“Okay, I think it was actually day two. You got me, I was lying. Are you mad?”
She laughed, sniffling, and she shook her head, trying to speak, before she gave up on it, stepped in, and buried her face against my collar instead. The tension thick enough in my chest for me to choke on finally broke, and I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed her into my chest, knowing she could feel how fast my heart was beating as she spoke softly against my shirt. “I think I can… find it in my heart… to forgive you.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, running a hand up and down her back. “I can tell how much he meant to you.”
“He was so loud and annoying,” she laughed through sobs. I squeezed her tighter.
“Brothers are like that. I have three.”
“He… he played so well. It was like music was his blood. Papa—he used to be a teacher, taught art and music, and he let us play instruments when we were little, but Callum always took to it so well. It should have been him here playing music, not… not me.”
I messed up—went ahead and, despite myself, kissed the top of her head. She smelled so sweet… clean and fresh, like just-washed towels. I wanted to wrap myself up in it. “It’s not a trade,” I said softly. “You should have both been here. Making music together. And I’m sorry you didn’t have that… but I’m gladthat you’re here. And that I’ve gotten to meet you and hear the way you play—the wayyouplay, like nobody else does.”
She gripped her hands into fists on my back. “He… would have… liked you. You’re a bit similar. Both loud and willful, running on spite, causing problems…”
“Thank you, I’m very flattered.”
It was a long time before, quietly—like she was saying it as much for herself as for me—“I’m glad I’m here, too.” She paused. “And I’m glad you’re here. Don’t… do that again, Lydia.”
“Do what?”
“Disappear on me. I couldn’t take it happening again.”
Well—I had to, at the end of this program. But that was a distant thing I didn’t want to acknowledge right now. I squeezed her. “I won’t,” I whispered. “I’m here.”
It was a long time before she said, in a small pout, “I’m still mad.”
“Oh, little pouty voice.”
“Hey. Do not patronize me. I’m mad.”
“Mm-hm.” I kissed the top of her head again. “I’m very sorry.”
She pulled back with a long, shaky breath, blinking away tears and putting on a smile that was strained, sad and small, but underneath it all, realer than anything. “Better be,” she said, and she went on her tiptoes to kiss me—a swift, sweet kiss, before she pulled back with a breath out. “Thank you,” she said finally.
“Do you want to play together? That seems to be a good method for self-regulation for you.”
She gave me a curious smile. “Lydia, have you been reading about trauma recovery?”
“Ah. A book fell into my hands.”
She laughed. “You’re impossible,” she said, and she took a long breath. “Pick up your damn violin.”
Seemed like playing was helpful for her.
Chapter 18
Ella
I broke off, my hands falling from the piano, as the door to one of the practice rooms opened and Clara stepped round the door, closing it tightly behind her.
“How’s it going?” she asked, nodding at the sleek, black grand piano I’d been playing. There was something about the grand ones that felt so mysterious and majestic that I shouldn’t really be playing them, shouldn’t really know how to play them. As if they were supposed to be an entirely different instrument than the sweet little upright in mine and Lydia’s apartment.
“It’s… going,” I said with a sigh. “Whether it’s going somewhere good, though, is a different question.”
She smiled that knowing smile she had. “Well, we only got the assignment yesterday. You still have plenty of time.”
I laughed, standing up from the piano. “I could have all the time in the world and it wouldn’t be enough to come up with something worthy of the Royal Albert Hall.”