The Birthday Party by Veronica Henry Page A

aficionados. Sammy stayed up all night and slept all
     day, lived on his native
Moros y Christianos
– black beans and rice – and wore a rotation of faded jeans and worn granddad
     shirts, a selection of silver rings on his long, thin fingers. He spoke perfect English but his accent was indefinable – transatlantic
     tinged with French. Sometimes his crazy mother came to visit, with her wild black hair that Sammy had inherited now tinged
     with grey, and they would go out all night, partying till dawn, and Violet got an insight into how Sammy had grown up: a bohemian,
     nomadic life lived on a shoestring.
    Violet had always kept Sammy away from her family. There was something so pure about him, ascetic almost. She knew he would
     be shocked by the opulence she lived in, and by the values her family held. Sammy lived for the moment, cared nothing for
     possessions apart from his double bass. He valued people above things, experience above everything else. She had learned a
     lot from him. He didn’t crave fame – he wanted people to enjoy the music he played, but he didn’t want a deal or to become
     a star. His existence was the polar opposite of what she was used to. The Rafferty ethic revolved around seeking the limelight,
     material gain, success, adulation. Violet sensed it was wrong, but it was what she had been brought up with and it was very
     hard to shake. She knew that no matter how much time she spent with Sammy, she could never be as pure as he was. The Rafferty
     drive to succeed was too engrained.
    She stood up to hug him, winding her arms around his body.
    He was as thin as a rake, not an ounce of meat on him, but so warm, his shirts always so soft.
    ‘Hey, Violet,’ his low, musical voice breathed into her ear. ‘What’s happening?’
    She was tempted to tell him how she had been trying and trying to write a song, but couldn’t do it. How it made her feel frustrated
     and claustrophobic. How it made her want to scream and throw things at the wall. But she wasn’t sure he would understand.
     He and his friends found it so easy to create. They improvised together, throwing in ideas and running with them. Writing
     was like breathing to them. They had no trouble capturing their collective muse. Music trickled out of them freely. To admit
     her failing to Sammy was to admit weakness. She wanted him to have respect for her, not think she was a loser.
    Instead, she handed him some sheet music: ‘Wild Is The Wind’, made famous by Nina Simone. She was going to try it tonight
     as her final song, hoping she would do its soul-baringly sensual lyrics justice. She’d worked hard to find a way to make it
     her own and bring something special to the composition – a lot of her audience would know the song, and she wanted to surprise
     them.
    Sammy put the music on a stand and started moving his supple fingers over the strings. She adored the way he played. He seemed
     to know instinctively just how long she wanted him to hold a note, when to be silent, when to fill her silence. They were
     magic together. Like lovers. Even though they weren’t. Violet knew that if they ever crossed that line, it would be very dangerous.
     Their partnership was too precious to be ruined by sex.
    She began to sing, weaving her voice around the sonorous bass. It sent shivers down her spine.
    At the end, Sammy looked at her in something bordering on astonishment.
    ‘Hey, Violet – that was something special.’
    It wasn’t easy to impress Sammy. Everyone he worked withhad talent. Yet his words meant nothing to Violet. The magic was in the writing, not the performance. She felt her mood crash.
     What she was doing was pointless, masquerading behind other people’s genius.
    Why couldn’t she write music like this?
    Sammy could feel Violet’s gloom. It enveloped the room, bringing with it a chill. He was used to bolstering her up. It was
     part of his role as her accompanist.
    ‘Hey. Come on. We’ve got a full house