by Jemma Forte
Head whirring away, I go to see them out.
‘Thanks so much for bringing him,’ I say to Matthew at the door, once Dad’s unsubtly barged past us, turned to give me a wink and then shuffled up the path, in order to provide us with a chance to speak to one another. Honestly, he’s acting like Mrs Bennett – minus the bonnet –, so hell-bent does he seem on offloading one of his daughters.
‘Not at all,’ says Matthew, flashing me that heart-stopping smile. He really does have a gorgeous face and standing here, looking up at him, I think how much I’d love him to kiss me. Not right now with my dad and teacher watching – that would be weird – but at some point.
‘If I’m honest, as much as it was nice to see your dad it was you I wanted to see really.’
He stares at me, trying to gauge my reaction to what he’s just said. It’s the first time either one of us has said anything direct about liking one another.
‘Right,’ I reply, at a loss to know what to say. It’s a very strange situation. I mean, it’s not going to be easy to segue from him being my dad’s nurse to us casually going out on a date, like a normal couple who have met at a party. It wouldn’t feel right somehow. After all, the thing that has brought us together is my dad’s illness. The saddest and most harrowing thing I’ve ever had to deal with.
‘I know it’s a really weird time for you at the moment, but perhaps at some point you and I could meet up for a coffee?’ he says, looking as conflicted as I feel.
‘Um, yeah, but is that … you know, allowed?’
Matthew wrinkles up his face at this and looks rather doubtful. ‘That’s the thing, probably not really, but if it is just coffee, then I don’t think we’d be doing any harm?’
‘Right … well maybe then … anyway, Dad seems to be in good spirits,’ I say cheerily, reverting back to what I know we can talk about.
‘He does, in fact he’s doing very well at the moment. More well than one would expect.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, it can happen sometimes. It’s like he’s taken on a new lease of life.’
As we contemplate this fact, we both find ourselves glancing over at the subject of our conversation, at which point he calls over, ‘You coming, Matt?’
‘I’ll see you,’ he says, flashing me a grin, and I feel a wave of something so intense I hardly know where to put myself.
‘And by the way, you were absolutely amazing today. Thanks for letting me hear you play. Your dad really wasn’t exaggerating.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, frantically trying to think of a more humorous riposte. I can’t though and as Matthew turns around and makes his way up the path I just stand there gormlessly. He’s too bloody good to be true, frankly.
‘Don’t take too long making your mind up about that one, my darling,’ says a voice in my ear. I turn to find that Mrs Demetrius has sneaked up on me.
‘What do you mean?’ I say suspiciously, my eyes still on Matthew’s very attractive rear view.
‘What I mean is, he is bloody gorgeous, clearly crazy about you, and you don’t want to lose out.’
‘Who knows?’ I say. ‘My judgement’s not that great when it comes to men. You only need to see who’s staying at my house right now to see that.’
‘True, but there’s nothing wrong with my judgement and I can tell he’s a keeper. Seriously, if I were half my age I’d be after him, I can tell you. And as for that face and oh, that bum.’
‘Mrs Demetrius!’ I exclaim, though to be fair, she has a point.
Three days later, during which I studiously avoid Hayley and do nothing much but practise in my room, Mrs Demetrius and I are on our way to South Kensington for my visit to the Royal College of Music. As we emerge from the bowels of the London Underground into one of the smartest parts of London, my phone rings. It’s Dad.
‘You on your way?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ I say, rolling my eyes at my teacher, who’s stopped at a kiosk to buy some mints. He’s so excited it’s ridiculous, but also very sweet. ‘How are you Dad, anyway? You sound good.’
‘Honestly? I feel great at the moment. I don’t know what it is Marianne but even my blood counts are good. It’s almost like … I’m improving … or something.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, I mean obviously I ain’t, so don’t let me kid you about that but … maybe I will have a bit longer than I thought. To be honest I’ve got them all a bit stumped back at the hospital. Though personally I put it down to wanting to see whether you get into this place or not. Though no pressure obviously,’ he adds instantly.
Despite being swamped with immediate anxiety as, once again, the weight of my father’s expectation lands squarely on my shoulders, I find myself laughing. ‘Bloody hell. You’re as bad as Mum was with Hayley about Sing for Britain.’
‘Hardly,’ he protests, managing to sound indignant and slightly doubtful at the same time as he considers this as a possibility. ‘I did mean what I said you know. I really don’t want to put no pressure on you. Apart from anything else, you’re right. If I were a betting man, I probably wouldn’t put money on you getting in. The odds are totally stacked against you but that don’t stop me from being so bleeding proud of you for trying. And it’s really important that you know that …’ He trails off and as he does so my heart contracts for I can hear he’s become a bit choked. Having bought her mints, Mrs Demetrius puts a hand on my arm, a gesture to let me know that we should get going, but then spots that I’m starting to fill up myself. She mouths, ‘Are you OK?’ I nod back and try to reassure her by smiling.
On the other end of the line I can hear Dad desperately trying to compose himself. When he finally continues, his voice is determinedly chirpy again. ‘Anyway,’ he says, ‘I’ll be proud of you either way and if you don’t get in, like I keep saying, there are plenty of other colleges that’ll have you in a heartbeat.’
Even I know this is probably true, but rightly or wrongly, to me it feels like an all or nothing situation.
However there’s not much point admitting this to him so instead I reply simply and sincerely, ‘Thanks Dad.’
I must have needed to hear what he just said though, because as Mrs Demetrius and I continue our journey, arms linked, my nerves start to slowly dissipate and I feel more together and far calmer than I did before. I also find myself wishing that I could take more pleasure from the fact that Dad’s doing so much better health-wise, but instead feel weirdly suspicious about it. It seems a bit too good to be true somehow.
Needless to say it takes precisely 0.5 seconds for me to fall head over heels in love with the College. Quite simply it’s an incredible place, a temple of music, where music lovers from all over the world come together under one roof to worship the subject. The College is internationally renowned for being the best, which I knew before but seeing so many foreign students about the place, especially ones of Chinese origin, only heightens the feeling that the College is world class. Admittedly I look and am older than most of them, but don’t think I’d stick out too much and certainly wouldn’t be the only ‘mature’ student. Here I would be able to immerse myself in studying while not feeling remotely self-conscious or apologetic about what some of my own peers view as my strange or geeky penchant for classical music, because everyone else would be feeling exactly the same way as me. Plus, it soon becomes clear from what our guide is telling us, that the students benefit from the knowledge of some of the most amazing teachers in the world. It’s like heaven on earth and the thought of being able to play within an orchestra is thrilling and such an incentive. I was in the school orchestra but the string section was pretty small and I never used to find it much of a challenge. The Royal College of Music is better and more wondrous and inspiring than I ever could have imagined. Of course, this is precisely what I wanted to avoid, because now how am I going to feel if I don’t get in?
Now that I’ve seen the College and my dreams and ambition have become a reality, which I desperately want to fulfill, I
dedicate most of my waking hours to what feels like one long permanent practise session. Spending so much time in my room suits me down to the ground anyway, as I’m desperate to avoid Hayley and her beefy lech of a husband at all costs.
I haven’t heard from Hayley since the row, which is fine by me. I won’t ever let anyone speak to me like that ever again.
I do take a break to meet up with Teresa now and again however. Having our friendship back on track is the best thing to happen to me in a long time. Sometimes we talk about what’s going on with me, at other times she gets to do most of the talking for a change. She tells me about how she’s thinking of doing an evening course in something, and about her wedding plans, all of which is a welcome break and distraction. She’s the only person I confide in about applying to Music College. I don’t tell anyone else because if I don’t get in, which I have to keep reminding myself is the most likely outcome, I won’t have to disappoint anyone or torture myself by having to keep on explaining.
Meanwhile, since Dad had a go at all of us, Mum’s become far more patient about me playing when she’s in the house. There have been noticeably fewer barbed comments from her and she’s hardly yelled at me to ‘pack it in’ at all. On one occasion she even poked her head round the door and had a little listen for a while. Wonders will never cease, although I’m not sure I’d want her doing it on a regular basis. Sitting on the edge of my bed, she insisted on nodding her head while tapping her wedge-sandalled foot along, like she was listening to soft rock instead of Mozart, plus she was completely out of time, like a metronome gone berserk. It was very off-putting.
She’s asked me a couple of times what’s going on between Hayley and me but I’m keeping silent on the matter. What am I supposed to say? Of course, the truth is what’s happened pains me but she’s the one who needs to figure things out. Not me. If she can do that and wants to make amends then of course I’ll talk but until then it’s up to her.
Then, one day, as I’m returning to the salon from my lunch break, I notice Jason waving at me through the glass to get my attention. Wondering what can possibly be so important that it can’t wait till I’ve walked through the door, I hurry in.
‘What?’ I enquire, as he drags me over to a quiet corner.
‘Hayley’s been in to see you.’
‘Right,’ I reply.
‘No, hang on a minute Marianne. I don’t know what’s happened between the two of you but she was different to normal. She kept saying she was really sorry and that she needed to talk to you.’
His concern feels over the top.
‘And I swear she wasn’t being stuck-up or annoying like she usually is,’ he continues. ‘She hadn’t even bothered drying her hair, which you and I both know is a big thing in her world.’
‘Oh, don’t you start falling for her “little Miss Manipulative” act. You don’t know the half of it.’
At this Jason looks really quite hurt.
‘Look, I’m sorry OK,’ I add, checking to make sure no one’s listening. There’s a lady waiting to have her highlight foils taken out, who’s pretending to read a magazine, only I can tell she’s ear-wigging. ‘It’s just that my sister doesn’t care one iota about anyone except herself. If she did she wouldn’t turn up at my workplace making a scene. She’d ring me or something.’
‘I think on this occasion you’ve got it wrong,’ he says firmly. ‘Judging by what a state she was in this morning I think she does care.’
I’m amazed by his treachery. ‘So, based on Hayley popping in here for five minutes and batting her baby blues you’ve managed to deduce that she’s had a total personality transplant when you don’t even know what we’re rowing about.’
‘Oh stop pretending you don’t care and just give it some thought,’ says Jason going off, scissors in hand, to see to his next client.
I can’t help but feel a bit annoyed with him. It feels like he’s taking her side.
The next day, I’m just getting the booster seat out for a little girl to sit on for her haircut when Jason approaches me again, this time saying, ‘You’ve got a visitor.’
I roll my eyes, not needing to ask who it is. Deep down of course part of me is glad she finally wants to talk but I don’t think this is the right place or time. She knows that by coming here she’s got me cornered though.
‘Come on, I’ve put her in here. My next client’s not in for ten minutes so I’ll mediate if you like,’ he says, herding me reluctantly towards the staff room. I follow him in, expecting to find my sister at her most fired up and ferocious, which is why I’m wrong-footed when instead I discover a crumpled mess of a person sitting on a chair, looking as though the weight of the world is on her shoulders. She’s wearing a sun-top and leggings, which more than display her killer body, and yet her demeanor is decidedly un-Hayley like. It’s as if she’s shrunk, she looks so deflated and the way she’s hugging her huge fake Miu Miu bag, it’s as if she’s shielding herself.
‘Hiya,’ she says mournfully, looking up properly for the first time.
I almost fall over with shock. I’ve never seen Hayley look so bad. I’ve never seen Hayley look bad full stop but clearly with her there’s no such thing as half-measures because today she looks absolutely terrible. Her face is puffy and swollen, indicating that she must have been crying for hours. Normally she’d rather die than let anyone see her in such a state.
‘What is it?’ I ask immediately. ‘What’s he done?’
She shakes her head sorrowfully.
‘What hasn’t he done? Or should I say who hasn’t he done?’
Ah. Teresa was right then.
It’s very disconcerting to see Hayley looking so unusually vulnerable and so … rough. Obviously I feel sorry that she’s had to find out that her husband’s betrayed her and yet I’m still so cross about the way she spoke to me and the fact she hit me that it doesn’t seem natural to approach her in the same way I normally would, or to reach out in any way.
‘What happened then?’ I ask dispassionately, sounding more like Hayley than Hayley.
‘He said it was all my fault,’ she sniffs and Jason, who is still with us, shakes his head.
‘Here, do you want a tissue?’ he says gently, leaning in to offer her one.
‘Thanks,’ she says, smiling weakly at him.
‘And you must tell Marianne what’s happened.’
‘Hang on, how do you know what’s happened?’ I demand to know.
‘I told you,’ Jason replies, looking all defensive. ‘Hayley came in yesterday while you were on your lunch break and she was so upset I ended up popping out for a coffee with her. Didn’t I?’
Hayley nods.
I despair.
‘Right,’ I huff, disappointed that Hayley has managed to wrap the last remaining male, who hadn’t previously been under her spell, firmly around her little finger. ‘So what was your fault anyway?’ I ask, determined not to let her tears fool me into feeling sorry for her until I’ve heard what she has to say. Knowing her, they’re probably only for effect anyway.
‘I told Gary that I didn’t believe that you would have tried it on with him,’ she whispers.
‘And?’
‘And eventually he admitted that he might have been … a bit flirty with you.’
‘Well it’s very good of you to finally believe me.’
Jason gives me a warning look to keep calm.
He’s right of course. I shouldn’t lose the upper hand by losing control of my emotions. Apart from anything else it’s not dignified.
Hayley meets my gaze fully for the first time. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, only so faintly I have to strain to hear her.
‘Right,’ I say, hating the fact that despite my best efforts, I can already feel her getting to me. She looks so pitiful that despite myself, I start to feel sorry for her, as usual. ‘Well what did you say when he admitted that it was him and not me who was out of order? What was his excuse?’
Hayley shrugs and then gulps. ‘He
said …’ a tear runs down her face. I have literally never seen her like this and I’m slowly starting to think it might not be an act after all.
I look at Jason. He’s such a softie at the best of times and right now he looks positively devastated to see my sister in such a mess. She does look wrecked and knowing Hayley as I do, if she was putting it on, she probably would have applied her mascara first. It’s funny, I never knew she had such fair eyelashes. What with the puffiness of her face, the straggly hair and lack of make-up, today she’s looking – and I can hardly believe I’m saying this – quite ordinary. It’s disconcerting.
‘He said,’ she stammers and her hands are trembling, ‘That it was my fault that he was so sexually frustrated because all I ever talk about is wanting to be a mother, which apparently is a turn off.’
‘What?’ I gasp, wondering how Gary dare even utter such bullshit.
‘What a prick,’ interjects Jason. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s OK,’ shrugs Hayley, flashing him a watery smile while scrunching up her tissue. ‘He also said,’ she continues in a low voice, ‘That when I made such a tit of myself at Sing for Britain, that he was ashamed to be my husband.’
‘Well, embarrassed might be more of an appropriate word. Ashamed is a bit harsh,’ I reply honestly. It’s not that I want to give Gary even an inch, but truthfully, having heard the audition with my own ears, I might have to concede his point a bit on that one. If I’d been married to her I would have considered emigrating.
‘But the worst thing he said,’ she wails. The tears are back in force and at this point I’m no longer doubting their verity in any way at all. There’s no way she’s faking and, hearing the vile comments Gary’s made, I’m not surprised she’s so upset. And that’s not taking into account he tried to snog her sister. Horrible bastard.
‘The worst thing he said …’ she weeps, struggling to spit it out.
‘What babe?’ I ask softly, finally admitting total defeat by going to sit next to her and stroking her back. ‘Come on, it can’t be any worse than what he’s already said or done.’
‘He said that it was my fault I lost the baby because … I’m such a stress case.’