Sympathetic Strings

APRIL 2017-1

2 APRIL 2017

The one thing Emily had not remembered when buying her violin was to get spare strings. Her instrument was cheap, and since she had little else to do, she found herself spending a lot of time trying to get to grips with it. She had been pleased to discover that her apartment block was not bad for soundproofing, so she got no complaints from her neighbours even during her early attempts. It was either the number of hours she spent on the instrument, her lack of skill or the quality of the strings, but she managed to break her E string after only a couple of weeks.

On her day off – an exceptionally warm day that had all newsreaders, meteorologists and breakfast show presenters excited – she ventured on her second trip into the city centre. She had done her research and knew that there were several music stores in the Denmark Street area. Having discovered this online, Emily realised that she had known this, but she couldn’t possibly remember everything she had heard about London.

This time, she felt that she didn’t stick out like a sore thumb when she made her way into the metropolis. She was dressed in jeans, a loose white shirt and flat canvas sneakers – like many Londoners; she knew where she was going – sort of; and as long as she kept her mouth shut, nobody would have thought she wasn’t local. She tried not to keep glancing at the map that she had discreetly saved on her phone. She didn’t want to look like a tourist. She wasn’t a tourist.

Emily got lucky and didn’t take any wrong turns on her way from the subway station to the narrow street that was her destination – and this was without consulting the map. She had any number of options, but she had checked which stores stocked violin strings before she had left. She didn’t want to land in a shop specialising in guitars or pianos. She made her way towards a*****e called Sympathetic Strings that proudly sported violins in the window. She felt a twinge of envy looking at the beautifully crafted instruments on display. Hers was so much more modest, but then, she was no Vanessa-Mae either.

She pushed the glass door open, and a bell announced her arrival. The shop was larger than she had expected, and there were a couple of pianos on display as well as a whole range of violins. She walked over to the wall to inspect them more closely, but spotting the price tags, Emily decided to keep her distance and only admire them from afar. She started looking around for the strings instead.

There were three staff; a middle-aged man was sitting behind the counter staring at a pile of papers, a man in his thirties wearing heavy-framed glasses was polishing one of the pianos, and another, younger man with crazy black hair was sitting in a corner surrounded by piles of sheet music. Eventually, the man in glasses came over to Emily, cloth still in hand, and asked if she needed help.

He was helpful and interested in Emily’s violin. He had a number of tips for her that she tried to commit to memory. He had played the violin himself, as well as the piano and a little bit of cello. Emily hated him for that. She couldn’t even figure out one instrument, and this man could play three of them. It was like those people who could speak several languages. Emily had recently discovered that there was more than enough in one single language to learn in a lifetime.

She thanked the man for his helpfulness, paid for the strings and left the shop, wondering if she would venture anywhere else while she was in the city centre. She would have to do some sightseeing sooner or later. She didn’t have much money, but some attractions had to be free – at least to look at from the outside.

“Excuse me! Excuse me!”

Emily heard the shouts and approaching footsteps from behind her back. Startled, she turned around and pulled closer to the nearest shop on the sidewalk. She expected the shouter to fly past her, but instead, the young man stopped right in front of her, a little out of breath and red in the cheeks. It was the young man from the music store.

Emily took half a step back from him. He was a big guy, slim but tall, a foot taller than Emily and her 5’4” frame. His messed-up hair, like a severe case of bedhead, added to the illusion of his size. He was dressed in a smart black shirt but wore a red bowtie with it. Even the English didn’t wear bowties to work these days, did they?

“I’m sorry,” he said, putting his hands up in apology, “I didn’t want to frighten you. I just…”

Emily stared at the man while his cheeks got redder. He glanced away for a moment before coming right out with it.

“I wanted to ask you out.”

“What?” It was out before Emily could stop herself.

“You know. On a date. I’m not particularly good at this kinda stuff, but the best way is to just ask, right?”

He smiled a little. It was no more than a twitch in the corners of his mouth.

“Why would you want to go out with me?”

He looked unsure of himself but stood his ground. His eyes didn’t leave her face.

“You looked so lonely when you were in the shop. Sort of sad.”

“I was alone, not lonely. I don’t want anybody going out with me because they pity me.”

Emily made a move to walk past him, but he put his hand out. He didn’t touch her, and she could easily have got past him, but he clearly still wanted to talk to her. What a smooth operator.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You just caught my eye. You’re American.”

Emily nodded.

“Have you been here long?”

“About a month,” Emily said. The couple of steps she had taken meant that she could no longer see his face properly in the backlight.

“Well then, let me show you around.”

Emily hesitated. She should have left, walked away from him. There was no way she would have gone out on a date with someone like this guy, not in her past life. Then again, she hadn’t been on a date in a long, long time, and it was all in the past. He was nothing like Colin. Perhaps that was a good thing, but he wasn’t her type.

“Come on, give me your number and you can decide later.”

Emily startled again. “I’m not giving you my number.”

Even in the awkward light, she saw the surprise on his face.

“OK. f*******: then?”

Emily shook her head.

“Twitter? i********:? Email?”

He let out a long breath.

“Letter? I’ve got lovely handwriting.”

Emily snorted and was disappointed in herself for doing so. She wasn’t impressed with him, so why was she even playing along?

“All right then. I tell you what.”

She was still there. She should have just said no and left, but regardless of what she had said, she was lonely, and she wanted to get to know people. Maybe going out on a date wasn’t such a bad idea. Getting to know one person could lead into making other friends. She wasn’t about to marry him.

“Could you meet me at Piccadilly Circus, at the fountain? Friday at three?”

Emily looked at him for another moment, thought about her work patterns and said yes. Then she set off towards the station again.

“Please be there,” he shouted after her, “my name’s Rowan.”

“Emily,” she shouted over her shoulder but didn’t look back at him. She was afraid she would change her mind.

* * *

When Emily was out of sight, Rowan turned around and retraced his steps back to the shop. Mike was nowhere to be seen, but Charlie, his boss, was still perusing the accounts behind his desk.

“You took off at some speed,” Charlie pointed out.

“Yeah, sorry,” Rowan said and returned to his pile of notes spread all over the floor. He was covered in dust thanks to this task he had proactively taken on – a fact he hadn’t considered when he had chased the blonde beauty out in the street. No wonder she had been standoffish – even more so than he was used to on the rare occasions he approached a woman.

“Did someone steal something?” Charlie asked with a frown.

“My heart,” Rowan said with a smile, leaving Charlie to roll his eyes before they both returned to their respective jobs.

* * *

On her third trip to the city centre, Emily felt much more confident. She had no trouble finding Piccadilly. It was a sunny day, and she had left the apartment in only her long-sleeved, navy dress. She wished that she had owned less sensible shoes, like the crazy stilettos that she had worn in her previous life. Her current footwear had only a small block heel, and she would feel tiny compared to Rowan.

As she approached the fountain he had mentioned, she spotted him straightaway. He sat at the edge of the fountain, engrossed in something on his phone and ignoring the hordes of tourists taking selfies with the popular landmark. He was dressed the same way as the last time she had seen him, complete with the ridiculous red bowtie.

She made her way through the crowds towards him. He looked up from his phone, smiled, stood up and put his phone in his back pocket. He took a few steps closer to her. He stood a step above her, towering over her like a giant. The smile on his face made him less intimidating.

“Hey. You came.”

“I did.”

Emily realised that she had defensively crossed her arms in front of her. She tried to untie them but found it hard to find a place for them elsewhere.

“What are we going to do?” she asked when they had stood there for a moment, Rowan looking at her and Emily gazing around avoiding his curious eyes. Why was she here?

“Well, you wanted me to introduce you to the English lifestyle. There’s nothing more English than afternoon tea. Shall we?”

He nodded his head in the general direction of their intended destination. She nodded back, and they took off. Rowan walked confidently, chatting about the weather, the history of afternoon tea and about Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain, which they had left behind them. She tried to make appropriate listening sounds while not knowing what to say.

After a couple of minutes of walking, he stopped and pulled a door open for her.

“After you,” he said with a slight fake bow. Despite her uncertainty about her date, Emily felt flattered and entered the café.

It was cosy, in a traditional English way. It wasn’t busy either, which suited her fine. Rowan pointed at a round two-seater table by a window, and they sat down. Emily picked up the menu from the table. She looked at Rowan with round eyes.

“Isn’t that a bit expensive just for tea?”

“I think you need to read the breakdown. It’s not just tea. Trust me, you won’t need dinner this evening.”

Emily wished that she had listened to his history lesson earlier with more interest. She glanced at the items on offer.

“Just as well because my flatmate’s cooking tonight, and he’s rubbish in the kitchen.” Rowan’s eyes were still on her. Emily put the menu down.

“You share your place with someone?”

He nodded. “With three people. It’s the only way to afford rent here. I don’t live that far from the city centre.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at her with more curiosity in his eyes. “Where do you live then?”

Emily was taken aback.

“What’s it to you?”

Rowan put his hands up in surrender. “Just making conversation. Don’t worry, I’m not about to hunt you down.”

Emily sighed. It was a regular point of conversation. She was being paranoid.

“I live in Croydon.”

“Croydon for a pretty girl,” Rowan responded without delay.

“What?” This wasn’t going well at all. He was saying all the wrong things. The worst thing was, she had no backup plan to get rid of him. She knew her girlfriends had always done that when going on a first date – someone who could phone with a supposed emergency in case the date wasn’t going to plan. The problem was that Emily didn’t know anybody in London, so she would have to put up with this man until the end of the date and then politely turn him down.