In the hubbub that followed—Phoebe hugging her, the choir applauding, Ben calling them to order to explain exactly how it was going to work—Audrey could see out of the corner of her eye the ghost of her sixteen-year-old self, leaning against the wall and smiling at her.

Chapter 38

Audrey

Audrey stood listening to the last few resounding chords of Beethoven’s 9th, the entrance to the auditorium within touching distance ahead of her. As the sound of applause crashed through the closed doors, she breathed in through her nose and let the air out slowly through a tiny circle in the center of her lips.

“Right, that’s your cue. Good luck—and enjoy it!”

The stage manager ushered them forward, Ben first, Audrey fourth in line. She cast a glance over her shoulder to see if she could spot Phoebe but her granddaughter was too far behind.

And then, suddenly, she was through the doors and the glare of lights was hot on her face. She squinted into the brightness, her eyes taking a moment to adjust.

She walked onto the stage, toward the front row of tiered platforms. Behind her five rows of the choir filed in, the stage set up in front of them for a full orchestra but empty of players now save for a pianist, a drummer, and a double bassist.

As Audrey looked out into the auditorium, from the tiny figures standing high up in the gallery to those seated in the orchestra, she couldn’t believe how different it looked—how different it felt—from when they’d rehearsed there that afternoon. Then it had seemed bare, cavernous, uninviting almost. Now it felt as though half of London must be in attendance.

Her right leg trembled and she tried to restrain it but realized it was operating on a network beyond her control. She instructed herself to ignore it, hoped it wouldn’t be noticeable to any TV viewers watching at home. She felt someone squeeze her shoulder but didn’t dare turn around for fear that if she looked anyone in the eye she might realize the enormity of what she was about to do, and how many people were depending on her to do it well. Then the shuffling of feet behind her stopped and the purest silence fell like a blanket over the auditorium.

And there was Ben, standing in front of them on a small square podium, grinning and nodding. He gave a thumbs-up that made Audrey want to giggle but she held it tight behind her lips because she knew it was just nerves playing tricks on her, and she feared that if she began to laugh now she might not be able to stop.

Ben caught her eye, raised his eyebrows in a silent question, and she nodded in reply.

She watched as Ben lifted his arms and conducted a single bar of silent time-setting before the pianist placed his fingers on the keys and the drummer poised his brushes in midair. Together they began to play the first notes of a sixteen-bar introduction that Audrey knew so well it was as if it had soaked into her skin and now flowed through her veins. Her heart clenched and unclenched like an impatient fist and she tried to swallow but there was nothing there.