A Voice in the Distance by Tabitha Suzuma Page A

working. I
feel like I'm constantly running, continually late for
something, invariably meant to be somewhere else five
minutes ago. I sing Laudate Dominum in the Purcell
Room without any major hitches. I manage to survive a
horribly difficult orchestra piece with the Royal College
Symphonia. I try and persuade my two Saturday morning
pupils that the flute can actually sound quite nice if
you take the trouble to practise between lessons. I turn
in half a dozen coursework assignments and finally find
myself washed up on the holiday shore, essay-weary and
socially depleted.
    On Christmas Eve, Rami and Sophie swing by to pick
us up in their Ford Focus, baby Aurora asleep in the
back. As Flynn loads our rucksacks into the boot, I
squeeze up against the car seat and kiss Aurora's sweetsmelling,
downy cheek. Flynn climbs into the back
beside me and we are off, heading down through the
city, leaving an already darkening central London
behind us.
    'So how are the two musicians?' Rami asks jovially
from behind the wheel.
    'Very relieved to be leaving our instruments behind,'
I reply.
    'I bet it's been a mad term,' Sophie says. 'Remember,
Rami, how at medical school they always piled on the
work just before Christmas?'
    'I do,' Rami says. 'God, imagine having to write an
essay now. I wouldn't know where to start.'
    'I can't believe how big Aurora is!' I exclaim.
    'That's because she never stops eating. I swear she's
going to become the first obese one-year-old Watford
has ever seen and they'll make a programme about her
on the Discovery Channel,' Sophie says.
    'She's not fat!' I protest. 'Just chubby. Like all babies
should be. And all those blonde curls! She's just so gorgeous .'
    'Yes, she is at her best when she's asleep,' Rami
observes drily.
    I laugh.
    'How are you, Flynn?' Sophie enquires.
    'OK.'
    'I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your last recital,'
Sophie says. 'But Rami told me you kicked up a standing
ovation.'
    'Yeah, it was OK.'
    'More than OK from what I heard.'
    We drift into comfortable silence. I like Sophie a lot.
She is warm and motherly and has this knack of making
you feel important. She feels like an older sister. I look
across at Flynn. He is resting his elbow on the ledge
below the window, chewing his nails, staring out. The
passing cars create a pattern of moving lights across his
face.
    Aurora sleeps like an angel for the whole journey and
only wakes when the engine is switched off and the car
doors open. Flynn's parents, Matias and Maria, come
out to the car to greet us in their woolly jumpers and
slippers, hugging themselves against the freezing night
air. Maria gives me a hug and Matias his usual firm
handshake, and then everyone is fighting over who gets
to carry the bags, and Rami is saying, 'For heaven's sake,
Mum, put it down,' and to my delight I am given
the baby. Mayhem continues as we all traipse into the
narrow hallway of the cottage, and there are overnight
bags underfoot and Aurora's travel cot blocking the
stairs. Eventually we all get our belongings up to our
respective bedrooms – Flynn and I are sharing a fold-out
bed in Matias's study – and we regroup in the living
room, where Sophie is breast-feeding and Matias is
pouring coffee.
    Although it is the first time I have been to their
home, I know Matias and Maria quite well from all the
concerts and competitions we have attended together.
Matias is an older version of Rami but stockier and with
a shock of white hair. Maria is an elegant woman
with long grey hair tied up in a bun and arresting blue
eyes. They both speak English with an accent from their
native Finland and sometimes switch into Finnish for no
apparent reason, the sound of which never ceases to
impress me. I tried to get Flynn to teach me some
Finnish when we first started going out, but it didn't
take me long to realize why it's considered one of the
world's most difficult languages.
    I follow Maria into the kitchen and help her set the
table for dinner. Something is crackling