by Laura Marney
During the opening bars Graham energetically saws his violin, as though he’s furious with it. It responds by singing back at him like an angry bee. At first he is simply playing, across the miles and the years, along with the musicians who recorded the track, some of them no doubt known to him, most of them dead probably. But as loud as it is, his violin is inviting a response from the other instruments that sit redundant between their owner’s knees. Then Graham hears a reply from across the hall, a clarinet and then another violin somewhere behind him. Being removed from the other instruments is an unusual experience for him but as the overture proceeds he hears more musicians take up their instruments. Momentum builds.
People gather around him. This too is an unusual experience. He has never before performed so close to an audience, never been without the buffer of his colleagues. He cannot see any of the other musicians; he can only send musical smoke signals and hope they are picked up. Fortunately the replies are getting louder and stronger. The entire orchestra must be playing by now. They’re no longer playing along with the track, Graham can’t hear it anymore, they’re drowning it out with real live music.
Everyone seems to have caught the buzz of the music. All through the hall people are standing amongst the musicians, listening hard, eyes shining, cheeks flushed. The sound is all inclusive, wrapping everyone together in the posh, complicated, exhilaration of the busy violins.
Martin, always an uninhibited music lover, stands waiving an imaginary baton conducting two violinists and a man playing a bassoon. A few kids follow suit. Fiona hops from side to side, a way she has of expressing joy, while Jane stands behind her preparing to catch her if she falls. Brian smiles. Dezzie has apparently disappeared again.
The members of the orchestra, for no other reason than the pleasure it gives, practise their long-practised art: Liver-spotted hands caress wood and metal, nobbly fingers fly across fretboards and keys. Sweat breaches foreheads wrinkled with time and concentration. Off the peg jackets, practical and uniform, take the strain of the idiosyncratic activity inside them. Hair falls dramatically across wizened faces as the music climaxes in a whirling rush of violins.
The crowd’s appreciation is warm and sincere. Each musician gets applause from his own audience, who clap and whistle long and hard. Musicians’ thin bony backs are subject to patting. Long thin loops of damp combover hair are replaced on balding scalps.
The orchestra’s performance has a galvanising effect on everyone.
‘Right,’ says Marianne to Maria, ‘that’s everybody registered, only three no-shows.’
Marianne’s face and neck is slightly pink, a very becoming girlish flush is upon her.
‘I’ve organised a rehearsal rota, the hall’s going to be in almost constant use but for now I’ve sorted out a running order for this afternoon. I think it’ll be better if we get the young ones done and dusted first, the others won’t mind waiting on the kids. So, first up are my choir, then the Hot steppers…’
‘Oh Marianne, you’re brilliant! What would I do without you?’
Behind her bifocals, Marianne’s eyes are shining as she gives Maria a sardonic stare.
‘You’d get lynched. Now, let’s get this show on the road.’
Chapter 28
After the last singer sings and Marianne has stopped her stop watch, everyone drifts away.
‘Phew!’ says Marianne and wilts dramatically.
She tidies the paperwork and as they are stacking the chairs she mentions Arlene, which comes as a great surprise to Maria.
‘Arlene Lang was your next door neighbour, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes!’ says Maria, stopped in her tracks, gobsmacked. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Oh, a few weeks ago I mentioned you were putting on this show and she said she knew you,’ says Marianne casually.
‘That’s amazing, I was only… thinking of her this morning. How do you know Arlene?’
‘She was my mum’s friend.’
‘Really? Wow, small world.’
Maria goes to continue the chair stacking and stops again.
‘Was?’
‘Yeah, sorry, she died last week. The funeral was yesterday.’
‘Oh.’
‘Sorry,’ says Marianne again and puts her hand on Maria’s arm.
‘No, it’s okay, I didn’t really know her.’
Once the chairs are stacked Maria and Marianne gather cups and mugs and take them into the kitchen.
‘Oh, just leave those cups,’ says Maria. ‘I’ll pop back tomorrow and wash them.’
‘I’m sure you’ve better things to do with your weekend.’
‘Sadly I haven’t. But I’ll have to get my lot back to the centre now or they’ll miss their buses. I’ll come back tomorrow.’
Marianne pulls on her coat and now Maria notices Dezzie is here too, standing right behind her. How long has he been here? She hopes he hasn’t heard the conversation, especially the bit about her having nothing to do on the weekend. There’s nothing less attractive to a man than a woman no one else wants.
‘Hear that, Dezzie?’ says Marianne chirpily as she exits. ‘Can you believe this young lady doesn’t have a date this weekend?’
Maria presses her chest and concentrates on sorting the blue mugs from the yellow ones.
‘You could come out with me,’ says Dezzie quietly.
‘Well, I’ve got to …’
Maria is pointing at the mugs. For God’s sake woman, get a grip. Try to come out of this humiliation with at least a little dignity.
‘I’ve…’
She’s pointing again. She doesn’t know what she’s trying to say but it seems to be along the lines of: she can’t go on a date with him because she has to wash a load of old mugs.
‘Would you come out with me?’
He’s been put in this embarrassing position by that big mouth Marianne. Under these circumstances Dezzie would feel obliged to ask anyone out, whether he fancied them or not, he’s that kind of guy. But what if he really does fancy her and Marianne has just provided him with the prefect opportunity?
She has deliberated too long.
‘Okay,’ he says, ‘fair enough,’ as he turns to leave.
And she’s blown it. ‘Dezzie!’ she calls, rather too stridently. ‘Yes. Thank you. I’d like to go out. That would be nice.’
*
Maria is on the phone to her best friend Colette in London. They’ve only been on for ten minutes and already the conversation has dried up. Colette doesn’t talk much about herself. She has two babies. She and her husband are very happy and quite well off. Maria is happy for her but Colette probably thinks talking about the good things in her life will make Maria feel bad in some way. She’s also has long since stopped asking Maria, probably for the same reasons, what she’s up to at the weekend. This often makes for awkward silences between them.
For once Maria has something to report on that front but she doesn’t want to blurt it out like a schoolgirl. She wants to drop it in casually, and so she must take a rather circuitous route. She does this by giving Colette a blow by blow account of the rehearsal.
‘The Hot Steppers are pretty good but the Golden Belles are amazing. Every one of them can kick their height and they’re all over sixty.’
‘God,’ says Colette, ‘I can’t kick my own arse. I’ve just no energy with running after the kids all day. And not just physically, my brain’s turning to mush.’
This is one subject Colette can talk about for hours: how the kids are draining her, but it’s not on Maria’s agenda today.
‘Ray, the guy who gave us the hall, made tea for everyone and of course nobody thought to wash their cups…’
‘Ray? What’s he like, tasty?’
‘Not bad. So there were all the dirty cups lying…’
‘Boyf material?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Married. Smoker.’
‘Right.’
‘I told Maria
nne I’d come back and…’
‘You’re lucky, working with tasty men, even if they are married. My libido’s packed in. I’ve shut up shop; Gerry hasn’t got near me for months, he’s stopped trying.’
Colette has everything and yet she moans. Maria knows why: to make her underachieving best friend feel better. Ever since Anna said what she said, all of the Kelvin Street Kids have been doing this: patronising her, overcompensating for the fact that they have husbands and kids and money. Colette’s moaning is getting in the way of Maria’s back door bragging. She was going to talk about what a dufus she was when she didn’t realise that Dezzie was asking her on a date. She was going to savour the story, throw in some jokes, but Colette keeps interrupting with complaints about how the children have sucked her breasts empty and her brain dry. There’s nothing else for it.
‘I’m sorry Colette, I’ll have to go. I’m off out tonight; a guy in my work has asked me out on a date.’
Chapter 29
Maria has plumped for her best bra, a pale blue seamless underwired one with matching pants. The material is unpatterned and silky smooth. She experiments with cupping her breast through her dress, the sensation Dezzie would get were he to get lucky, which he won’t. It feels nice.
The dress is also blue: short but not too short, button-through for ease of access and when she walks the skirt swings nicely accenting her best feature, her high tight bum. She has on wee boxy heels, feminine without being slutty. They are by no means fuck me shoes. Rather they are take me for a nice meal and then ask nicely shoes.
‘Wow! Miss Maria, what a stunner!’ Dezzie says enthusiastically when they meet outside the restaurant.
‘You look terrific. Your dress is lovely, is it new? It really suits you.’
‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘I like your tie.’
She’s not just being polite, she really does like it. It makes him look older and more responsible. As far as she can remember, Dezzie has never worn a tie to work.
The restaurant is in the trendier part of the city. Maria has never been to Il Trattoria before but it looks very nice. It’s old-fashioned Italian with posh pink damask table covers and heavy linen napkins. There are bottles of wine in wicker baskets and paintings of old Napoli on a picture rail around the wall. As the waiter shows them to their table by the window Dezzie puts his hand gently on the small of her back, protectively guiding her to the table, although it’s only four yards away and there seems to be no dangerous hazards en route. This is what boyfriends do.
The menu is on huge unwieldy laminated cards. There are no surprises, just all the usual Italian-type dishes.
‘So what do you fancy?’
‘Oh I don’t know, I’m easy,’ says Maria.
She knows what she doesn’t want. She’d already ruled out spaghetti before she saw the menu. It would be embarrassing to get sauce on her face or spill it on her dress and to avoid that she’d have to wear her napkin like a bib.
‘Yeah, I know you’re easy, but what do you fancy to eat?’
Dezzie snickers at his own joke and it is a moment before Maria can join him. She’s never heard him use this suggestive kind of banter before, but then again she’s never met him outside of the centre before. She’ll have to readjust her impression of him to accommodate this, but it’s fine, it’s fine.
‘So what’s it to be?’ he says.
The waiter is hovering.
‘I’ll have the veal, thank you Dezzie.’
‘No starter?’
‘Eh…’
She breaks a mild panic as her eyes rove across the menu. Maria’s hand is pressing down on her chest, restricting her breathing. Relax, relax. She hasn’t thought about a starter, hasn’t even looked at them.
‘No thanks, just the veal will be fine.’
Veal in a cream sauce, this seems like a safe, knife and fork option. She likes cream and has never tried veal before.
‘Fair enough. No starter for me either, thanks. I’ll have mushroom risotto. And a bottle of Soave, cheers.’
He’s a veggie, she’d forgotten that. She should have remembered. Once, in the staffroom, someone put a sausage on his plate by accident. Quietly, without anyone else noticing, Dezzie had washed his plate before eating from it. The meat must have disgusted him. And now she’s chosen the most unvegetarian thing possible – baby cow, taken from its mother’s womb for the express purpose of being slaughtered for her dining pleasure. He must be offended but he doesn’t show it.
‘I would’ve had the spaghetti,’ he confesses, ‘but I didn’t want to end up with sauce all over my face. You might not fancy me then.’
Maria laughs in recognition of that dilemma. It’s little things like this that make her sure that she and Dezzie are made for each other. Won’t it be fun to have spaghetti for their first anniversary dinner? For every anniversary for that matter; it could become their tradition. They can eat and kiss and mush tomato sauce into each other’s faces, even when they’re over forty.
Really she should turn veggie too, and sooner rather than later. She might as well, when they’re married she’ll have to, it’s too much hassle cooking separate meals. She should change her order and join him in the vegetarian option but she’s thought about it too long; the chef will have started cooking the veal by now. She doesn’t want the baby cow to have died in vain; she shouldn’t waste the nutritional value in it.
Dezzie is pouring big ones from the bottle of Soave but the second time Maria puts her hand demurely over her glass.
‘That’s enough for me, thanks.’
She sips at this glassful until the end of the meal. She wouldn’t mind getting a bit squiffy, it is a special occasion, but she doesn’t want Dezzie to think that anything she might do she might do because of drunkenness. The fact is that anything she might do she might do because she wants to. She really wants to. And she might do anything.
‘I managed to scrounge the car off my sister tonight, so I can give you a lift home if you like,’ he says.
Of course, she hadn’t noticed, he doesn’t have his motorbike helmet with him tonight.
‘That would be great.’
‘By the looks of it, it’s going to pour down any minute now.’
A few moments later drops of water hit the window beside them. Dezzie gently takes her hand and, smiling, says ‘Look.’
He was right, it’s raining now. It’s raining and he’s holding her hand as they sit warm and cosy in the restaurant looking out on the dark rainy night. He’s even borrowed a car to take her home. They’ll soon be sitting in the car listening to the windscreen wipers and Dezzie will kiss her. Really this date couldn’t be any more perfect.
Chapter 30
When the bill comes they tussle over it and Maria eventually lets Dezzie win. But this will have to stop. She had accepted his generosity graciously this time but if they are going to be going out on regular dates she’ll have to pay her way.
It’s still raining when they leave the restaurant.
‘You wait here and I’ll bring the car across. We don’t want your pretty blue dress getting ruined, now do we?’
He heads across the road while Maria shelters in the restaurant canopy.
Dezzie goes towards a car and then stops and speaks to a man who, despite the downpour, is standing in the street. It’s hard to see what’s going on through the thick curtain of rain but after a few minutes it looks as if Dezzie has put his arm around the man. They are engrossed in conversation, both nodding their heads.
Amazingly, Dezzie unlocks the passenger door and appears to invite the man into the car. Maria wants to call out and remind him that she’s here; he seems to have forgotten her. Surely he’s not going to drive off and leave her?
‘Maria!’ Dezzie calls.
He waives his arm, beckoning her to come across the road. He isn’t going to bring the car to her after all. What about her pretty blue dress?
She has to dodge puddles and passing cars to get to them. As she approaches
she sees that Dezzie’s friend is an old man. He’s tall and thin, stooped with the weight of his wet clothes.
‘Maria, this is George,’ Dezzie says.
‘Hello George.’
Maria uses the voice she uses when meeting a new client at the centre: warm, accepting. George grunts a reply but doesn’t look at her. He seems unaware of how wet he is and stares straight ahead, even when replying to Dezzie’s questions. His hands are basketed together in front of him, collecting rain, until Dezzie gently unclasps them.
‘You’re freezing, George. How long have you been here?’
George reminds Maria of a faithful old hound that’s been given the command stay by his master and then been abandoned. The rain has found paths through his wispy white hair which lies in clumps. It drips off his brow and the end of his nose. He shivers convulsively from the toes up, spraying fine droplets that fly out horizontally. George isn’t wearing socks and his shoes are without laces. The rain bubbles through some of the vacant eyelets of the old shoes.
‘Have you had something to eat?’ asks Dezzie.
George mumbles. Maria can tell that Dezzie hasn’t understood the reply but he doesn’t repeat the question. She and Dezzie are now almost as wet as George is. Rain drips down the back of her neck and inside her dress.
‘Hang on a minute,’ says Dezzie to George, and George nods.
He takes Maria aside and whispers.
‘Do you mind if we give the old fella a lift? He’ll never make it home on his own.’
The downside with nice guys, Maria is now realising, is that they’re undiscerning in their niceness; they’re equally nice to everyone. But it’s a small price to pay for such a lovely boyf and so she tries, and succeeds, in pushing uncharitable thoughts out of her head.