by Dani Atkins
In true ostrich fashion, I buried my head against my knees, trying to think of nothing except how refreshing it was to feel a cool draught rising up from the stairwell, after the stifling heat of the ward. But a cooling breeze wasn’t the only thing floating up from below. The first few notes were barely audible, but perhaps my ear was more attuned to the strain of music than most people’s. Melodies mingling with the aroma of antiseptic, suddenly made me think of the classical CD I’d insisted we play in the delivery room, on the night I’d had Jake. I’d been so determined that the first thing the baby should hear when it arrived in the world was music. But in reality, nothing could be heard above my noisy tears of happiness and relief, or Joe’s marvelled exclamation of, ‘It’s a boy!’
Like a siren call, the music pulled me to my feet. I descended half a dozen steps and then stopped, listening to the sweet sound of a choir singing Christmas carols in a ward far below me. I wasn’t aware that I was gripping the handrail so tightly, until I looked down and saw the contours of the knuckle bones outlined in sharp relief. Silent Night. Of all the carols they could be playing, what were the chances of it being that one? On this night, when serendipity was weaving the threads of our lives into a living tapestry, I wondered why I was even surprised.
Ally – Eight Years Earlier
I picked up the bundle of music scores, and began to rapidly flick through them one more time.
‘Ally, relax,’ urged David, from his position on the other side of my small dining table.
‘I can’t,’ I replied. ‘I just need to check the running order one more time.’
His hand came across the glass-topped table and settled over mine. ‘You’ve checked it four times already. You’ve done all that you can do. You’ve spent the last six weeks working on this. The concert is going to be fine. If you carry on this way, you’re going to make yourself sick. You’ve hardly touched your meal,’ he observed, nodding his head towards the plate with the two pork chops that I hadn’t been able to face. In fact, just the sight of them sitting in their cold gravy, with tiny speckles of fat floating on the surface, was making me feel actually physically sick.
I picked up our plates and dumped them on the draining board. ‘I know you think I’m being daft, but organising this concert is a huge responsibility. I have to get it right.’ With less than twenty-four hours to go, I was already a nervous wreck. ‘Honestly, if I’d known how much work I was going to have to put in, I’d never have agreed to do it.’
‘Yes, you would,’ David contradicted, coming up behind me at the sink and winding his arms around my waist. ‘You wouldn’t have turned them down when they asked.’
‘Maybe not,’ I admitted truthfully. ‘But we’ve hardly had a single evening together since I took it on.’
David shrugged as though that wasn’t important. I wasn’t so sure. Since the Hallowe’en party night we had both been walking a precarious tightrope, both trying way too hard not to rock a boat that had already hit an iceberg. We just hadn’t acknowledged it yet.
I sighed, and leaned back against the rock-steady length of him and closed my eyes, realising I was so overwhelmingly exhausted I could have fallen asleep right there. I was going to have to dig deep to find the energy to get through tomorrow night. There were flyers all over campus advertising the midnight Christmas Orchestral Extravaganza, and every time I saw one I felt a shiver of apprehension run down my spine. Perhaps David shouldn’t stay over, I thought, because if I didn’t get a decent night’s rest, there was a good chance I’d have nodded off on stage before the opening bars of the first carol.
‘I just need to make some final changes to the strings on Silent Night, then I’m done,’ I assured David, as I scraped my leftovers into the bin. I felt a small unpleasant heaving sensation in the pit of my stomach, as the smell of congealed pork wafted up from the pedal-bin. I slammed the plastic lid down. God, I could not get sick before tomorrow night. I just couldn’t.
‘So, are you still planning to meet me backstage before the start of the concert?’ I asked. ‘Because you could come along earlier and listen to the run-through.’
David tried to disguise the look in his eyes before I saw and named it. Too late. I’d clocked it, and it was the same one I’d have worn if you’d asked me to sit through a Test Match. ‘I think maybe one concert a night is enough for me,’ he said, pulling me slowly into his arms.
‘I suppose I should be grateful you’re coming at all,’ I said, inwardly cringing at the peevish note in my voice. This is what stress does to you, I thought. And it wasn’t the first time I’d snapped at him recently.
‘Of course I’m coming. It’s your big night. I hope you’ve reserved a centre-stage front-row seat for your tone-deaf boyfriend?’
‘I certainly have, although I think it’s finally dawning on me that I’m never going to make a music lover out of you, am I?’ I added, a little disappointedly.
David leaned back with a familiar twinkle in his eye. ‘We’ll just have to settle on me being a different kind of lover,’ he teased, bending his head to kiss me in a way that made my knees forget how to hold me up.
I tightened my arms around his neck. ‘Encore,’ I murmured. And he obliged.
The sound check went well, the choir rehearsal had gone perfectly, and the recital hall looked great, with a Christmas tree positioned to one side of the stage, twinkling with ice-white lights. So why couldn’t I shake the overwhelming sense of apprehension that was hovering over my head, like my own personal storm cloud? I had checked and double-checked everything off my mental list of potential disasters that could occur that night. Yet still, as the first audience members began to file into the hall, I could feel my unease beginning to grow and multiply, as it took on a life of its own. I peered through a crack in the Green Room door, and my eyes scanned the auditorium. David was late, and I was trying really hard not to feel irritated by that. He still had time to get here, but he was cutting it awfully fine. Although billed as a ‘midnight’ concert, it was actually scheduled to begin at eleven p.m., and I wondered if he’d been persuaded to go to the pub with the guys and had somehow lost track of time.
I pulled my phone from my bag and checked – yet again – to see if there was a message from him. I hesitated for a moment, trying to decide whether there was enough time to call him before we went on stage. But before I had the chance, one of the choir hurried up to me with a question about their solo, then the percussionist accosted me in a panic because she couldn’t find the sleigh bells anywhere, and before I knew it, there was no time to do anything except pick up my trumpet and get ready to lead the processional file of performers out of the Green Room. I did just manage to fire off one quick text before I dropped my phone back into my empty trumpet case. ‘Where are you?’ It looked a bit terse, so I softened it with three kisses and jabbed Send.
‘We’re on,’ said the saxophonist, who was listening at the door for our introduction. I smoothed down my plain black shirt and pencil skirt, and took my place at the head of the line of musicians.
‘Good luck, everyone,’ I said. I glanced back – just once – at my trumpet case, hoping to hear the ringing of my phone, letting me know my boyfriend was on his way.
David’s vacant seat was the only empty one in the entire auditorium. Fortunately, as I was conducting for the entire performance (in between joining in for some of the brass sections) I had my back to it, and didn’t have to see it as a constant visual reminder that David had let me down. Even so, I could feel it stinging me like a small wound, at the base of my spine, as we segued between traditional instrumentals to favourite carols. Every time I turned back to the assembled concert hall, to acknowledge their applause, or introduce the next item, I kept hoping that at some time since I’d last looked, his seat would now be filled. That he’d be sitting there, smiling proudly at how well it was all going, or mouthing a silent apology to me for being late. But for the entire first half of the concert, his seat remained empty.
The audience were still clapping and cheering enthusiastically as we left the stage for a short interval. Many members of the orchestra and choir went to join friends and family members, most heading towards the trestle tables to one side of the hall, where mulled wine and hot mince pies were being sold. I resisted the fragrant pull of the warm spicy drink and headed straight back to where I had parked my belongings. My hand dived to my phone, expecting to see missed calls, voicemails or texts to explain David’s non-appearance. There was nothing. Not one word. For the first time since the concert began, I stopped feeling annoyed and started to get worried. He had known how important this night was to me, how hard I’d been working towards making it a success. He should have been here over an hour ago. So what could have happened to delay him?
His phone rang until voicemail took over and answered for him. ‘Hi David, it’s Ally. Is everything okay? Where are you? Call me as soon as you get this.’ I paused for a moment, before adding, ‘I’m getting a bit worried now.’ I disconnected the call, but kept my phone gripped tightly within the palm of my hand for the entire duration of the interval, willing it to ring as I anxiously waited for his reply. None came.
I can’t say that David’s absence affected the success of the concert. But it certainly ruined it for me. Even the combined applause from my fellow musicians and the cheering audience as I took my solo bow, couldn’t quite dissipate the feeling of panic that had been steadily growing throughout the evening.
The final piece of the evening had been Silent Night, and I conducted the choir and musicians with eyes that sparkled brightly with tears of nostalgia. The carol had always been my favourite; it was the first one my grandmother had taught me to play on the piano, and every time I performed it I always felt a little bit closer to her. I’d wanted so much to share this moment with David. I’d wanted to look across at him as the final notes faded away and see the love and pride on his face. I wanted him, just for a moment, to slip inside my world and see why music meant so much to me. Only he wasn’t there.
There is always heaps to do at the end of a concert. It’s an unglamorous moment when the audience finally departs, someone flicks on the glaringly bright house-lights and you have to change from musician to roadie, as music stands, amplifiers and all the other paraphernalia of a concert has to be packed away securely into storage rooms. I kept half an eye trained to the door as I worked, still expecting – or hoping – to see David dash in, apologies tumbling out of his mouth. I even found myself contemplating how long it would take me to forgive him if he’d simply forgotten to come to the show. I whipped metres of amplifier lead around the spools, tugging sharply on each rotation and trying to squash the warring feelings within me that were vying for supremacy: anger and alarm.
Eventually the last of the equipment was stowed away, and apart from a few stragglers, most of the orchestra had left. David had been planning on coming home with me after the concert, and I didn’t know if I should still wait around for him to show up, or go to my place and see if he was waiting for me there. Why the hell wasn’t he answering his phone? Had he been in some sort of accident? While I was on stage, blasting out Ding-Dong Merrily on High on my trumpet, had he been lying in a gutter at the side of the road, having been struck by some stupid drunk driver? Once the visual had been planted in my mind, it was almost impossible to uproot.
‘Sorry love, I need to lock up now.’
I jumped as the caretaker opened the double doors of the auditorium. ‘Oh, okay,’ I said, scrambling to my feet and picking up my trumpet case. I guess that decided it for me. I’d go to my house first and if David wasn’t there, I’d move on to his.
My home was in darkness, and as both Elena and Ling were away for the weekend, there was no chance that David was waiting for me inside. Nevertheless, I still called out ‘Hello. Anyone home?’ as I undid the door latch and dumped my trumpet in the hall. I probably would have jumped through the roof if there had been an answering reply. God knows, I was already jittery enough after my walk home. I never used to worry about walking alone at night, but since David and I had been together, he’d been adamant that it was an unnecessary risk to take, and had insisted on always walking me home, even if he wasn’t staying over. I think some of his apprehension must have rubbed off on me over the last year, because I had felt decidedly uneasy as I speed walked through the quiet streets. It was after one o’clock in the morning, and the streets were deserted and eerie, with low lying patches of murky fog lingering like ghost clouds along my route.
I decided not to tempt fate too many times in one night, and called a local cab company, whose card I found pinned to our kitchen noticeboard. Less than ten minutes later I was sitting in the back of a taxi, which smelt vaguely of antiseptic and strong mints, and giving the driver David’s address.
As we got closer to our destination and rounded the final bend which led to David’s street, I leaned forward in my seat, preparing to direct the driver to the house. But there was no need. David’s home was lit up like a Christmas tree. Lights blazed from every single window and spilled out of the front door, which was wide open. For just a second it reminded me of the Hallowe’en party, but whatever was going on inside those walls tonight, it certainly wasn’t a party.
There was a police car parked at the kerb, its blue lights eerily illuminating the front garden. Parked behind it was a first-response paramedic vehicle.
‘Hello. Something’s happening here,’ commented the driver, the monotony of his shift suddenly elevated by this new excitement. ‘Wonder what that’s all about. Now, which house are we heading for?’
I said nothing. My throat was too constricted in fear. The driver glanced into his rear-view mirror and saw my face. His own sobered instantly. ‘Is that where you’re going?’
I nodded, my eyes wide and unblinking as I began to fumble with the catch of my seat belt. The cab pulled in behind the emergency vehicles and I thrust a note into the driver’s hand and leaped out. My feet almost slipped beneath me several times on the rime covering the pavement as I raced towards the open front door. I barrelled through it, calling out as I ran, ‘David. David are you here?’
A shouted response came from the direction of the lounge and I threw open the door with such force that the handle left a small imprint in the plaster wall. I came to a halt so abruptly that I rocked on my feet as I tried to take in the scene before me. The lounge was crowded with people, and my eyes frantically raked the room, processing the faces of strangers as well as those who belonged there, until I found the one I was looking for. David was sitting on the couch; his arms were tightly wound around someone who definitely didn’t belong in them.
‘David!’ I cried, his name a combined exclamation, question and gasp of relief. He turned towards me and the world rocked and swayed once more. He was gently attempting to disentangle Charlotte’s arms, which were locked tightly around him, as he got to his feet, his eyes on mine the whole time. Well, one of them was, the other was swollen half-shut and already an ugly purple-coloured bruise discoloured his cheekbone. His lip was split too, not badly, just enough to make the sound of my name sound slightly slurred.
‘What happened to you? Were you in an accident?’ I asked, my thoughts still on drunken drivers ploughing into pedestrians in the dark. Then I realised that theory made no sense. For the first time I looked at Charlotte, and saw beyond the fact that she was hanging on to my boyfriend as though her life depended on it. I saw the dishevelled hair and the tear-swollen eyes, and as my gaze dropped lower, I noticed for the first time the raw and bloody grazes on her knuckles.
I looked over to where Andrew, Mike and Pete were standing to one side of the room, their faces grey, like shocked gargoyles. Andrew and Pete met my eyes with a look of sympathy. Mike’s remained riveted on Charlotte, fury emanating from him in almost palpable waves.
‘Will someone please tell me what’s happened here?’
‘Charlotte was attacked tonight.’
Charlotte – Eight Year
s Earlier
The stupid thing was: I never went to the supermarket alone; I never went without my car; and I never went late at night. But on that one fateful evening, I did all three of those things.
In an uncharacteristic fit of diligence, I’d spent the entire evening working in the university library. I had an assessment deadline looming and had done nowhere near enough work to pass it. The library had been warm and cosy, and surprisingly conducive to study. Who knew? I worked on, as the tables and benches around me gradually began to empty, until there were only a handful of students working quietly in glowing pools of light from the desk lamps.
It was only the persistent growl of my stomach that pulled me away from my studies. I glanced at the wall clock, and was surprised to see it was after ten p.m. Little wonder that the library was practically deserted. It was Friday night, a few weeks before Christmas break, and most students were probably out in one of the many clubs or bars in town, indulging in some early seasonal celebrations. I clicked the lid shut on my laptop and slid it into my bag along with several text books.
I’d actually rather enjoyed my period of academic industry, which was troubling on several levels, because it made me wonder how much more I could achieve if I actually pushed myself. But also, it made me question whether I was, in some small way, trying to be more like Ally. I’d never been the type of girl who’d contemplate changing just to get a man to like her, and the idea that I might be doing so now, even subconsciously, was somewhat disturbing.
A surprisingly cold wind, as vicious as a pecking crow, nipped sharply at my exposed skin, as I stepped out of the warm cocoon of the library. I yanked the zipper on my short leather jacket all the way up to my neck, but even with my scarf wound several times beneath my chin, it was still bitterly cold. I stamped my feet on the pavement, regretting the high-heeled fashion boots, which might look great with my skinny jeans but did little to keep my feet warm. I was cold, tired and hungry, and not in the mood to hike all the way back across campus to reach my bus stop.