The Devil's Trill Sonata Read Online Free Page B

here too?”
    “Nah. Cambridge.”
    “…He’s from Cambridge?”
    “No, he’s at Cambridge. The university.”
    “Jesus Christ, your boyfriend got into Cambridge?” She gaped, then frowned suspiciously. “Wait. Are you a student?”
    “Nope,” Darren shook his head. “Didn’t want to go. I work for the police.”
    “A copper?”
    “Crime scenes,” Darren corrected. “I dust everything with a tiny paintbrush.”
    “Messy.”
    “Mm.”
    Rachel eyed him over a forkful of egg. “You should come out on Friday night. With us.”
    “Who’s us?”
    “Me and some of the girls from work,” Rachel said. “Jodie would love you. Are you mixed-race or Jewish or something? The hair’s kinda crazy.”
    “What’s that got to do with it?”
    “Jodie’s a massive equal rights freak,” Rachel said. “I mean, if you’re bi, she will like literally talk your ear off about how she hates biphobia.”
    “My grandfather’s Iranian. Or was. He’s a bit dead now.”
    “Seriously?”
    “Yes,” Darren said. “Very dead.”
    “I meant the Iranian thing. You’re having me on.”
    “I’m not,” Darren said. “Never met him, mind. He died when Mother was a kid.”
    “What’s your mum called?”
    “Alison.” Darren smirked, and Rachel scowled. “Akbar, before she got married. Her mum was from Wexford.”
    Rachel huffed. “Oh, my God, Irish-Iranian-Englishman. Jodie’s going to love you,” she insisted. “Come out with us Friday. You can’t have something else on, you only just got here.”
    Darren rolled his eyes, but the remark stuck. For the first time, he didn’t. Rachel was right; he had no plans for the weekend, because weekends had always meant Jayden, and now they didn’t. Darren was going to have to fill up his weekends with something else. He’d have to start looking into sports clubs or something.
    Until then, maybe baiting a hairy-armpitted nutjob who probably had a degree in black studies or something like that would fill up this first one.
    “All right,” he said. “But I make no promises for my behaviour.”
    * * * *
    He spent most of the evening in Rachel’s flat watching TV with her and criticising her taste in actors until his phone rang.
    “Boyfriend,” he said, flashing her the caller ID, and then, “Hey Jayden,” before he’d even gotten off the sofa.
    “Night, Darren,” Rachel called after him; he waved over his shoulder and closed the door of his flat behind him as Jayden asked who he’d heard.
    “Rachel. Neighbour,” he said. “How’re you?”
    “I have like four essays already.”
    “It’s been a week!”
    “I know!” Jayden whined. “I have four essays, I don’t even know what the last one means because I swear, Darren, I swear that if you’re going to call Shakespeare up for misogyny, Othello isn’t the play to do it in because there’s like one scene of banter and then all the other issues come forward, and…”
    Darren dropped onto his bed, clamping the phone between his right shoulder and his ear as he worked his trousers off. Might as well get ready for bed while Jayden rambled; it was half ten already, and tomorrow’s training session started at eight.
    “…and Leah’s trying to get me to join the hockey club but I can’t do drama and hockey and actually pass this degree, because this is insane, I’m thinking maybe…”
    Darren hummed in the right places as he rummaged for his squeeze ball that the physiotherapist had given him, and flopped back onto the bed with it, crushing it and releasing it again in a slow rhythm. The damaged muscles in his shoulder protested, but not too sharply tonight. They were adjusting to the job and the hefting kit around pretty well, all things considered. Maybe he should start boxing or something, really tone them up.
    “Are you even listening to me?”
    “Yeah,” Darren said, “but I didn’t think I was really needed for your ranting.”
    Jayden laughed, and Darren smiled at the ceiling, his chest