A Summer of Secrets by Alice Ross

of solidarity when faced with unsavoury issues like eating vegetables or having their hair washed. One day, during the school summer holidays, their mother whisked them along to a ‘Musical Taster Day’ at the local theatre. Five-year-old Rich put up a fierce fight, making his preference for a morning at the swimming pool crystal-clear. But once at the theatre, he’d loved it. It seemed like every instrument ever invented had been available for the children to trial. And Rich trialled them all – bonging the bongos, blasting the bassoon and hammering the harp. Hilary, meanwhile, made an immediate beeline for the piano. And there she remained for the entire three hours, various members of staff hovering about her, their mother’s face growing increasingly pink.
    ‘Oh, Harry, you’ll never guess what’s happened,’ their by now scarlet parent had gushed to their father the moment they arrived home. ‘Hilary apparently has “a very strong aptitude” for the piano. That’s what they said, Harry, “a
very
strong aptitude”.’
    Their bemused father stroked his beard. ‘Hmm. So what does that mean, exactly?’
    Their mother tutted. ‘It means, Harry, that we have to buy a piano. Forthwith.’
    “Forthwith”, in this instance, meant the following week. The toys in the tiny room that had constituted the children’s playroom were boxed up and shipped off to the charity shop, a second-hand, upright piano wedged into the freed-up space.
    Next came the piano teacher – the formidable Miss Rundfahrt– or Bumfart, as Rich called her. A scary German lady with a helmet of slick black hair that looked as if it had been painted onto her bulbous head.
    Shortly after these new arrivals, all invitations to parties, or other fun and “normal” children’s activities, began to be rejected. Rich ceased to ask why, the standard response being: ‘Hilary has to practise.’
    Indeed, it seemed to Rich that all Hilary did was practice – for hour upon hour – preparing for yet another exam, or yet another recital. He scarcely saw his sister any more and, not surprisingly, their once-strong bond began to weaken.
    When Hilary sailed through her final exam with a double distinction aged just thirteen, the ante upped still further, the entire dining room being cleared to make room for a grand piano. Mealtimes, the only time they’d sat down together, were reduced to trays on laps in the lounge.
    Needless to say, their mother’s pride, ebullient from that fateful Musical Taster Day, had surged with every exam certificate and every glowing review. And their father, whose sole purpose in life had been to appease his wife, meekly followed suit.
    As in-depth discussions of music colleges and conservatoires began to dominate every conversation, Rich found himself increasingly estranged from his family.
    ‘Do you mind if I stay at Si’s tonight?’ he asked one day.
    His mother didn’t bother to lift her head from the pile of music she’d been sifting. ‘Whatever you like, darling,’ came the reply, leaving Rich in little doubt that, had he asked if he could have a one-way ticket to Bangkok to join the Ladyboys, the response would have been much the same.
    Hilary had subsequently accepted a music scholarship at Oxford – an auspicious start to her glittering career as one of the country’s most prestigious pianists.
    Rich, meanwhile, demonstrated none of his sister’s musical prowess. Indeed, demonstrated no prowess of any kind. Until his first Saturday job helping a mate’s uncle with his hardware market stall. The art of persuasion, he soon discovered, was his forte. But no matter how many sales leagues he topped, no matter how many bonuses he received, no matter how many weekends to Barcelona he won, his achievements always seemed tacky compared to those of his sister.
    Still, he had – or at least he’d thought he had – moved on; deftly buried these feelings of underachievement under a ton of earth. Until something