‘Where are you off to these days? I don’t recall you being allowed to leave in the evenings.’ Alexander’s voice was brittle and cold. Silas was working late at his company. Something along the lines of the market, stock shares and some negotiations required that none of them understood. 

‘I got a part time job.’ The half truth slipped out smoothly as Cas wanted, though it didn’t stop the heavy pulse in his ears. 

‘Does Father know?’ 

‘Yes,’ Cas spoke carefully. ‘I want to start saving up for after graduation.’

‘Fine. As long as it doesn’t get in the way of your work here.’  

The scepticism lingered long after Alexander left, and Cas loosened the grip on his bag. Readjusting it with a light exhale, Cas left the manor.   

At seven o’clock, the city smelled of thick car fumes, street food, and the crisp air of winter. The high street was all but a blur of white mist between conversation, neutral toned wool coats and bright neon lights glaring overhead as Cas passed. The festive season was upon them, and the excitement couldn’t be contained in the bitter colds and greys. 

The rented room was on the first floor, third door on the right. Cas had collected the key last week and carefully tucked it under a loose floorboard in his room. It was a compartment of yellowing pale walls, considerable layers of dust along the windowpane, frayed edges on the carpet that would make Silas’ eyes redden. Though it was smaller than he’d anticipated, the sight of the piano was all that mattered. 

Cas sifted through the music sheets printed from the library. The Bach Partita he’d chosen was already in one of his mother’s old piano books, and he faintly recalled her rendition of the B-Flat Major Prelude echoing through the house. 

Tonight, Beethoven’s Adagio Cantabile called to him above the other sonata’s movements. Slow. Beguiling. Entrancing with the extent of a hand. 

As Cas played, the steady stream of life outside the building faded into the night. The notes were infinite, still as dewdrops on leaves, soft as the first snowflakes of the year. 

But the ninth hour arrived anyway, chased by the urge to catch the earliest bus home. 

In the first few days of December, thick piles of snow smothered the surface. There was a contagious lethargy and detachment in the air that came with winter. The hours grew shorter, people grasping for the last fragments of daylight. 

The distance to the pre-screening deadline inched closer, and all that preoccupied Cas’ mind was his repertoire. Similarly, Alexander’s mood worsened whenever he failed to play a passage correctly. Cas’ distraction did not go unnoticed when he mixed up the laundry, and Alexander had snapped at him for staining one of his blouses with the iron. Johan’s lip only curled up in mild amusement, ‘What is this? It’s not like you to do things half heartedly.’ 

At dinner, the cutlery were the only sounds that broke the silence as they indulged in the entrées. Silas had the day off work, but his expression was more grim than usual that even the twins dared not let their table manners slip. Alexander glanced at Johan, then Silas.

Johan merely continued to eat, cutting the bread into extremely small pieces. Earlier in the afternoon, he had finally expressed his wish to pursue languages rather than piano. There was a knowing of how Silas would react, but in the study, the disapproval was far greater than he’d ever anticipated.

The scrapes of metal against China were much too raw, the only indication of anyone being present in the room. Cas laid out the mains and turned away to make his escape. No sooner than they began to slice through the steak, there was a loud clatter against the tablecloth. 

‘It’s the third time this week that you’ve not upheld the standards of your cooking,’ Silas said. His grey eyes bore into Cas. ‘You’ve become incompetent these days.’ 

‘I—I’m sorry. I’ll make an—’

The plate shattered with one swift move. The floor turned into a mosaic of brown, greens and grease seeping like blood from a wound. Cas flinched, the sound piercing his lungs and threaded into his heart. The twins had stopped eating, having not seen their father act like this in a long time, for it had been years since he’d let his temper run. 

‘As if I’ve not already had enough to deal with at work. Now I can’t even seem to receive a simple, decent meal,’ Silas said, his tone unchanged. ‘Well, what are you standing there for? Clean it up.’ 

Steadying himself, Cas tried to return to the kitchen. 

‘Now.’ 

‘But, I was just going to get—’

‘Did I tell you to use a pan and brush? Your hands would suffice. Perhaps you would learn to make use of them.’ 

Cas approached the table, unable to meet any of their gazes. He slowly crouched down, the jagged shards seeming to pulse in his vision. Trembling slightly, he reached for a piece, time holding its breath before it was nestled carefully in his hand. 

Cas stood when he could collect no more. He entered the kitchen and discarded the shattered remains. When he returned to the dining room, Silas had already left. He continued to pick up the pieces, his chest tight with a fear he had never known. 

Just before Cas stood up again, a stream of liquid suddenly poured from above, startling him. It was not scalding hot, but not cool enough to chase away the burn on his skin. Cas didn’t move. Trembling droplets fell from his hair, forming a black puddle at his feet. 

Alexander put the empty teapot down with grace. ‘You should’ve known better than to make Father angry. Hurry up and get out. You’re ruining my appetite.’ 

Cas felt his eyes welling and stood silently. When he cleared the last of the mess, he couldn’t stop the tears, the salt sharp against the cuts on his fingers. He ran them under the tap and watched red swirled the drain like curls of ink.