The Other Side of the Door by Nicci French (13 ebook reader .TXT) 📗

I thought of our frayed sessions, the arguments and walk-outs, the unpredictable sounds we made. ‘Yes, we will,’ I said firmly.

‘Of course, I shouldn’t even ask. You’re a professional. How many sets—is that what you call it?—will you be playing?’

‘Just six or seven songs,’ I said.

‘Only six?’

‘Six is enough, Danielle, believe me.’

‘Well, you’re the boss.’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s lucky I bumped into you, actually. I was going to ring you to ask you something.’

‘Ask away.’

‘It’s about what you’ll be wearing.’

‘Wearing?’ I looked at her blankly.

‘Yes. When you play.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘For instance, will you all be wearing the same thing?’

‘Hang on, Danielle.’

‘I was thinking something hillbilly would be good. Loose cotton trousers and braces and hats. Or wouldn’t the women like that?’

‘What makes you think the men would?’

‘You don’t think it’s a good idea?’

‘No, I do not.’

‘Maybe something more romantic.’

‘Romantic?’

‘Long and drifty for the women—you could even wear flowers in your hair.’

‘My hair’s too short for flowers.’

‘And what about light summer suits and hats for the men. Trilbies. Or would that be incongruous? What do you think?’

‘You want to know?’

‘Of course.’

‘We’ve agreed to play at your wedding. We have not agreed to wear fancy dress.’

‘Oh. Well, just let me know in advance, will you?’

‘I want to make it quite clear, Danielle, that—’

‘Oh, God, is that the time? Must run! I’m so glad we had time for this chat.’

‘Bye,’ I said to her departing back, the bobbed hair that bounced cheerily as she walked away.

After

It was Joakim who organized the next rehearsal. I could barely face it but he badgered me. He rang me several times and in the end he said we either had to cancel the performance or get together. Which was it going to be? He talked about Hayden and said that the performance would be our tribute to him. It would be what he would have wanted. Part of me found that idea horribly comic. That was what people always said about the dead. They suddenly became an expert in what they ‘would have wanted’. I had to restrain myself from shouting down the phone at Joakim. Hayden had had no coherent sense of what he wanted even when he was alive. Now he was lying in a fridge in a morgue somewhere in God knew what condition. He didn’t exist any more. What did any of that matter? But I knew that this was my problem, not Joakim’s. He was so young, so hopeful. He still thought he could do something for Hayden. He thought that these gestures mattered. He was probably right. I just couldn’t see it any more.

Joakim actually rang the school and somehow persuaded the school caretaker, who never listened to anyone, to open up one of the rehearsal rooms. I thought there were rules about procedure and insurance that forbade such things but Joakim managed it. As we arrived, he even brought in a tray of coffee from the place across the road from the school. It almost made me cry. We sipped the coffee and then, nervously, as if we were doing it for the first time, picked up the instruments. Joakim coughed and said he had a couple of ideas. He pulled out a piece of paper on which he’d jotted a few chords. I quickly saw that what he’d done was to strip out some complications that would make ‘Nashville Blues’ easier to play without Hayden. It must have taken him hours. I made a couple of adjustments and then we started and, really, the result wasn’t all that terrible.

When Sonia sang ‘It Had To Be You’, we started to sound a bit better than not all that terrible. Her voice seemed bereft and world-weary, rather than as if she’d just got up.

An hour later we finished, and as people were gathering their stuff together, I saw that Sonia was huddled with Neal, murmuring something to him, and he was replying in an insistent tone, much louder than hers, although I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I glanced across at Guy and Amos. They weren’t paying attention. I joined Neal and Sonia.

‘What’s up?’ I said to Neal. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘I’ve had an idea.’

‘I don’t think I can cope with any more ideas.’

‘No. This is really important. It came to me like a bolt from the blue. I can’t imagine why it didn’t occur to us before.’

‘Are you talking a bit loudly?’

‘I was thinking about you feeling guilty, and wondering whether we should go to the police.’

‘This really isn’t the place to talk about it. How are you getting home?’

‘I’ve got the car.’

‘We’ll come with you,’ I said.

‘I can’t,’ said Sonia. ‘I’m going out with Amos.’

‘Make an excuse,’ I said.

Sonia leaned in close to me and spoke in a whisper: ‘We can’t keep going off as a trio,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t look right.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘But we need to hear what Neal has to say.’

‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll join you outside. This had better be good, Neal.’

Neal and I waited in his car until Sonia came out and sat in the back seat.

‘What did you tell Amos?’ I asked.

‘You don’t need to know. It’s OK, though.’

‘I just wondered if he was suspicious.’

‘I told him it was important and he had to trust me.’

‘What’s up?’ I asked Neal. ‘Was it the police?’

‘No, don’t worry. It wasn’t the police. I was completely effective with them. I didn’t say anything harmful to us. I didn’t say anything that might actually help them to solve the murder, though. Which was what made me think.’

‘Think what?’

‘Hang on. I’ll take this short-cut. Let’s wait till we get home. We need paper.’

‘What?’

‘Paper. And pens.’

‘Are we going to play a game?’ said Sonia, ominously. ‘A parlour game?’

Neal pulled up outside his house and got out, unlocked the front door and pushed it open. We walked in after him. Sonia made coffee, and when she eventually sat down it was as if we were beginning a meeting.

‘Well?’ I said.

‘I’ve been thinking,’