The Midnight Train — String Theory

String Theory

The Midnight Train stopped on a street in Bedford.

Wilbur was standing outside a music shop. It had a faded painted sign, decorated with a treble clef and five-line staff, and the name “String Theory” written on it, a different color for every letter.

Wilbur was staring at a card that had been stuck with Blu Tack onto the window. The sign said:

PIANO LESSONS!

A pain-free way to learn the piano All ages, all styles Lessons from my home (Bancroft Avenue, Bedford) Or can travel within 10-mile radius Contact: Nora Seed

mob: 07780039251 Insta: noraseedpiano

“I was on my way to the car,” explained the Ghost. “The driver was parked a few streets away…I’d gone the long way round and taken a peek at how awful the little Budd Books branch was looking, and now I was here…”

“Piano lessons?” said the Dreamer, with that youthful, positive lilt to his voice.

“Yes. The doctor told me learning a musical instrument could ward off dementia.”

A man came out of the shop. He was wearing a Fleetwood Mac T-shirt.

Early sixties. Pot belly. Cheeky smile. He recognized him.

“Hello, sir. You’re Wilbur Budd, aren’t you?”

“Um. Yes. Yes.”

“Thought I recognized you. Saw you on Dragon’s Den a while back and

I thought, I know that face.”

“Ah. Yes. I just did one episode.”

“I’m Neil. This is my shop. Not quite Budd Books but we tick over.

Anyway, the Bedford Budd Books over on the High Street—before your company got it—that was our place. We got priced out and had to come here. A bit off the beaten track but the rates are better.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that.”

“Not your fault,” Neil said breezily. “Just the way of the world.”

“Yes.” Wilbur pointed at the card. “Do you know this person?”

“Nora? Oh yeah. She used to work here…Nora’s great. Especially these days. She had some issues but seems to have really turned her life around.”

Wilbur pulled out his phone to take a photo of the sign. “I think I’ll give her a chance then…But first I’ll probably need a piano.”

Neil laughed. “That’s what I’m here for!” He escorted Wilbur inside, telling him to mind the step.

“We had a long chat,” sighed the Ghost, still standing with his dreaming honeymoon self out on the pavement. “He sensed my loneliness. He talked to me about Bob Dylan. I decided on a nice baby grand electric piano because he told me it was easy to learn on.”

“And were you?” asked the Dreamer.

“Was I what?”

“Were you lonely?”

“Yes. That was the foundational feeling. There forever like a lapping tide. I suppose that was why I got piano lessons. I wanted someone to talk to.”