Song for Emilia. Julia Osborne

she said, ‘You must play for me, Sandra. Why not Clair de Lune,’ like you played at our concert? I’d love to hear that again. I’ll find my music—’

      ‘I don’t need the score,’ Sandra said. ‘Since you taught it to me, I practised and practised.’ Settling herself at the familiar piano, Sandra played the quiet opening bars ... the brilliant arpeggios unfurling as her fingers flickered up and down the keyboard, to end with an echo of the first pianissimo notes, then the final, wonderful chord.

      ‘I remember that tune,’ Emilia cried, breaking the spell.

      ‘Better than ever,’ Miss Brooks said. ‘Now, dear lass, I must tell you something.

      At Miss Brooks’ request, Sandra poured more tea, emptying the pot. Her music teacher smiled, but there was sadness in her face. To Sandra, Miss Brooks had always been old, but today she noticed the deeper lines, and on her neck, veins showed blue beneath her papery skin, as if she was slowly becoming transparent.

      ‘I’m going quite deaf.’ Miss Brooks gave a little sigh. ‘First it was just my left ear, but now I have great trouble hearing people speak, and I’ve lost all the top notes in my music.’

      Sandra didn’t know what to say. Miss Brooks, deaf? Her life had been immersed in music, and now, to lose all that, bit by bit? So she couldn’t have properly heard Clair de Lune. Near tears, her throat ached, and she impulsively reached for Miss Brooks’ hand, felt the strong, bony fingers return her warmth.

      ‘Could you hear anything of what we said?’ Emilia asked.

      ‘A little, my dear,’ Miss Brooks answered. ‘It’s better when only one person talks, but you two, so excited ...’ her voice trailed off. ‘I’m very glad to see you, Sandra, and to know that although you may not want to be the concert pianist you always aspired to being, you are composing your beautiful songs. Play one of those for me now, lass, and Emilia and I will sit quietly and listen.’

      ♫