She heard nothing from Bridget that day. Nathan didn’t ring either. He had specific plans all day with Dan, football then cinema. He’d warned her he might not manage to call. Naomi immersed herself in work and tried hard not to miss him. Nathan had promised to come straight to the college the minute he got back on Sunday evening. Naomi checked her watch. Twenty-eight hours to go, give or take.
That night, head aching from concentration, Naomi crawled into bed early. Oblivion meant she didn’t have to be conscious of Nathan. Time flew in sleep. She had a peaceful, dreamless night, but paid the price and woke up too early. Sunday began at seven-thirty and the morning got stuck. The afternoon picked up pace. Naomi robotically did her laundry and spent an hour planning what to wear when she saw Nathan. Camilla shadowed the excitement. The only clue she got about how Camilla was feeling was via text from Annabel, received late that afternoon. It said: ‘Mum’s in a real mood with me. Don’t know what I’ve done but she’s on my case more than usual. Any clues? Can’t wait to jet off to Japan.’
Naomi stared at it and felt sick. So Camilla hadn’t mentioned Nathan to Annabel then. Was she still living in hope that Naomi would chuck him away like an old birthday card? Rebelling was new. And nasty and uncomfortable. It was Annabel’s area of expertise but Naomi didn’t want advice. She’d have to work this one out for herself and tread carefully.
Naomi stood, phone in hand, rereading the message, wondering how to respond, frustrated that she didn’t want to be open with Annabel about Nathan. Her thoughts strayed back in time to an unforgettable bonfire night, where she’d made a grim discovery which had burrowed deep inside her memory and refused to budge.
It was the time Naomi was boarding at school. She hadn’t seen Annabel on their joint sixteenth birthday that year, so Camilla organised a bonfire party at home. Wood from a dead tree and scattered bits of dried leaves and broken branches had been piled close to Camilla’s precious vegetable patch, which was at the side of the house behind a high stone wall. The fire was lit at seven on a mild November evening where a misty drizzle hung in the air and coated everything it touched.
Annabel had invited twelve school friends. All of them plus two showed up. Naomi brought only Tom Butterworth. He’d held her hand and made her feel older than sixteen. Annabel’s friends couldn’t believe Naomi was her twin. Naomi didn’t mind that night. Bringing Tom easily made up for Annabel’s fourteen girlfriends. Tom had made regular visits to the house. He’d played his viola and had earned himself a special place in Camilla’s good books. He chatted easily to the girls around the fire and told a few jokes.
Low cloud steadily offloaded all that evening. The only lights in the sky were manmade. Naomi threaded through the bodies that surrounded the fire, carrying a cup of hot mushroom soup for Tom. He’d disappeared. Naomi waited, smile painted on for Annie’s friends, shielding Tom’s soup beneath her jacket.
After a long wait and a thorough search of the garden as well as a quick search of the house, Naomi tried to phone him. No reply. Lorie found her wandering and asked what was wrong. Naomi linked her arm and confessed that she’d lost Tom. Lorie had last seen him heading towards the back of the house with Annabel. The back? Naomi hadn’t checked there. She turned down Lorie’s offer to help track him down and set off alone.
She dumped his lukewarm soup on a window ledge and wandered round the back of the house. The biggest plot of the garden was at the front of the house. There was another huge chunk at the side, where everyone was congregating around the fire. The back had only a small amount of garden and a gloomy light on the wall by the back door. Naomi followed the path, taking care not to trip. It was a fairly new part of the house which had been extended to include a cloakroom, laundry room and wet room. The idea was to stop muddy feet being tramped through the house.
But no one ever bothered to shower in the wet room near the back door. It became a forgotten room, rarely used. Naomi picked her way carefully along the path. Obviously, no one was there. The windows were just vacant black squares.
She let herself in anyway, wiped her feet, turned on the light in the tiled hallway, closed the door. The outside noises dimmed. The house was deserted, but the warmth gave her a welcome hug. The wet room door was closed. Unusual. Naomi grasped the handle and twisted. It was locked. She wrestled with the handle, wondering if it was stiff. It didn’t give way.
‘Weird,’ she muttered. She gently knocked. ‘Tom?’
Only silence came back. She tried to open it again and couldn’t. Naomi sensed her twin beyond the frozen door. Her stomach twisted into a knot. Naomi turned off the light and opened and closed the back door without leaving. She stepped into the shadows of the cloakroom opposite the wet room and leant against the wall and waited.
The wait was short. Two whispering people spilled from the room opposite. Tom was giggling.
‘Has she gone?’ he asked.
‘Shh. Of course she’s gone.’ Annabel’s voice. ‘This isn’t going to happen again, you know. Ever.’
‘Feeling bad already?’
‘What do you think? Naomi’s my sister. Are you going to tell her?’
‘Course not! I don’t do guilt.’ Naomi could hear the smile in his voice. She shut her eyes.
‘Obviously.’
‘You go out first and I’ll turn up in a couple of minutes and tell Naomi I was using the bathroom.’
‘You’re a terrible boyfriend, you know that?’
In the silent moments that followed, Naomi detected the nauseating subtle sound of a departing kiss. She kept her eyes closed and turned to stone in the warm room.
‘Stop,’ Annabel said. ‘Let go of me.’
‘I was just testing your resolve not to kiss me again, but you can’t resist, can you?’
‘Oh, you reckon?’ Annabel said, voice sharper. ‘I want you to finish with Naomi.’
Naomi’s chest clenched. ‘For you? I don’t see how that would work.’
‘No, not for me. For her.’ Annabel’s voice was low, but urgent. ‘Tonight was a test to see if you were good enough for my sister.’
‘Yeah, right!’ Tom’s voice was quietly fierce. ‘Are you winding me up?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Tonight was a test to see if you could win your sister’s boyfriend. And you did. Happy?’
There was no hesitation. ‘No. The fact that you followed me in here means she can do a lot better.’
‘Is that your sick way of justifying yourself?’
‘Finish it or I’ll tell her what you’re like.’
‘It takes two, Annabel. Maybe I’ll tell her what you’re like.’
‘Go ahead. Blood’s thicker, Tom. No one can come between me and Naomi. Especially not you.’
The door opened and closed. Naomi could hear Tom shuffling around on the other side of the wall, alone.
She opened her eyes, not sure she could move. Did she let him go and pretend nothing had happened? That scenario ran into a dead end in seconds. Tom Butterworth had to leave. Now. Before he had room to deny it, or finish with her first. Naomi straightened up and stepped beyond the door. In the darkness, Tom swore. Naomi reached for the light switch and blinded him.
Tom stood, squinting against the light, shielding his eyes with one arm.
‘Naomi? How long have you been – ’
‘Long enough.’
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, dropping his arm, attempting to sound like he was pleased to see her. He stumbled forward.
Naomi glared and stepped back. Tom stopped his advance. ‘Get out of here and don’t come back.’
‘Babe, come on,’ he said, taking another step.
‘Don’t you touch me. I want you out of this house now, and if you don’t want my dad chasing you off with his shotgun, don’t speak to anyone on the way out.’
‘Was this a setup by you two?’
Naomi’s voice trembled. ‘Leave.’
‘There isn’t a bus for another hour.’
‘Tell someone who cares.’
Defeated, Tom nodded and backed off. He zipped up his coat. ‘I only kissed her,’ he said.
‘Only?’ Naomi yelled. ‘Get. Out.’
‘OK, I’m leaving,’ he snapped defensively. ‘You want to take a long hard look at your perfect sister and tell her to stop giving the eye to anything in trousers.’
Naomi crossed her arms. Tom turned and thundered through the door, slamming it so hard it bounced back and didn’t close.
Naomi shared a school with Tom. She couldn’t avoid seeing him, but it was the last time they ever spoke. The weeks after that night were agonising, like being too close to a bonfire and not being able to shift. Naomi confided only in Lorie and never confronted Annabel. She wouldn’t put a wedge between them and let Tom win. It suited Naomi to let Annabel think that Tom had ended the relationship and devastated her. Annabel never suspected the truth.
Eventually the heat lost strength and the desire to hold a grudge dropped away. She was only hurting herself. Without the courage to have it out with Annie, the only thing she could do was bury it, which involved a form of forgiveness. But not for Tom. The best closure she could muster was to forget about him, or when that failed, remember his bad bits. She hated the texture of his hair. She’d always imagined herself running her fingers through a boy’s hair when he kissed her. When she’d tried it with Tom, it was like a caressing a washing-up scourer. Even the colour of Tom’s hair was a turn-off. She resented it when he popped up in dreams, carrying the scent of burning wood.
The memories and the feelings withdrew. Naomi’s stare was still set on her phone. Annie was on the other end, waiting for a reply. She decided to tell Annabel about Nathan before Saturday, but not now. A text wasn’t the right thing. Maybe during the week Camilla would tell Annie anyway. Save her the trouble.
She sent a late reply: ‘If it helps, I think it’s me who’s bugging mum. We had words last week. Nothing serious. Explain when I see you. What do you want for your birthday?’
A reply fired back. ‘Something for Japan.’ Naomi screwed her face up. Great! A fruitless trudge round the shops beckoned. ‘Who are you bringing to the party?’
Naomi sighed. Could she escape the subject? ‘Not sure yet. Maybe my flatmates. Maybe Siobhan. Definitely Nathan.’
‘Yum! Mum thought you two were an item. I told her to get real. She hasn’t mentioned him since. He’s not gay is he?’
Naomi stood still again, fingers hovering over her phone. What was stopping her from just saying it? She was dreading this birthday gathering. The last joint party had been the fateful bonfire one, three years before. Betrayal had left scar tissue that had faded with time, but not gone. While that night still burned on in Naomi’s memory in vivid detail, she doubted Annabel remembered very much about it. Meeting Nathan had made up for all of it. Naomi thought of Nathan versus straw-haired Tom. No comparison. No contest. And she’d be with Nathan soon. Naomi smiled and her pulse ticked over pleasantly. She needed to wrap up this pointless conversation and get ready.
‘Nathan gay?’ she jabbed out, unable to lose the smile. ‘No. Definitely not.’
<><><>
Naomi had been ready a while when Nathan showed up ten minutes early that evening. He stood behind the doors of the reception area in pale brown narrow-legged chinos, fingers jammed into the pockets at the top. He was wearing a cream long-sleeved top, sleeves pushed up. His hair was adorably messy on top. He grinned helplessly when he saw her and waited for her to part the glass barrier. As she released the door, he stepped forward and lifted her off the floor, squeezing her tight. Naomi forgot where she was.
‘It’s been a long week,’ he whispered in her ear through her hair. ‘I’ve missed you loads.’
‘Me too.’ They stood, locked in each other’s arms, blocking the doorway. Eventually, he put her down, took hold of her hand and let her outside.
‘How’s Dan?’
Nathan flicked her a look. He looked so happy, it was contagious. ‘Dan’s fine. He’s having a pretty good spell at the moment. I made sure he enjoyed his weekend even though my head was somewhere else.’ He glanced at her for a lingering moment as they strolled along the pavement during the last few minutes of daylight on a chilly mid-October evening. The light was already slinking away. Naomi wasn’t aware of anything but the firm clasp of Nathan’s hand and the buzz of being with him. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you.’
‘Really? I went to bed early last night just to stop thinking about you, but you were still with me all night.’
‘I wish.’ Nathan stopped walking and drew her into his arms again. There were a few people knocking around. Nathan studied her closely. ‘Kissing in public is pretty juvenile, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose.’
He leant towards her. ‘But sometimes it has to be done,’ he said, finding her lips for a few glorious moments. When he pulled back, he said, ‘I’ve been dreaming about that.’ Naomi giggled. ‘Well, let’s say it started that way. Change the subject,’ he said, glancing up at the sky. ‘Have you got a piano booked?’
Naomi checked her watch. ‘Yeah. In a couple of minutes.’
‘Where’s your music?’
Naomi pointed to the side of her head. ‘In here. I memorise everything unless I’m accompanying.’
‘You’re amazing,’ he said, kissing her forehead. ‘What are you going to play?’
They started walking again. ‘You’ll have to guess when you hear it.’
Naomi led Nathan to one of her favourite practise rooms on the first floor. Room 180. It was the same room she had her private lessons with her teacher, Olga Kolesnikova. She was jittery as she closed the door, sat at the piano and opened the lid. Someone had left a gnawed pencil across the keys. Nathan folded his arms and stood back. She could see his reflection in the polished black lid.
‘I’ll have to warm up for a couple of minutes,’ she said.
Nathan took another step back and watched in silence. Naomi ran up and down some scales and arpeggios until her fingers felt supple and were moving effortlessly across the keys producing a quality legato sound that pleased her.
She was about to play a difficult etude in C-sharp minor. Her warm-up ended with the scale of that key. Her heart was pumping blood anxiously around her body by now. She felt warm and slightly clammy. Performing at the Royal Albert Hall wouldn’t feel this bad.
She withdrew her hands from the keys, closed her eyes and drew some slow breaths, mentally rehearsing the first few bars, visualising her fingers moving effortlessly to the right notes. The thought of the ending, the newest and weakest part, broke her concentration. Now she was aware only of the piano and the gleaming white keys, waiting to burst into sound.
The piece, about three months old, had more-or-less reached the stage where she could rely on her fingers to churn out pages of notes in the right order, at speed. Her head was taking a backseat. Responses were automatic. She could just about forget notes and concentrate on quality of sound production which rested on careful listening. Nathan would have no understanding of the painstaking slog that had brought the piece to this stage in its journey, but she hoped he’d appreciate the music itself.
She opened her eyes seeing only the piano keys and threw herself without warning into the piece. It felt under control from the start. The notes were crisp and clear, the hand balance good. It progressed, relentlessly.
Naomi felt the music flow through her, her senses alert and engaged. She listened hard to her own playing. She could hear her teacher’s voice at times, issuing the kind of instructions she gave during lessons at certain points in the piece: less of this; more of that. Phrasing, Naomi. Tie your leg to the stool if you must, but don’t blur the texture with over-pedalling. They’d become an integral part of the piece now. She responded as if Olga were there, guiding her through it, drawing everything skilfully from the inside, out.
After what felt like a short time, Naomi found herself approaching the dramatic c
limax of the ending. Speed of attack, Naomi. Conscious she’d made only one tiny mistake in the whole piece, she knew this part would be the real test. Without holding back and playing safe, she unleashed all her energy into the final bars – a cascading sprint of broken chords which ended with four triumphant crashing chords.
She was trembling when her hands moved away from the keys. On weak limbs, Naomi stood and turned to face Nathan’s applause. She took hold of the edge of the piano and bowed. She’d had a whole lesson in Professional Skills, about bowing. Nathan laughed and clapped harder, mouthing wow, shaking his head.
Eventually, his hands stilled. ‘Whoa. That was amazing. How do you remember all those notes?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You have to know.’
Naomi allowed a smile. ‘It’s like driving a car. If you tried to explain a long journey you might come unstuck, but if you get in the car you can drive where you want to go without thinking, as long as you’ve done the journey enough times. It’s a bit like that.’
‘It’s unbelievable.’
‘Did you like the piece?’ Naomi asked.
‘I loved it. It was brilliant,’ he said, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her forehead. ‘Who was it?’
‘Chopin, Nathan.’
<><><>
Nathan begged for more. Naomi refused. She led him out of the college into a murky evening, Nathan still raving about her performance. A man stood watching them across the road. Her smile disappeared and Nathan’s voice faded. He was wearing a grey hooded top. It took her back a couple of days when she’d dropped her money on the pavement. He was stocky, but not very tall, unless his width only gave the illusion of him being average height. Siobhan’s man? Same one? As soon as Naomi made eye contact, he lowered his eyes and began to walk away from the college, his back to them.
Nathan had gone quiet. He was watching Naomi now, following her eyes. ‘OK Naims?’ The guy in the hooded top didn’t look back. Naomi retracted her glare and looked at Nathan blankly.
Either Side of Midnight (The Midnight Saga Book 1) Page 16