Page 60 of A Wistful Symphony

Selfless Lament

T he days blend together in the countryside.

Despite the sunny skies and the pungent scent of flowers coming from the blooming garden, I take refuge inside the cottage, drinking from the cup of music as long as I can.

Day and night, experimenting with wildly different fragments, until I find what I’m looking for.

Acceptance. Peace. Or something close to it.

Ms Thorne calls me on the day of the BBC’s deadline and asks how I’m feeling.

I tell her the truth. The intrusive thoughts have dimmed, and I have substantially decreased my nicotine intake, but I don’t feel ready to go back to work just yet.

She doesn’t argue. I had lots of holidays I didn’t take on the back burner, and she assures me all I have to do is tell her when I intend to come back.

With that matter settled, I concentrate on slowing down.

Waking up late, helping my mother with chores, watching films, catching up on my reading.

And music, of course. I’ve never had so many creative ideas as in this moment, and that speaks volumes about the quality of life I’ve imposed on myself so far.

I still think of you, Andrew. Constantly.

But, like I do with my intrusive thoughts, I stop repressing it.

Instead, I sit with the discomfort. Let the grief and longing wash over me until they drift away.

Sometimes I journal about it—one of my therapist’s suggestions—and sometimes I turn the feelings into compositions.

They help. And little by little, it hurts less.

One weekend, just as I begin to miss my barely existent social life, it knocks on the cottage’s door.

A little before lunch, in the middle of chopping vegetables for a shepherd’s pie, Delia, Zoe and Robin appear in the guise of a casual visit to check in on me.

I welcome them in with tight hugs and a wide smile.

Truth be told, unwinding in the countryside has been good to my mental health, but it’s verging on boredom.

“There you are!” Delia jumps on my shoulders and wraps her arms around my neck. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now that you guys are here,” I answer, untangling myself from her.

“What, no sarcasm? Not even a roll of the eyes?” Zoe gasps. “Who are you and what have you done with my cousin?”

I laugh. “Well, I’m trying something new.”

“It suits you, darling.” Robin blows two kisses near my cheeks. “Brooding and moody is so ten years ago. Leave it in the Tumblr era where it belongs.”

“I agree,” Zoe says. “You look so healthy I can barely see the eye bags. Have you been using that serum from Kayla’s shop?”

“Nope. Sleeping well and drinking lots of water, like our forefathers used to.” I chuckle. “And I’ve quit smoking. This time for real.”

“I’m so proud of you, big brother.” Delia wraps her hands around my arm and rests her cheek on my shoulder, like a cat requesting cuddles. “Have you heard from Andrew?”

“Seriously, Delia?” Zoe punches her shoulder. “We agreed not to speak his name.”

“Oh, come on, love, it’s been two weeks.” Robin sits on the sofa and crosses their long legs. “Eric’s a big boy. He can handle a simple question.”

“Thanks, Robin.” I sit by their side. “I haven’t heard from him since the call. And I haven’t looked up anything about him.”

Delia frowns. “Nothing? You haven’t asked Danny? Stalked him on social media? Heard rumours from nosy neighbours?”

“None of the above.” I give her one sad grin. “He said it’s over, and I’m respecting his decision.”

“Oh, my.” Robin puts a hand on their chest. “Do I spot a healthy breakup? Respect.”

“I’m trying. It’s hard, but I owe him a mature reaction for once. By the way, are you guys staying for lunch? How long are you here for?”

“I already told Mum to expect us.” Delia sits in the armchair on my right. “We’re here until tomorrow afternoon.”

Zoe takes a seat as well. “Yeah, we’re staying in our old bedrooms.”

“And don’t worry, I booked a room in a bed and breakfast down the road,” Robin cuts in. “No need to twist your knickers about logistics, darling. We have it all covered.”

“And the others?” I ask.

Delia answers. “Ollie, Kayla and Ben are busy with work, but they sent hugs and kisses.”

“Ollie specifically said he’ll slap you in the face if you’re still moping when you guys see each other again,” Zoe adds.

I can’t help but laugh. “That sounds just like him.”

“So.” Delia perches on the armchair. “What have you been doing all this time? You barely answer your phone anymore.”

“My therapist recommended a social media detox. Being chronically online only adds to my anxiety.” I twist my hands together. “I’ve been playing a lot. And I’ve written over ten pieces of composition. Most of them are crap, but—” I shrug. “Perhaps two or three can be salvaged. I’d say it’s a win.”

“If any of those are pop songs, I have a producer friend who’s always searching for new material,” Robin says. “He works with a lot of A-listers, just so you know.”

Zoe scoffs. “Fuck off. Name one artist we know.”

“Four words.” Robin raises a finger to their face. “Former One Direction member.”

“Fuck me.” I raise my eyebrows. “How do you even know these types, Robin?”

“It’s what I do, darling.” They toss a lock of hair to the side. “I drink and I know people.”

Everyone laughs, and soon Mum calls us for lunch.

The three of them spend the afternoon filling me in on everything that’s happening in London and the latest gossip going around in our friend group.

Banter and jokes are tossed about like candy, and our loud voices resound around the room.

When night falls, Robin goes to their bed and breakfast to take a bath and change, and we all agree to meet at The Royal Oak for drinks.

As expected, the pub is filled to the brim on a spring evening.

Heads turn in our direction as we enter, probably because Robin is wearing a crop top and low-rise jeans topped with purple shades matching their hair.

Stylish as it may be, the conservative people from this town aren’t used to such flashy looks.

There’s a single table available near the bar, and we cram together on the benches.

“Four pints?” Zoe asks once we sit.

“J?gerbomb for me,” Robin says. “I don’t want to be bloated while showing my stomach.”

Delia twirls a lock of hair on her finger. “Robs, I don’t think they have it here.”

“Beer, wine or cider,” I say. “Those are your choices.”

“Cider, then.” They wave a hand. “Let’s try the local cuisine.”

I head towards the bar and gesture to a server with spiked raven hair. He tosses a dishcloth on his shoulder before coming my way.

“What can I get you, mate?” His broad smile makes a silver piercing glint on his lower lip.

“Astro?” My eyes bulge in unfeigned surprise.

“Eric? Is that really you?” Astro laughs and pats me on the shoulder. “No one’s called me Astro in a very long time. Not since I got married.”

“Sod off.” I chuckle as well. “I can’t believe you settled.”

“Yep. With that lovely lady over there.” He points to the corner, where a woman with laser-cut bangs and heavy eyeliner fills a pint on the taps.

I gasp. “You married Shelley?” My voice comes out louder than I intended.

“Three years ago, just before the pandemic.” Astro throws a loving glance at his wife.

“Between married life and no gigs, the band broke apart, and I ended up working here with Shelley and her grandpa. Then Mr Jeffreys retired, and we started running this place. Now everyone knows me as Mr McQueen.” Astro smirks.

“Only Shelley still calls me Astro, but that’s between the sheets. ”

“Too much information, mate.” I grimace, which makes Astro laugh again.

He takes my order and goes to the taps. On his way, he places a gentle kiss on Shelley’s cheek and she giggles.

I smile, a tiny sting of envy pricking my chest. How I wanted a calm and trusting relationship for us, Andrew.

I wanted it so badly. My smile fades. It’s too late to wish for that, isn’t it?

Some bloke’s thunderous roars pull me back to the present. “Oi, Spikey, why won’t you take my fucking order?” He waves an empty pint before Astro. Looks like the man’s had lots of it already.

“Sorry, sir,” Astro says, filling pints on the tap. “It’s a full house today. I’ll just take care of this order, and I’ll get right back to you.”

The man grabs Astro by his T-shirt. “You’re gonna do it now if you know what’s good for ya.”

“Sir.” Astro holds the man’s wrist and continues in a calm tone. “If you don’t let go, I’m going to call security and remove you.”

A stout man in black approaches the counter. “Is there a problem here?”

The drunkard looks from the security guard to Astro, and in a swift movement, he releases the latter. Not before taking a pint from the counter and splashing its contents all over Astro.

Unfazed, Astro takes the dishcloth from his shoulder and dries the beer from his face while the security guard drags the drunkard off the premises. Astro places my drinks before me like nothing happened.

“Three pints and a cider,” he says with his usual smile. “Enjoy.”

I stare in disbelief. “How can you stay so calm after what that man did to you?”

He shrugs. “It’s a freaking pub. This kind of thing happens a lot.”

When my frown tells him I’m not buying it, he continues.

“Look, the man is drunk as a skunk, and he’s going to behave like one.

I can either get mad at the bloke and let it ruin my day, or I can let security take care of it.

If I let every drunkard that pops in this place get under my skin, the stress would kill me before I’m forty. ”

I take a sip of my pint, amazed by his maturity. Now there’s a man who can use his anger wisely.

“Besides,” he continues. “It can’t be worse than yesterday. It’s like everyone in this town got drunk after Claire Westcott’s funeral.”

My eyes widen, and I rest my pint back on the counter. “What? She died?”