The Last Note

We had practised our part while washing up. At the sink we could get from the first breath to the last word. In the hall, when the other parts began, we kept losing the place.

This week June made room for us between her and the man with the red folder. When he turned his page, we turned ours. At the place where we usually stopped, their voices carried on beside us. We carried on too.

June was making a recording for Pat, who could not come. She stood her phone against a water bottle on the windowsill, pressed the button and came back to her place.

We got to the last word. The leader lifted her hand and closed it. We stopped with the others.

June brought the phone over. We could hear the low part. It sounded fuller than it had at the sink. We followed it with a finger on the page, right through the place we had been practising.

“Is that all three of us?” we asked.

“Yes,” said June.

We asked her to play that bit again. Then we held the phone nearer our ear. There was the low part, and the voices above it. We could not find ours.

The leader said we had begun the last word at different times. She showed us where to take the breath. A woman marked her page. The man beside us drew a small line with his pencil.

June put the phone back on the windowsill and started it again. We took our place beside her. When she breathed, we breathed. This time the last word began together.

The leader raised her hand. We still had some air. We watched her fingers close and kept the vowel going for another moment.

The pages came down on either side of us. Our voice was still sounding. We stopped. June went to the windowsill and stopped the phone.