Amber

by Julie Sykes

  Eight

  On Sunday morning a meeting was held for all students to discuss the forthcoming mini-concert on Friday. Although the concert was less formal than the end-of-summer one we were urged to give our best, as there would be a sizeable audience of parents. The solo parts were assigned. Dan, Josh, Lucy and I were asked if we would perform as a quartet. We agreed and were given music for a compilation of tunes that were regularly played at the last night of an annual series of concerts called the Proms.

  I glanced at the music as we made our way to a music room, in the Margaret Becker building, for our first practice. ‘What’s the Proms? Why is the same music always played on the last night?’

  ‘Seriously?’ asked Josh. ‘Man, what universe are you from?’

  His expression of disbelief made me laugh. ‘Not this one,’ I teased him back.

  ‘The Proms are arguably the most prestigious classical music events in the whole world. They’re held at the Royal Albert Hall in London. It’s every musician’s dream to play at the Proms.’

  ‘Well, maybe I already have played there,’ I said, smiling.

  ‘Amber, the way you play the flute, nothing would surprise me,’ said Josh.

  We collected our instruments from the cupboard, then crowded into a practice room. We played scales and a few simple tunes to warm up. Then Dan suggested everyone should read through the music. The melodies were fun to play and everyone was impressed with how quickly I’d learned to read the notation.

  ‘Mr Mason says I’ve made such fast progress because I’m not learning to read music from scratch. He thinks the knowledge is there, it’s just buried away in my subconscious,’ I stressed, not wanting to be the geek.

  At first, as we ran through the tunes, we made several mistakes. It didn’t lessen our enjoyment at playing together, especially the last piece, a jaunty number called the ‘Sailor’s Hornpipe’. Josh knew the words, something along the lines of what to do with a drunken sailor. He sang along as he played his violin. I loved making music on the flute. My head was spinning when we finished our repertoire. High on the music, I spun my flute into the air by telekinesis. Time slowed as I realised my mistake. All eyes were suddenly fixed on my instrument, twirling as gracefully as a pirouetting ballerina, directly above my head. I let go of the mind control. The flute plummeted. I caught it just before it hit the floor. Dan’s face was a moving picture of amazement, horror and then relief.

  ‘Man, did you just throw that?’ asked Josh.

  ‘N-n-no,’ I stammered. ‘I was going to put it on the table but I tripped.’

  ‘Great catch! That’s why she’s popular in basketball.’ Lucy sounded slightly out of breath.

  Sweat beaded in my hairline. My hands shook so violently that I had to put the flute on the table before I really did drop it.

  ‘Good thing Mum wasn’t here to see that! She might reconsider her loan.’

  Dan was joking, I think. I returned his smile with a somewhat shakier one.

  Josh snatched up his bow. He launched into a rendition of the ‘Sailor’s Hornpipe’ and sang along with the words, ‘What shall we do with the drunken Amber?’

  It was impossible not to laugh, even though it wasn’t funny. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever been drunk, but the music left me light-headed and with hardly any control over my telekinetic sense. I had to do something about it. It would have been disastrous if I’d damaged Mia’s flute, but to expose my special talent would be catastrophic.

  ‘That’s enough,’ Lucy punched Josh playfully on the arm. Obediently he stopped singing and laid his violin back in its case. He rounded on her and tickled her until she begged him to stop.

  Dan’s eyes met mine and I saw something resembling disappointment. He suspected that I’d lied. Maybe he’d seen me throw the flute. He definitely wasn’t convinced that I’d stumbled. I wished that I could tell him what had happened. I wasn’t a careless person. If anything I was over-obsessive with the care I took with other people’s things.

  When Lucy and Josh stopped messing around we ran through the tunes one more time. My performance was flawed. I was far too worried that I’d lose control again to give myself fully to the music and I played like a beginner.

  ‘It’ll get better,’ Dan assured me. We left the room ahead of Lucy and Josh, who were having a sword fight with a couple of drumsticks. I hoped he was right. I couldn’t afford to make mistakes, especially ones that would get me noticed in front of an audience.

  The more I worried about suppressing my telekinetic skills, the harder my fight to control them became. By midweek I was shattered. On Wednesday morning it was a struggle to get out of bed. It was an even bigger effort to perform my ballet exercises. All I wanted to do was to collapse in a comfy chair with a mug of strong coffee. I stood in the middle of the room and took a deep breath. The first few moves were a killer. Once I got going I felt better, and I enjoyed stretching my muscles, as I pushed my body into positions it didn’t normally assume. Exercise had definitely played a part in my previous life. My body was too supple and toned for my new regime to have been responsible for it. I held my stomach in as I began to perform a series of arabesque raises, an exercise that involved the bending of one leg while lifting the other. As I completed the balance a thought dropped into my head.

  What if my telekinetic powers needed a workout? A shiver raced down my spine. The idea wasn’t as mad as it sounded. Exercising my muscles gave me greater control over them, so why not my mind? I lowered my leg to the floor and sat on the bed while I thought about it. There was a risk of course. Exercising might make the telekinesis stronger and even harder to control. But it had to be worth a try. I was heading for a disaster if I didn’t do something soon. I jumped up. My hands trembled and I concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply until I felt calmer. My room was on the first floor but I shut the curtains, to stop anyone who might be lurking outside from seeing me. I also shoved a chair under the door handle. I couldn’t help my paranoia. I wanted to know why I was so different to everyone else before I started advertising it. When I was satisfied that the room was completely secure I looked around for something to move. Not only am I minimalist but I’m a neat freak. The possessions I’d left out were few and tidily arranged. There was only one thing for it; I’d have to mess things up. Believe it or not, going against my inbuilt tidiness was incredibly hard, but once I was over that hurdle the telekinesis was child’s play. It was fun too. As I used my mind to pull open drawers and toss their contents on the floor, it made me realise that I’d been suppressing a part of me that was as natural as breathing. Better still my theory worked. I practised my mental workout daily and as the week progressed I found that I had much more control of my telekinetic skills. The music still left me buzzing, only now there was less danger that I’d lose control of my mind and accidentally reveal my weird secret.

  ‘Amber, are you in there? I’m having a tights disaster.’

  ‘Come in,’ I said absently. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I was having problems too. My latest attempt to put my hair up consisted of a fat chestnut bun, with unruly wisps of hair that trailed down my face like ivy on a wall. My black eye was almost gone; all that remained was a deep purple smudge beneath it.

  Lucy flounced into the room. Her behaviour was so uncharacteristic that I temporarily forgot about my problematic hair.

  ‘What’s up?’ I asked.

  ‘I bought really expensive tights for tonight. Then I snagged them. The ladder runs right the way up my leg. I thought the pack had two pairs but it doesn’t. Now I’m without tights. Please tell me that you have a spare pair I can borrow.’

  ‘In the top drawer, with the socks.’

  With exaggerated care Lucy pulled a pair of black tights from the drawer. ‘Amber you’re a star. I hate getting ready for concerts. Once I’m there, in my seat, I’m fine. The adrenalin kicks in and stops me from fe
eling so nervous. But until then I’m a wreck.’

  ‘I’m nervous too.’ I didn’t add that it was for a different reason. I wasn’t so concerned about how I played, more who I was playing to. I clearly came from a musical background. What if someone in the audience recognised me?

  ‘Looks like you need some help with your hair.’ Lucy came and stood behind me.

  I pulled out the blue hair tie that was securing my bun and the hair tumbled down my back. ‘I hate these things,’ I complained. I threw the tie across the dressing table. ‘They’re so unflattering.’

  I didn’t get the whole uniform thing. Why did the orchestra have to dress identically? The girls had to wear black skirts and white open-neck blouses and have their hair fastened with a blue tie. The boys wore black trousers and matching jacket, a white short-sleeved shirt and a blue necktie. Everyone was made to have black shoes. We looked like the giant-sized chess pieces on the draughtboard in the outdoor play area. We also looked like soldiers! I shuddered. That was my problem. Uniform was for soldiers, not musicians.

  Lucy scooped my hair up in her hands and started brushing it. ‘Hmm, it’s too long and thick for a bun. Let’s try something else. Her fingers flew round my head as she deftly caught up strands of hair and wove it into something amazing. She secured the end with the blue hair tie and stood back to admire her efforts.

  ‘Wow!’ I turned my head sideways and squinted in the mirror to see the back. My hair looked like two long intertwined springs. ‘It’s so pretty. I love it. What’s it called?’

  ‘A fishtail plait. I sleep in one sometimes. Try it. You’ll wake up with very curly hair.’

  I arranged the fishtail plait over my shoulder. My rich brown hair perfectly complemented my necklace. The amber stone rested in the dip of my neck above my collarbone. I stroked it, then traced my fingers along the zigzag of gold supporting the stone. I’d love to know how I came by the necklace. It seemed far too special to be something that I’d bought for myself.

  ‘You need matching earrings,’ said Lucy.

  I grabbed the lobes of my ears. ‘I don’t have my ears pierced.’

  ‘You should get them done next time we go to Kirkgreen.’

  ‘Maybe. Thanks for doing my hair. It looks fantastic.’

  ‘I’d better do mine.’ Lucy checked her watch. ‘We’re running out of time. Meet you downstairs in ten minutes.’

  As Lucy and I entered the Bluewater Concert Hall, the noise deafened me. Half of the orchestra were warming up; the other half chatted. We exchanged nervous grins with Claudia, Amy, Ellie and George, who were already seated. Our chairs, assigned in the rehearsals, were near the front. At first, I’d been disappointed that we weren’t playing in Margaret Becker, on the stunning outdoor stage. Margaret Becker, it seemed, was kept for more prestigious events, like the end-of-summer school concert. When I reached my seat I stood with my back to the orchestra and looked around. Bluewater was a beautiful concert hall too. The fresh cream and fawn walls made the room feel light and spacious. A graceful cut glass chandelier hung from the middle of the room. It cast tiny rainbows on the ceiling. The audience seats were tiered and upholstered in rich blue velour.

  When I sat down, my skirt rose up high over my knees. The skirt was a style that Lucy called pencil and was tight and unyielding as I tugged it down. Lucy was having a similar battle with her skirt and we shared a sympathetic smile. I was preoccupied with getting comfortable and I almost missed the boys coming in. I glanced up just in time and saw Dan and Josh pause in the doorway, before they made their entrance. Dan looked uncharacteristically ill at ease. He gripped his sax case as if it was an offensive weapon. His show of nerves surprised me. For a second I was disorientated. It felt like I’d been expecting to see someone else, with far greater poise and sophistication than Dan, and I was slightly disappointed. Dan’s nerves reminded me how little I knew about him. His smart clothes made him seem even more of a stranger. His broad chest strained against the confines of his crisp black jacket and his legs seemed longer in tailored trousers. His unruly blonde hair lay neatly and his face, tanned from his outdoor lifestyle, made his shirt look whiter than swan’s feathers. My breath caught in my throat. No matter how nervous Dan looked, no matter how uncharacteristically Dan, he was still gorgeous.

  ‘Wow!’ said Lucy huskily. ‘Josh scrubs up well.’

  I dragged my eyes away from Dan to admire Josh. He was taller than Dan and thin as a boat hook. The outline of his bony shoulders reminded me of a coat hanger, displaying a smart new jacket. He wore the jacket open. A blue Waterside tie snaked down his shirt and disappeared under the waistband of his trousers. His black hair was pushed to one side, so for once you could see his eyes. Agreed, he was smart and handsome but he didn’t make my pulse race the way Dan had. I wasn’t the only girl to admire Dan as he took to his seat. He didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were on me. They widened as he gave me a long, appraising stare. ‘You look amazing.’

  I suddenly felt hot. ‘So do you,’ I croaked back.

  We drank each other in, wordlessly. I knew it was going to take all my powers of concentration to focus on the music tonight. Dan broke eye contact first, becoming brisk and businesslike as he lifted his saxophone out off its case. I slotted together Mia’s flute and licked my lips as I prepared to warm up. I’d only managed a few scales when our conductor, Peter Lassiter, took up his position at the front of the orchestra and tapped the music stand to get our attention. Things became a little hazy after that. There was a brief rehearsal before the audience was seated. The lights dimmed. A magical hush stole around the room. In that short moment of absolute silence the air was heavy with expectation. Then the orchestra burst to life and sent the opening bars of Handel’s ‘Arrival of the Queen of Sheba’ soaring up to the roof. The music lifted me and stole away my nerves. Who cared if anyone in the audience recognised me? I’d deal with it later. My fingers flew along the keys making music sweeter than a lark’s song.

  I thought the orchestra played the opening tune brilliantly. As the last note died away the audience erupted and clapped passionately. It was so unexpected that I didn’t have time to control the terror that slammed me. My whole body shook. Mia’s flute slid through my fingers, but frightened as I was I had enough sense to try to save it. With a light touch of mind control, I was able to slow its fall and catch it. I was pretty certain that no one had seen me. I laid the flute safely across my lap. Dan reached out and covered my hand with his. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. There’s no damage to the flute.’

  ‘Forget the flute. What happened just then? You looked like you were freaking out.’

  I stared around the concert hall. The clapping was fading and I could hear the rustle of music as the orchestra prepared for their next piece.

  ‘The clapping,’ I faltered, not sure how to explain my reaction to it.

  ‘The applause made you jump?’

  Yes, it was… unexpected.’ It was more than that though. The noise had frightened me. It felt like a warning of something untoward.

  Dan gave a low chuckle. ‘The audience is mostly parents. You could hiccup and they’d clap.’

  ‘Really?’ Hiccupping would evoke that response too?

  Dan gave a loud laugh and earned one of Peter’s infamous glares. He squeezed my hand and whispered, ‘Not really, but you get my drift. Be prepared for lots of clapping. They’ll applaud after every piece.’

  ‘Right,’ I said weakly. Thoughts sped through my head faster than the traffic on the Kirkgreen bypass. It was a natural assumption that I came from a musical background. It was a safe guess that I’d played in many concerts. Why had the applause upset me so badly then? A memory flickered deep in my mind. As I went to dive after it, Dan dropped my hand. ‘Ready?’ he whispered.

  Around me the orchestra sat, instruments poised, as they watched Peter’s fluttering hands. I lifted my f
lute and the memory slid out of reach.

  Nine

  The concert was a huge success. The applause went on for ages and we played two encores. Afterwards, there was a reception for the musicians and the audience in the function room. Mia and Jeff sought me out.

  ‘You played so well,’ said Mia, hugging me.

  ‘Like a maestro,’ Jeff agreed. He patted me on the shoulder.

  I felt myself blush. ‘We’re all maestros here. It must be the brilliant music teachers.’

  ‘Yes, but you did especially well considering your circumstances,’ said Mia. Her voice shook as she added, ‘We’re proud of you, aren’t we, Jeff?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I was feeling emotional too. Mia and Jeff were so kind. I had been lucky when fate threw me in their path.

  ‘Go and have a drink to celebrate,’ said Mia. ‘There’s champagne for our older students.’

  She beckoned to one of the waitresses and swiped a tall glass from her tray. She handed it to me before disappearing in a crowd of parents who wanted to congratulate her on the success of the concert. I sipped at the pale sparkling liquid. It was delicious, although the bubbles made my nose wrinkle. A waiter, carrying a silver tray, offered me a canapé. I took it, and as I bit into it was suddenly overcome with tiredness. I was ready for bed. I looked around for Dan, to say goodnight before I left. I spotted him eventually, on the opposite side of the room. He was chatting to the guests while he helped to hand around drinks. I watched him closely but each time he moved on from a parent someone else claimed him. Clearly he was well known and popular. It was ages before we managed to exchange a few brief words, as I returned my empty glass and he refilled his tray from the small bar.