Page 69 of Crescendo

Ella

When I’d signed up for Crescendo, I’d been ready to feel things again. What I hadn’t been counting on was feeling everything . But, here we were.

My dads were already waiting outside the Royal Albert Hall when I arrived with Sian and Alisha. They were both already crying, taking pictures of the building and the crowds arriving, and, honestly, I felt like I was one word away from joining them.

How on earth did you process the fact that a piece you wrote was about to be played to an enormous audience in a proper concert hall?

Real, actual musicians. A professional conductor.

And an audience of music lovers. Something I’d written was opening a night of actual music, from an actual composer.

Ordinarily, I didn’t get this nervous, but, on a regular day, something I composed wasn’t being played in the Royal Albert Hall. I was going to throw up.

And, as if that wasn’t already enough, there was Lydia. Flying in from California just to see this.

I hated that she hadn’t been able to get an earlier flight.

There was so much to say that a moment alone together was desperately needed, but, who was I kidding?

Lydia loved to make an entrance. Arriving just in the nick of time was very her.

Flying in from LA for a fancy concert… The jet-set lifestyle.

Papa sobbed in greeting and pulled me into a tight hug. “Our baby girl. We’re so, so proud of you.”

“We really are,” Dad said, stroking my hair. “Can you believe it? Our daughter at the Royal Albert Hall?”

“She’s a star, of course I can.”

Sian and Alisha laughed in agreement, but I felt like the floor was moving as I stepped back. There were so many people. And no sign of Lydia.

“Ella!” a voice called.

I turned to see Hannah elbowing her way through the crowd, her hand gripping Eliza’s tightly. Clara, Bansi, and Dodge followed after them, all grinning widely.

I smiled but chewed my lip as they cycled through hugging me excitedly. Seeing them was wonderful, of course, but I’d enjoy it more once the show was over and I knew whether I needed to die of embarrassment or not.

Since returning to work, we’d only managed one get-together with everyone there, but there was an active group chat, so, even when I was working, I still felt connected to them. I hadn’t been expecting it, but being part of Crescendo had given me a group of friends I’d desperately needed.

And I was working on the free time thing. Arundhati and I had been discussing the logistics, but she was just as eager for me to live life and be happy as everyone else around me.

I’d been missing music and composing more than I’d realised I would—and I’d thought it would be a lot.

I still loved medicine, but Arundhati and I both knew I needed a better balance in life.

When my messages with Lydia had become more…

frequent and intimate, something like dating without really naming it, I’d finally figured out what had to give.

Hannah had been right a month ago, on the steps of a South Ken apartment that had changed my life.

I had to find a way to do both, to have it all, but, mostly, to make it work with Lydia and my two professional loves.

So, I’d run the idea of being a permanent locum by Arundhati.

Six months out of the year, leaving six months to compose.

It was messy, but so was life. And it was testament to how unwell I’d been before Crescendo that she’d immediately said she’d do whatever it took to make it work.

“We should get inside,” Dodge said, cutting through the excited chatter around me and gesturing to where Olivia was waving us over.

Even through the nerves, I couldn’t help but smile at her glittery, music themed shoes. Lydia was going to hate them.

I glanced around again, wobbling slightly as the crowd blurred.

“You doing okay?” Clara asked, sounding a little amused.

“Lydia’s not here yet.” I pulled my phone out, checking for a message.

“She’ll be here,” Eliza said, shooting me a serious look. “Come on, we’ll save her a seat.”

“Yeah, she knows I’d deck her if she missed it,” Hannah added with a laugh.

They huddled around me like an entourage, escorting me inside. It felt excessive but nice, like their presence was the only thing keeping me upright.

As I watched Bansi cling to Papa, both of them gushing and teary with excitement, Dad wrapped an arm around my waist. “You doing okay, kiddo?”

I laughed hysterically. “Not at all.”

He squeezed me tighter. “You deserve this, Ella. Your name, up in lights.”

“I don’t think my name is anywhere in lights.”

“You know what I mean.” He rolled his eyes fondly, holding me up as we entered the auditorium and it felt like being hit by a bus.

My piece was about to be played on that stage.

“Dad,” I whispered, my voice shaky and my legs feeling like they couldn’t go any further.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, pulling me tight into his side. “I’ve got you.”

“What if they all hate it?”

“They won’t. Your teachers know what they’re doing and they chose your piece for a reason.”

I glanced around. There were so many people here. I hadn’t realised I’d feel so nervous. I needed Lydia. “What if she doesn’t make it?”

He brushed my cheek. “She’s not going to let you down. She wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

There was something in his voice that I couldn’t quite place, something almost smug? If I were less nervous maybe I’d have been able to figure it out.

We found our seats and that was better. I could just be a face in the crowd.

I looked up at the ceiling. It was beautiful.

Callum loved this place. Suddenly, my nerves felt very silly indeed.

He’d have loved this. I wished he could have seen it.

I looked at my dad and the look on his face told me he knew what I was thinking.

As he nodded, tears filled my eyes. I was a mess. But that was okay.

I pulled my phone out and texted Lydia. The show’s about to start, how much later are you going to be?

I chewed my lip, staring at my phone. The place was almost full.

I could feel Clara’s eyes on me, watching me.

If she’d won, I’d probably be watching her right now too.

This was the moment when everything changed, right?

The moment my name and my piece made it out into the world.

That part of me that needed to compose took flight tonight—and I had to get used to the nerves.

They probably got better with repetition. I hoped.

Lydia’s reply came in. I promise I’ll be there for your piece, Ella. I keep my promises.

I believed she did. She was currently dashing across London just to be here for me. I trusted her.

I didn’t trust London traffic.

The lights dropped. The orchestra was on stage. The conductor—the famous Cynthia Altman, no less—and the director walked out. Lydia still wasn’t there.

“Will they let her in if she’s late?” I whispered urgently to Dad and Papa.

“She’s Lydia Howard Fox,” Papa laughed. “I’m pretty sure they’ll let her do whatever the hell she wants.”

Dad held my hand tightly. “She’s probably already in the auditorium.”

I itched to check my phone again but doing so would be horrendously rude.

Still…

I’m almost there.

How almost was almost ? Inside the building?

I slipped my phone under my leg.

The director’s speech felt very far away but I concentrated on tuning into what she was saying.

“As part of the introduction to tonight’s show, please enjoy Across the River, from London-based composer Ella Hendrickson…” the director announced.

I blew out a breath. People were clapping. She knew my name. Cynthia Altman knew my name, was conducting my piece. This was a dream I hadn’t known it was okay to have.

I couldn’t wait for the day I got to cheer Eliza on here. Suddenly, her dream made all the sense in the world. And I knew she’d get it soon.

Lydia, Lydia, Lydia… Are you here? My brain chanted, torn between trying to comprehend and absorb the moment, find Lydia, and not die from the embarrassment of people clapping for me.

Maybe, one day, I’d be worthy of their applause. I wanted that, even through the embarrassment.

“And in collaboration with another student at the programme,” the director continued, and my brain stalled—nobody had mentioned another student being involved, “whose name might be familiar to some of you.”

“Congrats, sweetheart,” Dad whispered, even more smug than before.

A name that was familiar. A student from Crescendo. Lydia.

She was already in the building.

“We’re delighted to have, as guest conductor for this piece, Lydia Howard Fox,” the director announced, and the room exploded—my heart along with it.

She was here. She was here? Conducting? When had she arranged that? How had she arranged that?

Clara’s eyes were still glued to me as she laughed and cheered, the rest of our group whooping in joy and surprise.

She hadn’t even told anyone she was coming?

I glanced at my dads. She’d told them.

Tears streamed down my face but I didn’t care. I’d clean them later.

Lydia Howard Fox was walking out on the stage, looking even more beautiful than I remembered in her gorgeous suit. I didn’t have to do this without her. She was part of the piece. So much of it was for her, because of her, and she was part of it.

As I watched her take a bow, I realised she’d done the perfect thing. Of course she had. Who else could have conducted that piece?

She turned to the orchestra and took her position, baton at the ready, and she looked like she’d be born to conduct.

The room was unbelievably quiet, hanging, waiting, and then… all of a sudden… Lydia moved and notes I’d written flooded the space.