“We all do,” Jean whispered. “We need to be strong and be here for each other. Family.”
Liza took a few long breaths and the atmosphere in the room calmed. She picked up the banjo and strummed a few strings before she turned to Mitchell. “You know, Mum and Auntie Jean are both musical, but have very different tastes. Mum’s interests were always more orchestral. She only played instruments from sheet music and practiced pieces over and over, striving for perfection.”
“I was more experimental than Sheila,” Jean said. “I liked to mess around and create my own songs.”
“Mum insisted Naomi, Yvette and I learned the guitar after school each day, and on weekends,” Liza continued. “I was the only one of us to keep it up. When I was ten, Mum got arthritis in her fingers and she grew even more obsessed with us doing well. She pushed us to play the music she could no longer perform herself. Except Naomi had no interest in learning instruments, could never remember the notes. Yvette was older, so she got away with saying no more. Which left me.”
Jean cleared her throat. “I remember Sheila rapping the back of your hands once because you got a note wrong.”
Liza distractedly rubbed her knuckles. “She apologized afterward. She got carried away.”
“My sister is an amazing woman, Mitchell.” Jean nodded at him. “But she has super high expectations about everything and everyone. I’ve never been able to meet her standards, musically or personally.”
Mitchell looked around at all the framed disks on the walls. “But you have all these awards and hits.”
“They’re for folk and pop music, so they don’t count to her.”
Liza pursed her lips. “It’s more than that, Auntie Jean...”
A strange silence settled in the room until Jean eventually found Mitchell’s eyes with hers. “In a nutshell,” she said, “Sheila and I fell for the same man—more than forty years ago now. It caused a huge rift between us.
“When I was a young woman, before I had my hits, I performed my music in clubs across Europe. One night, in a jazz bar in Germany, I met a man called Luther and fell head over heels for him. He was charismatic and talented, the leader of a top orchestra. We hooked up that night and from then on, if we ever found ourselves in the same city, we met up and had fun. We kept things simple, didn’t talk about our families, so I never asked him if he knew Sheila.
“Anyway, after a year or so, Sheila confided to me that she’d fallen for someone special, and his name was Luther. She hoped it was serious between them. My heart stung when I realized we were both seeing the same man at the same time.” She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I tried to break it to her gently that Luther and I had a thing going on, but Sheila refused to listen. I think she knew deep down I must be telling the truth, but she didn’t want to believe it.”
Liza picked up her story. “Mum accused Auntie Jean of making it all up because she was jealous.”
“But what did Luther say?” Mitchell asked.
Jean grimaced. “He totally denied our relationship and told Sheila he’d only met me a couple of times. He always thrived on lies and drama. I could see she was in love with him and I tried to warn her. But Sheila chose to believe him over me. My sister and I didn’t speak a word to each other for a couple of years after that.”
Liza nodded sympathetically. “Eventually Mum found out the truth—that Luther lied to her about Jean, and other women, too. Mum was devastated, but she met my dad not long afterward. He was lovely, and another musician, a clarinet player. They got married within months and had me and my two sisters.”
“I moved to Germany and shacked up with a record producer,” Jean said. “I wrote ‘My Heart is Always Yours’ about Luther. But my relationship with Sheila never fully recovered.” She gazed out of the window. “We don’t speak much, though I send her tickets to my concerts for her birthday, and she sends me Brahms sheet music for mine. We’re different people and keep our separate ways.
“That’s why I was flabbergasted when Yvette told me about this Victor. He sounded very controlling, telling her what to do. After living with your mother, I thought she’d have had enough of that type of behavior. I’m glad she split up with him.”
“Hmm.” Liza looked down, studying the floor. “That still doesn’t explain why Yvette used your song lyric on her padlock.”
“I know Yvette’s been in touch with us from time to time, but I’m still really worried,” Jean said. “I’m supposed to be hosting my campfire jamboree tonight, but I don’t feel in the mood for it now.”
Mitchell shifted in his seat, not sure there could be two worse words bolted together in the English language than campfire and jamboree.
“Don’t let this spoil things for you, Auntie Jean,” Liza said. “I thought Yvette’s padlock would be good news for you.”
“The young musicians have been working hard and I don’t want to let them down.” Jean shook her head. “I’ve not even asked if you’ve had something to eat.”
“Oh, don’t worry about us. We’re fine.”
“You must stay,” Jean insisted. “I’ve made some parmesan and dill scones just this morning, and you’ve always loved the jamboree. Please, Liza, I don’t see you very often. Perhaps I’ll think of something else about Yvette or Victor to tell you.”
Liza looked at Mitchell. “Okay,” she said, her voice subdued. “Do you have spare tents we can use?”
“Those are all full, I’m afraid. But you can always sleep in your old room.”
Liza found a small smile for her aunt. “I think Poppy will love that.”
Mitchell felt a pulse of alarm at the thought of him, Liza, Poppy and Sasha having to share a space. “Poppy and I can get a hotel,” he offered quickly. “Are there any around here?”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Liza said. “Sorry.”
Jean patted his leg. “Don’t look so horrified, Mitchell. Liza’s old room is under the stars. Sleeping bags on the floor of the forest.”
12
CAMPFIRE
After they’d all eaten the strange parmesan and dill scones, Mitchell, Liza and Poppy walked across a field toward a small green hut. A young man wearing a black woolen hat and a khaki army jacket handed over three sleeping bags. Each was tied with a string bow.
“Maybe we could drive home,” Mitchell said as he tucked a bag under his arm. “I’d prefer to go back and get a good night’s sleep. If we set off now, we shouldn’t be too late.”