Page 7 of Reinventing Cato
He laughed. “They’ve let me out for good behaviour. I’m off to play Dad’s violin with Hendry at the Bramley Arms. Just wanted to wish you a Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year to you too. Has it been awful?”
“I ate all the cod.”
“Ugh. You are my hero. Make sure they save someKransekagefor me.”
“That’s already happening.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”Not really.“It looks like we’re in for a lot of snow tomorrow. I’ve booked a rental, just in case.”
“Take care. No picking up random hitchhikers.”
Vigge laughed. “As if. Give my best to Allan. Bye, Gitte.”
“Bye, Vigge. Thank you again for my present. It’s lovely!”
He’d bought her a necklace.
Vigge tucked his head down against the driving snow. The world was turning white, giving a fresh coat of paint to the old, tired and familiar, making it look new, fresh and unfamiliar. He wished things would stay bright after it had melted, but that wouldn’t happen. Reality just came back. Though he still missed the snow, because for a while, it did make everything look beautiful. A white Christmas was far less likely in the south, though this blizzard was forecast to hit the entire country. How had he managed to miss that?
“Happy New Year,” a guy across the road shouted.
Vigge returned the greeting.
Two kids ran past him scooping up snow from walls and throwing it at each other. He passed a house where a family were constructing a snowman in the front garden and they called out a greeting that Vigge returned. No one stayed a stranger for long. People here were genuinely friendly. Even so, when he’d lived up here, he’d been desperate to leave, even before that terrible night. He’d been an unhappy teenager, out of sync with everything.
The sound of Hendry’s fiddle hit his ears the moment he walked into the heaving pub. Vigge stuffed his beanie and gloves into his pocket and unfastened his coat. He drew a few glances as he moved through the room. Mostly curious rather than unfriendly. It belatedly occurred to him that there might well be members of a family here who would resent his presence. Fi’s parents or brothers.I hope not.A fire blazed in the hearth and the place felt warm and happy, full of laughter and chatter, and Vigge wanted to belong, if just for tonight.
He bought himself a pint and waited until Hendry saw him. When Hendry finished the tune, he came over and gave Vigge a hug. He looked thinner than when Vigge had last seen him, his face more lined.
“Gitte told me you were coming up. I wondered if I’d see you. How are you?”
“Fine. Like a drink?”
“I’m okay, thanks. They’re stacked up. If I drink much more, I won’t be able to play.”
Vigge laughed. “I’ve seen you play pissed.”
“Ah, but did I play well? Hey, you brought your fiddle?” Hendry’s eyes brightened.
“Dad’s.”
“Then come and join me.”
Vigge hung his coat on a peg, opened the case and took out the violin. He tightened the bow and checked the tuning. It was almost there, and he didn’t need to use rosin on the bow. His father must have played recently. Like his father, Vigge could adjust the strings by ear, though the noise in the pub was a hindrance. He joined Hendry in the corner, and tucked the violin under his chin.
There were very few songs played by Hendry that Vigge didn’t know, and even those he didn’t know, he could come up with an accompaniment for. The two of them moved between pop, hip hop, indie, country and touched on a lot in between. Christmas stuff, even though Christmas was over. All the music was bright and cheerful. Just what Vigge needed.
Hendry had begun to teach Vigge to play not long after they’d moved into the village. He was a peripatetic teacher doing group lessons at the school, but had told Vigge’s parents that he’d seen promise in Vigge and they’d agreed to private tuition. Vigge had been a better player than Hendry since his early teens, and Hendry had been disappointed Vigge hadn’t studied music at university. Disappointed about more than that.
Vigge loved music, but he’d been persuaded by his father that there was no well-paid future as a violinist, that he needed a proper job and should go into accountancy or the law or teaching. His father was a teacher, like his mother. Vigge knew his father thought he’d eventually chosen his profession to spite him, but he hadn’t.
They took a break, and he and Hendry sat at a table in the corner with drinks bought for them. Hendry already seemed drunk.
“How’s life?” Hendry asked.
