The Piano Man Project Page 0,55
eating the keys this time please, Honeysuckle. We don’t want Mimi being left in a compromising position.’
‘They’re not for sale,’ Honey said. ‘They just arrived from a mystery donor to support the campaign.’
‘Very timely,’ Mimi said. ‘We decided amongst us in the home last night that one of us should be chained to the railings at all times. Or until it goes dark, in any case.’
‘Every day?’ Honey said, surprised. It was a big ask of people with a median age of eighty-six.
Mimi, Lucille and Billy nodded staunchly.
‘Sort of like a prisoner’s hunger strike, if you will,’ Billy said. ‘Except Patrick’s going to supply us with a packed lunch.’
‘So nothing like a hunger strike at all, really then,’ Honey laughed. ‘I think it’s a great idea. The press could really latch on to something like that.’
‘It was my idea,’ Mimi preened. ‘So I’ll go first. Honey, call Old Don’s son at the paper and get them down here.’
Billy picked up a neon green pair of handcuffs and dangled them in the air. ‘Can I do the honours, my love?’
Mimi nodded. ‘Not with those though. I’ll have some red ones to match my cardigan, thank you very much, Billy Hebden.’ She spun on her low heel, winked at Honey, and then marched outside to be chained up.
Lucille shook her head as she watched her sister leave, her arms folded over her chest.
‘She’s always been the same. Had to be first at everything,’ she said quietly. ‘First at the dinner table when we were children. First to leave home.’ She paused, frowning. ‘First to be born.’
Honey noticed the chagrin behind Lucille’s words, more noticeable on Lucille because she was usually content to fall in line behind her more fiery sister.
‘But she wasn’t, was she?’ Lucille mused, almost to herself. ‘Mimi wasn’t the first-born. Ernie was.’
So that was what this was about. Honey nodded slowly. ‘Have you decided what to do about the letter?’
Lucille sighed. ‘Mimi has decided that there’s no point in us meeting him.’
‘And you?’ Honey said, taking care to stay neutral.
‘He’s my brother, Honey.’ Lucille’s rouged lips bunched tightly together, sending pucker marks zinging all around her face. ‘I’m going to meet him next week, and Mimi can’t stop me because she doesn’t know about it.’
Honey’s mouth dropped into a silent ‘o’, sensing trouble brewing on the horizon. Mimi and Lucille barely disagreed about anything, mostly because Mimi made the decisions and Lucille kept the peace. It was highly unusual for them to have such differing opinions on something so important, and a sense of anxiety settled over Honey at her own unwitting duplicity now that she knew of Lucille’s plan.
‘I really think it might be best if you told Mimi,’ she said softly. ‘I’m sure she’ll come around to the idea.’
‘Oh no she won’t,’ Lucille said. ‘She’s as stubborn as an ox, and besides …’ she wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging her secret to herself, ‘I want this just for me for a while.’
Honey looked at Lucille’s wistful and unusually defiant blue eyes. As tactics went, she couldn’t help but feel it was a dangerous way to proceed.
‘Why don’t I go and make us a cuppa,’ she said, leaving Lucille with her secret and her faraway smile, a deepening feeling of unease in the pit of her stomach.
The tap on Honey’s door later that evening didn’t come as a complete surprise. Never one to wait unduly for gossip, Tash deposited a bottle of red on the kitchen counter and shimmied out of her jacket, eyeing Honey speculatively.
‘Come on then,’ she said. ‘Out with it.’
Honey shrugged as she carried two wine glasses to the coffee table and sagged down into the corner of the sofa. ‘There isn’t much to tell. I threw myself at him and he blew me off.’
‘There has to be more to the story than that.’ Tash poured the wine and handed a glass to Honey, then curled herself into the other end of the sofa, bookends. ‘Did you just knock on his door and demand to be kissed?’
‘No, of course I didn’t,’ Honey said with exaggerated patience. ‘I … well, I wasn’t even going over there at all, because it was an incredibly stupid plan that was never going to work.’ She sipped her wine, glad of its deep, blackcurranty comfort. ‘And then I realised I hadn’t given him the electric razor I’d bought for him from work, so I popped over anyway. Not to kiss him. Just to deliver it.’
‘You bought him a