He looks down and notices a spot of blood on the cuff of his shirt. Darting a quick glance at his seat partner to confirm he is sleeping, Gary eases the cuff around to get a better look. The blood has dried and seeped through the threads of the fabric into the shape of Lake Michigan. Gary straightens out his cuff and pulls his jacket sleeve over the stain, then stares out of the window at black nothingness, his reflection gazing back at him from the glass. A floating green sign appears in the darkness on the side of the highway: ‘Welcome to Indiana!’
On the afternoon of auditions it was tradition at Nottinger for the applicants to hang out at the Burger Palace next to campus and await the decision of the dean. Gary sat in a booth across from Travis and Layla, who were shoulder to shoulder, their fingers laced together under the table.
‘What did you play?’ Travis asked.
‘Winter,’ Gary said. ‘Vivaldi,’ he added. He kept his eyes on the pop in front of him, the tall glass sweating a pool of condensation on the table.
‘That’s weird,’ Travis said. ‘I could have sworn I heard Sinfonia.’
Gary levelled his gaze with Travis’s eyes. ‘You stayed to listen to my audition?’
Travis laughed. ‘Of course I did. It’s only fair – you got to eavesdrop on me. And everyone before us.’
‘I’m sure you did great,’ Layla said, laying her head gently on Travis’s shoulder.
‘She’s been here for a year already,’ Travis said, tilting his head toward her. ‘Waiting for me.’
Layla lifted her head and tapped him playfully on the arm. ‘I spent all my time practising.’
‘Me too,’ Travis said. ‘So I could join my high school sweetheart at Nottinger.’
‘Excuse me,’ Gary said, standing up and heading to the men’s room. He winked at the pretty blonde waitress behind the counter as he passed.
When Gary stepped out of the men’s room he saw that Travis and Layla were kissing. He approached them slowly from behind, catching glimpses of their pink tongues darting into each other’s mouths.
Gary sat down heavily on his side of the booth and they broke apart. Layla’s cheeks glowed pink. The blonde waitress appeared at their table and set a bowl of ice cream down in front of Gary.
‘Good luck today,’ she said, twisting the bottom of her apron in her fingers. ‘I hope you did well.’
‘Thank you,’ Gary said. He watched her wander away and check on the other tables, glancing back at him after each one.
‘She’s got eyes for you, Gary,’ Travis chuckled. He picked up a fry from his plate and chomped on it hungrily.
Gary looked down at the melting ice cream, two scoops of chocolate sliding into each other under a stream of hot fudge. His mouth tasted of copper.
The dean’s decisions were posted at the end of the day, tacked to the wall in the main hallway outside the school’s office. A crowd of students gathered around the postings, eager fingers sliding down the list of names, then over to see if they’d made the cut, and if they had, what orchestra position they had been appointed to. Gary watched as several made their way to the front, and observed their expressions of elation or dismay when they turned back around.
Gary stepped forward, his spine rigid beneath his jacket. He found his name and slid his finger over. Something gave in his chest when he read the word ‘YES’ under the ‘ACCEPTED’ column. He slid his finger further and read ‘SECOND VIOLIN, SECOND CHAIR’ and his heart thudded to a stop.
He heard Travis whoop from somewhere close by, then turned to see him in the middle of the hallway, hugging Layla as he swung her around in an arc. Gary’s eyes darted back to the wall and he found Travis’s name. He’d made it to first.
‘We have to celebrate,’ Travis said, back in their room at the dorm. He waved a flask of something that smelled like gasoline under Gary’s nose. Gary smiled and waved it away. Travis shrugged and went back to sitting on his bed next to Layla, looping his arm loosely over her shoulders.
Gary faced them in his desk chair, legs crossed and arms folded. He watched Travis and Layla pass the flask back and forth until the sky darkened and the moon shone brightly through the window.
‘I’m going out for some air,’ Gary said.
‘Good idea,’ Travis said, his words slurred. He kissed Layla sloppily on the cheek.
She laughed too loudly and pushed him away.
Gary watched the Burger Palace waitress through the restaurant’s windows from across the street, leaning against the edge of the neighbouring building, hidden in the shadows. When she gathered her things and came out the front door, Gary waited a moment, then crossed the street and followed her down the block. When she turned down a side street, Gary caught up with her.
‘Walking home alone?’ he hummed over her shoulder.
The waitress spun around, a look of panic on her face, and hugged her purse closer to her chest. She took a few backward steps away from him.
Gary stepped toward her and more light fell on his face.
The waitress relaxed her arms as she recognised him. ‘You scared me to death,’ she said.
‘I thought it would be nice to see you again,’ Gary said. He took another step closer to her.
The waitress smiled, a mix of relief and uncertainty. ‘How did it go today?’ she asked, clearing her throat.
‘I’m in,’ Gary said, smiling. ‘First chair violin.’
‘Wow, that’s great,’ the waitress said, relaxing further. She looped the strap of her purse over her shoulder and straightened her uniform blouse.
Gary took another quick step towards her and grabbed her by the back of the neck, pulling her forwards. He pushed his tongue into her mouth as she struggled against his grip. Gary looped his other arm around her waist and pulled her body close to his. Her body stiffened and she pounded on his shoulder with a clenched fist.
Gary paused a moment to look into her eyes then smashed his lips to hers again.
‘No,’ she mumbled into his mouth. The waitress raised her knee and stomped down hard on Gary’s instep. Pain shot up his leg and he released her, staggering back against the wall of a boarded-up apartment building.
The waitress stumbled away, crying for help hoarsely as she fled.
Gary crouched down in the alley, his back against the wall and held his head in his hands. The taste of old coffee and waxy lipstick mixed with the copper in his mouth.
Gary met with the dean the next morning. He’d waited outside the office, staring at the names on the walls until they blurred in front of his eyes. The old man sighed when he saw Gary, then reluctantly ushered him in.
‘Congratulations on your accomplishment,’ the dean said after waving at one of the leather visitor chairs across from his desk. He stowed his overcoat and hat on a rack by the door, then sat, fingers laced on the desktop.
‘I’d like to be moved to first,’ Gary said. ‘I’m better than second chair.’
‘Decisions from dean and the admission committee are final, young man,’ the dean said.
‘I’d like you to reconsider,’ Gary said, crossing his legs and leaning forwards. ‘I’m a prodigy.’
The dean smiled sourly. ‘You’re surrounded by them, my boy. Do you know how many students didn’t make it into a spot this year?’
‘Fifty-three,’ Gary said.
The dean paused and studied him a moment. ‘That’s right. So you must know, you’re fortunate to be here, and on a scholarship, I might add.’
Gary’s face remained neutral as he stayed silent.
‘Son, take my advice. Be grateful for the opportunity you’ve earned, and work as hard as you can so when a spot comes open, you’ll be first in line. That’s the key to success in life.’
When Gary got back to his room, a necktie was hanging on the door. Gary used his key and turned the knob, catching a glimpse of naked flesh on Travis’s bed before opening the door widely and stepping inside.
Layla pulled the blankets over her head and hid while Travis fumbled to fi
nd his shorts on the floor. Gary stood in the doorway watching him.
‘Didn’t you see the tie?’ Travis laughed under his breath.
Gary went to his desk and sat down. He opened his music theory text book and started to read.
Gary dropped three notes during rehearsal that afternoon during a simple piece he’d played a number of times before. The conductor waved his arms manically in the air, bringing the music to a dribbling stop, then pointed his baton at Gary’s forehead.
‘Stand,’ he demanded.
Gary stood, his violin dangling at his side.
‘Play,’ the conductor shouted.
Gary propped the violin under his chin and began again. The invisible notes he normally followed in his mind floated away from him as his fingers forgot the rhythm of the piece. He dropped his instrument to his side again and caught Travis’s eye. Travis’s expression urged him to continue.
‘Out,’ the conductor sighed, waving his baton at the door. ‘Come back when you know it.’
Gary stood outside the door and listened to them play without him. He could hear Travis playing, he knew it had to be him, clear and true and bright.
‘Tomorrow will be better,’ Travis said in their room that night. He handed Gary his shiny flask and turned his back.
Gary smelled the liquor inside and winced. When Travis turned around again, Gary handed it back, pretending to have taken a sip.
‘I know it will,’ Gary said.
Travis tilted his head back and took a large gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, ‘Everyone at Nottinger is already really good. You have to be great to get ahead.’
Gary stood up from his desk and motioned for the flask in Travis’s hand, slipping his other hand into his pocket. Travis walked over and handed it to him, clapping Gary loudly on the shoulder. Gary glanced at Travis’s hand, then jabbed his Swiss Army knife into Travis’s stomach.
Gary pulled out the knife and stabbed Travis five more times in quick succession, feeling the give of his flesh against the blade. Travis’s expression morphed from drunken surprise to pain, and then to disbelief before he crumpled onto the linoleum floor.
Gary calmly washed his hands in the bathroom sink then gathered his things. Before slipping out into the hall and pulling the door closed, he took the small stack of notes from Travis’s desk, slipped them into his pocket, and looped Travis’s necktie around the doorknob.
When the bus pulls into the depot at three in the morning, there is a police car waiting, its blue-and-red lights lighting up the night sky. Gary watches from the window as two officers board the bus, looking back and forth between the photographs they each hold and the people in the seats. Gary watches their expressions as they scan the passengers, finally coming to a stop when they reach his row.
‘Come on, wake up,’ one of them says as they rouse the big man next to Gary.
The man snorts as he wakes, then tries to bolt from his seat when he sees the police.
They lead the man away in handcuffs, telling him he is under arrest for armed robbery. After the police car pulls away Gary steps down from the bus, heads past a bank of payphones and studies the map of downtown Indianapolis, tracing his callused fingers across the scratched plastic before disappearing into the night.
A Slight Change of Plan
Susi Holliday
They meet at Clapham Junction railway station at 7:45. Simon has travelled from the west. His pokey, overpriced flat is much closer to Hounslow, but he likes to pretend it’s in Chiswick. Joseph has come from the east. Leytonstone. Even the name makes Simon shudder. There’s probably nothing wrong with the place. Lots of people love living in the east. He grew up there after all. For Simon, though, it’s just a bit too … easterly. Like Essex. Simon has never understood Essex. He couldn’t wait to escape the place.
‘Whose idea was this again? I was all set for that weekend in Brittany, you know. Cheese, wine, French sticks, French chicks … Can’t say this is quite what I had in mind!’ Joseph drops his rucksack onto the platform and extends a hand. He’s grinning, and Simon notes that he’s missing a couple of teeth. Not at the front, thank God, but noticeable all the same. Sloppy grooming, Simon thinks. There’s no excuse for that. ‘You and your missing bloody passport! Anyway, don’t worry. Let’s think of it as a mystery tour. It’s good to see you, Simon,’ Joseph continues. ‘You’re looking very fresh.’
Simon pumps his hand and returns the smile. ‘You too, Joseph. To be honest, I am looking forward to this.’
Joseph crouches down and starts fumbling with something attached to the back of his bag, and Simon takes the time to have a good look at his old friend. He lied when he said he was looking well. Joseph has a bald spot on the back of his head, and the hair surrounding it is thinly spread.
Joseph stands up. ‘Well, I popped into the local bookshop last night. Got us a walking map. I was thinking we could do a ten-mile circular. There’s a great pub halfway. Homemade pies and cask ales. Tell me you still drink ale, Simon. You’ve not switched to that fancy lager since you moved west, have you?’
‘West is best, eh, Joseph? You know what they say. As for pies and ales – not really my thing these days.’ He pauses to pat his finely honed six-pack. ‘I’m more of a protein shake and sushi man, now. That Japanese lager is fantastic, by the way. You shouldn’t be so snobbish about it.’
Joseph laughs and Simon notes the crinkles at the sides of his eyes. Simon hasn’t had crinkles or wrinkles or as much as a blemish for years. Not since he started the Botox and the chemical peels. You have to look after yourself once you reach thirty, don’t you?
‘I’m sure you can squeeze in a pie for old time’s sake … and you can try an IPA, if you can’t stomach beer like a real man anymore.’
Simon wants to punch him. ‘I’m sure I can make an exception for one day, Joseph. For old time’s sake.’ He grins, and hopes that Joseph is impressed by his perfect row of veneers. Bloody expensive, but worth every penny. He’s lost count of the number of women who’ve passed comment on them. Whoever said that champagne and oysters were the way to woo a woman obviously hadn’t experienced the benefits of LaserWhite Smile Clinics.
They board the train. It’s barely pulled away from the station when Joseph opens his rucksack and takes out a flask.
‘I brought an extra cup,’ he says. He lays two plastic cups on the table and produces a packet of Hob Nobs. ‘Lucky I still had all this hiking stuff, eh?’
Simon tries not to look aghast. He’d planned to buy a double-shot soy latte from the artisan coffee stand in the connections tunnel, but he’d run out of time. The last time he drank something from a flask he was in the Scouts. He can still remember the metallic taste of lukewarm, watery hot chocolate, puffs of undissolved powder floating around, exploding inside his mouth. He shudders. ‘Thanks, Joseph. Very dib-dib-dib of you.’
Joseph says nothing, dips his biscuit into his tea and takes a bite. Smiles at Simon with teeth coated in chocolate. ‘How’s Marianne?’
It’s all Simon can do not to grab the other man by the curled-up collar of his cheap polo shirt and throttle him blue. He swallows. Composes himself. ‘We’ve split up, actually. A month ago. I suppose we just grew apart. No biggie. Besides … we’re still young, aren’t we, Joseph? Plenty more fish and all that. I’ve been having a ball, actually. Some top-notch little fillies out west.’
‘Ah, that’s a shame … I liked Marianne.’
I fucking know you did, you weaselly little bastard. ‘Like I said, Joseph, old boy. No biggie. You should give her a call some time. I’m sure she’d appreciate the concern. She used to talk about you, you know…’ He lets the sentence trail off. Watches as Joseph’s cheeks turn pink before he turns to stare out of the window to check that the countryside is still there.
They arrive at their destination. One of those stations in the arse end of nowhere, where there’s nothing but a platform and a gate into a potholed car park. Simon feels a brief flash of som
ething. Fear? Guilt? It’s not too late to turn back. Knock it on the head. Tell GI Joseph he’s got a migraine coming on or something. Joseph hands him his rucksack then adjusts the straps on his own. His eyes are bright, his cheeks already flushed in anticipation.
Fuck it, Simon thinks. ‘So, this hike … not too arduous, is it?’ He suppresses a smirk as Joseph looks him up and down, taking in the designer outdoor gear he purchased especially for the trip.
‘Nah … I’ll break you in slowly, mate. Mostly flat. A few hills. Just one craggy bit near the end, but we can take a detour if you’re not up for it? I’ve brought all the kit: ropes and belays and what have you. I’ll let you decide.’
Simon smiles. He’s trying his hardest to stay calm. Act polite. But the effort is actually making his stomach flip, the sharp tang of bile threatening. Joseph. Fucking Joseph. Of all the people Marianne could’ve confessed to having slept with. He wouldn’t have cared if it was anyone else – he’d had more one-night-stands than she’d made him dinners, never mind hot ones. Ten years, though … and the fact that she’d slept with Joseph right at the bloody beginning. That night he’d gone out and not come back. She’d called Joseph, asking if he knew where Simon was … I was worried, she’d said … I was scared. Not too scared to jump into bed with GI-Fucking-Joseph. Of all people. ‘Let’s take the hard route, eh, tough guy? You can show me what you’re made of…’
If Joseph senses Simon’s undercurrent of boiling rage, he does nothing to suggest it. He spends most of the frankly tedious hike pointing out random pieces of undergrowth and commenting on the sounds of birds. The lunch in the pub is good, Simon concedes. At least his ‘old friend’ has a decent last meal.
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