Page 38 of Crescendo

I sucked my upper lip into my mouth, my teeth running over it—a somewhat ill-advised grounding technique given how hard I sometimes went on them.

Tears stung my eyes and my lungs felt tight.

I hadn’t wanted to make Clara’s story about myself.

She didn’t have to tell me what she’d been through.

But I couldn’t stop the spinning in my brain that seemed to happen whenever I thought about how present Callum and my grief had been lately.

Clara breathed a laugh. “You didn’t make me tell you.”

I frowned. “Did I—”

“No. I could just see what you were thinking.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay.”

“That must be exhausting to live with,” I whispered gently.

She shrugged. “I’m used to it, and it’s a lot better than it used to be.

” She looked at me seriously. “The part where you first start dealing with it? That’s the worst. Well, not worse than it happening, I guess, but it feels worse than putting it away in a box.

It feels raw and scary and painful. It gets better. ”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” She smiled, holding my gaze.

I nodded and turned back to my food. Clara finished first and stretched out on the carpet, apparently not concerned about lying on the floor.

Maybe that was part of her taking her life back.

I could imagine how my dads would have told us not to lie on public floors.

I could only imagine she’d been raised with even stricter, more controlled standards.

This place wasn’t exactly public, and it was well cleaned, but maybe lying on its floor was one of her fuck yous to the control she’d been raised on.

When I finished, she shot me a grin and stood up, holding out a hand to me. “So, want to show me what you’ve got so far?”

I took her hand but paused. “You mean the composition?”

“Mm, yes. I want to see what you’re going to kick Eliza’s butt with.”

I laughed, clambering up to my feet. “That’s not what’s going to happen. A great example of why I won’t get first place, though.”

“I think you will. And the important part is knowing that you want it, for yourself.”

I settled in at the grand piano again, its polished surfaces gleaming in the light.

I did want it for myself. I wasn’t sure I was ready to admit that to anyone else, but a tiny voice inside of me—one hidden behind all of the doubt and the reasons I didn’t deserve it and shouldn’t even try to get it—wanted it.

For Callum, but for me too. Lydia had been played at the Royal Albert Hall, her music, beautiful and moving and seminal, had filled that space and, for the length of her songs, owned that room entirely.

I wanted to know what it would be like to be there alongside her, to have a little piece of that magic, and to know I’d done something right in this whole thing.

Clara grinned at me and gestured for me to play. So I did. As easily as breathing.

The emotions swirled around inside of me, violent, jarring, alive, and I played what I had so far.

It felt so different these days. Encouraged by Lydia and inspired by the way she heard music and simply knew what else it needed to fill it in, I didn’t stress about the rules so much, didn’t stress about technical perfection on the first few runthroughs. I just… felt my feelings and played.

When I finished, tears were filling my eyes again, my heart aching in my chest.

“Wow,” Clara breathed, sniffling and attempting to swipe subtly at her own eyes. It hadn’t occurred to me that I could play something that made other people cry—outside of Lydia at least—and I knew Clara wouldn’t appreciate me commenting on it. “I think you’re going to win.”

“I don’t know about that,” I laughed, running a hand over my hair.

“I do. You and Lydia are just like each other.”

My body tingled at the comparison. “How so?”

She shook her head. “It’s like you breathe this stuff, like you’re having a conversation with each other that’s so much bigger than the rest of the world can hear.” She looked at me. “You’re a great composer, Ella. Don’t let anyone tell you any different—even yourself.”

“Ah. Um. Well, I’ve got nothing on Lydia. She’s incredible.”

“I do so love walking into a room to find people are already complimenting me,” Lydia said with a laugh as she slipped through the door and joined us.

The sight of her was like someone finally unlatched the vise that wrapped around my chest. I knew that was too much for the limited time we had together, but we were in this thing and whatever pain was waiting for me at the end of Crescendo, having her look at me like the whole world was slotting into place made it worthwhile.

“Have you told Ella that her piece is spectacular?” Lydia asked Clara as she moved to stand behind me at the piano bench, her hands coming down to rest on my shoulders, her front warm against my back.

Clara shot her a pointed look. “I have told her that. She knows we’re all hoping she wins this competition.”

“Too right we are. She’s beating Eliza and that’s that.”

I laughed. “Eliza’s been at this a lot longer than I have.”

“Hey, if she wanted us to cheer for her, she needed to be nicer. You’re talented and lovely, so you win.

” Lydia leaned in to press a kiss to the top of my head and my stomach jolted pleasantly.

It was quite a bit more intimate than she usually behaved around our friends.

I hoped she wouldn’t regret it too much later.

Clara hummed in amusement. “Well, I have to get to my own composition, so I’ll leave you and your talented, lovely friend to it, shall I?”

“I feel like you’re talking to Lydia,” I said, “but she’s definitely the talented, lovely one.”

Clara rolled her eyes, fully recovered from the earlier emotion and back to her usual self. “You two are ridiculous. I’ll see you later for movie night.”

We bid her farewell and, once we were alone, Lydia settled onto the bench with me, pressed tight against my side, one arm wrapped around my body, her fingers gripping my hip to hold her in place. “Do you want to play for me?”

I turned to her. She was so painfully pretty. Her skin clear and luminous from that California sun, her eyes piercing, and her soft lips spread into the perfect smile.

“No,” I murmured. “I want to take you somewhere.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, yes?”

“Yeah.” My heart pounded in my chest. Was I ready yet? I wasn’t sure, but I wanted to be, and maybe that was the most important part.

Besides, I wanted to do this for her. She deserved it.

I stood up, taking her hand and pulling her with me.

Lydia let out a startled sound. “Not that I’m against a beautiful woman pulling me off to wherever she wants me, but are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Hm. No. Not yet.”

She laughed. “Well, okay, Ella Hendrickson. Aren’t you mysterious?”

I shot her a look, pausing by the door in the moment we were still alone. “Do you like mysterious women?”

She flashed a grin at me. “Only just as much as you like loud, egotistical American women.”

I bit down on a smile and pulled the door open. “Come on.”

She was practically bouncing the whole time, my heart trying to keep a rhythm with her but racing ahead the closer we got.

As we walked through Brixton, her head whipped from side to side, taking it all in.

The lively bustle of it all wrapped around us like a blanket.

I’d always loved how London felt so anonymous that nobody wanted anything from me.

When I’d come into the city for uni, it had been freeing.

An opportunity to meet new people, be a new person, to be myself without anyone expecting anything from the child I’d once been.

After Callum died, that anonymity had been safety.

Nobody knew me on the street, nobody looked at me with sympathy, asking questions about how I was coping, wanting grief from me in a way I couldn’t give it to them.

Now, it was something else, something I hadn’t quite figured out.

I wasn’t used to accepting the things I couldn’t figure out, but it felt okay with Lydia by my side.

We were two small pieces in this puzzle that was London, Brixton, the world…

The anonymity was living. It was the warmth of other people around us, knowing nothing about them but knowing they all lived big, vivid lives. Brixton was a symphony.

I led her to a bench and sat her down beside me.

She looked at me with wild, excited eyes. “This is what you wanted to show me? A bench?”

I laughed. “Kind of, yeah.”

“Well, as nice as it is, I’m pretty sure there are benches near Crescendo.”

I shook my head, amused. There were. “We crossed the river.”

She paused. “What?”

“The Thames.” I gestured in its general direction. “We crossed the river. South of the river.”

“Okay?” She laughed. “You’re talking like we’re in some old-timey movie where crossing a river takes a lot more effort.”

I smiled at her, taking in the way the late afternoon sun caught in her hair.

“It doesn’t, but it’s kind of a big deal here.

Londoners can get attached to their bit of London, and, you know, all the bits have all the things you need, you don’t always have to cross the river.

And it’s kind of a joke if you do cross it and you’re a hardcore other side of the river person.

Like, oh, you’re going to make me cross the river to go to some pub? Nah, mate, we’ve got pubs down here. ”

She laughed, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she looked me over. I could see it there, on her face, the way she didn’t fully understand yet, but how she knew this meant something to me. “So, you brought me here to go to a pub?”

“Not exactly.” I took a deep breath and finally looked across the road. It felt like getting pummeled. That was okay. “The venue there.”

I saw her frown in my peripheral vision and follow my gaze. “Yes?”