Encore

Encore

by Rosie Pursglove

      An electric hush descended upon the audience, the anticipation was almost touchable, the conductor lifted his baton and the first notes of the Prelude to Bach’s Cello Suite No 1 were heard.   From the wings Jane watched as Steven played like a man possessed.   His face was alive with emotions.  He sat in the spotlight, cello gripped between his thighs. His eyes were closed as his hands danced back and forth with an ethereal energy that almost raised sparks around him.   The audience was spellbound, this is what they had been waiting for since the day they had seen the advert and booked the tickets.  They had come to see the great cellist Steven Farnham in his prime.  Only Jane knew how lucky they were.   

      As she watched the rapport between Steven and his audience, Jane thought back to the conversation she had had with him earlier in the day.   She had tapped on the door of his dressing room after rehearsals had finished.  As she entered Steven had been sitting in front of the mirror just staring at but not really seeing his reflection.  He seemed to be in some deep sort of reverie.

      ‘You ok, Steve?  You look a bit stressed.’

Steven had started suddenly and looked at her through the mirror.  His quick, easy smile had formed on his lips but not before Jane had caught something strange and indefinable in his eyes.

      ‘Never better, Janie, good to see you again.’  The smile finally reached his eyes and he stood up and held out his arms for a hug.  She was surprised at how thin he had felt. 

      ‘It seems ages since I’ve seen you; it’s good to be back with the band again, it’s been difficult knowing you were all out there without me.’  Jane let her arms drop from his waist as she planted a kiss on his bristly cheek.

      ‘But you’ve had so many things to compensate for that,  being able to stay at home with Tim for a change not to mention little Laura, how is she?’

     ‘Teething, keeping us awake, you know how it is.  Well, you don’t but……’

     ‘Never likely to either.   How’s Tim’s business?’

     ‘That was a very firm change of subject; I’m not going to let that one go.’  Jane smiled at Steven.   ‘I was sorry to hear that Rachel left, I had been expecting a wedding invitation, you know, excuse for a new hat……’

Jane saw the look in Steven’s eyes and realised she’d hit a raw nerve.  His eyes were filled with sadness, the nerves in his jaw twitched, he looked, suddenly, very dejected.   The small, brick walled, windowless dressing room began to feel very claustrophobic.

      ‘Fancy popping across the road to Luigi’s, I’ll treat you to a coffee?’ Jane asked without much hope of a positive response, but she was surprised.

      ‘Yes, I do actually, I’m in need of a caffeine fix to keep me awake, come on, you can show me your baby photos, and don’t say you haven’t got any with you because I won’t believe you.’  The wonderful endearing smile was back.

 Jane started as the final notes of the music drew to a close, there was a split second of silence and then a great roar of clapping, whistling and feet stamping rose from the auditorium.  Steven sat head down, completely still, as if exhausted, and then he lifted his head to look at the people in front of him.  He stood up and bowed, and turning quickly, left the stage.    He stood in the wings, sweat dripping down his face and into the collar of the shirt, he looked up at Jane.  She moved forward quickly to hold his arms; she looked into his eyes and mouthed the word ‘brilliant’ before he was swept back by the conductor for an encore.  Jane felt sick to the pit of her stomach. That was one brave man out there.  The pre-arranged encore piece had begun; Jane leant against the wall and wept silently, her mind going back to the coffee shop.

‘Luigi’s hasn’t changed at all.’  Stephen remarked as they sat sipping the warm, rich mocha coffee.  ‘Remember when we came here after school?  It’s so good to be playing back home again. I feel as if I’ve been away for ever. ‘

They sat for a while in equable silence both remembering their childhood and schooldays in this little seaside town on the south coast.  They had been ‘different’ at school because of their love of music, not just pop music, but classical as well.  Steven was the genius though, Jane thought, she was just a competent jobbing musician, always able to earn a living, but how she would have loved to have had Steven’s talent.  They had kept in touch whilst at college and had always been friends, often meeting up and playing at the same venues.  The world of music was quite small.

‘So, tell me,’ Jane felt confident enough to broach the subject.  ‘what happened with Rachel?’

‘I knew you’d ask, but it’s quite complicated, and it’s to do with me.’

‘Good grief, you make it sound bad, what on earth did you do?’

It was then he told her, over the coffee, in Luigi’s, as in the old days when they had laughed, cried and shared secrets together.   Rachel had left because she couldn’t cope, he didn’t blame her, but she just couldn’t live with a dying man.  Through a haze of uncomprehending thoughts and tears Jane had heard the words, diagnosed, cancer, liver, no hope and three months.  They had sat silently holding hands for quite a while before returning to the concert hall.

      After the concert Steven had asked all the musicians and theatre staff to supper at his house.  He had bought the property out on the cliffs overlooking the sea last year.  It was a beautiful house, painted white with a large conservatory overlooking the long back garden.   This was used as a music room and tonight it was lit with little twinkling lights and food and drink was set out on a trestle table.  When Jane and Tim arrived people were wandering in and out of the garden, it was a warm, fragile night and the scents from the garden mingled with the salt air rising from the sea.  It was perfect, thought Jane, except for one thing.  Steven was in a good mood, open, gregarious, being a good host, telling a joke here, filling a glass there.  Jane looked across at him, her knowledge made her ache inside, but for his sake she had told no one and would give nothing away.  The late evening turned into night, several jam sessions evolved and people sat and listened, just chilling out to the music.  People laughed and joked and told stories and eventually just before dawn they began to say their farewells.  Steven was still at the centre of things when Jane and Tim left saying they would be back later to help with the clearing up.

     Early the next day, Jane was awakened by little Laura, who after behaving so well for Tim’s mother the night before, had decided to test her lungs to their full capacity.  Jane decided that she may as well be up and about.    After breakfast she decided to leave Laura with Tim and his mother and pop over to see if she could help Steven with the aftermath of the party.   She drove along the sea road, up onto the cliff and down the long unmade road to the house.  It looked so serene and calm in the early morning sunshine.  Jane parked near the gate and opened it, as she walked up the front path she thought she could hear the sound of Steven’s cello on the breeze. She strolled round to the back of the house expecting to see him playing but the cello was propped up against a dresser in the conservatory.  Jane went into the house and called out to Steven but there was no reply.  She then wandered down the garden to the large tree where she knew Steven often sat to drink his early morning coffee.  He was there, as she had known he would be.  She saw the mug in his hand overturned onto the grass, beside it an empty pill bottle.  Jane ran towards Steven but she knew it was too late.  Last night, she realised, had been his final farewell, performing at home with his friends around him, being near his own home, he must have planned it all.

     Jane sat for a while with Steven overlooking the calm blue sea, feeling the sun warm on her skin, knowing he wouldn’t want her to be sad but failing miserably at not being.  After ten minutes she felt in her pocket and pulled out her mobile phone.

ROSIE PURSGLOVE