Music From Standing Waves (14 page)

“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.

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 upstairs 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.”