‘So, pretty good school, right? What do you think? The girls playing their instruments were good, eh? Maybe you could play the cello, Dakota! Like Clementine. We could get Clementine to give you lessons.’
‘Vid,’ said Tiffany. For God’s sake. Was he completely deluded? Did he really believe Clementine would want to have anything to do with them ever again after what had happened? She would find every excuse in the world not to teach Dakota. And her location wasn’t exactly convenient. If Dakota really did want to learn a musical instrument they’d find someone local. ‘Clementine won’t want to give Dakota lessons.’
There was a strange sound in the back seat.
‘Are you going to be sick, honey?’ Tiffany whipped her head around.
Dakota’s eyes locked onto Tiffany’s. It was as though she were trapped within her own body, pleading desperately with Tiffany to help.
‘Can you breathe?’ said Tiffany. ‘Dakota, can you breathe? Are you choking?’
‘Dakota?’ Vid chucked his cigarette out the window and wrenched the steering wheel to the left, coming to a stop on the side of the road with a squeal of brakes and the outraged shriek of a horn from behind him.
Tiffany and Vid opened their car doors and flung themselves out into the pouring rain. They opened the back doors and climbed in on either side of Dakota.
‘What is it? What is it?’ said Tiffany.
‘It … it …’ Dakota’s chest heaved. Tears spilled from her eyes and rolled down her face.
Tiffany’s heart thudded. What could have happened to her? What could be so awful? It had to be sexual abuse. Someone had touched her. Someone had hurt her.
‘Dakota,’ said Vid. ‘Dakota, my angel, take a very deep breath, okay?’ There was a quiver of terror in his voice as if his mind was following a similar path. ‘And then you need to tell us what the matter is.’
Dakota took a deep, shaky breath.
At last she whispered, ‘Clementine.’
‘Clementine?’ repeated Tiffany.
‘She hates me,’ sobbed Dakota.
‘She does not!’ responded Tiffany immediately, instinctively to the banned word ‘hate’. ‘I only meant she wouldn’t want to give lessons because I got the impression she doesn’t especially like teaching, she’s going for a full-time job with –’
‘Yes, she does so hate me!’ snapped Dakota, and it was a relief to hear ordinary, ten-year-old petulance.
‘Why would you think Clementine hates you?’ said Vid.
Dakota threw herself at her father. He wrapped her in his arms, and his mystified eyes met Tiffany’s over her head.
‘Oh, Dakota,’ said Tiffany. ‘Sweetheart. No. No.’ She leaned forward and rested her cheek against Dakota’s narrow, hunched back and put her hand on her knobbly spine, her heart breaking for her, because she knew exactly what Dakota was going to say.
chapter thirty-four
This morning’s wedding was only a ten-minute drive from Clementine’s house, thankfully, and she knew exactly where she was going, so she wouldn’t get lost. That was the worst part of being a freelancer, the driving to unknown locations.
She’d never been late for a gig, touch wood, because she always allowed time for the inevitable mistakes.
The wedding was at a sheltered little harbour inlet park with huge native figs and an old bandstand. Clementine didn’t enjoy playing outdoors: lugging her cello and music stand around parks trying to find the right place, sheet music flapping about in the wind in spite of the clothes pegs she used to keep it secure, cold days when you couldn’t feel your fingers, hot days when your make-up ran down your face, no acoustics so the sound dissipated pointlessly into the atmosphere. But for some reason this particular spot was always kind to them; the sound of their music floated across the blue sparkle of the harbour and punctual brides posted glowing online tributes after their honeymoons.
Not today, though. Today was going to be awful. There was no point to a harbour view you couldn’t see. Clementine looked at the heavy grey band of cloud pressing down on Sydney’s skyline. The world felt narrower. People walked around sort of hunkered down, ducking beneath the sky. It had been raining steadily all morning, and although it had slowed to a soft drizzle now, it could make a comeback at any moment.
‘They’re still going ahead with it outside then?’ Clementine had said on the phone this morning to Kim, first violinist and manager of Passing Notes.
‘They’ve hired a pop-up marquee for us,’ said Kim. ‘The guests will have to make do with umbrellas. The bride was in tears this morning. She thought there was no way the rain would last this long. I remember when she first booked and I said to her, “What’s your wet weather plan?” and she said, “It won’t rain.” Why do they always say that? Why are brides so deluded?’