Page 25 of Best Mistake Ever
‘Yeah, well, it is what it is. Tessa, my ex, tried to push me to stay in the profession – it’s what first attracted her to me I think; she’s always been a music groupie – but it got to the point where it was making me miserable, so I quit. I was in a bad place for a while after that, so I wasn’t a lot of fun to be around. It was one of the things – probably the main thing – that made her leave me. I wasn’t so interesting when I wasn’t a musician any more, just a depressed hotelier.’
She’s looking at me intently and I’m suddenly aware that I’m in “too much information” territory.
‘So tell me more about your sister. What does she do for a living?’ I ask, to change the subject.
She starts and her expression suddenly becomes wary again.
Ah hell, I’m making a real fucking mess of this conversation. My professionalism seems to have gone out of the window since I saw her sing.
But before I can retract the question and suggest we both get back to work, she says, ‘She’s started a company with her best friend. They’re making business software.’
‘Oh. Right. That sounds, er, profitable.’ I know fuck all about business software but I’m guessing anything in computing can bring in a good wage.
‘It could be, if they manage to get the VC funding for it so it can get off the ground. It’s tough going because there’s a lot less money floating around for tech startups now, but they’re both dedicated to making it work.’
‘Right. Sounds stressful.’
She nods. ‘It is. But she’s pretty determined to make it succeed.’
‘So determination runs in the family then?’ I say with one eyebrow raised.
But she doesn’t smile at that. ‘When you have a father like ours, you don’t really have a choice.’
‘You don’t get on with him?’
‘Um. I do. Sometimes. But he’s tough to please. Bea’s always found it easier to get on with him. She’s very focused, resilient and hard-working.’
‘She sounds like a laugh a minute,’ I say, laying on the irony.
But instead of smiling, she just blinks at me like I’ve personally insulted her.
‘She just wants to be successful.’ The sting of reproach in her voice makes me realise I’ve stepped over an invisible sibling-loyalty line. I admire her allegiance to her sister though. They’re lucky to be that close. I barely ever speak to my brother now. We don’t have a lot in common – never have.
It must occur to her that she’s being a bit snippy with her boss because she clears her throat, gives me a perfunctory smile, and goes to stand up. ‘I’d better get on with my job,’ she says.
‘Er, okay. Sure,’ I say, giving her a nod when she turns back to look at me, perhaps checking that everything is still okay between us.
I watch her walk stiffly away, out of the library door, my heart sinking. I was actually having a good time, sitting and chatting with her. Getting to know her a bit better. I find I want to do it some more. Now we’re getting into a better rhythm of working together, it’s becoming increasingly easier to talk to her, which is a relief after our rocky start. I’m actually kind of surprised how much more I’m connecting with her now. There’s something about her that invites confidences: an emotional intelligence I’ve not given her credit for. But she also seems to be much more professionally reserved around me now, after that talking-to I gave her about her job being in jeopardy. I’m craving to seethe flirty, jokey Dee that I met when she first came here again though.
Perhaps I’ve been a bit too tough on her.
I should probably try and lighten things up between us.
Standing up, I nod to a few people who turn to smile at me as I make my way out of the library. There’s such a great, positive atmosphere here at the moment and I’m going to be sad to lose it when the festival wraps up.
I make my way back to my house and let myself in, feeling the quiet press in on me. It’s so different here compared to the party-like atmosphere in the big house. My skin itches with the urge to go back and re-integrate myself into the throng of people.
I feel cut off here, adrift. Alone.
Looking around, I notice for the first time in a while how dusty and oppressive it is in here. I’ve not done a thing to it since Tessa left. Perhaps it’s time for a lick of paint.
Flopping onto the leather sofa, I let out a sigh and stretch my arms above my head, feeling my muscles scream in protest at how stiff I am at the moment. I need to do something to release this stress and tension that’s bubbling beneath my skin.
My gaze alights on my guitar that’s been propped in the corner of the room for the last year, taunting me. I’ve not been able to either put it away, or play it up till now. But suddenly, my fingers are itching to touch the strings again.
Levering myself up from the sofa, I go and grab it, sitting down to wipe off a thin layer of dust with the bottom of my shirt. The wood gleams softly in the fading light from the window.
It’s such a beautiful instrument and it’s a travesty for it to be sitting, unloved, in my living room. I can almost feel it crying out to be strummed.
