“It was bloody awful, Miss Cross,” one of the students pipes up from the back.
I fight to keep my face straight as murmurs of agreement break out. “Not your best work, no. But since it’s a Friday, let’s see if we can clean it up a bit and then we’ll break out the pop songs.”
“Yes!” A chorus of cheers go up around me. Nothing like pop music over the classics to motivate a group of secondary students.
“Alright, alright. Still need to make it through Beethoven.” This time, when they start playing, it actually sounds like the famous overture.
As I’m passing out the sheet music for the new song, the final bell of the day rings.
“Okay, since we didn’t get to this today, practise over the next two days, and we’ll play it Monday. Have a lovely weekend.”
Students gather their bags as they head out for the weekend. “Bye, Miss Cross. See you Monday,” is called out by many as they leave, and I wave in return. Planning next week’s music for our end-of-term concert can wait until Monday.
What I’ve really wanted to do all day is work on my own piece. Music has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. As much as I love it, teaching was a more stable career choice. And as the daughter of a duke, I was expected to have a stable career.
Picking up my own prized violin, I tune the well-loved instrument. It’s my most cherished possession. The one my mum used to play daily. I get my love of music from her. If only she could see me now.
Pulling out the sheet music, I start playing the song I’ve been writing over the past few months. The beginning is fine, the middle okay, and the end terrible. I’ve been stuck and can’t seem to find a breakthrough.
“This is all wrong!” I mutter to myself, dropping my bow. The melody is there, in my head, but I can’t seem to grasp onto the fading notes. It’s been this way for weeks. I’ve always been able to write my own music, but lately, there’s a block. One that I haven’t been able to push past.
“How did I know I could find you in here?” My best friend’s voice rings throughout the quiet studio that is my classroom. Students are long gone.
“Because I’m driving myself crazy trying to get this piece out?” Marnie’s at my side, pulling my violin from my hands.
“You do realize it’s not going to come by forcing it out, right?” She has a point, but it doesn’t mean I’ll listen.
“I thought it was coming today.” I blow out a breath, looking at the messy pages in front of me. “It’s no use. It’s never going to come.” I crumple the sheets up in anger and toss them in the bin behind me.
“Not with that negative attitude.”
“Then I’mpositivethat it will never come.” I give her my cheekiest smile.
“Okay. We’re leaving and hitting the pub tonight.”
“Do we have to?” I love Marnie to bits. We met my first day at the conservatory where we teach and have been friends ever since. She loves the London nightlife, while I’d prefer a night in with friends.
“Don’t pout those lips at me, Zara. You owe me a night out since you bailed on quiz night.” Damn. I forgot about that. I was sulking over this piece, yet again, that I can’t seem to write.
“First round is on you.”
She beams back at me. “If it means you’re coming out, I’ll gladly buy.”
“So haveyou found any good matches yet?” Marnie’s words are hard to hear over the loud noise of the bar. It seems half of London is out tonight.
“If I get one more dick pic, I might scream.” Marnie was in a low point after her most recent boyfriend dumped her. After too much wine one night, she somehow convinced me to sign up for an online dating site with her. Safety in numbers, right?
“Nothing worth taking for a ride?” She waggles her eyebrows in my direction.
“I’ve seen better.” She tips her drink in my direction, as I sip on my gin and tonic, not hiding my grin. “Honestly, is this really the best London has to offer?”
“We should move to Sweden. All broad-shouldered hunks of men. I think you’d be hard-pressed to find an unattractive Swede.”
“You cannot move to Sweden and ditch me here!” I slap her arm. “Who would rescue me from these endless dates I keep going on because of you?”
She lets out a sigh. “If only Prince James could just fall into my lap, I’d be set for life.”
“You and every other eligible woman in London.” I roll my eyes. “I’m surprised you’d want the ‘playboy prince.’ Last I saw, some poor woman had her hands down his pants.”
