Twilight is the time for romancing. The masked ball, the evening delight, an invitation inspired by firefly and shadowed rose. Strings are pulled and played with the moon on show, all with the lilt of the violin bow. Luke knows how to woo, he knows too that her heart shall soon be his. Then, yet again, close he’ll be, to the one who makes him what he is.
The sabre wouldn’t fit into my violin case, like I’d planned. So I’ve strapped it to a belt, tied round the waist of my leggings. I don’t intend to use it, tonight, but you never know when you might need protection. I will use the mask, though. If anyone asks, I am bee-keeping. Minus the hive. I put it on when I get to the end of Narcissus Road, at the same time as I take off my shirt. When I get to the next house along from Nicole and Adam’s, I get out my violin. Adam’s violin. Nice, safe violin, not a stake to which I will be strung. I give the wood lobsters an encouraging stroke. They still haven’t moved. They must be enjoying each other.
The violin is an awkward fit under my chin, with the bib of the mask. But I manage it. The wood of the instrument and the metal underpinning of the chinrest feel firm against my chest. I know I must be a mystical and magical sight, with my bare torso, mask and violin. A masked violin lothario. An evening love imp. A musical vision of enchantment. Fit. Charles would thrust and lunge with me gladly.
I begin to play, singing along in my head as I go, to keep the rhythm. French is the language of romance.
Dah-da-da-da, dah-da-da-da,
Frère Jaques, Frère Jaques.
Da-da-da, da-da-da.
Dormez-vous, dormez-vous?
Da-da-da-da-dah-da, da-da-da-da-dah-da.
Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines!
Dah, dah, dah. Dah, dah, dah.
Ding, dang, dong. Ding, dang, dong.
I think I have made pretty good progress in only a couple of weeks.
But that is just the warm-up act. That will be why the front curtains are still closed. Nicole has not yet heard enough to make her open up to me. Adam will not be home yet – dusk is early for him – but if he was, he would have flung open the curtains wide to me. He would know each thrust, each attack, each drawing back. Every artist has their own style, their own voice, and the violin is no different.
The next piece in my repertoire is not very appropriate, so I use it as I go through the back passage to the garden. I have to pause to move the green wheelie bin, but by the time I get into the back garden I am on:
Da-da-da-da-da d-a da-da-da-dah
Here comes a candle to light you to bed
Da-da-da-da-da-da d-a da-da-da-dah.
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head.
The bit about the candle is suitable. Girls like candles. Ally taught me that. I play the last two lines again, for effect, and sing them out loud. That should get Nicole’s attention. Yes, I see that the lights are on. There she is, in the window.
Being strangled by Adam.
Unless, of course, it’s horseplay. I know how Adam likes his horseplay, now.
On the flipside, his hands are round his neck, and she is bright red.
It might be a sex game. Although it is men who are supposed to get arousal from strangulation. Being strangled themselves, that is. Maybe for Adam it works the other way round.
Or maybe it is just what it looks like. Maybe he is killing her.