Just Until Next Year

POV Sister Margaret

The performance was over, and the curtain had already closed for a second time. The applause simply hadn't stopped after the first, forcing the cast to come back out onto the stage once more.

But unlike the rest of the audience, Margaret hadn't been able to enjoy the performance anymore. Not after the scene with Tinker Bell.

That was real.

Whatever Oliver had done in that moment, the fear in his eyes and the desperation in his voice had been real. That hadn't been acting anymore.

The rest of the audience might not have noticed. The people from the theatre might not have noticed either. But Margaret knew. She knew that the little boy on that stage hadn't simply been pretending.

He had remembered something.

"Sister Margaret? Are you coming?" Joanne asked. They had happened to run into each other again before the performance.

"Just a moment, my child. Don't worry, Oliver will wait for us," Margaret said, looking at the young woman in amusement.

***

POV Oliver

Oliver had changed out of his costume by now and was waiting near the entrance for Helen, Bea, and Sister Margaret to finally show up.

The performance had gone damn well.

Even the scene with Tinker Bell had worked. More than worked, judging by Arthur's reaction.

"Damn, boy! That was Oscar-worthy!" Arthur had shouted at him as he'd rushed past backstage.

But there was still no sign of the three people whose reactions Oliver actually cared about.

"Peter!" Helen called with a broad grin as she and Bea made their way through the last few people still lingering around.

"Wendy!" he called back before turning to Bea. "Tinker Bell! Where's Hook?"

Helen gave him a stern look while Beatrice started laughing.

"Hook?" asked a considerably less amused voice that suddenly came from beside him, and before Oliver could react, a small prayer book had already come down on top of his head.

He burst out laughing and turned to greet Margaret when he noticed Joanne standing beside her.

Oliver remembered her—she had been at his first piano performance. But that wasn't why she had stuck in his memory. It was the way she had looked at him, something Oliver hadn't been able to make sense of even then.

He turned to Joanne and studied her for a moment before saying, "Hello, Joanne—and thank you for coming too." Then he looked expectantly around the group. "So? Did you like it?" he asked, quite obviously fishing for compliments.

Joanne was the first to answer. "Very much. I came here especially to see you today, and I have to say, it was worth it."

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

A slight shiver ran down his arms.

"You were brilliant, Olli," Helen said, pulling him into another quick hug.

Bea nodded in agreement before signing, And now you have time to learn guitar.

Oliver's face twisted into a grimace as he noticed Joanne watching again. "She said I was super cool and that there has never been a better Peter..." he began translating for Joanne, who obviously didn't know sign language.

He didn't get the chance to finish his interpretation of Beatrice's words, however, because she interrupted him with a hard kick to the shin.

"OW!" Oliver grimaced in pain.

Finally, his gaze wandered to Margaret. She hadn't said anything yet and was simply looking at him. For a moment, Oliver returned her gaze and waited for her verdict.

"That wasn't a Christian play again!" she said before immediately continuing, "Next time, make sure you perform something more appropriate!"

Oliver had known Margaret long enough by now to notice that something hadn't sat right with her. But since she still wanted him to perform another play, it could hardly have been his acting.

"We should probably get going," Helen cut in. "We still have to get back to London tonight."

Oliver nodded, even though he wasn't particularly happy about having to say goodbye to them again so soon.

"But we'll see each other again soon," Helen added with a smile. "We're already looking forward to you coming to visit us during the summer holidays."

"Me too," Oliver said, glancing at Bea.

She grinned at him and signed a single word.

Guitar.

Oliver rolled his eyes.

These are going to be some exhausting months!

***

March 30, 1998 | Luesby Residence, Oxford, England

"My mum and I were at your performance," Emma said, looking at him seriously. "You looked like a little girl in those green tights!" she added with a mocking grin.

Oliver ignored her. By now, he knew how to deal with Emma. The little brat was incredibly ambitious about everything she did and hated being ignored or not taken seriously.

"Alright, Emma, let's continue. The next word is cantankerous."

Emma stared at him blankly. "I don't know that word!"

"Example sentence: Emma has been particularly cantankerous during today's tutoring session," he said.

Emma frowned. "Smart?"

"It describes someone who constantly argues, makes a fuss over every little thing, and gets on everyone else's nerves," Oliver explained, struggling to keep a perfectly straight face.

Emma stared at him for a moment as she slowly realised what he'd just said.

Her eyes widened.

"MUM!" she shouted indignantly as she ran towards the door. "Oliver's being mean to me again!"

Oliver leaned back in his chair, satisfied.

The lesson was going wonderfully.

By the time Oliver returned to the Dragon School, there wasn't much of the evening left. Instead of heading back to his room, he decided to make use of what little time he had before curfew.

He grimaced as the string slipped beneath his fingertip again and produced a sound that could only very generously be described as music.

He readjusted the guitar on his lap and looked at his now slightly reddened fingers. He had been sitting alone in one of the Dragon School's music rooms for almost an hour, trying to make friends with an instrument he was steadily beginning to dislike.

And all because of Bea.

She had written the song herself. A combination of piano and guitar, with Bea naturally deciding that she would take the piano part herself.

That left Oliver with the guitar.

"Don't you think you're starting to overdo it a little?" Oliver suddenly heard a voice ask from behind him.

He turned around and saw Whitaker leaning against the doorframe, apparently having watched him for a while.

"Mr Whitaker! What do you mean? Curfew isn't for another twenty minutes," he defended himself.

"That's not what I mean," Whitaker said sternly, pausing for a moment. "Theatre, Oxford, tutoring, your regular classes here at the Dragon, and now guitar as well?"

Whitaker walked over and took hold of his hand before Oliver could pull it away. For a moment, he examined his reddened fingertips.

"Boy, I don't know what your problem is, but if you keep going like this, you're going to burn yourself out," he said, releasing his hand.

Without another word, Whitaker left the music room.

Oliver watched him go and had to reluctantly admit that he wasn't entirely wrong. His days were damn full by now, and there was no way he could keep up this pace forever.

But he didn't have to.

Next year was Qualcomm. After that, he could finally slow down, and until then...

he would endure!