“I haven’t played for a year or two — seriously that is. Not since I was in London. There’s a piano at the mess but it’s out of tune and has a tinny resonance — good for barrel organ numbers though. Amazing how you always pick up where you left off. Like riding a bicycle.” He hesitated, staring at his hands.
“What about when you are on leave?”
“I spend it at the barracks. There’s no home for me any more. I have a couple of aunts but I don’t go often. Though I will go more one day, I expect. But at the moment they tend to dwell on things I’d rather not face.” Peter looked up but kept his blank expression so that the words seemed to be an automatic, involuntary response. “I’ll enjoy playing. I shall like exploring all the new pieces. Thank you,” he said. He got up to leave the room.
“Pete
