Page 94 of Reinventing Cato
“But then you’ll be talking too.”
Vigge smiled.
“I’ll put my hand over your mouth instead,” Devan whispered.
“Oh good. Then I can lick your palm,” Jonty whispered. “Then you’ll be the one making the noise. Will you stop me clapping if I’m not supposed to? Because these things have all sorts of…parts and just when you think it’s over, sometimes it’s not, it’s just a long unexplained pause and if I clap at the wrong point, I’d feel terrible. Obviously, I’d have to blame you.”
Cato’s mother huffed.
Devan took hold of Jonty’s hand. “Follow my lead.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Am I ever wrong?”
“Well—”
“Don’t answer that. I’m going to clap when my mother does.”
“Doomed then,” Cato’s father muttered.
“Really, Will?” she snapped. “May I remind you it wasn’t me who clapped at the end of the Hallelujah chorus?”
“They were little kids. They were good.”
She gave a heavy sigh. “True.”
Vigge exhaled. He thought he could like them.
The orchestra began to take their seats and the noise level dropped. The concert hall was now full.
“I see Cato,” Jonty whispered.
So did Vigge. Cato looked hot in a tux. But then he looked hot out of a tux.Do not get a hard on.Everyone clapped as Cato took a bow. As first violinist, he was the concertmaster, responsible for ensuring the orchestra was in tune. A note sounded, played by the oboe, and the musicians tuned their instruments.
“That’s not a very nice piece of music,” Jonty whispered in Devan’s ear. “It’s making my teeth hurt.”
Devan’s shoulders shook as he laughed. Jonty caught Vigge looking at him and grinned. Vigge grinned back.
The conductor walked onto the stage, the audience applauded again and Cato shook hands with the grey-haired guy before taking his seat.
The moment the orchestra started to play, Vigge had eyes for no one but Cato, ears for nothing but the music. The first piece was by Beethoven, the second by Vivaldi, with Cato’s solo. Vigge felt all the hairs on his arms stand on end. It was as if the air in the auditorium was electrified. The purity of the sound was astonishing, the expression amazing, the speed incredible. Cato played with his entire body, as if the violin were an extension of himself, of his soul.
He lets himself go.That was the difference between them. Cato gave himself up to the music while Vigge stayed in control. As far as Vigge could tell, the speed was perfect and as Cato played the last note, he smiled. When the conductor gestured for Cato to bow, Vigge clapped until his hands hurt. In front of him, Jonty was whistling loudly.
Mussorgsky’sPictures at an Exhibitionfollowed and it was another delight. Jonty clung to Devan’s hand and snuggled against him, resting his head against his shoulder and Vigge wanted that. He could have had it before now if he’d been braver, if he’d just loosened his control a little, and though he hadn’t waited for Cato—how could he have? —somehow, he felt as if that had been exactly what he’d done. He wasn’t going to let the knowledge that he could get hurt, that hewouldget hurt when Cato moved to the States, wreck the happiness he felt now.
When it was time for the interval, Vigge stood up dazed, as if he’d been trawled into an exotic adventure, the music taking him on a journey between countries and cultures. He’d love to play in an orchestra again. He hadn’t since school, though he wasn’t sure he was good enough for this one.
By the time Cato appeared in the bar, Vigge had a lemonade waiting and was standing close to Cato’s family. He saw Cato wondering who to speak to first.
Cato took the glass of lemonade from Vigge’s hand and drank it all in one go. “Thank you. Playing makes me thirsty.”
“You were brilliant.”
“Was I?” Cato smiled.
He turned to his family and was yanked into Jonty’s arms.
