I laughed, rereading his letter. ‘Yeah. He’s a poet and he doesn’t know it.’
‘Oh, I bet he does,’ she replied, arching her eyebrow. ‘Is he convincing you yet?’
‘I don’t know,’ I sighed. ‘It’s overwhelming. There are parts of me that believe I won’t know how I feel until I hear him play, but he doesn’t want me to go there if I’m unsure.’
‘Why will hearing him play help you?’
I thought back to the night I first heard him, before we’d even met. The night I knew that the handsome cellist had his own narrative of grief playing out through his fingertips and how he touched me with his music long before he’d touched me with his story.
‘I heard him play a few months before I met him. He was performing with the London Symphony Orchestra at the Barbican. His playing was desperately sad. Hauntingly so. I couldn’t stop thinking about him and what he’d been through to make his music so sorrowful.’
‘Hell’s bells, Nat,’ Lacey whispered. ‘I had no idea you’d met him before. That’s sent a shiver right down my spine.’ She wiggled her hips in her seat and smiled as I laughed.
‘I need to hear him play,’ I said. ‘That will tell me everything I need to know.’
* * *
A wise Grief Fairy once said, ‘Grief dismantles you, but you can put the pieces back together.’
Thank you for helping me find the pieces. You brought me back to life.
Yours,
Alex
Letter number three made me smile for the rest of the day. Not even the trauma of the death of Mufasa played out in real time by the cast of The Lion King could wipe the smile off my face. I fought the urge to call him just to hear his voice because his letters were like an imaginary jigsaw, each one a piece bringing everything together.
The fourth letter set off a feeling that I needed like the blood pumping through my veins. As necessary to my life as oxygen. A reassurance, a hitch of wonderment as I realised that I was loved. The feeling reminded me of the Grieving Tree and the forest it inhabited. I pictured myself sitting on the floor, a light breeze circling through the branches causing a moment of peace in a head full of chaos. A chance to take a breath. A brief interlude to smile, relax your shoulders and feel that all was good again.
The night after our first time I wasn’t consumed with guilt. I felt happy. Content. Peaceful. Like I’d finally grasped closure. Before you, my life could be described as a personal lament for a loss so great it depleted me. You are a gift, Nat. One to be treasured and loved with abandon. I want to be the one who kisses you every morning, greets you when you return home, adores you every single minute of the day. I want to make you feel worthy, renewed and cherished, just like you did for me.
Yours,
Alex
* * *
By the day of the final letter, I was more than ready to see him. The letters had been beautiful, but I couldn’t deny that the need to hear him play at the Barbican was still the final piece I needed from him. I was both nervous and excited, unsure of how this would unfold or how I would react to his music.
Lacey handed me the final letter and walked over to the other side of the terrace, balancing on the wall. She nibbled her nail as she waited for me to open it. I pulled out a ticket first for the concert tonight, followed by the final letter.
Love is a symptom of loss.
But love is also a symptom of life.
Be my life.
Be my love.
Yours,
Alex
‘Well?’ she asked, nervous on my behalf.
‘He wants me to be his love,’ I replied, succumbing to tears.
She came over and wrapped her arms around my head as she pressed me into the softness of her stomach. ‘Of course he does, Nat!’
‘I’m so excited to see him.’
‘Do you have plans until the concert?’ she asked.
‘The Phantom will be serenading me this afternoon, but I’m wishing the hours away between.’
‘Well then,’ she replied, smiling. ‘That gives us some leeway to make a dress that will bring him to his knees.’
34
Nat
Deep breaths, Nat. Channel calm.
‘Miss, can I have your ticket, please?’ I nodded to the usher, handing him the ticket Alex had put in with his last letter and followed him as he showed me to my seat.
The balcony.
Overlooking the stage from the right.
Sitting down, I looked out over the hall of the Barbican, remembering how the last time I was here my seat was in the rafters, the only ticket left after a last-minute decision to attend a concert that would change my life forever. Each row of seats was a different colour, making the hall look uniformed and regal. Navy, scarlet, purple and green. I imagined the Royal Auxiliary Band in their red and gold finery lining the aisles with their instruments held high.
I sat up straight, feeling the pinch of the dress Lacey had put together in the impressive space of a day. It was a similar version of the original grey dress but this time it was black, creating a look and feeling of grown-up sophistication hiding behind the knots.
I knew Alex would love it.
Noises started to fill the venue, chattering voices from the audience and the familiar practice notes of the instruments. The noise never failed to flip my stomach when I was waiting in the wings ready to go on stage myself. It was a calling card to tell you there was less than five minutes before curtain up. My stomach mimicked the familiar flip, but with a much heavier turnover.
I flicked through the programme I’d purchased as I’d arrived, finally finding Alexander’s name and resting my finger there. He would be playing new music tonight titled, ‘My Love- Part 1.’ I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and smiled and as I did the lights went dim and the curtain raised. Music started. Loud and stirring. The sound of a full orchestra never failing to make me feel purposeful and alive. I tried to level out my breathing, knowing that Alex wouldn’t be playing his solo until halfway through the concert. The position of my seat in the coveted balcony box allowed me to see off stage, and as my eyes scanned the dimmed lights, I saw a figure of a man dressed in a tuxedo, a black bow tie in contrast to his bright white shirt.
Alex. Beautiful Alex.
He was talking to a man wearing headphones, nodding his head and leaning in to speak, but when he’d finished their conversation he looked up, caught my eyes, and there they stayed for the rest of the night, a smile forming just for me, until he was ready to walk on stage with his cello.
He bowed to the audience in front of him, stepped to the side to bow to the royal box and turned to me, raising his hand in a small wave, a complete connection between us before he positioned himself and was ready to start playing. From the moment his bow hit the strings I was transfixed. His posture was different, even the way his hands held the bow. I could hear the happiness in his music, his head lifted, he connected with the audience boldly and full of confidence. He turned to me and instead of a familiar look of agony across his face, he wore a smile. An amazing smile. The piece changed pace, a fast vibrato took over the hall, slicing through the pain like musical sunshine after the storm. It was like he was a different person, a person you couldn’t be failed to be moved by. Not because he played out his grief through the strings, but because he was a master of the cello, completely in control. A born musical genius.
He lifted his head in triumph as he played the final note. Closing his eyes as he took a breath. I followed the rest of the audience, standing up to give him a well-deserved standing ovation. His eyes fell on my dress, a shuddery breath played out through his chest. A smile, directed to me was dripping with craving and lust.
I watched him leave the stage for the final time, two curtain calls weren’t enough for this audience. They were cheering for him. My body stood of its own accord, seeking him. I found myself leaving my seat, taking the exit into the halls of the Barbican only to find Alex running towards me from the other
end of the hallway.
He moved closer, his speed accelerating, wrapping his arms around me, enveloping me in his love, pulling me against him tightly. I clung to him, shallow breathing, the world spinning as I felt his fingers delicately tracing the knots across the bodice. His other hand cupped my behind, gripping it firmly, reminding me of the dominant man I’d missed so much.
‘You came to me,’ he said, his voice shaking.
‘I needed to hear you play.’
‘Why, baby?’
‘So I’d know,’ I replied. ‘I’d know you’re ready for me.’
‘For us,’ he said, pulling me away from him, studying me. ‘Ready for us.’
‘You were amazing tonight,’ I said as his hands followed the pattern of the delicately braided knots at my waist, following them underneath the curve of my breast. His eyes were hooded, his breathing labored and the familiar ache between my legs intensified under his gaze.
‘I played for you.’
‘I know.’
‘You told me you saw the sorrow in my playing,’ he said, flicking his fingertip over my nipple. ‘The night you first saw me play.’ I nodded silently. ‘Tell me. What do you see now?’ I gasped as he repeated the move. The dress didn’t allow for underwear, something I knew he was more than aware of, and the small flicks and pinches to my nipple were like he was touching my naked skin without the cover of a flimsy gauze. Ah, a direct tether to the ache.
‘I see happiness,’ I said.
‘Yes.’
‘Fulfillment.’
‘What else?’ My knees buckled, and he held me closer.
‘Enjoyment.’
‘Fuck, yes,’ he whispered against my ear.
‘Serenity.’
‘Adoration,’ he replied, his hand bunching up my dress in his fist, a ball of tulle forming as he exposed my legs, higher and higher until, ‘longing.’ His fingers grazed across my clit. ‘Infatuation.’
‘Alex–’
‘Glorification,’ he said, his fingers circling me now. ‘A fucking rebirth, Nat. Don’t ever doubt it again.’
He pressed his lips against mine, a soul-searching kiss, one that told me everything, full of truths and certainty.
‘I love you,’ I gasped as his fingers left my clit.
‘Why?’ he rasped out. ‘Tell me why?’
‘You allow everything to make sense,’ I replied as he kissed me between my words. ‘You bring the pieces together to make me whole.’
‘We are mutual beneficiaries, Nat,’ he replied. ‘You complete me. You’re my reference point. When things become all-consuming, I come back to you. All that’s good…all that’s great. My holding place.’
‘I won’t ever doubt us again,’ I whispered.
‘I’ll give you no reason to,’ he said. ‘You’re mine, Nat.’
‘I’m yours.’
He picked me up and I wrapped my legs around him as he carried me towards his dressing room, his mouth never leaving mine, his kisses never faltering. It was like we needed to make up for the time that we’d lost trying to make sense of each other. Now that we had, we couldn’t get enough. This man was flourishing under my fingertips, transforming in front of my watchful eyes. A man with so much love inside his body that it ultimately stifled him. Made him lose his voice, suffocate beneath the weight of grief until he couldn’t find a way out anymore. I wasn’t Alex’s saviour, he was his own.
Imagine the strength he had. To push fears aside, telling grief that it wasn’t as strong as the light of love, still burning brightly underneath the dark.
‘I need to feel you,’ he said, dropping me down onto the sofa in his dressing room. ‘I need our bodies to connect. Can I do that? Are you ready?’ I paused for a moment, looking up at this beautiful man, the look of horror, of torture no longer present on his handsome features. I felt a wave of emotion, too strong to hide. His fingers found my tears, and he wiped them away, shaking his head as he did, telling me they weren’t needed, that he’d catch me, that he was able to make the promise to love me…and keep it.
I kissed him gently, holding his hand to my face.
‘I’m ready.’
Epilogue
Six month later - Nat
I was nervous. My first dance competition was a big deal. Other dance teachers were ferocious in their competitiveness and were able to sniff out new blood and mine was fresh. We’d bowed out of the nationals, choosing to focus our time on settling the changes at On Pointe. I was disappointed at first, but realised it was the right decision. My stomach lurched as I looked at the time. I tried to busy myself helping Tess and Sara put the girls’ hair into sleek buns, applying their make-up and helping to get their costumes in order. Now that we were close to the performance, the anxiety started to swarm my blood, making me feel like my chest was full of helium and I was about to fly away.
I looked over at Alex who was laughing as some of the children practiced their moves. He had agreed to play the cello when Eli performed her solo. He’d picked up quickly that I was nervous, resulting in several moments where I almost bit his head off and spat out the pieces. He was keeping out of my way, his steady gaze always on me, though, and that helped more than he would know. He spoke my language even when I was silent. Knew when to leave me alone or pull me in for an embrace. Understood my body and what it needed. A small flick of my wrist or a shift of my shoulder would result in a knot becoming looser, a kiss pressed to my temple in reassurance and adoration.
Some of the younger children were getting bored waiting to perform, their nervous parents – first-timers at the competition scene – had them ready to go quickly, and now they were rowdily performing cartwheels and headstands against the walls, much to the irritation of the competition organisers.
‘Can we have some calm, please?’ a man in a bright blue jacket asked as he peered through the door.
‘We’re calm, thank you very much,’ I replied, dusting some glitter onto one of the dancers’ hair. It would help them catch the light, so my grandmother said. ‘But you coming in and telling them to keep calm is going to change that!’
Deep, baritone notes turned my attention away from the guy I was ready to clash with. Alex had the children sitting in a circle, Eli at his side laughing as he started to play Baby Shark on his cello. Hearing him sing the doo-doo-doo-doos as the children burst into fits of laughter made me forget my nerves. Who would have thought a few months ago that the moody, rough man with no sense of living life to the fullest would be entertaining children to the words of an annoyingly cute internet sensation? I caught his eyes, mouthed thank you and bit my lip as he smiled his only-for-Nat smile.
Another man appeared at the door. ‘We’re ready for Eli Burnett’s solo.’
‘Oh, Daddy! It’s me!’ she said, jumping up and trying to smooth down her tutu.
‘It’s OK, sweetheart,’ he said, holding her hands, the cello balancing on his hip. ‘You’re going to be amazing.’ Alex led the way to the stage, him holding one of her hands and me holding the other. She started warm-ups as we waited for further instructions.
Alex pulled me into him. ‘Don’t be nervous,’ he said. ‘You’ve done everything you can to help her and the others, and now it’s down to them.’ He had a habit of knowing the right things to say at the perfect times, even when he was silent.
He didn’t always know how to talk about his feelings, though. A few weeks ago, he decided to attend regular grief counselling, hoping that it would help him to keep the flow of conversation alive between us. He’d returned home from his first session a little lighter, able to tell me there was a reason for his low mood and increased need to be alone as he played music.
‘It’s the anniversary of Lisa’s death,’ he said. ‘It’s simple. I’m sad. You don’t need to say anything to make me feel better, just allow me to feel it and be with me as I do.’
His words made complete sense. I understood him better than anyone and knew that when it was the anniversary of Mum and Bec’s death, h
e would be there with me to feel it too.
‘Maggie’s going to film Eli, so you don’t need to worry about that,’ he said. ‘That’s still OK, isn’t it?’ I nodded. Nadia was having supervised contact with Eli. After she had spent time recovering in a psychiatric unit, she asked to see us. I was tentative about meeting her at first, worried about how she would react to the news that we were officially a couple. I didn’t want anything to damage her recovery or upset Alex in the process.
We’d spoken a lot about her. Alex was acutely aware that Nadia’s disappearance from Eli’s life was another loss for her to try to make sense of. His first thoughts were always of Eli’s well-being. Nadia had been a big part of Eli’s life after Lisa died. She was a loving caregiver, a mother figure at times and Alex wanted to honour that when she was ready to accept it. On her last visit to see Nadia, Eli spoke excitedly about the dance competition and Nadia asked if we could record it for her. Alex graciously agreed.
‘We’re ready,’ a man said to Alex. He held out his hand to Eli and she laughed nervously, her bright smile never failing to melt my heart. She was ready for this, had thrown herself into classes and practices. I knew that she was using her love of dance as I did, as a way to transfer feelings and dance out the ones that often felt too big.
‘You were born to do this,’ I said as I knelt down before her, straightening the straps at her shoulders. ‘Show them what you can do.’ She hugged me tightly and made her way to the centre of the stage. Alex winked at me as he followed behind and got ready to play the song she had chosen to dance to, Alex’s composition of ‘My Love.’
I scanned the crowd, found Maggie and my grandmother chattering away a few rows from the front. They had made a great friendship over the last few months, often watching films together when they discovered their mutual appreciation of old-style musicals.
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