Nocturnes_ Five Stories of Music and Nightfall - Kazuo Ishiguro [29]
We didn’t speak for a few moments, but just listened to Sarah Vaughan. Then as an instrumental break started, Emily said: “I suppose, Raymond, you prefer her other version of this. The one she did with just piano and bass.”
I didn’t reply, but just propped myself up a little more so as to sip my wine better.
“I bet you do,” she said. “You prefer that other version. Don’t you, Raymond?”
“Well,” I said, “I really don’t know. To tell you the truth, I don’t remember the other version.”
I could feel Emily shift at the end of the sofa. “You’re kidding, Raymond.”
“It’s funny, but I don’t listen to this kind of stuff much these days. In fact, I’ve forgotten almost everything about it. I’m not even sure what song this is right now.” I did a little laugh, which perhaps didn’t come out very well.
“What are you talking about?” She sounded suddenly cross. “That’s ridiculous. Short of having had a lobotomy, there’s no way you could have forgotten.”
“Well. A lot of years have gone by. Things change.”
“What are you talking about?” There was now a hint of panic in her voice. “Things can’t change that much.”
I was pretty desperate to get off the subject. So I said: “Pity things are such a mess at your work.”
Emily completely ignored this. “So what are you saying? You’re saying you don’t like this? You want me to turn it off, is that it?”
“No, no, Emily, please, it’s lovely. It … it brings back memories. Please, let’s just get back to being quiet and relaxed, the way we were a minute ago.”
She did another sigh, and when she next spoke her voice was gentle again.
“I’m sorry, darling. I’d forgotten. That’s the last thing you need, me yelling at you. I’m so sorry.”
“No, no, it’s okay.” I heaved myself up to a sitting position. “You know, Emily, Charlie’s a decent guy. A very decent guy. And he loves you. You won’t do better, you know.”
Emily shrugged and drank some more wine. “You’re probably right. And we’re hardly young any more. We’re as bad as one another. We should count ourselves lucky. But we never seem to be contented. I don’t know why. Because when I stop and think about it, I realise I don’t really want anyone else.”
For the next minute or so, she kept sipping her wine and listening to the music. Then she said: “You know, Raymond, when you’re at a party, at a dance. And it’s maybe a slow dance, and you’re with the person you really want to be with, and the rest of the room’s supposed to vanish. But somehow it doesn’t. It just doesn’t. You know there’s no one half as nice as the guy in your arms. And yet … well, there are all these people everywhere else in the room. They don’t leave you alone. They keep shouting and waving and doing daft things just to attract your attention. ‘Oi! How can you be satisfied with that?! You can do much better! Look over here!’ It’s like they’re shouting things like that all the time. And so it gets hopeless, you can’t just dance quietly with your guy. Do you know what I mean, Raymond?”
I thought about it for a while, then said: “Well, I’m not as lucky as you and Charlie. I don’t have anyone special like you do. But yes, in some ways, I know just what you mean. It’s hard to know where to settle. What to settle to.”
“Bloody right. I wish they’d just lay off, all these gatecrashers. I wish they’d just lay off and let us get on with it.”
“You know, Emily, I wasn’t kidding just now. Charlie thinks the world of you. He’s so upset things haven’t been going well between you.”
Her back was more or less turned to me, and she didn’t say anything for a long time. Then Sarah Vaughan began her beautiful, perhaps excessively slow version of “April in Paris,” and Emily started up like Sarah had called her name. Then she turned to me and shook her head.
“I can’t get over it, Ray. I can’t get over how you don’t listen to this kind of music any more. We used to play all these records back then. On that little record player Mum bought me before I came to university. How could you just forget?”
I got to