Chapter 8

I was asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow and slept through until six the following morning, when I got up, relieved the pressure on my bladder, showered, dressed and decided to ring home and find out how Mum was doing. I knew Dad would be up, his guys started work at seven and he was always around for that.

We had a chat about things in general and I told him about me and Cal’s evening out the night before.

“Good,” he said, “that will cheer your mother up, knowing that you’re getting on well together.”

“Dad,” I protested.

“I know son, but at the moment, anything that makes her feel better in general is a good thing.”

“So, she’s getting better?” I asked.

“Yes, she looked a lot better fifteen minutes ago when I took her tea in to her, I think she’s going to be all right.”

“Good,” I said, “I know I get angry at her at times, but I’d hate to see her get really ill.”

“Anyway, your brother is going back today and your sister is, well, she’s Alison.”

I chuckled at that, understanding what he meant.

“Okay, say hi to everybody for me and I’ll speak to you soon.”

“I will son,” he replied, “and you look after yourself.”

“I will, Dad,” I agreed, “I’m actually getting good at it.”

We said goodbye and he went off to get on with his day while I settled down to wait for breakfast.

I was in the restaurant just after seven thirty and found that Sally had beaten me in. I got a plateful of food, walked over and joined her.

“Thanks for last night,” I said, “it was really good, especially your parts.”

“Why thank you kind sir,” she said, “you scooted off pretty quickly.”

“Yes, sorry about that, but I had to get Cal back to school.”

“School?” she asked, “at ten o’clock at night.”

“She’s a music student at Chetham’s,” I explained, “she boards there.”

“Ah,” she said, “so you’re all alone at night?”

“I am,” I said.

“Maybe we could get together for a drink after I finish tonight,” she suggested.

“That would be great but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Cal?” she asked.

I nodded.

“There’s some history there,” I said, “and we’re trying to work through it.”

“Then I honour that,” she said, “but does that stop us having a drink together? Are you allowed to have other friends?”

“I suppose I am,” I said, “and I suppose we’re just about in the same business, so you’re a colleague.”

We agreed that we’d meet up in the bar at the hotel after she finished her stint at the club that night. Once we’d finished eating we split up so we could each get on with our day. I just hung around the hotel for most of the day, going out for a walk at lunch time and grabbing a sandwich, packet of crisps and soft drink to keep me going until dinner.

I called Cal at around five but didn’t see her that day. In fact I didn’t see her until Friday, but we did at least speak every day.

I met Sally in the hotel bar after she finished and, as advertised we had a drink together, she told me a bit about herself and we parted when she went up to her room. I stayed for a second drink and followed her example. I didn’t see her at breakfast the following morning. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday were taken up with my driving lessons, apart from two hours on Friday morning when I sat and passed, my driving theory exam. As soon as my instructor, Nigel, was satisfied that I could drive safely, I was good to take my test.

I was spending Friday evening with Cal, but I didn’t know what she had in mind. We had dinner at her school again and then she surprised me.

“All right then, what are we doing tonight?” I asked.

“You’re going to a concert,” she said.

“I’m going?” I asked, “what are you doing?”

“Oh, I’ll be there too,” she said.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“Here in the concert hall,” she said.

“You’re performing aren’t you?” I asked.

She nodded.

“What are you singing?”

“Five of us are doing Wagner’s Wesendonck Lieder, one song each, I’m on last singing ‘Traüme.’”

“Impressive,” I said, “I don’t think I’ve heard of that one. Does that mean I’ll be sat on my own?”

“Only for the twenty minutes or so while we do that piece, I’ve got us four seats on the end of the row, so I can get out and go sing.”

“Four seats?” I asked.

“Mum’s coming over and bringing your sister.”

“So you’re going to be singing in an actual concert?” I said, “wow, that’s impressive.”

“So says the man who starred in the most successful film of all time.”

“No,” I objected, “all I do is move where I’m told to move, do what I’m told to do and say what I’m told to say. What you’re doing takes real talent.”

“That’s really just what opera singers do,” she said.

“Yes,” I agreed, “but nobody cares if I deliver a line a semitone flat.”

She couldn’t help herself, she burst out laughing, which caused a lot of strange looks.

One of what I assume was the school staff came over.

“Something wrong Calista?” he asked.

I expected an explosion, she hated to be called Calista.

“No, Mr Dawkins,” she replied, “my boyfriend just said something incredibly funny.”

So now I was her boyfriend.

“Care to share?” he asked, “I’m sure we could all do with a good laugh.”

“We were talking about tonight’s concert and my part in it. He said that it was very impressive that I had a solo in a concert. I thought it was funny that the star of the most successful film in Hollywood history thought that my being in a school concert was impressive funny.”

“It doesn’t sound particularly funny to me,” he said.

“But then he said that all he ever does is what the director tells him to do and I said that that’s pretty much the same with opera singers.”

“Still not belly laugh material.”

“But him” she said, trying to stop herself from laughing again, “he said, ‘But nobody cares if I deliver a line a semitone flat.’”

I looked at him and I could see that he, too was fighting hard to supress a laugh.

“That is pretty good,” he said, “you say you’re an actor?”

“No,” I replied, “I do not claim to be an actor, I just make films and TV programmes.”

“You know, you’d be a very good guest to have on our regular meet the pro session,” he said.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s a series of, well probably the best description would be a series of seminars, where people from the entertainment industry come in and basically, in an interview format, tell our students about the realities of working out there in the entertainment industry.”

“Maybe your people should talk to my people about that,” I said.

“Really?” he asked.

“No, I’ve just always wanted to say that. But I would like to talk to you about it some time.”

“Well perhaps I could get our head of student services to call you and discuss it,” he said.

“Yes, that would be fine,” I said, “get Cal to give him my number.”

“Her,” he corrected me, “Ms Sanderson is a lady.”

“Well then, get Cal to give her my number.”

He left us and we finished our dinners quickly and then went off to the concert hall.

Aunt Mary and Alison were waiting in the foyer when we walked in. I think both of them noticed that we were holding hands, but neither of them mentioned it. After the obligatory hugs and kisses we went through to the concert hall and took our reserved seats. Cal’s Mum went in first followed by Alison, then me and then Cal. Once we were seated, Cal stood back up and excused herself promising to be back in ten minutes. She disappeared through a door to the right of the stage and, as promised, ten minutes later returned, transformed. Instead of the jeans and t-shirt she was now wearing a full length formal ball gown.

“Wow,” I said, “you scrub up nice.”

“Thank you,” she said, “I try my best.”

“You look absolutely gorgeous,” I said, “and so much more like a professional artiste.”

We didn’t have time for much in the way of conversation, since the lights dimmed, the leader of the orchestra signalled to the oboe player to sound his A and the orchestra tuned to that note, then the applause began as the conductor walked in. Cal whispered to me that although all the performers were students, the conductor was a professional who, as well as teaching at the school was also professor of conducting at Royal Northern.

He waited for the applause to die down slightly then brought the orchestra to its feet for their turn.

He turned to the audience.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to this, the latest in our series of Friday night concerts, Tonight, we offer for your pleasure two pieces by Beethoven and a song cycle by Wagner. First Beethoven’s Piano Concerto number one, in which our soloist will be Katie Turnbull. Katie is in her fifth year at the school and is one of our finest young pianists, please welcome her.”

We all started clapping as Katie, quite a small girl walked out from the left side of the stage, shook hands with the conductor and the orchestra leader and took her seat at the piano.

He took up his baton, got a nod from Katie and started the first movement.

I was impressed, those kids could actually play and they were obviously used to playing together and most of all gave the impression that they enjoyed what they were doing. When Katie started playing, after the orchestral introduction, you could have heard a pin drop in the hall. Every note beautifully articulated, every pause exactly the right length. I’d heard records of some of the world’s great pianists playing Beethoven and if this girl didn’t one day join them then I was going to be very surprised.

I glanced sideways at Cal and she was away, lost in a little world of her own, her hands moving in tiny motions as if she were, herself conducting the piece.

The whole thing lasted a little under forty minutes and left me feeling like it was only ten, the applause at the end was generous and, while it was still going on Cal stood up and once again, disappeared through the door to the right of the stage.

“Prepare to have your mind blown, David,” my sister said as a group of black-clad students moved the piano to the side of the stage.