Page 10 of Crescendo

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 wasstill 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 foreye 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.”

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