“I’m thinking about changing boarding houses,” said Clara between mouthfuls. “My dad says he’ll pay for me to stay at Trinity if I want.”
“What’s wrong with here?”
“Give it a few weeks. You’ll get sick of the slops for dinner and the cold showers. You can come with me if you’re worried about being left alone.”
“I have to stay here,” I said. “It’s where my scholarship was for.”
She put down her fork. “You got the scholarship?”
I nodded uncertainly.
Clara sliced her chicken into minuscule pieces. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
“I didn’t realise it was such a big deal.”
“Oh it’s not.” She stabbed a carrot and began to chew slowly. Put her fork down and wiped her mouth with the corner of her serviette. “I guess it was like a charity thing for you, right? You needed the money to get down here?”
I paused. “Yeah. That’s probably what it was.”
She nodded. “So did they hear you play first?”
“They heard my recording.”
“And was it you on the recording?”
I laughed. “Of course it was me! You have to sign this declaration and everything.”
“Don’t laugh!” Clara snapped. “Do you really think that stops people from getting their teachers to do it for them?”
“People do that?”
“Sure, if they want to get in badly enough. Of course it all comes crashing down when they get in and can’t play to save themselves. It happened to this flute player the year below me. She got kicked out and sent back to, like, Darwin or somewhere.”
“I didn’t do that,” I said.
I lay in bed that night listening to Clara’s heavy breathing. Footsteps sounded up and down the corridor. Hushed laughter came from the room next door. Cars zoomed past the building, headlights flashing through a gap in the curtains. Bells sounded as trams rattled into the nearby city. I rolled onto my side; eyes wide with nervous excitement. Acacia Beach seemed half the world away.
The day before school started, Rachel called. We hadn’t spoken since the going away party she had thrown a few nights before I had left. She had invited all of our school friends and they had gotten drunk on blue Curacao until tipping cows became the highlight of the evening. I’d slunk home to bed without anyone noticing I was gone.
“How’s the big city?” she asked. “Do you miss us heaps?”
“The city’s good.” I climbed onto my bed and craned my neck towards the fan. The Melbourne summer was blazing. Hotter than Acacia Beach. “How is everyone? Tim and Hugh and-”
“And Justin?” Rachel finished. “Justin’s really pissed at you for leaving.”
I didn’t answer.
“Why won’t you tell me what happened between you two? I’m not stupid, you know. I can tell something did.”
“Just forget about it,” I snapped. “Nothing happened.”
“Sure,” said Rachel. “And in a totally unrelated subject, Justin asked me to tell you how sorry he is.”
“Whatever. He didn’t even come to my going away party.”
“Actually, Abby, he did. He came late because he was working on his dad’s boat. You had already disappeared.”
I sat up. “He did?”
“Yep. Don’t you feel bad that after everything you guys had, you left without even saying goodbye?”
I lowered the phone for a moment. I did feel bad. Terrible even, but I wasn’t about to admit it. Besides, why should I feel terrible?
“Don’t you, Abby? Cos you should… Hey are you still there?”
“Look,” I said. “I don’t feel bad at all. I never want to speak to him again after what he did to me.”
Rachel snickered. “I thought nothing happened.”
I hung up as Clara burst into the room, her long hair wet and tangled from the boarding house pool.
“Who was that?” she asked, running a towel over her hair. I rolled onto my side and pushed my head into my pillow.
“Just someone from home.”
“One of your country-bum friends,” Clara teased. She perched on the edge of my bed, her bikini leaving a damp circle on the doona cover. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” I sat up.
“Have you found out who your violin teacher is yet?” she asked.
“John Glass. I got the letter yesterday.”
Clara paused. “Ohhh.” She climbed off the bed and buried her head in her wardrobe.
“What?” My stomach twisted. “Why did you do that?”
She reappeared with an armful of clothes and vanished into the bathroom. “No reason,” she said, her words disappearing behind the closing door.
TWENTY
My new teacher, John Glass, was a retired concert violinist with an Einstein-esque cloud of white hair and a tweed blazer that smelled of carpet cleaner. His endless list of performance credentials had made me bristle with excitement when I’d first read the letter, but now, hovering in the doorway of his studio, they suddenly made me want to cry.
My first day of school had so far been one to forget. I’d embarrassed myself in history by confusing Karl and Chico Marx, then Clara had ditched me at recess for a curly haired visual arts student. I fought the urge to run back to the boarding house and lock myself in the toilet.
John ushered me inside. He smiled and the deep creases in his forehead lightened.
“You must be Abigail.” He spoke with a faint English lilt. Hurriedly, I wiped my palm against my dress and accepted his handshake. I glanced around the room. The walls were lined with portraits in dusty gold frames.
“Do you recognise any of these people?” he asked, watching me examine the pictures.
“No, I don’t,” I admitted, cringing.
“That’s Beethoven, of course. And that’s Percy Grainger. And that one is the famous violinist Menuhin. I am sure you know him.”
“I’ve heard the name,” I squeaked. I felt like a fraud.
“Well.” John slid off his blazer. “I’d like to hear you play, Abigail. Do you have something prepared?”
I nodded hurriedly and flicked open my violin case. Pulled out the leather bound copy of the Elgar Sonata.
I’d tried to squeeze in a last minute practice that morning while Clara was in the shower. But at the sound of my violin, she’d burst out of the bathroom like a snake appearing to a charmer’s pipe. I’d been too self-conscious to continue.
John perched on the edge of the piano seat. Fingers shaking, I brought my violin to my shoulder. I imagined Clara strutting across the dorm in her red bikini.
“John Glass? Ohhh.”
I whacked my bow into the music stand and knocked the score onto the floor. A flicker of a smile from John. I sucked in my breath. Moved the stand out of my way and left the score on the carpet.
Elgar. I knew this.
I pushed Clara out of my mind and launched into the first movement, imagining Andrew playing the piano part along with me.
While I played, John began to scribble on a sheet of paper. Listing my faults, no doubt. I tried to force my attention back to the music. I let the last note disappear, then chewed my lip and glanced at my teacher.
“Alright.” He handed me the sheet of paper. “These are the titles of some studies and pieces I’d like you to get started on.”
“Was that okay?” I managed.
“There are some things we need to work on. But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
I nodded obediently and scooped my music off the floor.
John chuckled. “You needn’t look so nervous. Your playing has a lot of good qualities too.”
I felt my pounding heart slow a little. I glanced down at the list of pieces. Wondered what the hell Clara was on about.
I met Jess that week, while on a desperate search for my orchestral parts.
“Jessica, the orchestra manager, will give you your music,” the conductor told me. “Try the u
pstairs rehearsal hall.”
Directionless without Clara, who had disappeared towards the cafeteria, I floated through the corridors until I found the hall. Sprawled across the carpet was a short, blonde haired girl sorting a scramble of music into folders.
“I’m Abby Austin,” I told her. “I was told you’d have parts for me.”
Jess leapt up, her red skirt swishing around her knees the way Grandma’s dresses had. “Oh yeah. Violinist right? I’ve got music for you in the copy room.”
I followed her down the corridor. A piercing flute melody rose out of one of the studios.
“So this is your first week?” she called over her shoulder. Her pointy ears reminded me of a pixie.
“Yeah,” I said. “I just moved here from Acacia Beach.”
She led me into an office with a whizzing photocopier. “Where?” She rifled through the pages as the copy machine spat them towards her. “What part are you playing? I didn’t know so I copied them all for you.”
“I was told to get violin one.”
Jess raised her eyebrows. “Nice. You must be pretty hot stuff.”
I flashed a short smile. “I think they’re just testing me.”
“Don’t be so modest,” she said. “No-one else here is. You guys are playing Appalachian Spring. Do you like that piece?”
I grinned excitedly. “I love it.”
“Cool.” Jess tapped out a rhythm against the top of the copier.
“Do you play too?” I asked.
Jess ran her fingers up and down an imaginary keyboard. “Piano. So are you boarding? Or living somewhere else?”
“Boarding at Saint Mary’s. I’m rooming with Clara Byrne. Do you know her?”
Jess gave a grunt of acknowledgment. “What’s that like?”
“Okay,” I said slowly.
She turned back to the copier and stacked up the pages.
“It’s good to have someone to show me around, anyway. I don’t know anyone else yet.”
Jess pushed the music into my hand. “Come and have coffee with me then. I just have to put the percussion parts into folders and then I’m done.”
Later that afternoon, I followed Clara into the hall for rehearsal.
“I’ve never played in an orchestra before,” I said.
Clara looked at me like I had two heads. “You’ve never played in an orchestra?” she repeated. “You’re a violinist. How can you never have played in an orchestra?”
I ran resin over my bow. “There weren’t enough people in my town to make an orchestra, let alone enough musicians.”
Clara gave a short laugh that sounded like a hiccup. “Oh my God, you’re like, such a bogan.”
I decided not to tell her I had never seen a harp before either.
She flicked open the music. “Hey do you think you should, like, tell the conductor this is your first time? Maybe he’ll let you start on something a bit easier than first violin.”
I was secretly brimming with pride, after being permitted to the very front of the orchestra, right beside concert master Clara. I was sure I could handle first violin.
“It’s okay.”
“Whatever.”
I was glad when rehearsal began and we couldn’t talk any more.
I had imagined playing in the orchestra hundreds of times since seeing the concert in Brisbane, but nothing had prepared me for the rush I felt when the music began, shrouding me in sound. The clarinet rose out of the low strings and I wished I could close my eyes and listen. Terrified of being demoted, I tapped the beat religiously in my head, counting out my bars rest. Clara entered with the violin solo and I listened in awe. Her pitch was flawless, even up in the extreme register. She had perfect vibrato; her tone like a diamond. I was sure I would never sound as good.
The full orchestra entered with an emphatic chord and I felt a shudder of excitement through me. I couldn’t hear myself over the resounding brass, but it made my heart leap to know I was a part of the sound. The conductor drew us to a close.
“Bar forty. Woodwinds only.”
Clara turned to me. “How did you go? Did you come in at the right time?”
I tried not to look too indignant, deciding she was only trying to look out for me. “I went fine.”
She nodded. “Good. You’re not bad, you know. For a bogan.”
I decided to take that as a compliment.
“So what’s the talent like at your boarding house?” asked Jess the next day as we wandered to the cafeteria.
I clutched my sandwich. “Well that really good pianist in year eleven lives down the hall from me. And there’s Clara…”
Jess giggled. “No you goose, I mean the talent. The guys. Anyone nice?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? You got a boy back in Queensland, then? Or do you prefer girls?”
“Girls?” I shook my head. “No to all questions.” I felt suddenly empty. For as long as I could remember, Justin had been there. Despite the distance that had grown between us, the attraction had never faded. I couldn’t imagine wanting anyone but him.
“I’ve tried to become a lesbian,” Jess said airily. “I’ve kissed, like, eight girls. But I found that the best part about it is all the male attention you get. That’s how I knew I was doomed to chase guys forever.”
“Eight girls?” I wondered how many guys had made Jess’s list.
She shrugged and made her pigtails bob up and down. “Sure. Everyone’s doing it these days. It’s like a new craze in Hollywood you know; girls kissing their best friends.” She laughed and pushed open the cafeteria door.
“There’s Clara,” I said. “Do you want to sit with her?”
“I suppose. If you want.”
We slipped onto the end of the table where Clara was entrenched in conversation with girls from her aurals class.
“Well he plays alright, but he’s got the worst stage presence I’ve ever seen. Doesn’t even wash his clothes. Looks like he’s wandered out of the pub or something.”
“I heard that’s what he does do. Bottle of red after breakfast every morning.”
“No way! Are you serious? His teacher would kill him!”
“Come on, he’s his teacher’s little pet. How else would he have gotten into the Con? Takes it up the arse with all guns blazing.”
Jess tugged my elbow. “Come and get food with me.”
I raced to the counter. “Who are they talking about?”
She shrugged and rifled through a tray of muesli bars. “Who knows? It’s always someone. Apricot or cherry?”
“How do they know all that stuff?” I asked anxiously.
“They don’t. They’re just making up rumours. I think I’ll have cherry.”
I glanced back to the table. Clara’s blonde haired friend was watching me as she tore her sandwich into pieces. She pulled her eyes away hurriedly. I felt a knot in my stomach.
“That girl’s looking at me,” I hissed. “They’re not talking about me now are they?”
Jess paid for her lunch and pulled the wrapper off her muesli bar. “Who cares? It’s all bullshit anyway.”
“I care! I don’t want people saying stuff about me that isn’t true!”
Jess flashed me a sympathetic smile. “Suck it up, honey. It’s a big part of life here. Putting up with those divas is just something you learn to live with.”
“Do they talk about you?”
She laughed. “They couldn’t care less about me! All I want to do is teach, not get caught up in all those performance fun and games! I’m nothing as far as they’re concerned.” She screwed up her nose. “This tastes like cough medicine. I should have got the apricot. I’d take it as a compliment anyway. If they’re bothered enough to talk about you, it means they think you’re good. They wouldn’t care otherwise.”
“I don’t get it.”
“They only bitch about the people they see as competition,” she said. “Everyone else is just nobody.”
“Were you talking about me at lunch?” I asked Clara at the bathroom sink that night.
She massaged scented moisturiser into her face. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”
I felt suddenly embarrassed and stuck my toothbrush in my mouth. “No reason.”
“No what? I can’t understand you. Take your toothbrush out of your mouth and tell me again.”
“I said, no reason.”
Clara gave a skewed smile. “We were talking about this guy who got the first year scholarship to the Conservatorium. Apparently he’s a bit of an alcoholic. And he’s screwing his teacher. We think that’s how he got the money.”
I held my toothbrush under the tap. “Yeah right.”
Clara turned in surprise and shot me a frosty glare. “Jess has been talking to you, hasn’t she? Did she tell you I’m full of shit? Because I’m not. Those stories are true.”
“Okay,” I squeaked, taken aback by her outburst.
“Jess doesn’t understand that all these things are important,” Clara insisted, her face still half covered in cream. “Imagine if you were thinking of doing a performance with this guy or something. You’d want to know he was an alco before he appeared on stage half smashed. It’s not just dumb gossip.”
“Okay.” I put my brush back in its holder.
“You’ve got toothpaste on the side of your mouth.” Clara peered into the glass and rubbed in the rest of her moisturiser. “So why would we be saying stuff about you? I already told you I thought you were pretty good.” Her synthetic smile returned as suddenly as it had disappeared. She patted me on the back. “You can relax, precious. No one’s talking about you, okay? Especially not me.”
TWENTY-ONE
I called Andrew at the end of my first week, dying to share my new discoveries with him. I felt I had experienced more in a week at the College than I had in the whole rest of my life.
“I can’t believe you gave all this up,” I admitted.
“Yeah well…” He paused. “Sometimes you just do what you have to do.” I wondered if he missed it.
Music From Standing Waves Page 11