Don't Stop The Music

- eight -

CHAPTER VIII

- thanks for the memories -

[Esther]

When Esther got home after backstage work it was dark. It had been tiring work, but they'd finished assembling the set that night, and there was a sense of achievement all round by the time they'd packed up. There was still a lot more to do and now that October had rolled around, only two months left now to do it in: paint the backdrops and source the props and make the costumes, but they'd finished one hurdle, at least.

Esther wearily climbed the stairs to her room right at the top of the house: the place was quiet, for once, which was a relief. If she was lucky, there'd be no distractions tonight, and she could do some work and maybe try her hand at fixing the sound on the songs Robin had sent her lately. At least that way she was being productive...

She shook her phone out of her bag to charge it for the night, but as she plugged it in she realised she had a message waiting. She frowned: it was probably from Clancy. She'd sent over the schedule he'd asked for, but knowing him, he'd have a problem with something or the other. He was the kind of person to find problems just so he could complain about them. She looked at the screen.

From: Diana

Esther froze.

Diana? Why was she trying to talk to her? And why so soon after she'd been discussing her earlier; that couldn't be coincidence. Perhaps someone had overheard her and told Diana, and she was trying to complain about it or something. She let the phone drop back onto the bed without reading it. Diana was in the past, and she had no intention of going back there. She'd had her chance and blew it, she thought resolutely.

"Esther!" she heard her dad calling from downstairs. "Come for dinner!"

She got downstairs and realised why it was so quiet in the house: Ivy wasn't in. Her dad was setting the table, putting down plates of steaming pasta for the two of them. He had dark eyes like her and Ivy and gingery-blonde hair, thinning now. He smiled at Esther in that quick, serious way of his; a gesture she'd seen him make less and less these days.

"Back late today," he remarked.

"Yeah, I was working backstage again."

He nodded. "How is work going? You keeping up alright?"

"Fine."

They ate with the radio on in the background, the news coming from the speakers serving as a proxy for conversation. During one of the ad breaks, her father spoke again:

"Have you heard from your sister lately?"

"She hasn't talked to me, no," Esther said.

"Hm."

She saw the frown creep into his features, the familiar sternness setting in, and knew Ivy was in for it when she got home. She wasn't sure how or why yet, but when her dad got annoyed like that he became belligerent, itching for a fight.

The sound of the key turning in the door and gentle humming sounded, uncomfortably loud: a prelude to aggression. Esther tensed and braced herself as she came into the kitchen, clearly in a good mood.

"What time do you call this, Ivy?" her dad said sharply, as she breezed past the kitchen table and started rooting around in the fridge for something to eat.

"Half nine," she said. "Did you save me some dinner?"

"I thought we agreed you'd be back by seven."