A Bond with My Brother

Today I shut the door behind me to sit down on the stroke of two and practise my very own piano concerto as composed by Wolfie. So vividly did I hear the orchestra, I quite forgot that it was not there or that I was in Saint Gilgen with my solitary pianoforte. ‘More!’ I cried aloud on the final cadence. ‘Again!’
“This is for my own dear sister to play,” Jack Pudding wrote to all who cared to know. ‘For none other than my darling Nan can play it better.’ And so, you understand, I ran it through twice more, at a lick.
‘Bravissima!’ I heard his voice echoing through a mysterious reflection in the mirror next to me. ‘Bravissima sorissima, bravissima.’
The image and the sound vanished when I bowed to the empty chair and the portraits of deadness hanging on the wall. I left the room because I knew I had performed three times well and now my firstborn child is due. N.