A Note of Madness

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Come on, darling, let’s go inside. Dad’s longing to see you. What do you want to eat?’

  ‘I’m not really hungry.’

  Rami was on the living-room couch, hunched forwards, elbows on knees, talking earnestly in a low voice. He looked briefly startled when they came in. Dad was in his usual armchair by the window.

  The room looked small despite the shelves above the fireplace having now been cleared of all his old music books – candles and trinkets adorning the beech wood instead. The upright had been covered with a green tablecloth, a brass clock and more ornaments.

  ‘Hey!’ Flynn protested.

  ‘It was looking a bit the worse for wear,’ Mum said apologetically. ‘It’s all right – we can just pull the cloth off.’

  ‘Is it in tune at least?’ Flynn demanded, his voice coming out harsher than he had intended.

  His parents exchanged glances. ‘Didn’t we have it tuned before you came back for Christmas?’ his father wondered. ‘Hello, son. Good to see you.’

  ‘Hi, Dad.’

  Flynn sat down on the sofa and Rami shot him a look.

  ‘What does everyone want to drink?’ Mum asked cheerily. ‘I’m making kalakukko for dinner. It’ll be ready in half an hour.’

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ Rami stood up. ‘Tea, everyone?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ his parents answered in unison.

  ‘Coffee,’ Flynn said.

  Another look. ‘Decaf?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Let me get it, you don’t know where everything is.’

  ‘Mum, just sit down!’ Rami insisted. ‘It can’t be that difficult – our kitchen isn’t that big.’

  Mum laughed and took Rami’s place on the couch next to Flynn.

  ‘So? How’s student life?’ Dad asked.

  Flynn chewed his thumbnail. ‘OK,’ he replied evasively. They had been talking about him, he had known it from the look on Rami’s face when he came in.

  ‘The old piano going OK?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You look tired, darling,’ Mum interjected.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  A silence. The brass clock ticked loudly. Why had they covered the piano with a sodding green cloth? They might just as well have sold it for firewood if they hated it so much.

  ‘Mum’s taken up bridge,’ Dad said with a wink.

  ‘I thought that was for old people.’

  ‘Thanks very much!’

  ‘You’re not old. That’s what I’m saying!’

  ‘OK, darling. Thank you.’

  ‘Why bridge?’

  ‘Mrs Coats introduced me to it. I’ve always liked cards. It’s actually good fun.’

  ‘So, what are you working on then, Flynn? Can you give us a concert later? We had to cover the piano – it looked so lonely there without you.’

  Flynn smiled at his father. ‘I’m mainly focusing on the Rach Three now.’

  His father’s face lit up.

  ‘Wonderful!’ Mum said.

  ‘I-I’m going to be playing at the Albert Hall. Next month. In a concert.’ He had not wanted to tell them yet but the words burst from him with a will of their own.

  Silent expressions of amazement.

  ‘It’s something organized by the Young Musicians’ Association. It’s – it’s not a competition or anything.’

  ‘The Royal Albert Hall!’ Mum exclaimed.

  ‘That’s tremendous!’ Dad’s face lit up with a huge grin.

  ‘I haven’t done anything yet,’ Flynn said quickly. ‘I’ve only got a few weeks left to practise. I still have to think about the notes sometimes. I’ve got to get the notes into my fingers so that I can forget about them. I’ve got to forget them first. I won’t be able to play it properly until I’ve completely forgotten them.’ He was babbling. Why had he mentioned the damn concert? Adrenaline coursed through his veins, filling him with an urge to be sick.

  Mum’s voice seemed to come from a distance. ‘You’ll be fine, darling. Professor Kaiser wouldn’t have put you forward unless he thought you were completely ready. I’m sure it’s coming on much better than you think it is.’

  ‘But there’s the third movement – I’m still not sure about the middle section. It’s not – it’s not quite—’ Sweat broke out on the back of his neck. It hurt to breathe.

  Rami burst back in with a tray of mugs. ‘This is all very civilized,’ he said with a grin, handing out the drinks.

  Flynn gripped his mug and stared hard out of the window, trying to think of something else. The room seemed to be closing in on him, and his parents’ faces had started shrinking into the distance. Hot liquid sloshed onto his hand.

  Rami grabbed the mug and set it down on the table. ‘Let’s go and put our stuff upstairs,’ he said abruptly.

  Mum jumped up. ‘I put new sheets on your beds this morning but there’s a blue stain on the back of one of the pillows. It’s not dirty, it’s just a stain. It’s been there for ages. Someone once left a pen in their trouser pocket and I’ve never been able to—’

  ‘That’s fine, Mum! We’ll be down in a minute,’ Rami said, shepherding Flynn out of the room.

  ‘OK, I’ll go and check on dinner.’

  Flynn burst into his room, breathing hard. The last of the evening sunlight slanted through the curtains, creating a golden puddle on the floor. Rami chucked the keyboard unceremoniously onto the bed.

  ‘Sit down and lean forwards. Try and slow your breathing or I’ll have to get you a paper bag. Just calm yourself down, Flynn.’

  Flynn sat, head almost touching his knees. Patches of light danced dizzyingly on the faded green carpet. He gripped the edge of the sheets. The sound of his gasping filled the room.

  ‘Cup your hands over your mouth. Stop panicking! You’re just hyperventilating, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m going – I’m going to be sick.’

  ‘No you’re not – you’re just breathing too fast. I’ll get you a glass of water.’

  Flynn closed his eyes, willing the dizziness away. Rami returned with a tooth-glass full of water and Flynn drank savagely, his hand shaking.

  ‘OK, just calm down. Put your hands back over your mouth. That’s it. Calm down.’

  There was a long silence broken only by Flynn’s muffled gasps.

  Rami’s hand was on his shoulder. ‘What are you trying to do, hey? Give Mum and Dad a heart attack?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to. I told them about the concert when I shouldn’t have – that’s courting disaster. I told them I wasn’t ready, tempting fate, and now it’ll come true.’ He was straining for breath again.

  ‘Is this about the damn concert? Stop thinking about the stupid concert, Flynn. Nobody cares about it except you. We’re here to celebrate Dad’s birthday, remember? Get some perspective. It doesn’t matter if you play in the concert or not. It’s certainly not worth having a panic attack over. Tell Professor Kaiser you don’t want to do it.’

  ‘Why? Don’t you think I’m up to it? Don’t you think I’m ready? Professor Kaiser says I’m ready, so I must be ready. Don’t you think I am? Why don’t you think I am?’ Dark spots danced before his eyes.

  ‘Hey!’ Rami was half laughing but his eyes betrayed a different emotion. ‘What are you getting into such a state for? I don’t know if you’re ready or not – I haven’t heard you play for months and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you play the Rach Three. Professor Kaiser obviously thinks you’re good enough but it’s up to you, Flynn. If you don’t feel confident enough just yet then that’s fine. It’s your call, OK?’

  ‘I don’t know if I’m ready. Maybe I’m ready but I don’t know it. Maybe this is as ready as I’ll ever be. Maybe—’

  ‘Hey, how about we stop thinking about work for a bit? I’ve had a hell of a week, sounds like you have too. I think we both need a break. Think of this as a small holiday. Back with the folks, away from London. Let’s relax and recharge the batteries.’


  The room was filled with warm, stale air. He was going to suffocate. ‘I have to practise, Rami. There isn’t much time left. Where are my headphones? Did I leave them in the car? I left them in the car, didn’t I? Did you see them in the car? Are you sure I brought them with me?’

  Rami’s hand grabbed his wrist, forcing him back. ‘Flynn, get a grip. You’re not going to practise now. Mum and Dad are worried enough about you as it is. You’re here to see them, remember? You’re getting all obsessive again. Don’t. Come on, pull yourself together. Mum’s been looking forward to this. Don’t spoil it for everyone.’ There was a sharp edge to his voice now.

  Flynn looked at him desperately. ‘But I can’t stop thinking about it – you don’t understand! I’ve got to practise or I’ll – I’ll—’

  ‘Or nothing, Flynn. You know what your problem is? You’re shattered, you haven’t slept properly for ages and it’s making you create mountains out of molehills. Let’s go down to dinner, be pleasant and then go to bed. You’ll be fine in the morning.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No. Don’t practise tonight. You’re allowed some time off. Everyone’s allowed some time off.’

  Dinner was an interminable affair, drawn out by endless questions and lengthy replies, Rami regaling their parents with story after story about difficult, senile, or plain crazy patients. Dad went on about bowling, Mum about gardening, and night fell thick and fast behind the windows, increasing the close, fuggy atmosphere of the kitchen.

  It was a gargantuan effort to force down forkful after forkful of stodgy food, answer in full sentences and feign interest in the myriad pointless topics of conversation. Flynn wanted to jump up, run, shout – move! Deep breaths were the only way to curb the restless energy inside him, despite Rami’s anxious glances. His cheeks burned with the strain of it all.

  Coffee and Baileys followed, prolonging the agony further still. He helped Mum clear, leaving Rami and Dad to discuss the proposed raise in doctors’ pay, and took out his frustrations on the dishes in the sink. After a while, Dad joined him.

  ‘How are you off for cash at the moment?’

  Flynn pulled a face at the dishes. ‘Not brilliant, Dad – everything in London is so expensive.’

  ‘What happened to your idea of getting a part-time job?’

  Flynn sighed heavily. ‘I dunno, the piano lessons were a disaster – the kid just ran around the room the whole time and wouldn’t listen to a thing I said.’

  Dad chuckled. ‘No, I didn’t really see you as a teacher, somehow. Look, I’ll give you another small loan to keep you going till the end of this term, but this summer you’re going to have to go back to work at the Red Cow and pay me back or I’m going to have the bank manager breathing down my neck.’

  ‘OK. Thanks,’ Flynn said.

  ‘Flynnie, you were going to play us something!’ Mum looked up eagerly from where she sat with Rami, discussing summer-holiday destinations.

  Rami shot her a warning look with a brief, barely perceptible shake of the head.

  ‘Or perhaps when you’re feeling less tired, darling,’ she back-pedalled quickly.

  Flynn scowled at them. ‘Goodnight then,’ he said.

  ‘Goodnight, darling. Have you got everything you need? I’ve put the heating on low, at about two, but you can turn it up to six if you’re cold. It’s the small dial on the left, remember. Just turn it. Not the one on the right – that will switch the whole thing off. Do you need an extra duvet? There’s one in the cupboard in Rami’s room if you need it. It’s still rather cold here at night.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. Night, Dad.’

  His father opened his eyes with a start. ‘What? Oh, goodnight, Flynn. See you in the morning . . . Yes, I’d better turn in myself in a minute. That drink just went straight to my head.’

  Flynn didn’t bother turning on the light and undressed in the darkness, staring out at the moonless sky. He pushed the keyboard under his bed where he wouldn’t be able to see it, trying to convince himself that one night would not make a difference, that perhaps if he got a good night’s sleep then he would be able to practise properly tomorrow. He might even be able to concentrate for a change, he might even be able to get through the whole of the concerto without stopping suddenly and gazing, motionless, at a crack in the wall, allowing the hours to slide by.

  There was nothing but baking-soda toothpaste in the bathroom, and rummaging through Rami’s bag for Colgate he stopped when he saw his headphones, hidden beneath a pile of Rami’s clothes. He hesitated for a moment, then went to brush his teeth, leaving them where they were.

  ‘You know,’ his mother said the next morning, ‘if you decided not to play in that concert, we wouldn’t be any less proud of you.’

  Flynn had done nearly five hours of practice, from dawn until now, not bothering to dress or wash, a blanket over his head and shoulders. He had managed to sneak his headphones from Rami’s Reebok bag without waking him.

  Going to bed had been a waste of time. He could think only of the keyboard, lying accusingly unplayed under his bed, its angry aura radiating through the mattress on which he lay. He had woken after just a couple of hours of fitful, dream-filled sleep as the first rays of light oozed through the heavy curtains, making his heart jump and muscles tense with the thought of the day ahead. Now Mum was forcing him to eat breakfast, something he was reluctant to do even on a good day. The others were not even up yet. At her comment, Flynn looked up from the kitchen table with a start.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ he demanded harshly.

  His mother, deliberately it seemed to him, did not look up from her whisking. ‘I just wanted to make sure you knew, that’s all.’

  ‘Why? Don’t you want me to?’

  ‘I want you to do whatever you want to do.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Don’t you think I can do it?’

  His mother finally put down the egg whisk with a small sigh. ‘I don’t know, Flynn. I’m no Ashkenazy. The only thing I know is that you seem to be a bit overwrought.’

  ‘So you think I’m going to make a mess of it.’

  ‘Of course not! You got in a great state about your audition for the Royal College last year and you still got in.’

  ‘Exactly. It’s normal to feel under pressure for these kinds of things. If I want to make it as a concert pianist then I’ve got to get used to it.’

  ‘Well there’s pressure and then there’s pressure.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘A little pressure might be good for one, but too much is not.’

  ‘And you think I’m under too much pressure?’

  ‘I’m not inside your head, darling. I can only tell you what I see. But I’m a bit worried about all this night-time practising and lack of sleep.’

  Flynn took a sharp breath, ready for a belligerent reply, and then forced it back. His mother was only showing her concern and maybe she was right – maybe she and Rami were both right. Maybe he was letting things get out of perspective. Maybe he was going mad. He put his hands over his cheeks and rubbed his face hard.

  ‘I just can’t stop thinking about it,’ he admitted desperately. ‘I’m so tired.’

  ‘Of course you are, sweetheart. You’ve hardly slept.’

  He looked at her, her lined face now framed by greying wisps of hair, and felt as if the mother he had known as a child was now out of reach. She no longer had the answers. She could still show her concern but no longer had the power to put things right. He could try to share his problems with her but knew that, try as she might, she would not truly understand. The realization filled him with inexplicable sadness.

  ‘I can’t – I can’t stop thinking about it,’ he told her doggedly.

  ‘I know. That’s why I’m thinking it might be better to postpone it for another year.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ he said frantically. ‘I can’t just do that – it doesn’t work like that. It’s supposed to be an incredible hono
ur that the Royal College has asked me to perform in the first place. I can’t just pull out of it. And I certainly can’t just say I’ll do it another year. I may never get this kind of chance again.’

  ‘Flynnie, they obviously think you’re incredibly talented or they wouldn’t have asked you in the first place. It may seem like a huge opportunity but no opportunity is so big that it’s worth sacrificing your health for. There will be lots of other opportunities in your life, darling, this isn’t going to be the only one.’

  He ran his hands through his hair in frustration, wanting to pull it out by the roots. ‘But don’t you see? If I can’t manage this, then how am I ever . . . ? It puts the whole idea of becoming a concert pianist into jeopardy. It’s not supposed to be a big deal! Like Professor Kaiser said, it would just – it would just be good experience. If I can’t manage this then – then how am I ever going to be able to play professionally?’

  ‘Sweetheart, you’re not always going to feel like this. You’re just going through a bit of a rough patch. As a little boy you were very laid-back about concerts and things. You were very confident, especially about your playing. You really loved those competitions. I don’t remember you ever being worried about playing in front of an audience.’

  He continued to run his hands through his hair, pressing hard against his scalp as if trying to manipulate his brain. ‘So why – why am I like this now? I’m so – I know I’m obsessing about it. But I feel that if I don’t, something terrible is going to happen. I feel like I should be practising all the time. Even now, just talking to you, I feel guilty. I feel like if I don’t practise I’m going to – I’m going to go mad.’

  ‘Flynn, just try and give yourself a break today. Go back to bed for a bit. You can afford to take a couple of days off.’

  He stared at her, the blood rushing to his face, and entwined his fingers, jamming them together hard. ‘No way.’ His voice shook. ‘There’s no way—’

  ‘Then, Flynn, you’ve got to call this off. If you continue pushing yourself like this, you’re going to make yourself seriously ill.’ Her voice was sharp and she suddenly looked frightened. He had said too much.