Music From Standing Waves (16 page)

“You are capable of everything I ask of you,”
he said as he pushed me harder and harder. “You wouldn’t be here if
you weren’t.”

They were words I had needed to hear. Every
time I pulled my violin out to practise in the dorm, Clara would
magically appear.

“Why are you bowing it like that? Are you
happy with that phrasing? Oh wow, Abby, that sounds so
nice…”

John threw countless new composers at me;
opening my mind to Nielsen, Reger, Ysaye. Their music took me
places I had never imagined.

I began to pity the teachers of non-musical
subjects. To us, anything other than music was just an
inconvenience. English essays were scrawled on the train. Maths
exercises copied from the back of the textbook. Every second of
spare time was thrown into preparing for recitals and auditions. We
dreamed of being at the Con and being able to immerse ourselves
entirely in the one thing we loved.

Clara organised a practice schedule for our
dorm room.

“We need to give each other space to prepare
for auditions,” she said. “When it’s my turn to practise, I’d
appreciate it if you went somewhere else. I’ll do the same for
you.”

I’d announced to John that I was playing an
Ysaye sonata for my audition.

“No,” he said. “Play the Mozart instead.”

“Why? I played the Ysaye correctly. You just
said so.”

“This isn’t about the notes, Abby. It’s about
what the music is saying. What it’s feeling. When you play Ysaye
you’re so focused on technique that there’s no emotion in your
performance. You need to feel what the composer was feeling. You
need to make us feel it too.”

My final year twelve exam was a literature
essay on a book I’d only read half of. Afterwards, Jess and some
others went out to celebrate, but I had an extra lesson scheduled
with John. I rushed home to get my violin before Clara’s allotted
practice time started.

When I climbed the stairs to the dorm, Nick
was waiting outside.

I stared. “What the hell are you doing
here?”

My brother was slumped against the door,
running dirty fingernails up and down his arms. His jeans and
t-shirt were grimy and stained; eyes like a polluted sea. He
climbed to his feet.

“Is that how you greet your brother after
being away for a year?”

“It is when you turn up unannounced at my
dorm room looking like you’ve crawled out of a sewer. How did you
get in here?”

Nick sniffed loudly. “I waited downstairs til
someone buzzed open the door. Then I just came up and found your
room number. Easy.”

I clicked open the door and he followed me
inside.

“How did you get down here?” I dropped my
school bag.

“Got a ride with one of the guys from the
farm. Just felt like getting away. I thought you might be happy to
see me. Although clearly I was wrong.”

I snorted. “Please. You’re so filthy I don’t
even want to go near you.”

“Well fuck you too,” said Nick. “Let me use
your shower, alright?”

I gestured to the bathroom. “Don’t use the
pink towel. Clara will have a stroke.”

Nick mooched into the bathroom and slammed
the door. The shower spurted to life. I paced around the dorm
chewing my nails, listening to Nick’s hacking cough and a loud
crash as the shampoo bottles hit the floor. After about ten
minutes, he emerged with a towel around his waist and plonked
himself on the edge of my bed. Water ran down his wiry brown
shoulders.

“You can’t stay here,” I said. “We’re not
allowed to have strange men in our dorm rooms.”

“I’m not a strange man. I’m your
brother.”

“You’re a strange man,” I said. “You can’t
stay.”

“Where else am I going to go? I’ve got five
bucks in my wallet.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that
before you came down here.”

“I wanted to see you,” said Nick. “So shoot
me.”

Footsteps clicked down the hall. I heard
Clara’s keys jangle.

“Shit. That’s my roommate. Can you just- I
don’t know- behave?”

Clara swung open the door. She looked at Nick
and her eyebrows shot skyward. “Well, Abby. You’re just full of
surprises.”

I sighed. “He’s my brother.”

Nick stood up and began to rifle through his
backpack for clothes. His towel drooped, exposing half an inch of
arse crack.

“For God’s sake,” I hissed. “Do that in the
bathroom.” I shoved him towards the door.

“Alright, alright. Geez, this place is a
bloody shoebox.”

“I’m sorry,” I told Clara, once Nick was
behind the closed door. “He just turned up. I don’t know what to
do.”

“Well he can’t stay here,” she said testily.
“If he gets caught we’ll be in huge trouble.”

“Thanks, genius.”

“Why is he all dopey like that? Is he a bit
slow in the head?”

I sighed. “He’s using heroin.”

Clara laughed a little. “Your brother’s a
junkie? Well that figures…”

“What?”

“Well it makes sense that the College would
give you the scholarship. Given that you come from, you know, a
broken home.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Okay. Whatever. What am I
going to do?”

“Put him on a plane back to Queensland. And
do it quickly before anyone sees him here.”

Nick stumbled out of the bathroom in jeans
and a faded Harley Davidson t-shirt. He threw the towel on the
floor and rolled onto Clara’s mattress.

“Get
up
!” she screeched. “That’s
my
bed!”

“Sorry,” Nick mumbled.

“You gotta go home, Nick,” I said.
“Tonight.”

“No way. Not going back there.” He climbed
onto my bed and closed his eyes.

“I’ve got practice to do,” said Clara.

I shook Nick’s shoulder. “Don’t go to sleep.
Where’s your friend? The one you came down with?”

“Dunno.”

“Well, call him.”

“Don’t have his number.”

I sighed. “I’m calling Dad.”

Nick sat up. “Don’t,” he said. “Fine. I’ll
leave. Just thought we could, I don’t know, catch up or
something.”

“No. We can’t catch up now. I have an
audition in two days, a violin lesson in an hour and you’re a total
mess. Come visit me when you’ve got your shit together. Then we’ll
catch up.”

“Audition?”

“For the Conservatorium.”

Nick smiled wryly. “I knew you wouldn’t come
home.”

“That’s your phone, Abby,” said Clara.
“Hopefully it’s the pound come to pick up their stray.”

I rustled through my satchel. “It’s Dad,” I
told Nick, glancing at the number.

“Don’t tell him I’m here, alright.”

I rolled my eyes. “Hey Dad.”

“Hi, possum.” His voice sounded strained.
“How are you? How’s the weather down there? School nearly finished?
We’re looking forward to having you home again at the end of the
year.”

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Well… We’re just wondering if you’ve heard
from Nick lately. He’s… Well, he’s not here. We’re not sure where
he is.”

“Nick? Um…”

My brother glared at me.

“No,” I told Dad. “I haven’t heard from him.
But I’m sure he’ll turn up in a few days. You know what he’s
like.”

I glared back at Nick as I hung up the
phone.

“Well that was wise,” said Clara.

Nick trudged into the bathroom and grabbed
his dirty clothes off the floor. He stuffed them slowly into his
backpack. I dug out my wallet and handed him thirty dollars.

“Take this. It’s all I can afford.
Sorry.”

“That won’t get me back to Acacia,” said
Nick. He pushed my outstretched hand away. “Don’t worry about it.
I’ll just hitch or something.”

“That’s insane. Let me call Dad back, okay.
He’ll send you some money.”

“No!” said Nick sharply. “Don’t you get it? I
don’t want nothing to do with them. And they don’t want nothing to
do with me.”

“Yeah, right. That’s why Dad was calling here
five seconds ago worried sick about you.”

Clara reached into her desk drawer and pulled
out a handful of fifty-dollar notes. She pushed them into my hands.
“Give him this. Two hundred will be enough right?”

“Clar… I can’t take this.”

“Yes you can. What else are you going to
do?”

I felt a sudden rush of gratitude. “I’ll pay
you back. As soon as I can.”

“No you won’t. It’s fine. My dad keeps me
well looked after. I won’t miss it.”

I hugged her tightly. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just get him out of here. I need
to practise.”

I rode the tram with Nick to the airport bus
stop.

“Should I come to the airport with you?” I
asked. “Make sure you get off okay?”

Nick chuckled. “I think I’ll manage. You go
to your violin lesson.” He punched my arm. “Hey sorry. I didn’t
mean to cause you trouble. I just thought-”

“I know,” I said. “It’s okay.”

Nick pulled a cigarette from the front pocket
of his backpack and stuck it unlit between his teeth. “So I guess
we won’t be seeing you at home for a while then.”

I stared into the gaudy pattern on the tram
seats. “Depends how my audition goes, I guess.”

A flood of nerves hit me. I had to get into
the Con. Nothing else mattered. Beside me, Nick gnawed his
cigarette and scratched his scabby arms. The alternative was
unbearable.

“I’m so nervous I could puke,” I announced.
Clara and I walked across the university grounds, clutching our
violin cases.

“Lovely.”

We’d been scheduled to audition within ten
minutes of each other. The thought of having to perform directly
after Clara made my nerves a thousand times worse.

She flicked her hair coolly. “Would you calm
down? You’re stressing me out.”

I wasn’t fooled. She hadn’t eaten breakfast
that morning either and had spent half an hour pacing in the
corridor outside the dining room.

I paused to check a signpost.

“It’s this way,” said Clara. “I have my
lessons here sometimes.”

I jogged to keep up. A few students were
strolling across campus, but with lectures finished for the year,
the grounds were quiet. The coffee shops were closed, bike racks
empty. Clara reached into her handbag and checked her phone. Her
fingers flew over the keypad with the same whirlwind speed they did
on her violin.

“I think this Julian guy’s developing an
obsession with me. He keeps texting me and saying he’s outside our
room.”

I frowned. “What? That’s a little scary…”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry
about it. He’s harmless. He’s at the Con. Plays the trumpet or
something. I’m thinking about sleeping with him even though he
might be, like, a psycho.”

I followed her into the Con foyer where she
gave both our names. I was led into a waiting room, while Clara was
ushered off to warm up.

I perched on the edge of a chair and tried to
take a few deep breaths. Around me I could hear snatches of music;
a pianist playing scales and a cellist in the middle of an
audition. I tried to empty my mind of everything except my Mozart.
I mentally bowed through the piece, imagining exactly how I wanted
my performance to sound. My ringing phone cut through my thoughts.
I cursed myself and flicked it hurriedly to silent. Dad was
calling. I pushed the phone into my violin case and shut the
lid.

The cellist emerged pale-faced from the
audition room. As I was led to the warm-up area, I passed Clara in
the hall. I tried to catch her eye, but her gaze was fixed on the
floor. Her knuckles were white around the neck of her violin.

I closed the door of the warm-up room and
played a few tense scales. My phone rattled and vibrated. I sighed
and knelt down to turn it off. Five missed calls from Dad. The
phone rang again in my hand.

Something was wrong. I needed to know what it
was.

I hesitated. My hands were still cold. I let
the call ring out.

I stood up and tried to focus. Smoothed my
skirt and played slowly through the first bars of my piece. The
phone buzzed and vibrated. Anger welled inside me. Why now? Why
couldn’t Acacia Beach just let me go?

“Dad?” I said tensely.

“You lied to us.” Sarah’s voice was icy.
“Where’s your brother?”

My stomach plunged.

“We know he came to see you, Abigail. His
friend told us he drove him to Melbourne.”

I chewed my thumbnail. “He didn’t come
home?”

“No.”

“I gave him money for a flight. I put him on
the airport bus.”

“You gave him money? For God’s sake child,
use your brain. What do you think he’s done with that?”

“I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“The right thing would have been to tell us!
Why didn’t you at least go to the airport with him? Make sure he
got on the plane?”

“I don’t… He said he’d be okay…” My voice was
tiny. “I had a violin lesson…”

Sarah laughed coldly. “Of course you did.
Typical.”

“Mum, I’m sorry,” I said. “And I don’t know
where he is. But I really, really can’t talk now.”

“Don’t you even think about hanging up,
Abigail.”

“I have an audition, Mum. I’ll call you when
I finish. Can’t we talk about this then?”

“No. It’s time you got your priorities
straight. Your brother is missing because of your lies. We talk
about this now.”

My voice began to shake. “Mum, this is the
most important thing I’ve ever done in my life.” In the next room,
I could hear Clara’s Debussy dancing faultlessly. “I have to go.
But I’ll call you back as soon as I’m done.”

“If you hang up on me now,” said Sarah.
“Don’t bother calling back. Ever. Don’t bother coming back. If you
can’t face up to the consequences of what you’ve done, I don’t want
anything to do with you.”

Clara’s sonata drifted into silence. The door
of the practice room creaked and the receptionist poked her head
inside.