A Note of Madness

by Tabitha Suzuma

  Jennah’s eyes were bright. ‘Oh, wow,’ she breathed.

  Flynn turned to Harry. ‘See?’ he said with feeling.

  ‘That’s beautiful. You put in the cello part yourselves?’

  ‘Well, Flynn did,’ Harry admitted.

  ‘Where did you find it?’ Jennah asked.

  ‘On an old LP from a second-hand music shop. Took me for ever to track down the score. It’s good, isn’t it?’ Flynn couldn’t keep the grin from his face.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  Flynn felt the flush of pleasure in his cheeks and raised his eyebrows at Harry.

  ‘It’s beginning to grow on me, I suppose,’ Harry said defensively. ‘So are we going to have a bash at the old Mendelssohn or what?’

  ‘Yeah, let’s go.’ Jennah propped her book against the table lamp.

  ‘Do you want my stand?’ Harry offered.

  ‘No, I’m good.’

  It took Flynn a moment to find the music on the top of the piano, buried under a pile of Rachmaninov sonatas. It had been quite a while.

  ‘Ooh. You know, that last arpeggio sounds a little odd to me.’ Jennah stopped at bar eleven.

  ‘Be more specific, Jen,’ Harry said.

  ‘It’s just not quite, um, I dunno.’

  ‘It’s too disjointed,’ Flynn chipped in.

  ‘Yes, that’s it, disjointed.’

  ‘Try holding your notes a little longer,’ Flynn suggested. ‘And, Harry, lighten your bowing on the lower part. And I’m not keeping tempo, sorry.’

  ‘Let’s try it again,’ Jennah suggested.

  They did. It sounded only fractionally better.

  ‘Keep going,’ Harry said between gritted teeth.

  But on bar fifteen, Flynn had to stop. ‘You know, I’ve just had a really good idea.’

  Harry let out a heavy sigh. ‘Can we play it through just once without stopping?’

  ‘Hold on, let’s hear Flynn’s idea,’ Jennah said.

  ‘Well, these two sections are just an echo of the first one. Three sections altogether, for three instruments. We each need to dominate in one.’

  ‘I’ve never heard it played like that,’ Harry objected.

  ‘Yes, but don’t you think it would sound brilliant?’ Flynn drummed his fingers against the edge of the piano stool with impatience. ‘Come on, let’s try. From the E flat.’

  ‘Hold on,’ Jennah interjected. ‘Who’s dominating which bit?’

  Flynn thought for a moment. ‘Flute, piano, cello?’

  ‘Why do I have to go last?’ Harry protested annoyingly.

  ‘It doesn’t really matter,’ Flynn said. ‘But shouldn’t it go from light to heavy?’

  ‘Are you calling me heavy?’

  ‘No, he’s right, Harry,’ Jennah said. ‘It makes more sense that way.’

  ‘Why not heavy to light?’

  ‘Harry!’ they both shouted simultaneously.

  ‘OK, OK.’

  ‘I don’t think that was bad at all,’ Harry announced when they had finished.

  ‘I think that middle section needs working on,’ Jennah countered.

  They both looked enquiringly at Flynn. He breathed in deeply, trying to quell a rising knot of energy threatening to burst from within him. ‘It was so-so. The middle section’s still dragging. We need more clarity on the arpeggios. But you know what? We could make a really good variation on this!’

  Jennah’s eyes lit up. Harry groaned in dismay. But his reluctance only fuelled Flynn further.

  ‘Listen!’ He raised his voice, half laughing, and played a few notes on the piano. ‘This . . . Or this . . . Or even this! Yeah, why not this?’

  Harry leaned back in his chair and arched his back. ‘I need a break,’ he said. ‘Coffee, Jen?’

  ‘No thanks.’ Her eyes were on Flynn. ‘That sounded great!’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Flynn played it again. ‘See? It could go up like that . . . And then your bit would go like that . . . And Harry’s like this – no, like this . . . You see, superimposed it would sound something like this . . .’ He brought his left hand back to the keys.

  ‘Ooh!’ Jennah said.

  Flynn jumped up and went scrabbling around for his manuscript pad.

  ‘What the—?’ Harry began, returning with the coffee as Flynn thrust a sheet in his face.

  ‘Write it down before I forget it!’ Flynn ordered.

  Harry took the sheet reluctantly. ‘As long as I can give this in for my next Musicianship assignment.’

  ‘You can do what you like with it!’ Flynn played the first couple of bars through quickly. ‘OK, Harry, that bit’s yours. Jennah—’

  ‘Hold on, hold on,’ Harry protested. ‘Do I look like a speed-writer to you? Play it again, slowly for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘A, C, B, D, E, F sharp, D sharp, B, E,’ Flynn called out impatiently, thumping out the notes on the piano. ‘Then repeat a third higher.’ He turned to Jennah. ‘And your bit goes . . . like this, yes? Or like this?’

  Jennah was laughing. ‘Flynn, slow down!’

  Flynn laughed with her in excitement. ‘But don’t you think it’s good?’ he urged, all modesty gone to the wind. ‘And then the next bit—’ He returned to the piano. ‘See? See?’

  Jennah was nodding slowly and smiling.

  ‘Write it down!’ Flynn yelled, laughing. ‘Write it down. I promise you, it’s going to be brilliant!’ Turning back to the piano, he began scribbling down the first few bars of his part, but not before he caught Harry peering into his empty can of beer. Let them think he was drunk, he told himself wildly. What did he care? The utter head-rush from composing was a million times better. His hand shook with suppressed excitement. He swung back wildly to face them again, knocking over Harry’s music stand in the process and sending music books sprawling.

  ‘You know what? This could be the overture for an opera!’

  Harry was the first to laugh and even Jennah was having trouble keeping a straight face. ‘An opera with just a trio and no singers. That’ll be the day,’ Harry chortled. ‘You really are pissed.’

  ‘No, stupid! We can put the other parts in. I’m talking about the overture, we don’t need voices yet.’

  Jennah leaned forwards. ‘Come to think of it, this does sound a little Don Giovanni-esque.’

  ‘Oh,’ Harry begged, ‘please don’t encourage him.’

  ‘Come on!’ Flynn urged them, and watched with increasing frustration as Jennah slowly began to write down her part, pausing, then humming, then pausing again. ‘How does it go after that?’

  Flynn quickly thumped out the notes on the piano and then turned to Harry. ‘Have you got your bit yet?’

  Harry let out an exaggerated sigh. ‘Really, Flynn, do we have to do this now? I thought we were going to practise the Mendelssohn. I don’t think I can cope with any more composing.’

  ‘This is heaps better! This is going to sound great. This is going to sound fantastic!’ Flynn grabbed Harry’s sheet and started writing the notes down for him.

  Harry leaned forwards. ‘How can you just write it out like that? What’s that – oh no, why so many sharps?’

  ‘That’s the first bit.’ Flynn thrust the sheet back at him. ‘OK? Jennah, are you ready?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I think so,’ she said eagerly.

  They started playing. Fabulous until the ninth bar.

  ‘No, no, no!’ Flynn hit the side of the piano in frustration. ‘It goes from A minor to E major. And, Jennah, you go down a third.’

  Harry squinted at his manuscript sheet. ‘I don’t get this. I thought that this bit was in A minor.’

  ‘Yes and on bar four it goes into E major!’

  Harry emitted a loud groan. And so it went on.

  An hour later, it was beginning to come together and Flynn could feel his heart thudding in excitement. This was something, this was really something. In fact, it was more than something. It was amazing! Not really a variation because it was moving further and further awa
y from the original, but this was something new, something dramatic. Jennah had come to sit beside him on the piano stool and was scribbling down the music as he played.

  She kept laughing. ‘Slow down, slow down.’

  Flynn turned to Harry. ‘OK, OK, your next bit—’

  ‘Listen, Flynn, I agree that this is sounding great but I don’t think I’ve got the energy for any more,’ Harry said suddenly, putting down his bow. ‘Would you mind if I left it for another time? My back is killing me and I’m really knackered.’

  Jennah turned to him, her eyes bright. ‘But, Harry, don’t you think this is brilliant?’

  ‘I do, I do, but I can’t keep up any more.’ Harry slumped over on the sofa.

  Jennah turned back to Flynn. ‘Shall I write out his part?’

  Flynn handed her the manuscript pad. ‘OK, here we go . . .’ He began to play Harry’s part.

  Jennah wrote fast, her hair falling in her eyes, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

  By one o’clock in the morning, only Flynn was left writing. Jennah was curled up in the armchair playing with her hair and Harry was passed out on the couch. Still the music rang loud and clear in Flynn’s head, and his hand ached from the effort of trying to keep up with the notes as they poured out of him. It was difficult to sit still; he wanted to leap, spin and dance to the sound of the music bursting inside him.

  Christ, he thought, Harry and Jennah don’t know what they are missing. They don’t know how fabulous this is going to be. They don’t realize . . . Perhaps this is what Mozart had felt like? A step ahead of everyone else. Able to produce effortless music that would be played for centuries to come. Unappreciated in his time yet labelled a genius after his death.

  Chorus, he had to have a chorus! Ripping off one sheet, he started on another, humming to himself . . . Basses, tenors, altos, sopranos. The music rose and rose inside his head, reaching a crescendo so powerful, so pure, it was uncontainable. He could barely make out the separate notes, could hardly break the music down into bars, could no longer get his hand to keep up with his head. He felt something brush his cheek.

  ‘I’m off, Flynnie. Don’t wear yourself out.’

  Jennah, her hair bedraggled, smiling, leaving.

  ‘No!’ He jumped up. ‘No, don’t go. You’ve got to help me with this, you’ve got to help me find a story, you’ve got to help me write this. I can’t – I can’t keep up.’

  Harry was yawning on the sofa. ‘How can you compose? You’re completely plastered!’

  ‘Seriously, don’t go,’ Flynn begged her. ‘I need you to help me with this.’

  ‘I’ll help you tomorrow, I promise. It’s superb, Flynn, but I’m so tired!’

  ‘Come running then.’

  ‘What?’

  Yes! He was suddenly overcome by a terrific urge to run through the empty park, over the damp grass, cloaked in a blanket of stars, the ground brushed silver by the moon.

  He crashed into the hall for his trainers. ‘Come on! Come on!’ he urged their blank faces. ‘The park is magical at night. You’ll feel as if you can fly!’

  ‘Flynn, it’s one o’clock in the morning and the park’s closed,’ Harry interjected. ‘I’m walking Jen to the night bus. You can’t go jogging at this time, you nutter.’

  ‘I can, I can, and you’re coming with me!’ He grabbed Harry’s sleeve and half dragged him into the hall. Harry tried to shake him off. ‘Get off, Flynn, stop being daft.’ But there was a serious edge to his voice.

  ‘Perhaps you should lock the door and take his keys,’ Jennah was saying. ‘He’ll fall flat on his face if he tries running now.’

  Flynn ignored them both and tied his trainers, grabbed his keys and stood up. ‘I’m off. Come on!’ He grabbed Jennah’s hand but she pulled him back.

  ‘Flynn, you’re drunk, silly. Bed’s a much better option, believe me.’

  He laughed at them both, pushed Harry off balance in order to reach the door and raced out into the street.

  The air was sharp and cold, the pavement glistening from the earlier rain. The faint swish of cars drifted over from Bayswater Road as he jogged towards it, pacing himself now, in the mood for a really long run. He would continue the opera when he got back. There was no need for him to sleep tonight. His mind was on fire and his body needed no rest. Energy filled him like a sharp, white light. He scaled the railings with ease and dropped down into the park with a gentle thud, the traffic behind him fading, replaced gradually by the steady thump of his trainers against the path. The grass was gleaming, wet and magical and shrouded in shadows. His heart soared with joy.

  ‘Flynn, stop!’

  ‘Flynn, wait up!’

  The voices drifted from a distance behind him and he slowed his pace a touch. Then he turned round to face them and jogged backwards, watching them emerge from the shadowy path. Harry was heaving, Jennah’s cheeks were flushed red.

  ‘Come on, slowcoaches!’ he yelled at them, and turned round again. But this time their footsteps did not follow him and so he turned and ran back to find them collapsed on a bench. ‘Come on!’ he urged, jogging around them in a wide arc.

  ‘Flynn, this is mad!’ Harry got up and tried to block his way but he dodged him easily, laughing. ‘You’re going to fall down in a minute and then you’ll feel sorry!’

  Jennah and Harry got up, hands dug deep into their pockets, looking cold and miserable, their eyes following him as he completed another lap of his circuit. Then their heads leaned together and they appeared to be in deep discussion. Snippets floated across to him over the grass.

  ‘I’ll walk you back to the main road and get you a cab,’ Harry was saying.

  ‘No! I don’t care about that. I just want to make sure you get him home OK.’

  ‘I will. He’ll run out of steam eventually. He’ll have to.’ Harry’s voice did not sound too certain.

  ‘I’m surprised he hasn’t fallen over yet.’

  A long silence. Then, ‘I’m not sure that he’s drunk,’ Harry said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I only ever saw him drink one beer.’

  ‘He must have drunk more!’

  ‘No, seriously. There were three cans left in the fridge and we drank the other two.’

  ‘He must have been drinking something else.’

  ‘There’s no other booze in the flat.’

  Jennah’s voice sounded odd. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. All I can say is that when Flynn’s pissed, he slurs his words and goes all sleepy.’

  ‘So what’s wrong with him?’ A pause. Then Jennah’s voice again, aghast. ‘Do you think he’s on drugs?’

  ‘Doubt it, he’s always broke. He gave up smoking because he couldn’t afford to buy cigarettes! Anyway, he’s totally anti-drugs. Remember what he said at Kate’s party when Clive was passing around that joint?’

  ‘Oh, yeah . . .’ Jennah’s voice shook. ‘Get him to stop, Harry. He’s beginning to scare me.’

  Flynn continued running around them, amused by their conversation and sorry at their own apparent lack of excitement. They looked tired and anxious and he only wished he could get them to join in the fun.

  ‘Come on!’ he shouted at them again, jumping up and down in frustration. ‘Look at the park – isn’t it beautiful? The sky’s full of stars. Look, look!’

  They wouldn’t even look. What were they like? Harry suddenly strode out towards him, and Flynn moved away from the path.

  ‘Come on, race you!’ Flynn shouted at him, making for the trees. But the anguish in Jennah’s voice stopped him short.

  ‘Harry, don’t chase him!’ she shrieked.

  Flynn slowed to a fast walk and heard their footsteps on the path behind him. He felt Harry’s hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Come on, stop messing around. Let’s go back now.’

  Flynn spun round and walked backwards, facing them. ‘If you think the park is beautiful now, wait until dawn,’ he said breathlessly. ‘The sky is s
treaked by a million shades of pink and orange, and the sun rises like a golden globe of fire, hanging just above the horizon.’

  Harry looked odd. ‘I’m sure it does,’ he said shortly.

  ‘I’ll show you.’

  ‘Flynn, we’re all knackered. Dawn is in six hours. Let’s go home now, OK?’

  ‘Let’s run!’

  ‘No!’ they chorused in unison, but Flynn felt the laughter bubble up inside him.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Harry demanded.

  Flynn stopped and leaned forwards, hands on knees, laughter cascading out of him. ‘The anti-running campaign!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You two. Should be the anti-running campaign.’

  ‘Yeah, OK. Ha ha. Let’s go now.’

  ‘Only if you help me write the opera.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jennah said suddenly. ‘We will, Flynn. OK? Maybe not right away because we’re all pretty tired, but we will. Let’s just go home now, OK?’

  He nodded. He would. Anything to please Jennah. She wasn’t like Harry. For a start she was pretty. Very pretty. The anti-running campaign. He laughed again. And continued laughing all the way home.

  Dawn rose without Flynn even realizing it. Suddenly the black windows were filled with a pink hue and, when he next looked up, sunlight was streaming through the panes. He stretched out his legs on the carpet and pulled back the fingers of his right hand. His wrist was sore. He surveyed his bedroom carpet, covered with sheets of music, and smiled to himself. His opera was well underway. Shivering from sitting motionless for so long, he got up and padded into the kitchen to make himself some coffee. He felt a little strange, but not in the slightest bit tired. He didn’t really need sleep. There was too much to do and, anyway, he wasn’t like others. Nearly all the greats had needed little sleep. Went with having a brilliant mind.

  The kettle took for ever to boil. He hoisted himself onto the counter. The oven clock read 8:15. He looked over at the kettle again. Come on, come on.

  The door opened, making him start. Christ, it was Jennah! She had spent the night on the sofa bed. He had forgotten.

  ‘Morning, you.’ Her tousled hair hung in her face and she wore an oversized sweatshirt – one of Harry’s, presumably – that skimmed her bare thighs. Flynn stared at her.