I stared blankly at the computer screen. My techniques assignment stared back.
I nibbled chocolate off the edge of a Mars Bar.
I typed some random notes into the computer.
I deleted the random notes.
I changed the font of the title.
With a huge sigh, I glanced around the empty computer lab. Screen-savers spun with stars and rainforest panoramas. Torn scrap paper was scattered over the carpet and a pile of empty instrument cases were crammed under the desks.
Where were the instruments?, I wondered vaguely.
Above my head, the air conditioner whirred. I zipped up my jacket and shivered. Matt appeared in the doorway. He sat at the computer beside me and checked his email.
“Matt!” I cried. “Go finish your assignment before you fail composition!”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll do it later.” He leant his head on my shoulder and kissed my neck. “What are you doing?”
I rubbed my eyes. “This stupid assignment is going nowhere. I can’t seem to concentrate on anything at the moment.”
“Anything except what Hayley told you,” Matt corrected.
I nodded.
He rested his hand under my ponytail. “I told you. She had no right to say anything to you.”
“I know that. But it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.”
I had tried to forget everything Hayley had told me, but it hadn’t worked. Each time I pulled out the Dvorak concerto, my mind tangled over itself, thinking of Andrew.
What would he do if he knew, I wondered? Raise Ollie as his own, I had no doubt. But would he try and resurrect his career? Make one last grab at the dream he’d sacrificed?
I couldn’t imagine giving up my dream for anyone. Not even Matt. Did I not love him enough, I wondered? Did I not love him as much as Andrew loved Hayley? I didn’t think it was possible to love anyone more. And yet crouched in the back of my mind was the belief that if I ever had to choose between Matt and my career, music would win out every time.
“Deal with?” said Matt. “You don’t have to deal with it, Abby. It’s got nothing to do with you.” He pushed gently against my shoulder to make me face him. “Okay? Just forget about it.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Why the hell are you taking this so personally? It’s none of your business.” He paused. “You’re homesick aren’t you.”
“No,” I said quickly. Matt knew nothing about my relationship with my family and I planned to keep it that way.
“You know it’s okay if you are.”
“I’m not,” I assured him. “I’m really happy here with you.”
“I’m glad,” said Matt, covering my hand with his. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t miss your old home too. Maybe you should go back and visit in semester break.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
I turned hurriedly back to the computer. “Can you look at my assignment?”
Matt popped his gum and scrolled quickly through my manuscript. “It’s fine,” he told me. “Let’s go home.”
I turned off the computer and trailed him out of the Con. The last lectures had finished and the foyer was being vacuumed.
“How was the junior school orchestra?” Matt asked as we walked hand in hand to the station. I had started tutoring ten of the world’s worst young violinists at a nearby primary school.
“Horrendous,” I said. “I hate children.” I dragged my feet through a pile of crisp brown leaves.
Matt laughed. “So quit.”
“I can’t. I need the money. I was way too close to not being able to pay my rent last month.” A flock of bats glided over our heads as we passed the dark market.
“Why don’t you ask your parents for a loan?”
I shook my head.
“How long has it been since you spoke to them?” Matt asked.
Seven months, two weeks and one day. I shrugged. “I don’t know. What’s with all the questions?”
“Just trying to help.”
“Well don’t.”
“Alright, alright.” He squeezed my hand. “Calm down.”
We stopped outside the station.
“Are you going to practise my stuff tonight?” Matt asked.
I smiled. “Sure. But I’ve got a quartet performance on Saturday before the Standing Waves gig, so I need to run through that too. And I guess I should do some of my concerto.”
He ran his thumbs over my palm. “I’m exhausted just listening to you. I was going to see if you wanted to come over, but it doesn’t sound like there’s room for me in that schedule!”
“Not tonight,” I said apologetically. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sure.” He kissed me. “See you then.”
I ran down the station steps and felt a stale wind shiver down my neck.
That weekend, we crammed ourselves onto a tiny pub stage for Standing Waves’ first gig. Matt and I stayed behind afterwards for a celebratory drink with Clara and Julian. Clara and I slid into a booth at the back of the pub, while the boys disappeared to the bar.
“What did you think?” I asked her.
She shrugged. “I think you’re wasting your time. I mean, Matt’s stuff is okay, but how can you find it as rewarding as playing all the great composers? It’s just a bunch of you jamming in a pub. How can that compare to playing first violin in a Beethoven symphony?”
I didn’t bother reminding her that as lowly first-years we’d been relegated to the back of the second violins in the Con orchestra, where we played harmony and listened to the double bassists crack dirty jokes.
“Because,” I said. “It’s Matt. This music is Matt. It’s like looking inside him. And I love him. Anyway, I can do both. They’re hardly going to kick me out of the Con for playing Matt’s music.”
Clara twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “So you’re doing it for Matt.”
“I’m not doing it for him. I’m doing it because of him.”
“What’s the difference?”
The boys returned with a jug of beer and a stack of glasses. They slid into the booth beside us.
“So three people just stopped me and told me how good they thought we were,” said Matt.
“We were good, weren’t we.” Julian filled the pots and passed them around.
Matt nodded to the rock cover band that had taken the next slot. “Way better than these guys anyway.”
I elbowed him. “Don’t be up-yourself.”
“To an awesome first gig,” said Julian, raising his glass.
Matt grinned. “The next one will be even better. I’m working on this great piece with Celtic percussion.” He squeezed my knee. “It’s got a great violin solo in it too.”
Clara smirked. “You’re turning into a real little hillbilly aren’t you, Abby?”
Matt raised his eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Geez. Don’t be so defensive.”
Matt turned to me. “Why do you let her speak to you like that?”
I took a nervous sip of beer. “She’s only joking.”
“No she’s not.”
“Of course I am,” said Clara. “Obviously…”
“Seriously, Abby,” said Matt. “You go on and on about how playing the violin is your one great passion and then you let Clara say what she likes about it.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “Do you two mind taking your domestic elsewhere? Some of us are trying to have a nice night here.”
“She’s right,” I murmured to Matt. “Let’s not talk about this now.”
“I want to talk about this now. You let her walk all over you.” He waved his glass at Clara. “You know what I think? I think you can’t cope with the fact that Abby has a thousand times more talent than you.”
Clara laughed incredulously. “What?” She whacked Julian on the arm. “Hello? Are you going to speak ever? A little support wouldn’t go astray!”
Julian put down his glass obediently, but Matt charged on before he could speak.
“She’s a more intuitive musician than you’ll ever be. You’re just jealous and pathetic.”
“Jealous?” snapped Clara. “You think I’m jealous of her? With her disgusting junkie brother and parents that don’t even speak to her?”
My stomach plunged. I stared into my glass, anger welling inside me. I clenched my teeth and felt my cheeks grow hot.
“What?” Matt turned to me. “Abby? Your parents don’t speak to you? Why not?”
I slid across the seat and pushed against his shoulder, suddenly desperate to escape the booth. Desperate to leave the noisy bar where my shameful secrets hung in the air for all to see.
“Let me out,” I hissed. “I want to go.”
Matt stood up and I slid past him.
You’re not going yet are you?” said Clara. “I was just starting to enjoy myself.”
Matt took me back to his place. We climbed into bed and he curled his legs around mine.
“What happened with your parents?” he asked.
I told him about Nick and about Sarah’s phone call on the day of my audition. As I spoke, I felt an odd sense of detachment, as though it had all happened to someone else.
Matt stroked my hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I’m ashamed of it,” I admitted. “I thought it would turn you away. But now I’ve told you, it’s like it never happened. Like it was a different life.”
“It can be,” he said. “You don’t ever have to go back. Your home is here now. If your parents don’t want to be part of your life, it’s their loss.” He held his lips against mine.
“I love you,” I whispered. “So much.”
It surprised me how easily things happened with Matt. Admittedly, sometimes too easily. It made me think of Justin and the years of tension we had built up. I remembered the way the touch of his hand had sent a bolt through my body. Catching his eye had made my cheeks fill with colour. And then, it had all been for nothing. Everything I thought I had wanted hadn’t really been right at all.
Matt met me outside my master class. I had spent the last hour listening to Clara’s flawless Brahms Scherzo and smiled in relief at the sight of his face.
“Don’t you have a composition lesson now?” I asked, winding my scarf around my neck. Cold wind whipped my hair against my cheeks.
Matt shrugged. “I don’t know. Do I?” He grinned. “I got us a gig at the music ball! They want us to play between courses, then they’re gonna put the DJ on for dancing when we’re done. How great is that!”
I dropped onto the bench outside the lecture theatre. “The music ball?”
He nodded excitedly. “They’re not paying us much, but it’s gonna be great exposure. Half the Con will be there.”
I nibbled my thumbnail. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
I hesitated. “I don’t know if I’m ready for all the other musos to hear me play your stuff.”
Matt chuckled and wrapped his arms around my waist. “You’re not getting stage fright are you, Liberace?”
I began to wander towards the cafeteria, kicking through a pile of dead leaves. “I don’t know,” I mumbled again. “Hey, do you want to meet Jess and Roman for lunch?”
Matt stared at me. “Why the hell would you not want to play?”
I swallowed hard. “I just don’t know how we’ll be received.”
“What? I can’t believe you’re doing this!”
A group of girls looked over as Matt raised his voice. I heard them giggle.
“Shh,” I hissed. “People are looking.”
He let out his breath in frustration. “You know everyone will love our stuff! You’re just scared to be seen doing something different!”
“It’s not that. It’s just that Clara was saying-”
“Clara again? Why the hell do you listen to a word she says?”
I tried to take his hand, but he pulled away.
“You know I love your music,” I said desperately. “It’s just that I’m really serious about becoming a performer. You know that.”
“And yet you’re turning down a chance to perform. There’s some logic for you.” Matt’s voice was icy. “Why-” He stopped abruptly. “You think my music will affect your credibility. That’s it, isn’t it.”
I was silent. Matt glared at me, his dark brow knitted.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me, Abby. I thought you were different. If that’s the way you feel, I wish you’d bloody told me from the start. I wouldn’t have wasted my time on you.”