Making Music

by Ling, Maria

  "I like that," Peter said judiciously.

  "So do I," Karen said. "We'll stick with it, then. Let's do the verse."

  They did it a couple of times.

  "I'm not sure about that," Jen said, willing herself out of her own misery in order to think critically about the music. "It's too ornate, somehow. It doesn't fit the simplicity of the rest of the song."

  Rhoda looked at her thoughtfully.

  "Maybe you're right," she said. "How about something like this?"

  She sang again.

  "Let's try it," Karen said readily.

  They sang the amended version.

  "That‘s definitely better," Peter said.

  "It is," Jen agreed. "Yes, I like that. It gives it a sort of upwards flow. And you'll be giving Cathy her cue with the last note, and then she can take it from there."

  Cathy brightened.

  "Yes, that's true," she said spontaneously. "It will start like an echo of the voice. And then you come in on guitar, and give me a new base to play over."

  Jen nodded.

  "That's it."

  "Isn't it nice when we all agree?" Karen asked rhetorically, smiling. "We'll do that, then." She checked her watch. "Actually, it's nearly two now, so if you think it's safe for us to go down -- " she glanced at Rhoda, who shrugged -- "then we can get on with it straight away."

  "I'm staying here," Sue said. "I've done my bit, so you don't really need me anyway. Just call me if I have to do another take."

  They all rose, and wandered off for the afternoon session, leaving Sue and Jen alone in the kitchen.

  "I'll tidy up," Jen said.

  "No, you don't," Sue told her. "You're staying right there, and I'll make you some more tea."

  "Thank you," Jen said humbly, and then added: "I'm sorry to be such a nuisance."

  "Don't be silly," Sue said, switching the kettle on and getting the tea bags out. "We've all been waiting for the sparks to fly. Do you really think everyone expected this to go smoothly? With everything that happened before? We all knew you'd both blow up at some point."

  Jen flushed.

  "Of course," Sue added meditatively, setting the fresh mugs down on the table "poor Cathy hasn't the slightest idea what's going on. But she never does anyway. She's a dear, and we all love her, but she's a bit wet sometimes."

  Jen fought down a sudden gush of relief that she was not the only one to think so.

  "But with her sister -- " she began, feeling that it was unfair on Cathy to criticise her, with things the way they were.

  "I know, I know," Sue said. "Why do you think we're all wrapping her in cotton wool? Even Karen is doing it -- and you know as well as I do what Karen thinks of "shrinking violets", as she calls them. But the truth is that Cathy is always like this. She's a bit of a whinger, actually. No one but a saint like Peter could put up with her in the long term. But she's a dear, and she's superb on the flute, and Peter loves her. So we love her, too."

  "Sue," Jen said frankly, "you have no idea how relieved I feel to hear you say that."

  Sue smiled at her.

  "I do," she said. "I thought I was the only one until Karen said her piece to me -- in confidence, of course. And Rhoda thought she was the only one until I said my piece to her. The thing about Cathy is that she's never had to do anything on her own. She comes from a nice family in a nice suburb and went to a nice school and had nice music teachers. The first contact she had with real life was when she started playing in a professional orchestra, and couldn't take the back-biting. That's why she left. When Peter met her she was living at home and giving private music lessons to nice local kids."

  "I didn't know that," Jen said shamefacedly. "I don't really know anything about her."

  "Well, that's how it was. So now she's living with Peter, and she's playing the folk circuit, and she's just waking up to the fact that there's a whole world out there that she knows nothing about. And then her sister died, and she was just crushed."

  "Of course she was," Jen said, feeling desperately sorry for her.

  "Of course," Sue agreed. "But what I mean is that it was the first really difficult thing she's ever had to face on her own. Peter's been wonderfully supportive. But she couldn't fall back on her parents for this one, because they're grieving too. So she's having to deal with it herself."

  "Poor girl," Jen said sadly.

  "Yes." Sue nodded gravely. "But also -- don't you see, Jen? -- she's having to realise that the world doesn't revolve around her. And that's hard for her too, because she's always believed it does. It is hard for her. It just happens to be necessary."

  "I suppose so," Jen said, feeling that it was still rather too brutal an awakening for someone as sweet as Cathy seemed to be.

  "This record is her way of doing something for her sister," Sue said seriously. "She told me so. She also told me, and I know she's said the same thing to Karen, that it's the first thing she's ever done that she feels is real music. She says all her life she's been playing other people's music. This is her music. Do you see?"

  "Yes." Jen looked at her thoughtfully. "Yes, I think so. This is the first time it's coming from the heart."

  "That's it exactly," Sue said. "And we all know that you can't be a musician unless it's coming from the heart. Playing what someone else has told you to play is just technique. We can all do that, but it's not enough, it's not what makes us stick with it even when we don't seem to be getting anywhere. Music isn't just about playing the right notes in the right way -- it's about something else."

  "And sometimes it's painful," Jen supplied.

  "Sometimes it's painful. You know that, I know that, we all know that. But Cathy, even with all her training and all her talent, never realised it until now."

  There was a long silence.

  "We're all doing our best to help her through it," Sue went on. "Because we all know it's something she has to go through if she's serious about her music. And Stuart has probably helped her most of all."

  "Why?" Jen asked, fighting back a renewal of tears at the mention of his name.

  "Because he knows it better than anyone else. Why do you think he's become as good as he is? Because he's been through that pain himself. He was devastated when you broke up with him, Jen. Simply devastated. It took him a long time to get over it -- and I don't think he's fully over it now -- but you only have to listen to his music to understand what it's done for him as an artist."

  The last three words rang in the silence of the room. Jen bit her lip hard.

  "Do you know he's had professional slide guitarists coming over from America just to play with him?" Sue asked after a pause.

  "Yes, I know," Jen said quietly. "Rhoda told me."

  "There you are, then." Sue nodded significantly. "Don't get me wrong -- I'm not saying he wouldn't much rather have kept you and passed on the music. He would, of course, because it was all too painful for him. And I'm not saying you shouldn't get back together with him now, because I know that's what he wants more than anything else. All I'm saying is -- sometimes you only get to the music through pain."

  "So what's your pain?" Jen said, with a weak attempt at humour.

  "Mine?" Sue smiled. "I haven't had it yet, thank God. That's why I'm not in the same class as you and Stuart." She shook her head vigorously as Jen opened her mouth. "No, don't say it. I'm not, and I know I'm not. But having seen the two of you go through what you've been through, I'd rather wait."

  Jen had to smile at that.

  "I don't blame you," she said.

  "Well, that's how it is." Sue looked at her critically. "Now if I were you, Jen, I'd go and wash my face, and then take a stroll around the garden. Sit in the sunshine. Take it easy. Maybe lie down for a while. Just don't worry about anything, because it will all work out, I promise you."

  "Thanks, Sue," Jen said. "You're a star."

  "No," Sue said simply. "But you are. So go and get yourself feeling like one."

  Jen obeyed orders insofar as she did go up
stairs to wash her face, and then hesitantly ventured out into the garden. The sun was blazing down as freely as it had done the previous day, and the air was warm and rich with the smell of grass and leaves and with hay from the fields lying invisible behind the enclosing hedge.

  She walked around for a while, listening to the birds, and then found a pleasant little spot under one of the trees at the back of the house. She sat down on the grass, drew her legs up to her chest and put her arms around them, and leaned her chin on her knees.

  As for not worrying, that was plain impossible. She did try her best to keep her thoughts away from Stuart, and from the hurtful things he had said, but she simply could not do it. Especially since she knew it was no more than she deserved.

  If she could even have felt angry about it, then it might have been easier to bear. If she could have believed he was being unfair and unreasonable, then she would not have hurt so much. It was the fact that she knew he was not that tore at her heart, and made her spirits plummet every time she thought she had got herself back under control.

  Whatever had possessed her to think such things about him? He had never done anything to deserve it -- never. Until that moment in the hotel, the thought of him being unfaithful had never even crossed her mind. Why had she been so quick to believe the worst about him? Granted, it had taken no effort of deduction to arrive at the most likely explanation, but why had she not even tried to think of another one? Why had she not even considered the possibility that he might have another one, and that it was worth listening to?

  And Cathy! Why had she just assumed he was having a relationship with her? Why had she not taken the obvious step of asking Karen?

  Why?

  She hugged her knees closer to her. She knew why. She could see it now. And she was surprised by the realisation.

  She had never really believed she deserved Stuart. She had been so in awe of him -- not just because he was handsome and attractive and kind all rolled into one, but because he was so immensely talented. She had never really believed she could measure up to him. She had never really believed he could be satisfied with her.

  Sue said he had been devastated when she broke up with him. Karen had told her, years ago, that he was smitten. Rhoda had told her he worshipped her -- and that must be an exaggeration, if only because Rhoda would never be persuaded to stick to something as mundane as the literal truth -- but even so, she had said it.

  And she, Jen, who ought to know him best, had not believed it.

  She had never thought of herself as lacking in confidence. You couldn't walk out in front of an audience and perform night after night if you did not believe in yourself. And she did. She did believe in herself, she knew she had both talent and ability. She just did not believe that she was in Stuart's league.

  Was that a good reason for not believing he loved her? Enough to stay faithful to her, however many starstruck teenagers threw themselves in his path?

  No, it was not.

  She had done all this herself. She had actually thrown away a wonderful relationship with the most wonderful man ever to walk the earth, screwed it up and thrown it away, simply and solely because she did not believe she deserved him.

  She must be an idiot.

  Jen leaned her forehead against her knees, and willed herself not to start crying again. Crying was not going to help.

  There was one comfort left to her, and she hung on to it for dear life. Everyone, every single one of her friends, believed that Stuart still loved her, and that despite everything, he still wanted to rebuild their relationship. True, none of them had heard the things he had said to her downstairs, in the studio, a few hours ago. Even so, there was still hope. There must be hope.

  She sat there, hugging her knees, staring distantly at the greenery around her, and with the birdsong above her, for so long that when Sue came to find her, it was already dusk.

  "I told you to sit in the sunshine," Sue scolded her, "not catch pneumonia in the shade."

  "I hadn't noticed it had got so late," Jen said apologetically, getting to her feet. Her limbs felt stiff and chilly; she stretched cautiously.

  "Well, they're all done," Sue said. "Karen and Stuart and Rhoda have all done their vocals, and Stuart's cut his guitar line too. He says he doesn't know yet if he'll use it, he wants to see how it works with yours first, but he's recorded it anyway and it's there for the mix. So you're the only one left. I'll tell him you'll do it tomorrow, if you'd rather."

  "No," Jen said. "Thanks, Sue, but no. I'll do it now."

  The atmosphere in the studio was palpably different from the tension of the morning. Now the whole room had an exhausted feel to it. Unsurprising, since everyone must be worn out, especially Stuart, who had not even broken for lunch.

  He did look tired, she noticed, glancing at him secretly while picking up her guitar and checking the tuning. Cathy obligingly got her flute out, and they worked their way through the strings, with a final working through to make sure the instrument was still in tune with itself.

  Satisfied, Jen checked her position in relation to the microphones, and then nodded to Stuart, who reached out to switch on the silent light-only metronome that Sue and everyone else had been working to, and then flicked the recording switch, and signalled to her to start when she was ready.

  Jen watched the flashing light for a while, internalising the rhythm, and remembered the melody, and the flow of the music on the previous night, and she closed her eyes and began to play.

  She did not have to think. The guitar line worked its way through her hands and her fingers, without any conscious response from her mind. She let it flow through her and out of her, and speak wordlessly of loss and loneliness and grief.

  Sometimes you only get to the music through pain, Sue had said.

  She was right.

  After a long time, when the pain and the grief had played its way through her, and was gradually ebbing away, Jen opened her eyes, and watched dreamlike as the light flicked on and off, rhythmically, unperturbed.

  She was keeping perfect time.

  She played the last few chords, and let them ring out in the silence and fade, and then she gently placed her right hand over the strings, and muted them, and there was absolute stillness in the room.

  Stuart reached out slowly and switched off the input control.

  "Okay Jen," he said softly, "I guess you're wrapped."

  She looked at him in surprise. He was watching her, with the shadow of a smile over his face, and his eyes were clear and calm and the azure of a tropical sea, and there was no anger in them any more.

  "Just like that?" she asked, her voice dry and hesitant. "On the first take?"

  He smiled then, a slow lingering smile, and her heart contracted with sheer overpowering emotion.

  "We'll do as many takes as you want," he said, "but personally I don't see how anyone could improve on that."

  She sat and watched him, cradling her guitar, and they smiled at each other across the studio floor, and she thought: maybe -- just maybe -- there is still hope.

  "In that case," she said, "I'm wrapped."

  CHAPTER NINE

  "Lasagne," Karen said. "Plain ordinary boring frozen ready-made lasagne. I told Stuart to get two -- I knew none of us would be able to face cooking tonight, not after a full day's recording."

  "Good thinking," Peter approved, pushing the first tray into the microwave and fiddling with the controls.

  "So you're the planning genius," Sue said, getting the plates out of the cupboard. "I thought this was a bit too impressive to be all Stuart's work. Did you give him the breakfast shopping list, too?"

  "I did, actually," Karen said, smiling. "I thought it would be bad enough to have the whole lot of us descend on him like this, without him having to think out all the catering arrangements as well. I just sat down and wrote it all out, and then phoned him and told him what to get."

  Jen sat silent and thoughtful, letting the chatter swirl around her.

&
nbsp; "What impresses me," Rhoda said from her perch on the worktop, next to the toaster, "is how clean everything is. He must have got someone in to do it."

  "It certainly wasn't this neat at the housewarming," Peter said drily. "We'd all have fainted."

  "I'm sorry I missed that," Karen said. "It sounds like it was a great party."

  "It was," Sue confirmed. "And we missed you. But of course you couldn't cancel a booking."

  "No," Karen said, "but I almost wish I had. Oh well, I'm here now. Stuart, who did all this cleaning for you?"

  Jen looked up. Stuart was in the doorway, yawning openly.

  "Cathy did it," he said. "She said she couldn't believe anyone could live in such a state."

  "Good for her," Rhoda said in a marked tone.

  "It wasn't that bad," Stuart protested. "I'd got most of the marmite off the worktops."

  Jen stifled a giggle. So that was the explanation for Stuart's new-found tidiness! At least she had not been far wrong on that point.

  "Where is Cathy?" Sue asked.

  "She said she was going to lie down for a while," Peter said. "I thought it was a good idea. She was pretty tired."

  "We all are," Rhoda said.

  "I'm shattered," Stuart admitted frankly.

  "I'm not surprised." Karen again. "You deserve to be. Slave-driver!"

  Stuart grinned at her, unrepentant.

  "You enjoy it, though, Karen," he said, fending off a hastily-thrown tea towel. "You love it when I'm shouting at you."

  "Find someone else to bully, Stuart," Karen said. "I've taken just about as much as I'm going to take from you today."

  "Food," Peter said, intervening diplomatically, and getting the lasagne out of the microwave. "First come first served."

  "I'm here," Rhoda said immediately.

  "And me." That was Karen.

  "Give it to the girls," Stuart said dismissively. "You and I can have a beer while we wait for the next one."

  No one found fault with that suggestion, and Jen, Karen, Rhoda and Sue were soon tucking into their meal with hungry abandon. It was good, Jen reflected, certainly better than her own sole attempt, which had emerged burned at the edges and raw in the middle, a combination she would not have thought physically possible. This was creamy and rich and filling, just the thing after a day as emotionally draining as this one had been.