The Poor Girl & The Piano

Chapter One

'And in the flowers she saw decay,

And saw decay in every tree;
And change was written on the sun,
And change upon the sea.'

-- Christina Rossetti ('The Ruined Cross')

She stood in the shadows of life, chained to a time when the world wasn't so dark. The past had captured her and taken her hostage in yesterday’s world, she was blind to today and tomorrow. Hard eyes seemed to stare backwards - into oblivion - with a longing that appeared unquenchable. Vivianne had been a vibrant woman who cared for the world more than she should. Her heart was a crimson rose, whose petals radiated the perfume of love and comfort. As the air that passed Vivianne's lips became cruel and cold from the suffering of loss, her heart began to freeze, her eyes became lumps of coal - hard and unseeing. She could have melted at any moment, but she had to stay frozen for the sake of her daughter. If the ice began to melt, flames would leap from the core of her anguish and scold her darling girl. Being frozen meant being invisible; that was the way she had to be. Melting into a lake of flames would do no one any good, if it happened she would die alone. Vivianne's daughter, at the age of eight, had grown to be a talented musician; she played piano non-stop and sang when she thought no one could hear. These talents were inherited from her father, a man whose hands acted as lungs and beat out the rhythm of his heart. Vivianne would sit on the floorboards and put her ear to her daughter's bedroom door, the secret sounds of Polly's soul swirled on the air and danced into Vivianne's ears. At such a young age Polly was able to string together the most lovely lines, tinged with despair but no less lovely than her china doll face. Droplets rolled from Vivianne's icy eyes, denting her facade, when she heard the word 'Pa'.

Frank was Vivianne's first and only love. The season they had met was summer, the kind of summer where the heat of the sun and the core of the earth met to turn air into lava. Vivianne's parents had purchased Hill House. This aptly named building was a stunning example of gothic architecture which, ironically, sat upon a hill. It was a majestic looking property that Vivianne thought a little pretentious with its iron gates and gargoyles. A plethora of rooms and corridors kept Vivianne lost within the confines of her new residence for innumerable hours. Summers heat made Vivianne lethargic and distant, she spent her days reading in the garden beneath the shade of oak and apple trees. The garden of Hill House spread across a large area of land which was backed by countless acres of woodland. The last occupants had been elderly and unable to care for their garden, so now weeds grew as a jungle where a neat lawn should be. Lacking in the necessary skills to domesticate their garden, but swimming in more than enough money, Mr. and Mrs. Carson hired 'Grey and Son'. This pair of gardeners came with tools and talents to wreck havoc upon the confusion of unexpecting flora.

At nineteen Vivianne was a typical English rose. Dark hair cascaded down to the bottom of her ribcage, bright eyes refused to cloud even in moments of sadness, her pink lips were positioned perfectly upon satin skin, and she had a figure which made married women envy her; they were afraid she would run off with their husbands. But Vivianne wasn't interested in men; all she wanted to do with her time was learn. She would read books, magazines, newspapers from cover-to-cover desperately acquiring knowledge. The life to which Vivianne belonged made her feel joyless. There was no purpose, no substance to keep her gripped and hanging on with every breath. She lost herself in other

peoples lives and fiction but that was no way to live. Then the charming son of Mr Grey stepped into her life. Frank was a graceful young man who, to Vivianne's amazement, was unattached. His twenty years had granted him a large pool of wisdom and a great depth of understanding. Frank knew people, he worked them out as one might learn to type of read the time. He knew what made them tick. And tock. He was a mute. His lack of words was no obstacle for Vivianne; she found communication with Frank as easy and natural as any speaking person.

It was love at first sight. That old cliché came to life and grabbed Vivianne by the throat. As she stood rooted in the molten earth her heart pumped furiously and blood rushed about her body, urging her to break free and advance towards this beautiful man. Anxious and electrified, Vivianne stood before Frank and gazed with bright eyes into his - mahogany deep and soulful. Words seemed useless, and indeed they were. She felt a fool but then noticed he was doing the same as she; just gazing. The roar of Mr Grey’s laugh soon shattered their silence. Vivianne hastily disappeared to her bedroom - embarrassed. They met many times that summer as Frank was working in the garden. Vivianne spent long days watching him and his father mowing and pruning, digging and strimming. The evenings released her from melancholy when Frank would take her back to his father's house and show off his piano skills, or take her out for dinner. She felt special for the first time in her life.

Eight months later - an April day - Vivianne became Mrs Frank Grey. The ceremony was wonderful, far to extravagant for Vivianne's liking but she had to keep her mother happy. A church had been dressed in pink, white, splashes of red petals and showers of sunshine. Stained glass windows scattered random shades about the fully made-up church. Vivianne's dress was modest and traditional but she made it something spectacular. The curves of her body sculpted the dress impressively, and the deeper tones off her skin contrasted in smooth harmony with the colour and textures of the garment. Make-up had scarcely been applied to Vivianne's face as it held only beauty and had no use for disguise. Walking down the isle, arm-in-arm with her father, Vivianne felt the nervous flapping of butterfly wings against the lining of her stomach. The sensation soon flew away when her husband-to-be swivelled around to look up the isle. Their eyes caught somewhere in the middle of tranquillity and gazed, replaying that first moment in which their hearts had melted into one. Frank was dressed as traditionally as his bride; suit, tie, shirt, shoes - all in the safety of black and white. He too appeared breathtaking and turned traditional costume into something inspiring. The father of the bride gave his daughter away with ease of motion, but with misshapen sentiments and only half his heart. Vivianne knew of her parents’ reluctance to give her hand in marriage to a man with such little wealth, but she also knew that they believed she would elope to marry Frank without their consent. And this was her plan if consent weren't given. Frank's father was thrilled by the news that his son had finally found a woman to keep him an honest man, and one with more riches than he could dream of.

An engagement party had been thrown in celebration. The garden that Frank and his father had managed to tame was to be the stage for the gathering. Frank and Vivianne had not asked for such fuss to be made, they would rather share the revelry alone, but Vivianne's mother insisted on fuss and frills at any chance she could. Chair and tables were set to hold guests unfamiliar to Frank and Vivianne, but nonetheless necessary to Mrs Carson. The event trudged by without suprise nor suspense and the couple eagerly awaited their special April day.

Once Vivianne's father had finally released his daughter from his resisting clasp she steeped forward towards the priest. The ceremony played out as you would expect a wedding to. Frank nodded to indicate his agreement and Vivianne's 'I do's' were almost inaudible to anyone sitting past the front three pews. Rings were exchanged and slipped onto patient fingers. Then the kiss - the seal on the ceremony, the icing on the cake. The kiss acknowledged physical attraction and showed that the couple felt no shame about displaying their feelings for one another. The wife and groom were wrapped in blissful union as the exited the church and sped off into a new realm of existence. Frank picked confetti from Vivianne's twilight locks as they sat in the back seat of the car, coiled in the salvation of silence.

Once the celebration and jubilation had passed, the true colours of Vivianne’s parents shone like obsidian. They pushed her family loyalty to its limit when they forbade her from moving in with Frank and restricted to spending a maximum of four hours per day with him. Vivianne felt more oppressed than she did before meeting Frank and decided it was time to move away from her parents and their over-protection. Frank motioned goodbyes to his father and had

nothing but empty glances for Mr and Mrs Carson. The newly weds packed their essentials into suitcases and hopped on a train to the place where their first home was awaiting them. They had rented Clock Cottage; a humble home within a quaint village, in the heart of English countryside. The view which sprawled out behind the cottage was rich in all shades of green, and flooded by fields of abundant crops worshipping sky-high hills. The villagers could do nothing but help their new neighbours; they sent baskets of buns and biscuits to welcome them, and donated furniture.

A smile spread across Vivianne's lips one morning as she kneeled beside a stream of tinkling water. She was pregnant. Life was perfect. Frank placed a gentle arm upon her shoulder and the shared a moment of pride and admiration. Vivianne had never wished for a life so wonderful as this, she was the Queen of her world.

Nine months or so along the line a tiny baby rocked in the arms of his mother. Dressed in a softer than soft, blue sleepsuit newborn Benjamin was the most precious thing in his mother and father's life. Vivianne's voice sang a tranquil lullaby to her darling as she soothed him into dreamland with the gentle swing of her arms:

'Sleep baby sleep
In your cradle of perfect peace
I'll sing you to sleep
As the Moon drifts above in peace, perfect peace
Sleep my angel sleep.'

Benjamin was the most wonderful feature in Vivianne's life, she had never believed herself capable of bringing such a fragile little person into the world. She felt as though she had honoured the earth with her precious gift, like everything she owed had been repaid in this single notion of absolute sincerity. Her heart was unbreakable and her happiness invincible.

One morning when the world was beginning to brighten with May sunshine, and all seemed well in Clock Cottage, Vivianne found her husband kneeling beside their baby's coat. He was shaking with distress. His arms were wrapped about the child in such a fraught manner that terror rose in Vivianne's throat. Tear poured soundlessly from Frank's eyes whilst his lips formed the shapes of screams and twisted his face into something that wouldn't be out of place in a nightmare. Panicked, Vivianne snatched her baby from Frank's arms and screamed in horror when his head flopped forward like a ragdoll. On their knees, the couple hugged their unbreathing baby between them. Vivianne howled the soundtrack to their nightmare and Frank embodied the monsters with his contorted expressions.

Clouds darker than grey released heartbreak arrows all over Clock Cottage and stabbed Frank and Vivianne in their strangled hearts. Cot death. Sudden infant death syndrome. The title was glossy and understating, it dissolved emotional links and suppressed the memory of baby Benjamin. Police and paramedics had arrived at the cottage to assess the situation. The memory was a blur to Frank and Vivianne. For the first time Vivianne felt anguish. It burned as fire inside her body, stripping her stomach of appetite and reducing her nerves to ashes. Frank was silent, as always, and fell into the arms of his beloved piano for all the comfort it could give. The friendship that the couple had carved into their life was disintegrating. They tried with all the courage they could gather to push forwards and carry on living. This courage was soon rewarded by the arrival of their second child.

Polly was conceived out of need and despondency, in a desperate attempt to rekindle lost passion. The appearance of Polly in their lives sent Frank and Vivianne spinning into a new world of brighter days and unearthed positivity. Benjamin's life and death had not been forgotten; it had been accepted. Frank and Vivianne had a new source of life, they felt that it was time if live again - this was the perfect opportunity.

The short years of Polly's childhood had been occupied with a longing. A longing for something more than the life she was living. Up until the age of eight Polly's life had be an exquisite combination of dream and play, just as any childhood should be. Dressed in worn clothes and shoes, which refused to keep their shape, she was as happy as an unborn babe. The unexpected tragedy which took place in her eighth year would shape her adult life.