The Devil's Trill Sonata

by Matthew J. Metzger

  * * * *

  Paris was…glitzy. Paris was a heady stench of heat, Europe, and wine mixed with glittery lights and boiled in a long and bloody history. It was a haphazard, crammed-together sort of city, rude French locals mixing with equally rude tourists from every country imaginable, and all the food, as far as Jayden could tell, was English, but less burned and with ‘ette’ on the end, ‘a la’ on the front, or occasionally both.

  Jayden…Jayden liked it, certainly. It was so markedly different to holidays in England with his parents as a kid. Even the view from the train had been different. French countryside instead of English; French villages in French styles instead of the familiar houses dotting the fields along the English train lines. Jayden had always been jealous of Darren and his family, who found such sights familiar, and he had stared at the new strangeness raptly.

  So yes, he liked Paris. He loved the ancient churches and the Notre Dame, and the museums that Jonathon insisted on visiting. The Louvre was okay, he supposed, though he’d never really got art, but the Eiffel Tower had more than made up for that morning, with spectacular views and a fresh wind tugging enticingly at his hair. The little back streets and crooked alleys between ancient buildings, with hidden treasures in the form of tiny cafes and specialist shops, those had been a maze of dreams that they’d spent the whole first day exploring. Ella, to Jayden’s surprise, loved those little crannies just as much as he did, even if it was mostly fixated on finding bargain designer handbags.

  Paris was nothing like London. London was squashed and shot through with glass, and it bulged with loud chavs, its monuments too scattered to be able to enjoy without coming across them. Paris was different. Paris was compact, rippling out from the beautiful centre without confusion, and they stuck to that centre, soaking up the culture and the history and the beauty of the place. The river, sliding slowly by under rows of bridges, and the twisted runs of ancient streets, and the bubbling rhythm of French (and Chinese, from the hordes of Chinese tourists at the Tower) had a magic to it, a real magic…

  But…

  He felt guilty too. He felt guilty for the date and the bail-out and Darren’s obvious upset at the entire fiasco, even though Jayden had promised to go to Southampton as soon as he could shift his workload after his. Darren had always been a fairly easy-going boyfriend, really, he’d never been the type to just explode or get dramatic, but even he’d been pissed off at being bailed on like that, and on that weekend, and he was showing it, refusing to reply to most of Jayden’s texts, not picking up the phone when Jayden had called him from the station before boarding the train, and if Jayden demanded a response, it was terse at best.

  And…okay, maybe Jayden shouldn’t have bailed, but…Paris. Paris! He’d never been. Darren didn’t know how exciting this was—he’d probably been to Paris before he could walk. He’d probably gone on weekend shopping trips with his mother (well, okay, probably not, when Jayden thought about that one just a little harder) but still. Paris. Ella had said it: he could visit Darren whenever, really, long as uni wasn’t too demanding. But Paris. When was the next time he’d be able to go to Paris so cheap? Or when he’d be able to afford to go himself, without Jonathon’s parents paying for the train tickets and the rooms? Years and years and years, probably, especially as even if he and Darren stayed together, neither of them would be earning loads for those years and years and years. So Darren didn’t like the people he was going with, well, since when did Darren get to dictate who he did and didn’t hang out with? Since never, that’s since when. Jayden didn’t get in his face about Darren’s friends.

  Still…he couldn’t shake the nagging little guilt at the pit of his stomach every time he sent Darren a picture from his phone, and he sent loads. He sent an old-fashioned postcard from the Louvre, with kisses around all the frame, even though it wouldn’t reach Southampton before they’d returned to Cambridge and probably had a week’s worth of classes again. He even sent a wish you were here x from a riverboat on the Seine, but was rebuffed with dont think ella would like that do u? and a stony silence when he sent a picture of sunset over the river a little while later.

  “Just ignore him,” Ella advised. “If he wants to be pissy, let him. It’s not like you decided not to go and see him the day before, is it? And anyway, you can always visit another weekend. It’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

  It’s not like Paris is going anywhere either, said the voice in his head, and he shrugged it off awkwardly. It had firmly sided with Darren since the argument, and refused to leave Jayden alone, especially the first night there when they collected in the hotel bar to try French wine that was actually French, instead of Welsh and slapped with a French label. (The bar round the corner from the main entrance to the college had seriously dodgy booze.) They’d gotten a bit drunk, and Ella had been very giggly and dropping loads of hints about how good-looking Jonathon was, and the little voice had gone a bit mental and started yelling at Jayden about how he had a boyfriend on the south coast and had he just forgotten that, by any chance?

  The little voice could go to hell, too. Paris wasn’t always going to be here, because he didn’t have the money to come, and Darren didn’t earn that much because he wasn’t out of his training period yet, and anyway, Darren not earning much meant that Darren wasn’t exactly jetting off all over the world either. He was staying in Southampton, so Jayden could visit him a lot there. And he could visit Darren another weekend; he got like twenty days annual leave a year, for God’s sake, he was just making a fuss, and…and…

  Paris was beautiful. But it was also tinged with a little bitterness.

  * * * *

  On the last night in Paris, they decided to go to a restaurant: a fancy French (obviously) one overlooking the Seine, with a three-course menu and exorbitant prices. Jonathon wielded his father’s credit card and said they might as well go out with a bang, and Jayden spent most of the time getting ready looking on the internet for which fork to use first.

  So he jumped violently when someone knocked on the door.

  “Can I come in?”

  Jonathon.

  “Oh,” he said and fumbled with his tie. “Um, yes.”

  Jonathon slipped into the room, closing the door discreetly. “Ella’s putting on her makeup,” he said by way of explanation, which meant they had at least twenty more minutes. “And then her tights.” Ah, thirty then.

  “Oh,” Jayden said again, because he wasn’t really sure of what to say. It was always a bit awkward if it was just him and Jonathon; he felt kind of weird around him, ever since Ella had said that he liked him. It was just…Jayden had never been liked by anyone he didn’t like back—mostly because the only person who’d ever liked him was Darren, and that was kind of depressing if he thought too hard about it, but anyway…the point was that he just…he didn’t know what to do around those kinds of people.

  “Have you liked Paris?” Jonathon asked, sticking his hands in his pockets and glancing around the room.

  “Yeah,” Jayden said. “I mean, um. It’s very…” Very what? “Interesting,” he finished lamely. “Um, lots of history and everything, you know.”

  “Mm,” Jonathon hummed, dropped his head, and laughed a little. “My grandfather was French, you know. My mother’s father. So I suppose I’m a little bound to like Paris.”

  “My boyfriend’s quarter-Iranian,” Jayden blurted out almost desperately. He fumbled with his tie again, unknotting it and restarting the attempt at getting it neat. “Um, same thing, mother’s father. Um.”

  “Really?” Jonathon said, and paused. “That…explains the hair, I think.”

  Jayden laughed awkwardly. “I guess so, yes.”

  Jonathon shuffled his feet. “Are you two still…together?”

  “Yes,” Jayden said instantly.

  “I just ask because…well, Ella said you’ve been having some problems, and then the other day your Facebook status changed, so I just…wondered.”

  “He’s a bit mad at me rig
ht now,” Jayden admitted. “But we’re still together.”

  “Right,” Jonathon said.

  “Ella…” Jayden’s jaw worked and he half-started a couple of attempts before settling on: “Ella said you…like me.”

  “Yes,” Jonathon admitted frankly. For a split second, the flat tone was a tiny bit Darren-esque, but the sight of him in his expensive suit and equally expensive haircut killed it.

  “Um…”

  “Look.” Jonathon extracted his hands and held them up. “You’re a clever, good-looking, sweet kind of guy, and yes, I’m attracted to you. I thought you were interesting the moment I met you, and I still think that, but I’m not some cheap waiter who flirts with a guy on his anniversary dinner. You have a boyfriend, and I respect that, and I would never make a move on a guy I knew to have a partner already.”

  The tight anxiety in Jayden’s gut began to ease.

  “I just…want you to be aware. You know, in case you and Dean…”

  “Darren.”

  “Darren, sorry, God.” Jonathon flushed a little under his carefully maintained tan, and Jayden fidgeted. “But yes. In case you and Darren…part ways, just…keep me in mind? That’s all I’d ever ask.”

  Jayden opened his mouth to…to what? To say no way, because Jonathon just wasn’t his type? That would be cruel, wouldn’t it, especially when Jonathon (okay, Jonathon’s father) had paid for this entire trip? And unnecessary, once he sorted everything out with Darren and they got back on track—which they would, at least over the summer, because Jayden was going to make sure they did. He was sick of all this.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said instead diplomatically, and Jonathon offered him a small smile.

  “And…ignore Ella?” he asked, grinning a little bashfully. “She exaggerates.”

  “Yeah, she does,” Jayden agreed and rolled his eyes. “She thinks Darren and I are really on the rocks.”

  “I…can’t honestly say I hope you’re not, but…you know, whatever,” Jonathon said, and Jayden warmed to him a little for the honesty.

  “Look,” he offered, “should we meet Ella downstairs in the bar? I mean, she’s going to take ages anyway and we don’t ever really talk to each other, and…”

  “That’d be nice,” Jonathon said, and really, when he smiled properly, he didn’t look half bad.

  * * * *

  Jayden made his decision the next morning. They got an early morning train back, reaching St. Pancras International before nine, and Jayden made the decision then and there, upon the sight of a couple kissing (and borderline shagging) on platform two as the train pulled in.

  “I’m going to Southampton for a couple of days,” he said on a whim, and Ella sighed.

  “Oh, Jayden.”

  “It’s not fair I bailed, and I can always do a couple of the essays while I’m there, and classes don’t start for another week, so I should go and see him,” Jayden said hastily and bit his lip. “I’ll be back by Sunday at the latest.”

  “But…”

  “Go on,” Jonathon interrupted, and Jayden gave him a grateful smile. “Deliver the tacky present in person. He’ll like it, right? His kind of thing.” It completely wasn’t, but Jayden decided to let it go. Ella still looked mutinous, and he gratefully accepted having Jonathon vaguely onside.

  “I’ll see you both when I get back,” he said and rummaged for his railcard.

  He left them at the escalators to the Underground, hopping across London to Waterloo and forking out for a last-minute ticket. It would sting his bank account, but it would placate Darren (hopefully) and he’d get to meet Rachel and anyway, it’d be okay. He’d just have to budget a little tighter for next month, maybe, or wheedle a little money out of Dad. Or Darren. Maybe if Darren was pleased enough to see him…

  Fat chance, said the voice in his head. He’s still furious with you for bailing.

  On the train (which was nearly full, and Jayden ended up half in the aisle because he had to sit next to an obscenely fat woman who oozed into his seat whether the arm rest was up or down), he sent a quick text, and hoped that Darren wasn’t working late.

  I’m back from Paris, and I’m on the 9:38 to Southampton Central :)

  He held the phone all the way to Southampton—a more than two-hour journey—but received absolutely no reply.

  Chapter 21

  Jayden didn’t have Darren’s landline number, or the mobile number of his housemate Rachel, but he did have Darren’s address, and so when he reached the station without reply, decided to try going directly to the house and seeing if he couldn’t persuade someone to let him in. The cabbie thankfully knew where the road was, and when the taxi turned into it, it became obvious why: Darren’s street was a long, straight, leafy avenue with limp-looking birch trees lining the edge of the cracked pavement. The houses were tall, three or four storey jobs, but all looked converted into flats.

  Number 92 was a four-storey, red-roofed house with huge gable windows and a scraggly bunch of bushes around a long drive that ran down the side of the building. Darren’s car was absent, but someone else’s was there, and once Jayden had gotten rid of the taxi and lugged his bag up the steps, he peered at the names by the individual doorbells. Which were helpfully done by first name, so he found RACHEL Y and pressed it.

  A bell bellowed somewhere in the hollow depths of the house, and Jayden released it hastily. Silence fell for a brief second, and then a woman’s voice said, “Yeah?”

  “Um, is that Rachel?”

  “Duh.”

  Jayden winced. “Um, this is Jayden Phillips. I’m Darren’s boyfriend, but he’s not in, so…”

  “…Er, all right. Hang on a sec, I’ll come down, just hang about,” she said hastily, and the intercom cut out. Jayden fidgeted, taking a step back from the door to peer up at the house, but there was no indication of which flat she lived in. They were done by letter. Darren had said she was a neighbour, so maybe she lived in the attic too? Or maybe she lived in Flat B? Or D, but what if they weren’t lettered logically, because then…

  Footsteps pounded inside, and then the door rattled and creaked back. A tall, thin rake of a woman—or girl, she didn’t look any older than Jayden—peered around the edge of the flaking paintwork, and scowled at him. She was recognisable from Facebook, with cropped dark hair and large ears, and then the scowl melted off.

  “Bloody hell, so it is,” she said. “He didn’t say you were coming!”

  “Um, I only made up my mind today.”

  “Well, you’ve missed him a bit, he’s at work,” she said and opened the door wide. “Come on, you can keep me company ‘til he gets back. He’s due at three today, I think, but the instructors aren’t known for letting them out on time!”

  She was…kind of like Jayden had expected from Darren’s exasperated descriptions and the Facebook posts and photos. She was wearing a baggy T-shirt down to her knees and tight, black leggings that really didn’t match her enormous fluffy pink slippers. She did live on the top floor, leading Jayden all the way to the top of the house, where two doors split off at the top of a rickety flight of dark stairs.

  “That’s his flat,” she said, prodding the closed door. “I have a spare key for it that Mrs. Singh gave me when it was just me up here, to let workmen in and whatever, but it’s in my car at the minute.”

  “That’s okay,” Jayden said.

  “It’s the same as my flat,” she said, taking him into a tiny sort of converted bedsit. The sloping roof and sky window gave an amazing view, but the flat itself was tiny: a kitchenette with the bed pressed up to the edge of one counter, and a battered sofa joined to the other end. It couldn’t have been more than twenty feet across, and the bathroom door couldn’t open all the way thanks to a bookshelf Rachel had wedged into the only bare corner. It was cluttered with books and pictures drawn by (Jayden presumed) little kids, and coffee mugs. Lots of coffee mugs. Maybe there was a reason Darren had instantly befriended her. “Well, it’s tidier. He’s tidy, your bo
yfriend.”

  “He’s, um, sort of tidy,” Jayden amended. Darren was generally fairly tidy (habit, Jayden suspected, having seen the pristine condition of the Peace household) but he was also crap at remembering to wash things up, and left mug rings and empty plates all over the place. Left to his own devices, Jayden was sure there’d be the odd mouldy glass in the locked flat across the landing.

  “Tidiest man I’ve ever met,” Rachel said and pointed at the sofa. “Sit down, then. Tea?”

  “Um, sure, okay.”

  “You have to dish dirt, by the way, or you can’t use my flat. I want embarrassing stories about him. Weaknesses. Everything. Is he ticklish?” she asked hopefully as she filled a kettle that looked older than she was.

  “Um, no,” Jayden said. Unfortunately, the voice in the back of his head added. “He’s got a little sensitive bit behind his ear, though,” he offered when she scowled. “Um, if you scratch behind his ear, he sort of…shivers, and it’s a bit weird and he doesn’t like it very much, so…”

  “I like you already,” Rachel beamed and bounced to sit cross-legged beside him while the kettle boiled. “Did you really meet at school?”

  “…Sort of. We didn’t go to the same school, but we were…in school,” Jayden finished lamely. He felt a little overwhelmed by this effusive neighbour, and simultaneously couldn’t see Darren putting up with her, but couldn’t see Rachel letting Darren not put up with her. Maybe that was why it worked.

  “I’m a teacher,” she said and huffed. “Well, teaching assistant. Well, I am when they’re not having teacher training days.”

  “…Aren’t you supposed to go to teacher training days?”

  “Please, nobody does,” she scoffed. “I’ve not been to one since I started, nobody cares. Even the head skips when she can. I just stayed home today. Lucky for you, eh? And me. I am so attacking Darren’s ears. Anything else?”

  “Err.” Jayden considered as she passed him a mug of tea, and then she curled up conspiratorially on the other end of the sofa, and he said, “I’ve seen some baby pictures.” (Scott’s fault. Darren had been distinctly unimpressed.)