Romance in A minor: A musical romance (8 page)

She wasn't sure what frightened her more: Tom's bad mood or the thought of seeing Darren again in the afternoon. Something was happening to her and Darren and she was afraid even to name it, because it would be the end of her life as she knew it, yet again. But it ate at her. What should she do? Put her foot down with Tom and make things right between them? Make sure he understood that being his wife didn't mean being his slave? That being his wife didn't mean giving up her own identity, or even having to ask for permission to do things for herself. Or would she cut loose and... and what? She didn't even know if Darren felt anything for her. If he had, he would have kissed her last night, regardless of the fact that he knew that she was engaged.

Or was she completely wrong about the whole thing?

She didn't know how she got through the day at the office. Normally Tom rang at least once, but he didn't even do that. That worried her. He was OK, wasn't he?

She rang him, and he seemed surprised.

"I was just checking how you were, because normally you ring at lunchtime, and your head was a bit sore this morning."

"Yeah." He chuckled, uneasily. "I don't think I'll be having party tonight."

"You could come and watch me play." If she could interest him in coming along, a lot of trouble could be avoided.

"Wasn't this for some sort of conference? Dentists? I don't think I look like a dentist."

"I'm sure I could get you in if you wanted."

"Yeah." He didn't sound convinced. "I'll let you know, OK?"

But of course by the time Justine had to leave for home, he still hadn't called. The reality was that Tom had little interest in music beyond gym tracks.

Justine went home on the bus to get changed into her black dress—the same she'd worn when Tom had proposed to her—and to get her cello.

When she walked into the foyer of the hotel where the conference was being held, she found Darren, Trevor and Charlotte waiting there.

"Ah, Justine." Darren smiled.

"Am I late? I hope not." She searched his face for a hint of his feelings, but he remained very proper and professional.

"No, you're fine. We only just arrived. The tech guys said they wanted us inside whenever suited us for a sound check."

So they went into the hall, a huge room where hotel staff were putting out plates and glasses on a veritable sea of round tables.

There was a stage against the furthest wall, and a couple of guys were setting up sound equipment. Darren asked if they were OK to a sound check and after being told to go ahead and play something, they unpacked and put together their instruments and played a few short pieces while the sound guys crawled around and over the stage adjusting microphones.

With the sound checks done, there was time for a coffee.

"You look tired," Darren said while the four of them sat in a café next to the hotel.

"Yeah, well..."
What do you expect when you're upsetting me?

"You were all right going home last night, weren't you?"

"Of course I was." She tried to sound confident, but didn't think she pulled it off.

Darren turned a searching look to her, but Trevor started talking about the stage setup, oblivious to the tenseness between them.

A bit later they went into the hall, where candles had been lit on all the tables. The guests were arriving, all dressed in formal clothes.

They took their positions on the stage, Darren at the front, Charlotte behind him and Justine and Trevor at the back.

The others chatted, but each time Darren looked in her direction, Justine averted her gaze. She felt that he wanted to ask her things. Did she get home all right? Was there any trouble? She didn't want to talk about Tom's party and his lewd friends. She didn't want to tell him about how Tom had no interest in music.

Worse, if she told him, he would say, "Why are you even staying with this guy?"

And she would mumble something about that he was lonely and had helped her so much two years ago, and he would say that was no reason.

And she knew he would be right about all of it. Last night she'd had a glimpse of what her life as musician could have been like. It was both wonderful and it scared her witless. Now that she had sort of won the right to play, she knew that if she did, it would be the end of her relationship with Tom.

They played through the repertoire twice with a break for drinks in the middle. During that time, someone held a speech and there was some sort of award ceremony for student dentists.

When the guests had finished eating, the hotel staff moved some tables aside to make a dance floor where couples started dancing as soon as the group resumed playing.

Justine found it unbearable to watch. These were all such happy people, dancing together. Seated at the back, she watched Darren's fingers move, those fingers that had caressed her shoulders last night. His hair glowed like silver in the light. Occasionally, he would turn around and smile at her.

And each time he did, her heart would speed up and a wave of panic overtook her. So she stopped looking at him, and instead focused on her music or simply stared into the room.

Sometimes her eyes pricked and her vision blurred with tears, but fortunately no one saw it in the darkness of the hall.

When they had gone through the program twice, it was time to go home. Justine deliberately packed up slowly so that the rest of their group would be gone before her, but Darren waited at the door.

"I'll walk to the station with you."

Another wave of panic hit her. She wanted to say
Yes
, or
No
. She didn't want any more trouble, but she wanted to be with him. They started walking, out of the hotel's foyer and into the street which was still busy at this time of night. The air was warm and the sky full of low clouds chasing each other. The city lights made them orange.

Justine clamped her arms around herself, forcing herself to be cheerful. "I thought that went well."

"Did you?" He sounded incredulous.

"You didn't think so?"

"We played well, but you were crying."

Crap, she thought he wouldn't have noticed. "One of those pieces... makes me think of my grandmother. She died last year." It was true, but was also a terrible lie. The web of lies grew ever bigger and threatened to choke her under its weight.

"Justine..." Darren touched her arm. His expression of concern made her panic. If she gave in to him, it would be the end of... everything. She didn't know him that well. It might be nice to play music at first, but she would come to hate it again, she was sure of that.

"Look, just leave me alone, all right?" She turned away from him and ran into the station. She didn't look behind her, and she didn't think he followed.

All the way home Justine was fighting tears. She'd been stupid, letting herself get into this situation, but the terrible realisation gnawed at her: once she had met Darren, she could not undo the fact that they had met. She could not make his curls any less cute, or make him any less caring and gentle, and she could not forget him, or his smile, or that sincere look in his eyes. And if she walked away from him now, she would forever live with the question of what would have happened had she stayed and told him those three unsettling, disturbing, wonderful words that could never be un-said:
I love you
. And he might say that was all very nice, but she should be giving her love to her fiancé, and that he didn't have similar feelings.

She felt exhausted by the time she came home. Tom sat in the living room watching some sort of show. He was still wearing his gym clothes—and the room smelled of those, too—and leaned his socked feet on the table.

"You're early." That was how it was now? He expected her to stay out?

"I just went there for the performance."

"How did it go?"

"All right."

"You get paid?"

"Later." She had been too preoccupied to even ask Darren about the money. She guessed he would pay her whenever he got paid. To be honest, she didn't care much.

He was staring at the screen, so Justine went into the spare bedroom where she put her cello case in its corner.

Maybe for the last time. She would have to stop playing with Darren, because this was not going to end well. That thought brought new tears to her eyes. Darren had noticed that she'd been crying, and Tom had not.

While she stood there, trying to keep her composure, the phone rang. Tom groaned while he heaved himself off the couch.

"Hello?"

"Yes... I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong number... Wait... Justine?... Yes... Look, mate, what's this about?... No... No, I don't think so. Goodbye, mate."

He hung up.

Justine cringed.

Tom came into the room, fixing her with a penetrating look. "Who is Darren?"

J
ustine felt mortified. How did Darren get her home number? "He is a flute player, one of the members of the group."

"Is he important enough that he rings to ask if you're all right?"

That penetrating look again, and the terrible silence. She wanted to scream at him
We can salvage this if you let me,
but she wasn't sure about that anymore. The more she spoke about wanting to go back to music, the more defensive he became, and the more she realised that her way of life didn't interest her, and more importantly, his way of life didn't interest her.

If something happened, Tom gave her his judgement. Darren just said nothing and let her come to her own conclusions.

"This was all about that guy, wasn't it?"

"No, it wasn't."

"Then why is he ringing you? What does he even mean 'If you're all right'? Is there any reason you should
not
be all right? I mean—you wanted to go back to playing music. Are you turning into a copy of your former self already?"

"Wow, Tom. That's a lot of anger about this—"

"Yes, because you should have seen the mess you were in when we first met. I've spent two years helping you out, and this is what I get? You taking off with another guy?"

"It's not like that at all." Well, at least it didn't start like that. "If you hadn't been so stupid about me playing music being the cause of everything, then I could have explained. And we could have gone to a lot of nice concerts. Music and the musician life was not the cause of my problems. I was suffering depression."

"I don't believe you anymore. Jack said he saw you with this guy at the café in the Botanic Gardens. I didn't believe him then, but I was clearly naïve."

"He's just a friend, Tom. A professional musician. I know Darren from the Conservatorium. He was two years above me and we never knew each other very well. Anyway, I have no idea why you're acting like this."

"And my wife to be would rather have lunch with some sort of gay musician than with me?"

"We were looking at music pieces to play with the ensemble. Don't be ridiculous!"

"Then why is he ringing you to ask if you're all right?"

"I don't know."

"Bullshit!" He slammed his flat hands on the kitchen bench with a thud that made the plates in the drawer underneath rattle.

The phone rang. Justine strode across the kitchen to answer it, but a strong male hand grabbed hers. When she turned around, Tom was right behind her.

"If that is that faggot again, I will kill him."

They waited. The phone stopped ringing. Tom breathed out with a snort.

"Are you going to behave like that with all my friends?"

He glared at her. He still held her hand in a grip that felt strong enough to crush all her bones.

"Don't do that. You're scaring me."

He let her hand go, pushed himself off and leaned against the kitchen bench. He scoffed. "There is no need to be scared—"

"No, not unless I do exactly what you say. Not unless I go to the gym with you every day—"

"You enjoy it."

"Yes, I do, but does that mean I can't enjoy other things? Things you might have no interest in? Music, even? Meeting up with some of my old friends who still haven't forgotten me? Newsflash: some of them are male."

He said nothing. His nostrils flared.

Justine backed away slowly. "I am not your property. I am not your trophy girl. I am not going to be a passive housewife waiting for you with dinner at the table. I am not going to be belittled, made fun of, or otherwise made to believe that I'm stupid—"

"Yes, you are stupid if you're getting involved with the bleeding heart no-hopers. Half those people are unemployed living in dumps off the dole. You really want to get involved in that world again?"

"Why are you so afraid of anyone who makes money less than you? Why is money the only thing you're interested in? You don't own me, Tom. You really don't."

She turned around and ran out of the kitchen. Through the hall and out into the lift foyer. The door slammed shut behind her.

She ran to the lift foyer and then realised that she had left her keys on the bench in the kitchen. She waited for a while in the foyer, but the door remained shut. Likely, Tom had realised that she didn't have the keys and was waiting for her to knock on the door and beg him to let her back in.

And she wasn't going to do that.

T
here was only one place Justine could go. Besides her keys, she had left her money on the kitchen bench, so she had to walk along the main road.

It had started raining, a slow drizzle that was being blown past street lights in clouds of droplets each time a bus or truck passed. By the time she had arrived at Darren's house, she was wet through.

She'd been afraid that he'd gone to sleep, but there was still a light on in the hallway and when she dropped the knocker on the wood, someone walked down the hallway to open the door.

"Justine!" Darren's eyes went wide.

"I'm sorry. Can I come in?"

"What's wrong? You're so wet."

"I have nowhere to go. I had no money. I left everything in the kitchen and I couldn't go back. I had a fight with Tom."

Tears blurred his face and the hallway behind him. He opened the door further and drew her into the hallway, where she burst into tears. Darren put his arms around her. His voice rumbled in his chest. "Was it because I rang? Did he hurt you?"