I knew who it was immediately. Either mum or dad. They have their own ring tone. Then the little LED flashed its programmed Morse signal. - - - - - - - It’s mom.
“Hi mom, you’re up and about early,”
“Good morning Craig, and it’s not that early, almost seven o’clock. I’m just calling to congratulate you on your exam results, Mandy’s been on the phone to us already and told us how you’ve done. She picked up your results from school this morning when she went in to collect hers. She said she had phoned you…”
Bloody Hell, that’s all I need. Everybody knowing my exam results before I do. And she must mean the A level results from the exams I was allowed to sit early, just for practice, after all, I’ve only done the first year of the two-year course. My GCSE results won’t be published for another month yet. They always mark A levels first so the sixth formers can settle on their university places. GCSE results follow on from that. Because I was moved up a year at school, they let me do some A level papers for practice alongside my GCSE exams. I still have two more years to go before I do my A levels properly. And why was Mandy able to get my exam results? They’re mine. They should be private. I should get to know them first.
“Craig?”
“Sorry mom, I was thinking. How does Mandy know my results? What are they? Shouldn’t I have been able to get them first?”
“You don’t know? Mandy said she’d already phoned you, and texted you. She went in to school this morning to collect her results and picked up your envelope too.”
“She shouldn’t have opened it, mom. She should have given it to me when I got home.”
“I doubt she did open it, Craig. The A level results are also published on a big chart that is pinned to the noticeboard in the sixth form common room. She would have seen your results there. Anyway, you should be pleased. It’s not everyone who sits their exams early and gets good results like yours. Two A’s and a B. We’re so proud of you. Your dad’s already thinking about how we should mark the occasion. Maybe…”
“Two As and a B, mom?” I interrupted. “What was the B in?”
“You really don’t know? Have you even looked at the texts Mandy sent? Or the voicemails?”
See? Somehow, it’s my fault I don’t know my exam results even though I’m thousands of miles from the sealed envelope containing them and nobody’s actually told me. Nobody ever tells me stuff.
“You got an A in Pure Maths, an A in Applied Maths and a B in Physics, Craig.”
“Oh, right, yeah, that makes sense. The maths is straightforward enough but the physics relied on being taught things. I haven’t done the second year of the course yet so I didn’t know the answers to some of the questions. I suppose a B in physics isn’t bad, mom…”
“Isn’t bad? Craig, a B two years early in A level physics is good. You do realise that with A level grades of two As and a B you could just about get on to any degree course in any university you chose? You have kept those brochures your gran gave you for York University, haven’t you? And anyway, when you sit your A levels properly, you’ll almost certainly improve on that B. Three straight As would even get you into Oxford or Cambridge. We can have a good talk about this when you get here this afternoon. Nat said yesterday that you’ll be home about four…”
“Er, yes, mom, about then. Now, I have to go, I need to go to breakfast. Love you…”
* * *
“Are you going to carry on taunting that grilled tomato and last hash brown, Boots? Either eat them or give them here. What’s bugging you? You’ve been odd all through breakfast.”
“Sorry, Nat. You can have the hash brown.”
Nat didn’t need a second invitation. He speared the hash brown instantly and wolfed it down before there was any chance of me changing my mind.
“So, Boot’s, what’s the gloom for?”
I should have known better. Nat never lets me side track him. I can usually manage it with other people but Nat is just like dad on that score. Lets me wander all round the garden path then circles right back in.
“I got my exam results back today, Nat. Not my proper ones, the GCSEs. My A levels. The ones they let me do early. That’s what all those texts and missed calls were about. Mandy looked up my results when she went to collect hers. When she didn’t get hold of me, she phoned mom and dad. I expect the whole world knows by now.”
Nat’s just looking at me. Those wolf eyes burning into me.
“They weren’t bad, Nat. Actually, they were reasonably good. Especially as I haven’t done all the physics course yet. It’s just that I wanted to know them first.”
Nat wants to know them too. He isn’t asking. He’s just looking at me. I’m not sure he even knows what GCSE and A levels are but he is interested.
“You’re A levels are like our graduation exams, aren’t they, Boots? The ones that decide if you can go to university? You said they were letting you take those papers early as practice because you had been moved up a year in some subjects…”
That’s Nat’s subtle way of keeping the questioning going without actually demanding to know my results.
“You got it, Nat. GCSE means General Certificate of Secondary Education. We do those exams in fifth form. Then we do two more years in the Sixth Form, Lower Sixth and Upper Sixth, like your Junior and Senior High School years, and sit our A levels. That means Advanced level exams. GCSE exams used to be called Ordinary level exams. I don’t know why they changed the name.”
Those bloody eyes!
“I got two As – they were in maths, Nat, and a B. That was in physics.”
Nat’s smiling.
“So, what you’re telling me, is that you have done good enough to graduate from High School but two years early? And you’re looking miserable about it?”
“I’m not miserable, Nat. Just annoyed. I should have had the results first. Everybody knows them before me. Mandy could just have stuck the envelope through my letterbox and let me open it when I got back home in a few days’ time.”
Actually, that is part of it. I’m going home in a few days’ time. Today is mine and Nat’s last day of freedom together. We’ll be back at his house later this afternoon. Tomorrow he’s doing the interview for the TV station. Then the day after I’m heading home. I’ve had a great time here with Nat. This has been a brilliant road trip. But I always feel sad on the last couple of days of a holiday, knowing it’s about to end.
Nat’s just grabbed the tomato off my plate too and scoffed it. “Come on, Mr Smarty Pants, we have a fort to go and see, then a nice drive home. If you don’t cheer up by then I’ll set Elizabeth on you…”
* * *
Fort Ligonier was pretty awesome. It’s a reconstruction of the wooden palisade fort built by Colonel George Washington in 1758 – he was on our side then – to hold ground against the French sortieing from Fort Duquesne. Because of that, General Forbes was able to adjust his plans, over-run the French and march west, establishing a new base - Fort Pitt - in place of Fort Duquesne on the banks of the Allegheny. That became Pittsburgh…
The Fort’s not huge, the main bastion is just a 200 foot square timber palisade, but there’s loads to see, real archaeological remains and reconstructions, replica artillery and wagons, and lots of information boards plus plenty of staff to explain things. They even fly a proper flag over it, the Colonial Ensign.
Nat grabbed a few leaflets about the leadership training weekends they run there for scouts and similar groups, all based around the career development of George Washington. I suspect he might try and get some visits to the Camp arranged for the college next semester if he can square it off with the Commandant.
* * *
Our timing was pretty good: we drew up outside Nat’s house just a few minutes before 4pm, with Nat doing a handbrake turn to throw up a little cloud of gravel. My mom and dad, Nat’s mom and Elizabeth were on the steps to welcome us back, having known as soon as the gates at the bottom of the drive opened to let us in that we were just a couple of minutes away. Nat’s dad was away campaigning but expected back later that evening in time for dinner at around seven. We went round to the pool terrace right away and began to fill everyone in on our adventures. It seemed barely an hour since we had originally set off in Lemon Steroids, bound for Lake Erie. Once we had filled in some of the gaps about our trip, Nat and I decided we ought to go and unpack our bags and freshen up, and also give Nat a chance to look over the draft script that had been provided for his tv interview tomorrow. He’s going to be discussing that with his dad later tonight of course. I guess I’ll get a grilling about my plans for school next year. I need to do some thinking about that. Probably finish the physics course and re-sit that exam, try and bump the grade up to an A and see if I can persuade dad to let me join the marines a year early.
* * *
After we had unpacked, showered and changed into fresh clothes, Nat had a suggestion.
“Boots, how about I teach you a bit of piano before dinner like I promised ages ago? We never seemed to get round to it. Come on, we’ll slip down the rear stairs and into the music room, I’ll show you. Unless you want to get back to your mom and pop and tell them more about our trip?”
“No Nat, I’m good. We can try some piano. I’ll probably be useless at it but we can try it. Bugles and drums are way easier.”
“Not so, Craig. If you can read music the piano is easy. You just poke the keys and it does the work for you. None of that breathing and stuff. Come on…”
A few minutes later we were sat in front of a grand piano in the Bauers’ music room. I guess this is where Nat did his Christmas concert with Elizabeth. It’s definitely big enough. More like a ball room.
“Look at the music, Boots. What do you see?”
It’s the opening bit of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. Hardly a beginner’s piece. Even I know that. Nat’s got to be a mind reader.
“It’s easier than it looks, Craig. Sure, to play it well, convey all the emotion Beethoven packed into it, you have to be good. But just to bang out the tune, it’s not so difficult. Look at the notes on the first few lines again. What do you see?”
“Looks like the same three notes, repeated over and over at first, Nat.”
“Got it, Boots. And now you have your A level in counting, we’re good to go. Put your right hand on top of mine, feel where my fingers go. How they move. We’ll sort the left hand later.”
I liked that sarky remark, “an A level in counting”. I rested my hands gently on the back of Nat’s hands.
“See, Craig? Thumb on G sharp, second finger on C sharp and your pinky on E. Dead simple. Now all we do is roll through those notes in turn, again and again. Well, eight times to fill up 4 bars of music. Here goes…”
Nat flexed his hand and I felt it move beneath mine, gently striking, no, rolling across the three notes in turn. And again, And again.
“There you go Boots, now you try it on your own. Nice and slow. Three notes, eight times? Can you manage to count that much?”
He’s right. It actually does sound like the opening bit of the Moonlight Sonata. Not so good as when Nat plays it, but it’s recognisable.
“You’re getting there, Boots. Now we change it a bit. After those eight repetitions, you need to move your finger from G up to A, then C sharp and the pinky on D. Like this. Put your hand on mine again. We just glide along the keys after those first eight repetitions to take up the new notes and start to play those. Like this…”
Nat makes it seem easy. He just did the eight lots of three notes again, then slipped his fingers to three new keys and played those, and repeated them. At least I thought he did, but then I realised he’d slipped a finger back and played on one of them twice. So, it’s not just another straightforward set of three note repetitions this time round. There’s a subtle tweak to it. Yes, I can see that in the music now. One of the notes is repeated.
“You spotted it, Boots. I felt your finger cover mine again when I slipped back to repeat the D. We’re definitely getting somewhere. Play it with me a couple more times, then try it on your own.”
I was so engrossed in listening to Nat and trying to keep up with him, especially when I had to start using my left hand too as the right repeated the three notes and I had to do some ‘sharp changes’ and ‘octave changes’ - or “tweaky bits” as Nat called them with my left hand, that I didn’t notice we were no longer alone. My mom’s voice broke the stillness after I finished the second page of music with Nat and he paused to turn the page. Nat’s mom was there too.
“That’s good, Craig. Angela, you wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve tried – and failed – to get Craig interested in playing the piano. Usually, he plays about three notes then gets restless and after five notes he’s off to climb a tree or play football instead. Clearly Nathan has some teaching talent that neither I nor the music teacher we took Craig to had…”
Angela smiled. “Maybe Nathan will play for us after dinner, which is almost ready, boys. Your pop is home, Nathan, he’s with your pop right now, Craig, and we’re all dying to hear more about your trip. There's your tv interview tomorrow to think about too.”
“Yes, Craig, and we have lots to talk about too, especially your exam results and what that will mean for you at school next year, and which university you might want to go to,” my mom added. “Come along, let’s not keep everyone waiting.”
Nat glanced at me. He feels it too. Our freedom ebbing away. Paradise lost...
