Despite The Holborn Conservatory being a music school, I spent most of the first day talking. Or rather, avoiding talking. The teachers set up a series of ice-breakers for the old students as well as the new, and I tried to stay as quiet as possible without being out-and-out antisocial. When someone asked about my background, I could hardly explain I'd spent fifteen years living in the jungle, could I?
By the end of the day, I was exhausted, but I needed to fit in some practice before I left. I'd skipped too many sessions in the last month, and according to my timetable, I had a private piano lesson tomorrow at nine. My new teacher wouldn't be impressed if I forgot where middle C was.
"You need a hand?"
A sandy-haired guy strode towards me, smiling, as I studied the map given to all the newcomers. I recognised him from the introductions earlier, but I struggled to remember his name.
"Uh, that would be good. I'm not sure I've even got this the right way up, er..."
"Jude. Jude Radley. You're Akari, right?"
Great. Now I felt even worse for forgetting his name, although I recalled his accent. British, a little upper-class like Hugh Grant.
"Yes, that's right."
He took the map out of my hands and rotated it ninety degrees. "Now, where are you trying to go?"
"I need to find a practice room."
"The closest ones are here." He pointed at a spot just along the corridor. "But I'd recommend the two on the second floor. The acoustics are better. You want me to show you where they are?"
"That would be very kind of you."
He set off along the hallway, pausing for me to catch up at the corner. His legs were far longer than mine. At five feet four, most men towered above me.
"We barely got a chance to speak earlier," he said as we waited for the elevator. "You're a piano major?"
"I've never learned to play anything else. How about you?"
"Strings. Cello mainly, but I also play the double bass. I always thought piano would be tough, having to play on your own all the time. At least in an orchestra, it doesn't show up so much if you make a mistake."
"I hate to make mistakes."
Which was why I needed to practise.
He laughed cheerfully as we stepped into the elevator. "Avoiding mistakes is impossible. I found life's much easier if I accept them and move on."
If only it were that easy. When I was thirteen, Okasan told me not to go out alone, but I thought I knew better. A need to buy the latest magazine led to kidnap, rape, and imprisonment. How the hell did I move on from a mistake like that?
"I'd still rather get things right."
Jude laughed again then led me halfway along a wide corridor, stopping at a door on the right.
"Here you go. Have fun."
He backed away with a wink, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a Steinway grand.
As I settled down on the padded seat in my new school, in a new city, in a new country, the realisation struck me that I was looking forward to life, my new life, for the first time in two years.
There was only one thing missing.
"Wish you were here, C," I whispered to the photo of Hisashi's father that I'd drawn out of my purse and placed on the edge of the piano. It wasn't a great picture—a surveillance shot taken from afar by a man who gifted it to me later—but it was the only one I had.
Of course there was no answer, but when I looked out of the window at the twinkling stars, I fancied one of them shone a little brighter that night.
My fingers ached at the end of my first lesson in Boston. I'd always thought Nomura-sensei was a tough teacher, but Dr. Vasilyevich made him seem like a holiday rep.
"You're rushing through the middle. The music has to speak to your audience, and at the moment, your playing says one-night stand rather than a love affair."
Never having experienced the former, I had to take his word for it as I raised my tired wrists to the keys once more. Four more run-throughs, and he finally pronounced me done.
"You have a lot to learn, young lady," he said as I pushed the stool back.
I tried to inject some enthusiasm into my voice, but the session had left me drained.
"I look forward to it."
And that was only the start. My busy timetable scarcely left me time to breathe, and it wasn't just full of music, either. The fellows at Holborn believed in a rounded education, so after lunch I had a lecture on English literature followed by a health seminar. And all students were supposed to choose an option from yoga, Pilates, or dance and stick with it. I decided I was least likely to make a fool of myself doing yoga, so I signed up for a class each Thursday afternoon. That would also mean buying more clothes—no skimpy vests for me. I'd need sporty long-sleeved tops and full-length yoga pants.
Between my applied music lessons, the aural training, keyboard studies, music theory, and a sonata class, I could barely keep my eyes open on Friday evening. And next Monday, I'd be assigned to a three-piece mixed ensemble and expected to practise for that as well.
Tempting though it was to stagger out to the car and go home, I turned instead towards the waiting piano. Only four weeks and one day left until my Fazioli arrived and I could play in the sanctuary of my apartment. Sofia had sent me a photo of Hisashi and her watching cartoons an hour ago, so at least somebody was having fun. I never realised following my dream would be such hard work, but the amount I'd learned in five long days surpassed a month of my solo lessons.
The corridors lay silent as I climbed the stairs to the second floor. The elevator would have been faster, but I hadn't been getting enough exercise lately. Perhaps I should take a walk to the park on the weekend? Although I'd have to call Blackwood if I did so, because if Emmy found I'd gone alone, I'd be in for a tongue-lashing, and I could hardly ask Sofia to come with me on one of her days off.
A faint green glow illuminated each light switch, and I flicked them on as I went. Maybe it wasn't so kind to the environment, but darkness gave me the creeps. For the first year I was held prisoner, my captors threw me into a dark cellar when they were done with me each day, and even now I hated the pitch black. Hisashi wasn't the only one with a nightlight in our little household.
Breathe, Akari. In Boston, I was safe. I just had to keep reminding myself of that fact.
In the practice room, I drew the sheet music I needed to learn out of my bag and propped it up on the piano. While Vivaldi wasn't new to me, he'd never been one of my favourite composers, and after a couple of run-throughs, my attention wandered and I started to play a rock song I'd heard on the car radio in the morning. Oh, what the hell, there was nobody else around, so I began singing too. I could hold a tune, but my version of "One Vision" wasn't a patch on Freddie Mercury's.
I'd got halfway through the second verse when a shadow flitted across the doorway. My fingers played on for a few bars of their own accord then stopped, frozen in mid-air. Who was out there? I paused, listening carefully, but there were no footsteps and no voices. Had I imagined things?
A faint squeak sent a jolt of electricity down my spine. Someone was there. Or something. My brother used to read me horror stories when I was a little girl, and although I'd always been careful not to show how scared I was, the child in me still believed in monsters under the bed.
Just breathe.
A weapon. I needed a weapon. The nearest heavy object was a slender glass vase from a nearby side-table, and I hefted it in my hands as I crept over to the open door. Surely it couldn't be that valuable?
I held my breath as I peered around the edge of the doorframe, and then... I relaxed. At the far end of the corridor, a janitor pushed a broom back and forth, and another soft squeak escaped from his rubber-soled shoes.
He looked up as I stared at him, then his gaze dropped to the vase I held.
"Is everything all right, miss?"
I struggled to work out his age since a thick beard hid half of his face, but he sounded younger than I'd first assumed.
"Yes, everything's fine. You just took me by surprise. I thought I was on my own."
He stepped forward, and as he passed under a light, I got a better look at him. Light brown hair curled over the collar of a pair of grey coveralls, reaching his shoulders. When he got within touching distance, I read the name embroidered on the pocket. Lincoln. The material itself stretched over a muscular chest, but that wasn't what made my breath hitch as I looked up. His eyes drew me in, two dark brown pools that whispered of more secrets than a Mexican cenote. I struggled to tear myself away, only able to inhale again when my gaze fixed on the tiled floor. The floor was safe. The floor didn't know what I was thinking.
"I drew the late shift today. I'll try not to disturb you," he said, his voice steady.
"You weren't. I was just... I'm not used to being alone."
Why did I tell him that? I couldn't even admit my insecurities to my own family.
"We all get jumpy sometimes." He shifted his broom to the other hand and made to move past me. "Nice music, by the way."
"You're a fan of Vivaldi?"
He threw me a glance over his shoulder.
"I was talking about Queen."