‘What about it then, Flynn?’
The colour rushed to his face. ‘No, I can’t – I’m not – I really can’t—’
‘You liar! You’re a great dancer. I haven’t forgotten Kate’s birthday!’
Another time, another life. ‘You go,’ Flynn said. ‘Harry will dance with you – he looks as if he could go on all night.’
Jennah narrowed her eyes with a teasing pout. ‘I don’t want to dance with Harry,’ she said.
‘Don’t stay sitting here,’ Flynn said quickly. ‘I’m going to go, I’ve got to go. Early start and all that.’
Jennah’s face fell. ‘You’ve only just got here!’
‘I know but I’m whacked and I’ve got to – you know—’ He didn’t dare say ‘practise’ for fear of her reaction. Yet he had to leave urgently, before he spoiled the evening for Jennah, who clearly was not going to leave him sitting alone.
‘Please don’t go,’ Jennah said, imploringly.
‘Look, you can go and dance with Clive. Nikki’s dancing with someone else,’ Flynn said desperately.
‘Flynn, stop it, I don’t want to dance with Clive!’
She had almost shouted. He looked at her, shocked.
‘If you’re leaving, I’m going too,’ Jennah said.
‘Why?’ His voice rose suddenly and he felt his eyes sting. He could not take this any more. What was Jennah trying to do?
She stared at him. ‘Hey, I didn’t mean – it doesn’t matter, I don’t really want to dance. I’d – I’d rather just chat with you . . . We could go upstairs and find a table where it’s quieter or – or—’
Flynn shrugged, blinking hard. ‘OK.’
‘Or – or you could go.’ Jennah looked flustered. ‘Of course you don’t have to stay, Flynn. I didn’t – I didn’t mean—’
He managed a faint smile. ‘Stop babbling and come on then.’
She smiled, looking relieved, and followed him upstairs.
The upstairs lounge was mercifully empty, the music fading to a muted thud. They sat beside a large window filled with night, and Jennah put her feet up on the chair beside him. Flynn lit a match and began to burn a piece of aluminium foil from the ashtray.
‘Pyromaniac.’
He let the match burn out and dropped it into the ashtray. Jennah nudged him with her foot.
‘What’s bugging you then?’
He glanced at her briefly. ‘Nothing.’
‘And the truth?’
‘Everything.’
She winced. ‘That bad?’
There was a silence. He felt his throat tighten and started biting his thumbnail. He couldn’t meet her gaze.
Head propped up against her hand, Jennah gazed across the table at him. ‘Is there something in particular?’
His throat ached. He could not tell her. Wearily, he shook his head.
‘The concert?’ Jennah suggested.
He crumbled the burned match between his thumb and forefinger, staring down at it. He could not reply.
‘Why, Flynn? Don’t you know how talented you are?’
She sounded like she actually believed it. He swallowed hard.
She nudged him again with her foot. ‘What are you stressing about, hey?’
He gave a wry smile. ‘Only that I’ll freeze. Only that I’ll forget the notes and mess the whole thing up.’
‘That’s every musician’s nightmare,’ Jennah said. ‘But you’re too well prepared. It won’t happen to you!’
‘I’m so stressed, it probably will.’
‘Everyone gets stressed,’ Jennah said. ‘It’s normal, it’s part of the deal. Coming on stage is like death – the first few bars are the worst, but once you get into it, the stress lifts. You’re too damn concentrated to have time for it.’
‘I know. I just don’t think I’ll get that far. At best it’ll be a repeat of last year’s scholarship audition. Professor Kaiser was furious with me for a month afterwards and that was just for a silly award. God knows how he’ll react when I’m representing his precious department, not to mention his sacred teaching.’
There was a silence. ‘You’re thinking about it too much,’Jennah said. ‘It’s one concert, Flynn. It’ll be over before you know it.’
‘But my parents are going to want to be there, and my brother. My parents still expect me to be the best – they don’t know what it’s like here. André’s so much better than me and – and so are loads of people and – and Rami already thinks I’m a joke because all I do is practise, but he doesn’t realize that I have to in order to keep up and if I don’t then everything will fall apart and everybody will realize that I’m not really that good and I’ll just be this huge disappointment to everyone and—’ He broke off. Shallow breaths to fight back the tears.
‘Oh, Flynn,’ Jennah said quietly. ‘How can you think like that?’
Her sympathy threw him. He wanted her advice, not her kindness. The pressure behind his eyes overwhelmed him.
‘Hey—’ Jennah sat up, her voice softly aghast.
He sniffed hard and brushed the back of his hand across his eyes, hating himself. ‘I feel like I’m losing the plot here!’
‘Flynn, it’s not – you’re not . . .’ Jennah was floundering.
He dragged his fingers down his cheeks, holding his breath.
‘Oh, Flynn—’
‘It’s OK. I’m all right.’
‘Come here.’ Jennah reached forwards.
‘Don’t!’ He held her off with a raised hand. He had to pull himself together – she must not touch him. The evening had turned into a nightmare.
Jennah stared at him, wide-eyed.
‘I’m fine!’ He sniffed, rubbing his cheeks hard and managing a half-smile. ‘I’m just tired. I can’t sleep these days, it’s doing my head in.’ He forced a laugh.
‘That’s because you’re stressed.’
‘Yeah, I know, it’s stupid. Anyway, I’m going to take off.’
A sudden look of panic. ‘Flynn, wait – is Professor Kaiser giving you a hard time again?’
‘He’s OK. I’ll see you in Aural tomorrow.’
‘Yes, but hold on – do you want me to come with you to the rehearsal?’
‘God, no, it’ll be so boring! I’ll see you tomorrow, OK? Say bye to the others for me.’
‘Flynn, wait—’ She jumped up suddenly, her expression desperate. ‘Just tell me. Tell me one thing I can do.’
‘About what?’ A shrug and a laugh. ‘Everything’s fine. Honestly.’ He gave her a smile and turned away.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ON THE STEPS of the Royal Albert Hall. The elliptical building bulged with importance, its curving stone and terracotta façade with its domed skylight jutting out against an overcast sky. Flynn had walked past it unseeingly every day on his way to university, been inside it for countless concerts, yet today he saw it for the first time, monstrous in its importance like a Roman amphitheatre, ready to have him fed to the lions.
He walked slowly up the wide flight of steps, his shoes making a gentle shuffling sound against the concrete, his legs moving with a will of their own, as if transporting him to his execution. He saw himself as from a distance – a lone figure making its way towards Prince Albert on his pillar, moving automatically, body functioning of its own accord, ferrying him to his doom. But it didn’t matter, because his body knew what it had to do and it continued steadily up the steps and in through the doors, down the hall and past the deserted ticket offices, past the cloakrooms and up the stairs, his footsteps suddenly muffling into the carpet. The bag containing his score and a bottle of water was on his shoulder. His expression, a little on the serious side, was carefully set to give nothing away.
Professor Kaiser was waiting for him outside the stage entrance, dressed in an impeccable dark blue suit, his steel-rimmed glasses perched importantly on the bridge of his nose. Strains of the closing bars of Vivaldi’s ‘Winter’ drifted out of the auditorium. Katherine Morden, Yehudi’s top violinist
.
‘They have been rehearsing now for two hours, so they should be finishing soon. The orchestra will be nicely warmed up, so for you it is perfect to be second.’
Flynn managed a wan smile.
‘Did you sleep well?’ Professor Kaiser seemed to startle himself by the force of his tone.
‘Yes, of course,’ Flynn replied automatically.
He relaxed. ‘Gut, gut. You need to have much energy for this. Radin is a very brilliant conductor, but of course his expectations can be high. Don’t forget what I said – if he asks you to do something and it’s not completely clear for you, you must ask, always ask. He makes many quick, sharp decisions. If you don’t understand something, don’t get worried if he seems a little annoyed, just take a deep breath and ask him to explain it again, ja?’
Flynn nodded, silent.
Professor Kaiser’s expression relaxed for a moment. ‘And try not to look so fearful, Flynn. This is a rehearsal only, ja? It is not supposed to be perfect.’
Flynn excused himself and went to find the toilets – there was a lot of talking going on inside the auditorium and it sounded as if Katherine’s rehearsal might be coming to an end. After washing his hands, he scooped water onto his burning cheeks, acutely aware of his shallow, rapid breathing, the painful thudding in his chest. He gripped the side of the counter and tried to slow his breathing. Calm down. You won’t be able to play like this. For God’s sake, calm down.
He dried his face and looked up at his reflection: the flush gave him an almost healthy look; the violet shadows beneath his eyes did not. He tried to smooth down the wayward wisps of fair hair and sucked in his lower lip, staring into his own eyes. The eyes stared back. There were no secrets there, no magical power he could unlock. They were just his eyes – wide, blue, frozen, terrified . . . It was just him, Flynn, alone inside his head. Only he could play now, only he could walk onto that stage. Only he could remember the music, only he could tell his fingers what to do. The next hour rested on him. It was up to him and him alone. He was entirely responsible for what was to come. He ached with the greatness of the task ahead. Don’t mess it up, Flynn.
The feeling of sickness rose again as he joined Professor Kaiser at the back of the stalls. Katherine was playing with great confidence as the piece reached its crescendo. The members of the orchestra looked serious, intense and thorough, the aura of effort, purpose and determination permeating the auditorium. They were making great music and they knew it. There was nothing amateurish about this rehearsal – they could have been playing at the Last Night of the Proms.
Two men and a woman sat in suits in the fourth row, the elusive Dr Wells, Director of Music at the Royal College, among them. The piece came to an end and the orchestra members were given leave to disperse. Radin and Katherine left the stage to join the three suits, and Katherine’s violin teacher ambled from the back of the stalls to join them, greeting Professor Kaiser and whispering ‘Good luck’ to Flynn as he passed. He was smiling – Katherine had done well.
‘Now, remember, cantabile for the middle section. Make the melody light and build with the left hand. Do not let the final section run away with you, focus on the tempo. Don’t forget, the orchestra have to keep time with you and not you with them.’
Flynn nodded and took a sip of water. His throat felt so dry he feared he would soon be unable to speak.
‘If something goes wrong, just keep going and don’t stop. Wait for the conductor to tell you to stop. It is always up to him.’
‘Yes.’
Katherine and her teacher were about to depart, gathering up belongings, thanking the conductor, moving towards the exit. Flynn could hear nothing but the pounding of his heart, could see the beat through his shirt. Goose bumps rose down his arms and back, the lights seemed to grow brighter and his vision began to blur. Terror pulsated through him, the overwhelming desire to flee, the sense of utter incapability at the sight of the Steinway. In desperation he turned to Professor Kaiser but could not speak.
‘Try and enjoy yourself!’ Professor Kaiser said with a smile. ‘Come on, it is our turn. Let’s go.’
Flynn got up and followed Professor Kaiser down the aisle, surprised that he did not fall. He forgot his bag and had to go back for it. He could not even keep track of his own belongings – not a promising start. He could feel his cheeks burning again as they reached the front and approached Radin and the suits. Professor Kaiser seemed to know them all and greeted them with jovial handshakes and cheerful hellos.
‘I didn’t know I was getting one of yours, Hans,’ Radin said with a smile. ‘This should be fun.’
‘This is Flynn Laukonen, a very promising young student of mine.’ Professor Kaiser beamed.
Flynn stepped forwards and shook hands with the suits, unable to meet their eyes.
‘So, Rachmaninov’s Third. Not lacking in ambition, are we?’ Radin said.
Flynn pulled an embarrassed face.
‘How do you feel about playing in the Albert?’ the Director of Music asked him.
‘I’m pleased.’ His voice was barely audible even to his own ears.
‘And what year of study are you in at the Royal College?’ the woman asked.
‘First.’
‘Laukonen, that sounds Finnish,’ said the Director of Music.
‘Yes.’
‘That would explain the complexion. Were you born here?’
‘Helsinki.’ He did not dare speak up for fear of them hearing his voice shaking.
‘I remember visiting Sibelius Park in Helsinki once,’ Radin chipped in. ‘Pretty place.’
The members of the orchestra began to trickle back in, sit down, tune up and fiddle about with the music on their stands.
‘Come up and get the feel of the Steinway,’ Radin suggested.
Professor Kaiser raised his eyebrows and gave him an encouraging nod. Flynn followed Radin up the wooden steps and onto the stage. He suddenly needed to pee.
Flynn sat down at the piano, adjusted the stool with sweaty palms, wiped his hands on his trouser legs, played several arpeggios and ran through a couple of technical exercises. The keys were very shiny, as if they had just been polished. He could make out his reflection in the glistening ebony in front of him. The lights here were brighter than ever, burning holes in his head. He took out his score and placed it closed, along with his pencil, on the stand. He took out his bottle of water and managed three sips, hoping his hand was not shaking too visibly. From the edge of his blurred vision, he could see that all the orchestra members had come back on now, rustling music sheets and talking. Radin tapped his baton on the edge of his stand and there was sudden silence.
‘Right, on to our second piece now, please. It is my pleasure to introduce Flynn Laukonen, pianist.’
Flynn glanced over at the blurred mass of heads and instruments and managed a quick smile. There was a silence. A heavy sense of expectancy.
‘Flynn, if you could give us an A,’ Radin said evenly.
He played an A, then a D. The mass of sound that followed was overpowering. He did not know if he should play the notes again. Looked behind him at the first violinist for guidance. But the orchestra was only a blur of faces, of eyes, of lights.
‘We’ll start with the first movement and play it through from beginning to end, without stopping. Then we will go back over any trouble spots,’ Radin announced, walking over to the rostrum.
Flynn took a deep breath and concentrated on the pale blue pattern on the cover of his closed score. It seemed to be made out of little dots. He had never noticed that before. Little dots on a cream background, clustered into the shapes of flowers. It was hard to breathe. His heart was thumping as if it were about to burst. His fingers didn’t feel warmed up properly and now he really needed to pee.
Radin was flicking languidly through the pages on his stand. There was a faint shuffling as some of the orchestra members got comfortable and adjusted their stands. Then screaming silence, the air hot and heavy, everyone
watching him, waiting.
The flowers are made out of dots, he thought. The flowers are made out of dots. He wiped his hands on his trousers one last time and screwed his eyes shut briefly. He exhaled slowly. He turned his head. His eyes met Radin’s. Flynn gave a brief nod. Radin raised his arms and held them, suspended in the air. The violinists raised their bows. Radin’s arms came crashing down.
Flynn started playing before even being aware of his cue. The notes flowed and he was filled with an overwhelming sense of unreality, of detachment, as if he were simply a member of the audience, listening to all this and just sitting back, not playing at all. He felt sure that if he lifted his hands from the piano, the music would continue on its own. He could not be responsible for all this, there had to be somebody else behind the stage, pulling the strings. Then the tempo began to quicken and he watched his fingers gather speed of their own accord. He looked up at the conductor to get his cue, and the violins in the front were a mass of buzzing bows, and Radin’s arms were plunging dramatically through the air. The music was extraordinary, overwhelming, larger than life, and he could not believe he was a part of this. The orchestra swelled and then died and his notes rang out, clear and smooth. He felt as if his fingers were trying to keep up with the music, as if his hands had a life of their own.
A Note of Madness Page 12
