‘Then stop,’ he said. ‘Just stop it. Why do you keep doing them? You’re obsessed! You’ve got enough on your plate. You should be preparing for your audition. Are you even going to audition?’
‘Of course I’m still going to audition!’ said Clementine. Why did people keep asking her that? ‘I’ve been getting up at five am to practise every day!’ How could he not know that? She knew he’d been having trouble sleeping. She’d wake up sometimes in the middle of the night and hear his footsteps in the hallway or the muted sound of the television from downstairs. ‘Haven’t you heard me?’
‘I guess maybe I have heard you,’ said Sam uncomfortably. ‘I guess I didn’t put two and two – I didn’t realise you were practising.’
What did he think she was doing? Was the sound of the cello just irrelevant background noise to him? Or did he not care enough even to wonder?
She managed to keep the fractiousness she was feeling out of her voice. ‘And I went to Ainsley’s place today to practise in front of her and Hu.’
‘Oh,’ said Sam. He seemed genuinely taken aback. ‘Well, great, I guess. How did it go?’
‘Fine. It went fine.’
It hadn’t gone fine. It had been strange and awful. Hu and Ainsley had argued quite vehemently over her performance of the first movement of her concerto.
‘Wonderful!’ Hu had said as soon as she finished. ‘Bravo. Give the girl a job.’ He looked expectantly at his wife, but Ainsley wasn’t smiling.
‘Well,’ she said uncomfortably. ‘You’ve obviously been working really hard. It was technically perfect. It’s just … I don’t know, it didn’t sound like you. If I was behind the screen I would never have picked it was you.’
‘So what?’ said Hu.
‘It was so accurate. Every single note precisely where it should be. I would have guessed it was an arrogant twenty-year-old whiz-kid straight out of the Con.’
‘And I say again, so what? If she played like that, she’d absolutely get through to the next round,’ said Hu. ‘ I’d put her through for sure. You would too. I know you would.’
‘Maybe, but I don’t think it would get her through the second round. There was something almost – don’t take this the wrong way, Clementine – but there was something almost robotic about it.’
Hu said, ‘How can she not take that the wrong way?’
‘We’re here to be honest,’ said Ainsley. ‘Not kind.’ Then she’d looked at Clementine and said suddenly, ‘Are you sure you still want it? After … everything?’
‘Of course she still wants it,’ said Hu. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
Then their house phone had rung and Clementine had never got to answer what should have been a straightforward question.
‘How are Ainsley and Hu?’ asked Sam. She could see the strain it cost him just to ask an ordinary civil question. It was like watching him do a chin-up. ‘I haven’t seen them for a while.’
But he was trying, so she’d try too.
‘Good. They’re good. Hey, I was telling Hu how you got me to run on the spot before practising my excerpts and he said he had a teacher who made him do that!’ Sam looked at her dully. You would think it had been somebody else who’d pinned the bedsheet to the ceiling all those weeks ago, who’d yelled, ‘Run, soldier, run!’ She ploughed on. ‘His teacher also used to tell him to wake up and practise in the middle of the night, when he was still half-asleep, and to play after he’d had a few drinks, speaking of which – oh, good, here comes somebody.’
A young waiter approached their table and stood just a little too far back. ‘Would you like me to go through today’s specials?’ He squared his shoulders in the heroic manner of someone volunteering to do something perilous.
‘Yes, but we’re actually wondering about our drinks. We ordered two glasses of wine … um, a while ago.’ A million years ago.
Clementine tried to soften her words with a smile. The waiter was
‘Of course I’m still going to audition!’ said Clementine. Why did people keep asking her that? ‘I’ve been getting up at five am to practise every day!’ How could he not know that? She knew he’d been having trouble sleeping. She’d wake up sometimes in the middle of the night and hear his footsteps in the hallway or the muted sound of the television from downstairs. ‘Haven’t you heard me?’
‘I guess maybe I have heard you,’ said Sam uncomfortably. ‘I guess I didn’t put two and two – I didn’t realise you were practising.’
What did he think she was doing? Was the sound of the cello just irrelevant background noise to him? Or did he not care enough even to wonder?
She managed to keep the fractiousness she was feeling out of her voice. ‘And I went to Ainsley’s place today to practise in front of her and Hu.’
‘Oh,’ said Sam. He seemed genuinely taken aback. ‘Well, great, I guess. How did it go?’
‘Fine. It went fine.’
It hadn’t gone fine. It had been strange and awful. Hu and Ainsley had argued quite vehemently over her performance of the first movement of her concerto.
‘Wonderful!’ Hu had said as soon as she finished. ‘Bravo. Give the girl a job.’ He looked expectantly at his wife, but Ainsley wasn’t smiling.
‘Well,’ she said uncomfortably. ‘You’ve obviously been working really hard. It was technically perfect. It’s just … I don’t know, it didn’t sound like you. If I was behind the screen I would never have picked it was you.’
‘So what?’ said Hu.
‘It was so accurate. Every single note precisely where it should be. I would have guessed it was an arrogant twenty-year-old whiz-kid straight out of the Con.’
‘And I say again, so what? If she played like that, she’d absolutely get through to the next round,’ said Hu. ‘ I’d put her through for sure. You would too. I know you would.’
‘Maybe, but I don’t think it would get her through the second round. There was something almost – don’t take this the wrong way, Clementine – but there was something almost robotic about it.’
Hu said, ‘How can she not take that the wrong way?’
‘We’re here to be honest,’ said Ainsley. ‘Not kind.’ Then she’d looked at Clementine and said suddenly, ‘Are you sure you still want it? After … everything?’
‘Of course she still wants it,’ said Hu. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
Then their house phone had rung and Clementine had never got to answer what should have been a straightforward question.
‘How are Ainsley and Hu?’ asked Sam. She could see the strain it cost him just to ask an ordinary civil question. It was like watching him do a chin-up. ‘I haven’t seen them for a while.’
But he was trying, so she’d try too.
‘Good. They’re good. Hey, I was telling Hu how you got me to run on the spot before practising my excerpts and he said he had a teacher who made him do that!’ Sam looked at her dully. You would think it had been somebody else who’d pinned the bedsheet to the ceiling all those weeks ago, who’d yelled, ‘Run, soldier, run!’ She ploughed on. ‘His teacher also used to tell him to wake up and practise in the middle of the night, when he was still half-asleep, and to play after he’d had a few drinks, speaking of which – oh, good, here comes somebody.’
A young waiter approached their table and stood just a little too far back. ‘Would you like me to go through today’s specials?’ He squared his shoulders in the heroic manner of someone volunteering to do something perilous.
‘Yes, but we’re actually wondering about our drinks. We ordered two glasses of wine … um, a while ago.’ A million years ago.
Clementine tried to soften her words with a smile. The waiter was
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