Page 97 of The Alternate Captain
Coach rubs his stubble and then nods to himself before dismissing me. I have no idea what will come out of that, but I’ve tried.
I’m fully fired up, and my anger boils right to the surface when I return to the dressing room to find Vicky standing outside of the logo in the centre, and I highly suspect she was in here talking to Liam.
“What are you doing in here?” I sneer, borderline ready to punch the damn wall.
“My tri—”
“Were you talking with Liam? Because you need to keep away. You’re fucking his game up. Listen to me. I’ve told him, and now I’m telling you.”
Once she’s gone, I rush to the showers and scream into a towel.
Patrick, the course director,strides into the music room twenty minutes after he told Darren and me to meet him here. He doesn’t even apologise for being late. Honestly, that pisses me off the most. And he’s so flippant about it, it makes me wonder why we bother to keep timings if he can’t.
“I’ve had a phone call,” he says, dropping a large file on the desk next to the conductor’s podium. “And it’s good news.”
“Oh?” Darren asks, side-eyeing me.
“You two are going on tour. For charity. The university is working with their charity partner, and they want you to do some concerts to raise money and awareness. They had booked in the drama department, but Samantha broke her leg, and it won’t be healed in time for her to get enough practice in. But you’re lucky I was there to hear the news—I volunteered you both. This will be a fantastic opportunity.”
“When is it?” I ask.
“I’m waiting for them to confirm the dates, but it’s likely going to be December. Festive shows. But I’ll send you the details closer to the time. Now, for today, we’re running through our set. I’m thinking Darren’s piece will be second, and then I want you, Kelly, to knock something together since this will be quite an event.”
I watch as Darren’s face falls.
“Can’t I write a second piece?” he asks.
“You can, but I won’t be using it,” Patrick says, putting his attention on the file, and flipping it open before rummaging around inside. “I think we’ll go for this. I’ve adapted ‘Tableaux de Provence’ to be played by the cello, instead of the piano—unless you’d prefer to play it on the piano, Kelly?”
I’ve been wondering how long he’s been waiting to ask me to flex to the piano. I’m a proficient pianist, but it doesn’t do it for me in the same way the cello does, so I tell Patrick I’ll stick with the cello.
We start with initial familiarisation. Patrick pulls out a laptop from his satchel and spins it around so Darren and I can see the screen. He hits play and we listen to a full run-through of the piece twice before grabbing some pencils to read through the score. I mark the paper, trying to gauge a feel for it, and Patrick offers some advice on how he thinks we should interpret some of the flow.
We spend a full two hours on this before we even play a note—classic Patrick. And then he calls it a day, giving us homework to chunk out sections for next week.
I feel completely exhausted by the time I get home, and considering I didn’t have a full eight hours last night, I’m ready to fall into bed for a nap, except I don’t have the option because I’m greeted by a bouncing Marie as soon as the front door closes behind me.
“I won tickets!” she says, waving her phone in my face.
“To what?”
“The ice hockey. At least I think it’s the ice hockey—Jake entered a competition on the radio and won four tickets, but he can’t go.”
Jake, Marie’s boyfriend, is now officially off my Christmas card list.
I take her phone and glance at the screen before nodding. “Yeah, it’s ice hockey.”
“Is this your brother’s team?”
“Yeah.”
“And her boyfriend’s team!” Tom shouts from the living room. His head pops around the door frame and I glare at him.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say.
“Oh, is that why he was leaving in the early hours this morning?”
“What? Who are you seeing, Kel?” Marie asks.
