Music From Standing Waves (31 page)

‘
I just want to be with you’
.

We had spent so many years willing each other
to say it. And now here it is, laid out in the open. Simple and
honest. I feel an ache of desire that once followed me everywhere.
The desire to finish what we so long ago started.

I let myself back into the house. The back
door groans on rusty hinges. A dripping tap plops into the sink.
And the sound of my violin floats down from the top storey.

I follow the music upstairs and stop at the
door to my mother’s bedroom. The melody sways from the resonating
low register to its soaring climax. Sarah turns with the motion of
the music and notices me in the doorway. My violin falls from her
shoulder. She throws it back in the case like it’s poison.

“It’s your violin, isn’t it,” I say. “It was
you who put it in my bedroom that day.”

“Of course it was me. Did you really think I
would have left you without an instrument?” She slams the lid.

“Don’t,” I say hurriedly.

She looks at me in surprise.

“I mean, keep playing.”

“I don’t play anymore,” she says.

“That’s not what it looks like to me.”

“Don’t be smart.”

“You’re very good,” I tell her, nibbling my
thumbnail. “But you know that, don’t you.”

“Stop biting your nails,” she says
sharply.

“Why did you stop playing?”

“It’s none of your business.” She hurries
into the hall.

“Mum-” My hand darts out on impulse and grabs
her wrist. I drop it quickly as her surprised eyes meet mine. We
stand motionless in the doorway. There are deep folds in Sarah’s
brow.

“It’s something I don’t talk about, Abigail.
You should respect that.”

I follow her downstairs and into the kitchen.
“Don’t you think I have a right to know? So I at least know why you
tried to keep me from playing for all those years?”

She shoves the plug into the sink and throws
the taps on. Water drums into the basin. She hurls the dishes into
the water and they crash against each other. Finally, she turns off
the taps. The single drip bounces into the soapsuds. Sarah shoves a
sponge inside a glass and it gurgles noisily. After a moment, she
puts it on the drying rack and sighs.

“My parents wanted me to play.” Her eyes
don’t leave the frothy water. “They paid for me to leave Acacia
Beach and study overseas.”

I frown. “Did you go?”

“The Julliard,” says Sarah. “New York.”

I stare at her. “You got into the Julliard?
Are you serious? Why did you stop?”

“When I was twenty, I came home because my
dad was dying of cancer. I took a year off studying to be with my
mother after he died. Then, just before I was about to go back to
school, I found out his disease could have been treated.”

“What does that have to do with your
music?”

Sarah swallows heavily. “My dad refused
treatment because they couldn’t have afforded to keep me in
America.” She looks up at me. “He died because of me, Abigail.
Because of my stupid need to play music.” Her voice becomes
stifled. “When I found that out, I couldn’t play anymore. I had to
give it away.” She runs the sponge around the rim of a plate. I
stand in silence at her shoulder.

“But you giving up music,” I say finally.
“That means your dad died for nothing.”

Sarah throws another plate into the sink.
“You’re saying things you have no idea about,” she says coldly.

“That’s right,” I snap. “I have no idea what
it’s like to have your parents support you.”

She opens her mouth to reply, but stops. She
sits the plate on the drying rack and watches a trail of bubbles
slither down the side.

“Why didn’t you let me go to the city? I
would have been out of your way then.”

“It’s always about
you
, isn’t it,
Abigail,” Sarah cries, a waver in her voice. “You are so damn
self-centred!”

“But if you’d just let me go, you would never
have had to listen to my playing again!”

Sarah’s grey hair falls over her face. “And
lose you to music as well as my father?” She turns back to the
sink. “I thought if you stayed here long enough you would forget
about the Conservatorium eventually. I hated Andrew for putting the
thought in your head.”

“I would have though of it myself.”

Sarah washes in silence. After a moment, she
mumbles: “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not! You’d do the same all over
again! I know you would!”

She throws down the sponge and glares at me.
“You don’t understand what it was like for me. To feel that guilt
all over again every time I heard you play! And to feel twice as
bad for stopping you from doing what you loved! Do you really think
I enjoyed that? Don’t you think I wanted you to succeed just as
much as I used to want to?”

I let out my breath in disbelief.

“It’s true!” she cries. “I just couldn’t do
it. I wasn’t strong enough to support you.” She dries her hands and
sinks into a chair at the kitchen table. “Do you know what it’s
like to hear music and have every note cut into you like a knife?
To not be able to touch your instrument because of the memories it
digs up?”

I don’t look at her. I do know. I know
exactly what it’s like, but I don’t tell her.

She sighs. “And you play so beautifully,
Abigail. All I wanted to do was listen to you, but I couldn’t. It
was too hard.” She picks up a serviette and wrings it between her
fingers. “You are the only person I’ve ever told this to. I’ve
never even told your father. I suppose I thought you might
understand.”

“Your dad wanted you to be a musician,” I say
bitterly.

Sarah tears the serviette to shreds and lays
them out on the table. “I couldn’t go back to playing, Abby. Surely
you can understand that.”

“But you do play. I saw you.”

She sighs. “I wish I didn’t have to. But you
know how it is; the passion never really leaves you. No matter how
much you want it to.”

I sit opposite my mother at the table. In a
strange sort of way, nothing she has told me surprises me.

“I’m not going back to the Con,” I say
finally.

“I’m glad.” There is a slight gleam in her
eyes. She reaches out and covers my hand with hers. My fingers
tense. The touch of my mother’s hand is something I remember only
from childhood. It had become more leathery. Colder. She squeezes
my fingers. I can’t bring myself to squeeze back. She gives a tiny
smile.

“I’m glad we can both put music behind
us.”

Tim and I disappear out of the house after
dinner. We join the handful of Nick and Marina’s friends that have
gathered on the beach for the wedding. The sun is sliding into the
water. The sky is pink and white like a half-sucked lolly.

Nick is lying back on his elbows, his bare
feet buried in the sand. He stands up and smiles as we arrive.
“Hey.” He kisses my cheek and shakes Tim’s hand. I’ve never seen my
brothers shake hands before.

Marina is paddling in the shallows and
stumbles out to meet us. Her orange hair hangs in waves down her
back. In one hand she clutches a bouquet of frangipanis and she has
a small one poked behind her ear. Her short white dress is soaking
wet, see-through and clinging to her butt. She is wearing undies
with pink love hearts all over them.
My sister-in-law
, I
think. She throws an arm around each of us. Her hair smells like
cheap shampoo. She pulls a flower out of the bouquet and breaks off
the stem.

“Here you go chick,” she says, sliding it
behind my ear. “Have to get you into the party spirit.” She tries
to stick one behind Tim’s ear too but he tells her to fuck off. She
is wearing the long earrings again and they match the string of
love beads around her neck. The colours stand out against her
translucent skin. I look her in the eye. Her pupils are tiny dots,
swamped in blue.

“Hey gorgeous,” I hear Nick say. I try to
feel happy for him, but all I can manage is a kind of muted, flat
jealousy. I want my brother’s carelessness, his ability to exist
just for the sake of it, without the need for purpose.

I glance at my phone. It’s almost 6:30.
Thousands of kilometres away, the concert hall at the Con will be
filling with audience. I feel an uncomfortable churning in my
stomach. My phone bleeps suddenly to life. Matt is calling me. In
my fluster to hang up, I accidentally take the call.

“Oh fuck.”

“Charming. Where are you, Abby? I’m backstage
trying to find you. I’m here to watch you kick Clara’s arse!”

I lift the phone to my ear. “You’ve got a
nerve mentioning Clara to me.”

Matt’s voice flattens. “So you heard about
that then. Shit, I’m sorry. It was just a stupid mistake. I was
drunk and lonely. She was there, that’s all. It meant nothing. You
gotta know that.”

“Whatever,” I say. “Who you fuck is no
business of mine anymore. You’ve moved on, so I need to as
well.”

“I haven’t
moved on
,” says Matt. “I
haven’t moved on at all. I slept with Clara because I was totally
miserable and missing you. Christ Abby, yesterday I was even
listening to that stupid Dvorak concerto.” He pauses. “Where are
you?”

“I’m in Queensland.”

“What? No, seriously.”

I don’t answer.

“What about the comp final? I thought this
was everything to you.” He pauses. “I thought this was why we broke
up.”

“This has nothing to do with you.”

His tone darkens. “This has
everything
to do with me.”

Tim catches my eye and motions at me to hang
up.

“I have to go,” I tell Matt.

“Wait. Abby, what’s going on? When you coming
home?”

“I am home.” I hang up before he can speak
again.

“Everything okay?” asks Tim.

I nod.

“Turn that off okay. Don’t be the tool whose
phone goes off in the middle of the ceremony.”

I smile half-heartedly. “Like anyone here
would notice.”

The guests sprawl on the sand as Nick and
Marina stumble through their vows. We have all kicked off our shoes
and some people are drinking stubbies. I feel more like I am at a
picnic than a wedding. Throughout the ceremony, I hear my phone
vibrating noisily in my bag. Tim leans over and whispers in my
ear.

“So how long you give it?”

I flash him a short smile. “Don’t be an
arse.”

Tim chuckles. “Reckon they’ll have kids?”

“I hope not.”

“Don’t be an arse.”

I dig my hands into the sand and feel it turn
cold beneath the surface. I let the soft white grains slide through
my fingers. “Do you think we’ll ever see them again after this
trip?”

Tim smiles. “Sure. They’ll be back when they
run out of money. In like, a week…”

“I love you,” Nick says and it catches me
unaware. I’ve never known him to express so much affection. I watch
him closely, his eyes glued to Marina’s.

“Soft cock,” says Tim.

Marina leans against the bonnet of the car,
one hand linked through Nick’s arm. She holds her bouquet out to
me.

“You want it?”

I laugh a little. “You’re supposed to throw
it.”

“Yeah… Maybe I’ll keep it. It smells so
good.” She flashes me a grin. “I’m glad I got to meet you. It was
real nice of you to come all this way.”

I force a smile as she throws her arms around
me. “Look after my brother,” I say.

“Yeah chick, I will. I promise.”

We lock eyes again and this time I see a firm
sincerity. I brush Marina’s arm.

“Thanks.”

Nick jangles his keys on the end of his
finger. “Time to hit the road.” He grabs me in a bear hug. “Catch
ya,” he says. “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year and all that.
Have fun down in Melbourne.”

“I’m not going back to Melbourne,” I say
quickly.

Nick raises his eyebrows. “Seriously?” He
chuckles and slaps me on the back. “Well haven’t the tables turned
now, hey? So what’s with that? You missing Sarah or something?”

“Long story.” I push past it. “Have a great
time, okay? Be careful.”

He laughs. “Yes Mum.”

I push my chin into the hollow of his neck
and feel his stubble against my cheek. I try to swallow the lump in
my throat. Nick will never let me live it down if I cry.

“So tell me where you end up, okay?” I force
a brightness into my voice to cover its tremor.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll let you know.”

I watch him climb into the car and disappear
down the highway. I know he won’t.

I meet Rachel in the pub after the wedding.
The bar is bustling with Christmas tourists and music blares from a
TV in the corner. Straggly tinsel dangles from the light fixtures.
Andrew and his friends are drinking around the pool table and he
waves as I walk inside. Rachel rushes up to me.

“Oh my God!” she cries, with a frenzied
air-kiss. “I can’t believe you’re back! I can’t believe you wore
that dress to a wedding!” She teeters above me in high-heeled
sandals and a strapless sundress. I smooth my ponytail
self-consciously and pull the squashed frangipani out from behind
my ear. Rachel takes my arm and sits me at one of the tables.

“So Justin’s going to meet us here,” she
says. “I thought you’d probably like that.”

I catch a smell of
Tommy Girl
and it
reminds me of Clara. Rachel totters to the bar and returns with a
jug of beer and a pre-mixed vodka.

“So I’m studying nursing in Cairns,” she
tells me. “That’s pretty cool, isn’t it. Only problem is there are
no cute guys in my course- it’s all girls. But I figure once I
start working I’ll meet all sorts of hot doctors.” She looks up.
“Hey, there’s Justin.” She leans towards me hurriedly. “So,
quickly. Tell me what’s happening between you two. Cos he wouldn’t
say.”

“He wants us to get together,” I say.

“About bloody time! And?”