Page 5 of Crescendo

Ella

“That was disgusting,” Lydia said as we walked down the long street back to our flat. “I hope you know that.”

I laughed. “You ate the whole thing!”

“Yes. It was delicious—carbs and cheese. What’s not to love? But it was also disgusting. Fatty and rich and salty and… amazing.”

If you’d asked me to describe what I thought a world-class composer might be like before I’d met her, I wouldn’t have described anything like Lydia Howard Fox.

Well, maybe the casual cool style and the confidence, but otherwise, I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere close.

Even her music didn’t really give her personality away.

I’d always thought you could hear pieces of people in their compositions, but maybe that was just because I always heard Callum in his.

Or maybe it was because I didn’t know her all that well yet.

Either way, I wouldn’t have been able to do her justice if you’d asked me a month ago what I thought she’d be like.

I glanced at her and away again. The setting sun was casting long shadows as the sky burned pink and red and orange—just like the lesbian flag.

The thought made me smile. I was still a work in progress—especially factoring in the embarrassing meeting with Lydia where I’d been facing off with a clarinet—but at least I was thinking things like that again.

“I’m glad you enjoyed your first vegetarian chippy experience,” I told her.

“How did you even know where to find that place?” she asked, looking around at the sleek buildings of South Kensington again.

I’d taken her somewhere off the beaten track, not one of the upmarket fish and chip shops they had here, but somewhere Londoners went at the end of a night out, drunk and tired and unbelievably happy, in desperate need of a greasy meal to see them off to bed.

Perhaps it was an odd choice, given who she was, but it was comfort food and the place was second to none, in my opinion, when it came to chippies.

Had to give her a proper welcome after all.

“My friend, Alisha, lives pretty close to it. We’ve been there a bunch.”

She frowned, looking at me. “You have a friend who lives nearby? The friend who told you about the course?”

“Erm. No, actually. That was Sian.”

“I don’t know Sian,” she said weirdly matter of factly.

I laughed. “My other best friend. She’s a bit further away—”

“You live here?” She stopped, turning to stare at me.

Even in the dimming light, her brilliant blue eyes were mesmerising. Over the years, I’d heard plenty of comments about my own eyes, but I was pretty sure she had me beat for eye catching.

I sucked in a breath and said, as lightly as I could manage, “Yeah. A little bit.”

Lydia laughed. “You live here a little bit? How’s that possible?”

Part of me had been hoping to avoid this conversation, at least for a while, but here we were. And it was just Lydia. Maybe it would be okay? Or maybe she’d be dramatic and weird about it. But, then, if I didn’t tell her, she’d definitely be dramatic and weird about it, so there was that.

“I live in Camden,” I said quietly.

“Oh, I went there the last time I was here. The whole market and… weird, artsy street. I think there was an octopus climbing out of a building or something.”

I raised my eyebrows and nodded slowly. I couldn’t place the building she was apparently remembering but I wouldn’t put it past Camden to have a giant octopus.

“Yeah, it’s cool. Definitely different.” I gestured to the refined buildings around us.

“But this is cool too. I like the… individuality of different areas in London. Like, it’s all the same city, but each area has its own character, its own vibes and people. ”

“Individual soundtracks,” she said, something speculative crossing her face just for a second, and I couldn’t help but wonder whether that was what she looked like when she composed.

I pursed my lips, considering. “Yeah. That’s a good way of thinking about it. Camden and South Ken would have vastly different soundtracks.”

“Explain how,” she demanded, but it was encouraging. Between that and the offer of piano lessons, I could see why her friend had suggested she come to Crescendo as a teacher.

“Oh. Um.” I blushed. Talking music with anyone was pretty embarrassing. Talking music with Lydia Howard Fox was doubly so.

She laughed. “You’re overthinking it. Don’t.”

“Like it’s that easy?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t you say you had composer’s block?”

“Oh, my god,” she whined with a laugh. “How rude of you to throw my own musical downfall in my face to avoid answering a question.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care. Tell me what Camden would sound like.”

I shook my head, looking away from her. If she wanted a real answer, I wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye for it.

Camden. Busy, bustling, wild Camden. What would it sound like?

“Unconventional,” I said after a moment, my voice almost breathless. “Classical strings, soaring flutes, a driving bass guitar, and a pounding drumline. It’s not my area, but synths. Definitely synths.”

“Good.” I could hear the smile in her voice. She really would have been a great teacher. “Musical influences, styles?”

“Punk. Rock. Alternative. Something a little dirty. But the solid reliability of classical. The beautiful with something… real. ”

“Not bad.”

I looked up, shocked. She was complimenting me ? That didn’t make any sense.

“See, now I don’t have to worry about Eliza and Hannah beating you. You’re going to wipe the floor with them.”

“You don’t even know them.”

“I know them well enough.” She rolled her eyes. “ You’ve been losing your touch. ”

I laughed. “Nice accent. You almost sound old money, like Clara.”

“Thank you. I figured since Eliza’s using a fake accent, I’d join in. Maybe it will help us bond.”

“I highly doubt that. If anything, I imagine it will make things worse.” I hesitated. “Though, I suppose they did start this whole thing with that confrontation.”

“And I’m going to finish it.”

“Do I need to worry you’re going to need help moving a dead body?”

“No.” She flashed me a look that seemed to disagree with her answer but she smiled broadly. “This is about music. And I’m going to teach you how to play the piano, and Bansi and Clara, if they need it too. Bansi would love that. He’s a fan, apparently.”

“I imagine everyone in the programme is.”

“Eh. Clara was fine.”

There was no way I was pointing this out to Lydia, but I imagined Clara was fine with her because she wasn’t the first famous person Clara had met. She was, however, definitely the first famous person I’d met—Bansi, too, maybe.

We made it to our building to find Eliza and Hannah hanging around their own doorway. It was honestly a little creepy. There was no reason to be standing in the door unless they were waiting for us—well, Lydia—which… seemed to be exactly what they were doing.

“Oh, Lizzy. How grand to see you again,” Lydia said in her obnoxiously fake British accent.

Eliza’s eyes flashed. Lydia really did get under her skin.

I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn she was a massive fan—maybe even had a little crush on Lydia, from the way she looked at her—but was toxically competitive and desperate to impress her. The problem was she was going about it all wrong. People were so complicated sometimes.

“Sure,” Lydia said with the least agreement such an affirmative could hold. “So, just loitering in the hopes of getting another look at the world’s greatest composer?”

A surprised laugh bubbled inside of me. Lydia’s confidence was astounding.

As was the way she seemed to actually enjoy the antagonism a little bit.

There was never a way to beat someone who refused to take things seriously.

Though, it was beyond me why they thought Lydia would take it seriously.

Despite her insistence that she was now a failure, she had to know how talented and amazing she was.

Two random women in a music programme weren’t likely to crush her confidence anytime soon.

“Ugh,” Eliza said, clearly simmering. “As if. We’re just standing here talking about how terrible this song from Over the Moon is.”

“On the doorstep?” I asked, unable not to. I hadn’t meant to get involved but the whole thing was so ridiculous.

Eliza simply shot me a snide look before hitting play on her phone. “Terrible, isn’t it?”

“Awful,” Hannah replied immediately, like she’d been cued up in a script and was going through the motions of hitting her mark without thinking about what was actually said.

It was an odd dynamic.

I listened to the piece that was playing, and it was like the bows of the celli reached down into my chest to play on my heartstrings.

The swell of emotion, the deep resonance, the driving beat underneath it—this had to have been used in a tense scene.

It left me aching for resolution that felt like it might never come.

“The countermelody on the clarinets…” I breathed, suddenly forgetting Eliza and Hannah were even there.

Lydia smiled at me. “I told you I loved the clarinet. But it does sound better when you blow into it, don’t you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, feeling dizzy with the emotion of the piece.

“Well, look at that,” Lydia said, beaming at Eliza. “Turns out people love the piece.”

Eliza made a disgusted sound, snapping me out of the moment. “Oh, yes, because everyone is always willing to tell bigheaded people their work is actually rubbish.”

I scowled at her. Like most doctors, I put up with a lot at work, but here was a grown woman insulting someone she could be learning from? “You don’t have to be rude just because you can, you know? It’s not a good look.”

When I realised I’d said that out loud, I turned quickly to get us into our flat, hearing Lydia laugh behind me.

“Have a good night,” she said as she followed me inside, and I was grateful when she shut the door on Eliza’s protests and Hannah’s… hypeperson work?

Lydia headed straight for the piano once we were in the flat and I followed after her.