He held his phone stupidly in his hands, taking in her face, her pain and her hurt. Parents reached for their children’s hands, pulling them away from the front. A few people picked up their shopping and marched off muttering. A lady who had been standing close to Nia reached out, put her hand on Nia’s arm and asked her if she was OK, but Nia ignored her. She couldn’t speak. Sol didn’t move, he stood at the back looking at her, searching for what to say to make this better. Nia took her guitar off and placed it carefully in the case. It fell shut with a loud thud.
‘Give me your phone,’ she demanded, reaching out her hand to him. They were almost alone now, the crowd quickly departing. Sol crossed the space slowly, clutching his phone to his chest.
‘What were you thinking? Were you going to upload it? What if my father heard it, what if he found out?’ Nia forgot the remains of the wintery crowd gathered to hear her haunting voice, which was now a screech.
Understanding clouded Sol’s face.
‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to upload it anywhere. I swear!’
His eyes stayed on the ground because he was embarrassed. He didn’t want her to know how he’d felt, that first time he heard her sing a solo at school. Now all he heard was pain and sadness, but today she sang like she used to and he wanted to record it in case she never sang this way again. The song was perfect; exactly what they said they’d been looking for in the email they’d sent him. If only his battery hadn’t been low she’d never have even noticed him filming her and then he could have just told her the good news once it was a definite yes. He’d wanted to surprise her. Instead he’d scared and exposed her.
‘I said, give me your phone, Sol,’ Nia demanded, holding out her hand.
Sol paused for a moment, wondering what the consequences would be if he said no. He handed over the phone.
Nia took it and began scrolling through. She’d promised her father, sworn across her heart to him that she’d take a different path from her mother. But she’d lied. She couldn’t stop singing; it was her connection to her mother, that and the guitar. She found the video but she didn’t want to watch it; she couldn’t bear to. She clicked on the delete button.
Sol stood there, watching her looking at herself on his phone. He walked out of the entrance hall to the car park. He knew there were no words he could say to make this right. It would be better if he just walked away and let her calm down.
Nia ran after him, calling his name.
Sol stopped and turned as she threw the phone. It hit him sharply on the side of his forehead, cutting open his skin. Sol didn’t make a sound, but others did, running towards him.
‘Hey! What are you doing?’ someone called.
‘Stop! What’s going on out here?’ yelled one of the shiny-suited log-burner salesmen. Nia hung her guitar across her back and pushed past Sol, banging into the people gathering around him.
Chapter Thirteen
Nia ran around the back of the building. She leaned against the wall and told herself to breathe, to calm down. Why would Sol want to film her? Even though she didn’t want to hear what he had to say, Nia knew she had to go back and find him. She’d hurt him in more ways than one. She’d only meant to throw his phone to him, hadn’t she? Or maybe at him? She couldn’t remember now. But she’d made him bleed, and she never meant to do that.
Nia picked up her guitar and forced herself around the corner, expecting to see an angry mob calling for her arrest or the police come to take her away or something else melodramatic, but Sol had gone and no one seemed interested in her anymore. She walked over to the large doors of the town hall and peered into the craft market. It was completely normal, as if none of it had ever happened, as if she’d just imagined the whole thing. But what if someone had called her dad? She needed to leave now, while she still could, and catch the train. She’d have to talk to Sol later, make things right with him somehow. She could message him once she was on the train. Nia turned around, ready to keep going, and then she saw him.
Sol was sitting in his dad’s truck, in the driver’s seat, holding a cloth to his head. He was watching her. Nia marched across, put her guitar in the back and jumped into the passenger seat. This couldn’t wait until later or tomorrow.
‘What’s going on, Sol?’ she asked, coming straight to the point.
‘Get out!’ he snapped.
‘What?’ she stammered, taken by surprise.
‘Get out, Nia.Just leave me alone,’ Sol hissed.
Nia moved away from him, pushing herself up against the window, but refused to get out.
‘I’m sorry, OK?’ she offered, holding her hands up. She was still angry with him but this wasn’t the time.
‘It was just a film, that’s all.’ He sounded pained.
‘Yeah, but you should have told me. At least asked me.’ She reached out her hand and pulled the reddening cloth away to see the damage. His skin was ripped open and raw.
‘You’re right.’
‘So, why did you do it, Sol?’ she asked, moving closer.
Silence.
‘Because.’
‘Because?’ she pushed.
‘YES! Because, Nia … because of you and me.’
Nia paused. ‘You and me? Not just us, but you and me as in a thing? Like, an item?’
He couldn’t mean that, could he? They weren’t a ‘you and me’. Were they?
Sol nodded.
‘But, for how long?’ Nia asked shakily.
‘Forever.’
‘You’ve felt like that all this time?’
‘Yes. All this time.’
Sol took the bloodied cloth out of her hands, dropped it and moved across the bench seat. He reached out to put his arms around her, moved his face closer to hers as if he was going to kiss her. Nia moved backwards, banging her legs into the gear stick as the old leather seats creaked beneath them. There was a moment of silence which Sol quickly filled, his breath blowing out in front of them in the cold cabin of the truck.
‘It wasn’t just that film, OK, you’re right. Look, I’ve done something for you. It’s a good thing, I promise. Don’t be mad, OK? I was filming you for a reason…’
‘Tell me.’ Nia braced herself.
‘I’ve sent a demo of your singing to a music label; it’s just a small one, an indie. They liked what they heard and wanted some pictures of you. Then they asked for something new, not a cover version, so when you started singing that song, your song, I got my phone out and thought I’d record it. But I swear I haven’t uploaded your music anywhere. It’s not online, or anything.’ He stopped.
Nia sat in silence.
‘You can’t give up or forget your dreams just because you’ve promised your dad. He never should have asked you. That day, that day … your mum’s funeral wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the right time to make you make promises you can’t keep.’ The truck windows were steaming up with their wintery breath and Nia couldn’t see the car park anymore. All she could see and hear was Sol, his truth and his lies all tangled up.
‘But I never asked you, I never asked you to do that for me. And it wasn’t your promise to break. It was mine.’
Nia moved further away. Away from his hands now reaching out to her, away from his bloodied face and the marks it had left on her shoulder. She opened the truck door, jumped down and ran around to the back.
‘Nia! Stop, come back, please?’ Sol called to her, getting out of the truck to try and stop her. But she wouldn’t let him, not this time. She pulled out her guitar and ran away from him, the falling snow covering her tracks.
Chapter Fourteen
Nia stopped running once she found the pathway that led from the car park to the train station. The heavy guitar case kept banging into her legs but she wanted the pain; she needed something to push her on as she stormed past trees spattered with more falling snow. She’d planned on leaving her guitar with Sol and hadn’t imagined she’d be taking it on the train with her. She could see her breath puff out in front of her as
she kept up a steady speed power walking, needing to put distance between her and what had just happened. She forced her body to keep going even though she had a sharp stitch in her stomach.
Nia told herself that people were chasing her, the legendary Wildsee wolves waiting for her to trip, stumble and fall. She’d never hit anyone in her life.She never meant to hurt Sol when she threw the phone; she just hadn’t stopped to think. It was a second of rage and then … it was gone, flying through the air.Her music was supposed to be their secret, hers and Sol’s. She’d trusted him, with everything. How had he thought this was a good idea? What had he been thinking leaning over like that? Had Sol really been going to kiss her?
If her dad found out that she’d been playing music, if he ever knew what she’d done, that she’d been busking for the last few months, it would break him. He hadn’t ever asked her where the guitar was or if she’d seen it. He must have assumed her mother had left it at the theatre, in her dressing room. If he saw that clip of her singing the song her mother wrote for her, playing her mother’s guitar, performing just like she had… Nia couldn’t guess how he’d react. How could Sol put her at risk like that? How could he think that filming her busking, playing, singing and sending it off to someone, to some stranger in a record agency, was a good idea? Without talking to her first? He was just a kid, even if he wanted to kiss her. He was just a boy. Her dad was right. This wasn’t what happened in the real world. Sol was just dreaming but it was a dangerous dream.
The path through the underpass led to the town centre and train station. Nia headed down into the wide tunnel busy with shoppers returning to the car park, keen to get home before darkness descended. She stopped in the middle of the underpass and put down her guitar case to look around. She wasn’t the only busker, which made her feel uncomfortable. She didn’t want any competition or trouble; she just wanted to make up the money that she would have earned selling the rest of the love spoons left behind. She didn’t know how much she might need once she got to Innsbruck – she couldn’t give up on going, despite seeing Isa singing – but she hadn’t really thought about the next stage of the tour.
Nia stood and watched a couple busking together for a few minutes. They sat on upended wooden crates, singing Christmas carols. The boy was on a harmonica and the girl was singing and playing guitar. When they stopped for a break, Nia made herself approach them.
‘Hi, would you mind if I pitch up down there and sing a bit?’ she mumbled, expecting a negative response.
‘No, the more the merrier, as long as you aren’t better than us!’ the girl joked.
‘There’s plenty of space,’ said the boy. ‘If you stick to that end and we stick to this end we should be OK. We won’t get any clashing or worse, sing the same numbers. It’s peak time, mind, and it’ll get busy now. You’d better get set up.’ He pointed to the far end of the underpass.
‘Thanks,’ Nia replied, relieved.
‘See you later. Good luck.’ The girl smiled and waved, then turned back to her guitar, strumming a few chords while she and her partner conferred which song to sing next.
Walking along, Nia thought how many questions she wanted to ask Sol, but she’d have to apologise first. There was nothing she could do about it now. She wasn’t ready to go back and face up to what she’d done; she was still so angry, and unsure of him for the first time. She’d text him once she got to Innsbruck. He’d be worried about her and it would give her an excuse to try and fix this mess. But maybe she should ring Sol, not text him? She had to talk to him properly, not dodge the issue. Words like ‘because’ and ‘forever’ were too big for either of them to cope with right now. Nia guessed they’d have a lot to say once they’d both calmed down. They could meet up once she was back from the tour. If they let her go on the tour.
She pulled herself together and rubbed her eyes, making sure not to smudge any mascara she might have left. She combed her fingers through her damp hair and pushed it off her face. She needed to look normal, happy if she could manage it.
The underpass was full of people walking through, couples holding hands. Some small children noticed her open guitar case with delight and pulled their parents to an annoyed halt, waiting expectantly for her to play something. She began to sing, nothing adventurous, nothing emotional, listening with half an ear to hear what the others were playing.
Nia relied on the familiarity of covers to carry her through the end of the afternoon. She soon gathered an awkward crowd, blocking up the power walkers, the joggers and the anxious parents who didn’t want to be in the darkening tunnel any more than she did at the tail end of the day. The case filled with more copper and silver coins than gold but she told herself buskers couldn’t be choosers. She played on, stopping only to take requests.
‘Can you play ‘Stille Nacht’ plsss?’ a little girl lisped, looking down at the floor rather than at Nia.
‘Sure,’ Nia replied, strumming the classic three-chord song as the little girl mouthed the words back at her, holding on tightly to her mother’s hand.
Chapter Fifteen
Nia remembered the first time she’d ever listened to her mother busk — one of those surprise moments you can’t organise or orchestrate, but which become extraordinary.
They were running late and her mother had forgotten to collect her from school: rehearsals had overrun or something. Nia stood next to Mr Grimm, reluctantly holding his hand as she watched the rest of the class leave through the glass doors. They stood there, just the two of them, both waiting and hoping, but her mother never came, and then the doors were shut and locked.
‘Come and sit with me in my office while you wait,’
Ms Andersen had told her, sending Mr Grimm away to telephone her mother, again. The teacher had passed Nia a box of crayons and some sheets of blank paper. It was cold and her itchy grey school tights were rubbing the backs of her legs.
‘I’m sure she won’t be long now. She’s probably got caught out by the level crossing,’ Ms Andersen tried to reassure Nia. Sol’s mum had offered to take Nia home but apparently her mother was on her way. That felt like so long ago, and Nia’s stomach rumbled, telling her it must be nearly teatime. Mr Grimm came back with a carton of juice and an apple; he set them down in front of Nia and marched off again leaving her in the alien adult world of Ms Andersen’s office.
When her mother finally ran into the reception area, she was red in the face, curls sticking to the side of her temples. She pushed her glasses onto the top of her head, which knocked some of her corkscrew curls back at funny angles. Nia laughed, losing the crossness she’d been brewing.
‘Sorry! Sorry I’m late, rehearsals overran and then I got caught out. Two trains at the level crossing, can you believe it? Took ages! Sorry, darling, sorry!’ She wrapped Nia in perfume and the fresh cold air.
‘No trouble, she’s been no bother,’ Ms Andersen smiled and brushed off the apologies as she passed Nia her pile of drawings, gratefully ushering them both out through the door before locking it behind them.
They ran to the car, holding hands, laughing for no reason at all. Her mother switched on the radio and turned it up loud as she reversed out of the car park and swung out onto the road. They sang along to The Beatles as they headed away from school.
‘Let’s go round the long way and avoid the trains this time,’ Lorelei suggested, clicking on the heating.
‘Please can we have noodles?’ Nia asked hopefully, trying to read the hands of the small clock on the dashboard.
‘Yes, go on then, seeing as you asked so nicely.’ Lorelei drove into town in search of a parking space near the takeaway. There was quite a queue. Nia inhaled the smell of bacon dumplings, fresh egg noodles, vegetable broth and the yeasty aroma of freshly baked rye bread. She quietly rubbed the backs of her snow boots against her tights, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice how dirty she’d got them playing tag on the field at lunchtime.
‘What do you want, just noodles?’ They were interrupted before Nia cou
ld answer.
‘Lorelei Christian? Excuse me, but it is you, isn’t it?’ A group of young women had turned around when they came in but Nia hadn’t noticed, the smell of the food overpowering all her other senses. Lorelei smiled and nodded. She cheerfully signed her autograph on the back of a diary, turning back to Nia, but more people had joined the queue behind them and had overheard her name. It was passed up and down the queue until the owner of the shop called out, brave enough to ask for what they all wanted.
‘Give us a tune while we serve, Ms Christian? Keep the customers happy and your meal is on the house!’ He winked at Lorelei, who looked around helplessly.
‘Oh yes. Go on, love. How about “Stille Nacht”, it’s my favourite?’ asked an older lady, waiting on a chair near the door. Nia smiled proudly and nodded at her mother, encouraging her.
Lorelei sang quietly to start with, but as the clapping got louder she relaxed and sang more freely, gathering a small crowd just outside the noodle bar, the queue now spilling out into the street. Lorelei kept it up until it was their turn to order and then a disappointed silence fell. Nia could feel it around her, a lull in the air. She looked across at the old woman on the chair; her shoulders sagged.
‘Just one more while I parcel yours up?’ the plump man suggested and Lorelei obliged. When he handed her the bag of food, he brushed away her offer of payment, leaning over the counter to whisper to Nia, ‘That’s made my day! Your mother is a star. Can’t wait to tell my wife later, she’ll be so sorry she missed this!’
The room had lifted. The old woman sat taller, prouder. Nia looked up and down the queue in amazement. People had put their phones away, stopped fiddling with handbags. Small children had stopped running around annoying their siblings and stood still and open-mouthed. Her mother had done this with just her voice. It was like listening to an enchantment.
Three Strikes Page 24
