Chapter 18
‘I must apologise for the car,’ Gabriel says as I climb into the open-topped Jeep early the next morning. ‘It’s not exactly inconspicuous.’
He’s not joking. It’s bright orange, with a row of enormous lights fixed to a bar over the top, and the largest, blingiest wheels I think I’ve ever seen on a car.
‘It’s Raphael’s pride and joy,’ he says as he presses the button to start the engine. Moments later, we’re rewarded with a roar that scatters the birds from the nearby trees.
‘I kind of guessed that,’ I yell over the din. ‘Given that it’s covered in advertising for the bar.’
‘As soon as I told him our plans for the day, he insisted on lending it to me,’ Gabriel shouts back as he puts it into drive and heads for the exit. ‘He really likes you. I’ve packed us a picnic too.’ He points over his shoulder to a cool box on the floor in front of the back seat.
When we reach the road and Gabriel puts his foot down to merge into the traffic, the noise the car makes can only be described as Biblical, and I clamp my hands over my ears to protect them.
To my surprise, Gabriel turns immediately left, and we soon find ourselves outside Raphael’s bar, which is definitely closed at this time in the morning.
No sooner has he pulled up next to the shack, however, than Raphael appears.
‘Wah Gwaan?’ he asks once Gabriel has shut off the engine and we can all hear ourselves think. ‘Hail up, Tori.’
‘I think I’ve done something,’ Gabriel explains in his broad Jamaican accent. ‘The car is so loud I can’t hear myself think!’
Raphael bursts out laughing. ‘Press that button.’ He indicates a button near the gear lever with a picture on it that looks like the end of a shotgun barrel. ‘You’ve put it in sport mode.’
Gabriel presses the button and restarts the engine, which thankfully now burbles quietly. ‘That’s much better, thanks,’ he says to a still smiling Raphael.
‘No worries, have a good day,’ Raphael replies as Gabriel puts the car into reverse and begins to turn around.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask as Gabriel noses back onto the road. I had an idea last night about a way to get him to open up, so this is a loaded question.
‘I thought we’d head round the coast towards Ocho Rios first,’ Gabriel says, his English accent now back in place.
‘There’s lots to see and do there, depending on your mood.
We could visit Dunn’s river falls, which is a tiered waterfall and park, and Dolphin Cove, where you can swim with sharks, dolphins and stingrays in their natural environment.
Or, if you prefer something a little more cultural, we could head for the Green Grotto, where there’s a set of spectacular underground caves that the Spanish hid in when they were being driven from the island by the English in the seventeenth century.
Then, after lunch I thought we could meander back, stopping at the Appleton Estate so you can have a bit of a rum tasting. How does all of that sound?’
‘It sounds amazing,’ I tell him honestly. ‘But would I be right in saying that those places are all tourist attractions?’
He looks nonplussed. ‘They are. That’s why I chose them.’
‘That’s very kind of you, but I’ve been thinking.’
‘Uh-oh.’
‘Funny. See, what I’ve realised is that I have a unique opportunity here, to see beyond the stuff that’s curated for tourists. I’d like you to show me your Jamaica.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The places you grew up, where you went to school, the church you mentioned before. Those kinds of things.’
‘Why?’
‘Two reasons. One, because I’d like to learn more about you. And two, because I’ll get an experience that is much more authentically Jamaican than all those other things you mentioned.’
‘You’re assuming I grew up here.’
‘I’m assuming you spent at least some of your formative years here, given that all the rest of your family live here.’
‘They don’t, actually.’
‘Really? Am I about to be treated to another precious nugget of Gabriel information?’
‘I really don’t get why you find me so interesting. I’m just me.’
‘Just you with your curious accents and almost pathological desire not to tell me anything about yourself. You know my most shameful secret. How is that fair?’
‘If the most shameful thing you’ve ever done is have a one-night stand with an ex-boyfriend that you believed to be single at the time, I’d say you’re doing pretty well.’
‘You’re right,’ I tell him. ‘It’s not the most shameful thing. The most shameful thing is that I murdered both my parents.’
‘Did you?’
‘Of course not, but once again you’re trying to deflect the conversation away from you. So which other members of your family don’t live here, where do they live and why?’
‘My sister Blessing lives in Kent, in the UK,’ he says.
‘See? That didn’t hurt. Whereabouts in Kent?’
‘Tunbridge Wells. She’s a nurse in the hospital there.’
‘You’re doing so well,’ I mock-encourage him. ‘And why does she live in the UK when the rest of the family is here?’
‘Because she fell in love with a British guy and married him. Do you really want to see where I grew up? It’s not very glamorous.’
‘If I want glamour, I can always go on the tour awful Amy has organised for the day before we fly home.’
‘Things no better with her then?’
‘No, and you’re changing the subject again. What’s your connection to the UK?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, you alluded to having spent some time there when I first met you, and you have a perfect British accent, when you’re talking to me at least. And now we discover that one of your other siblings is also living in the UK.’
‘Remind me what your job is?’
‘I’m in recruitment, why?’
‘Wasted. You should have joined the police force. No criminal would be able to resist your relentless questioning.’
‘I wouldn’t need to be relentless if you weren’t so secretive. Are you on the run?’
He laughs. ‘What on earth makes you think that?’
‘Because nothing about you adds up. You’re a Jamaican pianist with an English accent, who is desperate to reveal as little about himself as possible. And, although I’d be the first to admit I know very little about music, even I can spot that you’re way too good to be working in hotels.’
He sighs. ‘OK. I’m not on the run. It’s just that I, umm, move in certain circles as part of my normal life, and when I come back to Jamaica, I like to put all of that to one side as much as I can.’
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean? You could be anything from royalty to a drug runner with a description like that.’
‘I’m neither of those things. Look, the easiest way to explain it is if you just Google me.’
‘Google would know you?’
‘Try it.’
I pull out my phone and unlock it before remembering something important. ‘I can’t. I don’t have a data package so my phone only works over Wi-Fi.’
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a very sleek-looking smartphone. ‘The code is two triple four.’
‘I’m in.’ I launch the browser and type the word ‘Gabriel’, before realising there’s something else I don’t know about him.
‘What’s your surname?’
‘Campbell.’
I type the surname in and I’m immediately rewarded with some pictures of Gabriel in tails sitting at various grand pianos. Underneath that there is a link to a Wikipedia page, with an enticing preview that says:
Gabriel Campbell is a Jamaican pianist who has performed in major concert halls all around the world, with leading orchestras such as…
‘You’ve got a Wikipedia page?’ I ask him incredulously as I click the link to read the rest of the entry.
He says nothing, just nods, so I read on, increasingly dumbstruck. He’s played everywhere, including Carnegie Hall in New York, the Royal Festival Hall and Wigmore Hall in London, and even the sodding Sydney Opera House, but one entry really catches my eye.
‘You’ve opened Last Night of the Proms?’
‘Twice,’ he replies.
‘Oh, fuck.’ I can feel the heat of embarrassment spreading across my cheeks.
‘What’s up?’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Why?’
‘There I was, like an arse, banging on at you about how you were really good and should aim higher than just playing in hotels, and all the time you’re a bloody international concert pianist. I feel like a total idiot.’
‘Don’t,’ he says firmly. ‘You meant it sincerely and I took it as a compliment. It’s my fault for not being straight with you from the start.’
‘I must have sounded so bloody patronising.’
‘Not at all.’
‘What are you doing playing in hotels then?’
‘I don’t play in hotels, plural. The only hotel I play in is the Elixir, and that’s because my sister owns it.’
‘You told me you played in hotels all over the place.’
‘No.’ He smiles. ‘I remember this, because I answered that question very carefully. I told you I played “all over the place”. That’s true.’
‘Misleading. I could sue you under trades descriptions or something.’
‘Good luck with that.’ He chuckles as he slows to make a turning.
‘Why?’ I ask him after a minute or so.
‘Why what?’
‘Why the subterfuge?’
He sighs. ‘Do you have any idea how refreshing it’s been to spend time with you?’
‘No.’
‘In my normal life, insofar as my life could be described as normal, everything revolves around music.’
‘Well, d’oh. That’s what happens when you’re a famous concert pianist and have a bloody Wikipedia page.’
‘Fair point, and I know this sounds like a first-world problem, but it’s a really pressurised environment.
Not only do I have to be absolutely on top of my game professionally, but I have to project just the right persona when I meet people.
I love what I do, but that part really takes it out of me.
So, for one month every year, I come back to Jamaica to rest. And, this year, I met you.
And one of the best things about meeting you is that, not only are you someone interesting who I enjoy spending time with, you’re not a music person, which means I can relax and just be myself around you. ’
‘Except you weren’t you. You were projecting an image at me too,’ I counter.
‘How so?’
‘You were pretending to be a humble hotel pianist, an itinerant musician.’
He grins. ‘If we’re going to get really forensic about it, I wasn’t pretending. You made an assumption.’
‘You allowed me to make a fool of myself.’ My embarrassment is turning into irritation.
‘I never meant that, I promise. You’re right. It was selfish of me, but it’s been so nice not having to deal with any of the artifice that I normally get.’
‘Artifice?’
‘Oh, yes. When I meet people, they tend to fall into one of two groups. The first group are the fawning sycophants, who think I’m so wonderful I could probably defecate on the carpet and they’d think it was genius.
That’s a bit rude; I don’t mean to be unkind about them, but it gets a bit much after a while. ’
‘And the second?’
‘The second are out to try to prove to me how clever they are. So they’ll ask a question about some obscure fact or technicality, in the hope that I won’t know the answer and they can enjoy their superiority.
To be honest, I don’t mind them either, but the point is it’s all a performance.
I have to be gracious no matter how difficult a person is, because everyone is a social media critic these days, and if people start thinking I’m snotty and obnoxious, that isn’t good publicity. ’
‘And then there was me.’
He smiles again. ‘And then there was you. And you aren’t like any of them.
It’s been so refreshing just spending time with you and being a normal person.
I’m sorry. Maybe I should have told you earlier, or been more upfront, but I was having such a good time having ordinary conversations with you about relationships and one-night stands and stuff that I didn’t want it to end. ’
I look at him as he drives and, although I’m still embarrassed by the things I said to him, my heart goes out to him a little bit and I kind of understand why he did it.
It was a bit dishonest, even if he didn’t outright lie to me, but then I’m not exactly a leading figure in the honesty department myself after the last couple of days. I turn to him and smile.
‘What?’
‘My tour guide has his own Wikipedia page.’
He laughs. ‘That’s the thing you’ve latched on to?’
‘Well, the Sydney Opera House is impressive, I suppose, and the Last Night of the Proms.’ A thought comes to me and I laugh. ‘All those people you were talking about before, the sycophants and the clever ones. How would they feel about you playing “Disturbia”?’
He laughs. ‘It was a request from someone very special. I really am sorry for not being honest from the start.’
‘It’s fine. I get it. There is one thing I’d like you to do to make it up to me though.’
‘Go on.’
‘I want to know everything. Your family, your accent, the lot.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘OK. Well, we can start here,’ he says as he pulls over to the side of the road and shuts off the engine.
‘What’s here?’
‘This is where I went to school, before we moved to the UK. If you really want me to tell you everything, I will.’
I take off my seatbelt so I can turn to face him while he speaks.
His face really is very nice to look at and, after admiring it for a moment, I let my gaze travel down to his hands, understanding at last why they’re so well kept.
I can feel pieces of the jigsaw dropping into place as he breathes in and prepares to start his narrative.
I can’t wait. Now that he’s started to open up, I want to know everything about him.