CHINESE WHISPERS
"I read in Heat that she shagged loads of boys and doesn't even know who the father is."
Jal shoved past the girl, purposefully making sure she noticed Jal had heard.
"Fucking slut."
The girl knocked into Jal hard as she spoke, ensuring that Jal fell onto her knees, her papers flying across the floor. Jal gasped as her left palm split open on the sharp edge of the music stand, a thin trickle of blood dropping down her wrist from her hand. Nobody stopped to help her: they were all reading magazines and tabloids which had pictures and rumours about her and her family spread across the front. Jal winced as she flexed her hand, trying to convince herself that the girl hadn't just pushed her over on purpose. She couldn't believe that this idiot who had no idea who Jal really was could call her a slut, especially as Jal had always been adamant she wouldn't mess around with just anyone for no reason but fun. She breathed in deeply, trying to stop her anger from reaching boiling point. The old Jal wouldn't wait one moment to defend herself and give the bitch what she deserved, but now she had to remind herself that she couldn't get into trouble. And anyway, it wouldn't do anyone any good to have a slanging match in the middle of the concert hall stage.
She dragged herself to her feet and gathered up her sheets, dropping them frustratedly onto the music stand. It was skewed over from where her hand had crashed into it, and Jal spent ages trying to adjust it back to normal; she must have looked ridiculous trying to grip the stand with her cut hand, wincing loudly as the pain ripped through. Jal could tell everyone was watching her, bitching about her, laughing at her. She thought that maybe at such a prestigious arts college people would be at least slightly more polite, but it seemed that posh fuckwits were exactly the same as normal ones. They judged just as much as everyone else, only it was worse because they actually believed that they (and mummy and daddy) were superior. Finally, the stand fixed, she stood ready behind the stand as the other students jumped off the stage, giggling and whispering about her, even though the conductor had just entered to start the concert rehearsal. Jal almost felt like crying, but she knew that there were more important things to waste her tears on than these wankers. At least because she had been called to rehearse first, she could get it over with and go home to Jonah if she did well enough. It was the first time she had gotten up in front of the other students to play, but she had to attend this recital. Before Christmas, Jal avoided playing her clarinet where it would draw attention to her, only practising in her room or during her private lessons with teachers.
Everyone glared at her from the auditorium seats. Jal could hear the whispers even up here, echoing off the wooden floor and the old Victorian walls. Jal could see the girl who pushed her over spreading rumours and dirty comments about her to the other students.
Shit! What was her problem?
Jal knew that everyone would gossip about her, but she didn't think it would be this bad. The worst part was that people didn't even know the whole story: some journalist had snapped her pushing Jonah's pram back in Bristol, knowing that Jal was Ronnie Fazer's secretive, goody two shoes daughter. The next day, an article splashed across the front page of The Sun revealed how Jalander Fazer, who had always distanced herself from her brothers' scene, had got knocked up just like the girls she seemed to avoid. From then onwards, everything had blown out of proportion and the story was literally everywhere. Jal was grateful that the press hadn't worked out where she was living yet, though several people from college had leaked rumours to the newspapers and there had been some photographers and journalists approaching her around university. Even though Ace and Lynton liked being in the tabloids and magazines, Jal had always made a point of not taking part, especially when she still had her braces on. Her father's appearances on TV promoting one of his artists' new albums didn't make anything better either. He acted as if nothing had happened, like Jal and Jonah didn't even exist. But the papers didn't know anything about Chris yet, or how he died and how ill Jonah had been less than three weeks ago. Jal was glad that Chris hadn't been dragged into the whole mess, but she couldn't help thinking that if everyone knew what had really happened they wouldn't be bitching about her so viciously and would perhaps treat her with a little bit more respect. Still, she didn't want to be pitied by anyone. Jal hated feeling looked down upon.
Jal brought her clarinet up to her lips. She stared at the music in front of her, which she knew she hadn't practised nearly as much she normally would for a performance. The Tale Ognenovski Concert for Clarinet No. 1 was absolutely brutal – it was one of the most difficult pieces she'd ever clapped eyes on – and no-one had played it before in a concert at the Royal College of Music. Talk about pressure. And Jal had to prove to the board that she deserved to be there, not to mention the other students. But the only way Jal could do it was to play: she had to play well; the best she'd ever played. How else could she get them off her back? Ignoring the rumours and the loud comments circulating around university everyday (which she was obviously intended to hear) wasn't working. She took a deep breath and began to play.
Fuck, the Ognenovski was hard!
Why the hell did she agree to play this?
Jal concentrated completely on the music, pushing all her bitter thoughts and the pain from her hand out of her head. There wasn't any space for anything other than the music anyway; the timing and the expression was so complicated it took up all of her brain power just to play it adequately, let alone outstandingly.
She could feel the gold locket cold against her warm skin as she battled through the piece, reminding her that even though Chris wasn't here anymore, it didn't mean that he wasn't with her. Jal had to stop herself from smiling – it would totally fuck up her recital if she did.
Thankfully, Jal wasn't playing the whole piece but a shortened arrangement, yet it was still around eighteen minutes long. Her new teacher could only extend his kindness to cut off eleven and a half minutes, but Jal's lungs were grateful for any time off right now. She felt like giving up then and there, but there were only a few more minutes to go, and she couldn't hear anymore whispering in the hall; Jal couldn't be sure, but hopefully her critics had finally shut up.
Xxx
Jal had been roped into tutoring someone for theory, who had apparently only just got into the college. She was miserable because she had been looking forward to getting a rare afternoon free to go home; sadly she called Dan to tell him and check that Jonah hadn't become unwell. He told her off for being paranoid, and despite Jal's protests, insisted on coming to see her in the concert that night. Sighing, she rounded the corner into the small classroom she'd been sent to. She froze as soon as she entered the boxy room, narrowing her eyes as she caught sight of the glossy blonde back-combed hair and the skin tight cashmere sweater.
"Shit, it's whores-R-us."
Jal glared at the girl furiously, slamming her books down on the wooden table. It was the bitch from the rehearsals. And now Jal had to spend an hour with her every week.
"Glad to meet you too. Failing theory, blockhead?"
The girl furrowed her brow, obviously shocked that Jal had finally spoken back to her.
"So you're Abigail?"
Jal glanced at her books, smirking as she read the girl's name off her files in thick, curly writing.
"I used to know someone called Abigail," Jal looked straight into her eyes, "complete dickhead. It must run in the name."
"It's rich coming from you, Jalander," Abigail stressed her full name, making Jal's skin crawl, "you've not exactly been the best behaved little girl ever, have you?"
Jal pulled the book open irritably, letting the heavy hardback cover crash against the old wooden table.
"You don't know anything about me."
"Everyone does."
"Do you really believe everything you read?"
"There must be some truth in it, otherwise no-one would care. You're like Z list."
"I prefer nonentity."
Abigail laughed for a second, not realising at first that Jal wasn't joking.
"So what's up with all this then, if it's not true? Do you not even have a kid?"
She spat the last word out like it was infectious, wanting to get rid of the plague.
"Yeah, I've got a baby boy."
Abigail seemed taken aback that she was so unashamed about it. It wasn't as if it was exactly a secret anyway.
"So where is he?"
"I've got a nanny."
"You can afford a nanny?"
"Savings. My dad wasn't exactly meaning me to spend it on nannies though."
"Oh."
They sat in silence for a while, leafing through the theory textbooks, Jal occasionally picking up on some of the harder notes and timings and going through the stuff that Abigail clearly didn't understand. She held her locket in her now bandaged hand, rubbing her fingers over the gold metal as she glanced up at the clock. She wasn't going to be able to go home before the concert. It was a good thing she had a dress just in case in her locker.
"What's in your necklace?"
"Nothing."
Jal instinctively brought her locket closer to her, raising Abigail's suspicions more. As soon as Jal looked down at the book again and relaxed her hand, Abigail snatched the locket quickly out of her hand and flicked it open before Jal could stop her.
"Who's this?"
Jal hesitated for a moment, but she knew if she didn't tell Abigail now, it would be forced out later, probably in a much less pleasant way.
"He's my boyfr...my baby's dad."
"I thought you didn't know who that was."
"Don't believe everything you read in Heat magazine." Jal reminded her, firmly taking her locket back, fastening it shut and lacing the thin gold chain around her neck so Abigail couldn't snatch it again.
"Right. So, where is he?" Abigail noticed Jal's awkwardness and the slightly higher pitch of her voice, "Did he dump you when he found out?"
"No."
"So where..."
"He died."
That shut her up. They spent the next thirty minutes of the lesson Abigail reading through her textbook embarrassed and Jal tuning up her clarinet and practising scales for the concert. It wasn't until Jal was finally alone that she vented her frustration, hitting her bandaged hand against the table.
"Fuck! Why the hell did I tell her about Chris?"
Xxx
The January concert was about to begin. Maxxie had promised to come and see her and they were going to order a pizza afterwards at her new flat. Jal hadn't even heard from her dad or brothers for nearly two weeks; she assumed they were too busy promoting the new album. The only news from them she'd heard was that Lynton had started going out with the singer – which they left Jal to discover in the tabloids anyway. They'd made it clear that they wanted nothing to do with her since this scandal broke out. She bet Ronnie wasn't pleased that the girl was bedding his son rather than him. Jal doubted any of them would bother to call her to wish her luck, even though her dad had banged on about the concert as a reason to get rid of Jonah.
Dan entered the auditorium, with a firm grip around the handle of Jonah in his baby carrier. Jal ran over to them as soon as she saw him, conscious that if the other students caught sight of them, all hell would break loose, especially if they saw the fading scars of Jonah's stitches. They were barely visible anymore, but Jal was paranoid they would get noticed and she would be blamed for some terrible act of child cruelty. She didn't need any more enemies.
"Dan! You can't bring him here."
"Hey, why not?"
"Because, well..." Jal scrabbled for an excuse which didn't make her seem overly unreasonable, "the music will be too loud. I don't want him getting ill again."
Dan put Jonah and his carrier down on the seat beside him, and made Jal sit down next to the two of them.
"Jal, it will be fine. It'll be nice for him to hear his mum play anyway."
"I play to him!"
"Twinkle Twinkle Little Star twelve times a day can get pretty boring, mate."
Jal smiled at Dan. He had become more of a friend in the past few days than she thought he would. He was great with Jonah – it made her feel guilty that she had initially ridiculed him for being a male nanny.
"Fine. But don't let any of those students get near him. They're vicious."
"Ahh, so that's what's bothering you," Dan slipped Jonah out of the carrier easily, even though it seemed to take Jal forever to just get the first strap undone, "Scared of rumours?"
Jal took Jonah from him, smiling as her baby's fingers wrapped around hers. She could tell he was beginning to put weight back on, finally.
"No," Jal glanced around the hall, noticing that she was definitely being watched by hundreds of eyes, "I'm just wary."
"Mmm hmm..."
Dan raised his eyebrow, twisting his face into an entirely comedic expression. He seemed to have a face of rubber, able to manipulate it into any shape he wanted. Dan could always cheer anybody up. It was something he was always able to do, ever since he was tiny.
Jal passed Jonah back to Dan as she was motioned to by the conductor to come backstage. Seeing all her fellow students gawping at them, who had gossiped and bitched about her, she bent over boldly and left a loud kiss on Jonah's forehead, and then on Dan's cheek.
"Wish me luck, Danny boy."
Grinning her face off, Jal flounced over to the conductor, relishing all of the students' gobsmacked faces as she strode past them.
Xxx
Jal was the last to perform.
She watched as the group who was onstage before her, a cello quintet, stood for their applause. Her heart was beating fast and her clarinet was shaking in her hands. Fuck, she'd played bigger gigs than this, played for harsher critics, had even played when she had the flu at a competition. And she'd won. Surely this would go smoothly; she just had to concentrate solely on Ognenovski's Concerto. If she didn't...
Jal held her locket in her right hand, and flipped it open to look inside. Strangely, it made her feel more confident. She gazed at the photo of Chris for a moment before reading his message over and over again.
Yeses are good.
Jal was jolted back to reality as the five cellists passed her, making their way off-stage. She fiddled hastily with the locket, trying to do it up around her neck, still holding her clarinet in her right hand. The head was announcing her name, her cue to come on, but Jal was still battling with the locket right up until the last minute. Finally, blowing hair out of her face, she stepped up to the music stand. The lights weren't so bright here and she could see the audience. Generally, she preferred it when she couldn't; there seemed to be less pressure somehow when she wasn't constantly reminded that she wasn't the only one who could hear her music.
For a second, she was distracted by the large wooden doors at the back of the hall opening, and Jal gulped as she saw who was entering the room. She didn't expect her dad to turn up – Jal wasn't even aware he cared that she was playing now she hadn't let him send away Jonah.
She lifted her clarinet to her lips and started her piece, trying not to focus on Ronnie. She forced herself to stare at the sheet music, and thankfully, even though the notes seemed to swim around her head, her fingers knew what she was supposed to be doing. Jal reasoned it must be because she'd practised too much. She thought of Chris and how he'd been the only of her friends ever to just sit with her and listen to her play, even he was only pretending to. It jerked her back to normality, and magically the music made sense again. It was a good thing, because the concerto was getting increasingly harder.
Sixteen minutes later Jal had reached the final few bars of the music; as she played the last few notes, she glanced into the audience, and she could see Maxxie, Dan and Jonah in the audience. She didn't bother trying to find her dad.
The last few notes finished, a wide smile spread across Jal's face for the first time for months. She had done it, and there had only been a few minor mistakes, which only the most trained player would ever recognise. It felt great, hearing applause again. Jal had never acknowledged herself as an attention seeker, but she liked the buzz she got when she'd nailed a piece and it seemed like no matter what anybody did or said, they couldn't take her music away from her. Nothing could take that moment of pure pride away, and Jal couldn't believe she had managed to nail the Ognenovski. She took her bow and left the stage, smiling as she thought of how she'd managed to wind up the students earlier, and how she'd managed to control her temper around them. She kept smiling even though she knew she had to face her dad, and G-d knows who he had brought with him.