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

the weeks of rehearsing it. All the pain in the music about partings, about making yourself say goodbye, about recognizing the space that exists between you and someone you were once close to, got me right in my chest. I didn’t sing it with a sob in my voice like Patsy Cline does, but I felt myself choking up. I was making a sad song even sadder. When I finished, there was hardly more than a ripple of applause, more a stunned silence, though whether this was because people were moved or appalled or embarrassed I didn’t want to think.

I got up and strapped on my banjo, Joakim picked up his fiddle and I instructed the crowd that it was time for people to start dancing. We began playing ‘Nashville Blues’, the first song we had ever played as a group, and instantly I could feel a whoosh of relief in the room, and there was a rush onto the dance-floor, if only because there was a mass attempt to pretend that the previous five minutes hadn’t happened. It’s a song that depends on handing the tune between the banjo, the guitar and the fiddle in a sort of friendly competition, and once we saw how people were responding, we extended it, like badminton players keeping a shuttlecock in the air. At one point I looked across at Neal and he grinned at me. Even Amos seemed a bit more lively. For just a moment I had a feeling of what it was meant to be like, of what really good music could do for you, the wounds it could heal, the suggestion it could give of something better. I knew that we weren’t playing really good music—or, at least, we weren’t playing all that well—but we were doing OK and we were doing it together.

The unity that music gave us was an illusion. I’d lied to Amos. In a different way I’d lied to Neal. Guy felt I’d helped to lead his son astray. What about Joakim? Had I led him astray? And then there were the people who weren’t there, the spaces and absences, the faces I would never see again.

But the crowd didn’t seem to mind, and when we came to a messy close, there was not just applause but cheers and whistles and whoops. We went into another, even more raucous, instrumental and the dancing became positively tumultuous. Then we played a rare happy Hank Williams song that you can dance to, and we finished with another Patsy Cline song, but a happy one. Except it wasn’t the end. When we finished and thanked the audience, Jed leaped up on stage, grabbed the microphone and boisterously asked everyone whether they wanted any more. It turned out that they did. We didn’t have any more so we just did ‘Nashville Blues’ again, but went on for longer, and some of the crowd even started making some strange attempt at a bluegrass dance. When we finished there was a roar of acclamation. We had discovered one of the secrets of life, which is to make people think you’re better than you really are.

As I stepped down from the stage, Danielle appeared in front of me and threw her arms around me. Her hair smelled of roses. ‘You did a wonderful thing for me,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

What would I have given to go back in time and for her not to ask me? Or for her to ask me and for me to say no? Anything. Everything. ‘You’re welcome,’ I said.

I went over to the bar. I was trembling and needed another drink to calm me down. I would have liked vodka or whisky but there was only champagne. It was so stingy and bubbly that it was hard for me to drink it as quickly as I needed to. It took me several gulps to drain the glass.

‘That was very good,’ said a voice beside me.

I turned to look, and the face was so unexpected and out of context that at first I didn’t recognize it. Then I did. It was Joy Wallis. The detective.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I wanted to talk to you,’ she said, ‘and, although it’s unorthodox I know, I thought it would be fun to see you at work. And it was.’

‘Thank you.’

‘What actually is a jambalaya?’ she said.

‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I only played the song. It’s something you do on the bayou.’

‘Is it something you eat?’ said Joy. ‘Or something you dance to?’

‘I thought it was something you go to. Like a party.’

Joy looked around. ‘Is this a sort of jambalaya?’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘What did you want to ask me?’

‘Not ask you,’ said Joy. ‘Tell you. I felt a bit guilty. Maybe we were a bit hard on you.’

‘I’m just sorry I couldn’t be more help,’ I said. ‘How’s it going?’

‘It’s not really going. I’m moving on to a different inquiry.’

‘I noticed all the media attention had died away. How quickly stories cease to matter. Is it being wound up?’

‘Murder inquiries are never wound up,’ said Joy. ‘Scaled down a bit. I think the boss is starting to think that a drugs deal went wrong somewhere. The car left in the airport, the mysterious woman who drove it there. Your friend knew some unpleasant people. And he was a bit careless with money.’

‘That’s true,’ I said. I was about to say goodbye when I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked round. It was Liza, dressed in a very red, very short dress, with lipstick to match. ‘You’re back,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know.’

She gave me a hug. ‘I was always going to be back,’ she said. ‘I only just got here in time. I wasn’t going to miss seeing you. That was fantastic. I can’t believe you got that all together. I heard what happened to your musician. What a terrible, terrible thing.’

‘Yes,’ I said, willing her to shut up.

‘You have to tell me all about it.’

‘Another