“I saw a lady up the back having a bit of smile,” said Richard.
“There you go,” I said. “We brightened her day.”
Clara didn’t join in Roman’s laughter. “Get a clue, Abby. You know this is all your fault. If you’d been at the last two rehearsals you might have had some idea of what was going on!”
“I’ve had Standing Waves gigs the last two nights,” I said. “You guys told me it was okay! It’s not like I just chose not to come!”
“You may as well have,” snorted Clara. “You sounded like shit.”
I glared at her. “Excuse me?”
Roman took my arm. “Hey,” he said gently. “Don’t start.”
“Don’t start? I’m not starting anything! She’s the one-”
Clara shook her head. “You’re pathetic. You and your playing.”
I lurched at her wildly and felt Roman grab my waist.
“Leave it,” he said. “She’s just trying to wind you up.”
“Well what do you expect?” shot Clara. “She made us look like complete idiots!” She turned her flashing eyes back to me. “You’re not in that little hick town of yours any more, you know. You keep wasting your time on that Standing Waves crap and you won’t be able to score bottom desk in a high school orchestra.”
I pushed past her and packed up my violin in silence. I marched out of the hall. Clara’s voice was just loud enough for me to hear.
“What an exit. Little diva...”
I skulked to my lesson with a grand total of one hour’s concerto practice for the week.
John was waiting in the doorway. “Have you warmed up?”
“A little bit,” I lied.
He picked up my scores and sat the Dvorak on the music stand. I launched into the opening theme. My hand tangled on the fingerboard and the bow dived awkwardly over the strings. I couldn’t even remember how the melody was supposed to sound.
John interrupted sharply. “Stop.”
I stared into the carpet, glad he had brought my performance to an end. Rummaging through his bag for a pencil, he stood at my side, turning the music back to the start.
“Slowly,” he said. “From the beginning.”
I drew in my breath and sat my violin back on my shoulder. John pointed patronisingly to the wrong notes with his pencil.
“F sharp,” he prompted. “Back to bar ten.”
I repeated the passage, again falling to F natural.
John circled the note roughly. “Slower.”
I played the section without fault, before striking F natural on the repeat.
“No!” John hurled his pencil across the room. It bounced wildly off the wall.
“I’m sorry,” I squeaked.
“Tell me Miss Austin, have you practised at all this week?”
I swallowed hard, glad he didn’t wait for my response.
“This is the Conservatorium of Music,” he said. “Not kindergarten. You cannot come to a lesson without putting in sufficient time and effort! It is a waste of my time and yours.” He marched across the room; arms folded. “I don’t know why you stopped taking this seriously, Abigail. I just hope you can pull yourself into shape before you completely undo all the work you’ve done towards this competition. I thought it was important to you.”
“It is,” I stuttered.
“Well it doesn’t seem that way to me.” John snapped my books closed and held them out to me. “I will see you in one week, provided you find time in your busy schedule to remember why it is you are actually here.”
Tears of humiliation pricked my eyes and I hurriedly blinked them away.
Matt was waiting in the foyer, his legs dangling over the arm of a couch. I raced past him into the street.
“Hey!” he called. “Abby!” He chased me out the door and grabbed my hand. Tears spilled down my cheeks.
“What happened?”
I wiped my eyes with my palm. “John kicked me out of my lesson,” I sobbed. “I played so badly he wouldn’t even listen to me.”
“So you had a bad lesson,” said Matt. “Who cares?”
“I do!”
“Why?”
“Why?” I repeated. “I moved to the other end of the country to do this! It’s the only thing I ever wanted!”
“Calm down,” said Matt. “You’re making a scene.”
“So what? I’ve ruined everything!”
“Geez. Have you got PMS or something?”
I pushed Matt away and raced towards the tram-stop. He ran after me and grabbed my swinging bag.
“Let go!” I cried. “I don’t want to talk to you!”
Jess bounced into the lounge room giggling. “There are possums in the tree out the front! They were so cute, like frolicking and stuff, then one tried to claw the other one’s eyes out!”
I didn’t look up from my music. Jess glanced over my shoulder.
“Oh we’re back to good old Dvorak now are we? What happened to all that Standing Waves stuff?”
“It was a waste of time,” I snapped, bowing religiously through the triplets. “I completely lost sight of everything I came to the Con for.”
I was furious with myself. I’d become a half-arsed, amateur muso. The one who forgot her scores. Missed the repeats. Forgot to play the G flats. I was throwing away the opportunity of a lifetime.
Jess raised her eyebrows and sat on the bench, swinging her legs. “Wow, someone’s cracked it. What happened? And please don’t tell me this is all because of that little hissy-fit you had with Clara.”
I sighed. “John kicked me out of my lesson.”
“Ouch. Come and see the possums!”
“Would you get over the stupid possums?”
Jess chewed a strand of hair. “So what does Matt think about the new you?”
I twisted my stand so I faced the wall. “I don’t care.”
THIRTY-THREE
Matt took me to dinner for our six-month anniversary.
“Sorry for being a dick about your lesson,” he told me over the phone. “Are we still cool?”
He met me outside my music history lecture and we walked wordlessly towards Lygon Street. The street lamps flickered on. Matt slid his hand into mine and traced his finger over my knuckles.
“Are you feeling better about your concerto now?”
“I guess. Apart from the fact that I’m trying to make up for six months of missed violin practice.”
Matt dropped my hand. “Six months? Are you blaming me?”
I closed my eyes. “No. I just meant…” I trailed out and slid my arm under his thick woollen coat. We walked in silence.
“I need to quit Standing Waves,” I said finally.
Matt stopped walking. “Why?”
People elbowed their way past us.
“I’m trying to do too much,” I said. “I need more time to practise.”
“So quit that stupid quartet! I need you in Standing Waves.”
“I can’t quit the quartet,” I said. “They’re more serious than you.”
“What?” Matt dug his hands into his pockets. He marched off suddenly through the crowded street and I had to weave through outdoor tables to keep up with him.
“I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I-”
“I haven’t booked anywhere,” Matt interrupted.
I forced a smile. “Anywhere is fine. You choose.”
“How about pasta?”
“Sure.” After working four nights that week at the restaurant, the thought of pasta made my stomach churn, but I didn’t want to disrupt the peace and say so.
I followed Matt into a crowded restaurant and let him order our drinks.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, looking across the table at him. “I know I’ve let you down. I just need to do what I came here to do. I can’t lose sight of that.”
Matt nodded. “Okay,” he said defeatedly. His voice lost its brassiness. “I just don’t want to lose you altogether.”
I took the beer bottle out of his
hand and covered his fingers with mine. “You’re not going to lose me.”
“Come back to my place,” said Matt after dinner. He kissed me lightly on the side of my lips.
I shot him an apologetic glance. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to go home and work on the concerto.”
He dropped my hands and sighed. “I thought this was supposed to be a special occasion.”
“It is,” I said. “It’s been nice.”
He shook his head and strode down the street. I grabbed his arm and pulled him towards me.
“Please don’t be angry.”
“Why should I be angry? My girlfriend would rather spend the night with her violin than with me.”
“It’s not like that.” I tried not to let my voice rise. “You know how important you are to me. I love you, Matt.”
He dug his hands into his pockets. “Not half as much as you love that damn violin.”
“It’ll only be like this til the competition’s over. Then I’ll make it up to you. Everything will go back to normal, I promise.”
“Yeah,” said Matt. “Until next time you’ve got something to practise for.”
“You’re a musician. I thought you would understand. You know how much I want to be a performer.”
Matt sighed and dropped his voice. “Yeah sure.” He pushed against my shoulder to direct me down the street. “Do what you have to do, Abby.” He rattled his keys over his finger. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”
I was ten minutes early for the next quartet rehearsal. I had practised so much my part had featured in my dream. I opened the door of the rehearsal room and Clara barged out in front of me.
“Oh, Abby. Didn’t you get my message?”
“What message?”
“I left a message on your voicemail. At least I meant to. I guess I forgot… Sorry.” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Anyway, you’re out of the quartet. We all feel that you’re dragging our standard down.”
“What?” I tried to push past her. Her arm shot out to block my path.
“Sorry,” she sung. “But this is a professional ensemble. Can’t have you turning up unrehearsed to performances.”
“Oh come on!” I dropped my voice. “Look. I know last week was rubbish. But I know my part today. I know it backwards.” I glanced over Clara’s shoulder into the rehearsal room. Roman was avoiding my glance; studying the contents page of his score like he’d never seen anything so enthralling. A weedy looking male violinist was bowing through the part I had spent all weekend perfecting.
“Roman!” I hissed.
He glanced up guiltily. “I’m really sorry, Abby. The others outvoted me. There’s nothing I can do.”
Clara patted my arm. “You understand, don’t you? It’s just that we don’t feel your musical style is right for this group. Sorry about that.”
I rushed home and thrust the Dvorak piano reduction in Jess’s hands. “Please practise this with me. I have to win this competition.”
Jess glanced at the score. “Don’t you have a quartet rehearsal now?”
I didn’t answer.
“Okay, fine. Let me just make a coffee first. You want one?”
“No. Now. Come on, please.”
“Alright, alright. Geez. What’s the matter with you?” Jess sat at the piano and opened the music. I tuned my violin.
“I’m playing the first movement,” I said.
“I know. I’ve heard you play it five million times.” Jess reached out and rubbed my arm. “What’s going on? Did something happen at your rehearsal?”
“Nothing happened. Can we just play?”
Jess launched into the introduction.
“That chord was wrong,” I said.
She glared at me. “I’m sight-reading. Give me a break.”
“Sorry.”
“I’ve got my own practice to do, you know,” said Jess. “If you’re going to start acting like a crazy person you can find someone else to accompany you.”
“Please, Jess,” I begged. “I have to do this well. I can’t stand the thought of being a hack.”
She sighed. “You are not a hack. Honestly. Why would you even think that?”
“It’s not just me that thinks it. Clara thinks it. Richard thinks it. So does my teacher. I can’t be crap at this, Jess. I can’t be. If I don’t have this, then I don’t have anything. My whole life’s been for nothing.”
“Well that’s just sad then.” Jess turned away from me. “It’s sad and pathetic that you have nothing in your life besides your violin.”
My head ached. My neck and shoulders were iron. The hems of my jeans were drenched and water had soaked through holes in my sneakers. I shivered and pulled my beanie over my ears. It was almost October, but the Melbourne spring still seemed far away.
The windows of the train were dirty and streaked with rain. I rested my head against the glass. A group of women in suits were discussing real estate. Opposite, an old man in a fisherman’s hat was drinking from a carton of milk. I slid my mobile out of my bag, hoping for a message from Matt. We hadn’t spoken since our dinner and I wondered if he would be at Julian’s for the Friday night ritual. I hoped Clara would be too busy practising to make an appearance. I couldn’t stand the thought of spending an evening with her, but I was desperate to see Matt.
‘c u 2nite?,’ I texted. I stared at the screen, trying to conjure up a response. I didn’t want this coldness between us. Just six weeks, I wanted to say, then the competition would be over. Just six more weeks, then I could go back to loving him the most.
Brown Dog pressed his nose through a hole in Julian’s side gate. He let out a yelp as I trudged up the front steps. The oak tree was covered in tiny green shoots. Beneath them, the branches were gnarled and crooked; grey like the sky. I let myself inside out of the icy wind.
The lounge had been tidied. It seemed bigger without its empty yoghurt tubs and overflowing ashtrays. The couch had been vacuumed free of dog hair and the coffee table shone.
Jess was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her techniques assignment spread across her lap. “What the bloody hell is a Neapolitan sixth?” she demanded. “Hello? Anyone?”
I slid onto the piano seat beside Matt.
“How’s the practice going?” he asked dutifully, pounding out a dissonant chord progression.
I wove my hands together. “Fine.”
He stood up, leaving me alone at the piano. I stared at the yellowing keys for a while, then hovered in the kitchen doorway.
Clara looked up from the sink. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing you tonight. I heard you’ve been going twenty-four-seven on that Dvorak of yours.”
I was silent.
“Good thing too. It’d be a real shame if we weren’t both at our best for the competition. You know.”
“I’ll be at my best,” I said. “Don’t worry about that.”
She gave me a cold smile.
“I am officially failing techniques!” Jess burst into the kitchen with an empty plate and glass. She tossed them into the sink. Soapy water splashed onto Clara’s blouse. She flicked off the suds with her fingernail and shot Jess a frosty glance. Jess’s eyes flickered between me and Clara.
“Geez. Who died? Come on girls, it’s Friday night. All diva tantrums to be left outside.”
I began to gather the dishes from the kitchen table.
“Where’s Jules?” Jess asked.
“Got called into work,” Clara said flatly. “He’ll be home later, I guess.” She sighed and rubbed her red eyes against her shoulder. I paused. She looked exhausted. I took the plate out of her hand.
“Jess is right,” I said. “This competition is stressful enough. What’s the point of making it worse for each other?”
Clara marched over to the stove and grabbed a saucepan of solidified spaghetti. “Welcome to the real world,” she snorted. Jess sighed loudly. I listened to the scrape of metal on metal as Clara tried to empty the pasta into the bin.
“The lounge room,” I volunteered. “It looks great. Were you the one that cleaned it?”
“He didn’t thank me.”
I forced a smile. “You know what Julian’s like, he probably didn’t notice. I wouldn’t take it personally.”
Clara put down the saucepan and stared into the frothy water. I wondered if she was going to cry. I picked up a soggy tea towel and pretended to dry the dishes.
Julian burst in around eleven, a fat brown dog trotting at his heels. For a moment, no one spoke. Matt lowered his beer and looked across the room at Clara.
“This is Max,” said Julian. “I found him running down the middle of the road.”
“Julian…” Clara began. “Another dog?” She paused. “Oh God…”
“He was lost! What was I supposed to do?”
“The pound? The police? The vet?”
Julian ignored her and strode into the kitchen. The rest of us sat in silence on the lounge floor. Fumbling in his bag for a cigarette, Matt slipped onto the front porch. Jess stood up too.
“I’m going home,” she said, though she was already in her pyjamas. She grabbed her bag and disappeared out the door. Clara followed Julian into the kitchen.
“Look,” she groaned. “You can’t leave that thing here. It smells revolting. And you already have a dog, remember?”
I could tell he wasn’t listening. “Clar,” he kept saying. “It’s late. I’ll take him to the Dog’s Home in the morning.”
“This is why you can’t find a housemate! Because you’re so…” Clara began, then faded out. She marched into the bedroom and slammed the door. Julian emptied a tin of dog food into a salad bowl for Max. On the other side of the door, Brown Dog howled and dug his monstrous claws into the fly wire.
I pulled the spare mattress out from behind the couch and planted it on the lounge room floor. I curled up in one corner, hugging my knees. The blanket was cold and itchy. It smelled of dog. I could hear Max scuttling around in the spare room; soft clinking as he padded through empty beer bottles and the sickening crack as Julian’s trumpet toppled off its stand.
Music From Standing Waves Page 19