Chapter 5

Physiotherapy the next morning was not fun. Anita taught Reg how to use his crutches and then moved on to flexing his ankles. She also massaged them. She did this by having him sit on the side of the table while she sat on a chair in front of him and placed his foot between her ample breasts.

"I lurve ankles," she growled at him and then laughed delightedly when he blushed.

Finally she worked on his knee. That was the bit that was not fun. It hurt but she was careful not to overdo it.

She accompanied him back to the ward and, watched by Rita and Yvonne, installed and set his passive motion machine. She left with instructions as to how it was to be used.

"I'll readjust it on Monday," she said adding, "Day of rest for you tomorrow ... and me."

Then the press arrived. That was not fun either but as Reg answered their questions in monosyllables and with shrugs they did not stay long.

Even though Daphne was not working she and Ron only stayed for the usual half hour. Sitting around while Daphne chattered was not his idea of how to spend his day off. He knew too that Reg would have had enough.

Eleanor did not come in until three and, having given Reg his now customary kiss on the forehead, explained that she had not come in earlier as she had not wanted to impinge on his parents' time with him. She was mildly surprised that they had not taken the opportunity to stay longer.

"Listening to Mum wittering on for more than half an hour isn't Dad's idea of fun," Reg replied with a grin.

"Nor yours either, I suspect, you ungrateful young man."

They both chuckled.

"Have you brought the music?" Reg asked eagerly.

"Of course." Her twinkling eyes showed she was not upset. She delved in a plastic bag and brought out the complete score and a sheet of music on which she had written the bass part.

"Now then," she went on pulling her chair so that she could sit beside him, "this is a stave and each line and each gap between them is a note and they go up in a scale." She sang one to la. "Got it?"

"Yup."

"Right! The blobs with the tails and holes in them are called minims and they are two beats long. The ones with the holes filled in are crotchets and they are one beat. If they have a dot after them like that one," she pointed, "it becomes one and a half beats. The one next to it with the curly-wig on the end of its tail is a quaver and is half a beat. OK so far?"

"I think so."

She opened the score to the right page.

"Sheesh!" exclaimed Reg as he saw a mass of staves full of notes covering it.

Eleanor chuckled. "It's all right. This is your line." She pointed. "Now the two staves at the bottom bracketed together are the accompaniment and if you look at the bottom line of notes you can see that they are the same as yours and are played by the cellos. So when we listen to it and sing along with it we'll bump the bass up and you'll be able to hear them and the basses more clearly which should help you."

"OK."

"Good. Now, going back to the dotted crochet, it won't make much difference with you singing to la but do you see how it and the quaver have been fitted to the words 'and the' which stops too much emphasis on the 'the' like in speech? Anyway that doesn't matter at the moment. Shall we give it a go? I'll sing it with you."

"OK!" Reg nodded excitedly.

She set the player up and gave him his first note. "Now," she went on without the hint of a coy giggle, "I'm going to have to snuggle up so that I can hear as well so that I keep in time. Ready?"

Reg nodded. She gave him his first note again and then pressed the start button. Off they went. Eleanor only let it go for some twenty bars when there was a pause. It was far from perfect but not a bad first attempt. She said just that. Reg looked rueful.

"No, no!" she said. "You can't expect to be perfect straight away. Tell you what; you do it on your own. You'll hear the music better and I won't be breathing down your neck."

She ran the disc back and played those bars again. Reg did do better.

Eleanor clapped delightedly. "Much better!" she exclaimed. "You're a natural. I think you must have Welsh blood in you because harmony seems to be second nature to you."

Reg beamed.

"Right! We'll do it again but we'll carry on. By the way, those two little black rectangles above the middle line mean ... What?"

Reg looked back at the music. There was one minim in the bar before the rectangle and there were four beats to the bar. "Two beats pause?"

"Spot on but in music it's called a rest."

"OK."

They played the passage a couple of more times and Reg did better each time.

"Let's give it a rest there," said Eleanor. "You can practise some more this evening and I'll give you a test tomorrow."

"OK." Reg smiled happily. "You know, I knew when I went wrong. I-it just didn't sound right."

"What? Against the basses?"

"Yes but against the whole choir and the orchestra."

Eleanor bounced excitedly in her chair, grabbed both his hands and squeezed them. "I was right! I was right! You do have a natural gift for harmony. Oh, Reg, this is great!"

Reg was thrilled. Eleanor had never seen him look so happy.

He gently squeezed her hands back. "Thanks, Eleanor."

"Don't thank me! Thank your Maker!"

She was as excited as he was. She bounced in her chair.

"I've got an idea. Once a month our church does an old fashioned Book of Common Prayer Service with all the old hymns and they're all in standard harmony. Daddy always sings the bass part so you could come and stand next to each other and belt it out together."

Reg sobered up immediately and in doing so reverted to taciturnity.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Busting in on your family."

"Reginald Woolstencroft, don't be so pig-headed and stupid."

Reg stared at her.

They were still holding hands and she squeezed his again.

"Reg ... OK, we're all grateful to you for saving me but forget that. You and I have become friends, haven't we?"

Reg nodded slightly reluctantly. Eleanor picked up on it.

"Yes, we have," she said, "and you know it!"

"OK."

"My friends are their friends. Mind you, I haven't brought a long-haired leatherjacket home yet."

Reg had to smile and she smiled back.

"So, they would welcome you. Genuinely."

Reg still looked doubtful.

Eleanor squeezed his hands again. "Really, Reg. I wouldn't have suggested it if I'd thought it wouldn't work. Promise."

There was a long pause as they stared at each other. Eleanor won.

"OK."

Eleanor did not beam. She smiled warmly. "Good," she said softly.

"Thanks," he replied equally softly.

She pulled her hands away from his. "They're going to chuck me out in a minute," she said, "and I've got to go and pretty up for this evening."

"Could I keep the score?"

"Yes, of course."

Their eyes met. His showed some sadness, hers affection. She bent forward but, instead of kissing his forehead, her lips brushed his.

Then she was gone.

Reg watched her go. He did not know what to think. His mind was in turmoil. She was bossy but gently so and when he gave in she seemed to be genuinely pleased: not because she was selfish and had won but because ... she genuinely thought he would benefit. That was special. She was special and he looked forward to her every visit because something came out of each one: how nice she was to his mum, her lending him the CDs and the player, the jigsaw, her teaching him about choral music, her enthusiasm for his ability to harmonise. On top of all that was her unaffected leaning against him so that she could share the headset. Her telling him her family would accept him because he was her friend; that was special.