‘But?’ he shrieked. ‘But? If you trust me, then there is no but!’
‘I’m just checking. It’s not as if I know how to play a buggering harp.’
Bob puffed up his chest. ‘There are strings,’ he told me self-importantly. ‘You take your finger – any of them will do – and you pluck one string.’
‘Which string?’
‘C sharp.’
I gazed at him in panic. ‘Which one is C sharp?’
He snapped his fingers and disappeared in a flash of light, just as the door opened and a dark figure ushered me forward. Crapadoodle. My stomach was churning and I was certain that the piece of stale bread I’d munched on for breakfast was about to come back up again. That would make an interesting display for the audience, I thought sourly, as I walked down the long corridor.
I shook out my hair and attempted to focus. How hard could this be?
The auditorium was packed. I’d been told that usually most of the audience had dwindled away by this point ? after all, there’s only so much musical prowess that even the most dedicated listener can take. But my performance in the tent the previous day had reversed the norm. I didn’t know whether they wanted me to fail spectacularly or they were on my side because I’d made such a point about the importance of honour. As long as I didn’t come last in this challenge, I was still in with a shot of winning the Games. I kept that thought firmly in mind as Angus MacQuarrie strode off the stage and stopped beside me.
‘How did you do?’ I asked, glad to have something else to focus on.
He grinned. ‘Better than I expected. Music isn’t really my thing.’
I grimaced. ‘It’s not mine either.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘And you’re playing the harp? Isn’t that meant to be the hardest instrument to master?’
‘I wouldn’t say that I’ve exactly mastered it,’ I said.
The official standing next to us tapped his clipboard and pointed at me. I inhaled sharply. My hands were trembling. I smoothed my palms down my thighs and shuddered. I’d never wanted to be a popstar or an actress when I was a kid; public performances weren’t my thing.
‘You’ll be fine,’ Angus said warmly. ‘Just picture the audience naked.’
‘That’s such a cliché,’ I muttered. ‘Does it work?’
‘Are you kidding? With all that flabby flesh?’ He leaned closer. ‘I know for a fact that the head judge is wearing a leopard-print thong. I saw his bum crack this morning when he bent over to pick up a piece of paper.’
I blinked. The official glowered and grabbed my arm, propelling me onto the stage. The lights were blindingly bright, making it difficult to see anything but the only thing I could think of was which one of the judges was an animal lover. I sent a grateful nod towards Angus; if nothing else, he’d taken my mind off the hundreds of pairs of assessing eyes.
There was a red spot in the middle of the stage. I walked towards it, gently put down the harp and stared at it dubiously. C sharp couldn’t be that hard to locate, could it? I thought ofThe Sound of Musicand attempted to run through the octave in my head. Maria Von Trapp hadn’t mentioned C sharp, though. Or played the damn harp.
The audience quietened. If nothing else, the instrument looked impressive as the stage lights bounced off of it. Looking at it more closely, however, I spotted a little dark spot on its polished surface; it was probably a remnant from the dip the harp and I had enjoyed in the Clyde. As the massive clock above my head began to tick, I leaned over to wipe it away. Unfortunately, I inadvertently brushed one of the strings and a single note rang out. Shite, that wasn’t C sharp. Or it probably wasn’t: I wasn’t musical enough to tell.
Before I could correct my mistake, the audience erupted. I glanced up, baffled. Were they laughing at me already?
‘Give me a bloody chance,’ I whispered under my breath. I scanned the first row. Every face was contorted in hysterics. Some people were doubled over, clutching their stomachs. So they were all still against me. Bastards.
I stared again at the strings and chose one at random. Whatever. This was only five minutes of my life and I was already making a fool of myself. What did it matter which string I plucked? I twanged it and another perfect note spun out, almost breath-taking in its clarity.
The laughter stopped abruptly. There was a loud gasp, followed by a sob from somewhere to my right. I plucked the same string again. Yeah, yeah. So I couldn’t play any kind of tune.
There was another sob and several people cried out. I gritted my teeth; I was probably making their ears bleed, just as Taylor had foretold. I glanced at the few visible faces and saw that most of them were crying. Eh?
I flicked another look at the judges. Two of them had their arms round each other, while the third was wiping away tears with a large spotted handkerchief. I shook my head in confusion and stared at the harp.
‘Okay dokey,’ I whispered as I realised what was happening. The first note had made everyone laugh; the second one had made them cry. Dagda’s harp really was magical. Awesome. Then I shrugged; enough adulation. I ran my hand from one side of the harp to the other. The sound was extraordinary, a chiming thrum that grew in tempo and volume.
I focused on one woman in front of me. Her face twisted from glee to anger to abject misery. By the time the notes faded away, she was clutching her heart with such an expression of delight that I almost fell backwards. It was too much to look at.
I turned my head and checked the clock. It felt like half an hour had gone by but I was barely into my second minute. I was done though; I shrugged, picked up the harp and walked off.
