JUSTIN AND I strolled along The Strand towards Charing Cross station. Even though it was only half past ten, it was still moderately busy. People milled on the pavement, either just having spilled out of a theatre after seeing a West End show, ready to eat or wend their way home. Others were fresh off the train, raring to start their night out in the bars and clubs of nearby Soho. Lights glittered, and buses and taxis rumbled past us intermittently, along with a few brave cyclists.
Justin jammed his hands in his coat pockets, his expression earnest. It made him look closer to my age. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘If you like.’
‘What made you leave the Conservatory?’
I gulped in a breath. Oh. He wanted to talk about that – the one thing I’d really rather not discuss. But I’d dug my own grave regarding this. When we’d gone for coffee, I’d been so desperate to make him like me that I’d mentioned where I’d studied music. It had only taken a little bit of burrowing on his part to get more out of me. However, as I mirrored him,hiding my clenched fists in my own pockets, I realised that maybe he was the one person who might understand.
‘I got in on a scholarship. I knew I was really lucky, and I was so excited to go. Finally, I could be with people who loved music as much as I did. I thought it would be heaven.’
‘But it wasn’t?’
I sighed. ‘No, it really wasn’t.’ And I went on to tell him about Charlie Bloody Banister and his campaign to make sure he shone, and I didn’t.
‘You didn’t let him get to you, did you?’
I looked back at Justin, my expression heavy. ‘I wish I could tell you I didn’t. It started out as something so small … I was asked to play principal second violin in the Conservatory’s concerto orchestra – quite a coup for someone only just starting their second year. Charlie got in, but only as fifth chair in my section. Every time we played, I could feel him watching me, judging me. Sometimes he’d scrape his chair or do terrible fake coughing to put me off. It didn’t always work, but I began to get more and more nervous every time I performed, just in case it’d be one of the times it did. Things went from bad to worse after that.’
It hadn’t helped that when I’d returned to the Conservatory for my second year, that I was feeling low and unmotivated. I had Ben the Photographer to thank for that, too – but I didn’t tell Justin about that. It seemed too personal to reveal at that point.
‘And then it just became a vicious cycle – the more nervous I got about performing, the more mistakes I made. Even the tutors and lecturers commented on it.’ I looked down at my feet as I walked. ‘I knew they all thought they’d made a mistake,that they should have given the scholarship to someone else. Eventually, it got too much, and I dropped out.’
‘You couldn’t have lasted it out?’
I laughed softly to myself. I was sure someone like Justin could have done, but I’d discovered I was just as pathetic as they all thought I was. Too weak. Not cut out for it. ‘I was given one last chance, a solo.’ I paused. My stomach chilled even at the thought of it. ‘I made an absolute mess of it. Just forgot the music mid-flow … And then I sat there on the stage, frozen like a rabbit in the headlights until somebody started to slow clap. I’m sure it was him – Charlie. I ran off the stage, crying my eyes out, and promptly threw up in the nearest toilet. After that, I couldn’t face going back. And even if I could, what good is a violinist who can’t play in front of people?’
Justin stopped walking and turned to face me. He put a hand on either of my shoulders, making me look at him. ‘But you know that what you’ve been doing, coming up to London to busk … That shows how incredibly brave you are. You proved to yourself that youcanplay in front of people.’
I gave him a watery smile. ‘I know, I am pleased about that, but …’
‘But?’
‘It’s not the same.’
‘Why not?’
I broke eye contact. ‘Because those people don’t matter. They can’t shape my future, give me the dreams I want for myself. They might enjoy a piece of pretty music as they stroll on by, but that’s it.’ While those had been the very reasons I’d started busking in the first place, they were now starting to chafe.
‘I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.’ He waited for me to look at him again. ‘I believe in you.’
I smiled, just a little, and saw the corners of his mouth curl up in return, but then he grew serious, let his hands drop from my shoulders, and we began walking again. ‘If you want to survive in this business, you can’t let other people define you.’
I made a small, scoffing laugh. ‘That’s easy for someone like you to say.’
His head turned sharply. ‘There are always people out there who want to undermine you if you have real talent.’ He fell silent for a moment. ‘I don’t normally share this with people, but I think you need to hear this …’
I held my breath, heart swelling that he might have singled me out in any way.
‘I was married,’ he said, his voice and expression bleak. ‘She was a dancer … We built my company together, both as hungry for success as each other, and while we were still making our mark, it was okay. But once we’d reached a certain level, she became restless. I didn’t see it at first – I loved her so much, you see. I put Paulina on a pedestal, and it blinded me to who she really was.’
‘What did she do?’ I asked breathlessly.
‘She betrayed me.’ He stared ahead as we neared Charing Cross and turned down the cobbled road that ran beside it towards Embankment Tube station. ‘She deserted me on the opening night of one of our most important premieres. No word, no apology – just disappeared. Thankfully, we had an understudy. Later, I discovered she’d left me for another man who had connections to the Royal Ballet. I’m pretty sure something had been going on for months, if not years.’
I stared at Justin. I couldn’t compute how anyone could consider him anything less than perfect.
His expression darkened. ‘That bitch only married me for what I could do for her, and what she thought she could get out of me. She took everything I’d done for her and threw it back in my face.’
