Music From Standing Waves (4 page)

I walked to my violin lesson the next day.
Straight from school to avoid crossing paths with my mother. Andrew
was playing the
Tempest
Sonata on the piano. I stood at the
top of the basement steps, listening in amazement. Rhythms pounded
into each other. Chords rippled and shivered. Major into minor;
lyricism into a churning
allegro.
It reminded me of the
storms that pounded Acacia Beach at Christmas time. Perfect blue
one minute, black the next.

“That was so awesome,” I gushed, as Andrew
lifted the pedal on the final chord.

He turned in surprise. “I didn’t hear you
come in.”

“Are you mad at something?” I asked. “Your
playing sounded angry.”

“It’s Beethoven,” he said. “He was a pretty
angry guy.” He stood up from the piano and hunted around the room
for his violin.

I twisted the buttons on my school dress.
“Sorry my mum got mad at you the other day.”

“You weren’t supposed to hear that
conversation. I didn’t think you were home.”

“How come you didn’t want me to hear it?
Didn’t you think I’d want to go? Because I do. I really want to
go.” I passed him my violin. “Can you loosen my pegs?”

He slackened my strings and tuned them to
his. “I didn’t want you to hear it because I thought your parents
would probably say no. I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.” He
handed me back my violin.

“Dad says Mum’s being unreasonable. She
wanted me to stop lessons.”

“Stop lessons? That’s a bit over-the-top
isn’t it?” He paused. “Hey don’t tell your mum I said that.” He
grabbed my music and laid it out on the stand. “How did you go with
the Sevcík?”

“Do you really think I’m good enough to get
in to a proper music school?” I asked.

“Yes. You’re very talented, Abby.”

“Somewhere away from here?”

Andrew nodded.

“Another country?”

“If that’s what you want. Any chance your mum
will change her mind?”

I shook my head. You can’t make the deaf
hear. “She says you can’t make a career out of playing music.”

Andrew picked at the frayed pocket on his
jeans. I could tell he was trying to think of something polite to
say.

“It’s not easy,” he told me finally. “You
have to be dedicated.”

“And you have to be somewhere other than this
stupid town.”

Andrew laughed a little. “Well…” he said
noncommittally. “I wish you’d decided to learn the piano.”

It had only ever been violin, ever since my
ninth birthday when I found an old stringless three-quarter at a
second hand market in Cairns. I had taken it to the music shop and
had the man put strings on it for me. He showed me how to balance
the bow across my fingers, then I rushed home and taught myself
Hot Cross Buns.

I frowned. “What if Mum makes me stop
violin?”

Andrew smiled reassuringly. “Let’s not get
carried away.”

Our family went to visit my grandmother who
had moved from Acacia Beach to Cairns. Nick had gotten back from
camping that morning and slept in the back seat with his mouth
open. Tim and I took turns throwing things at him until an M&M
smacked him on the chin and he woke up snorting like a pug dog.

Sarah’s mother lived in a semi-detached near
the sugar plantations. We could see the great tunnels of green and
yellow cane from her back window. Neat rows that danced like a
chorus line when the trade winds blew. I’d been at Grandma’s once
to see the farmers burn the crops before the harvest. Stood with my
head pressed to the glass for an hour, watching flames as high as
the house tear through the jester hat leaves. It felt like the end
of the world.

Grandma was cooking roast beef when we
arrived. The smell wafted through the house, covering the hint of
potpourri and cat. I sat at the kitchen bench and watched Grandma
cook. She poured the juices out of the baking dish and used them to
make gravy. She never used gravy powder like Mum did. I loved
Grandma’s gravy, even though it sometimes turned out white instead
of brown.

The cat circled my ankles and leapt onto the
bench.

“Shoo!” Grandma waved her hands furiously and
the flesh under her arms wobbled. “What a naughty boy.”

“He likes the smell of your roast beef,” I
grinned. “So do I. Is it nearly ready?”

“Patience, chicken. The wait will make it
taste even better.” Grandma glided across the kitchen to the
fridge, her floral dress swishing around her calves.

I loved Grandma’s dresses. They were always
so colourful, with wide, swirling skirts. When I was little,
Grandma would let me try on all her dresses and parade around the
house like a princess. My favourite was red with sunflowers on the
skirt. Last time I had seen it, the waistband came to my
ankles.

“How come you never wear that dress anymore?”
I always asked.

“That old thing?” Grandma would reply. I
thought she had probably taken it to the op shop, but didn’t want
to ask.

I kicked my legs under the bench, my toes
drumming a rhythm against the woodwork.

Grandma handed me a peeler and a bag of
carrots. “You can peel these for me, chicken. Like your mum used to
do when she was your age.”

Sarah’s childhood was something I rarely
thought about. It was hard to imagine her as anything other than
the crinkly, hard-shelled mother she’d become.

Sarah was an only child. She had grown up in
Acacia Beach without, it seemed, giving any thought to the
existence of an outside world. Her life had played itself out like
she was ticking items off a shopping list. High school certificate.
Steady job as the council receptionist. Sensible marriage. Then
came the family business and dutiful production of children. Nick
the obligatory, me the accident and Tim the afterthought.

I was determined that Sarah’s colourless life
wouldn’t be mine. My sunny grandma was everything my mother was
not. If it weren’t for their shared narrow nose and coffee brown
eyes- traits I’d been handed as well- I’d have doubted they were
even related. I wondered if Sarah’s bristly shell was a product of
her dreary life, or a legacy of her long-dead father. Either way,
my grandma went some way to allaying my fear that becoming my
mother was inevitable.

“I’m going to be a concert violinist,” I
announced suddenly, peel dangling off my fingers. Grandma looked up
from her saucepan.

“A concert violinist! Isn’t that lovely. Your
mum must be happy you’re so musical, mustn’t she.”

I huffed. “She hates it. Why did you think
she’d be happy?”

Grandma raised her fluffy grey eyebrows, deep
folds setting in her forehead. “Well she used to do music when she
was a little girl. I thought she would have liked to have another
musician in the family.”

“Mum did music?”

“Oh yes.” Grandma went back to stirring her
gravy. “She was quite the Liberace.”

I chewed my lip. “She never said.”

“Damn lumps,” said Grandma.

Mum came to kiss me goodnight. She pottered
around the bedroom in the dark, picking up clothes off the floor
and folding them over the back of my desk chair.

“This room is a pig-sty,” she said.

I rolled onto my side and watched her through
the mosquito net. “How come you never told me you did music?”

Mum turned around and put her hands on her
hips. “Who told you that?”

“Grandma said you were quite the
Liberace.”

Mum gave a short, unenthused chuckle and
stepped under the netting. She gave me a quick kiss. I felt a
strand of hair that had fallen loose from her bun tickle my cheek.
She had done her hair nicely to go and visit her mother. She had
even worn a dress. It was plain blue, not as exciting as Grandma’s,
but I was still glad she had made an effort. Her dark hair was
turning grey around her ears but she looked younger when she was
out of her baggy shorts and shirt.

Mum tucked the bottom of the sheets under the
mattress. I wriggled my legs to try and loosen them again.

“Abigail… Stop it.”

“But I like my sheets untucked. I can move
around more.”

“What do you need to move around for in your
sleep?”

“Can you still play?” I asked suddenly.

“No,” said Mum, climbing out from underneath
the net. “I didn’t learn for very long. It was nothing really.”

“Oh.”

“Goodnight,” said Mum. I watched the shadows
change as a car drove under the street light outside my room.

“Goodnight.”

We brought in the New Year in a fairly
unfestive way. Rachel grabbed a pot out of her kitchen cupboard and
ran down the street belting it with a spoon until the neighbours
told her to shut up. Justin and I lay on our backs across the
footpath and watched the world’s lamest fireworks trickle above the
road. Suddenly he leant over and pecked my lips. My heart banged
against my ribs.

“What was that for?”

“Dunno. It’s New Years. I just thought…”

“Do you feel any different?” I asked.

Justin rolled his head to one side so his
eyes met mine. “Not really. Do you?”

I didn’t answer. My head was tingling like
there was fizzy drink in it.

“What now?” I asked.

“What do you mean ‘what now’?”

“You and me,” I said, excited that there
suddenly seemed to be a ‘you and me’ to speak of.

Justin just shrugged.

I should have seen it coming even then.
Should have got up off the footpath and left him lying alone in the
dust. Instead, I lay awake all night and twitched my mouth around,
feeling the place where Justin’s lips had touched mine.

After that night, I began to think of him as
my boyfriend, though I only ever said it to myself. We started to
sit a little closer when we played Nintendo. Started to wrestle in
the rock pool a little more often.

I was busting with self-importance when I
went to visit Hayley and her new baby, Oliver.

I sat beside her on the couch. The baby
wriggled in her arms and waved his tiny fists.

“I kissed someone,” I whispered. Andrew was
leaning against the doorframe and I didn’t want him to hear.

Hayley smiled. “Who?”

Her hair was pulled into a knot on top of her
head. It made her look older. I chose not to hear and held out the
wrapped up teddy bear I had bought with my peg money.

“Here,” I said.

“Thank you, sweetie,” said Hayley. “You can
open it for him.”

I unwrapped the present and held it out to
the baby.

Hayley kissed my cheek. “It’s gorgeous.
Oliver will love it.”

I made the bear dance on my knees and
blathered on at Hayley for a while with all the questions I had
saved up since the saga of the New Year’s kiss.

“What should I do next?”

“Do you think he really likes me?”

“Did it hurt a lot?”

“Can I baby-sit?”

Finally, Hayley announced she was putting
Oliver to bed and Andrew walked me to the porch.

“Pooey nappies for you,” I told him.

“Yeah I’m up to my elbows in crap,” he
laughed. “Thanks for the visit. Are you ready to start lessons
again soon?”

“Sure. Look.” I held out a finger. “I got a
blister cos I practised for three hours last night.”

Andrew put his hands on my shoulders. “Listen
Abs, take it easy okay. I’m really glad you’re practising so much,
but make sure you have a holiday as well.”

“I will,” I promised.

“Good. Three hours a day is a lot at your
age. It’s a lot for anyone.”

“I can handle it,” I said. “I’m going to be a
concert violinist.”

Andrew smiled. “Yeah. I got that after the
four billionth time you told me.”

“Melbourne Arts College sent me some stuff,”
I said. “All about scholarships and things.”

“Great. Are your parents letting you
audition?”

I shook my head despondently. “Not yet. I’ll
work on them.” Sarah was hopeless, I knew, but maybe I could
somehow convince Dad.

“I’ll call you next week about lessons,” said
Andrew, shooing a fly away from his face. I ran across the nature
strip and back to my house, without thinking of Justin once.

***

That year was the busiest winter rush I could
remember. The caravan park had been booked out for weeks and our
house was always surrounded by cars, tourists with Akubras and kids
in see-through bathers. Justin’s dad kept saying:

“What is this, bush week?” and we all
laughed, even though no-one really knew what he meant.

Rachel and I ran down to the rock pool with
the boys in tow. Andrew and Hayley had taken Oliver to the
beach.

Rachel grabbed my arm. “Oh my God! Look! It’s
your hot violin teacher!”

I dropped my towel on the sand. “Would you
stop saying that?”

“You’re such a square,” laughed Rachel,
tucking her glasses into her beach bag. “I’m just looking. It’s not
like I’m going to do anything.”

“I never know with you.”

Justin, Hugh and Tim thundered up behind us,
spraying sand over our towels. Rachel huffed dramatically.

“Wanna play Marco Polo?” asked Tim.

Rachel’s anger vanished. “Okay!”

“Maybe later,” I said. “I have to go ask
Hayley something.”

Justin grabbed my arm. “Come on. You never do
stuff with us any more.”

“In a minute,” I promised.

Hayley was spreading her beach towel over the
sand with the baby on her hip.

“Can I play with Oliver?”

“Sure. Look, he sits up by himself now, don’t
you, baby?”

I sat on the edge of the towel and bounced
him on my knees.

“Are you going swimming?” I asked, letting
Oliver’s sticky fingers wrap themselves around my thumbs.

“Maybe. I’m going to do some serious
sunbaking first.” Hayley lifted her blonde curls and massaged a
handful of sunscreen into her neck. It smelled of coconut and left
her shoulders shiny like a swimsuit model’s. The sunscreen my mum
had given me had sand around the rim and smelled like old
ladies.