by Chloe Rayban
‘Hey wait!’ he said as I reached the kitchen doorway
I paused.
‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’
I turned round. He was holding Yang out.
As I reached to take the cat, he put out a hand and brushed the hair back out of my eyes.
‘That’s better,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ I said like an idiot.
‘Any time.’
‘I meant for the cat.’
Chapter Fourteen
I’d come to a decision about the oboe. I couldn’t go on with it. It was just so un-cool. I decided to broach the subject with my oboe teacher Miriam first. Well, it was only fair — she was the one who’d invested all that time and effort into my lessons. It was a matter between the two of us really. I also knew that once Miriam had been told, there would be no going back on it.
The following Thursday afternoon, I went to my music lesson psyching myself up to break the news.
Miriam arrived late as usual, hot and bothered from riding uphill on her bike. She dropped all her music as she took it out of her music case.
‘Oh honestly, Tasha I’m sorry. I’m all over the place today.’
I picked it up for her and waited while she got settled on the piano stool.
‘It’s the inspectors,’ she continued as she shuffled through her music for the right piece. ‘They’re going to cut back, I know they are.’
‘What does that mean?’
She didn’t answer but fussed around trying to locate her reading glasses. ‘Where were we last week?’
I reminded hen and then she started my intra far too fast.
‘Oh goodness. I’m sorry. Honestly. It’s just that in a few weeks I could be out of a job. It’d be different if all my pupils were like you. But frankly, half of the flutes are useless. I really want you to put on a good show at the Christmas Concert.’
‘Why the concert?’
‘Well, all the people from admin are going to be there.’
I realised with a sinking heart that I couldn’t let Miriam down. There was no way I could give up this term. Not before the concert anyway.
Rosie was waiting for me at the school gates. She’d promised to be there for moral support.
‘Did you tell her?’ she demanded.
I shook my head. ‘I couldn’t. She’s relying on me to do the concert.’
‘Oh honestly, Tash. You are such a chicken.’
‘No I’m not. She said she could be out of a job.’
‘Well, that must be because she’s useless.’
‘She’s not. She’s a really good teacher as a matter of fact.’
‘You and your music,’ said Rosie.
I put on a spurt and walked on ahead. I was feeling pretty fed up and Rosie wasn’t helping matters.
Within a few minutes Rosie came racing after me. She caught my arm. ‘Sssh, behind us. Don’t stare, but it’s that friend of his.’
‘Where?’
‘Behind us.’
I did turn. It was the guy with the flat-top haircut, the one who was always fooling around, totally out of it, pretending to be drunk, or maybe he was drunk. But he looked pretty sober today. He was running on the spot and grinning at us, being really friendly.
‘Well, hello there …’ he panted.
‘Look, we can’t stop now,’ I said, urging Rosie on.
‘Whoa, am I puffed,’ he said as he started jogging again and drew level. ‘Maybe I’ll walk for a bit. Keep you girls company.’
Neither of us said anything but he walked with us anyway.
‘Name’s Brillo,’ he said. He didn’t seem at all worried by the fact that both of us were ignoring him totally. We were coming level with a café. A really seedy-looking place where I knew the West Thames crowd hung out.
‘I’m parched,’ said Brillo. ‘Could do with a drink. Why don’t you girls join me?’
‘We’ve got to be somewhere,’ I said with determination.
‘But I’m practically dead from de-hy-dration man. Don’t want to sit all on my own. You’d like a coffee wouldn’t you? Tea? Seven-Up? Save my life pl-ease?’ he begged us.
‘I am kind of thirsty,’ said Rosie. ‘Why not?’
I could have killed her. We were in school uniform. The last thing I wanted was to be seen like this by the West Thames crowd.
I refused to drink anything and glared at Rosie. Brillo brought two bottles of mineral water from the cool cabinet, screwed their tops off and passed one to Rosie.
Then he leaned back on his chair and felt in his pocket. ‘Cigarette anyone?’
I decided to try and redeem the situation. We were in the café and for all I knew Matt would walk in any moment now. Anything to counteract our ghastly charisma-killing uniforms.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
Rosie’s eyes widened but I ignored her.
But instead of bringing out a pack of Marlboro, Brillo put a Rizla paper in my hand and shook some tobacco out into it. I’d never rolled a cigarette before but it couldn’t be that difficult, could it?
‘So what d’you girls do with yourselves? Never see you around. Like at weekends,’ asked Brillo.
‘Oh we’re around,’ said Rosie. ‘Maybe you don’t go to the right places.’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Brillo. ‘Where’s that then?’
‘All over,’ said Rosie.
I nodded. I was getting in a right old mess with my cigarette. Brillo’s had come out slim and regular and he was pinching the ends of with a professional touch. Mine looked like a poorly made sausage roll.
‘Ever go to The Institution?’ he asked. ‘I could get you on the guest list.’
I exchanged glances with Rosie. That was the place I’d overheard Matt talking about — the place where everyone was crazy.
‘Might give it a try,’ said Rosie.
‘Me brother’s DJ-ing there, Saturday. Could get you in for free — no trouble.’ Brillo had put his feet up on a chair and was leaning back nonchalantly.
‘Cool,’ said Rosie. ‘How about it, Tash?’
‘Umm well … I don’t know …’
She kicked me hard under the table.
‘Yes, why not?’
Brillo flicked a match alight on the side of his box and held it out for me. My ‘cigarette’ was so short I was in danger of burning my nose. I had a nasty suspicion that maybe I’d rolled it with the paper round the wrong way.
‘Here, allow me,’ said Brillo. He took my cigarette and tipped the tobacco out and then re-rolled it in a new paper and handed it back.
‘Thanks,’ I said as he lit it. Then I choked really badly.
‘What’s the music like — the stuff your brother’s into?’ Rosie was asking.
I steeled myself. Here was the type of guy who was into music so esoteric you needed a crash course in terminology to speak to him: House — Deep House — Trance — Acid House — Nu Skool — Old Skool — Techno — Underground — you name it. I didn’t have the foggiest idea of the difference between them — and nor did Rosie.
‘Eclectic,’ said Brillo.
‘Oh yeah, Eclectic,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m really into that, too …’
‘Eclectic,’ said Brillo. ‘It’s like a bit of everything. What bit are you into?’
‘Umm …’ said Rosie.
(Please Rosie, I pleaded internally, don’t mention Blur or Oasis or — cringe — the Spice Girls.)
‘Well, last week I got this brilliant new Sp …’ she started.
‘Look Rosie,’ I interrupted. We’ve got to be somewhere — remember?’ I looked at her meaningfully.
‘We have? Where?’ she said, resolutely not getting the hint.
‘Yes, and we’d better hurry, or we’ll be late,’ I added, getting to my feet.
Rosie was giving our names to Brillo. He’d located a biro and was writing them on his wrist.
‘Hold it. How d’you spell that?’
It was taking forever.
I was trying to
get out of the café as fast as I could.
We were stopped by the man behind the counter. There was a little discussion about paying. It seemed no-one had. And since Brillo didn’t have any money on him we had to cough up.
‘That was the very worst experience of my entire life,’ I muttered to Rosie as we made our way down the street.
‘Oh really, why?’
‘Couldn’t you see? We made total idiots of ourselves?’
‘Did we?’
‘Yes,’ I said crossly. Honestly, Rosie could be so thick sometimes.
‘But we’re on The Institution guest list this Saturday.’
‘Big deal. There’s no way my parents would let me go to a place like that.’
‘Don’t tell them then,’ said Rosie.
Chapter Fifteen
Once the idea had lodged in Rosie’s brain, we were going to The Institution. There was no question about it. Come Saturday, we’d be there.
I hated doing things behind my parents’ back.
‘Maybe, if I put it the right way and we’re not too late, they might just relent …’
‘Oh come off it, Tash,’ Rosie interrupted. ‘Even if they do, your mum’ll want to drive us there. And pick us up afterwards. You are not telling them. No way!’
‘Well, what am I going to say?’
‘It’s Michelle’s birthday on Saturday. You can tell them we’re going to her party and you’re staying over at my place afterwards.’
‘But that’s a lie. You aren’t even going to Michelle’s party.’
Michelle was one of the least popular girls in our class. She had really strict parents and her mum bought all her clothes for her. I’d said I’d go along because I liked her in a way. She could be really funny at times, and we had something in common — she suffered from her family just like I did.
‘Maybe I will go. We could go to her party first before the Club — and then you could stay at my place afterwards. Then it wouldn’t be a lie.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ I said.
I had more pressing concerns than Michelle’s party. The Christmas Concert was in two days’ time. I’d taken to practising at times when I could be almost sure Matt was out. At any rate when his light wasn’t on. So somehow when the night of the performance came, I was prepared.
The school had hired a coach to take us round to West Thames with our instruments. They insisted we all wore uniform for the occasion — although as a concession we’d been allowed navy tights in place of our gross socks (big deal).
When the coach drew up outside West Thames, a load of ragga-type guys were standing around. A couple of them peered into the coach and kind of whistled and jeered at us.
Mrs Middleborough frowned and pulled herself up to her full height, pretending not to notice. It was a pretty rough place. You could see where the graffiti on the walls had been painted over time and time again. You could still read it in some places.
I was out of the coach, across the tarmac and into the theatre before anyone else. They’d given us a room backstage to wait in. We had to wait ages. We’d been asked to arrive a good three-quarters of an hour before the concert began, more than enough time to tune up.
As the minutes dragged by, I felt more and more nervous. I sat with the others and strained my ears at the sounds of the audience arriving. You could hear their coughs and their scraping chairs filtering in through the wings. I just knew Matt must be out there somewhere. Within half an hour he’d see me making that ghastly rabbits face I couldn’t help when blowing into the oboe and he’d never want to set eyes on me again.
Mrs Middleborough had begun fussing about the time and we started to tune up in a half-hearted fashion. The flutes were all making a dreadful din as usual. I knew the North Thames crowd would crease up at the kind of music we played. And the parents of girls at our school would be really dismissive of their bands. One way or another, the concert was going to be excruciating. I wished in some magical way that the concert could be over and done with and I was back home.
At last Mrs Middleborough poked her head out front and came back to chivvy us into line in order to make our entrance.
Since I was doing the solo I went on last. There was some embarrassing clapping as I took up my position at the front and then it died out. Mrs Middleborough gave a nod to the pianist and then the orchestra went into our first number.
As I waited to come in, I took a furtive glance into the sea of faces. In the front they looked like teachers and parents mainly, I avoided eye contact with my parents, but out of the corner of my eye caught sight of Jamie waving at me with Gemma trying to restrain him. Further back there was a load of colourful heads that looked like North Thames people. I could tell by the way they were fidgeting and swaying about that the orchestra was boring them rigid. I imagined Matt among them, probably side by side with that girlfriend of his. And that guy, Brillo, no doubt killing himself over the lot of us standing up in uniform like a Girl Guides outing …
Almost before I knew it, the first piece had come to an end. My solo was next. There was deadly silence as Mrs Middleborough re-arranged her music. And then she looked up and gave me her little nod. I took a deep breath and composed my rabbity lips round the mouthpiece …
BANG! Some joker at the back had let off a partypopper. The audience went into uproar — everyone was in fits.
Mrs Middleborough tried not to look put out. She just stood tapping with her baton on the music stand for silence. Some joker in the audience started up a kind of drumroll, mimicking her. This brought another wave of hilarity.
I could feel my face going red and hot. Tears started in my eyes. And worst of all I could sense my nose beginning to run. I groped in my pocket — I hadn’t got a tissue.
I felt as if every eye in the theatre was on me. And that they could all see a disgusting great drip gathering on the end of my nose. I couldn’t bear the humiliation any longer. I turned and stumbled blindly off the stage.
I’d done it now. Standing in the ante-room, I was shaking with anger and humiliation. Matt must have seen the whole thing. My rabbityface, my red eyes, my dripping nose.
Dimly, I became aware of Mrs Middleborough’s voice announcing that they were moving on to the next number in the programme. The sound of a reggae band took over and there were appreciative whistles and cheers from the audience. I slumped down on a bench.
Mrs Middleborough came hurrying into the room. ‘Oh Natasha, dear. Are you all right?’
‘It was only a party-popper, Mrs Middleborough, not a gun shot,’ I said miserably.
‘That’s the attitude dear … But still …’
She tiptoed back to the curtain.
‘They seem to have calmed down now. I think we could try again …’
‘You can’t still expect me to do my solo?’
‘Well I don’t think we should give in, do you?’
‘There’s no way I’m going back out there.’
But it seemed Mrs Middleborough thought I should. In her eyes the whole event had taken on epic proportions. We were defending the honour of the school — keeping up standards (whatever they were) — even striking a blow for women’s liberation — after all, we were an all-girl orchestra.
I put up a good defence but Mrs Middleborough wouldn’t take no for an answer. She insisted that I would never forgive myself if I didn’t go back.
We had to wait until the end of the concert. As the last chords of the penultimate piece died out, I trailed in behind her. There was some sparse but well-meant clapping as I climbed once more on to the solo stand.
I didn’t look at the audience this time. I just looked up at Mrs Middleborough. We exchanged a nod and I went straight into the solo. I was a bit hesitant to start with, but as the piece got under way I started to forget about the audience. It didn’t seem all that important any more. What mattered more was doing justice to the music.
I can’t remember much about it now. Only that at the end, as I climbed down from t
he stand, there was masses of applause. I could see Dad standing up and clapping. And a load of parents of other girls in the orchestra joined him. I felt myself blushing to the roots.
This was going down in history as the most mortifying event of my entire life.
When I got back that night I went straight up to my room. I sat behind the curtain staring out at number twenty-five. I was never never going to live the concert down as long as I lived.
Even as I watched, the front door opened. Matt came out. I shrank further back into the shadows.
He swung his jacket over his shoulder and strode off down the road. I stared after him. I just loved the way he walked. Confident and casual — a real boy’s walk. The light of the street-lamps was catching on his ruffled up hair. He was just so, so gorgeous. I wondered where he was going. Probably off to that cool club of his with that girl. With every step he took, the gulf between us seemed to grow wider and wider. I watched him as far as the corner. Then he turned and disappeared from sight.
That’s when I well and truly decided. Saturday night, I’d be at The Institution. I had to be. It was my one and only chance to redeem myself.
Chapter Sixteen
As Saturday night approached, the tension built up. This was going to be my opportunity to shake off the dreadful impression I’d made. Pathetic — that was the only word for it. The very thought of me standing up in my school uniform making such an idiot of myself in front of all those people …
Rosie and I went together to Michelle’s. I went in jeans and a T-shirt — suitably dressed-down for a teenage birthday party. I had the black dress and my platform sandals in my back-pack.
Michelle greeted us at the door all flushed and excited. Her parents had rolled up the carpet and hired disco lights that flashed in different colours in time with the music. Michelle was playing her favourite Oasis album and the first-comers were standing around in the hall drinking fruit punch and looking awkward. It was the kind of party we’d been having since we were twelve.
She was really surprised that Rosie had come with me.
‘Oh hi! Rosie, you came — that’s great!’
‘I’ve brought you something,’ said Rosie, thrusting a roughly-wrapped present into Michelle’s hands.