Cold Comfort

by Isobel Hart

  *

  Mama worked her magic on Mr Somerville, and miraculously Hardy was allowed to come. He arrived at the cottage looking nervous, a huge rectangular wrapped box under his arm. He greeted my Mama very formally, shaking her hand, which made her smile, before he handed me the box. “Happy birthday, Delilah,” he said.

  I gasped, which made him smile. “I’ve never received a present this big before.” I ripped the paper off and gasped again at what I found inside. It was a guitar. My own guitar. A child-sized one that would be perfect to learn with. “There’s a thing to help you tune it in there too,” he told me as I gawped at the gift.

  “It’s too much, Hardy. Does your father know?” my mother scolded from behind me, when she saw what he had given me.

  He huffed in frustration. “It has nothing to do with him. I bought it with my own money, and to be honest it wasn’t much at all. I wanted to buy it for her,” he insisted. “I want her to learn so she can play it and sing for me again the next time I come back.” I nodded earnestly, promising to be really good by the very next time he saw me.

  We then had what I always remembered, when I looked back on it later, as one of my happiest birthdays; eating pizza before going to watch The Princess Diaries 2. He was one of the only boys in the entire audience, but he didn’t seem to care. At the end of the day, when I was full to the brim with happiness, he smiled at me and asked if I’d had a nice time. I had assured him it had been the best birthday ever, which made him smile again. Then he hugged me tight and kissed me in his place on my forehead.

  “I’m leaving in the morning,” he told me. I had known it was coming, but I hadn’t expected it would be so soon. I was glad he hadn’t told me earlier and had let me enjoy my birthday treat without any thoughts of how much I was going to miss him. “Promise me you’ll learn the guitar,” he continued as he stared at me.

  “I promise, I will,” I swore. I meant every word. I intended to make sure I was the best guitar player he’d ever heard when I played for him the next time he came home.

  Eight years later

  “You play the guitar while I dance,” Emily bossed. I sighed. We’d been doing this almost every day we’d seen each other over the summer holidays. She was really annoying. She seemed to think she was a great dancer, modelling herself on Rihanna. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was nothing like her.

  It was the day before my birthday – I hadn’t even reminded Emily because I didn’t want to have to spend it with her. She’d manage to put the focus on herself, regardless of the fact it was my birthday. I’d be happy just to spend the day with Ma.

  Emily had forced me to learn ‘Umbrella’. So I’d managed to create an acoustic version that sounded quite good. I played, singing the lyrics to myself, as she twirled around like a whirling dervish. When she’d completed her final turns as I strummed the last chords, she collapsed in a heap beside me on the grass. “So, I was thinking,” she began. That was never a good start to a conversation with her, and it invariably ended in trouble for at least one of us. “It’s your birthday tomorrow… Don’t look so surprised,” she scolded when she noticed the expression on my face. “So,” she carried on, “I think you should come for a sleepover.”

  “Aren’t we getting a bit beyond pyjama parties?” I wondered out loud.

  “Well, obviously we wouldn’t be staying in.” Here it comes, I thought. “My parents will be in bed by half ten. There’s a party about twenty minutes away from mine. At the house of one of the kids from St Andrew’s. I know her from that special ballet class I do. She invited me and said I could bring a friend if I wanted. Naturally, with it being your birthday and all, I thought of you.”

  “I don’t know. I promised Ma I’d stay in with her.”

  “You did no such thing, you liar. I already asked her and she said she was fine with you coming to mine for a sleepover. Come on,” she wheedled, “it’ll be fun.” She must have really wanted to do this if she’d already approached Ma. I’d been outmanoeuvred.

  “Why would they even want any of the local kids at their party? They’re a bunch of snobs and you know it.” We both knew it. Emily had tried on numerous occasions to get in with the kids from St Andrew’s, but they’d knocked her back every time. They were a cliquey bunch and wanted nothing to do with the rest of us. There had to be a catch to this invite.

  “Well,” she began, looking guilty as I rolled my eyes. “I kind of promised you’d bring your guitar and play for them. They wanted some live music for out by their bonfire. I told them you were great.” Her praise amazed me. What didn’t surprise me was it had been bestowed only because she needed something from me. She might have been my only friend, but I knew exactly how manipulative she could be.

  “I don’t know. I don’t like playing in front of strangers.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to get over that fear,” she announced. “What’s the point of knowing how to play if you never play for anyone?”

  “I play for myself.”

  She huffed in frustration. “Come on, Lila, it’ll be amazing. Massive house, with a pool, loads of rich boys. We have to go. You’ll ruin my life if you don’t say you’ll do it. I already promised them. You can close your eyes and pretend no one’s there, only me,” she pleaded.

  “I don’t know,” I said again.

  She placed her hands on her hips and scolded me; “What are you, sixteen or sixty? Honestly, I think you’ll become a nun at this rate. Either that or maybe the stories about your love affair with Mr Morgan have some truth to them?” It was a low blow.

  I’d been plagued throughout school with rumours about a supposed love affair with Mr Morgan, the music teacher, because I’d chosen to spend all my free time in the music rooms. Recognising a kindred musical spirit, he’d welcomed my passion and enjoyed being able to share his vast knowledge with someone who actually wanted to learn. He’d taught me the piano and guitar, despite my not being able to afford formal lessons. He’d even lent me a full-sized guitar, when I outgrew my little one, until Ma had managed to buy me one of my own.

  He was kind and thoughtful, and he allowed me access to the music rooms whenever I wanted it, which was often. But it was that favouritism that led to the rumours. The fact he was nearly fifty and had a shock of white hair and big yellow rings under his armpits from excessive sweating, whatever he was wearing and regardless of the temperature outside, did not dampen the school gossips. I’d been labelled as weird, which had made me fear playing publicly, despite Mr Morgan’s encouragement.

  He’d regularly told me that I was good and that my talent was wasted. But I just couldn’t face the sneers from my classmates, who resented anyone who stood out from the crowd. Emily had remained my friend in private, but even she kept her distance when we were in school for fear of being tarred with the same ‘weirdo’ brush.

  “If you’re trying to persuade me to help you out, you’re going about it the wrong way,” I snapped back at her. I hated to be reminded of the prospect of my miserable return to school now the summer had waned. It loomed on the horizon and filled me with dread. The only saving grace was that now I was going into the sixth form, I could spend more time with my beloved music as I studied for my A’ levels.

  “Sorry,” she whined, immediately contrite as she witnessed a rare display of the backbone I usually kept well hidden. Mostly I just fell into line with whatever she wanted – anything for a quiet life. “Please,” she wheedled again. “It will be the most fun ever, and I really want to meet Charles Taylor. They say he’d give Robert Pattinson a run for his money.” I’d heard rumours, mostly from Emily. She’d lusted after Robert Pattinson ever since Twilight, and forced me to watch the films to the point I could recite them word for word. Charles Taylor was the closest thing we had to it in Cambridgeshire, if the rumours were to be believed. She looked so pathetic, as she fluttered her big blue eyes at me. I knew I was being played, but for some reason I couldn’t say no to her. Almost no one could.


  “Alright,” I heard myself saying, as I wondered what I was getting myself into.

  Chapter 4

  Getting ready to go out in complete silence, so as not to wake Emily’s parents, was easier said than done. We’d made a big show of turning in to watch a movie in her room, declining the offer of a snack, whereupon she’d launched herself into her wardrobe and pulled out two outfits. I’d planned to wear what I’d arrived in, jeans and a cute t-shirt, but Emily informed me the dress code was smart. Apparently I needed to wear a dress. She pulled out a small babydoll dress in pale eggshell blue and handed it to me. “I don’t know,” I said as I pulled it on. She was smaller than me, so whereas on her it would have reached nearly to her knee, on me it was only mid-thigh. The one thing we did have in common was an ample cleavage. It was the bane of my life, and while I usually wore sports bras to contain it, Emily was happiest when she had everything out on display. This dress was a case in point. “I can’t wear this,” I stated firmly as I took stock of my reflection in the mirror. She said nothing but handed me a denim jacket to quieten my protests which I gratefully put on, pulling it across my overexposed chest.

  “You look great,” she assured me, a note of resentment in her voice as she took in my appearance. “That colour makes your eyes pop. You’re so lucky,” she said, scowling, “you don’t even need make-up.” It was true. I had been blessed with dark brows and thick eyelashes that framed my unusual eyes, along with full lips that were a natural rosy red. I’d never felt the need to enhance myself with make-up – at least not so far. I slipped on some ballet flats while Emily chose a pair of ridiculously high heels. I knew I had an advantage by being tall with thin legs. It meant I didn’t need to wear heels often, which in this instance was definitely a good thing. I had the feeling that, with the party situated around a bonfire, her heels were going to cause problems.

  “Don’t forget your guitar,” she hissed at me, still obviously resentful of my appearance. I grabbed it by the handle as she listened by the door for any signs of her parents being awake.

  We crept in silence down the stairs, avoiding the step that creaked, before slipping out the back door and then running down the street giggling to where a taxi Emily had arranged earlier was already waiting. “Alright, ladies,” the driver said with a leer when he saw us coming, “where to?” Emily gave the address, enjoying the open fixation the driver seemed to have with her chest as it spilled over the top of the tight dress she was wearing. Her outfit left very little to the imagination and made mine look positively demure. I had wanted to tell her she looked a bit cheap, but I knew an observation like that would only have started a fight.

  After less than ten minutes we pulled up in front of an enormous house, having driven down an extensive driveway, littered with expensive cars which were discarded along its length. I felt a shiver of fear. “Are you sure we’re invited?” I whispered, feeling out of my depth as I took in the sight of multiple glamorous girls dressed to the nines in expensive-looking cocktail dresses. The guys were all in black tie. We looked Top Shop to their Harvey Nichols.

  “I told you,” Emily said, sounding irritated as she thrust a tenner at the driver, “Clarissa invited me. It’s her party.” I climbed slowly out the car, clutching my guitar to my chest like a shield. Emily slid out beside me, and then we walked the short distance to the front door, which already stood open.

  Inside was a heaving mass of people; some standing around in small groups talking and some dancing to the throb of the very loud house music that boomed throughout. I caught sight of a DJ hunched over some decks in the corner of one room we passed and wondered why I had brought my guitar. Emily sensed my reluctance as my pace slowed and grabbed my arm, marching us through the house until she spotted who she was looking for. It was a girl; tall, thin and blonde like a hundred other girls here tonight, holding court amidst an admiring cluster of guys. I figured we had found Clarissa.

  I tried to ignore the eyes I could feel raking over me as we walked up to her.

  “Clarissa,” Emily said brightly. “We’re here.” Clarissa just looked at her blankly for a moment, a sneer spoiling her pretty face as she took in Emily’s appearance and judged it lacking.

  “Who exactly are you?” she asked with disdain, making the group around her laugh. Emily blushed, and for a moment I felt sorry for her. Then Clarissa’s attention shifted, and she noticed me standing there with my guitar. “Oh yes, you’re the bonfire entertainer. It’s outside, obviously. I don’t know what you’re doing in here. Follow the smoke.” The group laughed again at the obvious dismissal and closed ranks around her. I simmered, wishing we could just hightail it home again, but Emily was determined to have her fun.

  “Come on,” she hissed at me, as if somehow her humiliation was my fault, pulling me through the crowds of people until we emerged onto the patio at the back of the house. She paused to get her bearings and then, spotting the obvious glow of a fire pit, pulled me into the darkness. I laughed as she sank heel deep in the lawn, but she just scowled at me, so I shut up.

  I was grateful, as the darkness enveloped me, to be away from the intensity of the house and the unwelcoming crowds. The glow from the fire as we approached seemed warm and inviting by comparison. A small group sat quietly around what appeared to be a proper fire pit. I had to give it to Clarissa, or her parents at least; they didn’t do things by halves. Log benches were placed strategically around the pit, a couple of them unoccupied. Emily tugged me towards the first one that seemed vacant. The group, mostly men with one token girl, looked up as we walked up.

  “Hello, hello, who have we here?” a boy drawled at our approach. “Move into the light so I can see you properly.” Obediently we both stepped closer, into the glow cast by the flames. I could feel the overt scrutiny of the group, particularly that of the boy who had spoken. It was fairly obvious that all the kids here were older than us. They must have just finished their A’ levels and been preparing for their gap years or university. I felt intimidated by the cool, collected way they had about them, embarrassed by my lack of experience in dealing with situations like this. I stared at the floor, my face set, unable to look anyone in the eye. It was only when Emily squeezed my arm, and I could sense her obvious excitement, that I finally looked up. The boy who had spoken, I quickly realised from his appearance, was Charles Taylor. Emily had given me a very comprehensive description, and from what I could see she hadn’t particularly exaggerated. For once.

  Emily preened herself under his scrutiny, ignoring the unwelcoming vibes from the girl currently positioned on his lap. “Not Clarissa’s usual type of friends,” Charles said, dismissing Emily immediately. “Ah, a guitar!” he exclaimed with obvious delight as he peered through the darkness at me. “I specifically asked Clarissa to find someone who could play. She bitched like mad about it. Still, here you are,” he said, looking at me. His eyes ran up my legs and paused at my cleavage as I struggled to both hold the guitar and cover myself with the jacket at the same time. I blushed and he laughed. “Sweet,” he said with a grin. “I hope you can play as nicely as you look. Sit down,” he said, pointing at a space.

  Emily scowled at me as we took a seat on one of the spare log benches, away from the downward drift of smoke, and made ourselves comfortable. I got my guitar out and spent a few minutes tuning it. “What do you want to drink?” Emily asked as she stood, making a production of brushing herself down. I knew it was for effect. She wanted to draw attention to her assets.

  “Just water,” I replied, knowing my throat would dry out if I sang for any length of time. I didn’t drink alcohol anyway. I’d tried it a few times – Mama had always been open to me trying things – but I’d never really liked the taste.

  “We’ve got some bottles of water in here,” Charles supplied helpfully, pointing to a bucket filled with ice that contained a selection of bottled drinks. Emily grabbed herself a beer.

  “Charles, she’s awful,” the girl on Charles’ lap intoned nasally, after I’d
been tuning for a couple of minutes. “Make her stop.”

  “She’s tuning up, you silly mare,” Charles informed her dismissively. He pushed her off his lap so she landed on the bench to his side, while he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs in anticipation.

  I felt a pinch on my leg. “He’s mine,” Emily hissed. “Don’t forget.”

  “I don’t want any of them,” I said, irritated. Unfortunately it was loud enough for Charles to hear, and he raised an eyebrow in amusement, which made me blush again.

  “Hurry up and play,” Emily said impatiently. She really had little appreciation of music, or what was required to make it sound beautiful, concerned only with appearance. I ignored her, swallowing my fear as I prayed nerves would not lock my throat down. I closed my eyes like we’d planned, took a deep breath and began to gently strum, choosing my acoustic version of ‘Umbrella’ to begin with.

  This was home for me. Playing my guitar gave me pleasure like nothing else, and I’d always lost myself within music. I quickly segued from ‘Umbrella’ to ‘The A Team’ by Ed Sheeran, before moving on to some of the older songs I adored, like Dolly Parton’s ‘Jolene’ and Bob Marley’s ‘Redemption Song’. I barely even opened my eyes in between, oblivious to my growing audience.

  It was only when the rasp of my voice finally took its toll on my throat, and I needed a drink of water, that I finally paused. As I opened my eyes I was startled to find the group now stood six deep around us, all watching me. I blushed as they applauded with genuine appreciation on their faces. Emily sat basking in my reflected glory, telling anyone who would listen that I was with her. She had manoeuvred herself around the group so she was now seated beside a good-looking blonde guy. Charles Taylor was next to me, his previous companion nowhere to be seen.

  “Well, well, well,” he said as he handed me a bottle of water without me even needing to ask. “You’re quite good, do you know that?” I said nothing as I removed the cap and raised the bottle to my lips. He shifted closer. I pretended not to notice, focused only on the soothing liquid now cooling my parched throat. “Where did you learn to play?” he tried again.