Star of Silver Spires (9 page)

I stopped walking and made a decision. I would phone Dad and ask him what the song was called. What did Bella say the title was? “Is Anyone There?” Yes, that was it. Usually Mum hands the phone to Dad after she and I have been talking together, but this time we both forgot, probably because we'd wound each other up about my scholarship.

My heart raced as I listened to the ringtone.

“Oh hi, Dad.”

“Hello, Mee.” Dad's always called me Mee for as long as I can remember. “Glad you phoned back. Thought I must have done something wrong when Mum rang off without passing you over.”

“Sorry, Dad. I don't know why we both forgot. Mum said you got my text about me getting through to the next round of the Star contest.”

“Yes, we certainly did! I was just about to text you actually, but you know what I'm like with texting. Takes me half an hour to write two words! Yes, well done for the contest. What a star!”

I laughed, then swallowed and took a quick breath. “Dad, I was just trying to remember a song on one of your CDs.”

“Oh good! I'm glad someone appreciates my taste in music.”

“I can't remember who the singer is, but I think the song's called ‘Is Anyone There?'”

“‘Is Anyone There?'” he repeated slowly, and I could practically hear his brain ticking over. “Hang on, I'll have a look. Not so many to look through now, though. I went a bit mad clearing out when we had the living room redecorated, and I took quite a few CDs down to the Oxfam shop… Let's see… Tell you what, I'll ring you back. It'll be quicker if I've got both hands free.”

My heart was beating really quickly and I felt all tense and anxious while I was waiting for Dad to phone back. What if he found the song? What would I do? Who would I tell? I couldn't find any answers because the questions were too big.

In the little practice room I started playing my own song, the more upbeat one I'd started to write when I thought it was going to be me and Georgie singing together. I'd spent ages working on it earlier in the day, changing loads of the words. I'd called it ‘My Best Friend and Me'. Georgie had come tiptoeing into the practice room after about an hour to bring me a hot chocolate, and she'd dramatically whispered, “Don't speak, Mamma Mia,” as she'd put it on the cupboard by the piano. “Don't even say thank you. It'll break your concentration!”

Good old Georgie.

I'd changed the style of the original song to make it slower and gentler than before, but it was still more upbeat than ‘Time to Say Goodbye' and although I knew the speedier tempo would probably add to my nervousness when I came to perform it, I definitely wanted it like that. I just didn't seem to be able to stop giving myself new challenges.

There was a lot more left to do with the song though. I had to improve the arrangement until I felt completely happy with it, and then sing it over and over until I could do it in my sleep, because that was the only way I'd be confident enough to perform it the next Saturday. Thinking about that now made a big twang of nervousness ping through me, but it vibrated with excitement too and I knew it was a good kind of nervousness.

I was so into singing the song that I completely forgot about Dad phoning, so it gave me a massive jump when my phone suddenly started to ring.

“Hi, Dad.” My heart was racing again.

“Hiya, Mee. No luck, I'm afraid. Can't find that title anywhere. Can you give me any other clues? Was it a solo artist or a band or what?”

I frowned as something struck me. Maybe “Is Anyone There?” wasn't the real title. If Bella had changed the words to the song, she might have changed the title too.

“Not Gordon Lightfoot, the folk singer?” Dad was saying.

“I really don't know, Dad.”

“What do you want to know for anyway?”

“Oh…I just heard something which sounded really similar, and it reminded me of when we used to sit round the fire on rainy weekends.”

Dad didn't say anything and I knew he'd be imagining the scene I was painting.

“Shall I…sing you a bit, Dad?”

“Go on then.”

So I sang the bit I remembered as best I could, but it wasn't very much to go on.

“Yes, I
think
I know which one you mean…I'm not a hundred per cent, mind… What's his name? Oh…I'd forget my head if I didn't have it screwed on… Yes…is it Jed Jarrow? That's the only one that springs to mind. I chucked that CD out, Mee, I'm afraid.”

“It's okay, don't worry, Dad. I was just wondering…that was all.”

“Mum says you're making up another song this week.” Dad changed the subject a bit.

I didn't want to get back to talking about scholarships, so I pretended somebody had come into the music room and I had to go.

I'd hardly disconnected when there was a tap at the door and I looked up at the small window in the top of the door and saw Bella's smiling face, which gave me such a shock. Immediately my cheeks went pink. She couldn't possibly have heard what I'd been saying, because the rooms are soundproofed, but I still felt guilty.

She mouthed, “Okay to come in?” and I nodded and tried to smile.

“Spotted you through the window,” she began, then she let a giggle out. “Thought I'd come and say congrats and all that!”

“Oh thanks! S-same to you!”

“Thanks!” She giggled again and leaned her elbow on the top of the piano, propping her chin on her hand. “It was exciting, wasn't it? I'd never have guessed there were going to be that many people there! And everyone was so supportive, the way they clapped and cheered and made us all feel good about ourselves.”

Bella sounded really friendly and warm. It was nice of her to come and talk to me, but I knew I wasn't acting naturally, because all the time she was talking I was trying not to stare at her, and half wishing I dared to ask her where she'd got the idea for her song from, or something like that. But I didn't have the courage. My voice would have come out all croaky or I'd have gone bright red.

“I was so nervous,” I managed to say quietly, biting my lip.

“Me too. Terrified!”

I tried to act a bit more normally. “You'd never have guessed. You looked completely calm!”

She giggled again. “I was like a duck actually, all smooth and serene on the surface, but underneath, paddling like mad!”

I laughed. It was such a good way of describing how you somehow manage to keep terrible nervousness inside. “Have you…started your next song yet, Bella?”

“Yes, I'd already got the idea for another song ages ago so I was crossing my fingers like mad that I'd get through. What about you?”

I nodded and immediately felt uncomfortable again, because my mind just wouldn't seem to let go of the idea that maybe Bella cheated.

“Oh well, I'd better be going. See you on Saturday!” She put on a sort of
yikes
face and we both laughed nervously. Then she was gone, and I was left with my horrible thoughts.

But I shook them away as hard as I could. They were winding me up too much. Bella was lovely. It didn't make any sense. She'd never cheat.

Would she?

“Don't forget what I told you,” Georgie said for the millionth time. “You've been
prioritizing
, right?”

I nodded and sucked my lips in to stop them feeling so dry. Georgie and I were walking past the tennis courts. She was about to go to a play rehearsal and I was going to my piano lesson, feeling more nervous than I'd ever felt before about one. Until just recently I'd always been bursting to show Mrs. Roach how much work I've done. Not today though.

The lesson always starts with scales and I usually rattle up and down them, feeling my fingers loosening up ready for my set pieces. But today I was dreading playing scales, even though I had actually done them quite a lot to keep my hands supple for playing my song. The reason I was dreading them was because my heart would be sinking more and more with each one, waiting for the awful moment when I had to play my Debussy. And I didn't know what on earth Mrs. Roach would have to say about that, as I'd only practised it for about an hour in the whole week, instead of my usual four hours, and if I was honest, I hadn't enjoyed it particularly because I so wanted to work on my song.

Maybe I'd be able to distract Mrs. Roach. Wouldn't it be great if it turned out that she was really pleased with me, and wanted to listen to my composition for Saturday. Then we could waste loads of time talking about the Star contest.

“Come in, Mia,” she beamed, when I knocked. “Gemma Wright was away so I've had a gap. Pity you couldn't have taken her lesson as well as your own! I'm so looking forward to hearing how you got on with the Debussy.”

I groaned inside and my lovely
talking-about-the-Star-contest
castle in the air came tumbling to the ground. This was going to be a terrible piano lesson, just as I'd thought. Maybe I ought to pretend I'd been ill. Yes, that would be best. Otherwise I had the feeling that Mrs. Roach would be really cross.

“Right, let's start with those scales,” she went on brightly, as I unpacked my bag and sat down.

There was a tap on the door and Mr. Wagstaffe popped his head in. I think he teaches sax. He's another young teacher, like Mr. Ray, and he's got long hair and wears his shirt hanging out. I noticed Mrs. Roach frowning at him, then raising her eyebrows, but she didn't say anything.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Roach. Do you have a spare pencil by any chance? Or a sharpener? You'd think there'd be a few knocking about somewhere in a music department this size wouldn't you, but—”

He had to break off his bright chatter because Mrs. Roach was holding out a pencil that she'd whipped out of her bag in about two seconds flat. Mr. Wagstaffe looked a bit taken aback and I felt sorry for him. He'd only asked for a pencil, after all. I gulped. If a teacher interrupting her to borrow a pencil could make her as impatient as this, goodness knew what was going to happen when it turned out that her scholarship pupil had hardly practised all week, for the second time in a row. Well, at least not the kind of practice that she approved of.

As soon as Mr. Wagstaffe had gone, Mrs. Roach spoke through tight lips. “Right, let's get down to business. E flat melodic minor.”

I played it without a single mistake and felt pleased that everything was all right so far.

“Good. And sticking to that key, E flat minor in contrary motion.”

I managed that one without any mistakes too.

“Good, you've really got the pattern into your fingers now. Just a little more emphasis on the accents and don't lose speed at the outsides. Try it again.”

We spent about five minutes on scales and Mrs. Roach taught me a new arpeggio pattern too.

“Well done, Mia. You've picked that up beautifully!”

I smiled shakily and hoped that my good scales and arpeggios might count against the bad stuff that was coming next.

“Okay, let's get down to the Debussy!” She rubbed her hands and looked really excited. “If I know you, you've thrown yourself into it, right?”

I swallowed. “Er, actually, I've not been very well this week, Mrs. Roach, so…”

“Oh dear! What's been the matter?” She was looking carefully into my eyes and I felt myself going a bit pink because it felt as though she could tell I was lying.

“Well…I've had a cold, only it was quite bad. I've not really had the energy to practise more than my scales…”

She frowned. “Really? Oh dear! Didn't you have that pop song competition at the weekend? Did you have to drop out?”

“Er, well, I didn't get my cold till Sunday, luckily!” I smiled nervously at her, but she didn't smile back.

“You seem all right now.”

“Yes, well, nearly.”

Mrs. Roach didn't look convinced and I felt my mouth going dry with worry, but when she spoke again she sounded softer and I felt relieved that it looked as though she was letting me off this once. “Oh dear, so how much time
have
you put into the Debussy?”

“Not really very much. I can play the first page…”

She nodded and tried to smile, but I could tell she was still a bit annoyed. I'd never told a lie to Mrs. Roach before, and I felt guilty and ashamed for having to tell one now. But then I felt cross again, because it wasn't fair that she didn't think music was important unless it was classical. I looked at her with her bright eyes, and heard Georgie's voice in my mind.

Tell the truth, Mia. Say you've got to prioritize.
Make her realize that you're broadening your horizons.

But somehow, I couldn't.

I just about got through the first page of the Debussy but I wasn't very proud of the way I played it, and when I'd finished Mrs. Roach was clearly disappointed.

“You
have
been under the weather, haven't you!” was her first comment. There was a pause after that, then she must have decided not to waste another single second. “Right, let's get to work. First of all, pedal. I know you haven't learned the notes, but there's no excuse for poor pedalling…”