A Second Chance (59 page)

‘They say it’s “fundamentally sound in the
vital internal components relating to the quality of its
tone,”
 
’ Bill read aloud carefully.
‘
 
“It has sustained a degree of
superficial damage to parts of the exterior, not including the
keys, which are largely unmarked. Such damage is of a trifling
nature, affecting only aesthetic details.” I think they’re saying
its insides are all right, but the outside’s a bit knocked about.
What do you reckon?’

The words were as remote from Frank’s
vocabulary as from Bill’s. But his brother-in-law agreed that
seemed to be the gist of the letter. ‘So you think you might send
off for it?’ Frank asked.

‘Maybe,’ said Bill. ‘If they’ve still got it
when I’ve put a bit more by.’
Quite a bit more,
he added to
himself. The firm was asking seventeen pounds for the piano,
including the cost of sending it to Ruatane, and when Bill had
added up his savings he had found that they came to the
disappointing total of twelve pounds, one shilling and
fourpence.

Frank appeared to guess his thoughts. Bill
sensed that he was on the point of offering to lend (or, even
worse,
give
) him the money. He was grateful for the generous
impulse, but even more grateful that Frank chose not to make an
offer Bill’s self-respect would have forced him to refuse.

Self-respect was all very well, but he
needed to find a way to build up his savings that did not rely on
his father’s fitful, not to mention extremely modest, bursts of
generosity. And then an idea came to him one day when he was
ordering a new wheel for the spring cart.

‘I hear there’s a new bloke started up doing
wheels and suchlike, out the other side of town,’ he remarked to Mr
Winskill. The wheelwright scowled at the reference to his rival,
but made no reply beyond a grunt. ‘He’s doing a good price, I
heard,’ Bill added.

‘A good price if you’re not bothered about
the quality,’ Mr Winskill answered curtly. ‘When do you want this
wheel of yours by?’

Bill hesitated, as if considering a matter
of some weight. ‘I might leave it just now,’ he said after a long
pause. ‘I was thinking of taking a look at the new bloke’s
place.’

Mr Winskill’s scowl darkened. ‘Don’t come
complaining to me when the wheel falls off your cart and you break
your neck.’

‘Well, it won’t cost anything to look. And
it might save me a few shillings.’

Bill made ready to ride off, deliberately
being slow about it, and shooting covert glances at the
wheelwright.

‘I’ll knock two shillings off, with you
being a good customer,’ Mr Winskill said abruptly.

‘That’s very good of you,’ Bill said,
careful not to let his triumph appear in his face. There would be
no need to show his father the account before getting the money
from him to pay the wheelwright; Arthur knew perfectly well what
they were usually charged for wheels. He had an excellent memory
for prices. The two shillings Bill had just saved could go straight
into his secret hoard.

Over the following months those two
shillings were joined by others, as Bill developed new skills at
bargaining. Every purchase was subjected to scrutiny, to see
whether or not he could save even a few pennies on it. He would
allow the would-be seller to believe the purchase was all but
settled, then begin to hem and haw, saying that perhaps he might
leave it till the next quarter, or even hinting that he might find
himself travelling to Auckland in the near future, where everyone
knew things were cheaper. So adept did he become at these measures
that he began to experience a certain coolness of manner towards
himself. But he hardened himself against it, and remained
steadfast.

He felt only the tiniest prickings of
conscience over keeping the resulting savings for himself, rather
than handing them over to his father. The fact that he found the
whole business so unpleasant, going as it did against his easygoing
nature, made him feel more justified in keeping the money. But most
important of all was that this was for Lily. She deserved this.

Late in the year Bill received another
letter from the piano shop. It surprised him, coming as it did
unsolicited rather than in response to any approach from him. Once
again, he had to find his way through the letter’s unfamiliar
language before he could understand its import, and when he had
done so he was torn between hopefulness and unease. The used
Broadwood was still available, but he sensed that the firm was not
happy with its presence.

He recalled one or two rather grand shops he
had seen when he had gone to Auckland with Frank; stores they had
both found too intimidating to enter, knowing they would look out
of place. Perhaps the owners of this piano shop, which prided
itself on supplying only the finest instruments, were embarrassed
by having on their premises a piano that had seen better days.

When Lily was safely occupied elsewhere in
the house, Bill retrieved the tin box he kept in a drawer and
counted his money. Even with his recent hard bargaining, it only
came to fourteen pounds, two shillings and sixpence. Still almost
three pounds short of the seventeen pounds that was being
asked.

He dashed off a letter to the piano shop,
assuring them that he was still interested but asking if any
reduction in the price was possible. A reply came promptly. Its
tone was polite but rather chilly. “After due consideration of the
circumstances,” he was told, the piano was now being offered to him
for fifteen pounds ten shillings. No further reduction would be
possible. If this reduced price did not meet with his approval, and
if he did not find himself in a position to accept their offer in
the near future, “an alternative method of disposal” would be
sought.

Disposal! That sounded like getting rid of a
dead cow. They couldn’t be allowed to do that to Lily’s piano!

It was time for desperate measures. Later
that same day, Bill lingered on the verandah when they had had
their afternoon tea and his father was settling in for what he
called reading the paper, although to anyone else it might appear
that he was taking a nap. Edie had wandered out to the kitchen to
help Lily with getting dinner on; Bill knew Lily’s heart always
sank when Edie decided to help, and when he could spare the time he
generally found ways of keeping his mother away from the kitchen at
such moments. But just now it suited him to be alone with his
father. Edie was inclined these days to forget within half an hour
anything she had been told, but before forgetting it she was likely
to repeat it to anyone within hearing.

Bill decided to take a direct approach. ‘I
want to get a piano for Lily,’ he said when he was sure they would
not be overheard.

‘Eh?’ said Arthur. ‘Those things cost a lot
of money, boy.’

‘I know. I’ve been putting a bit aside for a
while now. There’s one I’ve got my eye on—secondhand, but a good
brand. It’s a good price, too. Frank put me on to this place. He
knows a bit about buying pianos,’ he pointed out before his father
could bristle at not having been consulted first. ‘His seems to be
lasting all right.’

‘That’s true enough,’ Arthur allowed. ‘A
piano,’ he mused. ‘I wouldn’t mind hearing Lily play of an evening.
I can’t be bothered going down to Frank’s all the time, I’ve too
much to do here.’

Bill made a noise vaguely indicative of
agreement. ‘The thing is, I want to get on and buy it before
someone else snaps it up. And I’m still a bit short.’

Arthur narrowed his eyes. ‘How much?’

‘One pound, seven shillings and
sixpence.’

Now Arthur looked surprised. ‘That’s all?
You’ve saved up all the rest?’

‘Yes,’ said Bill.

‘You haven’t done too badly, then,’ Arthur
said with grudging praise. ‘I don’t give you that much.’

Bill shrugged. ‘I’ve been at it for a good
while now. Years and years.’

He could have pressed his father; could have
pointed out all the work he did, and how rarely he asked for
anything. And that would have guaranteed an indignant refusal.
Instead, he schooled his face into meekness, and waited as
patiently as he could, watching Arthur’s thoughts play over his
face.

‘Lily’s been a real help to your ma over the
years,’ Arthur said at last. ‘You were lucky to get a good, steady
woman like her.’

‘I know I was.’

There was another pause; this one went on so
long, and Arthur’s eyelids drooped so much, that Bill began to fear
his father had fallen asleep. At last Arthur shifted in his chair,
reached for his pipe and started fiddling with it, then raised his
eyes to Bill’s.

‘Go and fetch the chequebook,’ he
pronounced.

*

Bill sent off his order, along with the
money, the very next day. Just before Christmas he received an
acknowledgement, and an assurance that the piano would be sent
early in the new year. On Christmas Day, when Frank’s family were
at Arthur’s, Bill took the opportunity to tell Frank about the
piano’s imminent arrival, and to discuss with him what could be
done to keep Lily away from the farm on the day it came.

‘I want it to be a surprise,’ said Bill. ‘I
don’t want her to see it till it’s all set up and ready for
her.’

‘Hmm, and there’s a lot of fiddling about to
get it put together and all, it’ll take a while,’ Frank said
thoughtfully. ‘You’ll need to get the tuner out, too.’

‘The tuner?’ Bill echoed in sudden alarm.
‘Couldn’t I leave getting him out for a bit?’

Frank shook his head. ‘No, you’ll need him
on the day. I remember when we got ours, he had to give it a good
seeing-to before it sounded right. Sorry,’ he added, seeing Bill’s
expression. ‘I should have told you that before.’

Bill shrugged off his apology. ‘Don’t worry
about it. I’ll go and see him next time I’m in town.’ He pushed the
new complication to the back of his mind. ‘So on the day it gets
here, do you reckon you could keep Lily down at your place long
enough for us to get it all sorted out? She’s usually just there
for a couple of hours when she goes down to teach the kids.’

‘I’ll ask Lizzie. She’ll think of
something.’

‘Don’t let on to anyone else, though—I want
it to be a real surprise.’

Frank smiled at him. ‘It’ll be that, all
right.’

*

‘
Jam!’ had been Lizzie’s
suggestion. ‘I’ll tell Lily to come down for the day, and we can
make jam together. She’ll enjoy that.’

Lily had been less enthusiastic about the
idea than Lizzie had predicted. ‘Jam?’ she said doubtfully. ‘I’m
not sure I can spare the time for that just now. Even if I could,
it would suit me better to stay home and make it with Emma.’

‘But Lizzie asked specially, and she’s
expecting you now,’ said Bill. ‘She said she’d get the kids to pick
a lot more plums when I told her you’d come.’

Lily blinked in surprise. ‘You told her I
would? Without asking… well, that makes it awkward to refuse,’ she
said, the slightest trace of a frown drawing her brows together.
That was as close as Lily would come to scolding him, even if they
had not had an audience. ‘I don’t know, Bill, I really don’t like
to leave Emma on her own to look after Mother and Father all that
time.’

She had lowered her voice, but Emma had
sharp hearing. Emma had also been taken into Bill’s confidence that
very afternoon. She might be only twelve years old, but she was a
sensible girl, and Bill knew she could be trusted with the secret,
although he would not have said the same of her brothers.

‘I’ll be quite all right with Granny and
Grandpa, Mother,’ Emma said. ‘And I can do a big load of baking
while you’re out, without us getting in each other’s way.’

Lily smiled. ‘You never get in my way,
dear.’ She gave in gracefully. ‘In that case, it seems I’ll be
making jam with Lizzie tomorrow.’

‘Good,’ Bill said, careful not to show how
relieved he was. ‘I’m going into town tomorrow, I’ll drop you off
on my way.’

*

The next morning Bill set out with Lily,
complete with buckets of plums from their own trees, several boxes
of jam jars and a half-full bag of sugar, on their way to Lizzie’s.
It was all he could do to hide his anticipation; as it was, Lily
noticed something of his mood.

‘You seem very cheerful, dear,’ she
commented soon after they had left the farm.

‘I’m looking forward to that jam,’ he said
for want of a better answer.

Lily laughed in her quiet way. ‘I’d better
make sure it’s specially good jam, then.’

He dropped her off, then made his way into
town to collect his piano.

The
Waiotahi
was already tied up at
the wharf, with the cargo unloaded, by the time he got there with
the large dray that Frank had arranged for him to borrow from the
dairy factory. With the help of several of the wharf hands, as well
as some of the boys who always seemed to be hanging around the
area, he soon had the large case holding the piano safely loaded,
and was on his way home, the piano tuner riding alongside him.

He had told Emma she could let her brothers
into the secret as soon as their mother was out of hearing. The two
boys, as well as Bill’s brothers Alf and Ernie, and Mr Reid the
tuner, all joined in to help haul the piano into the house once it
had been removed from its packaging, while Arthur stood by, leaning
on his stick and giving instructions. The piano was pushed and
pulled into the parlour, where Emma had been at work clearing a
space for it and giving the area a thorough, though quite
unnecessary, sweeping.

With the piano in place, for the first time
Bill could take a proper look at it. His heart sank.

‘My goodness, this instrument has had a hard
life,’ the tuner said, echoing Bill’s thoughts. Where the wood of
the piano could be seen through a layer of ancient grime, it was
scuffed and scratched all over. Along one side, a strip of veneer
had lifted from the wood beneath. The pedals and candle holders
were so tarnished they were almost black. ‘I hardly dare hope…’ Mr
Reid murmured as he opened his bag of tools.