Joe and friends had, as schools do, formed a small out-of-hours rock band, with faces painted and a gig now and again in a pub or even once in a coffee shop staying open after closing time. He played guitar and practiced non-stop till even his indulgent parents called time. Music he told himself was more important than his girlfriend. He told Millie, and she agreed, with some regret in her voice. When they all left school, Joe went on to the music college far away in London. But the band stayed on, and what’s more Millie stepped in to take Joe’s place, joining the drummer and three other guitarists. She was very background, at first, until she came forward. She sang and played around with her slim body in a form of erotic dancing – so far as the microphone lead would allow her. As she grew in confidence she could add the piccolo to her talents, her favourite instrument she said as the instrument had a feminine voice! When Joe came home in the holidays he joined in and was himself background with a guitar. He watched that lithe body dancing and wondered if she was still his She always said so.
After 3 years, when they were only intermittently together – holidays, very, very occasional weekends because her work demanded shifts as an assistant nurse – Joe went to a Paris Conservatoire for a couple of years. So, they parted….
He also parted from his parents. They had both sung in the church choir, which had not impressed Joe much. In fact, he never knew whether they went to church for God of for singing. His father drove a tractor on a farm, and his mother ran a sewing group which sold aprons and blouses at summer fairs in the local villages. They had never travelled to a big city apart from London on two occasions.
Joe’s music taste changed in Paris. He followed the standard expectations to soar above the common pop, and he clamoured for classy classical music Though he stuck to string instruments, he moved more towards composing. Before he left Paris, he had achieved a cello concerto, for which he played solo in an end-of-season performance. His parents travelled all the way abroad to hear him. By the time he then returned, he had learned good-enough French, and had imbibed a world of art and music that took him beyond the barbed-wire boundaries of his humble background.
Millie was by then more like backdrop. She scrubbed multiple bedpans and changed soiled sheets on an endless basis. But knew of course she was a key cogwheel in the health of so many who passed through the wards of the hospital in their neighbouring market town. Not only geography but culture separated them by a great distance. Their letters and texts had faded to a limited trickle. Until he came home. They had each kept an ineradicable place in their hearts, though hardly well-dusted and enjoyed, and not divulged to each other.
When they met, the day after he arrived back at his parents, Millie’s mind felt like a twanging chorus of guitar vibrations that surprisingly rang through her unsuspecting bones, just as if she had seen him yesterday at the school entrance. And he was knocked over by the presence of the still slim body waiting as he came forward from the carpark to touch her. Not that erotic beckoning from the stage with a microphone, but a clutch of his heart strings as a symphonic cord he might have written for his mentor at the conservatoire. Not a love at first sight, but at second sight. And thus, doubly multiplied. They listened to deafening astral music together and his hand touch her cheek. It was a display of his questing permission to seek possession of her and seeking to belong to her. Just there in her humming presence with shocked surprise, it seemed music had become a material substance. It complimented her lythe presence.
They hesitated and then in unison moved closer together, her frail frame locking into his broad physique. Her higher pitch folding into the softer cello rumble of his gruff chuckles. They met across the distances. She felt a moisture in her eyes; and he felt a powered push in his stomach heading towards his groin. They were physical sensations, and sublime echoes bouncing off of each other. Their arms like maritime hawsers drawing in their hearts to some irresistible union. They neither wished to resist it.
“Nice, you could get back to meet,” she said with a helplessly banal note.
“Got to see you again, haven’t I? For old-time’s sake.” Words did not do it in that moment. So, she hummed an old tune from their band, a tune he had composed early on. He joined in, stamping the drum rhythm with his foot. Neither knew what came next, after the greeting. Should they go their own diverse ways? Or live inseparably for ever?
Joe, in his smart suit, sighed, “May I kiss you?”
Millie pulled her head back to look into his eyes, unsure whether to say something amusing as if pretending to be shocked by his cheekiness. But then plunged her mouth passionately onto his, her cheap cotton dress riding up as she stretched herself against him. His arms slowly clutched her tighter and tighter till she felt she would slip between his ribs, and a jangle of guitar strings in her head sang like birds across the clear blue sky. His head told him to jot down chords, golden pitched chords in a harmonic sequence. But this sudden emphatic embrace spoke to him elsewhere in his body that it was the most important thing in the world for him, for her and perhaps it seemed for everyone.
But inevitably, this music of their bodies, of their harmonising skins, could not but push everything else away. Nothing, nothing whatever, should let this moment end. Two now-serious young adults building a solo for two, each winging the strings of the other.
When the kiss eventually subsided a little, he said, “Are we in love again?”
“Perhaps we have never lost it, wherever you’ve been, Joe.” And he murmured a possible agreement.
“Well, I had been meaning to go on and see the old Gramps, but I won’t do that now. What shall we do?”
“Be together,” she advised, and then chuckled.
“Could do,” he said, joining the chuckle.
She stepped back gazing at him, but said, “Got to go to a rehearsal. Then a gig. At the Black Horse.”
“I’ll be there,” he promised as she walked away. He looked at her slender retreating back. It appeared as a plume of soft melody sounding with the rhythmic thrumming of her step. After about twenty yards, she looked back at him. His body swelled with attentive desire. And so did hers. Their hearts reached together and fused. The high clouds shone in the sun with a harmony that rang true to their mood.
After their baby was born, some year and half later, there was a question whether she would go back to the band and keep organising their infrequent tours He offered to replace her on guitar – although, not her erotic dancing. The band all guffawed at that. But the time seemed right now for the disbanding after seven or eight years. So, Joe and Millie thought they had lost their musical minds in exchange for a baby. Not a bad swap of course, all in all.
But then, it changed more than their musical habits. Joe went on and went ahead with his composing. Millie and her bass-guitar parted company, as the elegant unused thing hung limply on the sitting room wall of their small flat, and baby Sophie became the cacophony to attend to. Or so it seemed, but in a not-so-distant moment Millie recognised they were not in opposition as it might have seemed to the three of them.
Joe’s passion for his music being pursued in the provincial city they had moved to left him rather isolated from both friends and colleagues. It was a radical change from Paris. It was not that he regretted the change as such, but the distance that even the electronic media could not fully bridge frustrated his progress. He needed links with the power sources for musical achievement in this country. And that meant having something to show.
Something did show up for him. In fact, he could make two opportunities The first was a significant amount of energetic organising to bring a music festival to this city, and to cautiously integrate the two traditions – aspiring popular music with the established avant-garde classical. Aside from that convergence was another innovation. It was his and Millie’s more homely discovery. His creative work entailed practising with the gruff sounds of his cello and Millie’s guitar. Both Millie and baby Sophie might sometimes sit in on his work, and gurgle together to inspire him. However, a moment that came to Millie after only a few occasions was that as Sophie became restless and threatened to interrupt with her screams, the sound of the cello starting up, revised Sophie’s attention. From a couple of months of age, she would attend to the throaty sound rather than to her own need, at least for a few moments. And, as time went on, she could attend for more and more of her Dad’s sonic groping for a completed phrase or chord.
Millie invited a number of her friends from the ante-natal classes where she had originally met them, to bring the babies to their living-room-studio for similar experiences It varied of course, varied widely, but a proportion followed Sophie at about her age to focus on the sounds Joe made. They were offered the same guitar sounds which also drew Sophie’s tiny concentration. It was not just that it was a means of distracting the baby away from an accelerating writhing and eventual screaming, but it must have some sort of proto-meaning for her new ears. She seemed filled with the reverberating musical colour that filled the room just as Joe’s and Millie’s ears did too.
It gave them, Joe and Millie, food for thought. Together from time to time in the evenings they’d turn off the television and discuss their discovery. The very discovery felt like a melodic phrase that had been completed and could then be exploited as the core of a work piece.
It was formalising a pattern that was needed, and Joe and Millie undertook it; or to be precise it was all three of them. What kind of musical sound would be effective with their Sophie? It was not just any old sound. White noise was a lot less effective. So, they could try out variations; the pitch, the rhythms, soft or strident harmonics. And what kinds of melody – predictably they might start with the forms of various lullabies. And all these combining variables gave calm or strength, blending into a thin mystical air or a whistling tinkle.
Despite their thrill of a brilliant addition to their family and to the musical territory of their lives, with Millie and Sophie occupied at home, the finances plummeted and poverty beckoned. Time off from their two major pre-occupations was essential. Joe of course was intent on pursuing the important contribution their acoustic experiments could make. Millie for once was more practical. They sat together on the settee in their living room, surrounded by instruments and electronic gear, Millie’s head on his shoulder talking mildly about the need to get the shopping in. Joe listened in to the fantasies of where they could get to with music. Millie refused to go back to her work whilst Sophie was still a ‘part’ of her. Joe, protective of that unit of wife and child, was obviously a little distant but actually less practical.
Shortly help in the form of a sadness arrived. Millie’s mother was suddenly widowed. It was an upheaval – emotionally for all. In fact, Sophie felt it too, obviously, because Millie subsided in her mood for a while. Of course, Sophie was the very thing that helped to lift Millie’s mood from time to time, and they both could relax as a unit into Joe’s embrace. But the most significant outcome was that Millie’s Mum, Rose, came to live with them. What an upheaval to fit the family of four plus their musical studio into their one-bed flat. But Rose’s pension made all the difference and left Joe his space to continue his researches, despite the encroaching number of music lessons he took on. Rose thought he should get a regular job in a school, less intrusion in the home, and a valuable separation of work and researching.
“Don’t you think she has a point, darling?” Millie said in bed one night.
“Joe turned off the light but grunted his acknowledgment. “Don’t know, love. Do we need the money now. Your Mum helps out and we can go on like we are, can’t we.
“I know it is sort of arrangement. But she has to make her bedroom in the studio. She doesn’t complain, but I think she feels there is no place that’s hers properly. You know, private.”
“I know, I know. You’ve said it before.”
“Yeah, I said it before, a couple of times.” And she put her head on his shoulder in her characteristic way.
He touched her hair and stroked it down over her shoulder. “Alright, a couple of times, then.” He added in a routine way, “We’ll have to think about it!”
“You always say that when you don’t want to think about something.” She was kindly about the protest. In fact, she never protested, and this time was most unusual. And he looked down at her nestling against him.
“It’s alright,” he said. “I’m thinking of contacting Prof Albright. You know the one who taught us in London.”
“Well, p’raps you should. “Again, she said it mildly, almost as if she was not trying to push him at all. But such slight friction was so rare between them that he noticed. In fact, they never had arguments at all. She always listened carefully to what he said and called him a genius. Indeed, she believed he was. And he believed in her to hardly a lesser extent. He had learned the science of harmonics from Frances Albright for a term in the year when she was pregnant. And she had learned from him. Then relenting, “She’ll remember us, Joe. She was interested in our baby. Did you tell her when Sophie arrived?”
“No,” he said stroking her. “I didn’t think.” And once again, she tutted with slight disapproval.
“How’s the little Soph?” he asked, wondering if she had something worrying her about the baby. Or if she was upset about something.
“No. Nothing.” She sat up and looked at him. “I was just…” but she tailed off deciding to retreat from her irritation. It was not appropriate, she told herself. Not ever.
In fact, Frances Albright was pleased to see them. They both went to see her together, and with Sophie, to show her. But what they really went to show, was the digital USB stick with their music on it. Frances had been the one to inspire Joe about harmonics, and how researching the sounds made new evocations in the ears. They explained that the inspiration was their electronic exploration of the harmonic partials as they were called that could be discerned in the baby’s crying. In an emotional sense those complex harmonics could draw blood. Their recordings showed how those complexes could be repeated in an inverted way with the tones of a guitar and a cello, and other string instruments. Frances listened to their recorded recital with fascination. Then the electronic manipulation of wind instruments could replicate some of the timbre of Sophie’s cries. That, combined with the reciprocated complexes of guitar and cello, created a kind of dialogue evoking motherhood with babyhood.
“Well, you young people have got yourselves something.” She made considerable play in complementing her charming students. They were looking for something from her, and they touched on a wish that she wanted to give them something.
“We wanted to know if you think it could be built up into concert performance level?” said Joe.
“A kinda ‘baby concerto’,” said Millie. They all laughed.
“Why not,” Frances said, spreading her hands as if she was opening the world to their ideas. Joe and Millie smiled with a hopeful satisfaction. “Modern music, and with synthetic electronic back-up, is of interest to many composers. And audiences.”
“I hoped I could do the composition. Myself,” Joe put in.
“Yes, you were the best in that class. I remember. I’m sure you could do it. Perhaps, a bit more coaching on the paper notation for such complex combinations of instrument and manipulated amplifier. I think I know exactly the person. Not in England, I am afraid; in Germany.”
“And could he get an ensemble together? I think that’s what we lack. We don’t have the connections for that.”
“Well, you probably do have contacts. There were a few you met in that class.”
And Joe nodded, “I didn’t really keep up with any of those friends. Going to Paris, and the baby, you know and all that,” and he gestured that they had been fully occupied.
Frances understood, “I’m sure my friend, Heinrich, in Germany would have contacts. It is just a question of interesting him in what you have done.” She looked as though she was thinking how that might be done. “I will see him next weekend actually, and sound him out.”
Joe began to seem a little restless. Millie looked towards him as if encouraging. “Professor Albright, there is a related question. We haven’t got much money and I wondered if you thought there might be a bit of income from this?”
She looked thoughtful at this new question, “You know as well as I do that experimental music is not necessarily for fortune-hunters. But if it takes off, it could make you for life.” He was pleased and smiled at the thought of providing well for his baby and his wife, and indeed for his mother-in-law. Frances remained thoughtful. I don’t know if there is any financial help from Heinrich. But…” she hesitated, as if not sure how much to say to this eager and needy couple. She seemed to decide to tell them what was in her mind. “ I’m not sure, so don’t get your hopes up, but the School here in London does support some young composers a little. I could put your project up for a grant. I would speak for it, as I think it is an interesting idea, and you have developed it very well so far.”
“Despite her warning, Joe and Millie did both look hopeful. And momentarily, Sophie stirred in her carry-cot on the floor at Millie’s feet. They all chuckled at the thought that she was joining in the uplift in the conversation. Millie picked her up and held her to her breast as she settled. Then Frances held out her arms to hold the baby too. When she had the six-month old in her arms, Sophie looked around, aware it seemed, that she was meeting a stranger. She gurgled in the direction of her mother. And Frances tactfully handed her back.
It turned out – no surprise – that Frances and Heinrich knew each other well, intimately actually. So, a kind of melody hummed across the continent to which both Joe and Millie listened. A certain meagre financial contribution came their way.
But it was not just the money The important resonance was the encouragement that echoed inside them from a grant however meagre. Nevertheless, the complex electronic comparisons and the ear-sensed harmonies were challenging. Moreover, the pattern of harmonic partials in Sophie’s cries, did not at all resemble the pattern the electronics showed up in either the guitar or the cello – nor the piccolo. However, the intervals between the dominant partials could be replicated between the instruments, in many cases interestingly, and this was the importance they discovered together, that the isolation of the major harmonics, through electronic manipulation, sweetened the wailing into a softened cry of mourning. It held the baby’s characteristic screaming as if through, shall we say, a pillow, or as if, say, cotton wool in the ears, which envelopes one in an intrigued curiosity drawing the listener forward into the sound.
More than this morphology of the baby’s sounds in musical instruments, Joe and Millie went further: “You, know, Millie, I think we could go further with this. I’m thinking that we can have two babies with the two patterns of harmonics and…” He was searching for the words to capture what he wanted to say.
“I know what you mean,” she said, almost butting in as if she had been thinking the same thought.
“Yes, a kind of duet for screaming,” he laughed, and she smiled,
She said, “A duet for screamers. But I thought you might be going to say something else”, she added. “I was wondering about the patterns of partials in a baby’s scream and the pattern in a mother’s lullabies. What about that?”
He looked at her, and then pointed a finger at her and said, “Mrs Brilliant’, you are brilliant, aren’t you.” He smiled. “Aren’t I lucky having you. You should have been the one to go to the conservatoire.” They felt happy together.
“OK, let’s look at the patterns if I sing Hush-a-bye-baby. I’ll sing it softly. Wind up your electronics, Joe.” And so they went to work, interlacing baby with mummy’s voice. They both knew they could find so much else to bring together in harmonic intervals – all those birdsongs, traffic noise, rhythmic footsteps, running taps and so on. And indeed, locking all the electronic versions together with Sophie’s cries had a calming effect on the little baby. She began to hesitate and her cries diminished as the electronic ‘music’ from her past cries took over the airwaves of their flat.
Heinrich Rittenberger was available as a mentor for the stealthily intruding electronic arm of classical music. So, Joe spent their modest grant on trips to Hanover.
Although he and Millie did go together with Sophie on the first occasion, it was not a success. The nature of the trip was to learn, explore and innovate and generally take up residence in the dark studios of computer sound. But, despite Millie’s avowed ‘brilliance’, she and Sophie were inseparable. So, Joe was on his own. He didn’t mind so much because the fascination was one hundred percent. But Millie was very reserved about committing herself to a positive reaction, and determined to stay home in future, and remain a Mum for the while.
On one occasion, when Joe got back late from the airport, and Millie and Sophie inseparably met him and drove him back home, she was quiet. Her welcome was as usual. But significantly Joe, in his ever-present feeling for her, knew something had changed. It was not a familiar occurrence, and they were both unpractised at managing tensions between them. Tensions remained determinedly ignored even if noticed. Nevertheless, the quietness was heavily palpable when at home. And so, as bedtime for Sophie approached she became restless too, and cried a little.
Usually Rose as Millie’s mother, following on Sophie’s heels to her own bed, would comment what a soothing noise Sophie’s gurgles were. And how they could even help Rose to sleep. They knew it was Rose’s soothing too. Those disparate sounds from both of them would waft like a fragrant mist to encompass the whole space of the room. But now, in this moment, what might be penetrating their apartment during this evening was far from fragrant. And best not to touch it as if it was potentially infected with a serious bug. It was so unusual to have a stilted conversation over their meal together that they were both at a loss. Eventually Millie said, “You haven’t said a word about the trip this time.”
He felt it almost as an accusation rather than her usual interest in him and in their lifetime project together. “There was nothing unusual. Heinrich is always so hospitable. Sometimes I think he is a bit jealous of our new ideas. He seemed to think we had endless ideas.” Joe was relaxing now and sat back with his fork resting on his plate. “He was a bit impatient with the recording I played of that rustling little oak tree we’ve got at the back of the house.” He waved vaguely towards the kitchen window. “He thinks you’re a bit of a genius with your ideas and how that matched with the air coming out of a balloon. I think you are a bit of genius too, don’t I?”
She smiled and then they heard Sophie stirring in the cot, so Millie went to attend as the loyal maternal servant. He sat turned in his chair watching as the two rapped each other in comfort and adulating gazes.
When Sophie had supped to her content, and had been relaxed back in the cot, Millie sat to finish her meal. “You know what happened,” she asked invitingly, and of course he shook his head, indicating inquiring interest. “When you left at the airport last week and we waved goodbye.… Well, it must have been about the fifth or sixth time you have gone, I suddenly felt different. I wondered… you know… wondered if you were pleased to be away from us,” and she glanced at the cot. “You know; is it a bit boring now? Sophie’s nearly nine months, isn’t she, and the days are all the same. You go off to your teaching at the school for a couple of days, and I do washing-up,” she said exaggeratedly. Joe turned toward her and put his hand on her arm. But she lifted the fork as if to say ‘stop’, she must finish what she had to say. “You know what hit me in the back of the head?” He looked at her, a puzzled stare. “I had a sudden remembrance. I was sitting alone on a bus and you should have sat next to me. But didn’t.” He opened his mouth to say something. But then couldn’t think of what to say. “I’ve often remembered that moment on the school bus and you forgot me and sat next your football friends.” There, she had said what was on here mind. She felt ashamed.
He couldn’t reassure her as he did enjoy his trips to see Heinrich and push his career forward. But of course, it was their career. He looked over at Sophie’s cot. The baby was getting in the way. Just as her mother Rose seemed to when she moved in.
“I’ll cancel the next trip, Millie. Perhaps we need time together.”
“There’s plenty of time together, isn’t there?” She looked at him. “I don’t know if I am looking for something, or if I’m telling you off.”
“We’ll go away somewhere. Take Sophie to the seaside. See what she thinks of the seagulls crying and the waves breaking.”
Millie smiled again, poked the fork as if stabbing his hand as it lay on her arm, but laughing at what she was doing, she spared his hand. “I’m trying to wake you up to something. And I don’t know what.”
“I don’t know what, either.” They both chuckled, as if some hurdle had been surmounted. “You don’t let me forget that you’re the brilliant one,” he said lightly as if their tension didn’t matter.
“Never,” she said equally lightly, as if it did matter.
“Let’s find somewhere to go to be together. On holiday.”
She agreed and they both were happy to be back on good terms, but both knew it had not completely answered the problem.
And not surprisingly neither of them did anything about finding a place to take the baby to celebrate everything they had together, celebrate being a threesome.
It was perhaps a couple of months later that he received a letter. Very official. In fact, they had been sitting on the old settee watching television with Millie’s Mum. There was an announcement about the Eurovision contest. They were both interested in popular music and harked back to their days with the old band, though they had now moved on towards the classical genre. But then Millie remarked on the name of the contest. “Isn’t it strange that a music contest is called a ‘vision’?”
Her Mum began to chide her that it was because it was on tele-vision. Though that was obvious, they both nodded towards her wisdom. And Joe jumped in, “OK. What we’ll do is start up a contest, on European television, of classical music, and we’ll call it Euromusic. What do you think?” Millie and her Mum nodded wisely, smiling to each other at Joe’s enthusiasm. “And we’ll call the trophies, Sophies. OK” They all laughed.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Sophie said seriously. I could get it organised, while you go and do your creative stuff in Germany. But both thought of Millie still being the figure in the shadows behind the idols. But something moved forwards. Only a couple of days later came Joe’s letter, awarding him this year’s Global Award for Modern Music, never previously won by a British musician. Clearly, it was the outcome of the musical ‘shows’ in Germany which Heinrich had put on. It displayed Joe and Millie’s achievement.
He showed her the letter at lunchtime before he went to teach at the school. She looked at it and then at him with that mixture on her face of feeling overawed at his success, and once again, left reclining alone on the empty school bus.
“That’s it,” he said in a determined voice, responding to her dismayed applauding of him. “I will write back, and to Heinrich.” He put the letter firmly on the table and clamped the palm of his hand on it. “I’ll refuse it unless they agree to make it a joint award to both of us, Millie.” She had been listening to the thump of his hand on the paper and the table and wondering about its musicality. She looked up at him, concerned if he was serious or just being amusing.
He assured her that he meant it, and she silently thought that they would not like him applying a condition, so he’d lose it. But in a sense, he was being absolutely fair to insist on sharing it together. And so she said, “OK, Joe. Making music is a collaboration, isn’t it. So perhaps winning an award can be too.”
“Good,” he said, “I’ll put that in the letter.”
The next time Joe went to Germany, his long-delayed trip, she took him to the airport. It was a tense drive together. Sophie remained quiet, asleep in her chair on the back seat. When they arrived, he watched Millie re-arrange the seat in the front for the trip back. When she had done, she turned to address her goodbyes to him. She was aware of how she had made him wait.
“Sorry, Joe. I have to get her settled first. Then,” and she chuckled at him, “I’m all yours.” And she giggled again, “For a moment.”
“I know,” he said, bravely, “Don’t worry. No worries at all.”
She looked at him quizzically as he reassured her so blandly. And then with a bid for humour. “I know it is hard to share me.”
He smiled at her and shrugged his shoulders without denying the disguised rebuke. “You’re worth it. Even to share.”
She went in to hug him and buried her face in his shoulder. “I know the baby comes between us.”
“No, no,” he spluttered. “Not at all. I have been thinking,” he said generously, “we must start thinking about the next one.”
“Oh no, Joe.” She said, feeling exhausted at the thought.
“OK, we can talk about it when I get back. But don’t think I resent our little Sophie.”
“Of course, you don’t,” she said reassuringly, but not yet convinced. And they parted.
“Don’t forget to watch out for another letter from those Awards people,” he told her as a parting shot, “see what they reply.” She nodded and got back in the driving seat, checked Sophie. And drove back to the lonely home and her aimless mother.
He knew Milllie was not reassured. So, as he waited in the departure lounge for his plane to Germany with nothing else he could think about after that farewell, he sent her a short message to her phone, avowing his dedication to her and to Sophie, and that even Sophie’s interruptions were beautiful to behold.
She replied with one word, ‘Same’. When he arrived at the airport in Germany, he rang her, as usual. But she did not answer. And again, when he got to his hotel. So unusual! So he asked, by messenger how she was, and explicitly Sophie his beautiful baby. ‘We’re fine’ came the reply. What more could he do but wait for her to resume their proper, usual connection. And this happened after two days – by messenger: ‘Have spent half a day at the hospital with Sophie’.
Such brevity could not have alarmed him more. So he sent back: ‘Coming back immediately’. He told Heinrich, with apologies and got the taxi to the airport While waiting there he tried to ring. So he sent a message when his plane would arrive. But to his dismay when he emerged into the arrivals area of the airport she was not there.
Something was seriously up. This time, she answered him. “OK, OK, I’ll come and get you” and the click of the phone. So, he had perhaps 30 or 40 minutes to wait. There was nothing to think about except to wonder – or was it panic – about how little Sophie was. She seemed too young to be ill. It was about an hour later the car arrived. He looked in the back at Sophie sleeping there in her carry-cot Then he got in the passenger seat, leant across to give Millie the obligatory peck on the cheek, as she started the engine and slowly moved forward.
They never had these kinds of silent rows between them. They never had rows, only sensible disagreements they could talk about. “Tell me, Millie. We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”
“Not really,” but she slowed the car and came to a stop by the side of the road, as if she wanted to discuss something. But she stared out of her side window as if he was not there.
“You’re not really giving me a chance,” he found himself saying. “I mean, how is Sophie. Really. She looks OK in the back there, and she’s sleeping peacefully.” It was a questioning tone in his voice.
“No, nothing wrong with her. I mean the doctors wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. I think they thought I was fussing too much.” And she fell silent again, waiting for him to do the work.
“What’s wrong, love?” Although by now there was less love and more irritation at the way she was holding out on him.
“Joe,” she started, and turned then to face him with an expression of sorrow and apology on her face. “It’s not Sophie. It’s me.” She looked exhausted and worn down. He felt a sudden pulse somewhere in his chest.
“I know,” he said, and felt a surge of compassion and anxiety. His mind went berserk – was she going to tell him about an affair? Or what? What? But he took hold of her hand and drew it away from the steering wheel of the car. He pulled it, against her partial resistance. to his lips and kissed it. He held it there. And waited.
“It’s me,” she said at last. And after a pause, “I couldn’t bear you going way again.” And another long pause, “It’s as if we’re no use to you anymore, me and Sophie.”
“Course you are. Beautiful Millie. And beautiful Sophie.”
“Shut up,” she said a little fiercely. “I know we mean something to you, but… I can’t help feeling we’ve lost you. You’ve gone, and we’re not in your heart anymore.” She looked desperate. “I know I’m going crazy, Joe.” And she paused again. “And so, how can you want us? If I am crazy like this?”
He thought a moment, so unused to this kind of eruption – as of course she was unused to it too. “Well, perhaps if I do still want you when your crazy, I must be crazy too. Then we’re both crazy and it’s alright?” And he kissed the back of her hand again and put it against his stubbly cheek.
“Don’t make fun of it, Joe,” she said softly, knowing in a way what she was putting him through. “I wasn’t going to say this to you. I told myself not to ask you. But I can’t help it now. I have to ask you; is there someone over there, in Germany. Is it that mentor woman, Frances? Or some German woman who has fallen in love with you. Or some blonde prostitute on the street, you see, Joe,” and she stopped as tears began to come into her eyes, and she blinked them back, “you see how crazy I’ve become.”
“No, Millie, of course…” and she put her hand against his lips to stop his denials.
“Of course, there isn’t anyone. I know, almost for certain there isn’t anyone. But… but I can’t help myself when I’m on my own.” Then he put his arm around her, and she leaned her body over to his, her head on his shoulder. Her sobs came. “I’m crazy, Joe, aren’t I?” She mumbled, almost to herself.
“No, love, I’ve neglected you.” He pressed his lips to the top of head. He felt her hair all over his face. “I guess, I didn’t want to know about you for the last little while. Even though I did, didn’t I?”
She mumbled again as if talking to herself, “Thank you. I shouldn’t have asked you all that. It wasn’t fair.” He squeezed her shoulders towards him, and she looked up into his face, and slowly they kissed, as they should have done when they had met twenty minutes before. “I’m sorry. Everything is better when I’m with you.” Her sobs were drying up. “Joe,” she looked earnestly into his face again, “I hated you. I really did. I wanted to put my knee on your balls and crush them into the bed till they were just a mess of blood and your cum. I wanted to go and find another bloke to screw me silly. I wanted to be raped and murdered by some ghastly criminal. You see?” she continued to look earnestly at him. To see the effect of her confession.
He had nothing to say. He just squeezed her to him as best he could in the car seats. He thought of his anxious meandering thoughts in the plane as he came back. And he decided to state them to Millie. “Look,” he said staring earnestly back into her face, “You and I are a team We’re a team to make us happy, to make you happy, and to make me happy. Then second, we are a team that works together to look after our perfect Sophie. There she is quiet and sleeping in this dark night. And even more we are a team, a team of three with her, to make our project together, about all our sounds and putting them into one great music ensemble, you and me and our Sophie and her cries.” He stopped and looked at Millie, and just as he left a silence at that moment, Sophie stirred and made some smacking sounds with her lips. They both laughed gently. “See, she knows we are all part of the team.”
“Yes, part of the team. That’s us. Now I’m going to get us home.” And she started the engine again. His arm remained around her shoulders.
After a while, he said, “Did your mother know how bad things were?”
“Oh, Mum. She is leaving. She found a boyfriend!”
“What. A boyfriend. But she’s getting on for being sixty!”
“Yep. But age doesn’t stop sex dictating your life. They met a few weeks ago. She moved in with him, yesterday.”
“Oh, god. You have been abandoned.”
“Hmm,” she grunted as if rueful that her life had nearly collapsed.
“And was Sophie ill. What was wrong with her?”
“Oh, I don’t know. She was crying a lot. Perhaps it was because I was crying a lot. After Mum was going.”
“It has been difficult for you, hasn’t it.”
“And,” said matter-of-factly, “a letter came. They don’t want our award to go to both of us. So it is going to someone else.”
“Ah,” he put his free hand to his brow. “Well, that’s hardly the biggest worry at this moment, is it.” She smiled and concentrated on driving them through the dark evening.
“I won’t go away again, Millie.”
“Yes, you will. It is our project. So, we’ll all come too.” He didn’t reply. “Even if Sophie and I have to sit eating strudel all day and night in a café.”
He smiled, “I see.”
After they got back, and he unpacked, and she settled Sophie into her cot, and they sat back with a small sip of something relaxing, they looked at each other in silence.
“I should not have said all that stuff to you, Joe. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you with those things I wanted to do to you. I’m sorry.”
“Yes, you should tell me, Millie. That is not what you mean really; I think you mean you should not have those thoughts at all. It is OK for you to tell me. Because I know there is another Millie in there, beautiful Millie. My beautiful Millie…. And Millie wants to be in the project. I keep you out, don’t I? That bloody global award keeps you out, doesn’t it?””
She interrupted him, “I’m not beautiful…. I’m a nothing. But I know Millie is my project.”
“OK, I’ll remember that every time I see your beautiful body. You know, a long time ago, I think soon after we left school, we were all playing tennis with friends, and we were playing doubles with some others. I said to you in the middle of a game that seeing your body moving around so beautifully, I couldn’t think of anything else but picking you up and rushing you off to throw you on your bed at home and have passionate sex. And you looked at me and said seriously you’d never stop me. Shall we go to bed….?”
She looked down at her foot in her slipper and quietly said, “Since I am revealing all to you, Joe, there is another thing I should not be saying to you. I was so tangled up in my mind, I really thought I needed to suggest something. It is quite mad. Or perhaps it isn’t. You tell me. I thought that perhaps we should both go off and have affairs with others.” She looked up anxiously at him “You know we’ve both been protected from being single, ever since we were sixteen. We have protected each other – from the adolescent sex market. Perhaps we should throw ourselves into it before it is too late. We might do some growing up that we need to do. I might grow up.”
Joe looked at her, at his beauty. Did she want her freedom? Whyever? “I have never” he started, “never thought of anything like that. I don’t care about not being grown up, if that’s what I am. Or if that’s what you are.” He looked saddened and serious.
“I might be able to let you go off again. Be a gentleman with your own life. Winning your own awards.”
“What if you found someone who was actually handsomer, and richer, and cleverer, and better at sex.”
She thought carefully, “How could I find anyone handsomer, or, er cleverer or better at sex? Of course, richer, yes.” She smiled. “I love you, Joe; and of course, I’d come back to you.” She sounded protesting as if he had not understood.
“Of course, I understand what you mean. You frighten me.”
“No, I am the frightened one.”
“Let’s not frighten each other, Millie. Of course, there are beautiful women, there are some everywhere. And, yes, sometimes I compare them with you. And I wonder what they’d be like in bed. But it is just sex, Millie. And you, well, I love. Passionately. Beyond passion. And it has stayed like that for eleven years now.” He fell silent. She did not return the passionate claims he was making. “Of course, if that’s your plan, I’ll think about it.”
“No, it is not a plan. Just a secret thought that I did not want to be secret from you.”
He was about to add something, “But….” But he decided to end it there.
“Let’s go to bed,” she said, “together.”.
“And you could make some noises. And I could take them and fiddle around electronically and take them to Frances Albright.”
Millie guffawed and gave him a mock slap to the face, “Together – us,” she said, with emphasis. “It’s Heinrich, too. We need to visit him. Together – us.”
We need your consent to load the translations
We use a third-party service to translate the website content that may collect data about your activity. Please review the details in the privacy policy and accept the service to view the translations.