“Are you sure about this piece?” my teacher asked. “It’s quite a challenge.”
“I’m up for it,” I assured him. I couldn’t imagine playing anything else.
I hurried from my lesson to Matt’s for a rehearsal. My train had been delayed and it was dark and wet when I arrived at the station. I power-walked to the apartment, backpack on one shoulder and violin case on the other. I let myself inside and dropped my things in the door.
“Sorry I’m late,” I puffed, flinging open my case. I looked up. The lounge was empty. The windows were glazed in condensation and I could smell garlic and tomato sauce.
Matt poked his head out of the kitchen. “Hey. You’re the first. I’m making pasta if you want some.”
I took off my wet jacket and pressed my hands against the radiator. “I thought we were starting at seven.”
Matt shrugged. “Seven-ish. Want a beer?”
“No thanks. Can I use your room to practise while we wait?”
“If you want.”
I pulled the Dvorak score out of my bag and disappeared into Matt’s bedroom. I played slowly through the opening theme and smiled. Even at half speed it still made me shiver. Still made my dreams stand out clearly in front of me. I played it again, letting the last notes fade into the sound of rain against the glass.
“Guess what?” Matt appeared in the doorway with a bowl in his hands. “We’ve got our first gig! Next Saturday at the Royal.”
I lowered my violin. “A pub gig?” I planted my hand on my hip; diva-esque. “I’m here to play in the concert halls, not some dodgy bar.”
Matt laughed gently. “Everyone has to start somewhere, princess! Sorry I couldn’t bust us straight into Carnegie Hall! It’s a good gig,” he promised. “It’s no dive. And we need to get our name out there.” He smiled and kissed the side of my lips. “It’ll be Carnegie Hall for us one day. I promise.”
I couldn’t help returning his grin. “Okay.”
“Good.” He put down his bowl and flicked my concerto shut. “Now I want to hear some real music. None of that crap.” He slid his new score onto my stand and stood behind me.
I scanned through the piece and plucked out the first phrase.
“Like that rhythm?” asked Matt. “It’s Salsa. One and two and …” He tapped out the beat against the top of my thighs and suddenly I wasn’t thinking about music anymore.
“Play it,” said Matt. I lifted my bow and added in the notes as he continued tapping.
“Now you’re talking.” He chuckled close to my ear. “I bet Dvorak never wrote anything like this, did he.”
As I cooked dinner the next night, I cranked up my stereo with a Salsa CD Matt had lent me. Jess was out and I danced through the empty house, slicing carrots in time with the exotic dance rhythms.
There was a faint knock at the door. I leapt over the couch and turned down the volume. A second knock came louder. I clicked off the CD and opened the door.
“Hayley? I thought you were going back to Acacia.”
Hayley’s eyes were red rimmed, her cheeks stained with tears. “I couldn’t go yet.” She wrung her hands together under the cuffs of a faded pink hoodie. “I’m so sorry to just turn up like this. It’s just… I- Are you busy?”
“No. No.” I ushered her inside and hugged her tightly. “God Hayles, are you alright? What’s happened?”
She lowered her head and her curls fell in pieces over her face. “There’s something I need to say,” she mumbled. “I didn’t know who else to ask. Can I tell you something, Abby? Please?”
“Of course you can.” I pulled her onto the couch. “Anything. You were always there for me.”
Hayley wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Thank you.”
“Do you want some coffee or something? Or water? Or my housemate bought this weird melon juice…”
“Please don’t hate me,” said Hayley.
I looked at her warily. “What have you done?” My stomach began to twist.
She burst into a fresh flood of tears. “I’ve kept this a secret for so long. I’m going crazy. You have to understand.”
“Understand what?” I squeezed her hand. “It’s okay Hayles, you can tell me. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”
“You promise? Really?”
“I swear.”
She inhaled slowly. “Oliver…” A rush of tears caught in her throat and she stopped abruptly.
“Oliver?” I repeated. “What about him? Is he alright?”
“He’s not…” Hayley drew in her breath again. “He’s not Andrew’s son.”
“What?” I pulled away sharply and stared at her, pathetic and teary on my op shop couch. “What?”
“I’m such a terrible person.” She hid her face against her shoulder. Finally, she looked up. “Please say something.”
“What exactly would you like me to say?”
“I don’t know. I know nothing could ever make it okay.”
“Well you’re right about that!” I stood up and folded my arms. “Who’s his father?”
She buried her head in the couch. “It doesn’t matter. It’s no one. I hardly even knew him.”
“You hardly even knew him?”
“We were at this stupid party,” she said, choking on her tears. “I’d drunk too much and Andrew and I had been fighting and-”
“You were fighting? That’s supposed to make it alright?”
Hair clung to her wet cheeks. “I was so young. I was nineteen, for God’s sake! I was your age!”
“I can’t believe you’re trying to make excuses!”
“I’m not. I know there’s no excuse.”
I planted my hands on my hips. “Are you ever planning on telling Andrew?”
Hayley balled herself up in the corner of the couch. “Don’t you think I’ve been trying? I’ve been trying to find a way to tell him for the past seven years!” She sniffed. “I just know I’m going to lose him.”
“So you should!” I said icily. “Did you expect me to tell you otherwise?”
“You don’t know what it’s been like,” she coughed. “It’s been killing me, Abby. I hoped you would understand.”
“Are you serious? Do you have any idea what Andrew gave up for you?”
She wiped her eyes with the palm of her hand. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I should never have come. I just had to tell someone.”
“Well why the hell did you have to tell me?”
“I just thought…” she spluttered. “You always used to come to me…”
“I used to come to you with a primary school crush!” I cried. “This is a just a little different! What the hell am I going to do with this now?”
“Nothing! You promised me you wouldn’t say a word!”
“And how am I ever supposed to look Andrew in the eye, knowing what I know?”
A hiss rose from the kitchen as my carrot pot bubbled over. I rushed out of the lounge and flicked off the stove.
“Abby?” Hayley coughed.
I didn’t move. “Just go.”
She sniffed. “I’m going to tell him somehow. I promise. Soon.”
“Yeah,” I said coldly. “Sure.”
Hayley left without speaking again and the door echoed as it fell shut. Involuntarily, I tapped an anxious salsa beat against the bench top. My head swarming, the rhythmic drumming drifted until it had struck up with the quavers of the Elgar E Minor. The Elgar E Minor that sung of confusion and regret. The Elgar E Minor that made me ache.
My mobile rang and scared the crap out of me.
“Hey beautiful,” said Matt. “I finished work early. Want some company?”
Sometimes I wanted to be Hayley so much it hurt. And sometimes I was overwhelmed with gratitude for just being me.
THIRTY
I stared blankly at the computer screen. My techniques assignment stared back.
I nibbled chocolate off the edge of a Mars Bar.
I typed some random notes into the computer.
I del
eted the random notes.
I changed the font of the title.
With a huge sigh, I glanced around the empty computer lab. Screen-savers spun with stars and rainforest panoramas. Torn scrap paper was scattered over the carpet and a pile of empty instrument cases were crammed under the desks.
Where were the instruments?, I wondered vaguely.
Above my head, the air conditioner whirred. I zipped up my jacket and shivered. Matt appeared in the doorway. He sat at the computer beside me and checked his email.
“Matt!” I cried. “Go finish your assignment before you fail composition!”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll do it later.” He leant his head on my shoulder and kissed my neck. “What are you doing?”
I rubbed my eyes. “This stupid assignment is going nowhere. I can’t seem to concentrate on anything at the moment.”
“Anything except what Hayley told you,” Matt corrected.
I nodded.
He rested his hand under my ponytail. “I told you. She had no right to say anything to you.”
“I know that. But it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.”
I had tried to forget everything Hayley had told me, but it hadn’t worked. Each time I pulled out the Dvorak concerto, my mind tangled over itself, thinking of Andrew.
What would he do if he knew, I wondered? Raise Ollie as his own, I had no doubt. But would he try and resurrect his career? Make one last grab at the dream he’d sacrificed?
I couldn’t imagine giving up my dream for anyone. Not even Matt. Did I not love him enough, I wondered? Did I not love him as much as Andrew loved Hayley? I didn’t think it was possible to love anyone more. And yet crouched in the back of my mind was the belief that if I ever had to choose between Matt and my career, music would win out every time.
“Deal with?” said Matt. “You don’t have to deal with it, Abby. It’s got nothing to do with you.” He pushed gently against my shoulder to make me face him. “Okay? Just forget about it.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Why the hell are you taking this so personally? It’s none of your business.” He paused. “You’re homesick aren’t you.”
“No,” I said quickly. Matt knew nothing about my relationship with my family and I planned to keep it that way.
“You know it’s okay if you are.”
“I’m not,” I assured him. “I’m really happy here with you.”
“I’m glad,” said Matt, covering my hand with his. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t miss your old home too. Maybe you should go back and visit in semester break.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
I turned hurriedly back to the computer. “Can you look at my assignment?”
Matt popped his gum and scrolled quickly through my manuscript. “It’s fine,” he told me. “Let’s go home.”
I turned off the computer and trailed him out of the Con. The last lectures had finished and the foyer was being vacuumed.
“How was the junior school orchestra?” Matt asked as we walked hand in hand to the station. I had started tutoring ten of the world’s worst young violinists at a nearby primary school.
“Horrendous,” I said. “I hate children.” I dragged my feet through a pile of crisp brown leaves.
Matt laughed. “So quit.”
“I can’t. I need the money. I was way too close to not being able to pay my rent last month.” A flock of bats glided over our heads as we passed the dark market.
“Why don’t you ask your parents for a loan?”
I shook my head.
“How long has it been since you spoke to them?” Matt asked.
Seven months, two weeks and one day. I shrugged. “I don’t know. What’s with all the questions?”
“Just trying to help.”
“Well don’t.”
“Alright, alright.” He squeezed my hand. “Calm down.”
We stopped outside the station.
“Are you going to practise my stuff tonight?” Matt asked.
I smiled. “Sure. But I’ve got a quartet performance on Saturday before the Standing Waves gig, so I need to run through that too. And I guess I should do some of my concerto.”
He ran his thumbs over my palm. “I’m exhausted just listening to you. I was going to see if you wanted to come over, but it doesn’t sound like there’s room for me in that schedule!”
“Not tonight,” I said apologetically. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sure.” He kissed me. “See you then.”
I ran down the station steps and felt a stale wind shiver down my neck.
That weekend, we crammed ourselves onto a tiny pub stage for Standing Waves’ first gig. Matt and I stayed behind afterwards for a celebratory drink with Clara and Julian. Clara and I slid into a booth at the back of the pub, while the boys disappeared to the bar.
“What did you think?” I asked her.
She shrugged. “I think you’re wasting your time. I mean, Matt’s stuff is okay, but how can you find it as rewarding as playing all the great composers? It’s just a bunch of you jamming in a pub. How can that compare to playing first violin in a Beethoven symphony?”
I didn’t bother reminding her that as lowly first-years we’d been relegated to the back of the second violins in the Con orchestra, where we played harmony and listened to the double bassists crack dirty jokes.
“Because,” I said. “It’s Matt. This music is Matt. It’s like looking inside him. And I love him. Anyway, I can do both. They’re hardly going to kick me out of the Con for playing Matt’s music.”
Clara twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “So you’re doing it for Matt.”
“I’m not doing it for him. I’m doing it because of him.”
“What’s the difference?”
The boys returned with a jug of beer and a stack of glasses. They slid into the booth beside us.
“So three people just stopped me and told me how good they thought we were,” said Matt.
“We were good, weren’t we.” Julian filled the pots and passed them around.
Matt nodded to the rock cover band that had taken the next slot. “Way better than these guys anyway.”
I elbowed him. “Don’t be up-yourself.”
“To an awesome first gig,” said Julian, raising his glass.
Matt grinned. “The next one will be even better. I’m working on this great piece with Celtic percussion.” He squeezed my knee. “It’s got a great violin solo in it too.”
Clara smirked. “You’re turning into a real little hillbilly aren’t you, Abby?”
Matt raised his eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Geez. Don’t be so defensive.”
Matt turned to me. “Why do you let her speak to you like that?”
I took a nervous sip of beer. “She’s only joking.”
“No she’s not.”
“Of course I am,” said Clara. “Obviously…”
“Seriously, Abby,” said Matt. “You go on and on about how playing the violin is your one great passion and then you let Clara say what she likes about it.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “Do you two mind taking your domestic elsewhere? Some of us are trying to have a nice night here.”
“She’s right,” I murmured to Matt. “Let’s not talk about this now.”
“I want to talk about this now. You let her walk all over you.” He waved his glass at Clara. “You know what I think? I think you can’t cope with the fact that Abby has a thousand times more talent than you.”
Clara laughed incredulously. “What?” She whacked Julian on the arm. “Hello? Are you going to speak ever? A little support wouldn’t go astray!”
Julian put down his glass obediently, but Matt charged on before he could speak.
“She’s a more intuitive musician than you’ll ever be. You’re just jealous and pathetic.”
“Jealous?” snap
ped Clara. “You think I’m jealous of her? With her disgusting junkie brother and parents that don’t even speak to her?”
My stomach plunged. I stared into my glass, anger welling inside me. I clenched my teeth and felt my cheeks grow hot.
“What?” Matt turned to me. “Abby? Your parents don’t speak to you? Why not?”
I slid across the seat and pushed against his shoulder, suddenly desperate to escape the booth. Desperate to leave the noisy bar where my shameful secrets hung in the air for all to see.
“Let me out,” I hissed. “I want to go.”
Matt stood up and I slid past him.
You’re not going yet are you?” said Clara. “I was just starting to enjoy myself.”
Matt took me back to his place. We climbed into bed and he curled his legs around mine.
“What happened with your parents?” he asked.
I told him about Nick and about Sarah’s phone call on the day of my audition. As I spoke, I felt an odd sense of detachment, as though it had all happened to someone else.
Matt stroked my hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I’m ashamed of it,” I admitted. “I thought it would turn you away. But now I’ve told you, it’s like it never happened. Like it was a different life.”
“It can be,” he said. “You don’t ever have to go back. Your home is here now. If your parents don’t want to be part of your life, it’s their loss.” He held his lips against mine.
“I love you,” I whispered. “So much.”
It surprised me how easily things happened with Matt. Admittedly, sometimes too easily. It made me think of Justin and the years of tension we had built up. I remembered the way the touch of his hand had sent a bolt through my body. Catching his eye had made my cheeks fill with colour. And then, it had all been for nothing. Everything I thought I had wanted hadn’t really been right at all.
Matt met me outside my master class. I had spent the last hour listening to Clara’s flawless Brahms Scherzo and smiled in relief at the sight of his face.
“Don’t you have a composition lesson now?” I asked, winding my scarf around my neck. Cold wind whipped my hair against my cheeks.
Music From Standing Waves Page 17