Beat Girl

Chapter #3 | My New life

‘Well, here we are.’  

It was a rather obvious and superfluous statement, but better than saying something corny like ‘Welcome home’, which would only have got me riled. Tom unlocked the front door, explaining that Mike was out. So, no welcoming committee, I thought, managing a small smile. I was going to need some humour if I was going to survive this.  

My first impression of the house as we walked in was that it was cramped. And not in a cosy sort of way, either. The ceiling was much lower than in our place and the walls seemed to be bearing in on us. Tom wasn’t much of a guide. The grand tour of the house consisted of Tom opening doors and, quite redundantly, describing their purpose. 

‘There’s the kitchen, that’s the living room and, down there, the second door on your left, is the bathroom.’ 

I suppressed a smart remark and followed Tom as he led the way, coming to a stop at the very bottom of the corridor. 

‘This here is my study.’ Tom revealed a poky box room which looked more like an expanded junk cupboard than a room in its own right. All manner of things lay strewn around, along with traces of Tom’s various DIY attempts. ‘I thought you could use this room to practise in?’

Aghast, I surveyed the tiny space. Not only would the acoustics be terrible given the dimensions, but no amount of clearing up was going to make this room feel like a proper habitable space. It was very depressing. The only natural light came from a tiny window high up, with frosted glass, which also meant there was no view, even though I assumed that the garden, such as it was, lay beyond that wall. I was still staring at the room in disbelief, when Tom beckoned me upstairs. As I climbed the stairs, I wondered when would be a good time to tell Tom that his study was no good as a practice room for my piano. Probably never.  

‘You’re here, in the guest room.’ Tom indicated towards the door closest to the staircase.

I peeked in. It was hideous. Bland and devoid of any personality, it was painted in cream and the bed was draped in a duvet of the most awful shade of burgundy. On either side of the bed there were two identical, tacky gold vases filled with plastic branches. 

‘Okay,’ I said, wondering if Tom was expecting me to say it was nice.

Part of me was relieved I had been put in the ‘guest room’, as that is exactly how I wanted to regard my stay here – as a temporary guest. But there was another voice angling for attention in my head, the voice of the little kid whose father had one day left her without a word of explanation, and that voice wanted to scream out. It wanted to ask Tom how he could treat his own daughter, his own flesh and blood, as a guest. I told Tom I’d take a moment to settle down, so as to have some time to myself. I didn’t want to start an argument and I needed to take a minute to calm down. Tom appeared to be just as relieved as I was that the tour was over. 

To my surprise, I actually slept quite okay in my new bed on that first night. It was weird to have such silence at night. Having spent all my life so close to the city centre, I was accustomed to sirens and traffic the whole night long. Sounds of water running and footsteps woke me. It was almost seven. I emerged out of the bedroom, tying my bathrobe around me. The bathroom was in use; judging by the singing coming from within, Mike was inside. Downstairs, Tom was putting his shoes on, about to leave for work. He looked up.

‘You’re not going back to school already, are you?’

I resented the judgemental tone in his voice. And I hated that he was not completely mistaken – I wasn’t sure if I was ready yet, myself. But the panic over missing even more classes and practice hours, plus the dread of spending an entire day on my own in this alien house, made me think that resuming my school routine was the lesser of two evils. If I’d had my piano here, I could at least do some playing, but the piano was not due to arrive until the next day. As Tom seemed to be awaiting a response, I simply shrugged my shoulders. It was too early in the morning to start a verbal sparring match.