I Want to be Me

by Nicky Bright

  ‘No worries, Claudia. I’m sure everything will work go well for you this weekend. When you’re ready to tell me, rest assured that I’m really interested to hear all about it.’

  Claudia breathed a sigh of relief. Kate continued ‘Just let me know about tea times and things like that. So it’s Port Meadow this afternoon?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, take your hat, and don’t forget your new mobile – it’s going to be a hot one. Want some lunch?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘I’ll make some sandwiches then. And, by the way, there’s been more news from Father.’

  ‘Oh? Do tell.’ Claudia was instantly switched on.

  ‘He’s been approved to come over. But listen to this: it could be as early as the end of next week.’

  ‘That’s fantastic, Kate. Best news I’ve had all week – even better than the exam results.’

  They finished breakfast and went back inside. Kate still felt strange about this new relationship with Claudia. It was hard getting used to being called Kate, rather than Mother. But she reminded herself again that it was much better than the old relationship and that awful wall of silence.

  Saturday looked like being a hot day indeed. It was already quite warm by mid-morning. Claudia wasted no time getting away. She collected her things and disappeared down to the end of the garden and began her garden hopping down to Port Meadow. When she went through the wooden gate she could see balloons up on the rise, and instantly knew that that was where the orchestra was meeting.

  Quite a few people were already on the field. Elfie was buzzing around, his tall white hat bobbing up and down as he went about organising his music groups for rehearsal. It was noisy, lots of chatter, and people were tuning their instruments all over the field. Claudia felt that there was an air of excitement. No one seemed to notice her. Big Bill Tuba was waving his arms, calling his winds in for a practice. Finn and Julia were talking to Roger. Finn seemed a little excited, Claudia thought. He was waving his bow in the air as he talked, and Claudia wondered what was going on. Julia at least seemed unconcerned. As she approached, Roger called out to her.

  ‘Hi, Claudia. Great to see you. Are you ready for the big one?’

  ‘Hope so.’ Claudia looked around as she spoke. ‘They’re not here yet?’

  ‘No, that’s why everyone is so scatty this morning,’ Roger replied. ‘If you ask me, I think it’s a bit hard on young Finn. He steps in when he’s needed, he gets a prize and now look at the pickle that he’s in!’

  Suddenly the noise stopped. Everything went strangely quiet. Roger turned around sharply. Someone called out, ‘I see them! There they are!’ Claudia looked down to the gate but couldn’t see anything.

  ‘Over there, Claudia’ Roger pointed in the other direction. ‘They’ve come in the north entrance!’

  And there they were – the splendid couple! Elaine was striding out in front, her long red hair flowing behind her. She was wearing a long white dress, and she looked stunning. Right behind her was Ferdinand, dragging some kind of cart that held her harp and his violin. Ferdinand was dressed in black – black trousers and a black leather jacket – and together they looked as though they belonged on a film set. They strolled across the field like royalty, waving to this one and that one as they came on. Elfie rushed over to greet them. He hugged Elaine enthusiastically.

  ‘Good to have you back, Elaine,’ he huffed. ‘It couldn’t come at a better time.’

  ‘No real thanks to you,’ Elaine replied sharply. ‘Or to the boys in the band. I’m here because of Julia and her young friend – what’s her name? – Claudia!’

  Elfie took a step backwards. He never quite knew what to say to Elaine.

  ‘Oh, yes – well – I meant, we all want you back. We didn’t want you to go.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘We were wrong, and we are very sorry – can we let bygones be bygones?’ he pleaded.

  ‘I’ll see how I go – let’s just say I’ve got an open mind, at this stage. I’m not speaking for him, mind you!’ Elaine jerked her thumb in the direction of Ferdinand. Elfie, for his part, had no doubts about Ferdinand. He would surely follow wherever Elaine went. They moved over to the centre of the field, and Elaine relaxed a little and greeted all the people who came over to welcome her back. She insisted on having a warm-up and called up Julia and Claudia.

  ‘Come on, you two!’ Elaine called out to them enthusiastically. ‘I’d like to play that sonata that you played the other day over at Boar Hill. We’ll do it properly this time, with the harp.’ The three girls began to play and soon a small crowd gathered around them to listen, and when they had finished there was some strong applause.

  ‘I think that’s a good start!’ Elaine said. ‘That’s made me feel great! Things can only go well from here on.’

  The orchestra practised long and hard under a hot sun, and they had to take quite a few breaks for drinks just to cool off. Elfie seemed to be quite pleased with the way things were going, but he was concerned about the violins. While Ferdinand was playing extremely well, there was something not quite right with the overall sound of the violin section.

  He couldn’t quite say what it was, but Finn knew exactly what it was. He held it in his hand. It was the Stradivarius. Eventually they all broke up for lunch, and friends moved together to various parts of the field to enjoy their break. Claudia joined up with Julia and Finn, and they found a good spot under a shade tree, overlooking Port Meadow, where in the distance they could see the sailboats bobbing about on the Isis.

  ‘How did your practice go, Finn?’ Julia asked. ‘I did notice that Elfie was looking a little worried at one point.’

  ‘Everyone is playing well, but I think that there is a problem with the sound. I think I know what the problem is but I don’t know what to do about it.’

  Julia immediately looked very concerned. ‘Please tell us.’

  ‘Well – I can see that Ferdinand is very good. I’m even prepared to admit that he is better than I am – but I’m getting a better sound than he is, and I’m certain that Elfie can hear that. If he can hear it, then the judges will pick up on it too. That’s bad for everyone.’

  ‘Maybe you should be first violin?’ Claudia asked, quite innocently. Julia put her hand over her mouth to cover a smile.

  ‘That would be the start of World War Three!’ Finn countered. ‘Ferdinand would stalk off, deeply insulted. Elaine would follow. We’d be back to square one.’

  ‘Would Elaine follow? I don’t know. I don’t think she would. But, in any case, it would weaken the violins – slightly.’ Julia thought for a moment. ‘Whatever you do, Finn, you’ll have to do it this afternoon. Tomorrow will be too late.’

  ‘I know Julia. I know. I’ll decide what to do and do it.’ Finn paused, and sighed heavily. He was obviously feeling under considerable pressure. Julia could see that he was upset.

  ‘Try not to worry about it, Finn. Just relax and enjoy your break. You know, I made some cake especially for you. Do you like chocolate cake?’

  Finn smiled. ‘It’s my favourite,’ he said, taking a piece. Julia had made a cake especially for him? Perhaps life wasn’t so bad after all. He stretched his legs and gazed out over the meadow.

  Dr Oliver Sloan went up to his room after breakfast. Today was a big day. He hoped to prove to the master once and for all that he was the future of the college. Mozart had finished his own breakfast and was lying in his basket, quite content to tolerate the follies of his master. He had a very refined sense of when to be in the basket and when to be up on top of the bookshelf.

  Dr Sloan had come into his room in an especially enthusiastic mood. He put on his birdwatcher’s gear. He had a khaki shirt with large pockets, jungle green trousers, green gumboots and an army field hat. He slung his binoculars over his shoulder and hung a small camera around his neck. He walked this way and that way around th
e room, taking up what he thought were birdwatcher’s positions. He crouched, he knelt, he stretched out on the carpet, all the time asking Mozart what he thought. Finally, he slumped into his chair and became quite thoughtful.

  ‘Mozart, why is the master so nasty to me? He’s nice to some, when it suits him. But he can be so nasty, can’t he, Mozart? I’ll show him! I’ll prove myself today. I’ll come back with something. There’s a good Mozart.’ He scratched Mozart’s forehead. Mozart just purred contentedly. He knew when a kitty snack was in the offing.

  Satisfied that he had Mozart’s approval, Sloan took off for St Giles to meet his birdwatchers’ group. As he passed through the front gate of the college, he passed by Old Herbert, the head porter.

  ‘Going fishing again, Dr Sloan?’ Herbert called out, trying to be friendly.

  ‘No, I am not!’ snapped Sloan. He did not like Herbert. ‘It’s birdwatching.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Birdwatching. I wouldn’t have guessed that,’ Herbert said, shaking his head slowly. When Sloan arrived at the birdwatchers’ office, he was quite surprised to find at least eight people there. He was expected.

  ‘Come in, Oliver. Please sit down over there.’ Frances Bullivant then proceeded to introduce people and briefed everyone on the afternoon excursion. They would go in pairs. She explained to some basic rules, some methods of hiding, and described some of the birds that they should look out for. Each pair would carry a red flag that they would wave to the leader if they sighted anything significant.

  ‘I have some exciting news for you,’ Frances said. ‘A red-crested pochard has been seen on or about the meadow. For new members, that’s a fairly rare duck. If you sight it, signal back to me immediately. Remember, silence and concealment is everything. Good luck!’

  Sloan had barely listened. Pairs were good, because he would be less suspicious in a pair. Concealment was very good. His companion was Esme Smith, a swimming instructor from Summertown. She was a smallish, dark-haired lady, who took her swimming instructing and birdwatching extremely seriously. As they came onto the meadow, each pair was invited to find a location on the higher ground above the meadow, near the Traps, where there was a substantial bird population. As soon as he saw the orchestra balloons, Sloan knew exactly where he wanted to be. Esme Smith, for her part, had taken an instant liking to Sloan, and decided to get along with him as best she could.

  ‘You lead the way, Oliver,’ she suggested, impressed with the way in which Sloan was rigged out for the job, and with his obvious determination. Sloan decided to avoid detection at any cost, and the pair dodged from tree to tree as they made their way around the edge of the field towards the orchestra. They found a track that led to a bushy area high above the garden allotments, and which was several hundred yards from the orchestra.

  They followed this track around and crouched low to the ground, until they eventually reached the bushes. Then they took stock. There was a fairly steep slope down to the garden plots immediately behind them. They could see Frances Bullivant way off in the distance, where she had taken up her central position. And, not too far away, Sloan could see the orchestra getting itself together. This was almost perfect. However, Sloan felt that he would like to get just a little closer.

  ‘Esme, I thought I saw something over there!’ he said, looking through his binoculars. He pointed in the direction of some bushes much closer to the orchestra.

  ‘Would there be any birds over there with all the noise? Esme asked.

  ‘Of course!’ Sloan said, with as much authority as he could muster. ‘It’s well known that birds like music.’ Esme looked suitably impressed, and dutifully followed Sloan as he proceeded to creep very slowly along the narrow pathway behind the shrub line.

  ‘It’s high up here,’ Esme said nervously, pointing down a long slope to the garden plots below.

  ‘Stay close, stay close – we’re almost there!’ Sloan urged. Esme was nervous and grabbed hold of Sloan’s shirt to steady herself. Sloan had manoeuvred himself behind a bush that offered good protection, and then he looked through his binoculars towards the orchestra. There they were! His opposition! He made a note of the violins, the drums, all of the sections, and he scanned each one carefully. Yes, he would be able to see and hear everything from where he was.

  Then he saw people get up and look north towards the far entrance. What was this? And then he saw them. Two people were coming into the field, one a tall, dark violinist that he recognised from many weeks ago, and the other was a lady with long red hair dressed in white that he had also seen many weeks ago playing a harp. This was new. They hadn’t been there before. They certainly were not in the preliminary competition. At last! He had something. Elfie was bringing in two new people. They were ringers! He grabbed at his camera with the other hand.

  ‘What is it? What is it? What have you seen?’ Esme was excited, especially excited at the thought that her new friend may have spotted something.

  ‘A redhead! – It’s a redhead! – I can see a red harp!’

  Esme, keen to do well, stood up instantly and excitedly waved the red flag in the direction of Frances Bullivant, at the same time tugging at Dr Sloan’s shirt.

  ‘He’s spotted the red-crested pochard!’ Esme silently mouthed the words as instructed to Frances, who had her powerful field binoculars trained on her face.

  Dr Sloan was fatally distracted for just a second as he was about to take pictures and his foot slipped, and with a loud cry he tumbled down the steep slope, finally coming to rest in the middle of a garden patch that had only just been freshly turned over, manured and watered. Sloan was shouting out as though he’d just been attacked by someone. Then a large man emerged from the garden shed and began to shout and wave his fist at Dr Sloan, and Esme, miles out of her comfort zone, began screaming for help at the top of the slope. It was sheer pandemonium.

  Dr Sloan panicked. Covered from head to toe in black mud, he bolted for the gate, hotly pursued by the irate gardener. At the top of the slope, the Oxford Birdwatchers Group had assembled around Esme and were trying to calm her down. She was in a state of shock.

  ‘Did he actually see a red-crested pochard?’ Frances asked.

  ‘He said – he said he’d seen a red – at first I thought it was the pochard – but then I think it was – a harp.’ Esme replied tearfully. ‘Is that a rare one?’

  Frances put her arm around Esme’s shoulder comfortingly. ‘He’s the rare one. I really don’t think he’d know the difference between a duck and a bullfinch.’

  ‘What about the red-crested pochard?’ Esme asked, still sobbing.

  ‘Long gone – if it was there in the first place, which I seriously doubt. Come on, everyone, we’re moving away from that awful noise.’ Frances pointed to a place far north of where they were. Even as they moved off, Esme was still upset. Would Oliver ever come back to the birdwatchers’ group? It had all been so promising.

  Meanwhile, Dr Sloan had legged it back to Old College as fast as he could possibly go. He had vital news for the master. In the streets, people stopped and stared at this strange mud-covered character, who at close quarters gave off a heart-stopping smell. Huffing and puffing, with a camera in one hand and binoculars in another, he wound his way down through side streets, barely noticing the people who were trying desperately to avoid him. Finally, breathless, he knocked on the master’s study door.

  ‘Come!’ Sloan did not notice the master’s gruff tone. He flung open the door and stepped into the study. The master staggered back as Sloan slumped through the door.

  ‘Good heavens! Sloan, is that you? Why are you dressed up like that? Have you joined the army reserve?’

  ‘Birdwatching, master’ Sloan spluttered.

  ‘What’s that? Bird what?’

  Sloan was beginning to realise just how he must look.

  ‘I have the most important news for you – it’s absolutely vital to o
ur success tomorrow!’ This caught the master’s attention.

  ‘Sit down – no, don’t sit down! What’s that awful smell?’

  ‘Manure – I think – I fell in it – by accident!’ The master raised his eyebrows. Sloan sensed that things were getting worse by the second.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Sloan, spit it out! No! Don’t! Just tell me – quietly – whatever it is that you’ve done.’

  ‘I was out on the meadow and I spotted them. Success at last!’

  ‘Spotted who – what?’

  ‘A red harp and a black violin!’ The master’s face was beginning to change colour.

  ‘If you’re talking about birds, Sloan, you’re sacked!’ The master was beginning to develop a twitch in his left eye. Sloan hastened to reassure him.

  ‘No, no, Master, you don’t understand. I was out on the meadow watching the opposition – in disguise, and I discovered that they’ve brought in two new people for the final tomorrow. Two ringers!’ The master thought for a moment and then became quite interested.

  ‘Are you sure, Sloan? That’s a very serious allegation. You need to be certain about that.’

  ‘I am sure. I saw it. And I have pictures to prove it!’ Sloan held up his camera. Dr Fennell motioned Sloan to pass it over to him. He pressed the movie replay button and looked intently at the pictures.

  ‘All I can see, Sloan, is blue sky and what appears to be legs! There’s a bit of a gate, some mud – what appears to be an angry man – what is this? The Sloan slideshow?’

  ‘Don’t tell me! That must have happened when I fell over. But it doesn’t matter. I saw what I saw. We can verify it.’

  ‘Well, it looks promising, Sloan. We’ll check it out carefully tomorrow.’ He got up to move Sloan out of his office, but just as he did so there was a knock on the door. It was Helen Brown.