As I struggled for four hours a day to produce the perfect B flat with exemplary technique, I could hear Jackie flourishing musically. I knew that she loved her lessons and that Bill was extremely pleased with her progress. I was longing for that rare marriage of teaching and freedom. While it was true that my technique needed attention, I felt I was being stifled. This was compounded by being banned from performing: I had to turn down several invitations to play, including a concerto on television, which hurt me deeply. My lifeline had been removed. While we were staying at Mrs Holland’s, she arranged for a friend of hers, the pianist and composer, Howard Ferguson, to come and hear Jackie play. We had been told he was important, and were ready for his arrival. I opened the door to him, but Mrs Holland, Mum and Jackie instantly appeared in the corridor and welcomed him. They swept past me and up to Mr Holland’s music room. I stayed where I was, in a shattered silence. I felt I didn’t exist. I couldn’t move. Soon, I could hear Jackie and Mum playing from above. Suddenly, I was overcome with loneliness and panic. I felt as inadequate as I had at the Purley Music Festival. Again, I hid and sobbed. << less