Lost in the wood

Sometimes the best things in life are right in front of you

“Listen, Mum! Who is that singing and playing the piano so beautifully?” “Our new neighbour,” said Mum. “I think the song’s by Gershwin. We get impromptu concerts through the wall now since he moved in. You look a bit peaky, Joanna – not surprising after what’s happened. Why don’t you have a rest in your room?”

When I was upstairs in my bedroom, remembering happier times from my childhood, I looked out of the window at the gardens and noticed a striking young man with dark unruly hair striding towards next door’s shed.

“Gosh,” I thought. “Maybe the gentleman musician next door has a gardener.”

The young man glanced up as he emerged from the shed, and I had the embarrassing feeling he had seen me looking at him and thought it was quite funny.

Mum laughed when I told her what had happened.

“That’s not a gardener, that’s George, our neighbour. He teaches music at your old school.”

Shame I’m not interested in men at the moment. I have what is termed a “broken heart” and landed back on Mum and Dad’s doorstep recently like a little lost lamb. I had left home as a dance student for the bright lights of London many years before and ended up dancing in musicals, and teaching. I loved dance with a passion, but then I met Roger and had been captivated by his smart city style and self-confident manner. Inevitably it all went pear shaped and so I packed in my various jobs and hot-footed it back to my parents.

“Never right for you, love,” was the only comment my father made, to me at least.

I suspected Mum and Dad talked to each other about it, and I was absolutely sure that when I had heard Mum saying, “Such a relief! You have no idea!” on the phone to her best friend Wendy, she was referring to my break-up.

Anyway, men were definitely off the menu for now. I picked up my sewing from the table. I was making a set of cushion covers and took great delight in ripping out a faulty seam then redoing it on my machine at full speed.

“Whoops! Watch your fingers!” said Mum as she popped her head around the door.

I finished the cushion covers a few days later, washed them and hung them on the line to dry in the garden.

“Hi, Joanna! Those look colourful,” said George, leaning over the fence. I blushed and mumbled something about liking Cath Kidston designs before dashing into the house. I felt like a lovestruck teenager, which was odd as I was absolutely not looking for a Roger-replacement.

I landed back on Mum and Dad’s doorstep like a little lost lamb

Over the next few weeks I grew to look forward to hearing George’s dulcet tones float through the wall.

“Seems to have changed his repertoire,” remarked Mum. “More love ballads and less ragtime. By the way, Joanna, your old dance teacher Barbara was asking after you today. She’s looking for someone to take a few extra classes on Saturdays. Tap and modern I think she said. I told her I didn’t know how long you planned to stay, but I’d let you know.”

“I’d like to stay forever,” I blurted out before

I had a chance to think. “I mean, sounds interesting and I might as well get some temporary work.”

“Barbara retires soon,” said Mum, “and you’ve always wanted to have your own dance school. We could help you with the initial investment.”

My mind a whirl, I ran into the garden, oblivious to the rain.

“Hey, you’ll get wet,” said a cheery voice. “Fancy coming round for a cup of tea?”

“If you’ll play Singin’ In

The Rain for me,” I giggled.

I hopped over the fence and George played the piano while I attempted my Gene Kelly dance routine in his sitting room.

“The sun’s in my heart, and I expect the tea’s brewed by now,” sang George. “I’ll just go and pour it out...”

“George!” I exclaimed as he handed me tea in a mug with my favourite Briar Rose pattern on the side. “I’m really surprised to find a Cath Kidston mug in your house. I wouldn’t have thought it was your thing at all.”

“Well, it’s not really, but I knew you’d like it and I was so hoping you would come round one day,” he admitted. “Perfect,” I grinned. “I say, have you ever played for dance classes?”

Later that evening, I was sitting on the sofa with Mum when I suddenly remembered about the song.

“You know that song, Mum, the one George sings all the time? I asked him about it and you were right, it is by Gershwin. It’s called

Someone To Watch Over Me.” Mum gave one of her special smiles.

“Perfect,” she said. “Simply perfect.”