A Voice in the Distance (7 page)

'We will.' I squint down at her. 'Am I allowed a kiss?'

'I'm considering it . . .'

'If I cook dinner?'

She gives in with a smile.

The thought of dinner only comes back to me sometime
later as we lie on the sofa, our clothes strewn about the
living-room floor.

'Sex makes me hungry,' Jennah says.

I bite her nose. 'Your wish is my command.'

'Are you going to cook naked?'

'No way! Valuable things might get burned!'

At Jennah's insistence, we eat dinner by candlelight.
She reaches across the table and holds my hand
throughout the meal. We talk about unimportant stuff –
the Purcell Room concert, plans for Christmas, Kate's
new haircut . . . As she chats away, the candlelight is
reflected in her pupils, making them shine like cats'
eyes. When she smiles, her nose crinkles and dimples
appear in her cheeks. I look at her, stare at her, and I
think: I wish I could pick you up and put you in my pocket.
I wish I could carry you with me all the time, safe and
warm. I wish there was a way I could be with you all the
time, every hour of every day. Each time you smile, it's
like the first time all over again, and my heart flutters in
my chest. I want to reach out and hold you – it's like a
physical ache. I want to stroke your face and kiss your
eyelashes and feel your skin and smell your hair. I love
you. I love you so much. And it hurts. I don't know why.

Jennah breaks off from a long story involving a fellow
student and a sleazy university lecturer and props her
chin up on her hand. 'What?'

I meet her eyes, startled. 'Nothing.'

'You're giving me that look . . .' She narrows her eyes
at me in mock-suspicion.

I shake my head in embarrassment. 'I'm just listening
to you—'

'No you're not.' She catches me out instantly. 'What
are you thinking?'

I shoot her a look. 'Stuff.'

She smiles. 'Ah, stuff.' She nods knowingly, musingly.
'That's very interesting, very interesting indeed. I've
always wanted to know more about
stuff
.'

'Ha ha.'

Her smile flickers. 'Why won't you tell me?'

I look away, scraping the last bits of onion from my
plate. 'It's not that. It's just not important. I'm not thinking
about anything really—'

'Flynn . . .' She cuts me off.

I look at her. 'You really want to know?'

She nods.

I inhale sharply. 'OK. What I'm thinking is that all
this – all this will one day be just a memory—'

'A nice memory.' Jennah smiles.

'No, a painful memory. A painful memory that I'm
going to spend a lifetime trying to forget and – and
failing.'

Her smile dies. 'Flynn . . .'

'No, listen. You wanted to know. All this is transient,
everything is transient. Nothing lasts. Nothing is for
ever. I can't hold onto you. I can only love you. And
what's the point of loving you if it means someday I have
to lose you? How am I supposed to enjoy my life while
the whole time I'm waiting for that to happen?' My
voice is rising.

Jennah stares at me long and hard, her smile gone.
'Why?' she says softly. 'Why do you have to
do
this?'

'Do what?
What
am I doing?'

'Spoiling it. Thinking these miserable thoughts.
Seeing only the negative—'

'Because it's the truth!' I exclaim loudly.

Jennah gets up. 'Flynn, if you're going to start
shouting—'

'I'm not – I'm not!' I sidestep her, blocking her exit,
putting my hand on her arm. 'You're the one who asked
me. I'm just trying to
explain
.'

She looks at me almost pityingly. 'What do you want,
Flynn? For me to say,
Yes, you're right, there's no point to
anything, we may as well all shoot ourselves now
?'

'Yes . . . No! I just want to make you see . . .'

'See what? That it's all useless?'

I stop, dropping my arms down by my sides. 'Yes.'

There is a long silence. I am still standing in the
doorway, the heat in my cheeks, breathing too fast. 'You
see, you know it too,' I say.

Jennah says nothing and starts clearing the plates.

'What? You think I'm crazy, don't you?'

She stops, looking up at me from beneath a curtain
of hair. 'I think you're depressed, Flynn.'

I swallow. 'Maybe. But that doesn't mean I'm not
right
.'

She drops the plates into the sink and turns round.
'It's not about right or wrong, it's about perspective.'

'OK. But mixed up in all the different perspectives is
some kind of universal truth.'

Jennah closes her eyes and lets out an exaggerated
groan. 'Please, Flynn, it's nearly midnight, it's too late to
be talking about universal truths—'

'OK – OK.' I hold up my hands, leaning against the
door, defeated.

Jennah dries her hands on the tea towel, comes over
to me and puts her arms round my neck. 'Good things
don't always have to end. People do find ways of staying
together all their lives. It
has been done before
.' She gives
me a teasing smile, her eyes begging me to respond.

'Yeah, I know, I know,' I reply, pulling her close. 'I'm
being daft. All I'm really trying to say is I don't want to
lose you.'

We do the dishes together, flicking foam at each
other, back to the earlier chit-chat and playful teasing.
Later we brush our teeth and get undressed and argue
over the alarm clock setting and collapse into bed.
Nothing really matters – Jennah is smiling again, everything
is fine. There is no need to tell her about the wall
of darkness inside my mind.

Rami rings one evening while Flynn is out at a piano
lesson. The baby is yelling lustily in the background.
Raising his voice over the sound of his daughter's wails,
Rami asks me what our plans are for Christmas.

'Haven't really had a chance to discuss it,' I confess.
'Mum's staying in Manchester for Christmas with her
partner Alan and his two sons, so I guess I'll be playing
happy step-families with all of them. Flynn, I imagine,
will be going to Sussex with you and Sophie.'

'Well, I spoke to my parents this morning,' Rami says,
'and they would really love it if you would come and
spend Christmas with us.'

'Really?' I am touched, even though my heart lurches
slightly at the thought of spending my first Christmas
away from Mum. 'Then I could go home on Boxing Day
instead and miss the mayhem. Are you sure that
wouldn't be an imposition?'

'Absolutely not. They'd love to have you. We all
would.'

* * *

When Flynn comes in, looking drained as usual from his
lesson with Kaiser, I relay the conversation to him. He
stares at me in disbelief. 'You're kidding me.'

I look at him, stung by his reaction. 'No, I'm not.
But if the idea fills you with horror, we can easily change
it.'

He pulls himself together sharply. 'No, no, of course
not. That's great.'

'You're such a bad liar,' I retort. 'It's fine, I'll just tell
Rami my mother wants me home for Christmas.'

'No, Jennah, come on. I was surprised, that's all,
surprised that Rami had organized it without . . .
Anyway, let's do it. It'll be fun.' He says the word 'fun' as
if it were synonymous with 'agony'. 'I just – I'm just not
a big fan of Christmas, that's all.'

I relent, pouting. 'Humbug. Do you even know what
you're going to get me yet?'

He flushes suddenly. 'Yep.'

'Really?' I crow. 'What? Oh, give me one tiny clue.
Please, please! Have you bought it already?'

He averts his eyes. 'Maybe.'

'Tell me!'

'Yeah, right. If I tell you, it will be like that scene in
Friends
where Rachel and Phoebe run around turning
the flat upside down, trying to find Monica's hidden
presents.'

'So you
have
bought it!'

'I didn't say that.'

I put my arms round his neck. 'But you insinuated it!'

He gives me a lopsided smile. 'Enough silliness,' he
says firmly. 'I might change my mind and take it back.
Now what we should really be discussing is what
you're
going to get
me
.'

There is so much going on in the run-up to the end of
term that it feels as if Flynn and I hardly see each other.
What with rehearsals for the Purcell Room concert,
rehearsals for the Christmas recital, coursework deadlines,
end-of-term drinks and the usual diet of lectures
and classes, there is barely time to come up for breath.
We laugh when we meet in corridors at the Royal
College and greet each other with 'Hello, stranger' and
'Do I know you?', only occasionally having time to stop
for lunch with Harry and Kate. Flynn seems OK, back to
his normal self; the new dose appears to be working. I
feel like I'm constantly running, continually late for
something, invariably meant to be somewhere else five
minutes ago. I sing
Laudate Dominum
in the Purcell
Room without any major hitches. I manage to survive a
horribly difficult orchestra piece with the Royal College
Symphonia. I try and persuade my two Saturday morning
pupils that the flute can actually sound quite nice if
you take the trouble to practise between lessons. I turn
in half a dozen coursework assignments and finally find
myself washed up on the holiday shore, essay-weary and
socially depleted.

On Christmas Eve, Rami and Sophie swing by to pick
us up in their Ford Focus, baby Aurora asleep in the
back. As Flynn loads our rucksacks into the boot, I
squeeze up against the car seat and kiss Aurora's sweetsmelling,
downy cheek. Flynn climbs into the back
beside me and we are off, heading down through the
city, leaving an already darkening central London
behind us.

'So how are the two musicians?' Rami asks jovially
from behind the wheel.

'Very relieved to be leaving our instruments behind,'
I reply.

'I bet it's been a mad term,' Sophie says. 'Remember,
Rami, how at medical school they always piled on the
work just before Christmas?'

'I do,' Rami says. 'God, imagine having to write an
essay now. I wouldn't know where to start.'

'I can't believe how big Aurora is!' I exclaim.

'That's because she never stops eating. I swear she's
going to become the first obese one-year-old Watford
has ever seen and they'll make a programme about her
on the Discovery Channel,' Sophie says.

'She's not fat!' I protest. 'Just chubby. Like all babies
should be. And all those blonde curls! She's just
so
gorgeous
.'

'Yes, she
is
at her best when she's asleep,' Rami
observes drily.

I laugh.

'How are you, Flynn?' Sophie enquires.

'OK.'

'I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your last recital,'
Sophie says. 'But Rami told me you kicked up a standing
ovation.'

'Yeah, it was OK.'

'More than OK from what I heard.'

We drift into comfortable silence. I like Sophie a lot.
She is warm and motherly and has this knack of making
you feel important. She feels like an older sister. I look
across at Flynn. He is resting his elbow on the ledge
below the window, chewing his nails, staring out. The
passing cars create a pattern of moving lights across his
face.

Aurora sleeps like an angel for the whole journey and
only wakes when the engine is switched off and the car
doors open. Flynn's parents, Matias and Maria, come
out to the car to greet us in their woolly jumpers and
slippers, hugging themselves against the freezing night
air. Maria gives me a hug and Matias his usual firm
handshake, and then everyone is fighting over who gets
to carry the bags, and Rami is saying, 'For heaven's sake,
Mum, put it down,' and to my delight I am given
the baby. Mayhem continues as we all traipse into the
narrow hallway of the cottage, and there are overnight
bags underfoot and Aurora's travel cot blocking the
stairs. Eventually we all get our belongings up to our
respective bedrooms – Flynn and I are sharing a fold-out
bed in Matias's study – and we regroup in the living
room, where Sophie is breast-feeding and Matias is
pouring coffee.

Although it is the first time I have been to their
home, I know Matias and Maria quite well from all the
concerts and competitions we have attended together.
Matias is an older version of Rami but stockier and with
a shock of white hair. Maria is an elegant woman
with long grey hair tied up in a bun and arresting blue
eyes. They both speak English with an accent from their
native Finland and sometimes switch into Finnish for no
apparent reason, the sound of which never ceases to
impress me. I tried to get Flynn to teach me some
Finnish when we first started going out, but it didn't
take me long to realize why it's considered one of the
world's most difficult languages.

I follow Maria into the kitchen and help her set the
table for dinner. Something is crackling on the stove
and the small room is filled with a warm fug and the
smell of fried meat. As I take the glasses down from
the cupboard, Maria looks at me and smiles. 'Your hair
has grown since I last saw you. It suits you.'

'Thanks.' I can feel myself blush.

'You must be tired,' Maria says.

'A bit. The end of term is always frantic.'

Maria wipes her hands on a tea towel and stirs something
on the stove. 'This term must have been
particularly difficult . . . with Flynn not being well.'

I look at her. 'You know about that?'

'I guessed. He sounded very agitated on the phone. I
finally got Rami to confess that he'd spent a couple of
nights in hospital.' She looks suddenly drawn. 'I tried
and tried to persuade Flynn to come home for a break,
but he wouldn't. He doesn't listen to me any more,
Jennah. Or to his father. He doesn't even listen to Rami.
But he listens to you.'

There is a pause. Setting out the plates, I search for
something to say. It is difficult to express sympathy without
being disloyal to Flynn. Maria hasn't moved from
her position by the stove. She looks tired, defeated
somehow.

'We are so grateful to you,' she adds suddenly, so
quietly I'm not sure if I've heard correctly. 'But your
mother must be very worried . . .'

I say nothing and finish setting the table. No, my
mother isn't worried about me. My mother suffered an
acrimonious divorce when I was a baby and is naturally
suspicious of men, especially men who go out with her
only child. My mother could not cope with the knowledge
that her daughter's boyfriend was suffering from
a serious mental illness.

We eat something called
vorschmack
round the
kitchen table. Aurora is perched on her mother's knee,
slobbering over a piece of sausage. Matias asks me about
uni, about my concert, about my teaching jobs. I notice
for the first time that he has the same lopsided smile as
Flynn. Maria coos over Aurora, between jumping up
every few minutes to offer people more food, and talks
to Sophie about stretch marks and sore nipples. Rami
asks his dad for some advice on tax returns and I turn to
Flynn, who for most of the meal has been completely
mute.

'This is so nice,' I say to him with a smile.

He smiles back, a vacant look in his eyes.

After dinner Rami passes Aurora round the table for
a goodnight kiss, then takes her upstairs to bed. Sophie
and I join Maria and Matias in the living room for
coffee, while Flynn stays behind in the kitchen to attack
the washing up, almost aggressive in his refusal of help.
When Rami comes back down and joins us, the conversation
turns to baby-rearing, and I pick up my coffee
and return to the kitchen. I put my hand on Flynn's
back and look at his reflection in the darkened pane of
the kitchen window. His head is down and I can't see his
expression.

'I don't need any help,' Flynn says.

'I haven't come to help. I've come to talk to you,' I say.

Silence. More scrubbing.

'Is everything OK?' I ask.

'Of course. You?'

'Yes, your parents are so sweet. Your mum's gone to
such trouble with all the Christmas decorations and
everything, hasn't she?'

He nods.

'Are you tired?' I ask.

'Bit.'

'Me too. Do you want to go to bed after this?'

'Yeah.'

I stop talking. Gaze unseeingly at Flynn's reflection in
the black window. Even though we are standing side by
side, there is an abyss between us.

* * *

Christmas morning I wake early in the squeaky, unfamiliar
bed as a cold dawn filters in between the
curtains. Flynn's side of the bed is empty and his clothes
are gone from the chair. I yawn and stretch and get up
slowly, padding about on the threadbare carpet,
the floorboards creaking beneath my feet. I draw the
curtains and make the bed and then go to the bathroom
to wake myself with a hot shower.

In the kitchen downstairs only Sophie is up, along
with Aurora, much to my delight. 'Merry Christmas,
Sophie! Merry Christmas, baby boo!' I kiss the top of
her warm head. Aurora is sitting on the side of the
kitchen table, a tea towel tied around her neck. Sophie
is spooning something white and runny into her mouth.

'She's like clockwork, this one,' Sophie explains with
a tired smile. 'She doesn't do weekends or holidays.'
Aurora grins a toothless grin and flaps her arms in
agreement.

'Coffee?' I ask.

'That would be lovely.'

I go over to put on the kettle. 'Have you seen Flynn
this morning?'

'Yes, he went out about half an hour ago. For a walk,
I think he said.'

'Oh.' We lapse into silence. Aurora gurgles happily as
Sophie continues to feed her and I sit and tickle her
foot.

'How are things, Jen?' Sophie asks suddenly.

'Fine,' I reply instantly. 'Why?'

'You seem' – a pause – 'a little subdued.'

'It's been a crazy term,' I reply.

'I bet. You do know that if ever you or Flynn need a
break from the city, or from each other, our guest room
is ready and waiting.'

I smile, stroking Aurora's podgy arm. 'That's kind.
Thanks.'

'It's not always easy, living with someone,' Sophie
continues. 'I remember when Rami and I first moved in
together, I used to get terrible cabin fever every few
weeks and have to run home to my mum.'

I laugh. 'Yeah, it does take a bit of getting used to.
Especially when you live in a tiny flat like ours.'

'It's such a cosy flat, though,' Sophie says. 'You've
both made it really nice.'

'Yeah.' I think back to last summer, when Flynn and I
moved in. How different things were then. We had both
been full of energy and excitement, combing the
second-hand shops for furniture and knick-knacks. It
seems like a lifetime ago.

I get up to make the coffee. Aurora babbles happily
and blows white spit bubbles. Sophie gets up and wipes
her daughter down, then puts her on the floor with
some toys and starts a game of peek-a-boo. I hand
Sophie her coffee and join them on the carpet.

'Rami seems like a really hands-on dad,' I say.

Sophie smiles. 'Oh, he is. I think he was a bit
paranoid when she was a newborn – kept checking her
for every possible illness in the book! But now that she's
bigger, he's much more relaxed.'

I take the plastic keys that Aurora is holding out to
me. 'Thank you, baba!'

'And Flynn is a lovely uncle,' Sophie adds.

'Yeah,' I say, concentrating on Aurora.

A pause. 'He doesn't seem too well at the moment,
does he?'