Page 33 of A Wistful Symphony

Except this is our first proper date since then, and a fancy one indeed.

Ollie gave me a pair of tickets to his company’s performance and demanded I bring you along.

A night at the ballet. Not only a chance to see you in an elegant attire but also a way to show myself at my best. Dinner clothes and a cultural night at the heart of London. What more could I want?

“Have I told you how hot your arse looks in those chinos?” I tease as you put your loafers on, trying to fill my mind with happier thoughts.

“No, but say more and they’ll come right off.” You tilt your butt at me. “ Then we’ll be late.”

You kiss me between laughs, and that settles my heart. It’s just the nerves, nothing more.

We head downstairs and run into my landlady, who makes me blush, stressing how handsome we look together. You wrap an arm around my waist and thank her for the compliment, not daring to let go until we reach the station.

The ride to Covent Garden is smooth. Few people wait on the platform, and we’re lucky to find an empty car.

I imagined being alone in a train car for forty-five minutes might give us plenty of opportunity to cuddle, but as soon as we depart, you rest your chin on your palm and stare out the window.

Wondering if it was something I did, I tentatively reach for your hand.

The touch wakes you from your trance, and with a tender smile, you hook our fingers together and kiss the back of my gloved hand.

All is well. It’s just one of your quiet days.

The theatre stands tall in front of us, a Neoclassic monstrosity surrounded by modern buildings and high-end stores. It’s Friday evening, and the street explodes with people from all over the world eager to soak up the lavish entertainment the West End has to offer.

We make our way up the staircase and enter the enclosed space beyond the crimson drapes. Box seats, right in front of the stage. Two old women covered in jewels share the place with us, highlighting how displaced we look in our middle-class outfits.

“I wonder how much these seats cost,” I whisper, glancing sideways to our fellow box occupants.

You hide a giggle behind your fingers, pointing to one of the jewelled women with your chin. “I thought the old lady from Titanic threw the necklace into the ocean.”

“Andrew!” I cover my mouth and curl forward to hold in a laugh.

“Shhh,” Titanic Lady scorns with a weirdly thin eyebrow raised.

“Sorry ma’am,” you say.

She turns away her snub tapered nose with a huff, which only makes me want to laugh more.

“Ollie sure picked some fancy seats for us,” I say.

“Hm,” you mumble, gaze lost somewhere on the stage.

My brows furrow at the sudden change in energy. By now I’ve learned you need your silences from time to time, but they never cease to bring bad omens to my thoughts.

The second bell buzzes and the lights dim, stopping the mild chatter in the theatre. I sit up, excited, because it’s been years since I’ve seen my best friend dance, other than through videos.

As the introduction to Giselle starts, Ollie enters the stage, dressed for his part as Prince Albrecht.

His movements are delicate, fluid, and yet completely sure of himself.

If anyone can look self-confident in white tights, it’s Oleg Kasiev.

The ballerina playing Giselle is his ex, Pauline Gervais, and I can’t help but notice how well they work together.

I wonder how hard it is to create that kind of chemistry with someone you no longer have feelings for.

It takes some level of detachment, which, on second thought, suits Ollie well. I could never do such a thing myself.

Hilarion enters the scene and I almost gasp when I recognise Dieter Braun, Ollie’s latest shag. When he and Ollie fight for Giselle, I can’t help but hide a chuckle behind my hand.

“What is it?” you whisper near my good ear.

“I’m finding the irony of that scene hilarious, since Ollie and Dieter are shagging.”

“Oh,” you say, with a raised brow that looks rather forced. “Didn’t know that.”

“Yes, and the woman playing Giselle is his ex. Their rehearsals must be so awkward.”

“I bet.” Your tone is vague as you turn back to the stage.

“Shhh,” Titanic Lady scolds again, and I roll my eyes.

The ballet continues, and Giselle is named Harvest Queen.

Ollie and Pauline swing and turn passionately and yet keep the innocent tone of a classic love story.

I almost feel for them when Hilarion breaks it to the star-crossed lovers and reveals that Albrecht is in fact betrothed to a noblewoman.

Giselle spirals in agony and madness, hair loose, swaying along with her flowy skirt.

The pain in both Pauline and Ollie’s countenances before she collapses in his arms is so gripping that my jaw drops.

“Bloody hell, they’re so freaking good.” I can’t keep quiet, whispering to you between profuse applause when the first act ends.

“Yeah, they are.” You clap as well, not looking at me.

“I mean, I’ve seen Ollie dance many times, but holy shit, this was so emotional.”

“Hm.” Your lips twist into something that can only be annoyance. “I need to go out for a bit. Excuse me.” You rush through the velvet curtains, not bothering to wait for my answer.

“Wait, Andrew?” You’re already far off down the corridor, mingling with people stretching their legs at intermission. “Andrew,” I yell, but you don’t turn.

Shit. It’s all my fault. I promise my boyfriend a romantic date and bring you to see my ex twirling in tights.

Brilliant, Eric. What a great idea! And if it wasn’t enough, I can’t seem to shut up about his relationships and how talented he is.

Of course it would piss you off. Of course you would run from this place, away from me. I need to make this right. Now.

I storm out of the box after you, squeezing through a crowd not willing to walk faster than a stroll. Galloping down the stairs, I reach you in the middle of the foyer.

“Andrew.” I stop to catch my breath. “Please, let’s talk about it.”

“Sorry, I’m not feeling right. I think I’ll head home.” Your voice is flat. Emotionless.

“Just let me explain.” Before you say anything else, I raise a palm and frantic words tumble out.

“I’m sorry about today. It was tone deaf of me to bring you here, since Ollie and I used to be together.

He’s my best friend, and he’s going to keep being a part of my life.

But I understand if you need some time to be comfortable around him.

I should’ve dealt better with this situation, and I’m sorry for that. ”

Your brows knit, and it takes a second for you to answer. “What the heck are you on about?”

My mouth opens and closes once or twice, unsure of what to say. “Aren’t you pissed off because I brought you to see Ollie?”

“Ollie? Heavens, Eric, of course not. I barely thought about him the whole night.” You pass a hand through your hair and shake your head. “Is that what you think is wrong with me? That I’m jealous of you and your best friend?”

“Well … isn’t it?” I scrunch my brows, more confused than ever. “We were perfectly happy a couple of hours ago. What else could be wrong?”

You let out a sigh and come closer, caressing the lapels of my sport coat. “I’m sorry, Eric. It’s a silly thing, really. One of those days. Sorry I got you anxious over nothing.”

I remember those days well enough. When you were quiet and kept all your troubles to yourself.

That’s what I’m afraid of. In our teen years, I would say nothing and wait for your bad days to fade.

Not anymore. I can’t afford to sit back and wait for the universe to work its magic. We know damn well how that ended.

“It’s my fault, really. I assumed things too quickly.” I entwine my fingers in a lock of your hair as the first bell buzzes throughout the hall. “Want to go back to our seats? We can still make a date out of this night.”

You chew your bottom lip and take a deep breath. “I’m not in the mood for the rest of the ballet. Guess I’m going back home.”

“Don’t, please,” I hasten to say, afraid to leave you alone. “You can come to my flat. Wasn’t Danny going to bring a girl to your place tonight?”

“Yeah, right, I forgot. No worries, I’ll figure something out.”

“Andrew.” I take you by the shoulders and rub your arms. “You shouldn’t have to crash wherever just to avoid me.”

“It’s not you.” You force a melancholic grin. “It’s just … I don’t think I’m going to be good company tonight.”

“It’s alright,” I say with a tender smile. “Good or bad, I still want your company.”

A moment of hesitation hangs in midair between us. You nod at last and follow me to the exit.

We call an Uber and sit in silence the entire ride home. You stare out the window, chin resting on your forearm, lost in thought. The two feet between us might as well be two thousand miles. Our driver is chatty, and I begrudgingly engage in the longest of small talk so he’ll leave you alone.

The cold white lights flicker once I turn the switch back home. You enter the sitting room on my heels, like you’ve been doing since we left our Uber, and stop only when you notice I’m heading towards the bathroom.

“I’m going to take a shower, okay? Make yourself comfortable.”

The hot water falls on my back like the soothing pat of a friend, and I take my time granting you precious minutes to unwind. Once I’m done, I find you on my sofa in a fresh T-shirt and joggers. Your arms are wrapped around your knees, absentmindedly scratching the skin just above your elbows.

“Fancy something to eat? Or drink?” I ask, drying my hair with a towel.

You attempt a smile. “It’s okay, I’m not hungry.”

I come closer and put my hand over your fingers to stop the scratching. “Can’t you find something else to fidget with? You’re going to hurt yourself this way.”

Your eyes flicker to your arms, only then noticing the skin turning dangerously red. “Oh, yeah, thanks.”

I head to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

Waiting for the hot water to boil, I watch as you lean back and curl your fingers around the hem of your T-shirt.

What the hell is happening? One minute we’re happy and teasing each other, and the next you’re pulling away.

My throat tightens. Such a vivid echo from our younger years.

“Here, it’ll make you feel better.” I put a mug wafting steam on the coffee table. Peppermint tea. “Or at least warmer.”

You let out a strained chuckle and grab the mug. “Thanks.” You blow on the surface.

I sit down, holding my tea, and wait for you to drink a few sips. “You’ve been distant all day. Can’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.” You shake your head, feigning a breezy expression. “Just some silly blues. I’ll be better tomorrow, no worries.”

“It’s not silly if it’s bothering you this much. Come on, trust me. I’m not here just for the good parts.”

You purse your lips and stare down at the mug, holding it tight enough to turn your knuckles white. “It’s my mum’s birthday today.” Your voice is hushed, a little louder than a whisper. “I haven’t spoken to her in five years.”

I stare deep into the glinting dampness in your eyes, heart twisting in sorrow, before you speak again.

“We had this tradition, you know? Dad threw a fancy dinner party for her every year, but earlier in the afternoon we’d go downtown, and I would choose a gift for her.

I could only afford silly trinkets with my allowance, but she’d always wear them at the party.

No matter how cheap they looked.” You smile, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. “I miss it.”

My memories of Claire Westcott are scant.

All I seem to remember is a skittish lady who was too afraid of her husband to help her only son.

On a rational level, I know it wasn’t her fault.

The woman was probably abused as shit, and it would be unfair to lay the guilt on her shoulders.

But when I think that all we went through could’ve been prevented if she’d acted sooner, it makes it hard to forgive her.

Alas, this is not about me.

“How do you feel about her?” I lay my mug on the table. “Would you like to get back in touch?”

You hug your knees closer to your body and consider it for a second. “More than anything.”

“Call her, then. It’s not too late.”

“What? Of course not,” you burst out, shaking your head with a huff. “Best-case scenario, she’d hang up on me.”

“Speaking as the authority on catastrophizing, there are way better scenarios.” Seeing that failed to lighten the mood, I sigh.

“Look, we had our differences, your mum and me. But when things were the lowest, she stepped up. Perhaps this is a situation where you’re both afraid and waiting for the other to make the first move.

” I smile and reach for your arm. “If this is so important to you, give it a try. It’s a huge leap, I know, but what if it brings you back together?

And if not ….” I shrug. “I’ll be here for you. Always.”

You glance to the side, chewing your bottom lip.

“She could recognise my number. Or Dad could see it on her caller ID. He often controls her calls.”

A sting of pity pierces my chest. She’s still married to that man. What a shame.

“Do you think it would be dangerous for her to pick up a call from you?”

“No,” you say at once, but reconsider. “Not physically, at least.”

“Use my phone, then.” I take it out of my pocket and put it on the table, unlocked. You stare at it for long seconds, not daring to make a move. “I’m going to give you some privacy.”

I get up and take the empty mugs to the kitchen. There’s a pile of dishes I left for later in the sink, and I roll the sleeves of my jumper to my elbows before washing them. The running water and clanging crockery make enough noise to cover your voice, but I can’t help watching you from afar.

The phone remains untouched for quite some time.

Finally you pick it up, type, and bring it to your ear.

You pace around the sitting room, chest quivering with ragged breaths, before you talk.

A few timid words. A scratch at the nape of your neck and the rolling of a few locks of hair around your fingers.

The uttering of a few more words. A chew of lips.

A strained smile growing ever larger. A tear wiped from the corner of your eye.

Feeling I’ve pried long enough, I turn back to the sink.

A few minutes pass before you appear at the kitchen entrance. Without a word, you wrap your arms around my waist and hook your fingers in the loose fabric of my jumper. You hold on to my chest, tight enough for me to feel your heart pounding against my back.

“I love you.” You exhale near my good ear and rest your head against my shoulder.

We remain like this long after the dishes are done.