Page 39 of Crescendo

It had been there forever. A tiny place, really, but people packed in, the walls shook with the bass from the bands playing, it smelled like beer, and every part of it felt like it had only been five minutes since I’d been inside.

“The last time I was here was four years, seven months, and nineteen days ago,” I told her.

“Oh.” The sound was barely more than a breath, sucked in with surprise and understanding.

“I haven’t crossed the river since then.”

Her hand found mine, weaving our fingers together, and her touch was so grounding I didn’t even feel the need to trouble my lip with my teeth.

“Your brother played there?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Mm. With his band.” I laughed. “It was a rock band, not the classical school band we’d been in as kids. This place was his favourite to play. I think he had a crush on the bartender.”

Lydia smiled softly at me. “What were they like?”

“The band or the bartender?”

She laughed. “Both.”

I laughed with her, the sound easy despite the pressure in my chest. “The bartender had platinum blonde hair, close shaved on the sides, longer on the top. Muscles and tattoos for days. Biker boots, and a dirty laugh. She looked at him like she could destroy him, and he looked at her like he wanted her to do exactly that.”

“Sounds like a good movie.”

I laughed again. “I bet you’d write a great score for it.”

“So would you.”

“I don’t know. It’s a bit weird seeing your brother so readily thirsting after someone.”

She laughed and scrunched up her face. “Yeah, okay. I see what you mean. I don’t want anything to do with my brothers’ love lives.”

I smiled at her. She’d avoided mentioning too much about her brothers. I assumed it was because she was taking her trauma books seriously and trying to avoid my triggers, but I wanted to know about them. I wanted to know about her. Every little bit of her.

“And the band?” she asked.

I looked back at the bar. “They were good. I don’t think people expect me to like loud, heavy rock, but our dads have eclectic tastes.

They raised us on every bit of music they could get their hands on.

Callum loved that. And he loved that band.

He lit up on stage. Worked the crowd like a pro, and knew exactly how to get them to fall in love with him, even if it was just for the length of their set. ”

My heart ached talking about him, but it was good.

It was good to give words to the person he’d been, to remember him and feel something other than panic, to remember growing up together and the life he’d lived.

It still made me want to cry, but maybe Clara had been right.

Maybe this part had to hurt, and maybe it would get better.

“That’s like you when you play,” Lydia said softly, reaching over to brush my hair out of my face. “You could make the whole world fall in love with you in the space of a song.”

I blushed and shook my head. “You just like me.”

“What? Like that’s a secret?”

I wasn’t sure it was anymore.

“You know,” I said, “someone I work with just moved down here. Crossed the river to be with the woman they love.”

She whistled like she got it now. “That must’ve been a big deal.”

“It absolutely was. You're really in it with someone if you’d cross the river for them.”

“Do you think Callum would have crossed the river for the bartender?” It was the first time she’d said his name. It was nice. It made him feel real again.

I laughed. “I don’t know, maybe. He felt everything so strongly, jumped in and didn’t look back. Maybe he’d have done it for her, maybe not. But he’d have done it for his band for sure.”

“They lived in North London?”

“Ah, no. They still lived in Harpenden, but a lot of their gigs were down here.”

“Makes sense.” She turned to face me. “Thank you. For bringing me here, for talking about him. I know this is a really big deal for you.”

I nodded. It was. Crossing the river for the first time in four years. I’d thought I’d never come back here. This part of London that was Callum’s, that had died with him for me. But here I was, in Brixton, across the river, and still alive.

I took a breath and studied Lydia’s face. “You’ve been so many things for me since we met. You’ve held me together and made things like this possible.”

She shook her head urgently. “No. This is all you and your strength.”

“You’re very sweet, but it’s not. It’s you too. But, the thing is, you’re also struggling. You came here because you were faltering. I see the way you don’t struggle when we play together, but that doesn’t mean the rest of it doesn’t hurt. And I want to help.”

She stared at me with wide eyes. “That’s not important. You’re grieving . My… composer’s block is not on the same level.”

I smiled. “It doesn’t have to be. It’s not a competition. But that doesn’t mean it’s not important, nor does it mean it isn’t hurting you. And I want to help.”

“I don’t…” Lydia blinked slowly. “I can’t even…”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain it to me right now. It’s okay if you can’t. I just want you to know that I can handle it. I’m not going to break. You’re not going to hurt me by being a whole person with challenges.”

She looked at me with the most confused, overwhelmed expression. “Where did you even come from, Ella Hendrickson?”

I laughed and stood up, holding onto her hand. “Come on. Let’s explore Brixton and you can tell me what it would sound like in a score. Maybe that will help with your inspiration.”

Lydia shook her head but smiled beautifully, following after me even when I dropped her hand and walked a few steps ahead of her.

I turned to look at her. “Oh, and Lydia?”

“Yes?”

“I’d cross the river for you.”