A Healing Love
Copyright© 2025 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 15: Cellist
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 15: Cellist - Paul Robertson's journey continues as his past and present collide at a star-studded movie premiere, where a connection that once terrified him reignites with passion that threatens to consume them both. Fighting to forge a new future for himself and stop drifting, Paul must finally become the man he’s always been afraid to be. A beautiful, bittersweet exploration of grief, social responsibility, the healing power of love, and learning that sometimes loving someone means letting them go.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction
It took me five minutes longer to get to campus than I’d guessed. Carly had wanted to come with me, but I told her that it wasn’t practical if I had to fold down the back seats to accommodate the cello. My car did have a split rear seat so, in theory, Carly could have come if I only needed to put one half of the seat down, but I didn’t know if that would be enough.
“I can’t believe this,” Lana said as she got in the passenger seat after we’d stowed her cello in the back. “I really can’t believe this.”
I looked over at her. “Yeah, well. It’s real. So, believe it.”
I fired the engine into life, put the car in gear and pulled away.
Once we’d left the campus and were heading north towards the dual carriageway on the edge of town, which was the quickest way to the business park, I said, “So, how did you end up playing an instrument like the cello. It’s not exactly...” I shrugged.
“I think I get what you mean. Far fewer people learn the cello compared to, say, the piano, guitar or violin.”
“So how—”
“The Trust.”
“The one on your leaflet from Saturday?”
“Programme. It’s called a programme, Paul, not a leaflet.” She smirked. “But yes. Wumpat. It’s one of the best youth music services in the whole country. They don’t really do rankings, as such, but Westmouthshire was the second most represented county at the National Music for Youth Festival in Birmingham last year. I went with the Senior Youth Orchestra. For the second year running, I got to go and play in Symphony Hall.”
I nodded. “Impressive.”
“It really is,” she enthused. “They go into all the primary schools across Westmouthshire and give the kids in Year Four the opportunity to learn an instrument in a big group for a term. So that’s, like, eight and nine-year-olds, which is the ideal time to start.”
I frowned. “I don’t remember them coming into our school.”
She shrugged. “It’s expensive. Maybe they can’t do every school, every year, and do a rotation or something. I don’t know.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Although, you went to Micester Primary, didn’t you? Maybe they just miss that one out every year because it’s so rubbish.”
I glanced across at her to find her looking at me and smiling.
“I take it you’re one of those stuck-up St. Luke’s girls?” I grinned.
She slapped my arm. “We’re not stuck-up. Everyone knows St. Luke’s is the better school.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”
She chuckled, then calmed herself. “Actually, it’s two instruments you get to try, one for each half term. In my class, it was strings in the first half-term after Christmas and wind instruments in the second half-term. You could choose between the violin, cello, or bass, and five of us picked the cello—although not a full-size one, obviously. It was a quarter size, and we had lessons in groups for the half-term, finishing with a little concert in a morning assembly for the rest of the school and parents the week before the holiday.”
“What about the second half term? What did you play then?” I asked, glancing at her.
“Clarinet,” she said, looking at me and smiling that big, beaming smile that she seemed to have sported more often than not since Christmas. “But by then, I already knew the cello was for me. At the end of that second half term, we were given the chance to carry on learning one of the two instruments for the rest of the year for free. So, I did. Not everyone did, but I had to, you know? I just had to. I couldn’t understand why some kids didn’t carry on. I mean, I understand now, some people just aren’t that musical. But back then, I just didn’t get it. Why wouldn’t you carry on doing something that was so ... fun and fulfilling? I was making music. Everyone dreams of making music, don’t they? Okay, a cello was never going to make me a pop star, but still...
“The Trust even lent me the cello to take home and practice. That’s why I didn’t understand the kids that didn’t, you know? They were being given an instrument to take home. Why wouldn’t you do that?”
She was speaking very quickly now, her passion obvious.
“Anyway, I became obsessed with it. Played it every evening. I loved it. Of course, after that, my parents had to pay for the lessons at school, but The Trust already subsidised them, and the school subsidised them even more if you joined the school orchestra. Same when I got to Micester High—I joined the orchestra and got the lessons cheaper.
“That’s why it’s important to support The Trust, you know? It costs a lot to employ the music teachers and to subsidise the lessons. They need all the donations they can get. Especially now. They suffered a lot during the last recession, and I don’t think donations have ever really recovered.”
I looked at her again. “Have you mentioned this to Chrissy?”
“Mrs Liddington? No, why?”
“Because didn’t you say she was looking at ways the Scholarship could help beyond an award to a couple of university students a year? Don’t you think that is exactly the sort of thing the Scholarship should support? Don’t they say that playing an instrument helps academically as well? I’m sure I read that somewhere.”
“Oh, it does. It really does. And you’re right. This is perfect for the scholarship. I’ll call her later. Or text and ask if I can call her. Depends on when we get back, I suppose.”
I negotiated a roundabout, turning right onto the business park and left towards the river. When back on a straight stretch of road, I looked over at her. “You’re as passionate about music as you are about badminton, aren’t you?”
She looked at me. “Oh, even more so. I could have lived without badminton—I mean, I did for nearly two years after I hurt my knee—but I’d have never survived without music. Wumpat runs out-of-school music groups too. I started in the Junior Strings group—all the youngest violin, viola, cello and bass players—but by the time I left, I was second desk in the Senior Youth Orchestra. Eight years in all as I progressed up the groups.” She paused and sighed. “Some of my best childhood memories are of those music groups.”
“Second Desk?”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you really know nothing about classical music?”
I shook my head. “Not a thing.”
She smiled. “Each group of instruments is arranged in ‘desks.’ First desk, second desk, third desk, etc. It depends on how many of each instrument you have. The first desk is closest to the conductor at the front of the orchestra—so it’s the best players.”
“So, you were the second-best cello player?”
“Cellist,” she said. “But no. There are two people at each desk, because one has to turn the page of the music while the other carries on playing. So, you have the first cello and the second cello on each desk—the second cello is the one that turns the page. I was first cello, second desk.”
“So, you were the third-best cellist in the county.”
She smiled and shrugged.
By now, I was pulling into the Riverbank Studios car park. I parked and we retrieved the cello from the boot, then walked towards the building. Before we went in, Lana stopped.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded. “It’s just ... This is...” She shook her head.
“Nervous?”
She smiled. Then nodded. “Like you wouldn’t believe. I swear, I wasn’t even this nervous when I did my grade eight.”
I smirked. “That’s like, an exam, right?”
She smirked right back and shook her head.
I nodded towards the building. “Come on. You’ll be brilliant. I know you will.”
She took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
I led Alannah into the building, where the receptionist just smiled at me as we passed.
“Everyone, this is Alannah,” I said when we were in the control room.
Ellie stood up to greet her. “Hi Alannah. Come with me and we’ll get you set up in the Live Room, okay?”
Alannah just nodded and followed Ellie through the door in the side wall and into the room on the other side of the window. She talked to her for a few minutes, but with the speakers off, I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then Alannah took her cello and its bow out of the case and settled down on a chair with the cello between her legs.
She took out her phone, tapped on the screen, and put it on the music stand in front of her. She plucked on a string while looking at the phone and moved her hand towards the bottom of the string to twiddle a tiny dial there.
“What’s she doing?” I asked the room at large. Carly had come to stand next to me as soon as I entered the room. She was holding my hand and squeezed it gently.
“Tuning it,” Harry said. “Big problem with cellos is that the pegs slip in storage, and it gradually goes out of tune. A good cellist will always check the tuning before they play. It might only be a tiny bit out, but even that can make a difference.”
“So, what’s she got her phone for? I thought you didn’t allow them in a recording room like that in case they go off.”
“We’re not recording yet,” Harry said. “And she’ll be using an app to help her tune it. Normally, she’d do it from a piano or a wind instrument to tune the first string and go from there by ear. That’s what they do in an orchestra before a performance. But she obviously can’t do that here. Ellie will—see?”