I think I’m going to throw up, a situation not helped by the fact Tanvi keeps peering through the gap in the curtains and reporting just how many people are in the audience.
‘Oh my God, it’s almost full!’ she gasps. ‘Come see!’
I shake my head hard. Having spent dozens of hours up in the lighting box, I can easily imagine the scene – the school hall dark and dim as the audience file in and take their seats, the sense of anticipation in the air as they flip through their paper programmes and open their sweets. The Christmas concert is always popular, people forced to stand at the back once all the seats have been taken.
‘Positions, everyone,’ Mr Milford says. ‘Tanvi, how many times do I have to tell you, come away from the curtain.’
Tanvi reluctantly shrinks into line, grinning sheepishly.
The choir is opening the concert with a medley of festive hits, before returning to perform a more traditional selection to close the second half.
Including my solo.
Yesterday’s dress rehearsal actually went pretty well. My voice, still tender if not fully warmed up, felt strong and healthy as I lost myself in the soaring music. But that had been singing to an empty, brightly lit hall. With the choir standing behind me, out of sight, it was easy to convince myself that it was just another rehearsal with Mr Milford. Even though the memory of the London audition no longer hurts in the way it once did, I still can’t forget the way the nerves attacked my weak defenceless body like limpets, clinging on until I crumbled. Successful dress rehearsal or not, there is no guarantee it won’t happen again tonight.
I take my place in line next to Tanvi. As the red velvet curtains swing open, a hush falls over the waiting audience. Mr Milford steps forward and welcomes them before striding over to the piano. As he starts the introduction to ‘Sleigh Ride’, I allow my eyes to adjust to the strange version of darkness in front of me. Although I can only make out the first few rows, I can sense just how full the room is. I wonder where Jodie and the poor mate she’s dragged along are sitting.
And Noah.
Over the past month we’ve played eleven games of chess, watched three films at the cinema, and shared two large portions of fish and chips.
Oh, and one kiss.
The kiss happened on Sunday night, the last time we saw each other. It was gentle and soft and made my tummy turn over and I’ve replayed it in my head at least a thousand times, counting down the minutes until I can do it again.
The opening medley goes well. The songs are natural crowd-pleasers and the audience is clearly in a festive mood, many of them draped with tinsel or wearing flashing Santa hats as they clap along with the familiar tunes.
As the choir troops off stage to make way for the school band, the nerves that more or less behaved themselves in the group numbers just now, are back, creeping up my legs like the climbing ivy that covers 48 Arcadia Avenue.
I remove myself from the group and walk over to the corner of the room, my back to everyone. A few seconds later, Tanvi is at my side, waggling my arm.
‘Ro?’ she says sternly. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Freaking out,’ I reply.
‘Why? You’re going to kill it out there.’
I whirl round to face her, gripping her elbows. ‘But what if I don’t? What if I miss all the big notes or forget the words or I open my mouth and nothing comes out?’
‘None of those things are going to happen, Ro.’
‘But what if they do?’
‘Then they happen.’
‘Tanvi!’ I cry. ‘You’re supposed to be helping!’
‘I mean, it’ll be shit and everything,’ Tanvi continues. ‘Painful and humiliating and frustrating, but do you know what would be even worse?’
‘I don’t know – being buried alive? Burnt at the stake? Eaten by a bear?’
‘No! Not singing the solo at all and regretting it your entire life. Worst comes to worst,’ she adds, ‘just imagine everyone in the audience totally naked. Or even better, on the loo. Having a really painful poo.’
I can’t help but laugh.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘For that delightful image.’
‘What are best friends for?’ Tanvi says, taking a small bow.
The rest of the concert passes in a flash and it’s soon time to reassemble on the stage. ‘O Holy Night’ is the penultimate number. During ‘Carol of the Bells’, I can feel my heart thumping inside my chest so loudly I can hear it over the rest of the choir. It gets faster and faster, until the individual heartbeats are almost indistinguishable from each other. And then the audience is applauding and I’m putting one foot in front of the other and making my way to the centre of the stage. The applause dies out and there’s a pause as Mr Milford adjusts his position at the piano stool. The audience follows his lead, taking the opportunity to cough and shift in their seats and rustle in their packets of sweets. Unsure quite where to look, I find my gaze drifting up towards the lighting box. My old domain.
I glance back at Mr Milford.
‘You got this,’ he mouths. ‘Ready?’
I nod before I can change my mind.
The first few notes that come out of my mouth are quiet and hesitant. My heart begins to quicken. I can’t fall apart. Not here, not now.
Then I remember that Tanvi is just behind me, rooting for me, and so is Mr Milford, and the rest of the choir, and Jodie, and Noah, and this strange sense of calm washes over me, melting my anxiety away and my voice begins to soar, fierce and powerful and passionate, as I sing like my life depends on it.
The applause is like nothing I’ve ever heard – clapping and stamping and cheering combined. I’m so thrown I forget to take a proper bow, managing a sort of nod before floating back to my place in a daze. My choir mates are all clapping too, Tanvi the loudest of all, grinning madly as she pounds her hands together.
It’s only as the introduction for the final song of the night, ‘Ding Dong Merrily on High’, kicks in that I realize my face is wet with happy tears I didn’t even know had fallen.
There’s just one thing stopping the moment from being perfect. And I know it’s a stupid thing, because I even didn’t tell Bonnie about the concert and even if I had she wouldn’t have been able to come, but in this moment, there’s only one more thing I want, and that’s for my mum to be in the audience right now.