Love song


I


Theresa considered herself a very practical sort of person. She was hard-working and efficient, and had, she believed, a realistic approach to life. She didn’t believe in anything that couldn’t be seen with her own eyes, or whose existence hadn’t been proven by science. Those who claimed to have seen ghosts, flying saucers or angels earned her scorn. She
laughed at her Mother’s belief in prayer, ESP and the healing power of crystals.
    With a firm belief in exercise, dieting and work it was her own life, however, that was almost ascetic. Theresa was up at six in the morning, and off to the local indoor pool for a pre-work swim. She arrived at work at least half an hour before anyone else; sorting mail, writing letters, planning the day’s meetings. She was a highly regarded supervisor in a finance company – her colleagues in awe of her energy and dedication. Some said she was a workaholic. After work Theresa would go home and cook herself a simple vegetarian meal. She had a quiet social life, occasionally visiting friends or going to the movies. Two nights a
week she went to the gym, adhering to a strict regime of weightlifting and aerobics.
    Her Mother said she led such a life in order to avoid men, and occasionally braved Theresa’s fiery temper in order to chasten her.
    “You don’t want to grow old and lonely,” she would say, usually prompting Theresa to angrily change the subject.
    However, when Theresa thought deeply about her life, she wondered if this were not true. She did try though, didn’t she? From time to time she went out with male friends: Geoff, her former supervisor, whose wife had left him for another woman; Simon, the rather dull podiatrist, whose conversation always somehow drifted back to feet; Or Darryl, the landscape gardener, who smelled of fertiliser, and whose hands always seemed filthy, no matter how hard he cleaned them. And there was always Tim, the young clerk in Approvals, who liked to joke and flirt with her.
    No matter how hard she tried, Theresa could not take any of these men seriously - when she was with them she always found herself wishing she was somewhere else. And as she got older, she found herself less and less concerned with the idea of finding a “perfect” man. Theresa even wondered if she had ceased to believe in love. And then she met Kenneth Emery.

She first came across Kenneth whilst attending a drama performance by a friend’s daughter, who went to one of the city’s top talent schools. She noticed him trying to organise the pupils and talking to parents as they walked through.
    “Who’s that?” she whispered to her friend, Jenny.
    “He’s gorgeous isn’t he? His name is Kenneth Emery; he’s one of the drama teachers. But forget about him, Theresa, he goes out with an exotic dancer. She’s very beautiful - sort of foreign looking...her name’s Juanita or Bonita - something like that.”
    Theresa tried to concentrate on the childrens’ performance, but her eyes kept drifting back to where Kenneth sat, following his every move. She thought at first he reminded her of a movie star; she could picture the face, but couldn’t quite remember the name. It was as though she had always known him - that in some ways she had been waiting for him all her life. His perfectly proportioned features: the intense blue eyes, delicately dimpled chin,
sensuous lips, wavy honey-blonde hair - if she could have designed a face it would have looked like Kenneth Emery’s.
    “Have you ever spoken to him?” she said to Jenny, as they sipped on drinks after the show, the other parents and children milling around them excitedly.
    “Who...oh...Kenneth?” giggled Jenny. “ No I haven’t...but look, there he is, go and speak to him.”
    Kenneth was standing with a group of students, who obviously adored him, laughing as they recounted the evening’s highlights.
    “No, I couldn’t just go up to him and start talking. What would I say?”
    Before long Jenny’s daughter, Alice, reappeared, and they decided to go. As they walked out Theresa looked Kenneth’s way, but failed to catch his eye; her existence oblivious to him. On the way home in the car Theresa turned conversation towards Kenneth Emery.
    “What’s Kenneth Emery like?” she called to Alice, who sat in the dark of the back seat.
    “He’s cool,” replied Alice. “But I hate his girlfriend - she’s a real fake. You should see her false nails, they’re like claws - talk about gross!”
    “Theresa’s got a crush on him,” yelled Jenny. “Haven’t you, Tess?”
    “Ha...no...I just thought he had a nice face, that’s all,” confessed Theresa. “Besides, even if he were available I wouldn’t stand a chance. He seems so vibrant, full of confidence...while I’m just...well...”
    “Ordinary?” offered Jenny, without appearing to intend offence.
    “Mmm...” agreed Theresa quietly, her eyes unable to fix on the street signs and neon lights as they flashed past her window.

In the following weeks Theresa found herself daydreaming about Kenneth - she imagined what he would be like to talk to, to hold and touch, to lie next to - although she couldn’t bring herself to imagine sex with him. It was as though the act were not worthy of him, that he was somehow beyond sex.
    One day, about two months after first seeing him, Theresa impulsively decided to drive into the city and visit the Botanical Gardens. It was one of her favourite spots, and she often went there to walk along its many winding paths, or sit and read on the wide lawns. This particular day everything around her seemed especially wonderful, almost perfect - the shards of sunlight refracting through a canopy of leaves, the lush greens of plant and grass, the vibrant colours of exotic flowers, even the crisp, clean air - everything stimulated and warmed her.
    “If only I had someone to share this with,” she admitted to herself. “Someone special.”
    She immediately thought of Kenneth, and closing her eyes, willed with all her heart that he would suddenly appear, as though she had the power to summon him across time and space. Of course, when she opened her eyes, she was still alone - her footsteps echoing on the path as she walked into the cool shadows of overhanging branches. Theresa laughed at herself, embarrassed by this rare display of weakness.
    Theresa left the Gardens and walked on into the city, following the busy streets into the shopping precinct, where she decided to find a quiet cafe in which to lunch. She found a place in one of the arcades that didn’t seem too busy, and began to look about for a vacant table. That was when she saw him - Kenneth Emery. He sat alone at a table on the far side of the room, gazing absentmindedly into the arcade as he munched on a salad sandwich. Theresa squinted, looked away, then back again, unable to believe her own eyes.
    “Surely not?” she said to herself. “It can’t be!”
    Theresa walked back out into the arcade, looked up and down, as though to make sure the rest of the world were still there, then re-entered the cafe. Kenneth Emery hadn’t moved, sat quietly eating his lunch as before. Theresa felt slightly faint - it was as though she had entered one of her own dreams, and may wake up at any moment. Then, to prove to herself that she wasn’t dreaming, she walked up to him.
    “Kenneth Emery?” she asked, as though expecting the opposite answer.
    “Err...yes...do I know you?” he answered, obviously puzzled.
    “Well...err...no...but I know you...well...sort of... my friend’s daughter goes to the Metropolitan Talent School. I saw you at the end of season concert,” blurted Theresa, turning a bright shade of scarlet.
    “Did we talk?” said Kenneth, still puzzled. “Only I don’t remember...I’m sorry.”
    “No...we didn’t...but I wanted to...it was just so crowded and awkward.”
    “Oh yes. Well...mmm...sit down...err...?”
    “Theresa......Theresa Carlyle.”
    “Sit down Theresa. I’m just having something quick to eat. I’ve actually got an appointment fairly soon. But you’re welcome to join me if you wish. Have you ordered anything?”
    “No...I was just going to get a coffee.”
    As she flustered for change in her purse and ordered her coffee, Theresa struggled to remain calm.
    “Stay in control. Try not to get tongue-tied,” she said to herself, as though a football coach trying to encourage a losing team. “Be confident. This is the man of your dreams - don’t screw up.”
    Theresa spent the next ten minutes or so in a kind of euphoric trance - found herself confessing an interest in drama and a desire to sing, laughing at jokes that, in hindsight, were not that funny, and telling him that she had wanted to speak to him ever since she had seen him at the Talent School.
    “Why me?“ he asked. “What did you think was so special?”
    “I don’t know,” said Theresa. “I just felt this instant connection. There was something about you that just hooked in.”
    “Mmm..” offered Kenneth, with a distant look that suggested he was already thinking of something else. “Well, I’m sorry Theresa, but I’m going to have to make a move. I’ve got to be somewhere very soon.”
    As Kenneth got up, Theresa did too - offering him her hand.
    “Sure...okay....well...I’m glad I finally got to meet you. Maybe we’ll catch up another time?” she said, as she shook his hand firmly, possibly a little too enthusiastically.
    “Sure...and remember, give the school a call if you’re interested in singing lessons. They have some fine teachers there.”
    With that, Kenneth gave Theresa a final smile and moved out into the arcade, disappearing quickly into the lunch-time crowd. Theresa sat back down, gazing wistfully at the remnants of his lunch, as though about to scoop them up in her arms - cherished souvenirs of her dream lover. Her heart thumped uncontrollably - filled with an unfamiliar bliss.


II


For the rest of that day, and for most of the following week, Theresa felt as though she were under some powerful spell. She was unable to concentrate, found herself skipping her
morning swim, arriving later at work. Her routine began to crumble - although Theresa was not unhappy about this, in fact, she felt happier than she had for months. She believed that something profound had happened - she had made a wish, and her wish had come true. Her life was about to change.
    She began to see Kenneth Emery everywhere. He appeared in a television advertisement for the Discount Furniture Barn, a place Theresa had previously despised, but that suddenly didn’t seem so awful. She came across a picture of him in the local newspaper - he was directing an amateur theatre production of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers - so she cut it out and put it in her diary. Theresa even revisited the city cafe and sat there for an hour or more, drinking coffee after coffee, while searching the passing crowds for signs of Kenneth. She even closed her eyes, and wished for him to appear, as she had that first time.
    Theresa considered his suggestion of taking singing lessons at the Talent School where he taught, and realised that this wasn’t as preposterous an idea as it had first seemed. She did sing when she was young; at first in the choir at primary school, and later on, when she played “Debra-Sue” in the senior school production of Bye Bye Birdie. And, of course, by going to the Talent School she might get to see Kenneth Emery again. Theresa decided to
enquire about taking lessons, and one afternoon called the School, feeling more than a little nervous. It seemed too easy. She was to start the following Saturday. Her teacher would be someone with the rather forbidding name of Miss Krushenko.

She arrived about twenty minutes early for her lesson, hoping to give herself the chance of bumping into Kenneth Emery as she waited in the reception area. As she sat there, flicking through a magazine, a rather odd-looking man approached her.
    “Can I help you with anything?” he asked, blinking timidly at her, like a small animal.
    “No...it’s okay. I’m just a little early. I’m waiting for Miss Krushenko.” replied Theresa, looking up for a moment, then returning her gaze to the magazine.
    “Oh...sure...well my name’s Dennis...if you need anything...a tea or coffee perhaps, just let me know.”
    “No...I’m fine thanks,” replied Theresa firmly.
    Dennis retreated to his desk at the reception counter and began sifting through papers, stopping now and then to punch something into a computer keyboard. Occasionally he would have to answer the phone, or deal with customers as they passed through. Theresa noted that he went out of his way to be helpful, perhaps, too much so, and he seemed a little effeminate. Meanwhile, Theresa kept her head down, pretending to read her magazine, although flicking her eyes upwards every now and then to look out for Kenneth. But he didn’t appear, and it suddenly occurred to her that he might not even work at the School on a Saturday.
    Presently, a rather imposing looking woman appeared, whom Theresa assumed to be Miss Krushenko. She was short and rotund, probably in her late fifties, and dressed in a purple crushed-velvet dress, with a brightly-coloured shawl draped about her shoulders. Large earrings in the shape of crescent-moons hung from her lobes, while her face was thickly adorned with make-up, her lipstick an alarming shade of violet. A cloud of perfume wafted towards Theresa – the odour a strange mixture of pot-pourri and boiled cabbage.
    “Miss Theresa Carlyle?” she said, with a broad accent, the words seeming to get stuck between her teeth. When Theresa nodded, Miss Krushenko allowed herself a smile and gestured with her fat little hand down a hallway. “This way please.”
    Theresa was ushered past a number of closed doors, behind which boomed the steady beat of dance music, the sounds of singing children, or the bang and clatter of various
musical instruments. They came to an open doorway and entered the room, which was small and virtually empty, except for an upright piano, a piano stool and a music stand. Miss Krushenko sat herself on the piano stool, like a bird squatting on a perch, and turned to Theresa.
    “Now, Miss Carlyle, what would you like me to teach you?” she said severely, as though the notion were completely outrageous.
    “Well...err...I would like to learn how to sing properly. I mean, I used to sing years ago...but that was just mucking around...”
“Now you want to be serious...eh?” nodded Miss Krushenko.
    “I just thought I would like to be able to sing. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do,” Theresa stammered, completely unprepared for this interrogation.
    “Ahh...and what would you like to sing?”
    “I don’t know...err...something nice. Love songs?” offered Theresa.
    “Mmm...songs of the heart...there are lots of beautiful love songs. But first exercises...we can’t sing love songs without exercises, Miss Carlyle. Singing requires much discipline.”
    With a theatrical flourish Miss Krushenko then turned to the piano and began running her fat fingers up and down the keys. “We will start with scales, Miss Carlyle. I want to hear your voice. I want to hear you breathing properly. Come along now, follow me, up and down, up and down.”

That first lesson with Miss Krushenko was a nightmare, and Theresa left almost in tears. She felt foolish, and couldn’t believe she had let herself fall into such a stupid situation. “Why am I doing this?’ she asked herself. “No man is worth such humiliation. What an idiot!” She took the clipping of Kenneth Emery from her diary and went to throw it in the bin - but then paused to look upon his face.
    “He is perfect isn’t he?” she thought. “Maybe this is some kind of test - after all it’s not all going to come so easily for me.”
    Before long Theresa had convinced herself that Miss Krushenko was part of some divine plan to unite her with Kenneth Emery. She decided to make a list of songs that she would like to sing, and spent one night sorting through a box of old tapes and records. When she visited Miss Krushenko the following week she was prepared - having steeled herself against the woman’s abrupt manner. Theresa handed Miss Krushenko her list of songs.
    “Billie Holiday, The Beatles, West Side Story, Dusty Springfield, Burt Bacharach, Cole Porter, Gershwin....” she read, the names tangling around her tongue. “George Gershwin - he was a master. Such beautiful, romantic music.”
    Theresa was pleased to have gained Miss Krushenko’s approval, but her victory was short lived, for soon she was being marched through her exercises.
    “Stop!” Miss Krushenko would snap, every now and again, each time to offer a different criticism: “Your mouth is the wrong shape.” “You’re not breathing properly.” ” Start again - you sound like a strangled cat.”
    But Theresa was determined to survive Miss Krushenko’s demands, and taking a deep breath to calm her nerves and suppress her anger, she would try again and again, improving little by little each time.
    As the weeks passed Theresa felt she was making progress, despite Miss Krushenko’s discouragement, and she began to enjoy her singing, and looked forward to her nightly practice, where she would sing along to pre-recorded tapes or endlessly repeat her program
of exercises. Every week she arrived early in the hope of seeing Kenneth Emery, but she never did, and she resolved herself to the possibility that she may never see him.
    And every week the receptionist, Dennis, seemed to go out of his way to talk to Theresa – he asked about her singing, her work, her outside interests. At first she found him annoying, an intrusion; then she thought he may have liked her, but as she observed him closely, she didn’t think it possible that he could aspire to be her partner. He was possibly mid thirties, quite slender, but with an unattractive paunch, his hair was thin and untidy, and his face was
pockmarked by acne scars, highlighted by a large bulbous nose. It was his manner that repulsed her most, the way he fawned and fussed over people, like an overprotective mother.
    “Doesn’t Kenneth come in on Saturdays?” Theresa asked him, with feigned innocence, one morning.
    “Usually... but he’s been working on a new play. Someone else is taking his classes at the moment....I’m not sure when he comes back. Why, is he a friend of yours?” said Dennis, his eyebrows twitching like furry caterpillars.
    “Sort of,” replied Theresa evasively, quickly changing the subject.
    “Finally,” she thought to herself, as Dennis chatted away in the background. “It may have been worth all the trouble and pain after all.” Inside, she glowed.
    But it was several weeks still before Theresa caught sight of Kenneth Emery, and then he took her by such surprise that she merely gaped in wonder, as though at an apparition. As usual she had arrived early, taken a seat in the waiting area, and begun flicking through a magazine. She had been so immersed in a particular article that she almost did not notice Kenneth Emery walk past her and disappear into the labyrinth of hallways. When, a few
minutes later he re-emerged, and began to make his way to the reception desk, she lunged forward, with perhaps more than just a hint of desperation.
    “Hi Kenneth,” she called, moving to block his path.
    He was taken aback - had obviously been preoccupied with other matters.
    “Oh...err....hi,” he stammered, showing no signs of recognition.
    “Theresa Carlyle. Remember - we met at the cafe. You suggested I come here for singing lessons,” explained Theresa.
    “Oh...yes...,” replied Kenneth, as he slowed, but walked around Theresa, continuing towards the desk.
    “I’m with Miss Krushenko,” said Theresa.
    “Mmm...,” mumbled Kenneth, as he sorted through a pile of papers on the desk, his eyes flicking back and forth between Theresa and the papers. He found what he was after, and began his walk back to the classroom.
    “Anyway, how are you? Busy I guess...,” continued Theresa, sensing his disinterest, as he walked away from her, his head only slightly turned in her direction.
    “Yes...very busy..,” mumbled Kenneth Emery. “Excuse me.” Then he turned his back to her and disappeared.
    “Goodbye then..,” Theresa said, in a barely audible whisper. She felt hollow - as though she were about to collapse inwards; as though a black hole had opened up in her chest, and she were about to disappear into it. Then came a familiar call.
    “Miss Carlyle. Are you ready for your lesson?”
    Theresa followed Miss Krushenko to the classroom.
    After her lesson - the usual battle to maintain self-control in the face of constant criticism and correction - Theresa had another rather deflating experience. As she was leaving she bumped into someone she hoped she would never see at the Talent School - her friend Jenny, who had called through to pay some accounts.
    “Theresa, my God, what are you doing here?” Jenny exclaimed.
    “Oh...didn’t I tell you? I’m taking singing lessons,” replied Theresa, trying not to look too surprised.
    “Singing lessons? Since when were you interested in singing?”
    “I used to sing when I was younger. It’s something I’ve been meaning to get back to for years,” explained Theresa.
    “Mmm..?”
    Jenny was not convinced.
    “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Drama Teacher would it?” she said.
    “C’mon Jenny, I know you think I’m a little weird, but I’m not completely crazy. As if anyone would take singing lessons in order to meet men. How desperate is that?” Theresa snapped.
    Jenny was still not convinced, but let it go - she sensed that Theresa was in a fragile state of mind, and in no mood for confrontation.
    Later, as Theresa curled up on the sofa at home, she considered this exchange.
    “I am desperate and crazy,” she said to herself, as a veil of tears fell across her eyes.
    She then decided that she would give up singing as soon as possible.


III


Theresa intended to call and cancel her singing lessons early in the week, but as the days passed, and she was distracted by the demands of her job, she felt her anger subside. And
when the following Saturday came around she prepared herself as normal.
    “Maybe I’ll just have this one last lesson,” Theresa considered. “I’ll tell Miss Krushenko today.”
    But once she was face to face with Miss Krushenko, and saw the familiar look of disapproval, she knew this was not possible. Besides, Miss Krushenko had important news.
    “At the end of this semester we are going to have a little concert and I would like you to sing, Miss Carlyle,” declared Miss Krushenko.
    “But I’m not ready...I’ve only been taking lessons for a few months,“ replied Theresa.
    “Nonsense. You are progressing quite nicely. Do not panic, it will be an informal affair. Just family and friends. All of my students will be participating, as well as students from some of the other classes. Believe me Miss Carlyle, you will sing wonderfully.”
    Theresa felt powerless against Miss Krushenko, remained quiet as the woman began sifting through the pile of songbooks and sheet music strewn across the top of the piano.
    “Now, I have something in mind for you. It is a simple song, but very beautiful. I am sure you will agree,” said Miss Krushenko, as she sorted through the papers. “Ah, here we are. Love is here to stay by George Gershwin. Perfect. You are familiar with the song Miss Carlyle?”
    “Yes....it’s from Singin’ in the Rain isn’t it,” answered Theresa.
    “An American in Paris!” barked Miss Krushenko, an expression of horror on her face.
    Miss Krushenko then played Love is here to stay on the piano, singing along in her usual melodramatic fashion.
    “You see,” she declared. “Simple.”
    “Mmm...,” replied Theresa, unconvinced.
    Over the following weeks Theresa worked very hard on the song, postponing her decision to give up singing lessons until after the concert. She was surprised by Miss Krushenko’s confidence in her, felt she may have been mistaken in her judgement of the teacher - and despite all the anguish and distress the old woman had caused her, Theresa found that she did not want to let her down. Meanwhile, Theresa had seen Kenneth Emery a couple more times, and while they had not spoken much, he did seem a little warmer towards her, and even managed to flash his gorgeous smile her way. Theresa began to wonder if she may not have also judged Kenneth’s behaviour too harshly, after all, she had “thrown herself” at him that time, and he was in the middle of a class. A glimmer of hope began to creep back into Theresa’s heart.
    One night she hired a videotape of An American in Paris, and cried as Gene Kelly serenaded Leslie Caron on the banks of the Seine. Theresa had liked musicals and romances when she was younger, but in later years had come to sneer at them, thought them trivial and contrived.
    “Hollywood nonsense,” she would say to her friends, in response to some latest movie release they had been raving about. “I like movies about real life issues - not fantasies.”
    Theresa couldn’t explain why she was so moved by this silly film - assumed it was all linked to her infatuation with Kenneth Emery. It was as though a part of her that had been locked away for years had suddenly been released - that all her beliefs and values were being overturned. Every night she practiced the song, until the words rang out in her head, until they span round and round without end - she even sang the song in her dreams. And as she sang she closed her eyes and imagined she was singing to Kenneth Emery. And as the weeks passed, and the day of the concert drew nearer, Theresa realised that she wasn’t singing for
herself, or for Miss Krushenko, but for Kenneth Emery. This was her opportunity to impress him, to communicate her feelings towards him.
    Each week Miss Krushenko would drill her, offer a new set of criticisms; suggestions for improvement. For the most part, however, she was complimentary, which Theresa found most reassuring. The woman seemed excited about the upcoming concert, and even provided Theresa with advice on how she should dress.
    “I hadn’t really given it much thought,” replied Theresa, when Miss Krushenko asked what she intended to wear.
    “You must look beautiful. Everyone will want to fall in love with you,” said Miss Krushenko grandly.
    Dennis also seemed excited about the concert, particularly when he found out Theresa’s choice of song.
    “One of my favourites,” he gushed, grabbing at her arm enthusiastically.
    “Do all of the teachers come along to these concerts?” Theresa asked him, hoping to find out if Kenneth Emery was likely to attend - as she daren’t ask him herself.
    “Usually. Most of the teachers will have at least one or two pupils performing. Even the drama students will be putting on a short sketch,” replied Dennis warmly.
    “Good..,” said Theresa, smiling to herself.

On the day of the concert Theresa awoke feeling strangely confident. The rehearsal earlier in the week had gone quite well, with Miss Krushenko almost gushing in her praise of Theresa’s efforts.
    “My best student,” Miss Krushenko declared, as she wrapped her chubby arm around Theresa’s shoulder.
    The audience and performers were gathered in one of the larger rooms, which featured a small stage at the front. Theresa entered feeling a little lost amid the buzzing crowd; she had not invited anyone to the concert, had not even told her Mother that she was taking singing lessons; but soon Miss Krushenko spotted her and rushed forward. She was adorned in a pink feather boa, reminding Theresa of some exotic tropical bird.
    “Hello Miss Krushenko. You look very colourful tonight.”
    “Oh, just a little touch of glamour,” said Miss Krushenko, twirling the end of her scarf.
    “Now come, you must sit with me.” Then, as she hooked her arm under Theresa’s and began to guide her across the room, she whispered furtively into Theresa’s ear. “Please, you must call me Ruby.”
    As they made their way to their seats Theresa scanned the crowd for Kenneth Emery, and found him at the centre of a group of young girls.
    “Hi Kenneth!” Theresa called as she passed him.
    Kenneth Emery looked up and smiled, raising an eyebrow in her direction.
    Presently the concert got underway, and one by one the performers rose to sing or play their songs: a chorus of 10 year olds sang selections from The Sound of Music, an older man bravely attempted an opera aria, there was a duet between two teenage girls, a handsome young Italian boy pretending to be Elvis Presley, and the obligatory cute five-year old singing The Good Ship Lollipop. Every now and then Theresa would look over to where Kenneth was
sitting, his face shining like a beacon amid the otherwise anonymous crowd.
    All too quickly it was Theresa’s turn to sing. Miss Krushenko, who was to accompany her on the piano, led Theresa onto the stage. Once there, she turned to the audience - an intimidating sea of expectant faces. Theresa felt a flash of panic surge through her, and for a second or two felt quite giddy. But she calmed herself, reminded herself why she was doing this. She focussed her attention on a space just above the audience, tried to visualise
Kenneth Emery’s face suspended there. Then, after Miss Krushenko had played the introduction, she let herself go.
    “It’s very clear, our love is here to stay. Not for a year, but ever and a day...”
    How effortless it seemed; the words floated from her, clear and perfect. It almost felt as though the voice issuing from her was not her own, but was being channelled from some other source. As though some higher power was aiding her in her quest to communicate with Kenneth Emery. When the song reached a short instrumental passage, during which Miss Krushenko had arranged for one of the violin students to play a solo, Theresa allowed her
eyes to wander the crowd below. She searched for Kenneth’s face, but when she found the place where he had been sitting, saw that it was empty. Where his face should have been there was a blank space - a hole. Her eyes flickered across the audience, trying to locate him. Maybe he had moved to another seat? But then the instrumental section finished, and it was time to sing again.
    This time the strength in her voice had vanished. She was now conscious of every breath, every note seemed to scratch at her throat. Theresa thought she would falter, but just as the melody began to collapse, the song came to an end. She completed a few awkward bows as applause rippled politely across the audience, then returned hurriedly to her seat.
    The remaining performers took turns on the stage, but Theresa barely noticed them. She was reeling, her heart torn in two; the sequence of events playing again and again in her mind: the initial exhilaration, the disappointment of Kenneth Emery’s absence, the embarrassing finale.
    The concert ended, and as people rose to leave, Theresa looked around in vain for Kenneth Emery. Several people complimented her on her singing, but Theresa hardly
acknowledged them. Then Dennis was before her, holding out a bouquet of flowers.
    “You were fabulous,” he declared, passing her the bouquet.
    “Oh...er...thanks,” replied Theresa, then, interrupting him as he was about to launch into a torrent of praise. “Have you seen Kenneth?”
    “Oh...I think he left early...he had something else on.”
    Then Dennis carried on, but his words did not register with Theresa. She saw his lips move, heard sounds, occasional words - “radiant”, “beautiful”, “moving” - but it was as though she were hearing him over a badly-tuned radio, the reception fading in and out. As Dennis spoke, her eyes looked through him and beyond, straining for another glimpse of her perfect love.


IV


One year later, and Theresa looked back with amusement upon her infatuation with Kenneth Emery. How could she have let herself become so entranced by this person? Or was it, perhaps, that she was entranced by the idea of him? For she could see now that Kenneth Emery had come to represent some kind of ideal for her. Her vision of the perfect man. Despite these realisations however, Theresa found she could not bring herself to throw out the picture of him that she kept in her diary; and whenever she came across mention of him in the newspaper, or saw his face in a television commercial, she felt a shudder of weakness in
her heart.
    And having found her perfect man, she had completely lost interest in those men that had previously lingered on the periphery of her life. How ordinary they now seemed? How inferior? She became so disinterested that her Mother became quite concerned.
    “I’m fine Mum, really I am,” Theresa would say reassuringly. “There’s just no place in my life for a man at the moment.”
    She had returned to her life of routine, and spent even more time at work, having recently received another promotion. Theresa had finally given up singing not long after the concert. While Miss Krushenko seemed to have warmed a little towards her, Theresa became exhausted by her endless exercises, her harsh criticisms. And after rejecting Dennis’ affections, she found him very difficult to deal with - his every contact repulsed her. By that time she had also given up on Kenneth Emery; reconciled herself to the fact that he occupied some distant strata of society that she was unable to access. As Theresa practiced singing in
her room at night she came to hear desperation in every note. She did, however, occasionally visit the cafe where she had met Kenneth; deep down hoping that she still had the power to summon him to her - but, of course, he never appeared.
    One day Theresa did see a familiar figure there, not Kenneth Emery - but Miss Krushenko. It was a cold winter’s day, and Theresa had sought shelter in the cafe; sat in the corner sipping coffee over a magazine, when Miss Krushenko’s unmistakable voice rang out across the room.
    “Yes. That is right. I asked for extra whipped cream. Is there anything wrong with that?”
    Theresa tried to shrink in her seat, hunched forward over her magazine, her eyes lowered. She sensed Miss Krushenko’s large form move to a table on the far side of the cafe, and once she was sure she hadn’t been seen, Theresa allowed herself a brief glimpse of her former singing teacher. Miss Krushenko was dressed in uncharacteristically drab clothes; not the usual pinks and purples, but a dull brown. And how old and withered she seemed? Theresa wondered if she was ill or had experienced some loss. It was as though her strength had been drained from her. The woman looked bitter and sad, and Theresa couldn’t help but wonder what may have happened to make her look that way. Did she still teach singing? Was she as lonely as she seemed? And if so, was it her difficult personality that had prevented her from forming close relationships? Or had her loneliness made her difficult? And had she ever experienced true love?
    As Theresa considered these questions she watched Miss Krushenko struggle with a large cream cake. She had managed to smear cream across her top lip, and didn’t seem to realise that she had done so. Theresa was suddenly overwhelmed by a terrible sadness; although she was unsure whether the feelings were directed at Miss Krushenko - or herself. She carefully rose from her seat, and making sure to keep her back to Miss Krushenko,
edged her way to the exit.
    A bitterly cold wind whipped through the arcade, sweeping before it swirls of dust, small scraps of litter. Theresa paused for a moment, then gathered her coat about her and, with head down, prepared to struggle against the wind’s relentless flow.



Acknowledgements

Love song has previously appeared in Carve Magazine.





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