its white couch and glass coffee table that was super-annoying because it was forever collecting dust. There was a waist-high white cupboard along the side wall with sleek doors that had little chrome knobs. The top of the cupboard was empty except for a vase with a couple of wriggly willow twigs. The table was empty. There were no cushions on the couch. Last year, she and Tom had been to New York, but they had brought no souvenirs. There was no cushion collection, no tottering piles of music, no books. No cat.
Whenever she left something, a book or a piece of clothing, on the couch or the table, Tom would put it away. Little bits of junk, scraps of personality, he put all of it in the cupboards. She had an unsettling thought: this apartment could catch fire and apart from her cello, she wouldn't miss anything, because there was nothing in here to miss.
It was quite hot and by the time she had gotten off the bus and lugged her cello to Darren's house, she was sweating in her summery dress.
The sound of voices and a woman's laughter drifted through the open window. When she dropped the lion's head knocker on the door, footsteps sounded in the hall. A moment later, a young Asian man with a vaguely familiar face opened the door.
"Oh, hi. I'm Justine. I'm here for the rehearsal."
"Come in. We were just about to start. I'm Trevor, by the way."
She remembered him then. "Trevor Leung? You play the violin, right?"
"Yes, and you're Justine Feldman. I remember you from that concert. We all wondered what happened to you. And here you are, back again."
Well, that was embarrassing. While she'd been away, she had turned into a celebrity.
Darren was at the kitchen bench and a young woman with blond hair sat on the couch scratching behind the ears of Beethoven the cat. A small instrument case lay next to her, the shape and size of an oboe case.
She looked over her shoulder when Justine came down the steps, being careful not to trip with her cello case.
Darren exclaimed, "Justine! I'm glad you made it. What did you tell them at work?"
Justine cringed. She'd forgotten that she told him that she'd be busy at work. She'd told everyone so many lies, it was hard to keep everything straight.
Why was she even lying?
Because I'm scared of what will happen when I don't .
She said to Darren, "It turned out that we were not so busy after all."
"That's good. This is our ensemble. You've already met Trevor, and this is Charlotte Stephenson."
"Oboe," Justine said.
The woman smiled and gestured at her case. "How did you guess?"
Justine sat down on a chair Darren brought from the dining table. He gave out the parts and brought music stands, of which there seemed to be an endless supply in the next room.
Then they started playing.
He had been right, the parts weren't hard. They were excerpts from famous classical works and film music, all the popular tunes that people liked hearing.
They worked through all the pieces at least once. It was fun and sounded good.
"That was a really great rehearsal," Charlotte said when they were all packing up.
"Yes, I think Justine fits right in," Trevor said. "We could use her more often."
"Are you a regular feature?" Justine asked.
"Yes," Darren said. "We call ourselves Bows & Whistles and we play this sort of music at weddings and other functions and in shopping centres and places like that."
Justine had to laugh at the group's name. "Am I replacing someone?"
"We had a cellist a few months back, but he left because he got a scholarship in Europe. We'd been making do without him, because we need someone who is not only good enough but someone who works well in the group." Darren's eyes met hers. "So I'm really glad that you could come, because I think it will be great having you with us."
"I agree," Trevor said.
Darren let everyone know the arrangements for the concert which would be held the next day in some hotel in the city.
Then Charlotte rose. "I have to go home now, because I really have to
Whenever she left something, a book or a piece of clothing, on the couch or the table, Tom would put it away. Little bits of junk, scraps of personality, he put all of it in the cupboards. She had an unsettling thought: this apartment could catch fire and apart from her cello, she wouldn't miss anything, because there was nothing in here to miss.
It was quite hot and by the time she had gotten off the bus and lugged her cello to Darren's house, she was sweating in her summery dress.
The sound of voices and a woman's laughter drifted through the open window. When she dropped the lion's head knocker on the door, footsteps sounded in the hall. A moment later, a young Asian man with a vaguely familiar face opened the door.
"Oh, hi. I'm Justine. I'm here for the rehearsal."
"Come in. We were just about to start. I'm Trevor, by the way."
She remembered him then. "Trevor Leung? You play the violin, right?"
"Yes, and you're Justine Feldman. I remember you from that concert. We all wondered what happened to you. And here you are, back again."
Well, that was embarrassing. While she'd been away, she had turned into a celebrity.
Darren was at the kitchen bench and a young woman with blond hair sat on the couch scratching behind the ears of Beethoven the cat. A small instrument case lay next to her, the shape and size of an oboe case.
She looked over her shoulder when Justine came down the steps, being careful not to trip with her cello case.
Darren exclaimed, "Justine! I'm glad you made it. What did you tell them at work?"
Justine cringed. She'd forgotten that she told him that she'd be busy at work. She'd told everyone so many lies, it was hard to keep everything straight.
Why was she even lying?
Because I'm scared of what will happen when I don't .
She said to Darren, "It turned out that we were not so busy after all."
"That's good. This is our ensemble. You've already met Trevor, and this is Charlotte Stephenson."
"Oboe," Justine said.
The woman smiled and gestured at her case. "How did you guess?"
Justine sat down on a chair Darren brought from the dining table. He gave out the parts and brought music stands, of which there seemed to be an endless supply in the next room.
Then they started playing.
He had been right, the parts weren't hard. They were excerpts from famous classical works and film music, all the popular tunes that people liked hearing.
They worked through all the pieces at least once. It was fun and sounded good.
"That was a really great rehearsal," Charlotte said when they were all packing up.
"Yes, I think Justine fits right in," Trevor said. "We could use her more often."
"Are you a regular feature?" Justine asked.
"Yes," Darren said. "We call ourselves Bows & Whistles and we play this sort of music at weddings and other functions and in shopping centres and places like that."
Justine had to laugh at the group's name. "Am I replacing someone?"
"We had a cellist a few months back, but he left because he got a scholarship in Europe. We'd been making do without him, because we need someone who is not only good enough but someone who works well in the group." Darren's eyes met hers. "So I'm really glad that you could come, because I think it will be great having you with us."
"I agree," Trevor said.
Darren let everyone know the arrangements for the concert which would be held the next day in some hotel in the city.
Then Charlotte rose. "I have to go home now, because I really have to
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