‘Oh look, there’s Anton Gunesekera,’ said Thornton excitedly. ‘He’s from The Times. Shall I tell him about my poetry?’
Idiot, thought Christopher.
‘There’s a girl staring at you, Thornton,’ Frieda said, giggling.
Happiness bubbled up in her. At last, sang her heart. The three years were over. Hurray! They would all be together again. Forever and ever. Her lovely family.
‘She’s been looking at you for ages,’ she told Thornton, happily.
‘Well, there’s a surprise,’ said Myrtle. ‘Let’s hope she’s rich!’ She laughed at her own joke.
The auditorium was buzzing. Proud parents, talent scouts, even the national newspapers were here. Thornton grinned with delight. It was all so thrilling. The Director of the Conservatoire came over to them.
‘Welcome, welcome, Grace, Aloysius,’ he beamed. ‘How lovely to see all of you here together, supporting Alicia. I promise you there’s a wonderful treat in store for you this evening.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Drinks backstage afterwards, don’t forget.’
Aloysius hadn’t forgotten. He watched the Director’s receding back and then, observing Grace’s annoyed expression, he burst out laughing.
‘That fellow’s keen on you, darl!’ he told her.
Aloysius too was relaxed tonight. Looking around the concert hall with unusual pride he thought how beautiful his wife looked. They sat for a while longer, fanning themselves with their programmes. Then without warning the lights dimmed and the noise subsided. The first item was a Beethoven trio. Aloysius sat up, instantly alert. He knew the piece well.
‘Good!’ he said afterwards, above the applause, as the musicians took a bow. ‘Well, quite good, a difficult choice, really. For their age, I mean. Don’t you think, darl? It’s a difficult piece.’
Grace agreed. Myrtle looked at them, at their bent heads, and felt a knife twist in her. It had been music that had first brought them together, long ago.
‘Here we sit waiting for our daughter to appear!’ Aloysius remarked, but he was looking at Grace. How radiant she is, he thought, genuinely surprised. ‘No different than on the day I first set eyes on you!’ he told her, loudly.
Myrtle winced. Yes, thought Grace, sadly, aware of the look, you think I’m someone who has everything.
‘We should go out more often, darl,’ Aloysius said. He was in an expansive mood. ‘Now I’ve retired, now I’ve more time. D’you remember the concerts your father used to put on?’
She nodded. All she had wanted then was him, and his children.
‘Of course, these Sinhalese philistines might stop the concerts,’ Aloysius continued, unable to resist the thought. ‘They’re bound to see Western music as part of the British Empire, just like the language!’
Jacob sighed, pointedly. Grace seemed not to hear. She was lost in thought, engulfed by a sudden wave of sadness, an unspeakable loneliness. Vijay would never share this part of her life. Bending her head, she stared with unseeing eyes at her programme.
‘Alicia has become more and more like you,’ Aloysius burbled on.
Myrtle, unable to stand any more of such remarks, turned her head away. Must be the thought of the backstage party, she decided, sourly.
In the end, thought Grace, as she waited for Alicia to appear, I am alone. Perhaps after all the Buddhists were right and, ultimately, one was always alone. But, as she waited, musing over these things, her face softened with longing, the lights dimmed again and there she was, on the stage. Slim, beautiful Alicia. Poised and very calm, her long hair was pinned up, making her appear strangely older. A replica of her mother, yet not quite so. The other de Silvas, watching her, gasped. Is this my daughter? thought Grace shaken, astonished, forgetting everything else. For Alicia was playing Schubert. In a way they had never heard her play before, with an effortless passion they had not known she possessed. Revealing something about herself none of them had noticed. Had it always been present? Perhaps she had always played in this way; maybe it simply had slipped their attention in the bustle of everyday life. The sounds fell perfectly, parting the darkness as though it were a path, pausing, running on, lifted by Alicia’s fingers, cascading into the silent hall, until finally they rose and floated to rest, gently, somewhere above them in the darkness. Where had such music come from? Will she live her life as she plays the piano? Grace wondered, transfixed.
She brought the house down. The applause, when it came, flooded the concert hall. Nothing matched her after that.
‘Brava!’ the audience shouted when she re-appeared at the end. ‘Brava! A star is born!’
People were staring at the de Silvas. Flashbulbs exploded like flowers.
‘Tomorrow,’ mouthed the music critic Anton Gunesekera, looking at Grace, pointing to his notebook, ‘buy the papers tomorrow!’
So young, everyone said. Such talent! Astonishing! Aloysius looked at his wife, his eyes shining, visibly moved. They were both speechless. United for once, thought Myrtle, bitterly. Thornton was writing furiously on his programme. Christopher, glancing at him, burst out laughing.
‘Not another bloody poem,’ he said, but the applause drowned his words. His own hands ached with clapping.
‘Come on,’ Aloysius shouted boisterously over the noise. He waved them onwards. It was so long since they had something to celebrate. ‘Backstage, everyone. Come on, come on. I always knew she was talented. You see, darl,’ he told his wife, ‘I always said she should study at the Conservatoire!’
Grace felt laughter explode in her. The tensions of the last few weeks, the new independence, her daughter’s music, all of it, gathered in her, making her eyes shine with unshed tears.
Backstage, all was noisy celebration. Alicia stood among a crowd of fellow students holding a spray of orchids. The de Silva children were startled. Was this their sister, this self-assured, beautiful stranger? Shyly they watched. It was in this way that Sunil Pereira first caught sight of her.
‘My name is Sunil,’ he said above the noise, daringly, having fought his way towards her in the crowd. ‘I sent you those.’
He pointed at the flowers she held. Alicia, delighted, took the hand he offered.
‘The Schubert was beautiful,’ Sunil added.
He hesitated, not knowing how to go on. He felt overwhelmed by the sight of this girl, filled with an unaccountable joy. He was unable to do more than hold her hand.
‘Hello, Miss de Silva,’ said another voice. ‘I am Ranjith Pieris, Sunil’s friend.’
Ranjith Pieris was older than Sunil. Putting his arm around his friend, he grinned. Then he too shook Alicia’s hand.
‘Don’t believe a word he says, will you? Sunil’s a philistine about music. No, really,’ he added as Alicia laughed. ‘Truthfully! I’m telling you, he’s completely cloth-eared! What he really means is you are beautiful. Now, although I would agree with that, I thought you played magnificently, as well!’
Ranjith Pieris winked teasingly and Alicia blushed. She opened her mouth to speak but Ranjith continued, making Alicia laugh a little more.
‘As you can see, my friend is unable to speak for himself. Fortunately for me he’s lost his voice! So, may I use this rare opportunity to invite you to the Mount Lavinia dance next week?’
From the corner of her eye Alicia could see Aloysius. But where was her mother? She smiled again, fanning herself, dropping the spray of orchids, which Sunil bent and retrieved for her.
‘Why don’t you come and meet my family?’ she asked him, starry-eyed.
Her mother