A Concert

The theatre was unexpectedly busy, about a third full. I sat in the centre where I had a good view of the flat stage. On Friday, I too would perform on stage and I felt excited about it suddenly.  
 
The lights dimmed.  The conversation died.  
 
Applause rippled through the old auditorium and a man and woman stepped out of a green room, onto the stage. A well-known violinist and piano accompanist, although I'd never heard of them. They played Beethoven's Spring Sonata.   Lovely, like a gentle stream with a few waterfalls.  
 
I thought of Philippa all through the performance. Imagined that I was playing the piano part just for her, and she was listening, laughing with pleasure, asking me to replay sections.  Philippa, my Philippa.  
 
She texted again: will meet you outside foyer a 9 xx P  
 
More wine in plastic glasses during the interval, all free. I helped myself. Everything was tilting again, like last night after the opening concert.      
 
I stood outside, waited impatiently for Philippa to appear.  
Another text: change of plan, at the fairground, come straight over. x Philippa.