Even After Everything

As I walk back into the backstage area, I make my way over to Tom again before Charlotte can ambush me.

‘Nice song,’ he comments, smiling as I sit down.‘Who was it by?’

‘The Academy Is…’ I beam. ‘I love their stuff. I mean, I actually live for it. Majorly.’

He chuckles. ‘Well you sang it great - did you hear the audience?’

I blush. ‘It’s no biggie. They applauded for everyone. Besides, almost the entire audience is my family anyway.’

‘Lol,’ he says, making me giggle.

‘You were great too by the way - and that dedication, so mysterious - I wonder who it could possible have been?’ I tap my finger to my chin sarcastically.

‘Ahaha, I thought I would embarrass you whilst I still had the chance.’

‘Hmmm,’ I smile, punching him playfully. I hear someone calling my name.

Tom looks around and turns back to me. ‘Pat’s yelling you.’

‘Is she?’ I peer around the room, catching sight of her beaming and waving. I head over to her as she pulls me into a tight hug. I freeze, uncomfortable by this random show of emotion.

‘Oh Hannah, that was wonderful!’ she trilled. ‘There’s someone who wants to talk to you too - he’s waiting in the green room.’

Oh great. My dad again.

The hour before the dreaded cello concert, my dad had hand delivered some flowers to me, much to my dismay. Didn’t he know? You give them to someone else to give to me, that way, all the rest of the girls are free to think it’s a hopelessly devoted boyfriend. Even if I was only 12.

I slouch my way over to the green room, the look on my face saying everything, and throw open the door, gasping in surprise. God knows who the stranger was, but it certainly wasn’t my dad. Standing in the window with his back to me, my dad would have blocked out all the light, no contest. This person was like toothpick, only not so short.

He hears me as I close the door and turns around, and I clap my hands to my mouth in shock.

‘What are you doing here?!’

‘Sorry?’ he asks, caught by surprise. His accent is clearly American, but even without this small detail, I could have told you who he was.

‘You’re…William Beckett - oh my god, please don’t sue me because I used your song,’ I gasp as he chuckles.

‘I’m not going to sue you.’ His eyes have that sparkle in them - the sparkle I could never succeed in painting into my picture.

‘Then…why are you here?’

He says nothing, just walks forwards and envelopes me into a hug.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he breathes, almost inaudibly.

Almost.

‘Pardon?’

He steps away, ignoring my question as though I‘d never even spoken. As though he’d never even said it.

‘How have you been?’

This is so surreal - what do I say?

‘Er…good. You?’

‘I’m great. Did you enjoy our show the other week?’

The dull ache is back.

‘Probably.’

‘Probably?’

‘Yeah. I can’t remember it.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I had a panic attack and lost 5 days worth of memory,’ I say dismissively, as though it’s nothing.

‘Oh…’

‘Yeah. Um…I don’t mean to seem rude - and I’m so glad I’m finally getting to meet you - but is there any particular reason you’re here?’

He says nothing, and there’s an extremely pregnant pause as he seems to just regard me. I begin to feel self conscious as he stands there, contemplating something.

‘Your performance was amazing,’ he says finally.

I beam widely despite his avoidance of the question. When your teacher, your friends and you family say you were amazing, it seems like just words. When William Beckett says it to you…it just means so much. I can’t explain it. It’s as though Leonardo Da Vinci told me I can paint. Or as if Sergei Diaghilev told me I can dance. He’s a master of his art, and he’s complimenting me.

‘That means so much to me,’ I stammer, a lump coming to my throat.

He simply smiles so sweetly, and extends one hand as though to shake my own. I look at it, puzzled, for a second, then put out mine. He laughs softly, turning it over to face upwards and holding onto it loosely.

‘I want you to duet with me,’ he murmurs.

My jaw drops.

What?

‘What?’

‘There’s a MySpace cover album in production, and they asked me to cover a not so well known song for it. I’d like to do a duet with you.’

I stand there, opening and closing my mouth for a good few seconds, before managing to spit out my words.

‘Why me?’

He chuckles and blows softly on my nose. I wriggle it, and he laughs, a joy spreading to the barely visible crows feet in the corner of his eyes.

‘Because you’re Hannah.’

Why is he being so…familiar?

‘Why do I get the feeling you know me more than I know you?’ I ask tentatively, not sure if my question is out of line, or even unfounded. He just surveys me for a moment, as though trying to decide upon which answer to give.

‘Because we met, and you forgot. But I still remember.’