Two-Way Split by Allan Guthrie Read Free Book Online

auditioned for three of Britain's top music schools: St Mary's in Edinburgh, Douglas Academy in Glasgow and Chetham's in Manchester.  All three offered him a place. He chose Chetham's because, at the time, it had the best reputation.
    Shortly after his fourteenth birthday his dad drove him south to his new school. Robin sat in the front seat telling his dad how much he was looking forward to improving his technique so that he could have a shot at the Liszt B minor Sonata, one of the hardest pieces in the piano repertoire. In those days the only trouble he experienced with his hands was an occasional stiffness, easily remedied by submerging them in a bowl of hot water for a few minutes.
    Dad reached into the glove compartment and took out a half bottle of whisky. He took a long pull. "I don't care about your arsing technique ."
    Robin cringed. He waited for it. It came.
    "You're a leech."
    His dad's favourite insult. It had become a nickname, almost. Leech. My son, the leech. "Sorry, Dad."
    "Don't cheek me, you little shit." He took another sip. "Leech." A muscle tugged at his upper lip. "Bloodsucker." His lips were pulled back from his teeth. "Parasite."
    "I wish you wouldn't be like this, Dad."
    His father's face was twisted with rage. He got like this when he drank, which was so often it seemed normal these days. So normal that it never occurred to Robin that his dad shouldn't be driving.
    Robin hummed quietly to himself. Chopin's C-sharp minor Nocturne. He tapped out the notes on his thighs.
    Dad said, "This money the council have given you."
    Robin broke off mid-bar. "The bursary?" The fees were five grand per annum, a sum well beyond his parents' means.
    "You'll be there for four years. That's twenty grand. Bleeding us tax payers of twenty grand, right?"
    Robin didn't want another hiding. He said nothing and started playing the Chopin again.
    "On top of the money we've already spent on bloody piano lessons. See, you've been sucking the life out of me most of your life. And for what? For all this arty-farty crap you and your mother like." He slapped the steering wheel. "Waste of money. My money."
    "Dad, I need you to—"
    The slap stung his cheek. The second slap made his lip bleed. He shielded his face with his hands, tasting warm, salty blood.
    "Pathetic," his dad said. "Fourteen years old and look at you, crying like a wee girl."
    "I'm not." He lowered his hands to let his dad see his defiantly dry eyes.
    Dad mumbled, "Can't even kick a football straight."
    They didn't talk for the rest of the journey, Dad sipping his whisky and Robin trying not to cry. When they arrived at his new school, his dad helped carry Robin's few personal items to his dormitory on the upper level of a two-storey prefab. Across the courtyard Palatine House still bore an external resemblance to the Victorian railway hotel it once was. Inside, as Robin recalled from his post-audition guided tour, cacophony erupted from four floors of practice rooms, each identically furnished with a music stand and a Daneman upright piano. To the right, cloisters led to the Baronial Hall, location of public lunchtime recitals. Above the spiked railings that fenced in a croquet lawn, Manchester Cathedral dominated the skyline.
    He turned to his dad and said, "I really thought you'd be proud of me."
    "I'd be bloody proud of you if you stopped pissing the bed. That would be something to be proud of. But I don't suppose you could do that legato in three four time, eh?" His dad left without saying goodbye.
    All Robin wanted to do was play the piano. He didn't care what his father thought. The man was a philistine and a drunk and he wasn't worth crying over. While Robin was still in his mother's womb, parasitically clinging to her body, he had managed to suck the life out of his father. At least, that's how Dad saw it.
    Once upon a time, Dad had fancied himself as a jazz drummer. Robin had heard him play only once, on a kit in a music shop when they were looking for a