Edward Carter-Brown was back.
Or, as everyone called him, Ted.
Ted was the youth guitar teacher who was, in Barry’s opinion, extremely cool.
In Alfie’s opinion, Ted was an excellent guitar teacher.
In Marmaduke’s opinion, Ted was cool because he had a guitar and Barry thought so.
And in Mrs Brand’s opinion, Ted was probably the only person in London who could make three children practise guitar without making it feel like homework.
Over the summer, Ted’s hair had grown considerably longer.
It was now properly long.
Not “perhaps you need a haircut” long.
Not “your mum is going to mention it at some point” long.
It was the sort of long hair that suggested Ted had spent the summer attending rock festivals, riding motorbikes and possibly living in a garage with several guitars.
He was wearing jeans, trainers and a black T-shirt with Guns N’ Roses across the front.
Barry thought this was outstanding.
He had absolutely no idea who Guns N’ Roses were.
He simply liked the guns.
And the roses.
It seemed like an excellent combination.
The whole thing had started on Saturday evening.
Mrs Brand, Mr Brand and Marjory had been sitting around the kitchen table after the children had gone to bed.
There had been wine.
Not a vast quantity.
Just enough to make everybody feel that their decisions were considerably more sensible than they actually were.
Ted had rung Mrs Brand.
“Hi, it’s Ted,” he had said. “Just wondering whether the boys might fancy restarting guitar lessons?”
Mrs Brand had looked across the kitchen.
Mr Brand was drinking wine.
Marjory was drinking wine.
Mrs Brand was drinking wine.
Nobody spoke for a moment.
Then Mr Brand said, “That sounds like a good idea.”
Marjory nodded.
“Definitely.”
Mrs Brand said, “Yes. We should absolutely get them going again.”
There was another pause.
Then Mr Brand asked, “When did they last have a lesson?”
Nobody knew.
This was not a particularly encouraging beginning.
Mrs Brand looked at her phone.
“I think it was before the summer.”
Marjory frowned.
Mr Brand said, “Was it before the school holidays?”
“Yes.”
“Which school holidays?”
Nobody answered.
The guitars had remained in their cases.
The guitars were still rented from old Mr King, the slightly eccentric music shop owner who had supplied them in the first place.
The children had not stopped being interested in guitars, they’d simply forgotten they existed!
The adults had simply allowed several weeks to disappear beneath the enormous sofa cushions of family life.
Mrs Brand picked up her phone.
She typed:
Sure, how about tomorrow afternoon?
Mr Brand looked over.
“You’ve sent that already?”
“Yes.”
“To Ted?”
“Yes.”
Marjory looked at the clock.
“It’s nearly ten.”
“So?”
“So tomorrow is tomorrow.”
“Exactly.”
There was a pause.
Then Mr Brand said, “Perhaps we should have thought about whether we were actually ready.”
Mrs Brand looked at him.
“You’re the one who said yes.”
“You said yes first.”
“You agreed.”
Marjory took another sip of wine.
“This is why I don’t make decisions after wine.”
Mrs Brand looked at her.
“You came here voluntarily.”
“I know.”
By Sunday morning, everybody had forgotten the conversation.
Everybody except Ted.
At about half past two, Mrs Brand was standing in the kitchen when she suddenly froze.
“Oh.”
Mr Brand looked up from his laptop.
“What?”
“Guitar.”
Mr Brand stared at her.
“What about it?”
“Ted.”
There was a silence.
Then Marjory, who had been sitting at the kitchen table with Marmaduke, slowly looked up.
“Oh no.”
“What?” asked Marmaduke.
“Guitar lesson,” said Marjory.
Marmaduke’s eyes widened.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“Guitar?”
“Yes.”
“Music?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Very shortly.”
Marmaduke jumped up.
“I need my guitar!”
Marjory jumped up too.
“Come on.”
The pair ran out of the house.
They lived only a few doors away, but Marmaduke behaved as if they were attempting to catch the last helicopter out of a war zone.
“Where is it?” shouted Marmaduke as they reached his house.
“In the cupboard.”
“Which cupboard?”
“The guitar cupboard.”
“That’s helpful!”
Marjory opened the cupboard.
The guitar case was still there.
Dusty.
Very slightly dusty.
Marjory looked at it.
Marmaduke looked at it.
Neither spoke.
Finally Marmaduke said, “It looks like it hasn’t been used.”
“No,” said Marjory.
“How long?”
Marjory thought about it.
“Let’s not discuss that.”
They ran back.
At the Brand house, Barry was already looking for his guitar.
Unfortunately, he had no idea where it was.
“Barry,” said Mrs Brand, “where did you put your guitar?”
Barry looked offended.
“I didn’t put it anywhere.”
“So where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“That means you put it somewhere.”
“No. It means the guitar is somewhere.”
Alfie appeared carrying his guitar.
His case was open.
His guitar was tuned.
His music book was beside him.
He sat upright on the sofa.
He looked prepared.
Mrs Brand stared at him.
“You’ve been practising.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“A bit.”
Mr Brand looked at him.
“What does ‘a bit’ mean?”
“Most days.”
There was silence.
Mrs Brand turned slowly towards Barry.
Barry was holding his guitar upside down.
Marmaduke came through the door carrying his guitar case.
He was breathing heavily.
“I found it!”
“Excellent,” said Mrs Brand.
Marmaduke put it down.
Then he noticed Alfie.
“You’ve been practising?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
Barry looked worried.
“What’s enough?”
Alfie shrugged.
“I can play the chords Ted taught us.”
Barry looked at Marmaduke.
Marmaduke looked at Barry.
Barry whispered, “We’re in trouble.”
“We’re not in trouble,” said Marmaduke.
“We haven’t practised.”
“I know.”
“That sounds like trouble.”
At exactly three o’clock—or perhaps three minutes after, because musicians apparently operated on a mysterious relationship with clocks—there was a knock at the door.
Barry ran to answer it.
He opened the door.
Ted stood there.
He looked even cooler than Barry remembered.
Long hair.
Black Guns N’ Roses T-shirt.
Guitar bag over his shoulder.
Big grin.
“Hello!”
Barry stared.
Then he looked at Ted’s T-shirt.
“Are those guns?”
Ted looked down.
“Yeah.”
“And roses?”
“Yeah.”
Barry nodded.
“That is excellent.”
Ted laughed.
“Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
Barry stood aside.
Then suddenly remembered something important.
“Before you do anything, I need to introduce you to Snowball.”
Ted looked confused.
“Snowball?”
“Yes.”
Barry led him into the sitting room.
Snowball was curled up comfortably on one of her baskets.
“This is Snowball,” announced Barry.
Ted crouched down.
“Hello, Snowball.”
Snowball opened one eye.
Barry said proudly, “She’s our cat.”
Ted stroked her gently.
“She’s lovely.”
“She has FIV.”
Ted looked at Mrs Brand.
Mrs Brand smiled apologetically.
“Barry tells everyone.”
“He’s very thorough,” said Ted.
Barry nodded.
“She has to stay inside.”
“Right.”
“And she likes cuddles.”
Snowball gave a small purr.
“And she likes food.”
Another purr.
“And she doesn’t like being disturbed.”
Snowball opened both eyes.
Barry whispered, “So be careful.”
Ted nodded solemnly.
“Understood.”
Snowball went back to sleep.
“Right,” said Ted. “Where are my guitar students?”
Alfie stood up immediately.
“Here.”
Ted grinned.
“Excellent.”
Alfie looked pleased.
Barry and Marmaduke shuffled forward.
Ted looked at them.
“Ready?”
Barry nodded.
Marmaduke nodded.
Neither looked particularly ready.
Ted opened his guitar case.
“Okay. Let’s see what we’ve got.”
Alfie picked up his guitar.
He sat correctly.
He checked his tuning.
He put his fingers into position.
Ted smiled.
“That’s looking good.”
Barry picked up his guitar.
He looked at it.
Then he looked at Ted.
“How do I hold it?”
Ted blinked.
“You’ve forgotten?”
Barry nodded.
“Mostly.”
Marmaduke whispered, “Me too.”
Ted laughed.
“Okay. That’s fine.”
He looked at the two younger boys.
“Back to basics.”
Barry nodded.
“What are basics?”
“How to hold the guitar.”
“Oh.”
“How to hold the pick.”
“Oh.”
“How to put your fingers on the strings.”
“Oh.”
“How to play a chord.”
Barry looked at Marmaduke.
Marmaduke looked at Barry.
Alfie was already playing.
A clear, clean chord rang through the room.
Barry stopped.
“Alfie!”
Alfie looked up.
“What?”
“You made music.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Practising.”
Barry looked suspicious.
“That’s the trick?”
“Yes.”
Barry thought about this.
“That sounds like work.”
Ted laughed.
“It is a little bit.”
Barry looked disappointed.
Marmaduke, however, was trying very hard.
Ted showed them where to put their fingers.
“This is an A chord.”
Barry put his fingers down.
He strummed.
It sounded like a small cupboard collapsing.
Ted smiled.
“Good.”
Barry looked surprised.
“That was good?”
“It was a chord.”
“It sounded horrible.”
“That’s because you’re learning.”
Barry strummed again.
It sounded worse.
“Now?”
Ted nodded.
“Still technically a chord.”
Barry grinned.
He liked this teacher.
Marmaduke tried.
His sounded considerably better.
Barry looked betrayed.
“Why does Marm sound better?”
“Because Marmaduke is concentrating.”
Barry immediately concentrated.
He closed one eye.
He stuck his tongue out.
He leaned forward until his nose was almost touching the guitar.
He strummed.
It sounded like a wardrobe falling down the stairs.
Ted nodded.
“That’s definitely a chord.”
Barry smiled.
“I knew it.”
For the next twenty minutes, Alfie progressed.
Barry and Marmaduke worked their way through the musical equivalent of learning how to walk.
Ted was patient.
Very patient.
Possibly the patience of a man who had taught many children guitar and therefore knew that four-year-olds were essentially tiny experimental scientists who occasionally happened to own instruments.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s try changing from A to D.”
Alfie did it immediately.
Barry stared at his fingers.
“Mine won’t move.”
“That’s okay.”
“They’re stuck.”
“They’re not stuck.”
“They feel stuck.”
Marmaduke looked at his own fingers.
“Mine are stuck too.”
Ted smiled.
“Try slowly.”
Barry moved one finger.
Then another.
Then accidentally moved all of them.
“D!”
“No,” said Ted.
Barry looked disappointed.
“Nearly.”
Marmaduke tried.
He got two fingers in roughly the correct place.
Ted nodded.
“That’s much closer.”
Barry looked at him.
“How long until I’m as good as Alfie?”
Ted considered this carefully.
“With practice?”
“Yes.”
“Probably quite a while.”
Barry nodded.
“That is unacceptable.”
Alfie laughed.
“You haven’t practised.”
Barry pointed at him.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what?”
Barry thought.
“Snowball.”
Snowball opened one eye.
Everyone looked at her.
She closed it again.
Ted smiled.
“Okay. Snowball is a valid excuse.”
Barry beamed.
“Thank you.”
“But you still need to practise.”
Barry’s smile disappeared.
“Oh.”
Marmaduke nudged him.
“We can practise together.”
Barry looked at him.
“Every day?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s a lot.”
“Ten minutes.”
Barry considered this.
“Can we do nine?”
Ted laughed.
“Ten.”
“Nine and a half?”
“Ten.”
“Fine.”
At the end of the lesson, Ted packed up.
Alfie had learned a new chord progression.
Marmaduke could just about move between two chords without looking completely horrified.
Barry had successfully remembered which way up the guitar went.
It had been, objectively, a successful lesson.
Mrs Brand appeared with tea.
“Thank you, Ted.”
“No problem.”
She looked at Alfie.
“Great work.”
Then she looked at Barry and Marmaduke.
“You two?”
Barry nodded.
“I’ve learned A.”
Marmaduke said, “And almost D.”
Alfie added, “Barry has learned how to hold his guitar.”
Barry glared at him.
“That is also important.”
“It is,” said Ted.
Barry smiled.
Ted slung his guitar over his shoulder.
“I’ll see you next week?”
The adults exchanged a look.
Nobody wanted to admit that they were already slightly worried about remembering next Sunday.
Mrs Brand nodded.
“Absolutely.”
Marjory called from the doorway.
“We’ll put it in the diary.”
Mr Brand picked up his phone.
“I’m setting three reminders.”
Alfie looked horrified.
“Three?”
“One for the lesson.”
“One to practise.”
“And one to remember the first two.”
Ted laughed.
Barry looked at Snowball.
“Do you want to learn guitar?”
Snowball yawned.
“I think that’s a no.”
Barry considered this.
“She could be a drummer.”
Snowball closed her eyes.
Marmaduke whispered, “I don’t think she wants to.”
Barry nodded.
“That’s because she hasn’t tried.”
Alfie shook his head.
“Please don’t teach the cat guitar.”
Barry looked offended.
“I wasn’t going to.”
There was a pause.
“I was going to teach her drums.”
Mrs Brand sighed.
Mr Brand laughed.
Marjory looked at Ted.
Ted looked at the three boys.
Then at Snowball.
Then back at the parents.
“See you next week.”
He left.
The door closed.
There was silence.
Alfie went upstairs to practise.
Marmaduke picked up his guitar and began trying the A chord again.
Barry sat beside Snowball.
He stroked her gently.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered.
Snowball purred.
“I won’t teach you guitar.”
Snowball relaxed.
“I’ll teach you drums.”
Snowball stopped purring.
Barry smiled.
“Excellent.”
Snowball stared at him.
For the first time since arriving at the Brand house, the FIV-positive rescue cat appeared to have a very clear thought:
Perhaps Barbados wasn’t the only thing she needed to escape from.
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