Page 47 of A Winter in New York

I feel her body relax beside mine. “Dad likes you,” she says.

“I like him too,” I say, then modify with, “I mean, I like all of you.”

It feels as if we’re speaking in code. I don’t know if she’s trying to tell me she knows about Gio and me, or if she’s fishing because she has her suspicions and doesn’t want to ask her father directly. Or even if she hopes it’s nothing like that at all, and she’s looking for reassurances that I’ll disappear in a puff of smoke once my mission has been accomplished.

An expectant hush falls out in the hall and we hear the principal run through her welcome spiel to the crowd. Ellen Connelly stands in the wings smoothing her pale-blue ballet tutu, her hair high on her head in a tight blonde bun.

“She’s probably just as nervous as you are,” I say, as we watch her run through warm-up exercises while she waits to be announced.

“You think?”

“Nerves can be useful,” I say, remembering my mother’s words on the morning of my driving test. She’d taught me herself, doing things her own way as usual. I took my test in her dinged-up Vauxhall, and from the moment I passed I designated myself as the family driver. She was terrific at so many things, but her driving always had me clutching my seat with clammy hands. She drove like she sang: full throttle. “The trick is to channel the nerves into your performance. You’ll see. You’ll get out there and feel like you’re flying.”

I’ll give it to Bella’s high school, they know how to put on a show. If I’d been out in the audience I think I’d have had a really entertaining time, but as we move slowly toward the front of the line backstage I find it harder and harder to enjoy what we can hear of the performances.

“It’s taking forever,” Bella says, drumming herfingernails against each other. “Everyone will have gone home by the time we get out there.”

“I doubt it, your family bought almost a whole row of tickets. They’ll sit there till midnight if needs be.”

She shakes her head. “So embarrassing.”

I throw her a wink as I nod toward the exits. “Shall we skip it? Make a run for the fire door?”

A harassed teacher appears, headset clamped on and red pen in hand. She looks as if she’d like to trade her clipboard for a stiff drink. “Bella, you’re next up. In the wings, please, and shush.” She puts a finger to her lips for emphasis.

Sheer, waxy panic freezes Bella’s features so I square my shoulders and grab her hand. “Come on, Bells, let’s go show these guys how it’s done.” I lean into her as the principal announces her name and people in the hall begin to clap.

“Easy as pie,” I whisper.

“Easy as pie,” she repeats, and steps in front of me when I gesture for her to lead the way. The applause is much louder out here and I daren’t look at the faces in the front rows in case I see Gio. I keep my eyes on Bella as she sits down at the piano and places her sheet music just so, and then she looks up and gives me a quick nod to tell me she’s ready. I turn to the audience and smile, surreptitiously wiping my clammy hands on my jeans. It’s on Bella to decide when to start, and after a few seconds silence I fear she’s lost her nerve so shoot her a tiny you’ve-got-this smile. It’s pin-drop silent in the hall. I know she can do this, she just needs to get going. I fleetingly wonder if I should go perch beside her and play the opening bars together, but then she places her fingers on the keys, takes a shuddering breath, and begins to play. I close my eyes with relief and raise my hands to the microphone, trying toignore the devil on my shoulder suggesting I’ve forgotten all the words.I won’t go blank, Bella, I promise.I blink, almost blinded by the glare of the stage lights, but then my eyes find Sophia in the crowd and she chucks me a quick double thumbs-up and it’s enough. I know this song, Bella knows this song.

I hear the wobble behind my first couple of notes and work to get my breathing under control, consciously relaxing my shoulders as I let the words float and then soar from my body. My mother told me once that she imagined gilded musical notes flying out of her mouth over the heads of her audience, and I see those notes shimmering everywhere in the hall now as I find my full voice for the chorus. It may not be the kind of song my mother would have performed, but the tone she gave me suits it well. I look at Bella and she’s grinning, almost laughing with pure joy as she runs the back of her hand up the piano keys, building her performance pace for pace with mine. She plays out of her skin, elation on her face every time I steal a look at her, and we feed off each other because we know damn well we’re knocking this thing out of the ballpark. It’s such a gift of a song; the entire audience knows it and is with us. I feel the music, I am the music. Bella and I are afloat on our sea of musical notes and I never want the song to end because this high is so heady. By the time we reach the last line, I know for sure I’m not going to miss that big note, and I throw my arms out to the sides to create enough space in my lungs.

And then it’s done. It’s over, and Bella hurtles across the stage to me and crushes my ribs with her hug. I’m momentarily disorientated, but then I’m back in the room with Bella and aware of thunderous applause. Bells and I hold hands andtake a deep bow, laughing, and then another because it goes on and on. The Belotti family are on their feet, Maria swiping her eyes with a handkerchief, Sophia cheering as if her favorite team just hit a home run, all of Gio’s sisters clapping. And then there’s Gio, statue still beside Maria with his hand splayed over his heart, pride shining from him brighter than the footlights lining the stage. It’s pride in Bella, of course, and I bask in the glow too for my part in helping her get here to take her bows.

“We did it,” I say, when she looks at me and shrugs, laughing and incredulous.

The next few minutes are a blur of backstage congratulations and Bella is quickly swamped by other kids, so I take a seat out of the way and watch the hubbub. I never had this. I used to watch TV shows set in high schools with green-eyed envy, even though most kids trudging to school every day would probably have swapped with me too. For a while, at least. They’d have loved the freedom and unpredictability of my days, but how I yearned for the support network and friendships of theirs.

“Iris!” Bella swings round and calls out to me. “Come over here.”

Her friends turn too, so I slide off the table and join them. I’m thirty-four years old and rendered shy by this gaggle of teenage girls. I’m relieved when I hear my name called again and see Sophia heading our way, bouncing several steps ahead of the rest of the Belotti clan.

“Eat your heart out, Lady Gaga,” she half shouts, pulling Bella close as she grabs my hand in hers. “You two fucking killed it!”

A teacher spins around and frowns at her, and Bella’sfriends dissolve into laughter. I catch Gio’s eye and can’t work his expression out, so after a second I glance away.

“Dad, is it okay if I go back to Ruby’s? Her mom said she’ll bring me home later.”

Gio isn’t the kind of father to burst his shiny-eyed daughter’s bubble with a no.

“You better get used to that,” Maria says softly, noticing his face after Bella walks away with her friends without glancing back. “Five of you, and it never got any easier.”

Someone has finally opened those fire doors and we make our way outside, hit by the chill as we spill from the stuffy, overexcited school hall to the bitingly cold car park.

“Walk you home?” Gio says, Bella’s school bag slung over his shoulder.

“Sure,” I say, as his family say their goodnights and scatter into various Brooklyn-bound vehicles.

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