Lime and Soda ✓

fifteen - exhilarate

I wake to the sound of music. It's early, I can tell from the quality of the light creeping into the spare room through the crack in the curtains, but the sounds waft up the stairs on the otherwise still and quiet air. I roll over, a wide grin plastered onto my face as soon as I hear it, the low, melodic cello blending perfectly with the mellow sounds of the guitar, blink the sleep from my eyes. I can't get out of bed, showered, dressed, made up, downstairs, fast enough.

Every morning for the past five or so days now, it's been the same - Jay arrives at the crack of dawn with his guitar and a bag of chocolate croissants (the first day I had one to be polite - when he saw how badly my skin flared up afterwards he started bringing me fruit instead) and sits himself down in the kitchen. Bea is always up long before seven every morning, and the two of them sit around the table, drinking tea (there's always more tea to be drunk in any Pearce household) and playing.

As soon as Jay left the house that first day, Bea went up to the attic and locked herself in. We heard her bumping around up there, getting her cello out from under piles of dusty boxes, scratchy tuning sounds that made us cover our ears and wince. Elliot put some loud punk music on in the kitchen so she knew we couldn't hear her.

She came downstairs just as we were all nearly starving to death (Elliot suggested beans on toast for dinner if she didn't come down soon) with a huge smile etched on her face, and I realised it was the first time I'd seen her properly smile, a smile that reached her eyes and emanated joy, since the day I'd arrived and she'd been so happy to see me and Mum. She hung her cello up on a spot on the wall in the living room that looked as though it was made for it, and while she cooked us dinner that night, she sang the whole time. The food tasted even better than usual, too, like it was infused with happiness. The colours were brighter, the flavours richer, bursting across my tongue. I realised that music was what made Bea's soul sing, what made her happy to be alive, and wondered why I'd never thought to ask her before. More to the point, why had she never mentioned it, why had she never got out her cello and played us a song at Christmas? I didn't even know she had one. 

Jay came for breakfast the next morning with the bag of croissants and his guitar, and the two of them played practically all morning. At first they were both uncertain, awkward, unsure around each other. I heard Bea constantly apologising for being rusty and out of practice. I didn't mind that Jay wasn't paying me attention - I sat at the kitchen table and listened. I could listen to him play guitar for the rest of my life.

After the first day or two the cello and guitar began to blend, began to work together, and it was a magical sound. I'm pretty sure the whole town stopped what it was doing to listen, pretty sure the whole world stopped. I know I did.

But their musical duo will have a break for a few days, because today is the day - Astrid's coming over to pick us up and we're driving half an hour to camp in a field somewhere. There's a knot in my stomach, a combination of nerves and excitement. I've never done anything like this before, gone away on my own. Gone away with a boy! My stomach turns over and over as I hastily slap foundation on, throw clothes haphazardly into my overnight bag, brush my teeth, skip down the stairs, my bag over my arm. Jay grins at me as I appear in the kitchen.

'Morning,' he says. 'You look nice today.' Bea looks in the other direction and becomes very interested in tightening her cello bow. She is less keen on Jay when he makes comments like this - it's the maternal side of her coming out.

'Thanks,' I say, feeling a familiar hot, spidery feeling creep its way up my neck. I don't move towards him, and he doesn't stand up. We maintain a professional distance in this house at all times.

Bea clears her throat dramatically. 'Well, today's the big day! What time are you kids off?'

I check my watch. It's almost eight. 'Astrid's coming by at half nine, I think. Hopefully all our stuff will fit in the car.'