He doesn’t get to be jealous, Nettie. It’s not like you’ve ever been together.” Kiki and I are walking down Wardour Street together on our way to college on Monday morning.
“But do you think he was?” I sidestep a delivery van. “He looked really hurt.”
“I just don’t think he has the right to be, after the way he’s treated you.”
Yeah. I need to remember that.
The rest of the evening is hazy. Kiki whisked me home shortly after I kissed Luca because she said I looked like I was going to spew. I’ve got a secret feeling of dread that I might have clung on to Fletch for a little too long when we said goodbye, and also that I did this in front of Luca, having just snogged him. It’s too embarrassing to think about, so I try not to for the rest of the journey.
I change the subject. “So, kissing Emilie Drake. How was that?”
Kiki thinks for a moment. “It was…nice.” She stops walking to face me. “I’ve kissed girls before, actually.”
“Do you think that’s the way forward for you?”
“I don’t know,” says Kiki, smiling. “Maybe, yeah.”
“Is Emilie…?”
“I think she was just caught up in the moment. It’s cool, though.” Kiki links my arm as we cross Soho Square. I put my head on her shoulder.
Fletch approaches me after registration. “Hi, Nettie. Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Uh—” I look around for my friends, but Alec and Leon have disappeared and Kiki’s already slinking off in a don’t mind me kind of way. I follow him out into the foyer.
“Good party on Saturday night,” he says.
I don’t know how he knows that. He missed most of it. “Great party. Huge hangover, though,” I say.
“You and Luca seemed to be getting on well,” he says. When I don’t reply, he continues awkwardly. “I, uh, haven’t had a chance to ask you—how did the show go for you?”
“Fine, thanks. You?” I can’t bring myself to give him a compliment, even though he was completely brilliant and melted my heart every time he stepped onto the stage.
“Yeah—not bad, thank you.” To be fair, I don’t think he’s after one. “We should get together some time, you know—to write.”
“Is that what you brought me out here to say?” I can feel Kiki’s eyes boring through the studio window at me.
“No! Well, sort of. I wanted to apologize.”
“What for?”
“For everything.” He puts his hand up to his hair and grabs a handful, something I’ve noticed he does when he’s uncomfortable. “I’ve been a total knob. The Duke’s Awards, stealing your lyrics… I’d go mad if someone did that to me. And at Christmas—what I said.”
“What did you say? I can’t remember.” Obviously, I’ve been thinking about nothing else since, but I’d rather eat my own feet than admit that.
“About—about having feelings for two people… I thought that was why you were annoyed with me,” he says. “After that, you just stopped talking to me.”
“Nope…just busy.”
“Anyway, I was wondering if you’d consider writing with me again? Maybe we could meet for a drink to talk about it?”
“What about…” I can’t bring myself to say Jade’s name.
“Look, that’s over,” he says, rolling his eyes, I think at himself. “I’m embarrassed even thinking about it.”
He should be. But I won’t just come running now that he’s got bored of her. “I’m busy working on something with Steph for the next few weeks,” I say.
“Oh. OK. Maybe after that?”
“Maybe.”
Steph has put me on a regime of no alcohol, no caffeine, no dairy, and lots of water and sleep. She gets me singing in every session. It’s so huge for me that I don’t know how to thank her, apart from hugging her every time.
“Just keep singing, Nettie,” she says. “That’s the only thanks I need.”
The Summer Showcase is approaching. It’s to be a compilation of lots of different pieces and the whole college is involved in some way, whether it’s with music, or performing, or writing, or in the technical department.
Michael St. John has put the Havana section from Guys and Dolls in—all Jade has to do is act drunk and get thrown around the stage, which she actually doesn’t do a bad job of with her long limbs sliding around like Bambi on ice. (No singing involved.) Alec’s in all the third-year numbers, despite being a first-year, and Leon and Kiki have got into a special piece for all the dance finalists of the awards choreographed by Clair Patterson, who Kiki tells me is a big deal in the commercial dance world.
One of Luca’s songs has made it into the showcase. I spot him after college one afternoon sitting on one of the benches in the foyer, packing up a clarinet.
“Hi, Luca. Congratulations on getting your song selected. That’s brilliant.”
He looks up. “Thanks. How are you? I haven’t seen you for weeks.”
“I’ve had a lot of vocal coaching lately,” I say.
He closes the clarinet case. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing.”
“There’s a story about that, but I won’t bore you now.”
“Well,” he says, “we never did get that coffee. I’m a good listener.”
“I’ve got a lot going on at the moment,” I say. “And Steph Andrews has banned me from caffeine. But maybe when things are less hectic, I’ll go for a water with you?”
He stands up. “Seriously, Nettie. I’d love to spend more time with you.”
For a second, I don’t know what to say. “Oh—it’s just—there’s kind of…someone else.” Kind of.
“Is it Fletch?”
“Why—has he said something?”
“No, but I’ve seen the way you look at him. If it is, I’d rather know. I don’t want to step on a friend’s toes.”
“Well…” I hesitate. “Yeah, kind of. But I’d prefer you didn’t—”
“Yeah—I mean, I won’t. Thanks for telling me.” He picks up his things. “I’d still love that water some time, as friends, if you’re up for it.”
I hug him. “Sure.”
It goes around college that Jade’s dad has been in to see Miss Duke to demand she let her sing in the Summer Showcase.
“Can you believe it?” says Kiki. We’re walking back to our changing room after jazz, drenched in sweat as usual. She looks around to check no one is in earshot. “I mean, if you were Jade, wouldn’t you just tell him to stay out of it? She must know that everyone thinks she’s a terrible singer.”
“I don’t think she cares.” I say it quietly to avoid a group of passing second-years overhearing us on the stairs. “She’s got really thick skin.”
“She’s gonna need it after the reviews she gets in the showcase,” says Kiki. “They get the press in for first night. Listen, I’ve got to rush off for physio. See you back at the dorms?”
“Sure,” I say.
I jump in the shower and stay there for ages, enjoying the fact that everyone’s gone home so I can spend longer than two minutes in there. The showers in the dorms go cold after about thirty seconds. I putz around in my towel, dry my hair, and get dressed, before sauntering down to the foyer.
There’s someone playing the piano in the studio theatre. Fletch?
It kind of sounds like him, if a piano can sound like a person. Should I go in? He’d be none the wiser. But I would know, and that would make all the difference. It’ll be like a test. I slip in through the door.
He’s halfway through the final chorus of “Fly, Fly Away” from Catch Me If You Can. But as the door closes behind me, the piano stops. He knows I’m there—well, he knows someone is there. It’s been a long time since we did this. He might not even want to accompany me.
I decide I don’t care, picking up where he left off.
Nothing happens for a few seconds. Then I hear a scuffling of sheet music, and he’s with me.
It’s just us, like it was last year, before everything went wrong between us. God, I’ve missed this.
I realize something else as well.
I don’t need them anymore, these secret sessions in the studio theatre. I’m finally free.
As soon as the song finishes, he closes the piano lid. I pick up my bag and head to the door. Opening it, I hear him say quietly,
“Goodbye.”