Welcome to the Real World by Carole Matthews Read Free Book Online Page A

he was interested when it's his everyday mode of transport. Good job I had the sense not to tell him about the male stripper we kidnapped and bundled into the car. The lovely Jemma never did end up getting married. Hee, hee.

    Evan David strides ahead of me and I notice that the crush of waiting people part as he approaches, rather like the Red Sea when Moses turned up. I'm not sure what I expected of the other opera singers, but I didn't think they'd look like common or garden people who'd just come out of Tescos. I thought they'd have an air to themlike Evan Davidbut they don't. They're all wearing jeans and T-shirts that have seen better days, and I blend in perfectly.

    I suddenly realise that I don't even know what opera my new boss is here to rehearse. What a great assistant I am. So I scuttle after him, trying to catch up. 'What part are you playing?' I ask his left shoulder, hoping this is the right terminology.

    'Pinkerton.' He stops and turns round, then smiles at my blank expression. 'In Madame Butterfly. By Puccini. The story of Cio-Cio-San.'

    I clearly look none the wiser as he adds, 'It's a tale of tragically unrequited love.'

    I'm not sure if he's putting me on, but I get no time for further questions as he marches on.

    The rest of us mortals shuffle after Mr David and into the rehearsal room which looks rather like a branch of Homebase with all the garden furniture and tins of paint removed. It's a big steel hangar with a jolly red frame, lined with a barrage of mushroom-shaped pads which I assume are there to enhance the acoustics. There are rows of tiered plastic seats at the back with the mass of people filing into them.

    'Sit here,' Evan tells me. Rather too loudly, I think. 'With the chorus.'

    And, of course, I do as I'm told, slinking into a seat on the end of a row, hoping that I'm not in anyone's way and trying to avoid the enquiring glances. The orchestra are crammed in the middle of the vast buildingstrings at the front, woodwind, brass section and percussion behind. There are two separate rows of chairs and music stands marked Principal Artists, and Evan takes up his position there. A tiny Japanese woman stretches to kiss him warmly on both cheeks. If I had inherited my dad's love of gambling, I'd bet a week's wages that this is Madame Butterfly, herself.

    She's extraordinarily pretty, with porcelain skin and a skein of glossy black hair that reaches down to her waist. And I get a pang of...what? Plain old-fashioned jealousy, that's what. I sigh and settle into my seat.

    A tall, skinny man comes into the room carrying a baton, and everyone stands and claps. Not knowing what else to do, I join in.

    Evan claps him on the back and they hug each other warmly. 'Maestro!' Evan says in his booming tones.

    'Il Divo,' the maestro returns, and they exchange small talk in what sounds like French from this distance. Then the maestro takes his place on the raised podium at the front of the orchestra.

    'Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,' he says. Then he taps the podium, finds his place in the score and announces to the assembly, 'We will run through once and then stop for notes.'

    He takes up his baton and the orchestra commences. And I'm transfixed, from the very first note. I've never been in such close proximity to an orchestra before, and I can feel the sound vibrating through my body, speeding through my blood, reverberating in my chest. Time and place melt awayeven my uncomfortable plastic chair ceases to exist as I'm transported to another world.

    When Evan starts to sing, my mouth goes dry. I thought I knew a bit about singing, but I've never heard anything quite like this before. The pure tones stir up emotions I didn't even know I had. My heart is pounding like a hammer drill and I hardly dare to breathe in case I miss anything.

    Nearly two hours later, when Cio-Cio-San sings her sorrowful lament, I'm reduced to a blubbering wreck. I have no idea what she's singing because it's all in