My last months of high school were caffeine infused, sugar-powered and crammed to the brim with music. I had twice weekly violin lessons and was slowly growing more confident. Critical as he was, John was always careful to praise me and point out my improvement.
“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.