“I’m so nervous I could puke,” I announced. Clara and I walked across the university grounds, clutching our violin cases.
“Lovely.”
We’d been scheduled to audition within ten minutes of each other. The thought of having to perform directly after Clara made my nerves a thousand times worse.
She flicked her hair coolly. “Would you calm down? You’re stressing me out.”
I wasn’t fooled. She hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning either and had spent half an hour pacing in the corridor outside the dining room.
I paused to check a signpost.
“It’s this way,” said Clara. “I have my lessons here sometimes.”
I jogged to keep up. A few students were strolling across campus, but with lectures finished for the year, the grounds were quiet. The coffee shops were closed, bike racks empty. Clara reached into her handbag and checked her phone. Her fingers flew over the keypad with the same whirlwind speed they did on her violin.
“I think this Julian guy’s developing an obsession with me. He keeps texting me and saying he’s outside our room.”
I frowned. “What? That’s a little scary…”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. He’s harmless. He’s at the Con. Plays the trumpet or something. I’m thinking about sleeping with him even though he might be, like, a psycho.”
I followed her into the Con foyer where she gave both our names. I was led into a waiting room, while Clara was ushered off to warm up.
I perched on the edge of a chair and tried to take a few deep breaths. Around me I could hear snatches of music; a pianist playing scales and a cellist in the middle of an audition. I tried to empty my mind of everything except my Mozart. I mentally bowed through the piece, imagining exactly how I wanted my performance to sound. My ringing phone cut through my thoughts. I cursed myself and flicked it hurriedly to silent. Dad was calling. I pushed the phone into my violin case and shut the lid.
The cellist emerged pale-faced from the audition room. As I was led to the warm-up area, I passed Clara in the hall. I tried to catch her eye, but her gaze was fixed on the floor. Her knuckles were white around the neck of her violin.
I closed the door of the warm-up room and played a few tense scales. My phone rattled and vibrated. I sighed and knelt down to turn it off. Five missed calls from Dad. The phone rang again in my hand.
Something was wrong. I needed to know what it was.
I hesitated. My hands were still cold. I let the call ring out.
I stood up and tried to focus. Smoothed my skirt and played slowly through the first bars of my piece. The phone buzzed and vibrated. Anger welled inside me. Why now? Why couldn’t Acacia Beach just let me go?
“Dad?” I said tensely.
“You lied to us.” Sarah’s voice was icy. “Where’s your brother?”
My stomach plunged.
“We know he came to see you, Abigail. His friend told us he drove him to Melbourne.”
I chewed my thumbnail. “He didn’t come home?”
“No.”
“I gave him money for a flight. I put him on the airport bus.”
“You gave him money? For God’s sake child, use your brain. What do you think he’s done with that?”
“I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“The right thing would have been to tell us! Why didn’t you at least go to the airport with him? Make sure he got on the plane?”
“I don’t… He said he’d be okay…” My voice was tiny. “I had a violin lesson…”
Sarah laughed coldly. “Of course you did. Typical.”
“Mum, I’m sorry,” I said. “And I don’t know where he is. But I really, really can’t talk now.”
“Don’t you even think about hanging up, Abigail.”
“I have an audition, Mum. I’ll call you when I finish. Can’t we talk about this then?”
“No. It’s time you got your priorities straight. Your brother is missing because of your lies. We talk about this now.”
My voice began to shake. “Mum, this is the most important thing I’ve ever done in my life.” In the next room, I could hear Clara’s Debussy dancing faultlessly. “I have to go. But I’ll call you back as soon as I’m done.”
“If you hang up on me now,” said Sarah. “Don’t bother calling back. Ever. Don’t bother coming back. If you can’t face up to the consequences of what you’ve done, I don’t want anything to do with you.”
Clara’s sonata drifted into silence. The door of the practice room creaked and the receptionist poked her head inside.
“Abigail? We’re ready for you now.”
I lowered the phone. Sarah barked up at me; her words distant and distorted. I hung up, snatched my violin and let a furious Ysaye sonata explode through cold and trembling fingers.