Melbourne Conservatoire. I’d certainly have to work on my posture, no more hanging my head like I was afraid it would get lopped off if I straightened it. And I’d have to learn to show my teeth when I smiled, and my nails! I’d have to start snapping elastic bands around my wrist or something to stop biting them.
University was a colourful, noisy place inhabited by a wide range of interesting people. Hopefully it would be less restrictive than school with more encouragement to express creativity without inhibition, with artistic abandon. The main part of the Conservatoire was situated in what had once been a grand old house on the periphery of the university. It had been extensively renovated to suit the purposes of the music department.
Most of the practice rooms were located ten minutes’ brisk walk from the main Conservatoire buildings, next to the open-air drama theatre. I often stopped on my way there for a few minutes to watch a rehearsal or a production. The kids were as funny as the performers. They responded with such honesty, leaping from their seats and pointing and shouting with unreserved glee, or indignation. ‘He’s behind you! No, not there! On the other side!’ Déjà vu. Sweet unambiguous childhood memories, chuckling from the back of your throat and living in the moment.
The practice block was made up of a number of small sound-proof rooms for piano or single instrument practice and four larger rooms for ensembles. Pass-cards were used to access the building.
There was also a theatre complex which stood in the centre of the campus, mainly for music performances and productions. The larger classical ensembles practiced there and master classes, in which experts in the field would guide and critique musicians in their performance in a relatively public forum, were often held there too.
The Jazz department was exiled to an ugly, flat modern building and had its own rooms which vibrated to a cacophony of sounds. Saxophones and trumpets, trombones and bass guitars played alongside thumping piano in wild, vibrant improvisations and walking past without nodding or tapping along to something was impossible.
I was enrolled in a Bachelor of Music. Piano performance was my major and saxophone my second instrument. I wasn’t used to the crowds and the jostling after my quiet holiday. Everything seemed so loud and busy. Thousands of students roamed the campus. Postgrads sat with heads together engaged in deep and meaningful discussions while lovers engaged in slow sensual embraces in the midst of the hastening throng. People were everywhere, on the lawns, in the canteen, on corridors. Toilets flushed and doors banged, someone shouted and a boy in a Rasta-hat played guitar, oblivious.
I felt anonymous, melting into the background noise, observing my surroundings with little returned scrutiny. There were others like me, but mostly people hung out in groups. Many were tethered to technological devices, multitasking, fingers moving in a blur. Laughter drifted across quads, intermingled with the sounds of frenetic conversation, friends catching up after long holidays. No-one asked me my business, and at lunch time I sat alone and lonely, in one of the few secluded spots, self-consciously eating my sandwich, messaging school friends who had scattered far and wide, and regularly shrugging off Sam who was burrowing down so low I was sure that he would slither out of my shoe, a happy camper. As soon as I had my schedule for the next day and knew where I needed to be, I beat a hasty retreat home. Sam 1, Kate 0.
As the weeks passed my self-consciousness lessened. Sam backed off a bit. I became acquainted with a couple of the other first year music students. We came from a variety of backgrounds. Nishlyn was an international student, a talented jazz pianist from India. He had the longest fingers I had ever seen and the whitest smile and his hair was short and black and gelled to within an inch of its life. Lara was a classical clarinettist on a scholarship and we were all in awe of her talent, although she was unassuming, neat and a little mousy-looking.
We were deep in discussion one afternoon as we departed from the practice block, when a voice called out to me.
‘Kate.’ I jumped in surprise. A face from the past. Madison Andrews, tall and lithe with the face of a model, oval and pale with hazel eyes and pouty lips. I knew her from school, a fellow musician a couple of years ahead of me. ‘Mads … wow, hi, how are you?’
‘I should ask how you are, how you’re settling in.’ She smiled broadly and then spontaneously grabbed me in a bear hug and swung me around, her brilliant tie-dyed scarf flapping in my face as she did so. Laughing, she dumped me unceremoniously on the ground.
Lara looked nervous. She rushed off to a tutorial with a wave.
‘This is Mitchell.’ They had hair to match, a shaggy buttery blond, hers just a bit longer.
‘Hi,’ I said, greeting him shyly.
‘Mitch is doing his masters, he’s almost finished,’ Mads stated. She didn’t need to tell me that it was a masters in music. He fit the stereotyped image of a certain type of muso exactly. Lean build, a little too skinny, with a jagged dirty-blond haircut, ripped black top, tight jeans and lots of tattoos and piercings. Not the type Mum would want you to bring home, but the sort who drew eyes, with his easy swagger and flippant smile.
‘How come I haven’t seen you around, Mads?’ I asked, trying to ignore the way Mitchell was sizing me up, but cursing the fact that I’d chosen today to wear my nice new jeans and trainers which were still so white they hurt the eyes. I stepped on one shoe and then the other, but dirt refused to stick.
‘Mitch’s band was on tour, we’ve just got back,’ she explained. Suddenly the groups of girls loitering nearby, hands covering mouths, whispering and giggling like schoolgirls made sense. I’d thought it was my shoes. This was Mitchell Eli, local Rock God, lead singer and keyboard player in a jazz-rock-fusion band called Hot. The name said a lot about the egos of those in the band. There were posters all over campus, good-looking guys in tight clothes.
Mads linked arms with him possessively like I was some sort of threat. I looked around.
‘Err, well I’d better go,’ I said, suddenly feeling even more awkward, ‘another class.’ I gestured in the vague direction of the auditorium and stepped back.
‘It was good to see you, Kate, we should catch up sometime.’ Mitchell’s attention was wandering and she looked anxious as he noticed the girls.
‘That would be good Mads. Nice to meet you, Mitchell.’ He winked at me and I blushed involuntarily. I had already decided that he was a creep.
Kristina, my piano teacher, was waiting for me. She checked her watch as I walked in.
‘I’m so sorry, am I late?’
‘Almost. I’m used to you waiting, I suppose.’ Her smile was gentle as I sat down at the piano.
I was a little fish at the conservatoire. Maybe not even a fish, more like two-millimetre plankton in a very large pond. And there were plenty of tuna around and even the odd whale. At school music had made me special, but here everyone was talented, some especially so. I tried to shrug off my insecurity, to use every opportunity to learn and grow, to understand what I was up against and address that constructively. It mattered more on some days than others that I couldn’t play the opening of a Rachmaninoff concerto without music after listening to it once, or that my improvisations on the sax were more like a strangled rooster than Charlie Parker.
Life was a competition and I was going to have to get used to it.
12
DEB AND NICK
‘No-one knows where they are Deb … overseas somewhere probably. They do this regularly. Their parents take them along when their father goes away on business.’ George was exasperated with me, but still trying to be patient. At least he didn’t say, ‘I told you so.’
Nick was gone, without so much as a backwards glance, a ‘thanks for the kiss, but you don’t do it for me.’
In the months since my parents’ separation and subsequent divorce, George and I had clung to each other like near-drowning swimmers, taking it in turns to breathe. He hated seeing me sad.
I was such a basket case. An empty disillusioned space had clawed its way into
my heart in the wake of my father leaving. His easy forgetfulness had turned my sense of validity and self-worth to slush.
Grieving at the loss of the father I had never really had, but wanted, I was searching for someone to fill the void, someone extraordinary. I wanted love. I wanted to love. I wanted to feel an unspeakable connection, to know safety. I wanted a bond that would never be broken. But deep down I knew that the fairy tale I dreamed of was so far removed from reality that my search could only ever reinforce what could not be. George was right, I was unsophisticated.
July came with unsettling winds and I turned seventeen. We celebrated quietly at home with a couple of my school friends. Anna was pretty in a homely way, but her personality made her beautiful. She smiled easily with deep dimples in rosy cheeks and she couldn’t be unkind if she tried. Elizabeth was tall and quiet, with straight black hair and a long face. She wore rectangular glasses and looked as studious as she was.
‘The table looks lovely,’ Anna said to Mum, after she’d handed me a small gift wrapped in bright paper.
‘Oh, it was all George,’ Mum replied and George nearly collapsed from embarrassment. We all turned to him in surprise.
‘Err, well, Mum got the stuff, I just laid it out.’ He fiddled with a napkin.
‘And who taught you to turn the serviettes into birds?’ Elizabeth giggled.
‘Read about it somewhere,’ he mumbled. Anna lifted one and started to examine it and suddenly he seemed reassured. ‘You do it like this,’ he said unfolding and refolding, suddenly proud of himself. I winked at Elizabeth.
‘George, can you take out the prawns?’ Mum called as she turned the tap on with her elbow like a surgeon. An alien had possessed the body of my brother this evening. He was not one to assist in the kitchen. His repertoire was usually limited to warming food in the microwave, or take-out. On very odd occasions he had been known to boil an egg.
He grabbed an oven mitt and I noticed him quickly snatch a glance at Anna to make sure she was watching. That explained the current state of affairs anyway.
We ate grilled prawns followed by baked salmon and finally a completely decadent chocolate cheesecake which Mum had ordered for the occasion.
George gazed at Anna who giggled every time he said anything while Elizabeth and I rolled our eyes and pretended our napkins were love-birds and made kissing sounds. Mum ignored our childish antics and escaped to her room as soon as dinner was over. We moved to the lounge and watched a movie. Anna and George sat side by side with their legs touching while Elizabeth and I shared a sofa and blanket, munching our way through enough chocolate to ensure we would never again be described as athletic. When he thought no-one would notice George awkwardly slipped his arm around Anna’s shoulders. A bubble of maniacal laughter threatened, but I bit my tongue and forced myself to focus on the screen.
Eventually George took the girls home and I headed off to bed, wondering whether he would get lucky.
Sitting on my pillow was a tiny black box. I wondered whether Mum had placed it there, although that seemed unlikely. She’d already presented me with expensive perfume I knew she couldn’t afford. Picking it up I examined it. A small note was folded inside.
‘Deb, I’ve missed your smile. Happy birthday, Nick.’
A silly, silly grin lit up my face. ‘You’re a complete imbecile Deb,’ I whispered to myself, relieved, happy even.
‘A slow learner,’ I added to no-one.
Throwing caution to the fairies, I rushed to the window and looked out. The night was still and black, except for the distant crash of the ocean.
‘This is crazy!’ I thought.
‘You’re too smooth, Nicholas Edwards,’ I called into the darkness.
‘Where are you Nick?’ I murmured. There was no answer and I closed the window.
Nestled inside the box on soft white tissue paper was a small platinum angel on a delicate chain. Tiny diamonds glittered across its lustrous surface. It was expensive. It would require explaining. I slipped it on. The cold heavy presence of the metal felt solid and reassuring around my neck and I fell asleep with it nestled against my skin, a small smile on my face. Somewhere, even if for only a moment, he had thought of me.
13
KATE
In breaks between lectures and other classes, the air-conditioned practice block was a welcome escape. I knew the route to the practice rooms well. Along the main campus lane and then left down a narrow, shady road where the trees reached inwards and knit together like a leafy jumper creating a tunnel, past the amphitheatre to the long rectangular block on the right.
Almost as predictable as my route was the presence of the boy leaning against one of the beautiful old gnarled trees. He looked about twenty, with interesting hair, short on the sides and longer on top with a cow-lick that made it stand up straight where it probably should have fallen forward. I empathised. He dressed casually in the nondescript manner of many students, but there was something about the way his jeans hung on his hips and his t-shirt pulled across his chest that drew your attention. Tanned leather straps wound around his left wrist instead of a watch, and the edge of a tattoo showed where his sleeve ended.
He seemed pensive, focussed on the hillside park area which ran down the other side of the small road and which was populated by hundreds of students. Some ate, others lay on the grass, dozing after a late night, some couples kissed and still others sat in circles talking and laughing. A few read alone.
Despite his relaxed stance, his body seemed tense and vigilant. I wondered what he was observing or seeking, whether anyone else noticed his regular appearance there, or cared. Imitating James Dean for long periods of time was not illegal after all. Maybe if I moved closer I would see a hat on the ground nearby, half filled with coins, or maybe he was a stalker and keeping my distance was wise.
The constancy of his presence seemed strange, suspicious even. I wondered how many hours a day he stood there, how many of his lectures he was actually getting to and what on earth could be so interesting. Perhaps he was a philosophy major. It was none of my business.
As I turned down the hill on this particular day, the knobbly roots which grew through the road conspired against me and grabbed an ankle. I fell, hitting the ground hard. My teeth rattled and for a moment I felt nothing. Then my elbow started to sting and my wrist began to throb.
Intense violet irises gazed down at me as I struggled to make sense of a jumble of features. I closed my eyes and opened them and he moved around to face me.
‘Are you okay?’ He’d come to my assistance. I felt a silly rush of excitement.
‘Err …’ Confident hands grasped me and helped me up, so that I was standing within inches of him. For a moment I forgot my injuries. Up close he did not disappoint, although his face seemed too solemn for someone still so young. A worry line indented his forehead in a way that seemed permanent. I wondered why. A few strands of hair had managed to fall forward, partially obscuring one eye. He brushed them away roughly.
‘Thank you ... I’m fine,’ I said, trying to salvage a little dignity, ‘it just stings a little, but I don’t think it’s too bad.’ My eyes watered, but I swallowed resolutely as he collected my books and picked up my bag for me.
‘I’m such a klutz!’ Why did I have to meet men like this in ways like this? It seemed so unfair. Now I could look forward to going home and reliving this at least a thousand times, with Sam my trusty companion, of course.
He didn’t agree which was something at least. ‘They need to fix up the road before someone sues them!’ he stated, very seriously. I wanted to tell him that it was okay, that things really weren’t that bad, were they? I would definitely recover. I kept my thoughts to myself.
‘There you go.’ He handed me my things and retreated before I could say anything more.
‘Thanks again,’ I called after him.
Continuing more tentatively down the road I noticed for the first time just how many roots broke the surface. I wouldn’t be able
to practice, but shutting myself in for a while would be a relief. Maybe I would recover my dignity, or maybe I could just crack my head on the piano a few times. It might help. When could I look forward to a little grace and elegance? I imagined, thanks to Sam, tripping as I walked onto stage, or slamming my fingers in the lid of a concert grand. A lifetime of humiliation waited.
As I neared the rooms I thought I saw him again, but further down in the actual park area, which made no sense. He had headed away from me in the opposite direction. Unless he could teleport, or I had a concussion, it was not him.
‘You’re an idiot,’ I said to myself, and Sam quickly agreed. If I could only see the boy’s face it would explain the mystery. Stopping I turned to look more carefully but as if sensing my scrutiny he wandered further away, leaving my curiosity unsatisfied.
I remained in the practice block for half an hour recovering my composure before walking towards the tram stop.
‘Kate, stop!’
I did and turned around as Mads caught up to me.
‘I’ve been calling and calling you,’ she admonished hand on hip, but dropping it as I turned.
‘What on earth happened to you?’
‘I fell outside the practice rooms, hurt my wrist and elbow! Luckily some lovely man came to my rescue!’
‘Poor girl. You’re a bloody mess!’ she laughed.
‘Thanks a lot!’
‘Really, there are easier ways to find a man!’ Oh? I envied her knowledge.
‘Seriously though,’ she continued, examining my arm, ‘they need to fix up the road, it’s ridiculous. How many potholes and bumps are there? It’s like Swiss cheese! They’ll get sued soon!’
‘That’s what he said.’
‘Anyway, I think you’ll live.’ She dropped my arm. ‘I was looking for you. It’s a good thing I spotted you. Mind you, I would have messaged you anyway. There’s a room in the house if you want it, David’s moved out.’ Mads shared a large, old house with three others. ‘I know you said you want to move out. It’s so convenient, just a stroll to Uni, forget trams and trains and all that.’
Awakening: Book 1 The Last Anakim Trilogy Page 10