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Rebecca strides crisply down the hallway, more than ready for this day to be over. The club’s reputation has nowhere near recovered from that disastrous West Ham match, it’s been pouring rain all week, and she’d spilled coffee all over her blouse right as she was about to head out the door this morning, making her late enough that she’d completely missed Biscuits with the Boss. The pink box left on her desk had only made it worse, a reminder that her workday had already started off without its best part.
She slows her steps as the sound of a piano playing drifts over; she didn’t think there was anyone besides cleaning staff left in the building. It’s possible they’re getting festive, but — she tilts her head, listening to the deep voice croon Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas — this sounds very much like a live performance and Judith and Marco don’t really seem like the type to spend their shift caroling.
She follows the music to the back of the press room and peeks in through the door that’s been left ajar.
In the days leading up to the first (and possibly last) AFC Richmond Talent Show Fundraiser Extravaganza, Keeley had turned the press room into a mini rehearsal space, with a drum kit, a couple of guitars and microphone stands, amps, a mess of cables running between everything, and in the front right corner, somehow a piano.
She toes the door open a little more to get a better look. It’s Ted who’s bent over the keys, completely immersed as he plays and sings along, a slow, drawn-out version of the song embellished with beautiful refrains between the lyrics.
‘Once again as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Will be near to us once more’
As he sings, Rebecca slides into the room and quietly slips into a seat at the back, mesmerised. She’s never heard the song performed quite like this, and she certainly didn’t know Ted was this talented a musician.
His tempo slows down even more, almost like he’s approaching the next line with trepidation.
‘Someday soon we all will be together, if the fates allow…’
Something makes her tear her gaze away from his skillful hands up to his face — maybe it’s the slight tremble that’s come into his voice, or the shaky breaths he takes between lines — and she catches his eyes falling closed. His face screws up as he scrapes through the next line.
‘Until then, we’ll have to muddle through somehow.’
The lyrics are different from what she’d been expecting, her brain auto-completing the typical ‘Hang a shining star upon the highest bough’ she’s more used to hearing drip out of any AV system in the month of December. He draws out the last word, his voice quivering, and she’s decently sure it’s not a technical choice.
He opens his mouth but that last titular line never comes, though his fingers continue to traverse the keys, a beautiful accompaniment that makes the absence of lyrics all that starker.
He plays out the end of the song, his head bowed, fingers resting lightly on the keys even after the last notes have faded away. She swipes at her cheek, not knowing when her tears had spilled over. Her chest feels heavy.
The longer they sit in silence, the more her guilt grows for what now feels like spying on him. She takes a slow quiet breath to get her emotions back under control, then gets to her feet.
“I didn’t know you played,” she says lightly as she rises.
His head shoots up, the startled look on his face sending another pang of guilt painfully through her stomach. It takes him barely a second though to plaster a big smile on his face, though he can’t quite mask the emotion still lingering in his voice as he says, “Oh, hey, Boss. How—How long you been standin’ there?”
“Oh just a few seconds,” she lies as she makes her way down the steps towards him. “Long enough to hear that prodigious piano playing of yours. I’m guessing Keeley isn’t aware of all this, since I didn’t see you on the program for tomorrow’s talent show?” She settles into a seat in the front row and he swivels on the piano bench to face her.
“Oh, what, this? Nah, it’s just a little tinkering.” He presses one finger down on a key absently, playing a deep bass note that resonates around the room.
“Ted.” She raises her eyebrows at him, arms folded one on top of the other across her chest.
He blows out a sigh through puffed cheeks. “Okay, fine.” He ducks his head, hands retreated to twist in his lap as he darts a glance up at her. “Yeah, no, I, uh, I learned for a long time. Used to do recitals and everything.”
“What happened?”
He shrugs. “Dunno. Just fell out of it, I guess. Got busy with adult life, and once Henry was born, busy with parent life. Though I did–” He cuts off, a sudden grimace wrinkled his features.
“Did what?”
“I, uh, did the music for one of Henry’s nativity plays. Right before I moved out here actually. Yeah. Think that was the last time I played.” He looks up at her abruptly. “Not that it’s—I didn’t not play on purpose because of that. I, uh…I guess I just saw the piano here and remembered it was something I like doing. Y’know, the kind of thing you do for fun that just sorta disappears from your life as other things take priority without you even realising. Until something reminds you of how important it used to be.” He tilts his head. “You got something like that?”
She considers him for a long moment, at the sadness still lingering around his eyes despite his best effort to grin brightly and engage her in lighter conversation.
“If I show you something, do you promise not to tell anyone? Not that anyone would believe you, I think,” she adds in an afterthought.
He immediately brightens, and it’s that lightness in his face that buoys her past the shame that had slowly pushed this hobby out of her life over the last decade. “Pinky promise.” He sticks out his hand earnestly, pinky finger extended.
She rolls her eyes but wraps her finger around his.
“I juggle,” she says simply, once they’ve got their hands back.
He stares at her, eyes wide, stockstill and silent for a full ten seconds. She just waits.
“I—I’m sorry, I think I’m having hearing issues.” He sticks his finger in his ear and wiggles theatrically. “Could you play that track back for me one more time?”
She raises one eyebrow. “You heard me.”
“No, I don’t—I ain’t sure I did. Cos I coulda sworn you just told me you juggle. Like…like circus, clown, three or more objects hangin’ around in the air until you snatch ‘em out of it juggle?”
“That’s not quite how it works.”
“Oh yeah?” There’s a satisfaction in his expression that tells her he’d been setting her up, hoping she’d correct him. “So how does it work?”
“Are you really telling me you’ve never tried to learn to juggle before?”
“Nah.” He waves her off with a wry chuckle. “Got enough allegations of being a clown already, I didn’t need to go around addin’ to it.”
It doesn’t really come off as enough of a joke and it makes something inside her ache. She wonders if that affected his piano playing growing up — that perception of him, how people saw him versus how he wanted them to see him. She has so many questions she wants to ask, the kind of questions they never get near touching in their Biscuits with the Boss Q&As. But there’s a reason she’s never been able to.
Sure enough, he’s already moving them swiftly on from that laden throwaway remark, up from his piano bench to, presumably, hunt around for objects for her to demonstrate her juggling.
She sighs. “Give me your wallet,” she says.
He stops and turns back to her, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You muggin’ me now?”
“Do you want to see my party trick or not?”
“Heck yeah I do!” He shuffles over to her, digging his wallet out his back pocket. “Want my keys as well?”
Her mouth twists. “Bit stabby. You have enough faith in me to give me your phone?”
There’s absolutely no need for him to inject as much warmth into it as he does when he replies, “‘Course I do.”
She takes it from him along with his wallet, ignoring the heat rising in her cheeks. Then she pulls out her own phone and stacks it on top. “Only fair,” she remarks. “Alright.”
He settles back onto the piano bench and rubs his palms together excitedly. She takes a couple of steps back to give herself some room free of music paraphernalia and takes a deep breath.
She starts off easy, simply looping the three objects round and round, but once she’s found her rhythm she changes up the pattern, zigzagging their phones across her hands while the wallet hovers in-between, switching the direction and order of objects, even going over the shoulder a couple of times before finally catching a phone in each hand and the wallet on top of his.
“Holy shit.”
She laughs. Ted looks completely awestruck, which, she has to admit, feels really good. She wants more.
She moves towards him, holding out the wallet. “Here.”
He takes it, brow furrowing when she keeps her grip on his phone. She steps back again and starts tossing the phones. “Alright. Throw me the wallet whenever you feel like.”
His eyes widen. “You sure?”
“Yes. Just don’t catapult at me. Underhand.”
“Gotcha.”
She snorts at how focused he looks, taking her direction like they’re life-saving instructions.
He fakes her out a couple of times before lobbing the wallet towards her, a nice high arc that’s easy enough for her to intercept and smoothly integrate into the pattern.
“You see?” he says, as he watches in admiration. She hums questioningly. “It is just snatchin’ objects out of the air.”
She snags the wallet and chucks it right at him, smoothly catching the phones in each hand as he protests through a laugh.
She comes over and joins him on the piano bench, handing over his phone.
“So,” he says as he tucks it back into his pocket, “is this your act for tomorrow?”
She scoffs. “I just told you to keep it a secret, you think I’m performing it in front of a paying audience?”
He bumps his shoulder against hers. “Aw, come on. What’s the point of having a skill like that if you ain’t gonna show it off?”
“Mmhmm. How about this — I’ll juggle at the show if you play something.”
His grin falters around the edges, but she keeps going. “You said it yourself,” she points out. “You’ve got a skill, Ted. You should show it off.”
His mouth twists as he considers her words. “I’m not sure what I’ve been playing will quite suit the vibe Keeley’s goin’ for.” That sends a pang through her chest, popping the sight and sound of his earlier song back into her head. “And, well…” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s been a long, long time since I’ve been up on a stage alone, just me and my piano. I’m not so sure I’d be up to it.”
“I understand that.” She’s not sure why she’s pushing so hard for this, but it suddenly feels incredibly important that he do it. He should get to show off this side of himself, to do something he loves so much that people wouldn’t expect of him. “What about a duet?” she suggests.
His eyebrows jump. “You’d—You want to?”
“Why not?” She grins at him. “It’s not like we haven’t performed together before.”
He chuckles. “Right, right. Hmm. Well, what would we sing?”
She racks her brain for something neutral, devoid of any obvious emotional pitfalls, though it’s hard to know what landmines might be hidden underneath. “What about this one?” She clears her throat.
‘Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…’
She smiles as his fingers immediately start dancing over the keys, complementing her perfectly as she sings, ‘Jack Frost nipping at your nose.’
She bumps his shoulder and gestures her head obviously between them with the next line, ‘Yuletide carols being sung by a choir,’ and he smiles back before glancing back down at his hands. ‘And folks dressed up like eskimos.’
He runs his fingers down the keys with a flourish before he takes over for the next verse.
‘Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe
Helps to make the season bright
Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow
Will find it hard to sleep tonight’
After that they trade off every other line, and after the first ‘Merry Christmas to you,’ he breaks off into an instrumental segment.
“I’ve done this one at a few Christmas parties,” he comments as she watches his hands fly up and down the keys, performing a lovely solo across the octaves. She can’t help but notice how beautiful his hands are, his long fingers traversing the keys lithely.
He leads into the chorus one more time, nodding at her.
‘And so we’re offering this simple phrase,’ she starts again, ‘to kids from one to ninety-two. Although it's been said many times, many ways…merry Christmas…’
‘Merry Christmas…’ he sings back, and they sing the final line together, ‘Merry Christmas to you,’ their eyes locked on each other as he finishes the song with a few final arpeggios.
“Alright, fine,” he says, his smile small but fond, “if you’re in, I’m in.”
She grins, and his smile deepens further, and she suddenly finds herself wishing absurdly for a sprig of mistletoe to drop down out of the ceiling to hover right over them. She’s not sure if she’s said that out loud, or if she’s imagining his gaze flick down to her lips.
She looks down and places her hand on top of his where it still rests on that last chord.
“Ted…”
“Yeah?”
She doesn’t know what she wants to say. She doesn’t know what she wants to do. It’s precarious. It’s not the right time. It’s just Christmas. Her mind is a jumble of contradictions and emotions, and all she knows for certain is that she’s never felt more settled, more at ease, than when she’s right here, sitting next to this man.
She lets that feeling guide her and drops her head onto his shoulder; she can feel it lower as a long slow breath leaves him. He curls his arm around her back, tucking her in against his side, and they sit there like that, just enjoying each other’s warmth.
“You heard me, didn’t you?” he asks after a long moment. “Singin’ earlier.”
“Yes,” she replies quietly. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have lied.”
He rests his temple against the top of her head. “I get why you did.”
“I don’t think I ever realised how sad that song actually is.”
He hums. “That version, definitely. Ol’ Blue Eyes had ‘em change the lyrics, make it more cheery. But Judy Garland is my girl.”
She doesn’t bother voicing the obvious; preference for certain singers aside, she’s sure he knows exactly what it is about this version that’s drawn him to it now.
“I’m sorry Christmas is so hard for you,” she says instead, trying to imbue it with all the empathy that’s had her stomach twisted up since she first opened this door.
She can feel his throat jump as he swallows hard. His arm tightens briefly, squeezing her for his comfort, or hers, or both as he starts and stops his response. “Thank you,” he says finally, the words barely above a whisper.
She lifts her head and locks eyes with him. “You should just go, you know. It’s just one game. Boxing Day. It’s not—” She wants to say it can’t be more important than his son, than his relationship with him, but it’s not her place to tell him that. Especially not after how much she’s been asking of him this season.
He bites his lip, his gaze skittering away to hover somewhere over her shoulder before dropping down to his lap.
“Sorry,” she says contritely, regretting bringing it up. She’s sure she’s only making this harder.
His eyes immediately snap back to hers. “No, no, don’t apologise. I—” He scrubs both hands over his face. “I guess I always think it’s not gonna be that hard. And then it’s…harder. And then it just feels too late.” He throws his head back, blowing out a frustrated exhale. “God, I need to get myself together.”
“What happened to being a prog-mess?”
He shrugs. “Right now it feels like all mess and no prog.”
“That’s just Christmas,” she reassures quietly, patting his hand. “It’ll pass.”
One side of his mouth quirks up as he contemplates her. “You think?” There’s a fondness in his voice that seeps through her, liquid honey in her bones.
She nods emphatically. “I know.” She nudges his shoulder with hers, turning back to face the piano. “Now, enough spiralling introspection. How’s your Mariah Carey impression?”
He laughs. “How about you do the Mariah Carey and I’ll do the enthusiastic backing chords?”
She sighs dramatically, her stomach swooping at his amused grin. “You drive a hard bargain, but I suppose you’ve got yourself a deal.”