Either Side of Midnight (The Midnight Saga Book 1)

by Tori de Clare

  Naomi pushed her forefinger inside her hair and twisted. ‘Deal.’

  ‘So seeing as God hasn’t got you tied up today, can your washing wait or not?’

  Naomi glanced at the stuffed bag beneath her desk that was at least a week overdue already. It was a no-brainer. ‘Without a doubt.’

  ‘Good,’ he said in a smouldering voice that made her want him right next to her, right then, with his full lips and his talent for using them. ‘I’ll take you for lunch. Be ready for twelve and make sure there’s a piano available.’

  <><><>

  By twelve, Naomi had cleaned up her room, helped clear the kitchen, had a shower, dressed and done her makeup. She was straightening her hair when Nathan rang to say he was parking the car. In an unruffled voice that intended to convince him she hadn’t been flapping like a trapped bird all morning, she told him she’d come down and sign him in.

  Her eyes looked over the room. She hadn’t made the bed. She didn’t know if Nathan would see her room or not, but she wanted it to be perfect if he did. She hurriedly arranged the covers and plumped the pillows before she took a last look in the mirror and, deciding that she looked neither under nor overdressed in jeans and a plain white top with a lace collar, ran for the lift.

  Nathan was wearing a black and grey checked shirt and dark jeans behind the glass door of the secure reception area. Her hand shook as she wrote his name and let him inside. He slid his arm around her waist as they walked through the paved area towards A Block. Violin music sang from an open window.

  Nathan, arrested, paused to listen. ‘Is that a CD?’

  Naomi laughed. ‘No, it’s a guy called Sam Curtis, my year. He’s practising the Sebelius Violin Concerto for the concerto competition.’

  ‘He’s amazing. I’m feeling grossly inadequate again and I’ve only been here two minutes.’

  ‘Don’t bother,’ Naomi said, lowering her voice. ‘Sam might be amazing, but he’s his own biggest fan. He stands practising with the window open every day. I’ve never heard him talk about anyone but himself.’

  Nathan carried on walking. ‘So, am I going to get a guided tour then?’ he asked.

  ‘You want to see my room?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Siobhan emerged from around the corner in a floor length skirt, carrying her flute and a tatty brown leather case that held her sheet music. The sight of her stony expression, big hair and milky-white skin reminded Naomi that she hadn’t seen her in a while and filled her head with excuses. But Siobhan didn’t stop to talk. She took one look at Nathan and nodded almost imperceptibly at Naomi. Nathan didn’t notice her and Naomi didn’t say anything, but found herself feeling guilty as Siobhan trudged heavily by, dragging her uncomfortable silence with her that was more condemning than words.

  Naomi took Nathan up the lift to the top floor. Nathan looked over the banister down through the synchronized staircases with twisting black rails that tumbled to the ground, two per floor.

  Nathan filed behind her along the narrow corridor and through two doors until they’d passed a few rooms and the kitchen, and had arrived at Naomi’s door.

  She took a deep breath, realising she was nervous. ‘So this is my room.’

  He leant over and kissed her briefly as though he couldn’t resist a second longer. ‘OK, I promise to behave.’

  Naomi fumbled with the door key. She opened the door and was stupidly surprised at how organised the room looked. It hadn’t been this tidy since she’d met Nathan at the Freshers’ dinner and he’d injected her with enough energy to tidy the whole block. As the weeks had passed and the fizz inside her had flattened, the room had suffered too, until today.

  ‘Nice,’ he commented. ‘And you’ve got your own piano.’

  ‘I’m not touching that thing for you,’ Naomi warned as Nathan took her in his arms. ‘It probably sounded great about fifty years ago. There are tons of Steinways and Yamahas in the college,’ she said while he hugged her.

  ‘Which do you prefer?’

  ‘Which would you prefer, a Mercedes or a Ford?’

  ‘Is the difference that obvious?’ He kissed her lightly on the lips and withdrew a few centimetres.

  She nodded. ‘It is to me.’

  ‘I take it the Steinways are the Rolls-Royces of the piano world?’

  ‘Yes. Yamahas are fine though. They’re workhorses, built to last. I actually prefer my piano at home to any other. It’s a Bosendorfer.’

  He shrugged as if it meant nothing. ‘Cheaper than a Rolls-Royce I hope?’

  ‘It was forty-five thousand.’

  ‘Forty-five? That’s mad,’ he said, gently kissed her forehead. They walked to the window and looked down. Will Barton was passing by underneath. The black hair was striking against the polished red case. He was always shouting some greeting to someone or other as if there wasn’t a living soul he didn’t know or want to know. As Naomi thought of Annabel, Nathan pulled her into a sitting position on the bed.

  ‘So,’ he said, searching her eyes, ‘Are you happy here?’

  Nathan still had hold of her hand. Naomi sighed. ‘Getting there.’

  Nathan frowned. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning,’ she paused to think, ‘that it felt like the only option for me after everything that happened.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound good. It’s never too late to switch direction.’

  ‘It is.’ She lowered her head.

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ He lifted her chin ‘You have to pursue what makes you happy.’

  ‘I love music,’ she said as enthusiastically as possible. ‘Besides, my mum is expecting great things of me here. I daren’t disappoint.’

  Nathan looked at her for a long moment. ‘Why would it disappoint her if you became what you wanted to become?’

  ‘She wants me to become a musician.’

  ‘You’re already a musician. You must have spent half your life at your instrument to be good enough to get into this place.’

  ‘I have,’ she agreed.

  He pulled her hand to his lips and deposited another gentle kiss. ‘So why do I get the feeling you have reservations? What do you want?’

  ‘I’ve never really wondered.’

  ‘Sure you have,’ Nathan responded seriously. ‘We all know what we’re passionate about, Naomi. It’s what drives us.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Naomi said, eager to move on.

  ‘Of course it matters.’

  Nathan squeezed Naomi’s hand while she persuaded herself to be honest with him. It was surprisingly difficult to form the words and release them out loud. ‘I love books, but I have no time to read anymore,’ she said. ‘I write poetry. I always dreamed of becoming a writer. I think if things had turned out differently, I’d have studied literature or creative writing.’

  ‘Make things turn out differently.’

  ‘Too late.’

  She dropped her head again. He lifted her chin a second time. ‘You’re eighteen. What kind of an answer is that?’

  She shrugged. ‘I’ll never be a concert pianist anyway.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m nowhere near good enough. And if I was, I couldn’t handle the pressure. Performing terrifies me. I’ll probably just end up teaching or something. I have to be realistic.’ She hesitated. ‘Thing is, I don’t want to be a teacher.’

  Nathan seemed to be looking beyond her eyes and inside her mind. He put his arm around her and pulled her against his chest. Naomi found she had a lump in her throat that started to ache then hurt. She was surprised when the tears came. Nathan didn’t speak. He just held her and kissed the top of her head.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m so weak,’ she said. ‘Up to meeting you, I hadn’t cried in ages. I feel really stupid.’

  ‘Don’t. Releasing emotion isn’t a crime or a sign of weakness. I’m guessing your mum doesn’t approve of tears.’

  Naomi stiffened up and looked at him. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Doesn’t take a genius,�
�� he said. ‘I happen to think you’re very strong and very considerate and far too accommodating.’

  ‘Someone has to make up for Annabel.’

  Nathan jerked his head back. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Annie does what’s best for her. Don’t get me wrong, she’s adorable, and funny and generous, but she gave up on all the opportunities my parents offered her: music, horse riding, gymnastics, swimming, tennis.’ Naomi stopped to search the ceiling, sure there were more things. ‘She prefers to party. She’d rather be with friends than us, any day.’

  ‘She’s eighteen, nearly nineteen,’ Nathan said. ‘I really don’t see anything wrong with Annabel deciding what she wants out of life and going for it. Presumably she’s passionate about more than just parties?’

  Naomi stopped to picture Annabel. The thought that arrived first was watching her paragliding over the sea on some holiday which wouldn’t come to mind. Naomi had stood watching, wishing she’d had the courage. ‘She loves the outdoors and travelling. That’s why she’s delaying uni for a year and jet-setting. My mum isn’t happy about it, but Annabel isn’t bothered.’

  ‘They don’t get on?’

  ‘No. Annabel will not conform.’

  Nathan went quiet. ‘Look, this is none of my business – ’

  ‘I want to hear your opinion,’ Naomi said.

  ‘OK, why should Annabel conform, and why should you? You shouldn’t be living your life trying to be what your parents want you to be and making up for your sister who’s rejected their ideas. She knows what makes her happy and you should too. Even though you’re studying music, you might find that your mum isn’t satisfied with your career choice in the end. Then what?’

  Naomi shrugged. Nathan wiped her tears with his thumbs. ‘Your mum can only have as much control over you as you allow her to have, don’t you see?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve never really thought about it.’

  ‘Well, maybe you should. You might discover a little more about yourself.’

  ‘I sometimes wonder who I am. I sometimes look at Annie and resent that I’m the one who carries my mum’s expectations.’

  ‘You’ve allowed yourself to become that martyr without considering the impact on yourself. But you’ve moved away from home. It’s a start. Maybe it’s time for some self-examination now.’

  ‘Maybe I’m scared of what I’ll find,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think there’s any need,’ he smiled. ‘You’re not on your own anymore. You’ve got me now and . . . ’ He looked at her for a long moment. ‘I’m in love with you.’ Naomi, stunned, couldn’t speak. ‘I know it’s mad. We barely know each other, but I’m crazy about you. No one has ever got under my skin like this. I can’t help it. You don’t have to say anything.’

  ‘I feel the same,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to me, but since we met it’s been hard to concentrate on anything and keep control of myself.’

  ‘Stop trying,’ he said, leaning in to kiss her, properly this time. They slowly lay back entwined in each other’s arms.

  A sharp knock on the door yanked Naomi to her senses quickly. She jerked free and sat up, noticing that Nathan was unruffled.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he whispered.

  Naomi froze, listening hard. There was another impatient knock. The knock, like a signature, was familiar.

  ‘What if it’s –’

  Her very worst fear was confirmed. ‘Naomi?’ Camilla’s voice was clear and commanding behind the door.

  ‘It’s my mum,’ Naomi mouthed to Nathan, jumping up off the bed, smoothing herself down and checking herself in the mirror. While she flushed scarlet red, she wiped her smudged mascara. ‘Coming,’ she called. She could hear Annabel talking to her dad. The whole family had arrived. Nightmare. Naomi would never have wanted Nathan to meet Annabel so soon. And as for Camilla . . .

  Nathan calmly rose to his feet, stretching to his full and impressive height. Why did he look so composed? With no time to collaborate a story, Naomi started for the door before any more time could elapse. Nathan caught hold of her arm.

  ‘I’ll handle things, don’t panic,’ he whispered noiselessly.

  He released her and she hurried to open the door.

  ‘Hi. Sorry, Mum, I was in the bathroom,’ Naomi lied, feeling the need to offer an excuse. She was trying to remember to look pleased to see them at the same time. She couldn’t imagine what her expression was really saying.

  ‘An unpleasant girl with ginger hair signed us in downstairs,’ Camilla said. Naomi was relieved the room was clean and tidy. ‘She apparently recognised us from your Facebook photographs – ’ Camilla stopped and looked over Naomi’s shoulder at Nathan, then back at Naomi. Her tone tightened. ‘You look flustered, Naomi. And upset.’

  ‘No, I’m fine.’

  ‘Three times I tried to call. No answer.’

  ‘Really?’ Naomi said, feigning innocence as she remembered ignoring the calls. ‘My phone’s on silent.’

  ‘I had no idea you were so busy.’

  ‘I’m not busy,’ Naomi said, cheeks burning. She turned to Nathan to hide them. ‘Not doing anything are we? Nothing. Come in.’ Naomi stood back and they filed past her.

  ‘We’ve come to take you out for lunch to plan our birthday bash before I go,’ Annabel piped up. Naomi’s heart sank when she studied Annabel. She’d dressed up – no doubt for Will Barton’s benefit – in skinny dark red jeans, strappy wedge-heeled sandals and a small top that showed off her curves and the diamond in her belly button that Camilla never failed to complain about. A swinging necklace hung to waist length. Her long blonde hair was in freefall around her face, her lips were pale red and glossy. Naomi wasn’t sure if she was more sickened about Annabel seeing Nathan, or him seeing her. Annabel’s eyes lingered excessively on Nathan.

  ‘I brought you a jumper,’ Camilla said, ignoring Nathan, handing Naomi something black and soft that smelt of Camilla. ‘It shrunk in the machine. I don’t like things tight on me the way you girls do.’

  ‘Why would Naomi want a second hand middle-aged-woman’s jumper?’ Annabel asked.

  ‘Classic shape and design. Perfect for Naomi,’ Camilla said, eyeing Annabel. She snatched the jumper back, unfolded it and held it up against Naomi. ‘See? Too good to throw away and excellent quality.’ She folded it again.

  Annabel muttered, ‘Who gives a crap?’

  Camilla glared at Annabel. Naomi, sure she was about to suffer death by mortification, found herself accepting the jumper and muttering her thanks.

  ‘I told you she’d like it,’ Camilla said. Annabel rolled her eyes.

  Naomi hoped Annabel would leave it there. Nathan saved the day by stepping forward and offering Henry his hand.

  ‘Hi. I’m Nathan Stone, Naomi’s friend. Good to meet you.’

  Henry shook his hand enthusiastically. ‘You too.’

  Camilla, not giving him the chance to introduce himself, turned her back on Nathan and walked into the bathroom. She disappeared then returned and stood in the doorway and glared at Nathan.

  ‘What are you doing in here? Doesn’t the college have any rules about – ’

  ‘Camilla,’ Henry said, intercepting the comment.

  Naomi was curling up inside like a fallen autumn leaf. Annabel laughed openly. ‘Mum this is the twenty-first century, not the days of the ark. It’s not the job of the college to babysit students. They’re all adults, capable of adult behaviour.’

  ‘Look,’ Nathan said, face straight, ‘Naomi was just showing me around the place. We came in here because she needed to get her coat and use the bathroom. We were about to go and grab some lunch.’

  ‘The sink’s dry,’ Camilla said.

  ‘Sorry?’ Nathan said, voice light and polite.

  ‘If Naomi had used the bathroom, the sink wouldn’t be dry.’

  ‘Camilla,’ Henry said a second time.

  ‘Mum,’ Naomi said, ‘I don’t have to explain my reasons for using the bathroom,’
which seemed just as well when she couldn’t think of one. The heat in her cheeks fired up a notch. She was sure they were betraying her.

  Annabel threw up her hands and let them clap loudly onto her thighs. ‘You’re being ridiculous, Mother. And you’re embarrassing her. What Naomi does in her own room or her bathroom is up to her. What are you now, Inspector Morse? If she wants to have friends round, she can.’

  All eyes were on Camilla. Hers were dark and ice-cold, and directed at Nathan. ‘Well,’ she said, delaying the answer with another tense silence, ‘the immediate problem is, how are we going to take Naomi out to lunch when she has plans to eat with her friend here.’ Accent on friend.

  All eyes switched to Nathan except Annabel’s which rolled again. Nathan’s attention on Camilla didn’t flinch. ‘Why don’t we go out together? I’ve heard lots about all of you. It’d be great to get to know you better.’ No one answered. ‘Problem solved,’ he finished with a winning smile.

  Camilla, as surprised by the answer as she was irritated, said, ‘So you’re Naomi’s friend you say?’

  ‘That’s right. A close friend.’

  ‘Close?’ Camilla’s eyes were as hard and unblinking as a pair of glass marbles. ‘How close?’

  9

  It was two and a half hours before they were finally alone again, standing on Booth Street West, Central Manchester, backs to the accommodation block, waving off Camilla, Henry and Annabel. To save Henry’s arthritic hands, Annabel had driven them in her sporty VW Golf – her eighteenth birthday present to match the money Camilla had splashed out on a beautiful black four-year-old Bosendorfer piano for Naomi. Or at least Annabel believed her fifteen-thousand-pound car matched the price of Naomi’s piano. Only Annabel’s ignorance had allowed for the price difference.

  Naomi still felt bad about it. Camilla didn’t. ‘What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. You have to have a decent instrument, Naomi. It’s a gift for life and it’s a necessity as well as an investment,’ she’d insisted, ‘unlike that heap of metal Annabel has picked that will be worthless a couple of years from now.’