A Thousand Perfect Notes(27)

What if I refuse?

‘That is why,’ the Maestro says, ‘you will practise the études without fail. That is why you will work hard. Jan Keverich is the leading pianist on this earth, this earth. To have him accept you as a pupil would mean—’ She stops, flushed, excited, out of control. ‘A future. The Keverich line of fame will not die.’

He holds back tears.

The Maestro clears her throat, her arms tight around the red-inked theory pages. ‘It would mean you are something. Don’t you want that?’

Yes – but. No?

It could be an escape, for ever. He could leave behind this hellish room, the tongue lashings, the hateful glances, the reminders of how much he’s failed her. He could stop looking at her ruined, shaking hands with that mixture of relief and guilt.

He could be free.

‘Practise.’ The Maestro sweeps out of his room.

On the other side of the house, Joey yells for Beck to come and fix her spaceship.

If he was gone, the Maestro would start on Joey.

The piano glints a toothy smile.

So Beck sits down, and plays, and plays and plays – his own music – with breathless passion.

He won’t go.





August (and sort of Beck?) gets an A on the paper.

Beck’s never scored so high. In fact, it’s so unlike him Mr Boyne requests August and Beck stay behind to be scrutinised. August, with an innocently angelic smile, swears they did it together.

Beck’s not sure if he should admire her ability to convince people so easily or be terrified.

On the walk home, August demands celebration.

‘It’s not like you did anything,’ she says, ‘but I need congratulating. Tomorrow’s Saturday. What about that park we always cut through? We could meet up there at four and Joey can play. I’ll bring cupcakes.’

Beck has a small panic attack. ‘I can’t—’

‘Refusal is not an option.’ August takes off for her own house, yelling over her shoulder, ‘You owe me!’

He does.

But what are they going to do at that playground? Hang out? He’s sure that’s where the drug dealers make their drops.

How does he ask permission?

If the Maestro is home in the afternoon …

But she’s not. At midday, she leaves for the bus to do some jobs in town – probably eating out too, since there’s no food in the house and she never seems to go hungry like he and Joey have to. She commands Beck to practise hard, with the “or else” lingering in the air before she goes.

It makes Beck angry.

Angry enough to defy her?

He could take Joey, walk out that door – walk for ever if he wanted to. Just walk and walk and forget about Germany, about the études, about his uncle he’s never met and who will probably be even worse than his mother.

He slams the piano lid shut. ‘Joey! We’re going to the playground.’

Joey appears, still in pyjamas, with two bald Barbies. ‘Really?’

‘But you have to swear not to tell the Maestro,’ he says.

‘Like a secret?’

‘Exactly like a secret.’

Joey’s eyes shine. ‘I love you, Beck!’ She dashes off and returns in a glittery tutu over jeans and a paper crown, her hair sticking out in puffs like a mad scientist.

Beck zips on an orange striped jacket that’s too tight, too short, but at least still clean and warm, and they burst out of the house into the crisp autumn afternoon.

When did he get so brave?

It’s not because of August. It’s because – because – of –

August. Whatever.

At the park, which hasn’t been mowed in thirty years, Beck does a quick circumnavigation to ensure the shadiest of occupants are far away and look stoned and not ready to pull knives, and then he releases Joey into the wild. She shrieks and heads straight for the monkey bars.

Beck perches on a swing and waits.

And waits.

If she doesn’t show up, that’s a good thing, right? They’ll forget about this ‘debt’. She plays it tough, but she’s still doing him favours. Giving him cake, inviting him places, lending him her iPod, hanging out with him when she has no need.

Joey is upside down on the monkey bars, clutching her paper crown. ‘I’M THE PRINCESS OF THE WORLD.’

Beck is glad she can’t read the crude graffiti.

At least he came, right? He left the house. He did something against the Maestro. He deserves a trophy for this, or congratulatory cake. But more so the latter. He’s starving.

‘Oh, look!’ Joey squalls, now on top of the playground tower, above the no climbing sign. ‘Your girlfriend is coming!’

Beck’s heart gives a stuttering leap before he remembers to glare at Joey like he’s furious at the word girlfriend. Is he?

Is he?

August flies into the playground with a dazzling smile, like the knee-high grass and weeds aren’t inconvenient, like she’s entering the most beautiful place on earth. She holds a plastic box above her head, which promises something chocolatey. With weekend clothing freedom, she looks like a different person. She has rust-coloured shorts and a baggy crocheted jumper the colour of a Mediterranean salad. Her hair is knotted into a bandana and her bare feet – how unsurprising – are adorned with dozens of clinking metallic anklets.