Dmitri spent most of the afternoon after the lunch practising piano in Nicola’s spare room. He liked the Bechstein and the rich sound of the newly tuned strings inside old wood. Earlier in the week when then tuner had come round, it had taken the combined efforts of both of them, plus a jogger commandeered from the path, to move the piano downstairs to one of the bedrooms on the ground floor. He liked knowing Nicola was there, doing her work one floor above. In the late afternoon she brought him tea (a little too sweet) and a sandwich. He had another Messiah performance that night, so at half past six, he kissed her goodbye (the goodbye kiss had started almost an hour earlier and was much more than just a kiss) and then caught the train to Clapham Junction.
On the train, he closed his eyes and had almost fallen asleep. Life with Nicola did not involve much sleep – not that he was complaining. But there was one thing that was niggling below the surface of his shiny, new-found happiness. It had been several days, and he’d had no response to his email.
Opening his eyes, Dmitri checked his phone again, carefully scanning the junk email folder in case he’d missed something. Nothing. He sighed. It had been so difficult baring everything in the email to this man that he’d hoped could help him. Yes, Mikhail Aslanov had been a renowned pianist and now must be a sought-after teacher. And yes, they were complete strangers. But all Dmitri had asked for was ten minutes of his time. Was that so much, one musician to another?
When he got to the church, he was confronted with a disaster: Jenny was apparently sick and wouldn’t be turning up. Dmitri had seen her face last night when Nicola had been there and word had swept through the choir like wildfire that she was his girlfriend. He suspected that in Jenny’s case, ‘sick’ meant ‘would not be returning’.
At literally the last minute, he asked Carole-Ann to step in. Her voice was thinner and reedier than some of the others, but she was the only one whom he could count on to know the part well enough to perform it. As soon as he asked her, Carole-Ann had given the expected ‘oh no, I couldn’t possibly’, but her face was glowing with happiness. Part of it might have been because Phil had texted to say that he was coming to the performance. Dmitri had felt bad for not realising before how much Carole-Ann had wanted to be a soloist. It was something he’d have to look out for in the future – especially now that it was looking like he’d be a choir director for the rest of his life.
The performance went well, though without Nicola in the audience, Dmitri felt a little flat. They got a standing ovation, though, and that lifted his mood considerably.
After the concert, Phil came up to him, along with Tanya. Phil practically smothered Dmitri in a hug, and Dmitri was grateful for his support.
‘I’m sorry for before,’ Dmitri said, remembering how childish and ungrateful he’d been on their last encounter. That now seemed like something from another lifetime.
‘Hey, don’t mention it,’ Phil said. ‘You know I was just worried when I hadn’t seen or heard from you.’
‘Don’t expect to see more of him now, Phil,’ Tanya interrupted. ‘He’s off with his sexy girlfriend.’
Dmitri shot her a black look. ‘I’m sure you’ve told Phil all the details, haven’t you?’
‘Just that you couldn’t keep your hands off each other last night.’ Tanya giggled like a schoolgirl. ‘No wonder Jenny quit.’
To Dmitri’s relief, Mark came up and took Tanya away to meet someone. Last night he might not have minded her joking, but tonight, it grated.
‘I’m so glad it’s worked out for you,’ Phil said. ‘I can’t wait to meet her. It’s Nicola, is that right?’
‘Yes,’ Dmitri said, feeling better just for hearing her name. ‘She’s very special. I really can’t believe it myself.’
‘And you’re happy?’ Phil asked.
‘Yes. With her, I am more than happy. But there is one thing.’ He found himself telling Phil about the email he’d sent, and the lack of a response.
‘I understand,’ Phil said. ‘But you can’t let this set you back. There are other schools, other ways to go about it.’
‘But is it because I’m too old, do you think? Is there really no hope at all?’
‘That’s the conclusion you jumped to about the other thing. And look at you now. You seem grown-up all of a sudden. Maybe I don’t have a right to say this, but your mother would be very proud. And happy.’
‘You have every right to say it, Phil.’ Dmitri smiled. ‘I think I finally understand that now. And one more thing…’ He leaned in closer to Phil as Carole-Ann came towards them, her eyes still shiny from her triumph as a soloist. ‘My mother would want you to be happy too.’
Phil glanced up at Dmitri, looking a little surprised. ‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ As Carole-Ann came up, Phil turned to her. ‘My dear,’ he said, ‘what a stunning performance.’
‘Yes, it was.’ Dmitri kissed the older woman on the cheek and took her hand, which he placed firmly in Phil’s. ‘And now, please excuse me.’
Maybe it was the good karma of finally making peace with Phil, or maybe it was his mother looking down on him and smiling. Either way, as he sat on the train back to Richmond and read the new message – it had come in during the concert and gone to junk mail – he whispered, ‘thank you,’ to anyone up above that might be listening.
*
The hours they were apart seemed impossible and wrong. As soon as Dmitri had gone, Nicola knew she should have gone to the concert. Been there to support him, just be with him. But she had so much to do – so many things to wrap up at work in only a very short time. Second thoughts rattled through her head about leaving her job and stepping out into the unknown. She tried to silence the doubts and listen to the new voice in her head – the part of her that had changed – that said it was the right decision. It wasn’t easy.
Nicola phoned her sister and had a very brief chat about Christmas. The lunch at Jules’ house was back on. Jules sounded like her old self, going on about seating plans and menus. Their mum, it seemed, had agreed to come early to help out with the cooking. Nicola felt obliged to do the same.
‘Come as early as you like,’ Jules said. ‘Seeing as it’s just you.’
‘Actually, it’s me plus one,’ Nicola said. Just saying the words, she suddenly felt much better about the whole thing.
‘Oh? And who’s that?’ Jules’ voice was guarded. Nicola thought there might be a ‘Who’s husband now?’ unspoken at the end.
‘His name is Dmitri.’ She explained very briefly to Jules about who Dmitri was, leaving out – most things, really.
‘A Russian pianist?’ Jules said. ‘You’re serious?’
Nicola checked her watch. The concert would only just be starting now. She felt like something inside of her was torn and waiting to be stitched back together. It was painful, but on the other hand, the anticipation – knowing that he would return later – was delicious. It was a very strange and unsettling feeling, and one that she was almost certain she’d never had before this week.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Absolutely.’
Dmitri came home around eleven. She was aching for him by that point. He came in, hungry for her too, but with a strange nervousness about him. He kissed her, pulled her on to his lap, took out his phone, showed her a message, distracted her so she could barely read it, then, sat back, not touching her, raking his fingers through his hair.
‘This is brilliant,’ she said, ‘congratulations. It’s what you wanted, right?’
‘He said to come in on Monday. So soon! How can I be ready?’
‘Hey,’ she said, ‘come on.’ She slid off his lap and turned to him, caressing his face. ‘You said yourself that this was just ten minutes – to get this man’s thoughts on what you should do next. There’s no pressure.’
He stopped her hands. ‘No pressure! This man could be the key for me. I should have waited until after Christmas.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
Nicola hadn’t seen him like this before – so full of anguished self-doubt – but there were probably many sides to him that she didn’t know. It scared her a little. Of course relationships were hard work, but she had no experience. Then she remembered what he had done for her that first night, when she had almost thrown it all away.
She got up from the sofa, went to the kitchen and made him a pot of tea and a sandwich. Right now, it was her turn to take care of him. She opened the freezer and took out the ice cream. He’d told her that one of his favourite things as a child was eating ice cream in the park on Sundays with his family in the short Siberian summers. It wasn’t summer, but she’d bought the ice cream anyway. She put some in a bowl for him. It looked so delicious and cold. Nicola almost never ate ice cream or sweets, but just this once, she decided that she was going to have some too. She put a tiny scoop in a bowl for herself and put everything on a tray.
Dmitri seemed to have recovered a little by the time she returned. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, as she came into the room and set the tray on the coffee table.
‘I want you to eat,’ she said. ‘You don’t sleep, you barely eat. You need to keep your strength up.’
He looked at the tray, and his eyes lit up.
‘Ice cream!’ he said.
Ignoring the tea and the sandwich, he took the bowl of ice cream, just like a boy on a hot summer’s day. Nicola laughed at his enthusiasm – of course, he was the just the type who would eat dessert first. But just as he was about to put the spoon to his lips, he stopped.
‘Was I supposed to have the small bowl?’ he asked.
‘No! Of course not.’
‘But it is not fair. You have practically none.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘No, it is not fine. Here.’ He fed her the first bite of ice cream with the spoon. Laughing, she kept her mouth closed until the last second and it got all over her mouth. He leaned in and licked it off. ‘Much better than a spoon,’ he said.
He made sure she had just the same amount as him, kissing her between bites. They laughed, and eventually abandoned the second bowl. When once again, the mischievous seductive look appeared on his face, she gave in fully, in a way she had never done before. This time, when he took charge, laid her down on the sofa and gently held her arms over her head, she didn’t mind at all.