I Promise You!

24 December 1994 – Mill Grove, South Woodford, London

POV: Oliver

"Not yet!" he shouted at Margaret, startling himself with his own outburst. "I'm sorry, Margaret! Please, I have to get it right today!"

"Oliver, that's enough," she said calmly. "Look at how your hands are shaking! Do you really think you're going to manage in this state what you haven't managed in the last few hours?"

She was right, and he knew it. Still, the voice inside his head insisted:

You promised her!

He clenched his teeth and looked at Margaret. "I was so close!"

"I know."

Oliver slowly got up from the piano bench, carefully closed the lid, gathered his sheet music and finally asked, "Can you help me write something?"

"Of course," she replied, taking the sheets from him. "But first, we're going to have a look at your hands."

***

25 December 1994

POV: Sister Margaret

Margaret was already dressed and sitting at the breakfast table, waiting for Oliver, whom she had dragged out of bed a few minutes earlier. It seemed as though he, too, had had a sleepless night.

She herself had barely managed to fall asleep. Her thoughts had kept returning to the events of the previous evening. She should have known! That boy might be very advanced for his age—no, extremely advanced. Even more so than many of the other children in the children's home who were already attending school.

But once he got something into his head, there was almost no stopping him. And yesterday, before she had left for church after dinner, she had already known that he still couldn't play the entire piece.

Of course he would sneak out of his room the moment she was gone. She had even expected that much. But even she hadn't believed he would spend practically all three hours she was away playing without a break.

Last night, she had sworn to herself that she would never allow something like that to happen again. His fingers had been stiff and painful, and his hands had been shaking so badly that he could barely hold a glass without spilling its contents.

Last night, for the first time in many, many years, she had felt as though she had completely failed.

Sitting before her was a boy who had problems, no matter how hard he tried to hide them.

I've watched long enough!

***

POV: Oliver

"Good morning," Oliver said as he sat down across from Margaret at the breakfast table. "About yesterday—" He stopped and took another deep breath. "I shouldn't have shouted at you. I'm sor—"

"No, Oliver!" she interrupted him. "You're not the one who needs to apologise." She paused for a moment. "Yes, you made a mistake."

Oliver looked at her and waited for her to continue.

"But the responsibility lies with me," she said quietly, more to herself than to Oliver.

"No—"

She stopped him before he could continue.

"What happened yesterday cannot happen again," she said, looking him straight in the eyes. "And we are going to talk about it properly. But not today. Not now."

She reached beside her, picked up a small package from the chair and held it out to him. "This is for you."

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Oliver stared at her, bewildered, and needed several seconds to realise what was happening.

The old bat got me a present?

Oliver took the package from her and eyed it suspiciously.

"A Bible?" he asked, giving it a careful shake.

"Open it and find out." Margaret rolled her eyes, stood up and headed out of the room.

"Thank you!" he called after her and slowly began unwrapping the present. Once he had carefully removed the paper, he opened the box and looked inside.

He didn't know how long he sat there, simply staring at what was inside.

He couldn't believe it.

That's impossible!

***

POV: Helen

Helen was just putting the last few things on the table for Christmas dinner when the doorbell rang.

Ding-dong.

Helen paused and glanced towards the hallway. They're here. She put down the tea towel and headed for the front door.

Ding-dong.

Helen couldn't help but smile. Of course. How could it be any different? She kept walking, though this time she deliberately took a little longer.

Ding-dong.

Helen stopped in front of the door and shook her head with a smile. Beatrice merely looked at her questioningly.

She opened the door. Just as expected, Oliver stood in front of her with a broad grin on his face, while Sister Margaret waited directly behind him.

"Merry Christ—" Margaret began, only to be interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

Ding-dong.

Margaret closed her eyes and slowly covered her face with one hand.

Helen couldn't help herself and burst out laughing. "Merry Christmas!" she finally said with a beaming smile.

Oliver stepped closer, stretched out his little arms for a hug and wished her a merry Christmas as well.

***

POV: Beatrice

Throughout Christmas dinner, Beatrice had kept glancing over at Oliver. Not because he was doing anything interesting, but because somewhere among his things, her Christmas present had to be hidden.

And now it was finally time.

Oliver walked over to her and held out a small, carefully wrapped package. Beatrice took it immediately and tore off the paper. Oliver said something, but she wasn't watching his lips. She really didn't have time for that right now.

Beneath the wrapping was a small plastic case. Beatrice opened it and stared at the cassette inside.

A cassette.

She looked at Oliver.

Then back at the cassette.

Then back at Oliver.

Beatrice waited for him to grin. For him to give her the real present. For something to happen that would explain why Oliver Bennett had given a girl who couldn't hear a cassette for Christmas.

Nothing.

Her expression darkened.

For weeks, he had barely had any time for her after class. He had lied to her, kept disappearing and eventually told her that it was all because of her Christmas present.

And for this?

Beatrice held up the cassette.

I – CAN'T – HEAR!

She was furious. For weeks he had been ignoring her after class using that excuse—and then this. So she did the only thing that seemed logical to her at that moment.

She kicked at his shin with all her strength—or at least she tried to. Apparently, Oliver had already expected it and jumped aside just in time.

Beatrice glared at him furiously and was about to try again when she noticed him doubling over with laughter. She stopped and eyed him suspiciously.

YOU – ARE – DEFINITELY – NOT – CUTE!

Then he simply turned away and headed towards the piano. Margaret and her mother were already sitting on the sofa, watching them.

What's going on?

Oliver sat down on the piano bench and patted the empty space beside him. Beatrice watched him suspiciously for another moment, then walked over and sat down. If this was supposed to be his explanation for the stupidest Christmas cassette ever, she at least wanted to see it.

Oliver took her hand and placed her palm against the wood of the piano. Beatrice frowned but left it there. When she looked back at him, he pointed to her hand and signed:

DON'T – MOVE – IT!

Then he placed his hands on the keys and played a few low notes.

Beatrice heard nothing. Of course she didn't. But almost immediately, she felt a gentle vibration beneath her hand. It faded, returned with the next notes, sometimes stronger, sometimes weaker.

Her anger vanished. Beatrice looked at her hand, then at Oliver's fingers, and finally closed her eyes.

She knew this.

The vibrations beneath her hand. The gentle pulsing travelling through the wood. Stronger, weaker, a brief pause and then beginning again.

Her father.

Beatrice opened her eyes again and stared at Oliver's hands. She didn't know these movements, and she didn't know the sounds they produced. She had never heard them.

But she knew this feeling.

This was exactly how she had sat beside her father when he played for her. Her little hand resting against the piano while he played something for her that she had never been able to hear.

Beatrice's vision blurred.

Dad.

***

POV: Oliver

He hadn't managed it.

Once again, he had disappointed someone close to him. He had never explicitly promised her, but that didn't matter. He had made up his mind to do it. To him, it had been a promise, even if he had never spoken it aloud.

Oliver sat at the piano and stopped halfway through the piece. Just as in the weeks before, he still hadn't managed to play the rest of it—not yet.

He looked at Beatrice. Her eyes were still closed as tears silently ran down her cheeks.

Oliver gently nudged her with his shoulder. Slowly, she opened her eyes, wiped the tears from her face with one hand and looked at him.

He pointed to the cassette she was still holding and signed:

THAT – IS – NOT – A – PRESENT. THAT – IS – MY – PROMISE.