Find the Girl

by Lucy Connell

  ‘I hope you’ll think about what I’ve said. It would be a shame for you to give up before you’ve even given it a try.’

  ‘OK. I’ll think about it.’

  ‘And, Nancy,’ she says, stopping me again from racing out of the door, ‘you need to remember that you may be twins, but you and Nina are each your own person. It’s wonderful to see Nina really flourish after years of shying away and hiding in your shadow, but don’t let that become an excuse for you to hide away in hers.’

  ‘A competition? How exciting!’ Mum exclaims, clapping her hands in the oven gloves. ‘So, are you two going to enter it?’

  ‘Nina’s too busy with everything going on and I wouldn’t stand a chance,’ I reply, laying the table. ‘Although Mrs Smithson mentioned … Never mind.’

  ‘Go on,’ Mum says encouragingly. ‘What did Mrs Smithson say? That you two are the most talented beings on the planet and I am the luckiest mother in the world?’

  ‘Um, no?’ I say, staring at her like she’s lost her mind. ‘Because that would be weird. She just said something about how I should think about entering because she liked my Chasing Chords blog. That’s all.’

  ‘What’s that about Chasing Chords?’ Nina says, looking up from her scribbles across some sheet music. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t listening – what are we talking about?’

  ‘The competition that Mrs Smithson told us about today,’ I remind her, sharing a smile with Mum. ‘Are you going to work on that through dinner, too?’

  ‘No, I’ll put it away for a bit,’ she says apologetically, putting the music back in its folder and sliding it across the table. ‘My eyes are going funny, anyway. Every time I shut them, all I see is black music notes.’

  Mum shrieks with laughter. Like, really loudly. Way louder than normal.

  ‘That wasn’t that funny,’ Nina says, staring at her, ‘was it?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ I confirm. ‘Mum, are you OK?’

  ‘Of course, my beautiful ducklings!’ she trills, putting our plates in front of us.

  ‘Sorry, did you just call us … beautiful ducklings?’ Nina asks as I pretend to stick two fingers down my throat. ‘Did something happen at the shop today, Mum? Because you seem to be in a very good mood.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be in a good mood? I’m having dinner with my wonderful girls, my beautiful little ducklings,’ Mum says, sitting in her chair and lifting her fork. ‘Dig in! I hope you like it!’

  I catch Nina’s eye and know exactly what she’s thinking. Something is going on with Mum.

  Over the past couple of days something has changed about her. She’s been in a permanent good mood, nothing has bothered her, and she’s been overenthusiastic about absolutely everything. She’s holding herself differently, too; she’s walking a bit taller or something and her face is all … glowy.

  And I think I may have an idea why.

  ‘Mum,’ I begin, ‘have you … met someone?’

  Nina gasps. ‘That’s it! I’ve been trying to put my finger on it. Mum! Tell us immediately.’

  Mum blushes to her roots and smiles so shyly that I’m worried her lips might disappear into her face. ‘What? Don’t be silly, girls. I’m just in a good mood, that’s all.’

  ‘No, that is not all,’ I say firmly. ‘You’re acting super dreamy and happy, just like Nina did when she first started dating Chase secretly. Remember? Everyone noticed the change. And now you’re doing the same. Who is this man?’

  ‘Honestly, it’s like I’m being grilled by MI5!’ Mum exclaims. ‘Fine, I … I have met someone.’

  ‘I knew it! Maybe I should be a detective,’ I say, making Nina laugh. ‘So, who is he?’

  ‘No one,’ she replies, not looking either of us in the eye. ‘We’re just talking. It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it. Yet.’

  ‘All right – we’ll drop it.’ Nina grins. ‘But I think it’s really exciting.’

  ‘Same,’ I agree. ‘And also a bit disturbing.’

  ‘Oh, girls.’ Mum chuckles, rolling her eyes.

  She gets up, flustered, to get something out of the fridge and, while she’s gone, Nina leans across the table.

  ‘By the way, Nancy, I think you should enter the competition.’

  ‘Huh? Don’t be stupid.’

  ‘Mrs Smithson is right. You should give it a try.’

  I sigh. ‘Come on – what would I create a website about? There’s no way I’d win.’

  ‘Nancy, earlier when I got to class and you thought I wasn’t listening, you told me that I should have a little more faith in myself. Maybe it’s about time you listened to your own advice,’ she says, shooting me a grin. ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Nina

  ‘Welcome back.’

  Caroline looks at us from the middle of the Guildhall concert-hall stage. As everyone else eagerly sits up at her greeting, I sink, hoping she can’t see me. After last weekend, I’m too embarrassed to even look at her. She must think she’s made a terrible mistake letting me on this course. I wish that the director of music at Guildhall didn’t also have to be my piano teacher.

  ‘I trust you’ve all had a good week and have been practising the tasks your various teachers gave you.’

  A shiver runs down my spine. It is safe to say that the lessons I had on Saturday and Sunday last week with Caroline did not go well. She had barely said a word as I played the three Austin Golding pieces I’d brought with me. She’d just asked me to play them over and over without any commentary, until the end when she told me that she now knew what we needed to work on in the lead-up to the showcase and it was ‘a long, long list’. Which was very comforting to hear.

  I am not looking forward to my lesson this morning.

  ‘Before I let you rush off to the music rooms, I want to tell you something,’ Caroline says. ‘Last weekend, I promised that I would have an exciting announcement to make today. The performance showcase at the end of the course will be an opportunity for your friends and family to witness your improvement and development, but it is also an opportunity for myself and the other Guildhall staff to select one of you to win an automatic place on our summer school.’

  The hall erupts into a ripple of gasps and excited chatter. I should be ecstatic at such an idea, but instead it’s like a knife twisting into my stomach. Getting a place on the summer school would be an incredible advantage when it came to auditioning to be a student here full-time. Mr Rogers and I have always talked about it. But now I know the other talent that’s out there, the level of competition and the kind of people I’d be up against. I know that I don’t have a hope of being selected by Caroline. I’d made it clear to everyone that I was a second-rate pianist and Jordan was the one with the potential.

  ‘Oh my god, Nina, how amazing is this?’ Grace squeals next to me, clutching my arm. ‘Can you imagine getting an automatic place? Not having to worry about auditioning? My heart is beating so fast.’

  ‘So, if you weren’t already nervous about the showcase, you should be now,’ Caroline continues. ‘Right, off to your lessons. I’ll be coming to your group rehearsal this afternoon, so will see you all then.’

  As she walks off the stage, her heels clacking across the wood, Grace stands up and grabs my hand, attempting to drag me to my feet.

  ‘Come on, Nina – let’s go! We can get the best practice rooms before this lot barge their way in. I have a LOT to work on.’

  ‘I have a lesson now,’ I tell her, reluctantly standing up.

  ‘Oh,’ Grace says. ‘With the Matchmaker?’

  Even though I’m not feeling in the best mood, I can’t help but laugh as Grace reminds me of the nickname we came up with. After I returned to our room from my disastrous first lesson, Grace patiently listened to me explain how badly it had gone and then had looked really thoughtful.

  ‘Caroline Morreau is terrifying. She reminds me of someone, you know. I just can’t put my finger on it. Something about the way s
he holds herself and her permanently unimpressed expression,’ she’d said, before sitting up and clicking her fingers, as if a light bulb had gone on in her head. ‘I know! The person from Mulan!’

  ‘The Disney film?’

  ‘Yes, you know that scene with the teapot.’

  ‘I can’t remember. We need Nancy, my sister, here. She’s an expert when it comes to Disney. She’d be able to tell you straight away.’

  ‘You know,’ Grace had continued, refusing to give up, ‘at the beginning of the film when Mulan is sent to impress that really strict, snooty woman to see if she’ll make a good wife. Come on, and they sing that song about bringing honour? And the cricket gets in the teapot? I KNOW!’ she’d suddenly yelled. ‘THE MATCHMAKER!’

  We’d then fallen about with laughter and when Grace managed to get the clip up on her phone we’d laughed even more until my stomach ached. It had been a stroke of genius that had made me feel much better and forget about how terrible my day had been.

  ‘Oh no! Now we’re not going to be able to get that out of your head!’ Grace had said through tears of laughter. ‘Every time we see her, we’re going to think about it!’ She’d then stood up and pretended to hold a clipboard with a slapstick frown before doing a spot-on impression of the first time the Matchmaker makes an appearance in the film – ‘FA MULAN!’ – causing a fresh round of giggles.

  I’m so lucky to have been put in a room with Grace. Apart from her, I haven’t really made friends with anyone else on the course, not that there’s been much opportunity. On the first day, we’d had so many different back-to-back inductions that we were all completely exhausted on Saturday night, so no one was hanging around in the common room. Everyone went straight to bed. Fortunately, that also meant I’d been able to avoid horrible Jordan, although I caught him whispering to a group of friends and then all of them looked over in my direction when we were in the canteen.

  I haven’t told anyone at home about Jordan’s comments and how awful my first performance was. I didn’t want to tell Nancy because I knew she’d get super protective and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d booked herself a train to London straight away to come and give him a piece of her mind. As much as I’d like to see that, it just felt like making a big fuss and I really don’t want her worrying.

  I thought about telling Chase. But then I got scared that he might admit Jordan was right and he had pulled a few strings to get me on the course, and I didn’t want to know.

  I told myself I was being ridiculous; I know that Chase would never do that. But I still didn’t want to tell him. What good would it do? The only result would be that it would make him angry on my behalf and he’s too busy at the moment to have to bother with something so petty. Not that I know exactly why he’s so busy. Chasing Chords are having a break in between working on songs and tours, and Chase was really looking forward to having some downtime. I thought we’d be spending loads of time together, but that hasn’t happened at all.

  ‘It will be so nice,’ he’d said at New Year. ‘I can come to Norfolk and see you in the evenings after school, and at weekends we can go on proper dates.’

  But so far, in the weeks off that he’s had, he’s only managed to come to Norfolk for two evenings and we’ve hardly had any weekend dates. I thought we could spend time with each other last Sunday when my course finished, before I got the train back to Norwich, but he was only able to meet me for a hot chocolate at the station before rushing off. His uncle and manager, Mark, was taking him for a posh dinner and he had to get back home to change.

  I was a bit hurt that he was cutting short his time with me to spend it with Mark. He sees Mark all the time and he knew that my first Guildhall weekend hadn’t been exactly how I’d dreamt it.

  But still. Seeing him was really nice and he’d promised to drop by this evening. I just have to get through the day. The thought of seeing him at the end of it is the best motivation I can find.

  ‘Ah, Nina. Come in,’ says Caroline, after I tap tentatively on the music-room door.

  I shuffle past her and sit at the piano stool, propping my sheet music on the piano.

  ‘Have you been practising, Nina?’

  At the sound of her clipped voice, any lingering sense of humour I had about the whole Matchmaker thing disappears. I feel so tense that when I try to speak my throat seems to have closed up.

  ‘Yes,’ I say quietly.

  She stands beside the piano stool, towering over me.

  ‘This isn’t the piece we were working on last week,’ she states.

  ‘No, I thought I’d try something different,’ I explain, remembering Jordan’s comment about Austin Golding being too easy. ‘If that’s OK?’

  My question is met with silence. ‘Yes,’ she says finally. ‘It’s good to try something new. Let’s see how you go.’

  I gulp and position my fingers on the keys. I’ve chosen Edvard Grieg’s Notturno, Op.54, No.4. It’s a very beautiful piece and one I overheard Jordan practising last week. It’s also very difficult.

  Mr Rogers had been a bit confused when he arrived at our music lesson this week to find me already at the piano, studying the newly bought sheet music for us to work on. He did a double take when he saw my Austin Golding sheet music squashed into the bin in the corner of the room.

  But when I explained that I needed to work on something that actually stood a chance of impressing the Guildhall teachers, he nodded in understanding and we set to work on Notturno. It was disastrous. I could barely play the first few bars without making a mistake.

  ‘You see?’ I’d told him. ‘I can’t do it. It’s too hard. I don’t know why they let me on this course. Jordan was playing this off by heart.’

  ‘You’ve played pieces of this standard before,’ Mr Rogers had replied. ‘You’ve told yourself you can’t do it and that’s why you’re making mistakes. Usually, you’d never expect to be able to play this piece perfectly straight away. If you could, there would be no point having lessons with me and no point in lessons with Caroline Morreau at Guildhall. Take a deep breath and let’s try that section again. Take it a bit slower this time and listen to the music. Enjoy how pretty it is.’

  ‘How can I enjoy how pretty it is when I keep messing it up?’

  ‘A piece doesn’t need to be technically perfect to be enjoyable,’ he’d said, and he’d chuckled.

  I had a feeling that Caroline Morreau did not share the same optimistic opinion. Seconds into the piece, she holds up her hand, stopping me. To say that she has a different teaching style to Mr Rogers is an understatement. Where he is warm and encouraging, she is cold and blunt.

  ‘Don’t play for me,’ she says after a moment’s silence.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Don’t play for me,’ she repeats.

  ‘Um.’ I stare at the music, feeling the heat rising up my neck and fully aware that my face is probably the shade of a tomato right now. ‘But –’

  ‘Try again.’

  I start playing and she lets me get to the bottom of the first page this time, having made several mistakes on my way, before her hand comes flying out, signalling for me to stop. She closes her eyes and breathes in dramatically. We stay in silence for what feels like hours, but it’s only a few minutes. When she opens her eyes again, she hits me with a hard stare.

  ‘Try. Again.’ She pauses. ‘Stop apologizing. Start from the top.’

  I hesitate, confused because I haven’t said anything at all; I didn’t apologize. Is she hearing things?

  ‘When you’re ready,’ she prompts.

  I tentatively start to play.

  ‘Stop!’ she cries, holding up her hand. ‘On your feet, Miss Palmer.’

  I jump upright and stand as straight as possible, as though following the instructions of a terrifying army captain.

  ‘Walk around the room. Just walk.’

  I stand frozen to the spot, staring at her. ‘S-sorry?’

  ‘Walk around the room,’ she instructs. ‘Come
on,’ she adds, gesturing for me to join her as she begins to glide around the room in a circle.

  WHAT DO I DO?

  ‘Miss Palmer! Start walking.’

  I do as I’m instructed, walking round the room behind her in silence, feeling like a complete idiot and wondering how exactly this is helping my piano playing. We continue with this activity for about two minutes before she stops so suddenly that I almost go straight into her back.

  ‘Do you see?’ she says, stepping aside so that I’m facing the long mirror on the wall by the door.

  I stare at my reflection.

  ‘Um. It’s me?’ I squeak, praying that that is the simple answer she’s looking for.

  ‘Yes, this is you.’ She gestures to the mirror. ‘Look at how you stand. Shoulders hunched forward. Eyes to the floor unless forced to look up. Your whole body is closed. I can see that you are sorry before you say you are sorry. Your body language is apologizing for you even being in the room. This is how you play.’

  Oh. So, that’s what she meant by apologizing.

  I look back at the mirror. She places her hands on my shoulders and prompts me to roll them back so that my back straightens. She then lifts my chin with her finger.

  ‘Beautiful. This is how you should play,’ she says, signalling for me to sit back at the piano.

  I try to keep my chin up and my body open while I play, but when I fumble the notes I automatically close up, my eyes falling, wishing I could sink into the ground. After a few more miserable attempts at the piece, our lesson comes to an end and I rush to the door as fast as possible.

  ‘Practise, Miss Palmer.’

  ‘I will,’ I reply, although I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to be practising: the music or walking with my head up stupidly high.

  I go straight to the practice rooms to look for an empty one when I turn a corner and walk into Jordan on his way to see Caroline.

  ‘How did it go, Nina?’ he sneers, attempting to get a glimpse of the music in my hand. ‘More Austin Golding? Or perhaps you’re getting better and can move on to some lovely Chasing Chords pop music. I think their songs feature in those Easy Piano for Beginners books.’