We drove alone with Elliot following in a car behind. ‘I want privacy’ was Alfie’s only explanation as to why Elliot wasn’t driving us wherever we were going.
“This looks familiar,” I said, recognising the street he turned onto. Then I saw a steeple up ahead. “We came here last year?”
“Yes, this is the old church where I brought you to listen to Vivaldi.”
A smile spread across my face. Alfie had taken me to the Royal Albert Hall twice since we’d been engaged to watch the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra play but still, this was special. Private.
“Are we going to see another concert?”
“Something like that.”
We walked up the steps, leaving Elliot to wait outside in his car.
Inside, the church was lit up with a hundred candles. I wondered if this place even had electricity. The last time we’d come here it had been winter time, I’d sat, breathing puffs of frozen air while we listened to the London orchestra. Now, it was summer. The setting sun shone through the old stained glass windows like one giant flame ruling over the dozens of tiny ones scattered around the church.
“There’s no one here.” I had expected musicians. What was going on? I noticed then, a single violin laid out on the altar. I walked over and realised I recognised the case. I’d seen it before in Alfie’s time capsule room at his old house. The room where he’d kept my shoes from the night we separated, and the engagement ring I wore now. So many of his memories, along with this violin. His violin that he’d gotten from the girl in Italy. He’d told me that story in Harrington House years ago.
“This place has great acoustics, I told you.” I turned to stare at him. Was this really happening? “You said you wanted to hear me play.”
“I know, but…really? Are you sure?”
He had opened up to me in so many ways but this was the last piece. He’d told me every secret, let down his guard in the bedroom, but this, he’d held onto this. Protecting the little boy inside who had learned the violin to try to impress his mother. Who used it as an outlet for years and only put his violin away as a punishment after the deaths of his father and brother. Now he was handing that part of himself over to me.
“I’m rusty though. Don’t laugh at me.”
“I would never,” I said with all sincerity. I could laugh at him in Hawaiian print shorts, but not over this.
He shrugged out of his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
“What are you going to play?” I asked.
“What would you like to hear?”
“Vivaldi’s your favourite, right?”
“It has the most sentimental attachment. It’s the only time my mother ever came to watch me play.”
He’d told me that before. “That’s why you feel ready to play for me now? Because your mother’s been around?” I wondered if it had stirred up old feelings that he was finally able to face.
“I’ve been ready for a while, just waiting for the right moment.”
“What makes now the right moment?”
“I don’t know. I was talking to Damien, the way he’s hooked on Keira has got him acting out of character. Can't relate to that.” We shared a smile. “I just realised I don’t know what I’m waiting for. I’ve spent too long hiding parts of myself from you. I don’t want there to be any parts of me left that you haven’t seen. So, make your request.”
“Not Vivaldi if that’s connected to your mother. Just play me something sweet. Something I haven’t heard before.”
My skin sang as he pressed the bow to the strings and the first notes rang out. Somehow he looked powerful, in control. I watched his hands manipulate that instrument the way he manipulated my body, making me cry out notes for him I didn’t know I could reach.
I don’t know how long I sat there, one song fell into another as he seemed to play a lifetime of music all at once. He’d held back this love of his for a long time. Denying himself any joy as penance for the role he’d played in the deaths of his father and brother. Now he was letting that go and joining me in the light, in the colour, leaving the grey behind.
When it was done, the sun had almost set, the church had grown darker, an orange hue cast over the wood and stone.
“You’re a wonder, Alfie Tell,” I breathed, gazing up at him as if he was the deity I worshipped. In a way, he was. “Will you write something for us? I want you to play it for me on our wedding night, just for us.”
“That was for us. Well, for you, anyway. I’ve had it in my head for a long time.”
I felt tears well in my eyes. “It was beautiful. Thank you for doing that for me.”
