Either Side of Midnight (The Midnight Saga Book 1)

by Tori de Clare

  Annabel nudged her side. ‘If Will’s room is across there, I’m bringing some binoculars and moving in,’ she whispered. ‘Aren’t you even excited? Manchester is crawling with students and you’ve finally escaped from home. You should be celebrating.’

  Naomi glanced over her shoulder to check if Camilla was listening. She wasn’t. She was pulling a duvet from a suitcase and flapping it up and down.

  ‘I feel so weird,’ Naomi mouthed to Annabel. ‘I’m not sure I’m cut out for all this.’

  ‘Course you are,’ Annabel whispered fiercely. ‘You’re a fantastic pianist.’

  ‘It’s all relative, Annie. I’m just a little fish in a very big pond here.’

  ‘Who told you that crap? Uni is as much about the experience and the social life as the study. This place must be full of geeks into ancient music like you. You can sit for hours talking about that guy who cut his ear off.’

  Naomi dropped her head and smiled. ‘You’re confusing Van Gogh with Beethoven, who didn’t cut his ear off, he went deaf.’

  Annabel waved one hand dismissively. ‘Whatever! Point is, loosen up a bit.’

  ‘Annie, it’s a music college, not Club 18-30.’

  ‘You can still have fun. Check Will out for a start. I’m telling you he’s hot.’

  ‘Too hot?’ Camilla said, suddenly. ‘Shall I open a window?’

  Naomi relaxed just long enough to share a conspiratorial giggle with Annabel, as Camilla barged between them and swung the window open as far as it would go.

  <><><>

  Naomi lay on her bed that night staring vacantly at the smallish patch of ceiling that was all she could call her private space, aware of every unfamiliar lump and bump in her back from the narrow bed. The room was almost claustrophobic. She was conscious of her breathing, her pulse, the tension in her muscles, the noises outside which meant that people were out and about getting stuck in. The harsh centre light brightened the room too much, exaggerating its aloofness and its utter refusal to make her feel at home.

  The welcome pack was ripped open by her bed, contents spilled. How a small bottle of shower gel, a mini cereal packet and a sachet of Earl Grey tea was meant to make her feel welcome, she couldn’t imagine. The accommodation company name was on the packet, Liberty. If lying here in a small room with nowhere to go and no one to talk to was liberty, she’d take the restrictions of home anytime.

  Her clothes hung in the wardrobe. Her efforts to personalise the room amounted to a picture of herself and Annabel, a box of scented tissues, a tiny stereo and the pile of sheet music and CDs that sat neatly on the long desk to her left, the way Camilla had arranged and left them. They didn’t even begin to fill the cavernous emptiness she felt inside.

  She lay motionless, thinking about her family. Camilla, her irritating and overbearing mother had also instilled in her a sense of belonging and security. It had taken this desolate moment for Naomi to realise how much she’d always counted on her. Absence had already managed to glaze over the cracks of general family problems and soften the shades of any differences they had. From now, Naomi had no one to rely on but herself. That burden fused her to the bed.

  She closed her eyes and pictured Annabel with her ice-blue eyes, clear skin, infectious smile, long wavy hair naturally blonde – her unlikely twin. What drew crowds to her was her sense of fun and her talent for mischief. If Annabel was the first person who loved meeting new people and trying new things, Naomi was the last.

  To Annabel, the world was only a huge adventure park made purely for her pleasure. She wanted to see it all, experience it all, grab life by the throat. It was too short to waste on boring stuff like museums, libraries and art galleries. Annabel couldn’t bear the stifling silence of those places or the need to be quiet and well behaved.

  Seeing the world through Annabel’s eyes had opened Naomi’s. She wanted to feel the same way, but couldn’t. It wasn’t that she wanted to hate classical music and poetry the way Annabel did, it was more that she envied the ease in which Annabel could negotiate life and the people in it and enjoy the journey. Accepting their differences had taken time for Naomi and been painful.

  Separated at birth by fifteen minutes and born either side of midnight, Annabel first, they didn’t even share a birthday. Annabel was born on the twenty-second of October and Naomi, the twenty-third. But there was one flaw in Annabel’s character that Naomi didn’t admire. It had caused problems in the past that Naomi was keen to forget right now.

  She reached for her phone, needing to talk. She couldn’t admit to family that she hadn’t done any of the things they expected her to do, so she called Lorie, her best friend, who answered her phone with her mouth full.

  ‘Lorie, it’s me.’

  ‘Hey, what’s up? You sound upset.’

  ‘I hate it here. I want to go home. Don’t tell Mum I called.’

  Lorie laughed, then apologised. ‘Come on, Naomi, you’ve only just got there. Give it a chance.’

  ‘I’m lying in this little room on the top floor wondering what on earth I’m doing here.’

  Lorie swallowed whatever she was chomping. ‘You’re following your dream, that’s what.’

  ‘Whose dream?’

  Lorie was silent a beat. ‘You love music.’

  ‘That’s not the point. Playing for myself is one thing, but knowing I’ll have to perform in front of the other students is stressing me out. Plus, pianists are always needed for accompanying and stuff. If anyone drops on me at short notice, I’ll die.’

  ‘Say no then. They can’t force you to do it.’

  Naomi twisted her hair around her forefinger. ‘I know, but the expectation . . .’ She lapsed into a short silence.

  Lorie filled it. ‘Why aren’t you out meeting people?’

  ‘I’ve tried to go out, but I just can’t.’

  ‘How have you tried?’

  ‘I’ve put my shoes on twice. I keep looking out of my window and seeing groups of people outside. Absolutely no one is by themselves except me.’

  Lorie giggled into Naomi’s ear, then her tone turned serious. ‘Listen, there’ll be loads of students sitting in their rooms right now just like you, wondering why they’re the only ones on their own. You’ve got to get out and mingle.’

  ‘I want to, but –’

  ‘No buts. Put your shoes on again.’

  Naomi sat up. ‘My shoes?’

  ‘Yes, put them on and go out. I’m not asking, I’m telling. You’re not alone. I’m here on the other end of the phone, so you won’t look like a saddo if you’re chatting. Get a move on.’

  After a few moments of hesitation, Naomi stood and walked to her wardrobe. She shoved on her Converse pumps and slid into a black jacket. Lorie waited without speaking.

  ‘All done.’

  ‘OK, good. Now open the door and go outside, simple as.’

  Lorie kept Naomi talking as she locked the door, retraced her steps down the narrow corridor and took the empty lift to the ground floor.

  ‘What’s happening now?’ Lorie asked her. Naomi walked through reception and outside onto the busy street. She stood still, watching weekend traffic chase by in both directions, filled with people who had a life and knew what to do with it. She clamped her phone between her ear and shoulder and zipped up her jacket.

  ‘It’s full of students out here. No one is on their own and everyone’s laughing like they’re having the best time ever and they’ve known each other for years. Now what?’

  ‘Hungry?’ a voice said behind her.

  Naomi thought she’d said ‘angry’. She jumped and turned round. She could hear Lorie telling her to keep walking in the direction of the shops as she dropped her arm.

  Standing behind her was a short, plump girl with an invisible neck. It looked more like her head was balanced on top of her shoulders. Her hair was red and was as wide as it was long. It framed her face like a helmet and rested on her shoulders, spread out. Her eyes were a sort of milky blue colour and her ex
pression, desperately serious. It was a change from seeing kids who looked afraid to be seen not laughing. The girl held up a box of takeaway pizza, announced the topping and asked if Naomi was interested in sharing. It took time to identify that the accent was Irish.

  Naomi dissolved into a smile. The girl opposite didn’t reciprocate. She reached for her non-existent neck and conjured a necklace from beneath her top, bearing a cross. Naomi noticed she had great nails. Long and white. Pianists couldn’t grow nails.

  ‘Ditto.’

  Naomi’s fingers automatically clasped her own necklace and a rush of relief washed over her. She could hear Lorie calling her name down the phone.

  ‘I’d love to,’ Naomi said.

  The girl turned and started to walk towards the accommodation block. She was square all the way down. Her back was the same width as her hips and her bottom was flat. Pasty-coloured ankles showed beneath a long skirt. Naomi caught up and trotted alongside, brushing off the guilt pangs for the negative assessment. Focus on the nails. Great nails!

  ‘Siobhan Dougherty,’ she said, looking dead ahead.

  ‘Naomi Hamilton. Really good to meet you.’ She lifted the phone back to her ear. ‘Lorie? Sorry. Can I call you back?’

  5

  The first week, though busy, only strolled by. Siobhan, her first friend, had featured in it loosely. Naomi could see Siobhan’s room from her window. It was on the block to Naomi’s left as she looked out and down a couple of floors. When the curtains were open, her only glimpse was the tip of Siobhan’s navy pillowcase containing a battered teddy bear named Snugpooh.

  Was Siobhan a proper friend now? Naomi asked herself, after seeing Siobhan for seven days. If sharing a pizza over dull chat, having matching necklaces, arranging a joint trip to Asda and agreeing that Chopin’s piano music was pretty amazing, then Naomi supposed that they were. They’d added each other on Facebook and swapped mobile numbers.

  She had mixed feelings about Siobhan. When she reviewed the week, she wasn’t sure Siobhan had smiled at all. Whenever they met up, there was a kind of mouth twitch which went in the direction of a smile, but never got there. Siobhan never left Naomi with that cosy friendship feeling. And nothing improved or developed or got easier. Every time Naomi saw Siobhan it was like starting from scratch. Ask questions. Get the shortest possible answers. Then there were the stiff silences that could arrive suddenly between them that Naomi struggled through and that Siobhan didn’t seem to mind or notice.

  So Siobhan was Catholic, came from Dublin, was the oldest of five children, had seen Barry Manilow in concert three times with her mum, and played the flute. Her hobbies included meditation and tai chi. Boyfriend? No! Did she fancy anyone? No, but Daniel Craig (she decided after a long moment of staring at the floor) had nice eyes, she supposed.

  Naomi shared a kitchen and cleaning rota with three other girls she’d seen most days. They were fine, no complaints. Two of them, Megan and Madeline – generally known by the end of the first week as M ‘n’ M – had paired off on the first day and hadn’t been seen apart since. The other girl, Bridget, a singer, hardly left her room. If she wasn’t blasting out some aria that rocked the walls, she was glued to her absent boyfriend over Facebook. Talking to Bridget meant only one thing: learning every tedious detail about Max Lloyd.

  Being with new people every day was exhausting, maybe the hardest part of her new life, beating off the stiff competition of doing written and playing assessments to be put in suitable groups for this and that. Spare time was spent on the piano on well-established music repertoire she was sprucing up for her new tutor, a tiny softly-spoken Russian doll called Olga Kolesnikova, a ‘legend’ by all accounts. She was known for her volcanic passion for Romantic music that erupted regularly during her lessons, then cooled and settled in between.

  Evenings meant catching up with Lorie and Annabel or wandering in some unmemorable bar with whoever she’d latched on to that day. Camilla had, as forewarned and promised, rung only once. It was part of a new regime to encourage independence or something. She’d ring every Friday evening at six. Whatever! Henry rang or texted more than that, but Naomi suspected he was breaking an agreement.

  A week had been a long time. Naomi missed her room at home, her bed, her cat. Wearing her social face whenever she stepped out of her room was a drain, and tonight was the end-of-week Freshers’ dinner, held at some posh city hotel. She had nothing to wear. She was meeting Siobhan outside the accommodation block at seven. It was now four-fifteen. She’d hunted through her wardrobe three times and found the same things hanging there each time. So she rang Annabel in a flap.

  ‘Annie, it’s me. Hotel dinner tonight and I haven’t got an outfit.’

  Annabel laughed. ‘What are you like?’

  ‘I’ve been busy. Plus, I only found out this afternoon that everyone’s getting dressed up. I haven’t really brought anything. What shall I do?’

  ‘Stop talking to me and get yourself to the shops. They’ll be closing soon.’

  ‘They’re not near, plus I’m no good at shopping – ’

  ‘Learn. Stop talking would you? Ring me from the Arndale Centre and I’ll tell you which shops are cool. You look good in black. And get a picture of Will for me, I’m getting withdrawal.’

  Annabel had gone. Naomi stood still, hands shaking, mind divided between rushing out to the shops and some other option which wouldn’t come. Lorie. It was worth a try.

  When Lorie’s phone rang six times without a reply, Naomi’s palms were starting to get clammy and she was trying to remember how to reach the shops. Then, suddenly, ‘Naomi?’

  ‘Lorie, I’m in a mess. I’ve got a dinner tonight and I haven’t brought a thing to wear. I’m not used to –’

  ‘OK, slow down. What time do you need to be out?’

  ‘I’m meeting a . . . friend at seven.’

  ‘That’s loads of time. How about I bring some dresses over?’

  Naomi backed up and dropped onto the bed. ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘Of course I can. I’ve got no plans for tonight and I can be there in half an hour, OK?’

  Naomi sighed, torn between guilt and relief. ‘Really? Are you sure?’

  ‘You’ll have to come down and let me in. Jump into the shower now and I’ll text you when I get there. Give me forty minutes OK?’

  Naomi lay back on the bed, closed her fingers around her necklace and shut her eyes. ‘I owe you one.’

  <><><>

  Lorie showed up exactly on time bringing a choice of six dresses and two pairs of shoes she hoped would fit (Naomi’s feet were half a size smaller). She stayed until Naomi was zipped into the chosen black dress and was standing, shoes on, in front of the mirror. Lorie had applied Naomi’s makeup, painted her nails and fixed her up with some swinging sparkly earrings.

  ‘I’m not taking my necklace off,’ Naomi said. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘This is a special occasion.’

  Naomi shook her head. ‘Not special enough.’

  ‘You’re the boss.’

  With twenty minutes to spare, they set about Naomi’s long dark hair. Lorie curled it with straighteners. After ten minutes it was parted in the centre and fell spectacularly into big curls at the bottom. Lorie backcombed it and set it with spray. A few jets of perfume later, Naomi was ready for the catwalk.

  ‘You look incredible,’ Lorie said as they stood side by side looking into the mirror. They were almost exactly the same height and shape, which, for clothes-swapping purposes had come in handy more times than Naomi could count. ‘Go knock ‘em dead.’

  <><><>

  Luckily for Annabel, Will Barton was sitting on Naomi’s table that night. It turned out that he’d never touched a double bass in his life, but was a cellist. He looked almost Spanish, everything dark right down to the neat hedge of thick black eyebrows, Mediterranean-coloured skin to match. He was kind of exotic in a way that impressed all the girls. He did nothing for Naomi. His army of followers flocked to hug him a
nd yell too loudly and take pictures. Cameras and phones were busy while they waited for the main course, making it easy for Naomi to get Annabel’s picture without Will even noticing. It was a good one too. Naomi grinned as she tucked her phone under the table and sent the picture to Annabel.

  At her left side, all elbows and bare freckled arms, sat Siobhan. She’d dressed in a long black skirt and a black short-sleeved top with some sequins edging the neckline. Her only bit of colour was a long row of pale blue beads that picked up the colour of her shoes. She was so stiff and still, it was as though she’d taken root in the chair. Naomi felt obliged to divide her time between trying to talk to Siobhan and having easy chats with Madeline on her other side. But as time passed, Madeline became too drunk and stupid for small talk. So Naomi focussed on Siobhan, finding that after a week of exhausting one another’s bank of personal details, there was only the food left to talk about.

  ‘So you like him?’ she asked, rotating a wedding ring she wore on her right hand, which had been her grandmother’s. It dug into her finger so fiercely it seemed a miracle she could turn it. Naomi was surprised, pleasantly. Siobhan didn’t take the initiative with conversation very often.

  ‘What? Who?’ Naomi asked.

  She followed Siobhan’s deathly gaze towards Will who was downing a whole glass of something blue without stopping. The empty glass brought a ripple of applause from his female fans, who handed him another one.

  ‘Oh no, not me. My sister spotted him last week. The picture was for her.’

  ‘He’s probably going to drown tonight, so he is.’

  Naomi laughed. Siobhan didn’t.

  ‘Do you like him?’ Naomi asked, for something to say.

  Siobhan closed her invisible eyelashes together and shook her head of bushy hair. ‘No, no, no. My mammy and daddy would kill me if I rolled home with that.’

  Naomi laughed again. Siobhan turned to Naomi with confusion in her eyes. ‘What’s funny?’