Epilogue

They settled into a curious life – half in Europe and half in Australia depending on Toks’ performance schedule. Jerinja was always home.

It wasn’t lost on Toks that the home she’d spent her life searching for was exactly the place she’d started from – wherever Polly Paterson was. Polly had ties and responsibilities and people she loved at Jerinja, and Toks was slowly learning patience and the art of living just a little less frantically.

As Tilda said, Toks was allegro and Polly was adagio.

As Magpie drawled, a skilled maestro could surely find moderato.

She was trying.

Her two years’ tenure as principal conductor of the Sydney Symphony gave her plenty of time to spend at Jerinja. In between, she worked side-by-side with Polly at the Sydney Opera House which felt like the stuff of dreams. Being obliged to visit her mother at the Nerradja Gardens Aged Care and Assisted Living Village to play the occasional recital for her friends felt considerably less so.

“At least one of my good for nothing children cares for me.”

Draga was completely audible over the Chopin etude Toks was playing for her. She was being melodramatic and the twinkle in her eye showed she knew it. Polly was in on it too with the same irritating and wonderful smile, but for some reason none of that bothered Toks the way it used to. She actually talked to her mother about her life back in Severin before they’d fled as refugees and heard her mother’s stories about humility and sacrifice properly for the first time.

Draga could rib her as much as she wanted.

All the same, it was a hell of a lot easier to simply refer her mother to one of the country’s best surgeons and pay for a double hip replacement.

It gave Draga a whole new lease on life.

“Ksenia was always my favourite,” she told her friends as she packed her bags at the Nerradja Gardens Aged Care and Assisted Living Village and moved into Jerinja just as Polly had always wanted her to.

Magpie and Draga together, in the same damn house, made an absolutely brutal combination.

“Whinging harpies, the pair of them,” Toks muttered to Polly as they cuddled in bed after a Sunday barbecue that had been a gruelling study in endurance – as well as sheer good fun. Toks was learning about relaxing too, about letting go and allowing family to revive her spirit. “I thought I was forgiven! I thought I was the golden child again. What have I got to do to win those two over?” She grumbled at Polly’s laugh and tickled her ribs. “I can’t wait til we’re back in Europe next month.”

There was a soft kiss and then Polly looked just as wicked. “Oh darling, didn’t Sumi tell you? We’ve got two weeks in Severin. Draga’s coming with us.”

Toks moaned at the ceiling, but she knew that was for show too. When she thought about it, she didn’t mind at all.

She didn’t mind until the flight home. Her cousin laid on the private jet for his aunt and Draga refocused her attention.

“Niki was always such a good boy,” she’d tell anyone who’d listen. “Not like my own children. Such disappointments.”

Polly’s hand landed on Toks’ thigh and squeezed with long, slow pressure. Toks found she quite enjoyed obeying it.

Tilda turned out to be an unexpected joy.

The kid was remarkably talented – if only she could tame her endless posturing and posing. Toks set about doing exactly that.

“You were just the same at your age,” Draga told her over dinner one Sunday evening when Tilda was at a friend’s. “Stubborn, headstrong—”

“Arrogant, pompous, pigheaded,” added Magpie.

Toks stuck her finger up. “You didn’t even know me then, you wicked old hippy.”

Magpie looked delighted.

“—always certain you were the best,” Draga finished.

“I was the best,” Toks protested. “I am the best.”

“Nothing’s changed.” Magpie was triumphant.

“You should tutor her through her diplomas, then,” Polly suggested. “She’s outgrown all the local music teachers.”

Toks panicked. What did she know about teenagers? “Violin is not my main instrument.”

A whole posse of strident women turned on her.

“Are you Maestro Ksenia Tokarycz or aren’t you?” Polly was mild, cheeky as fuck, and twice as sexy.

Toks took that out of her later.

Her lessons with Tilda soon became another reason she longed to get home to Jerinja each week. Tilda was obstinate too, and she put up well-reasoned arguments over interpretation that secretly thrilled Toks. She’d clearly inherited her musical sensitivity from her mother. Technique was another matter, though, and Toks brooked no slacking there. She logged FaceTime calls from New York, Hamburg, Paris and Severin just to make sure the girl was precise with her intonation and her double stops. She tolerated no laziness with vibrato.

But the two of them really meshed when it came to the Synthphonic Sessions. Tilda dropped the attitude immediately once she clocked just how much she had to learn about scoring for an orchestra and became an avid student. Bribing her with a live performance of their work on Tightly Strung in the concert hall of the Sydney Opera House worked like a charm too.

“You pass your Associate in music this year” —Toks held up one finger— “and I won’t accept anything less than an award with distinction, and you can mix live on stage.”

Tilda gave a weird sound that was half whoop and half groan.

Toks saw Polly hold her breath. Even Magpie looked daunted.

“You think I can do it? Am I good enough?”

Toks smiled. The kid was. Tilda had the potential to be almost as good as she was, if she worked at it. “Yeah, you’re not bad,” she said.

Tilda practised like a demon.

As a result, she sailed through her AmusA exam and barrelled into Toks’ office in the Opera House, slapping the certificate onto Toks’ desk with well-deserved triumph.

Polly erupted out of the sofa to hug her. Sumi did too.

“Well?” said Tilda.

Toks met Polly’s eyes over Tilda’s head and won permission with a pleased nod. She gave Sumi the order.

“Let’s do it. The Synthphonic Sessions.”

Tilda started a high pitched squealing noise that Toks knew she was going to come to regret.

The Synthphonic Sessions hit the stage late in Toks’ second year with the Sydney Symphony and was so immediately successful Toks repeated the formula in Severin. She took over Harmony Square with a massive outdoor gig, utterly shattering her reputation as a stuffy classical music specialist and introducing the power of a full orchestra to tens of thousands of people.

Tilda went insane with excitement.

Draga tutted.

Magpie danced in the square in a rainbow LED cape and went clubbing with Sumi afterwards.

For Toks, it was all about the intense look on Polly’s face as she watched from the sidelines, not because she was losing her mind in nightmare memories of Severin, but because she was making new ones – beautiful ones – with Toks.

“Your city is growing on me,” Polly said, hours later, as they strolled along the river in the moonlight, past the palace and the Dom, and the posh hotel where Draga and Tilda were staying with Sumi.

“It doesn’t upset you?” Toks asked. Polly had told her time and time again that she wouldn’t be in Korovinja with her if it did, but Toks was determined. She would be attentive. She would notice. She would love Polly more than she loved anything else.

“It’s a new time. A new place,” Polly shrugged. “And I’m here with you.”

Toks felt her spine straighten completely of its own accord. Polly was the foundation she’d been missing all these years. The theme that had whispered at the edge of her mind that now blared fortissimo with Polly’s song entwined. They were harmony together. Rhapsody and symphony. Bravura.

She could do anything with Polly at her side.

Polly felt the change in her body. She nudged her with her hip.

“You fall for that mushy shit every time,” she murmured.

“It’s not mushy. I love you, Polly Paterson. I’m going to spend every day for the rest of my life making sure you know that.”

Polly’s body gave her away too. She fell into Toks’ side like she was liquid, the whole line of her warm against her entire existence.

Toks hummed, smug.

“Alright then, smartarse,” Polly whispered. “Take me to bed.”

Toks seized her wrist and tugged her home, utterly ignoring Polly’s laughter.

Loving Polly Paterson again was like coming home no matter where they were in the world.

She kissed her way back up the woman’s body, licking the sweat from the mind-bending curve of her hip, brushing her soul over scars that had worried her once but were now as familiar to her as her own skin. Losing herself in the plush heaven of her breasts. Sighing into her throat.

Polly was still quivering. Her panting breath filled Toks’ heart – the only music she ever wanted to hear. That Polly allowed her to do this again was all the absolution Toks needed. She’d worship Polly forever.

Polly’s fingers scratched lazy circles at the nape of Toks’ neck. They twined their legs together and pulled up the quilt. Eternity was in the soft, sweet hush of their shared breaths in the tiny space they made for themselves and Toks was grateful in a way she knew she’d never been before.

“I found that music school today,” Polly murmured. “The one I visited all those years ago. Out in the burbs south of Severin.”

Toks trusted her so completely she didn’t even stir. A scar was proof of healing. Polly wore them proudly now.

“While I was rehearsing the Hindemith?”

“You know I can’t stand him.”

“If you were playing in an orchestra you wouldn’t have a choice,” Toks pointed out.

Polly tugged her hair playfully. “Lucky I’m a free woman, then.”

Toks bugged Polly regularly about getting serious about her cello playing again. She had trouble accepting Polly wasn’t as gung-ho about her dreams as Toks was, but Polly simply pointed to the eighteen years under the bridge with an equanimity Toks knew she’d never acquire.

When they played together, it was almost as good as sex.

“What did you do there?”

Polly yawned. “Tuned their pianos.”

Now Toks sat up to look at her. She laughed. “You crazy thing. You just turned up out of nowhere and offered to tune their pianos?”

“Yep.”

Toks waited. “And?”

Polly grinned. “And there were five of them. I had a great day.”

“Not even going to tell you how weird that is.”

Polly pulled her back down again. “I should think not.”

They cuddled closer. Contentedness was still an unfamiliar feeling for Toks, though for Polly, she could grow to love it.

“Berlin tomorrow,” she breathed.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

Toks huffed into her neck. “Pfft.”

“Of course, you’re not. Silly me,” Polly drawled. “The great Ksenia Tokarycz is never—”

She broke off in a squeal of giggles, but Toks barely had time to direct her tickles downwards before Polly flipped them both over and sat up with her thighs around Toks’ hips.

She could feel the soft brush of the hair between Polly’s legs, the press of her muscles against her sides. Polly was utterly naked and her red hair tumbled over one shoulder. The view was magnificent, and Toks linked her hands behind her head to enjoy it.

It was possibly the wrong thing to do, because although she knew Polly loved her pride, she was also coming to understand that Polly was the only person in the world who could melt it down. And from the wicked twist in the corner of her lips and the way her tongue crept out to lick them, Toks could tell a big dose of humility was headed her way.

“Oh, baby,” she said, completely without knowing she’d spoken.

Polly kissed her mouth. “Shh,” she hushed, tugging on her lower lip with her teeth. “My turn.”

Toks felt the curse die completely when she signed on the line to lead the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra for a four year contract once her Sydney tenure came to an end.

Not that Berlin meant as much to her these days as it used to.

What mattered was that she was holding Polly Paterson’s hand as she signed.

“Congratulations,” Polly told her, later on the flight home to Jerinja. The quiet pride in Polly’s eyes was rocket fuel. Soaring on it, Toks was changing the world.

“Hmmph! Utterly ridiculous that we’re a quarter of the way into the twenty-first century and it’s only now a woman will stand on the podium full time.”

“Oh, hush your nonsense.” Polly kissed her. “Sumi tells me you’ve been offered the gig four times already and you were too stubborn to take it.”

Toks hmmph’d again. She was increasingly surrounded by women who knew all her secrets and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

She looked at Polly’s admiration again and knew that was a lie.

She loved it.

“You’re not cross because I’m taking on too much?”

“Oh, you mean boss roles in Sydney, Korovinja and Berlin?”

“I can do it!” Toks insisted.

“I don’t doubt you for a second,” Polly said. There was another kiss to hammer that home. Polly believed in her. There was nothing left to prove. With worship like that Toks didn’t need Berlin at all, but there was also the principle of the matter. She was the best, after all. This was her due.

“Two years,” she promised. “Well, maybe four, and then I’ll drop everything except Sydney and settle at Jerinja.”

Polly didn’t even look remotely impressed. “Bullshit, darling. What about the Bayreuth Festival? The Proms? Tanglewood? You going to give those up too? Sumi said the Cleveland offered you a stupid amount of money for a two year contract.”

Toks hung her head. “Cleveland is a damn fine band.”

“I don’t want you to give up anything for me,” Polly insisted. “Don’t even think about it. You know perfectly well I will follow you anywhere.”

Toks squeezed her eyes shut tight. The memory of a dozen red roses fallen in the snow finally burned away under the fierceness of Polly’s love.

“Promise?” she begged. This was what love had reduced her to.

Returned her to.

Soft, soft lips brushed against hers. “Silly,” Polly whispered. “Of course, I promise. My darling, you’ll never be alone again. We will always be together.”

“But how will we—?”

Polly pressed her back into the bed. Thank god for her cousin’s private jet. Thank god they could pull a curtain between them and Magpie, Tilda and Sumi singing karaoke in the other cabin.

“Let’s just figure it out as we go,” Polly told her.

“She got it!” Tilda hollered as they all pulled into Jerinja a day later. Justin, Daz, Richard and Draga met them on the balcony. “Mastro Ksenia Tokarycz is now the principal conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. Daz! We need daiquiris. Jugs of them! This is a celebration.”

It was summer, filthy hot, and a storm hunched on the horizon at the end of Thirteen Mile beach. Jerinja was impossibly green under a deep blue sky, the tang of eucalyptus sizzled on the back of Toks’ mind, and she was home.

Her mother even kissed her cheek.

“Well done, my daughter. I’m proud of you.”

Toks was a little surprised at how good that felt.

Real life swirled around her just moments later. Justin raised a brow at Tilda. He reached out to clip her ear and Tilda thumped him back.

“Daiquiris? You got ID, young lady?”

“Newsflash, I’m eighteen now! All growed up. Bring on the booze, buddy.”

Justin shot his eyes heavenward for patience and Daz grinned like a fool. Draga winced. Magpie declared daiquiris were a brilliant fucking idea, and she and Tilda linked arms with dangerous solidarity. With his usual amiable nature, Richard led them all to the barbecue that had already been laid out – jugs of strawberry daiquiris already on ice – and they settled in for a long, slow, friendly afternoon watching the storm roll up the coast.

Toks was happy.

It was a wide, pulsing warmth in her chest and she couldn’t believe she’d gone this long without it.

There was just one thing missing.

“I think you should hang my piano in the tree again,” she said.

They all frowned at her.

“It’s in the dam, Toks,” Magpie drawled. Toks smirked at the use of her name. She was wearing the old woman down. “Mud, lilies, six feet of water and all that.”

Toks looked at Polly. “I know. It’s just— I kinda liked the sound of it on the air. The way it hummed when a storm got close.”

Sumi blew a raspberry. “That’s a lie. You can’t stand extraneous noise. The air-conditioning techs at the Sydney Opera House still curse you to hell and back. They quake in their boots every time you’re in town.”

Toks waved that away. “I liked it.”

Polly found her fingers under the table and linked them in hers. “I don’t need it anymore,” she said, gently. A smile like sunshine on Toks’ soul. “I don’t need to find that sound. I don’t have to mend or destroy pianos anymore. I’ve got you.”

More utterly than she knew.

Toks pulled a small box from her pocket.

Stood up.

She gazed at her family and the woman she loved.

“Yeah,” she admitted, and she dropped eye contact with Polly for just a moment to pop her eyes at Magpie and Tilda to ward off their teasing in advance. “It’s just that I’m a smug, egotistical attention whore and I really love that story about the time my wife went crazy and attacked a one-hundred-and-eighty thousand dollar piano with an axe.”

There was total silence.

“Wife?” Polly whispered.

Toks looked at the love shining out of Polly’s eyes and got down on one knee. As humble as she’d ever been.

Well, as humble as she could.

It was her third big wish, but by now she knew it was coming true.

“Will you marry me, Polly Paterson? Please?”

There was so much smile in Polly’s lips the kiss was all teeth and laughter, but her hands were on Toks’ face and her tears were on her cheeks and there was music in her voice.

“Oh, Toks. Of course I will.”

Magpie whooped so loud she startled cockatoos from the trees.

“About fucking time.”

The End