When I Fall In Love
Miranda Dickinson
The brand new release from the Sunday Times bestselling author that bought you Fairytale of New York and It Started With A Kiss.What happens when your happy ever after is suddenly and painfully taken away from you?Elsie Maynard has a whole new life she never expected to have.From inadvertently founding a choir like no other with former 80s rock star Woody Jensen, to daring to date again, Elsie steps out into an unknown future – a future that could include gorgeous designer Olly Hogarth, a man who seems intent on winning her heart. Overcoming problems, challenges and the occasional frustration – namely overconfident Torin Stewart who seems to be everywhere – Elsie believes she is making the most of her life.But then a heartfelt request brings her to Paris – and the last item on a very important List.Can Elsie take the final step and lay her past to rest? Join Elsie as she battles to start again, with the help of a disastrous, newly-formed singing group and her father and sister armed with dating hopefuls.
MIRANDA DICKINSON
When I Fall in Love
Copyright
AVON
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
77–85 Fulham Palace Road
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Copyright © Miranda Dickinson 2012
Miranda Dickinson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9781847562364
Ebook Edition © November 2012 ISBN: 9780007478477
Version: 2014-12-09
As I write this, I am looking back at four extraordinary years of excitement, fun and lots of hard work. I would like to thank all the lovely team at Avon for everything they have done to make these the most exciting of my life so far: my fab editor Sammia Rafique, Caroline Ridding, Claire Bord, Rhian McKay and Jim Blades.
Big thanks to my wonderful agent, Hannah Ferguson, for being one of the most positive people I know and for believing in the crazy stuff in my head (wombats included!) For crucial draft reading and confidence boosts, unending thanks to Kim Curran-Goodson. Thanks also to Kate Harrison for her expert Brighton knowledge and knowing her Laine from her Lanes.
I love my tweethearts on Twitter who keep me going, make me giggle and occasionally make me cry. I would especially like to thank Trish Hills, Cressida McLaughlin, Gem Fletcher, Natalie Hewis, Kayla Staniland, Kath Eastman and Joanna Cannon for being wonderful friends and cheerleaders.
As ever, real people have inspired parts of this novel. So thanks to the gorgeous Gemma Perkins for inspiring Elsie, Chris Armfield for inspiring Woody’s rock wisdom, and the lovely Cupcake Genie team in Crawley whose awesome shop and cupcakes inspired Sundae & Cher’s menu (www.cupcakegenie.co.uk). Thanks as ever to my fab Peppermint massive – watch out for your cameo!
And finally, to my wonderful new husband Bob – thank you for being my unexpected future and for making everything sparkly again.
Life can throw you spanners, curveballs, opportunities and surprises. This book is about going forward, regardless of what lies behind …
Dedication
For Kim. Because this story wouldn’t have been as brave without you.
A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality.
John Lennon
Contents
Cover (#u64fdb3eb-5f93-5b36-8563-cb4f7de7857f)
Title Page (#u8f9a150b-26e3-513f-9ba5-0f6106c28ece)
Copyright (#u62f73e45-d04f-589d-bec5-d0b817eb0557)
Dedication (#ue4cc9998-7733-527a-8582-b4de56cfe1b2)
Epigraph (#uc3a07812-afe0-5590-8aa9-a14ec4ba1c03)
Chapter One: Not supposed to be like this (#u64da257c-0efe-5f9d-93ee-d8f248e7ddc0)
Chapter Two: Moving on … (#ua82f3ac5-685b-53e0-8ff5-5b5d22e4dd4b)
Chapter Three: Pleased to meet you … (#u19449e79-a019-5ed2-8e3c-e1c4f4b9fe96)
Chapter Four: Altogether now … (#u64452890-e4f0-5d1b-85d9-58da533e1ffb)
Chapter Five: Hello again, hello … (#uec855c56-c562-5190-a465-942942d280b0)
Chapter Six: Just the way you are … (#u7b0d0ce8-2fff-5242-b38d-b3a331b34f38)
Chapter Seven: Getting to know you … (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight: Baby steps … (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine: I’m sorry, have we met? (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten: Feel the fear … (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven: Stepping out (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve: Welcome to the world (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen: Take a bow … (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen: A night to remember … (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen: A big ask … (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen: Something like a plan (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen: A sentimental journey … (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen: A beginning and an end (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen: You ain’t seen nothing yet … (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty: Back to the future (#litres_trial_promo)
Moving On – an epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
The List (#litres_trial_promo)
Reading Group Questions (#litres_trial_promo)
Interview with Miranda Dickinson (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
Not supposed to be like this
‘Excuse me, miss?’
Elsie Maynard looked up from her half-crossed-out shopping list to see the hulking figure of a security guard blocking her way. ‘Hi. Sorry, I’m in a bit of a rush, actually, so if you’ll just …’
‘I’m going to have to ask you to come with me, please.’
This was the last thing she needed today. Not only had her lunch break been delayed by forty-five minutes by a particularly persistent wafer-cone salesman but also, in her haste to complete all the shopping tasks on her list, she had left work without her umbrella just as the heavens opened. And now this …
‘I’ve told you, I don’t have time to stop.’
The huge security guard gave a world-weary sigh and clamped an enormous hand rather too heavily on her shoulder. ‘I must insist, miss. I believe you have goods you have not paid for, so if you will just accompany me back into the shop, please …’
What on earth was this man-mountain on about? Of course she had paid! What kind of person did he think she was? Incensed at the very notion, Elsie opened her mouth to protest, when a new voice interrupted her.
‘Hey. Can I help?’
He was young, arguably handsome, with dark brown hair and green eyes. Everything about him gave the impression of someone in complete control: from his neat haircut to the well-cut suit and overcoat he wore, together with the fact that, frustratingly, he was apparently immune to the large splats of rain Elsie could feel soaking through her too-thin work uniform and tights. Over his shoulder Elsie caught sight of a blonde-haired young woman dressed in a turquoise and black Fifties diner waitress outfit, looking as if somebody had just tipped a bucket of water over her head – and her heart sank as she realised it was her own reflection in the shop window.
Mr Impervious-to-Rain’s smile would probably have been welcome, were it not for Elsie’s sneaking suspicion that he was enjoying the sight of her, bedraggled, flustered and now squirming with embarrassment on the steps of the high street chemist’s.
‘I’m fine, thank you. It’s just a misunderstanding …’ she began, but Mount Kilimanjaro had turned his attention from her to seek solidarity with the recent male addition to the street spectacle.
‘She hasn’t paid,’ he confided, pointing a thick finger at the haemorrhoid preparation and earwax softener in Elsie’s hand, ‘for those items.’
Oh. My. Life. In her fury at being accused of theft, Elsie had completely forgotten the two quite possibly most embarrassing items in the whole world that she now held. But of course she had paid for them! Hadn’t she?
The young man suppressed a smile and Elsie felt her stomach lurch again as cold raindrops permeated her collar and began to run down the back of her neck. ‘I’m sure it’s just a small misunderstanding,’ he smiled affably at the gargantuan unsmiling man still gripping Elsie’s shoulder. ‘Look, here’s twenty quid. Can’t be any more than that, can it?’
A brief glimpse of softness flashed across the security guard’s steely expression. ‘Well …’
Sensing his opponent weakening, the young man’s smile eased wider. ‘I imagine you see this kind of thing every day, huh? Lunchtime shoppers, brains left at the office, so many shiny things to buy that they make one tiny slip of judgement …’ He turned the whiteness of his sincerity on Elsie, a move which may have been intended to comfort but had the directly opposite effect. ‘I mean, this girl seems very lovely and not really your average shoplifter, eh?’
The steel returned as Mountain Man surveyed her. ‘Takes all sorts.’
‘I’m sure it does, officer. But, trust me, I see all manner of felons in the course of my job and I can spot a wrong ’un a mile off. This, sir, is not one of them.’
This? Despite the help obviously being offered by the smartly dressed stranger beside her, being referred to as an inanimate object was a step too far for Elsie. ‘Now hang on a minute …’
Her planned tirade was halted by a raised, gloved hand and a look that threatened dire consequences if she defied his gesture. Fuming, she dug her drenched heels into the pavement and glared at him.
‘Come on, twenty quid?’ he continued. ‘I’ll even go back into the shop with you to get a receipt. Can’t say fairer than that, can I?’
To Elsie’s amazement, the security guard shrugged his bulky shoulders and released her. ‘All the same to me,’ he muttered, pocketing the twenty-pound note and turning back towards the store. ‘Just tell your girlfriend to pay a bit more attention next time.’
‘What? I’m not his gir’
‘Absolutely. Stay there, darling. I’ll be back in a moment.’ Smiling like an advert for tooth whitening toothpaste, he winked at Elsie as he accompanied the guard inside the shop.
Gazing down in utter disbelief at the questionable items in her hand, Elsie remained frozen to the spot trying to process what had just happened. One minute she had been dashing around the huge high street chemist on the corner of Brighton’s North Street and Queen’s Road looking for baby wipes and mascara, the next she had been interrupted by her father calling to ask her to pick up some embarrassing but necessary items for him … Maybe her mind had been elsewhere – especially given the important decision she had made that morning – but she had paid for the items, she was sure. Who would try to steal pile preparation and earwax remover anyway? Certainly not Elsie Maynard, assistant manager of Sundae & Cher ice cream café, upstanding citizen of Brighton and the last person on the planet to ever consider shoplifting. Even as a teenager she had always maintained an unblemished record, her fear of getting into trouble only strengthened by witnessing the fallout from minor misdemeanours involving her two older sisters (more often than not involving overindulgence in alcohol and trips home in panda cars …)
‘There, all sorted.’ The smiling man was back, a triumphal glow from his recent chivalrous endeavours lighting his face. He handed her a receipt. ‘Busy day, eh?’
‘I paid for these,’ Elsie insisted, the sting of injustice still smarting.
‘You didn’t. But it’s OK, I sorted it for you.’
Pushing the receipt back at him, Elsie grabbed her purse from her damp handbag and angrily flicked through the receipts in the wallet section. ‘Look, I don’t know who you are, and I’m not being ungrateful, but that bloke was mistaken. I distinctly remember paying for these things with a twenty-pound note. I know this because I only had one twenty in my wallet that I’d just taken out from the cash machine and now, as you can see, it’s not … Oh …’ Her heart plummeted to her soggy toes as she pulled out a folded twenty-pound note, exactly where she’d put it at the cash point before she entered the shop.
The young man’s voice softened. ‘Honestly, it’s fine. It happens to the best of us.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Torin, by the way. Torin Stewart.’
Still reeling from the revelation of her unwitting descent into petty crime, Elsie shook his hand. ‘Elsie Maynard.’
‘Pleasure to meet you, Elsie Maynard,’ Torin grinned. ‘Under different circumstances would’ve been preferable, of course, but I’m glad I was able to help. So, how about a coffee? You look like you need one and it’ll get you out of this rain.’
Thoroughly mortified and filled with a compelling urge to remove herself from the situation, Elsie pushed the twenty-pound note into his hand and began to leave. ‘I’m sorry, I really have to go …’
‘Hey, why the rush?’
‘I’m on my lunch break, which ended about twenty minutes ago,’ Elsie returned, hoping that the pace she injected into her steps would deter him from following her down the street.
Unfortunately for Elsie, Torin was not one to be brushed off so easily. ‘Now come on. I just saved your life back there. Surely that entitles me to at least a coffee with you? It can be my treat if money’s a bit tight …?’
That was the final straw. Blood pumping furiously in her ears, Elsie spun round to face him. ‘Excuse me? I have money, actually. What part of “I have to go” do you not understand? I’m late for work and I’m soaked through from this stupid rain and, believe me, the very last thing I would like to do right now is go anywhere with you. I’ve paid you back so I don’t owe you anything.’
‘Is that the way you thank all your rescuers?’ The twinkle in his eye sent a second wave of fury pumping through Elsie.
‘Who do you think you are, Lancelot? And where do you get off interfering in other people’s business, anyway? I am entirely capable of looking after myself, you know. I am not a damsel in distress that needs rescuing by a big, strong bloke. I would have sorted the situation, without your help. I would have managed. So thank you very much for jumping in, but I really didn’t need you to.’
Torin was stopped in his tracks and Elsie felt the smallest glint of satisfaction as she walked away. Fair enough, he had helped to release her from the iron grip of the security guard, but he didn’t have to make a virtue of the fact. Or attempt to turn the situation into some kind of emotional blackmail to go with him for coffee, either. Honestly, the cheek!
‘Un-be-lievable!’ a voice shouted behind her.
Elsie groaned as she pressed on, dodging lunchtime shoppers hurrying through the insistent mid-March rain. Does this bloke ever give up?
‘I thought you looked like somebody in need of assistance,’ Torin continued, drawing level with Elsie as they stormed together down the street. ‘And all I did was try to save you from an embarrassing and potentially litigious situation. Well, more fool me!’
‘You said it,’ Elsie muttered, wishing with all her heart that he would get the message and leave her alone.
‘Talk about ungrateful! Some women would see what I did just now as chivalrous.’
‘And some women would think you were a pathetic male on an ego trip, making yourself appear superior. “Stay there, darling …” as if I was some dumb-nutted bimbo! Chauvinism is not chivalry, mate.’
‘Oh, so stopping a security guard from hauling you back into a shop in full view of half of Brighton was patronising, was it?’
Of course it wasn’t. But Elsie was tired, embarrassed, soaked to the skin and not likely to give in to the annoying man who still seemed impervious to rain. ‘I’m sorry, I really don’t have time for this.’
‘Time for what? For being told how unreasonable you are?’
Elsie gave a hollow laugh as she skirted round a café A-board placed unwisely in her path. ‘Oh right, I’m unreasonable …’
‘Yes, you are. May I remind you that there was every chance that security guard wouldn’t have let the situation go?’
‘How do you know that? You can’t possibly know that!’
He was matching her pace, step for step, his reddening face pulling closer to hers. ‘It was obvious to anybody! You only had to see the gleam in his eye to know that he intended to make an example of you. It could have involved the police, a magistrates court visit, a fine … a criminal record?’
Halting suddenly, Elsie faced him. ‘OK, enough! Believe it or not, I have more important things to think about today than whether or not I would have ended up with a criminal record if you hadn’t intervened. I’ve said thank you, I’ve paid you back, what more can you possibly want from me?’
Breathing heavily, Torin held up his hands. ‘Nothing. Obviously nothing.’ Then, to Elsie’s surprise, instead of hurling a clever comeback at her, he backed away, turned and disappeared into the crowd.
If she hadn’t seen the look of sincere disappointment in his eyes, Elsie would have just dismissed the whole thing. But the unexpected impact of it sent a whisper of conscience cutting like a scythe through her consternation. Blinking away the raindrops dripping from the edges of her fringe, she stood in the middle of milling shoppers, the events of the past ten minutes replaying over and over in her mind.
The insistent ringing of her mobile brought her sharply back to the present.
‘Hello? Oh hi, Dad. Yes, I have your things. I’ll bring them over after work.’
Taking one last glance up the street, Elsie shook the nagging doubt from her mind.
‘Weirdo,’ she told herself. ‘Clearly a weirdo.’
CHAPTER TWO
Moving on …
By the time Elsie parked her car outside her father’s three-storey townhouse later that day, thick grey clouds had laid siege to Brighton’s skies, emptying their weight of rain on the streets of the seaside city. Despite her best efforts to shield herself from the torrential downpour by holding her handbag above her head as she dashed from the car, she arrived at the purple wood and stained-glass front door soaked once more.
The tinkle of a small wind-chime over the door and heady smell of warming patchouli oil and Nag Champa incense sticks were immediately soothing as she walked into the hallway and headed towards the Indian bead curtain that covered the entrance to the kitchen. It had been many years since she had moved out of this place but it still always felt like home when she returned.
Jim Maynard beamed when Elsie walked into the kitchen. He was out of his work clothes already, his respectable business suit replaced by his favourite Nepal striped patchwork shirt, baggy combat trousers and bright orange Doc Marten boots. Elsie smiled back. She always preferred the sight of her father in his relaxed attire, with his much-beloved gold earring back in his ear: it was a truer version of himself than his well-respected Brighton businessman persona that he had adopted since taking over his father’s classic furniture store business.
‘It’s my favourite youngest daughter!’ he exclaimed, wrapping her up in one of his famous Dad-hugs, which was even more welcome today than usual. ‘Good day?’
Elsie opened a brightly painted enamel tea caddy and popped two ginger and cinnamon teabags into a hand-painted kingfisher-blue teapot, a gift to Jim from his middle daughter Guin when she set up her pottery business in Shoreham-by-Sea four years ago. ‘Annoying day, actually.’ She smiled at her father. ‘But it’s better now I’m here.’
‘I’m glad, darling. I knew there was a reason we needed patchouli oil today. Sit down, take a deep breath and tell your old dad about it.’ Jim took the whistling kettle from the gas stove and made the tea. ‘What happened?’
‘Oh, nothing, really. I just had a bit of an ordeal at lunchtime.’
Her father was about to enquire further when the kitchen door opened and a chorus of ‘Shoplifter!’ filled the kitchen, followed by loud shrieks of laughter.
Elsie groaned as her two older sisters piled onto her, shouting, laughing and ruffling her hair. Sometimes being so close to your sisters (and texting them as soon as anything happened in your day) was a bad thing …
‘Our little sister, the petty thief!’ Daisy Maynard laughed, flicking back her perfectly coiffed blonde hair and clapping slender hands at the sight of her sister’s chagrin. ‘I’m so proud!’
‘We were going to get you a swag bag and mask from the fancy dress shop on the way here but Junior decided to play up,’ Guin added, patting her burgeoning belly. ‘You seem to have this one on side already, Els.’
Elsie grinned despite her embarrassment and reached out to stroke her sister’s considerable baby bump. ‘You’ve got taste, kid. Just stick with your Auntie Elsie and you’ll stay relatively sane.’
‘Although she’ll have you signed up to the family crime business before you know it,’ Daisy added as she and Guin descended into hilarity.
‘What’s this about crime?’ Jim looked from one daughter to the others, trying to keep up. After their mother had removed herself from the family unit when all three girls were little. Jim had assumed the role of sole referee of the whirlwind known as the Maynard sisters and was often left bewildered by their endless energy and the breakneck speed of their conversations.
‘Our little sister was almost arrested for shoplifting today,’ Guin said, groaning as she lowered herself carefully onto a chair by the kitchen table. Her blue eyes flashed with mischief as she pulled a hairband from her wrist and wound her wavy blonde hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. ‘Who’d have thought it, eh? Goody-Two-Shoes Elsie a criminal mastermind!’
‘It was a misunderstanding,’ Elsie protested. ‘I handled the situation.’
‘Really? You handled it?’ Daisy asked, eyebrows raised.
‘Yes,’ Elsie replied firmly, wishing again that she hadn’t informed them so comprehensively of the event in a string of texts that afternoon. ‘I had a lot on my mind and honestly thought I’d paid. It was obvious in the end that I had made a mistake.’
‘Oh.’ Jim handed out mugs of tea, not really sure how to respond to this revelation. ‘Well, we live and learn, eh?’
Filled with a rush of love for her father, Elsie squeezed his hand as she accepted a mug from him. ‘We do. So you see, Dad, everything’s good now.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Now, I did a bit of baking last night. Don’t suppose I can interest any of you girls in a slice of banana and walnut bread, can I?’
This was met by a chorus of appreciation and, delighted, Jim opened an old Roses tin to serve up his recent culinary triumph. As he and Guin began to chat, Daisy grabbed Elsie’s hand and pulled her into the small hallway at the back of the kitchen.
‘So?’ she demanded, folding her slender arms and giving Elsie a classic Older Sister Stare.
Elsie was having none of it. She had outfaced her eldest sister many times over the years and she wasn’t about to be intimidated by her today. ‘So what?’
‘You know what, Elsie Maynard. Why didn’t you mention the chap?’
Elsie shrugged. ‘Dad didn’t need to know.’
‘How do you figure that? That handsome stranger saved you from being arrested,for heaven’s sake!’
‘Shh! Keep your voice down … And I never said he was handsome.’
Dropping her voice to a harsh whisper, Daisy eyeballed her sister. ‘I beg to differ. Anyway, why are you so het up about this? It’s OK to admit you needed help, you know. It’s no reflection on you. It doesn’t mean you can’t cope or anything …’
Elsie had heard enough. ‘Drop it, Dais! Let’s just … talk about something else for a bit.’
Daisy relented and wrapped an arm around Elsie’s shoulder. ‘Fair enough, lovely. I’m sorry. So, was he fit?’
‘Daisy!’
‘Oh come on, Elsie, humour me!’
‘I suppose he was, in an annoying, waterproof way. I wasn’t looking too closely at the time.’
An indeterminable look passed across Daisy’s face. ‘Good. That’s good.’
Later, when the Maynards were sitting around the dining room table in the large, first-floor living room eating vegetable tagine with tabouleh and pearl couscous (a particular favourite of Jim’s), Elsie decided to announce the decision that she had been distracted by when she inadvertently became a lunchtime shoplifter. It had been on her mind all week, ever since she had decided to finally open the small, chocolate satin-covered box by her bed after eighteen months of waiting. This morning, she had made her decision: the first part of moving on …
‘Right, everyone, I’m glad you’re all here – and sitting down – because I’ve something I want to say.’ She smiled at the apprehensive looks of her nearest and dearest. ‘Don’t panic, it’s good news, I think.’ She took a breath to steady herself. ‘I’ve decided to start dating again.’
‘Oh Els …’ Guin’s face reddened and she burst into tears, much to the amusement of her sisters. Since she had discovered she was pregnant, the normally pragmatic middle Maynard sister had become an emotional wreck, sobbing uncontrollably at everything from songs on her car radio to television adverts for pet food and sofas. Laughing at her own emotional state, she accepted the box of tissues her father always kept close for such occasions and wiped her eyes. ‘Man, I am such a wuss! I hope all this sobbing isn’t going to traumatise my baby. I’m just so – happy for you, honey.’
Jim reached across the table and took Elsie’s hand. ‘My brave girl. And you feel all right about it all?’
Elsie could feel herself shaking, but she knew she was. ‘I’m terrified – I mean I’ve no idea how to go about it, or even how it’s done now – but it feels right.’
‘We can help,’ Daisy said, nodding furiously – a suggestion which slightly alarmed Elsie. Daisy prided herself on being a bit of a matchmaker, even though several of her match-ups for friends had ended in dreadful dates and acrimonious splits. But then, as Elsie reasoned, when you were as effortlessly gorgeous as Daisy Maynard with a successful career and a wealthy property developer boyfriend, what would you really understand about the perils of dating?
‘Promise me one thing, darling: steer clear of those dreadful dating sites,’ Jim interjected, his assertion eliciting shock from his three daughters. ‘No, I’m serious. I signed up for two of them last year and they were most disappointing.’
The unexpected revelation of Jim’s secret online dating history temporarily hijacked the conversation, and Elsie allowed herself to relax a little as the incredulous reaction flowed around her. After this week’s apprehension of telling her family what she was planning, she now felt strangely peaceful. It was the right decision and it was an important one.
I love you because you’re brave and strong
and you always know what to do.
xx
It was the first message in the pile stacked neatly inside the former chocolate box the subject of Number 50 on The List:
50. Read the box messages – all of them.
It had taken Elsie eighteen months to bring herself to open it, the thought of its unread contents strangely comforting. When she made the decision last Monday to fulfil the last-but-one item on The List, it had felt like being reunited with an old friend. And as soon as she read the first message, Elsie knew it was the right time. The message made perfect sense – and instantly she knew what to do.
‘Wow,’ said Cher Pettinger, owner of Sundae & Cher, when Elsie told her the news a week after the shoplifting incident. ‘And you’re sure you’re ready to dive into the shark-infested dating waters again?’
Elsie pulled a face. ‘Well, when you put it like that, how can I resist?’
‘No, no, that’s not what I meant,’ Cher shook her head, the tall ebony beehive atop it shaking wildly. ‘It’s just, you know, when you’ve three divorces under your belt like me the whole dating scene becomes more of a moron-dodging exercise than anything else.’
Elsie smiled at her boss, noting again how at odds her lack of dating success was with the confident forty-something dressed head to toe in vintage Dior. ‘I’ll bear that in mind. How is the latest flame?’
Cher grimaced as she dropped a newly mixed tub of house speciality Apple, Cinnamon and Nutmeg ice cream into the glass-fronted display cabinet. ‘He was looking promising until I realised he still lived with his mother. Forty-two years old and still sleeping in a bedroom with He-Man wallpaper.’
‘Blimey.’
‘Believe it, sister. It’s a jungle out there. But you know me: ever the optimistic adventurer.’
Cher Pettinger’s relationship history read like a cautionary tale on the perils of dating. Married and divorced three times, she had since endured a string of hopeless beaus, from the owner of the local amusement arcade who had a strange penchant for life-sized dolls, and the toyboy estate agent who was convinced that he was being stalked by MI5, to the ageing lothario hotelier who turned out to be a serial bigamist. But Cher was nothing if not committed to her dating cause, gamely braving the ‘jungle of morons’ in pursuit of true love.
Elsie liked her boss immensely, despite Cher’s infamously dry sense of humour, which had earned her a fearsome reputation in North Laine. She was sassy and assured and undaunted by life – and in Elsie she had found a kindred spirit. Together, over the past three years, they had turned the once hippy vegan café in colourful Gardner Street that Cher inherited from her dotty aunt, Lucy ‘Skyflower’ Pettinger, into a retro-themed ice cream café that the great and good of Brighton flocked to, irrespective of the season.
Sundae & Cher was filled with 1950s and 1960s memorabilia, from the gold-framed Elvis and Frankie Valli photographs on the wall behind the green glass counter, to the black and white harlequin tiles on the floor, replica Wurlitzer jukebox, black and white checked tablecloths and red leather and chrome chairs. It had the air of being simultaneously retro and chic, and modern and cool – and Elsie loved to see people’s expressions when they walked in for the first time. Of course, the killer detail was that all the ice cream sold in the café was made onsite, in the basement kitchen with its large ice cream mixing machine and large freezer cabinet. This meant that Sundae & Cher could offer flavours nobody else in Brighton could match, changing them regularly to keep the ever-enthusiastic customers coming back for more. From Toasted Popcorn to Blue Cheese and Walnut, Maple Banana and even a Tomato, Basil and Olive combination, Sundae & Cher’s unique ice cream flavours had become a talking point in the famous seaside town. Add to this the effortlessly relaxed and fun atmosphere and it was easy to see why Sundae & Cher fitted into colourfully bohemian Gardner Street perfectly.
Cher was obsessed with 1950s and 1960s fashion, proudly wearing vintage finds from the retro clothing boutiques that lined the streets of Brighton’s famous shopping district. Her home, too, was a shrine to retro kitsch, her love of which was evident wherever she was.
As such, she looked every inch the part behind the glass counter of Sundae & Cher – as did Elsie in her black short-sleeved blouse with white collar and cuffs, turquoise satin circle skirt and white frilled apron. It was fun to dress up for work and even though the days were long and busy, Elsie adored being part of Cher’s throwback business vision. It was as if Cher’s trademark dynamism was infused into the very fixtures and fittings of the ice cream café – a sense of optimism and fun pervaded everything, something which had proved precious to Elsie during the last eighteen months.
Today, as she scooped colourful balls of handmade ice cream into deep blue sundae glasses, Elsie felt more positive about her decision than ever.
‘So, want me to set you up?’ Cher asked, popping Belgian chocolate-filled wafer sticks into the top of the sundaes. ‘Because I’m sure I know some suitable gents. Not that I’m saying you won’t find anyone under your own steam, you know, but every little helps and that.’
The door opened and a middle-aged man bounded across the harlequin-tiled floor towards them. ‘Morning, lovely ladies!’
‘And here’s one of them now,’ Cher winked. ‘Dennis, my lovely. How’s our favourite morning customer?’
Dennis’ ample cheeks flushed. ‘Always the better for seeing you, m’dear.’
Cher feigned coyness and batted her false eyelashes at him. ‘Such a charmer! So what can I tempt you with today?’
His eyes made a greedy survey of the generous swirling mounds of rainbow-hued ice creams before him (and, arguably, a wider reconnoitre of Cher’s generous chest in the process). ‘Ah, decisions, decisions. I think I will have one of your excellent breakfast pastries, considering the early hour.’
‘Good choice. Anything with that, Dennis?’
Elsie knew the script of this conversation by heart. Every Monday and Thursday morning, at nine o’clock precisely, Dennis Keith would visit Sundae & Cher on his way to the small accountancy office where he worked. His ultimate goal was to have three scoops of ice cream with his breakfast pain au chocolat, but his sense of British propriety and conscience would never allow him to ask for this outright. Instead, a well-practised bartering ensued, after which he could rest easy that he was not being greedy but, in fact, merely accommodating Cher’s culinary suggestion. It wouldn’t do to hurt her feelings by refusing ice cream, would it?
‘I wonder if I might have a scoop of your excellent gelato with my breakfast?’
‘Of course, lovely. Which one would you like?’
Dennis made a grand show of indecision, hopping left to right as he surveyed the selection. ‘Vanilla – no, wait – Mango and Ginger Swirl looks most inviting … But then there’s Chocolate Space Dust … oh, it’s so hard to choose!’
Cher leaned over the counter just low enough to momentarily lure his eyes away from the ice cream. ‘Dennis, you know I’ll be offended if you don’t try all three …’
Mission accomplished, his eyes twinkled as he pretended to be surprised. ‘Really? In that case, how can I refuse?’
As he walked away happy, Cher twirled her ice cream scoop like a Wild West sharpshooter. ‘See? Do I know men or what?’
Elsie grinned and picked up a menu covered in vivid pink Post-it notes. ‘No doubting that fact. You thinking of redesigning the menus again?’
Cher handed Elsie a cup of tea. ‘Not the menus. The menu.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I’ve been thinking about being a bit more adventurous with what Sundae & Cher offers. Try to extend our reach a bit. Now we’re heading towards Easter I thought it was as good a time as any to have a bit of a spring clean.’
Elsie looked at the written suggestions on the menu stickies. ‘I like the idea of porridge and pancakes for the Breakfast list. After all, not everyone can face ice cream first thing in the morning like Dennis.’
‘I’ve asked our friends at Cupcake Genie to do us some seasonal specials, too, and I can tie in the ice cream flavours with some of their ideas,’ Cher continued, her eyes ablaze with inspiration. ‘And there’s more …’ She hurried into the kitchen behind the counter and returned a few moments later with a frosted Tupperware box. She cracked open the lid and scooped a spoonful of palest lilac-coloured gelato from inside, handing it to Elsie. ‘Try that.’
The taste was unbelievable – like crushed Parma Violets and rose petals. ‘Wow, that’s amazing.’
‘It’s organic and dairy-free,’ Cher beamed. ‘I made it using almond milk. It works with any of our flavours and it’s something we can offer that nobody else in Brighton does. Then I’ve ordered a crêpe hotplate, so we can offer handmade crêpes on site with scoops of ice cream, fresh fruit and pretty much any of our toppings. It’ll look fantastic and the smell of freshly cooked crêpes will fill the place! If that works, who knows? Waffles made in-house, takeaway ice cream, more of your awesome cookies … anything’s possible.’
‘Sounds like you’ve thought of everything. So when are all these menu changes taking place?’ Elsie asked.
‘Not for a while. I’m still working on bringing everything together. I want your ideas, too. This needs to be a joint effort, OK?’ She looked over to the corner of the café where Dennis was blissfully engrossed in his guilt-free breakfast. ‘If only all our customers were as easy to please as Dennis, eh?’
Elsie grinned. ‘Maybe we should appoint him Chief Menu Consultant.’
‘You’re kidding, aren’t you? He’d never leave!’
‘Fair point.’ Elsie placed the menu on the counter. ‘So, being more adventurous it is then.’
The wink Cher blessed Elsie with was pure filth. ‘In as many ways as we can, girl.’
On Saturday morning, Elsie met Daisy for breakfast in the Driftwood Café on the beach near the Palace Pier. As usual, Daisy looked as if she had been expertly dressed and prepared by a team of beauticians and fashion stylists: her simple white shirt was completely crease-free and elegantly teamed with dark, slim-fitting jeans and brogues, with a large silk pashmina scarf completing her outfit. Elsie had always been in awe of her eldest sister and had spent much of her early teens trying to emulate Daisy’s style, until she reached the age of sixteen and discovered the kooky fashion boutiques in North Laine, which helped her to develop her own style. Today she was wearing a sweet, cherry-print dress over loose-fitting jeans, her beloved red Converse trainers and a bright green cardigan to fend off the cool sea breeze, her hair tied into a ponytail with a length of scarlet ribbon. A good four inches shorter than her sister, Elsie nevertheless bore a striking resemblance to her, both of them taking after their absent mother with their high cheekbones and large, denim-blue eyes, while their sibling Guin was the spit of Jim – tall and athletically built with a mass of thick, wavy blonde hair, the envy of her sisters whose tresses wouldn’t know a curl if they saw one.
The late morning sun was warming the deck of the café as Daisy poured tea from a quirky spotted teapot into two oversized cups.
‘I hope you realise this is the first Saturday I’ve taken off in five months,’ Daisy said, sliding a cup across the mosaic table-top towards her sister. ‘You should feel highly honoured.’
‘I do.’
‘Good.’ Daisy stirred her tea, observing Elsie carefully. ‘So, how are you with everything? And I mean really, Els, not the Wonderwoman impression you put on for Dad and Guin.’
‘I’m good. Don’t give me that look, I’m honestly fine with all of this.’
Daisy was far from pacified with this answer. ‘Then tell me – because I’m not sure I understand – what brought about your decision to date again?’
‘I’ve started to read the box messages.’
Daisy’s spoon dropped onto the saucer with a clank. ‘Oh. Wow.’
‘I know. And it feels good. The right time, you know? In fact, I read the second one this morning and it’s brilliant. Look …’ She took the folded paper from her purse and passed it across the table.
I love you because you’re fearless
and never afraid to start something new.
xx
For someone whose emotional control was legendary, Daisy looked dangerously close to tears. The paper shook gently in her fingers as she read the message and she was silent for some time. ‘What a beautiful thing to say …’
‘Not that we should be surprised.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Daisy handed the paper back to Elsie. ‘I know this will sound strange, considering, but you really are incredibly lucky. André’s never said anything like that to me in all the time I’ve known him.’
‘Do you wish he would?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I think it would be nice to hear how he feels about me, but other times I just think we’re one of those couples who don’t work that way. Not that it’s important, really.’ She flicked the topic away with a wave of her long fingers as if it were a troublesome fly. ‘So, what are you going to do with this message?’
‘I need to start something new.’
‘Like what?’
Elsie inhaled the salty air rising from the waves crashing on the pebble beach in the distance as a pair of squawking seagulls circled above. ‘I’ve no idea. But I think starting something new would help me to begin to think of myself as a person in my own right, you know?’
‘You are a person in your own right …’ Daisy began to protest.
‘No, I know that. But I have this whole unexpected life stretching out in front of me now and I should work out what to do with it. I just need to discover what happens next.’
Daisy shook her head. ‘You’re amazing. The way you’ve coped with all this … well, I think it’s wonderful.’ Embarrassed by her own emotion, she quickly moved on. ‘Have you thought about what you’d like to do?’
‘A little. The only thing I’ve come up with so far isn’t really a new thing, though.’
‘Tell me.’
Elsie felt a rush of excitement as she spoke. ‘OK, do you remember when we were growing up and we used to put on those dreadful musical shows for Dad?’
‘On Sunday afternoons! I’d forgotten those!’ Daisy clapped her hands and laughed so loudly that a passing waiter almost dropped his tray.
Around the time of Elsie’s eighth birthday, Sunday afternoons in the Maynard household became musical spectaculars. Daisy, then twelve, had just joined a kids’ drama club at the local Methodist church hall and was convinced she was destined for the bright lights of the West End. As with most things during their childhood, the Maynard sisters’ productions were instigated by Daisy, largely as a vehicle for showcasing her own performing skills, dragging middle sister Guin and little sister Elsie in as supporting cast. Not that either of them minded, as both were in constant awe of their confident, headstrong sibling. Each week, the Sunday Spectacular would become more enthusiastic and elaborate, with Elsie and Guin introducing costumes, wonky-eyed sock puppets and, eventually, music to the proceedings. By the time Elsie was twelve, she had attained the position of Musical Director, playing the family’s forever-out-of-tune piano in the dining room as her sisters danced and hammily acted their way through lengthy self-penned productions.
‘Poor Dad,’ Daisy laughed, ‘I can’t believe he actually sat through those week after week.’
‘He was a very good audience, though. Standing ovations every Sunday, remember?’ Elsie grinned.
‘How could I forget? You’re not thinking of resurrecting the Sunday Spectaculars, are you?’
‘Hmm, I’m not sure even Brighton is ready for that much theatrical experimentation. But I was thinking I might join a drama group or an operatic society. I’d quite like to do musicals – even though the old vocal cords haven’t had an outing for years. And it would be good to meet new people, get “out there” again. I need to start somewhere, and doing something I enjoy seems like a good enough place to start. Even if my voice isn’t up to scratch after all this time.’
Daisy stared at her sister as though she had just proclaimed the sea to be pink. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Your voice is brilliant. Far better than anyone else in the family – including Uncle Frank, and he’s been making a living in local pubs for years trashing the Great American Songbook. I reckon you could sing anywhere and people would listen.’
‘That’s kind of you to say but I think I might need to work on it a little before I let it out in public.’
‘Nonsense. Hang on a minute …’ Daisy’s eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. ‘You could sing right here.’
She pointed to the corner of the café’s boardwalk, where a rainbow-painted upright piano sat. It wouldn’t have looked out of place at a Coldplay gig and had been a feature of the café since the previous summer when a six-week arts project had left it behind. Its lid bore the invitation: Play me – I’m yours! and occasionally someone would accept the challenge, meaning that at any time your organic, Fairtrade coffee could be accompanied by a rock’n’roll medley, a Chopin piano concerto or a terrible rendition of ‘Chopsticks’.
‘Shh, don’t be daft!’ Elsie gave a nervous laugh and looked around, praying that none of the café’s customers had heard Daisy’s suggestion. Thankfully, the other people on the boardwalk appeared to be blissfully unaware of it, enjoying their leisurely breakfasts in the spring sunshine.
But Daisy Maynard was an impossibly gorgeous woman on a mission. ‘I mean it, Els! Do it now – go on, sing something!’
‘I can’t …’
‘Yes, you can. You’re fearless, remember?’ A glint of pure mischief flashed in her dark-blue eyes as she sat back in her chair, a victorious smile on her face. ‘I double-dare you.’
Elsie stared at her sister. If there was one irrefutable truth that the three Maynard sisters knew, it was that a double-dare was the ultimate challenge. To ignore it was to practically betray the Maynard family honour – and incur the unending jibes of the entire clan: Dad, Daisy, Guin, and even their late Grandma Flo, who had been a stickler for it when she was alive. No matter the potential consequences of the double-dare subject, nothing was worth facing the repercussions of turning it down …
Elsie pulled a face at her sister, but the die was cast. As she rose slowly, the sudden jolt of adrenaline caused by the sheer audacity of what she was about to do almost made her squeal out loud. Daisy nodded eagerly as Elsie walked across to the piano. Flexing her hands over the multi-coloured keys, she took a deep breath and dived in.
The first couple of bars of ‘I Will Survive’ were a little shaky – understandably so, given the instantly bemused faces of the customers. But as Daisy began to provide percussion by slapping the stainless steel table, Elsie’s confidence grew. By the time she neared the chorus, her heart was pumping like a steam train and she was singing at full throttle.
And then, something amazing happened.
A bespectacled man in a slim-fitting check shirt at the far end of the boardwalk suddenly got to his feet and joined in the chorus, followed by a lady at the next table. As people began to join in, the shared thrill of their spontaneous performance reverberated around the space. Diners inside the café crowded by the windows and open door to watch this spectacle and a group of dog walkers gathered to observe the extraordinary sight. Joggers along the promenade stopped and peered over the sea-green railings; a gaggle of teenage girls abandoned their texting and turned their camera phones towards the boardwalk café; older couples enjoying ice cream pointed and laughed. Smiles were everywhere, and as Elsie led her improvised band of singers in the final chorus, she felt more alive than she had in a long time.
When the song ended, an enormous cheer went up from performers and onlookers alike, the shared emotion bringing tears to Elsie’s eyes as the café staff wolf-whistled and applauded like maniacs. Then, this being Brighton, the unwitting flashmob performers self-consciously returned to their tables as if nothing had happened.
Elated, Elsie high-fived her grinning sister. ‘How was that?’
Daisy gave a low bow. ‘You are my official hero, Elsie Maynard! Heck of a way to start something new.’
‘I thank you.’
‘This calls for cake – no, I’m sorry, you can’t protest, sis. You’ve just attained legendary status. Cake is the only fitting tribute to your genius.’ Daisy hurried into the café.
Elsie smiled to herself, a strong feeling of fulfilment rushing through her. The stunt had been daft in the extreme, but it had awakened something deep within her. She had been looking for something new: and, while she wasn’t altogether sure that this discovery actually meant anything, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant had just been achieved. And she wasn’t wrong. For unbeknownst to Elsie Maynard, someone had been watching her spontaneous appearance carefully from the promenade railings. Someone who was about to change her life completely …
CHAPTER THREE
Pleased to meet you …
He was dressed entirely in black: from his too-tight jeans (slightly inadvisable for a man of his age), scuffed leather boots studded with silver stars and torn T-shirt emblazoned with a white skull that appeared to be winking, to his well-worn leather jacket and dented Stetson hat. The only exception was the crimson red kerchief knotted at his neck. A long, greying ponytail languished down his back and silver chains jangled at his wrists. Watching the remarkable scene unfolding on the boardwalk café below him, he leaned against the promenade railing, chewed his cinnamon gum thoughtfully and nodded slowly as an undeniably genius plan began to form in his mind.
When the onlookers from the promenade around him began to disperse, he took a pair of blue-tinted, round-lens sunglasses from his back pocket, placed them ceremoniously on his nose, tipped his hat-brim forward and sauntered down the stone steps to the boardwalk.
Daisy returned with a tray, her face flushed from laughter. ‘They love you in there,’ she gushed. ‘Cake’s on the house!’
‘Seriously? Blimey, I should do this more often.’
‘The manager asked if you can come back next Saturday. I think he was serious …’
‘Not sure being a café singer is really me, but it’s nice of him to ask,’ Elsie said, clinking cups with Daisy.
‘A-a-a-ngel!’ said a voice over their heads.
Elsie and Daisy looked up to see a middle-aged man in black standing beside their table.
Daisy frowned at the newcomer. ‘Sorry?’
‘You’re a vision, a miracle, a mystical sign, babe.’
Elsie stifled a giggle, but Daisy took an instant dislike to the unwelcome stranger interrupting their conversation. ‘No, thank you,’ she stated.
He appeared to be momentarily knocked off guard. ‘Say what?’
‘Whatever it is you’re selling, we’re not interested.’
‘Lady, do I look like a common beach merchant to you?’
‘I have no idea who you are. But my sister and I are enjoying a relaxed morning together, so if you don’t mind, we …’
‘Your sister? Your sister is a gift from the gods, girl.’
‘You’re very kind,’ Elsie replied, far more amused by the man in black than Daisy was. ‘But I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.’
‘On the contrary,’ he replied, pulling a chair from a nearby table and sitting down without an invitation. ‘You’re the one I’ve been looking for!’
‘Erm, excuse me,’ Daisy began, but the man in black wasn’t listening.
‘Woody,’ he said, jutting a jangling hand towards Elsie. ‘Woody Jensen. You may remember me from hit Eighties rock band Hellfinger.’
It was clear from the identical expressions of the Maynard sisters that neither did. Unperturbed, Woody pressed on. ‘I co-wrote the global hit “Hard Rockin’ Summer” – 1987? It’s still a leading light on the Kerrang! Radio playlist …’
Elsie shrugged. ‘I was two in 1987 and my sister was six – sorry.’
Visibly deflated, Woody removed his hat and plonked it on the table. ‘It was a seminal hit, man … World tour, groupies – the whole nine yards. Are you sure you don’t remember?’ He began to sing in a throaty falsetto voice, drumming his be-ringed fingers on the table top: ‘Heart beatin’ faster than a-Olympic runn-uhh, we’re livin’ the dream for a hard rockin’ summ-uhh … Oh-oohh, hard rockin’ summ-uhh …’ He looked hopefully at Elsie and Daisy. ‘Ring any bells?’
‘Only alarm ones,’ Daisy muttered.
‘Say again?’
‘Look, it’s been a blast meeting you, obviously, but I’d really appreciate it if you left us alone now?’
Woody folded his arms. ‘Not until your sister’s heard my attractive proposition.’ He grinned lasciviously at Elsie.
Quick to defend her sister from what she perceived to be a scruffy rocker’s dodgy advances, Daisy flew to her feet and leaned threateningly over Woody. ‘Listen, I’ve asked you nicely to leave. If you insist on staying I’m going to have to ask the manager to eject you from the premises …’
‘Hey, babe, chill. All I want is to ask your sister one question and then I’m gone. Acceptable?’
Suddenly feeling sorry for the former global rock star at their table, Elsie placed her hand on her sister’s arm. ‘I think we should hear what Mr Jensen has to say, hun.’
Daisy sank back onto her chair. ‘But he’s …’
Ignoring her sister’s protest, Elsie turned to Woody. ‘Ask away.’
A look of pure reverent awe washed across Woody’s stubble-edged face. ‘A-a-a-a-ngel,’ he breathed, before composing himself. ‘I need your help. You see I’m a man burdened with ambition and creative skill beyond anything what a man should have to carry. But it’s a cross I bear for my creativity, babe. Point is, I’m on the edge of a rebirth – a spiritual readjustment, if you will – and I have a feeling that this new phase of my life will be my strongest yet. If I can only get my project off the ground, that is.’
Daisy was staring at him like he was a three-headed alien. Elsie gave him a patient smile. ‘And what is your question, exactly?’
‘Well, I was up on the prom, considering my next move, when a vision appeared to me – just like in ’84 when I dreamed of a rock band that would take over the known world and Hellfinger was born. And the vision was you – here, on this humble boardwalk – like a musical shaman, charming the Brighton faithful to do your mystical will.’
Elsie laughed. ‘It was “I Will Survive”, not a religious chant.’
‘But that’s the point, girl! You took a humble song and made it magical. That’s what I want to do.’
‘I’m sorry, I really don’t know what you’re asking me to …’
Woody grasped her hand, taking her by surprise. ‘I’m talking about a choir, babe! But not a goody-goody, saccharine sweet choir in a church hall. I’m talking a band of vocal believers, faithfully bringing classic tunes to the masses. Hendrix, Lennon, McCartney, Gaga. But I can’t do this alone: I need a musical director – a collaborator, if you will – to bring my dream to reality. I was asking the universe for a sign – just as you started to sing. It’s fate, babe! So what do you say? Will you jump into the abyss of chance and play destiny’s piano?’
‘With an offer like that, how can you refuse?’ scoffed Daisy.
‘How indeed …?’ Elsie answered, her mind suddenly racing with possibilities.
Daisy gripped her arm. ‘Wait – you’re not seriously considering this, are you?’
Elsie couldn’t lie. Despite all the good reasons there were for her not accepting, she liked this middle-aged rocker with his crazy idea. The hint of something beyond the norm intrigued her intensely. This week’s note had said she was fearless: surely pursuing this was evidence of the fact?
‘I was looking to start something new. This might be it.’
‘No way! I’m sorry, Elsie, I can’t let you do this.’
Woody’s brow lowered. ‘I think you’ll find Elsie can …’
‘Daisy, I think this could work. I wanted to do something musical and this could be fun. Imagine the people who would respond to a non-conventional choir. People I might have something in common with and be able to build something with … Come on, Dais, you said you’d support me in whatever I chose to do. If I’m going to start something new and maybe begin to date again, this could be a perfect opportunity.’
‘Yeah, Daisy, lighten up and catch the vision,’ Woody added, perhaps unwisely given the murderous look in Daisy’s eyes.
‘Nobody has introduced us so you shouldn’t use my name!’ she exclaimed, the utter Britishness of her argument only serving to make Elsie giggle.
‘Daisy Maynard, meet Woody Jensen. Woody, meet Daisy. And I’m Elsie. Now we’re all formally introduced. Happy?’
‘Not particularly.’ Irritated, Daisy wrapped her long pashmina scarf around her shoulders and glared at them both. ‘If you want to do this, fine. But I’m coming too. I’m not letting you go anywhere alone with this – this – person.’
Woody scooped up the Stetson and replaced it on his head. ‘Cool with me, babe. The more the merrier.’
They arranged to meet the following Tuesday evening at Sundae & Cher, Woody clearly relishing the prospect of ‘dreams and ice cream’. Daisy waited until Woody had left to reveal her true feelings to Elsie.
‘I can’t believe you’d even consider doing anything with that man,’ she said, as they picked their way slowly across the pebbled beach. ‘He’s a nutjob!’
Elsie bent down to pick up a smooth, grey pebble. ‘I know he’s a little … eccentric, but isn’t everybody in this town? You have to admit, it sounds like fun.’
‘It sounds like a nightmare,’ Daisy retorted. ‘Els, are you sure this is what you want? Because there are all manner of perfectly decent choirs in Brighton that you could join instead. The DreamTeam are meant to be wonderful – and they perform at the Theatre Royal every year. Imagine singing on that stage! You’d love it, I’m sure …’
Elsie shot her sister a wry look. ‘Be in a choir run by Jeannette Burton? The only choirmistress who grabs more of the spotlight than her choir? No, thank you. I don’t want to be led in musical medleys by a fifty-something woman in skin-tight red leather trousers. It would be most off-putting …’ She smiled, remembering Cher’s damning verdict on the woman: ‘Justlike Simon Cowell in red leather’ … ‘Besides,’ she continued, turning the pebble over and over in her hands, ‘the kind of choir Woody and I could create would be fun and definitely not conventional.’
Change was a good thing, Elsie decided, as she mulled over the events of the past week. Deciding to date again – even if right now it was a theory rather than a plan of action – and the possibility of participating in whatever type of mystical musical happening Woody had in mind filled her with a sparkling sense of excitement. On the surface neither decision was particularly world-shaking, but they represented significant steps forward for her.
Later that afternoon, when Daisy had left to meet her friends for lunch, Jim called to ask Elsie to pop into his shop. With nothing else to do, Elsie was glad of the invitation; besides, she always loved visiting her father at work.
Jim Maynard was the proprietor of Brighton Home Stores – Brighton’s premier furniture and home furnishings emporium in the centre of town. He had inherited the business from his father and grandfather before him, and was consequently a well-known figure in Brighton. It amused Elsie to see him in a suit and tie – because she knew the truth about him. Outside work, Jim shunned convention more than any of his children (even New Age vegan and self-confirmed Earth Mother, Guin) and, when at home, he was the embodiment of all things alternative. He had lived in a hippy commune for four years in his teens and never quite lost his love of peace, love and tie-dye. The family home was an explosion of colour, each room swathed in jewel-hued Indian fabrics and bright stencilled painted walls. He ate homemade vegetarian meals from hand-thrown pottery plates (made by Guin), burned incense and joss sticks in the living room and kitchen and possessed a penchant for hypnotic sitar music, which was usually floating through the house from one of his many CD players.
Yet at work, Jim Maynard was the model businessman, the only clue to his closet-hippyness being the small gold ring he wore in one ear – something which his well-heeled (and decidedly conventional) customers hardly even noticed. It had been a conscious decision of his when he first took over the business, a sign of respect for his father who had convention stamped through his core like a stick of Brighton rock. And, while Jim would never express it, this work persona defined another side of his character: the dutiful, committed side, which characterised his all-conquering love for and devotion to his daughters.
Elsie loved the family shop – the smell of polish and new fabric mingling with the scent of fresh coffee, which Jim insisted on having available for his customers all day. As a small child she had spent many happy hours watching her father work, pretending that the entire shop with its elegant room displays was her own home. When her mother had deserted the family, Elsie and her sisters had spent even more time in the shop, arriving after school and waiting until closing time to go home with Jim. As they grew up, each was given a Saturday job in the store and, consequently, all three had fallen in love with interior decorating, something that was reflected in all of their homes today.
Elsie often wondered which of them – if any – would one day inherit the shop from their father. Guin was busy building her home, managing her pottery studio and preparing for a family which she planned to expand to at least three children; Daisy had her partnership in the interior design practice and was unlikely to want to trade that in to run a provincial furniture store; which only left Elsie, who right now was more than happy to remain as assistant manager of the ice cream café. Jim appeared unworried by the prospect, however; content instead to see his three girls making their own way in the world.
He was filling in an order form for an elderly customer when Elsie entered. He raised his hand and winked and Elsie waved back, busying herself by inspecting the new display of cushions by the side of the counter. She loved watching her father interact with his customers. Jim was a natural entertainer, eliciting smiles from the hardest-faced visitor, and this skill had earned him a place on the local town council where he was renowned as a peacemaker in the squabbling ranks.
He escorted the old lady to the door and returned to hug Elsie. ‘My, are you a sight for sore eyes! How’s your day been, darling?’
‘Great, actually. It looks like I’m starting a choir.’
Jim’s expression clouded until Elsie explained about the song in the beach café and her meeting with Woody, at which point an enormous grin spread across his face.
‘Woody Jensen from Hellfinger? Wow, kid, that guy’s a legend! And you’ll be working with him?’
Elsie gave her father a look. ‘I didn’t know you were a closet rocker, Dad?’
‘Ah, there’s plenty you don’t know about me, pudding,’ he replied, tapping the side of his nose. ‘I saw Hellfinger in ’88 at Knebworth, the year after “Hard Rockin’ Summer” went to number one. Awesome, they were. Such a shame how it all ended for them. Their drummer killed himself while they were touring Japan and it turned out he’d been the glue holding them all together. With him gone, the band began to fall apart. I think they tried to replace Woody as lead singer after their gig in Cologne the following year and that was the final nail in Hellfinger’s coffin.’
‘Who knew my dad was the font of all things Hellfinger?’ Elsie marvelled, ignoring her father’s mock offence. ‘So, did you want anything particular or just to see your favourite daughter?’
‘I always love to see you,’ he replied, walking across to the company coffee machine that was steaming away in the small kitchen behind the counter. ‘Coffee?’
‘Love one, thanks.’
‘There you go.’ Jim handed her a mug and they moved to a display of two turquoise velvet chaise longues to sit down. ‘Now, I hope you aren’t going to be angry with me, darling, but I’ve been thinking about what you said and I’ve done something I probably shouldn’t.’
‘Oh?’ Amused, she noted her father’s sheepish expression. ‘Don’t worry, Dad, I’m not going to disown you. What have you been up to?’
‘Well, I happened to mention your big decision to Marty this morning and, well, we came up with a bit of a plan.’
At that moment, Elsie knew her face belied her feelings at the mention of Jim’s business partner. Marty Hogarth had been in business with Jim since the mid-1990s and was the exact opposite in terms of his demeanour, attitude to customers and world-view. Where Jim believed the best of everyone, however misplaced this belief might be, Marty scrutinised the world with a cynical squint, believing that everyone was working to a hidden agenda. But Jim remained firmly fond of Marty, so for his sake Elsie and her sisters remained civil whenever he was in the room. What they said once he left was a different matter …
‘And what did Captain Cynical have to say about that?’
Jim gave her a reproachful stare. ‘Now, there’s no need for that. Marty is a good man, Elsie – no, he is. In any case, he was most supportive of your decision.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. You see, he’s not as dark as you like to paint him. I told him that you were thinking of dating again and he suggested someone who would be interested to meet you.’
‘Ah …’
‘Now, before you say no, hear me out. Marty’s nephew Oliver is a genuinely lovely chap. I’ve been working with him on the new company website for the past month and we get on like a house on fire. I really think you two might have a lot in common.’
Elsie loved her father completely for his enthusiasm but couldn’t stifle the note of dread that sounded in her mind. ‘That’s a lovely thought, Dad, and I really appreciate it, but I don’t know anything about him, so …’
Jim folded his hands in his lap. ‘I know you don’t. That’s why he’s coming for coffee.’
‘When?’
‘Any minute.’
‘Dad …’
‘I know I probably should’ve asked you first. But Olly said he would pop in today and I knew you wouldn’t be busy this afternoon, so I thought … Please don’t look at me like that, Els, I was only trying to be helpful.’
If someone had asked Elsie which of her family and friends were most likely to attempt a matchmaking coup, her father probably wouldn’t have made the list. And yet now she found herself ambushed by him! She was about to respond when the door opened and Jim jumped up.
‘This is him, now. Promise me you’ll be nice?’
Accepting the inevitable, Elsie nodded. ‘Of course I will.’ She rose slowly and prepared herself. This was not what she’d had in mind to be doing today. Looking over towards the door, she saw Jim chatting happily with a tall, blond-haired man. He had the relaxed air of someone who had just strolled off the beach, wearing a dark grey hooded sweatshirt, faded jeans and blue Converse trainers. But as he approached, Elsie noticed his smile – broad and friendly – and it instantly reminded her of someone she had known before. An unexpected ball of emotion formed at her throat and she had to momentarily look down at her feet until it passed.
‘Elsie, this is Oliver Hogarth, Marty’s nephew. Olly, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Elsie,’ Jim beamed proudly. ‘She’s assistant manager at an ice cream café in North Laine.’
‘Great to meet you, Elsie,’ Olly replied, holding out his tanned hand. When Elsie accepted, she noticed how warm his handshake was.
‘Nice to meet you, too. Dad was saying you’re working on his website?’
Olly smiled. ‘Yes, I am. It’s been fun, hasn’t it, Jim?’
‘Indeed it has. Olly is a partner in a very successful web design company, Els, did I tell you? He’s very talented.’
Way to go on the subtlety, Dad …
Olly gave a bashful smile. ‘Your dad is too kind. It’s something I’ve done since uni and I’m lucky enough to do it for a living now.’
‘Splendid he is at it, too. Now, Olly, can I leave you with my daughter for five minutes? I just have to – erm – check something in the stockroom. Won’t be a tick!’ Jim was so excited by his matchmaking skills that he practically skipped away.
Elsie shook her head. ‘You’ll have to forgive my father. He doesn’t get out much these days. Um – do you want to sit down?’
‘Yeah, thanks.’
They sat on the velvet chaise longues and all of a sudden it was as if every sound in the whole furniture store ceased. Elsie smiled politely and desperately racked her brain for something to say. From the slight tension of Olly’s smile, it was clear he was doing the same. After a few gut-wrenchingly awful minutes, Olly laughed and relaxed a little.
‘Look, shall we start again? I feel as if we’ve been ambushed and I really wouldn’t want you to think I was in on Jim’s plan.’
Elsie felt the tension easing in her shoulders. ‘Good idea. I’m sorry, the first I heard about you was about five minutes before you arrived.’
‘It’s cool, honestly. My uncle called me at lunch time and said I should come to see Jim because there was something important he wanted to show me. I didn’t realise he meant you.’ His laugh was as warm and inviting as his handshake and Elsie instantly liked him for it.
‘Let’s just forget how we ended up here, then. Would you like a coffee? There’s a machine in the staff kitchen – it’s not exactly the best in the world, but I can recommend it for providing a talking point during embarrassing meetings?’
He laughed again and slapped his hands on his knees. ‘I have a better idea,’ he said, rising and walking over to the stockroom door at the back of the shop. Opening it slightly, he called, ‘Jim! We’re just popping down the road for a coffee. Can we get you anything?’
‘No, no, I’m fine,’ Jim’s disembodied voice came floating through from the stockroom. ‘You two have fun!’
Olly returned to Elsie’s side and held out his hand. ‘Is that OK? I just thought it might be less – er – intense if we chatted somewhere else?’ While still a little shell-shocked by her sudden introduction to him, Elsie couldn’t help feeling intrigued by the easy-natured young man with his handsome face and friendly smile. Accepting his hand to stand up, she called goodbye to Jim and they left the store.
Five minutes later, they were sitting in cosy armchairs in a small café, surrounded by shelves of second-hand books. Elsie had often walked past BiblioCaff but had never before ventured inside. As she sipped her mocha, she noticed how at home Olly appeared here. The relaxed nature of the café, where fellow customers helped themselves to books from the shelves as they enjoyed coffee and cake, seemed to suit his easy-going appearance.
‘I love this place,’ he said, stirring chocolate dust into his cappuccino foam. ‘I found it about a year ago when my business moved nearby. Can’t beat decent coffee and books – the best combination in the world. So, you work in an ice cream café?’
Elsie nodded. ‘Sundae & Cher in Gardner Street. It’s my friend Cher’s business and I’m assistant manager. It’s a retro place, so a lot of fun to work there.’
‘I’ve been, actually. A mate of mine is a particular devotee of the Cream Tea ice cream – the one with the bits of real scone and strawberry jam in it?’
‘Ah, one of our bestsellers, that is.’
‘I’m not surprised. The way Cam goes on about it you’d think it was elixir from the gods. We go kitesurfing together at weekends and he always insists on an ice cream when we get back into town. That’s what I’ve been doing this morning, as a matter of fact. Hence the …’ He pulled the front of his hoodie to indicate his clothing. ‘I usually try to smarten myself up for work, of course.’
Elsie laughed. ‘Oh I don’t know, I think the “cool surfer dude” look for business is highly underrated.’
‘Why, thank you.’ Olly’s green eyes twinkled and to Elsie’s surprise she felt a slow blush claiming her cheeks.
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Can I interest you in a sample of our coffee and walnut cake?’ a waitress asked beside them, the suddenness of her arrival making them both jump a little.
Olly accepted but Elsie refused, her stomach suddenly tight. Once the waitress had moved to the next table, Olly took a sip of coffee and appeared to be selecting his words carefully.
‘It really is good to meet you. I mean that. Look, this might be a bit forward, so feel free to tell me to get lost, but I was just wondering if you might like to do coffee with me again sometime? I’m usually free on Saturday afternoons. You know, if you happen to be in town and at a loose end.’
Elsie considered his suggestion for a moment. The thought of dating again – now that it was a distinct possibility and not just a theoretical decision – was scary in the extreme. But then Olly wasn’t really asking her on a date, was he? He was interesting, witty and intelligent, possessed a similar sense of humour to hers and was undeniably good-looking: surely meeting him occasionally for coffee wouldn’t hurt? Elsie had to admit she was enjoying his company and the prospect of more of it was very appealing. This week’s note had insisted she was fearless: perhaps this was as good a time as any to take a risk …
‘Yes. I’d love to.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Altogether now …
‘You have a date!’
‘I do not. All I said was that I might meet him for coffee. It’s hardly an acceptance of marriage, is it?’
Daisy was unremitting in her delight, dancing around the chic kitchen of her expensive Hove apartment. ‘I’m so proud of you, Els! And of Dad, too – who knew he was such a matchmaker, eh?’
Elsie sighed as she swirled a jasmine teabag around in her mug by its string. ‘I shouldn’t have told you. I knew you’d react like this.’
Daisy came to a breathless halt and flopped onto a high stool by the glass breakfast bar. ‘But he’s gorgeous, right?’
Elsie shrugged. ‘He’s nice-looking I suppose.’
‘Good. That’s good, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it’s good. Now can we talk about the choir, please?’
Daisy groaned. ‘We can. But I need a favour first.’
‘Go on then, but only if you grovel.’
‘You are an evil little sister, Elsie Maynard. Fine, have it your way.’ She adopted a pleading expression, folding her perfectly manicured hands in front of her. ‘O great and noble sister of mine, I bring but one petition to your door. Grant me an audience in my time of need and do not turn me into the darkness where there will be much weeping and gnashing of teeth.’
Elsie laughed. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be an actor than an interior designer? There’s still time for a career change.’
‘Behave, you.’ Daisy made a swipe at her sister. ‘Seriously, I need help after the meeting tomorrow evening.’
‘Anything for such hammy acting,’ Elsie giggled.
‘The thing is, I was wondering if you could drive me to Croydon.’
‘Croydon? That’s a two-hour round trip!’
Daisy gave an apologetic smile. ‘I know, and ordinarily I wouldn’t bother but I’m doing a pitch for a potentially massive client account on Friday and we need to style a concept room. It’s all a little last-minute but there’s a particular type of look we’re going for. So I need to visit …’ she lowered her voice, as if she was about to divulge some potentially dangerous information ‘… a certain Scandinavian home furnishing store.’
Highly amused by her sister’s admission, Elsie feigned shock. ‘Daisy! No!’
‘I know.’
‘Whatever would Dad say if he knew you were patronising that place?’
Daisy visibly paled. ‘Promise me you won’t tell him? I can hardly believe I’m heading there myself. The thing is, my car’s out of action all week – the re-spray the garage did when I hit that bollard last month wasn’t satisfactory, so I told them I expected it to be rectified. I think I scared them sufficiently to do a proper job this time. You know I wouldn’t ask unless it was really necessary. Please?’
‘No problem,’ Elsie replied, seeing the relief on her sister’s face. ‘But I hope you realise you’ll owe me. For a long time …’
Daisy hugged her. ‘I’ll find a way of repaying you, don’t worry.’
On Wednesday evening, when the last customer made a reluctant exit from the delights of Sundae & Cher, Elsie flicked the Open sign to Closed and headed to the kitchen where Cher was busy going through her order sheets for the next day.
‘Last one out?’ Cher asked, nibbling on a teddy-shaped wafer as she worked.
‘Finally. I think Mrs Annick has almost managed to demolish the tub of Sticky Toffee Pudding ice cream single-handedly this week. And she always looks so crestfallen when I tell her we’re closing. I think she’d quite like to live here if she could.’
Cher’s throaty laugh ricocheted around the lemon-yellow kitchen tiles. ‘Obviously I’m missing a trick there. I should make the place an ice cream B&B.’ She cast a critical eye over Elsie. ‘You OK, kid?’
Elsie rubbed her forehead and drew a chair up to the preparation table. ‘A bit tired, but otherwise I’m good.’
It was only a partial truth, but the rest of it was difficult to put into words. Ever the pragmatist, Elsie had put it down to all the new things that were happening in her life and the significant decisions she was making, all of which were bound to carry an emotional cost. Being able to look objectively at everything was a step forward in itself – eighteen months ago her view of the future had been markedly different. So, while she would admit to feeling more than a little apprehensive about meeting Daisy and Woody this evening to set the wheels of the choir project in motion, it was a good thing. ‘A little bit of fear can get you moving forward,’ her father always said, himself not immune to the unexpected twists and turns of life.
‘What time are the others turning up?’
Elsie checked her watch. ‘In about ten minutes. Right, what do you want me to do before they arrive?’
Cher dismissed the suggestion with a wave of her scarlet-painted nails. ‘Don’t you worry about that. Pop the kettle on and let’s have a cuppa. Mine’s a Rooibos, please.’
Elsie smiled. ‘Yes, boss.’ She flicked the switch on the kettle and fetched one Rooibos teabag for Cher and a peppermint teabag for herself. ‘Thanks for letting us meet here this evening, hun. I didn’t trust Daisy in a pub setting. One glass of red wine and she’d be likely to tell Woody exactly what she thought of him: the choir would be over before we’d even started.’
‘Not his biggest fan, eh?’
‘You could say that.’
Cher stretched and pushed her order sheets away. ‘I might hang about and meet this famous Woody, then. If he can wind your perfect sister up that much then I’m intrigued.’
Elsie handed Cher a mug of tea. ‘Be my guest. In fact, I can sign you up as our first official member if you fancy it?’
‘No fear,’ Cher snorted. ‘My loopy mother might’ve named me after a singer but that’s as far as the association goes. My voice could curdle our entire stock.’
Daisy was on time, of course. Despite the fact that she had worked a long day, she looked fresher than Elsie did first thing in the morning, dressed in a well-cut grey trouser suit, her long blonde hair swept to one side in a low ponytail and one of her many pashmina scarves draped expertly around her shoulders. For the umpteenth time, Elsie marvelled at her older sister. No wonder she had reputedly left a string of broken hearts across Brighton and beyond during her twenty-eight years on the planet: Daisy Maynard was one of life’s beautiful people. Not that she realised it, of course. But then that was one of her most endearing qualities. Her partner André, while not the most demonstrative of men, had said as much to Elsie when she had last seen him, at Jim’s birthday party a couple of months ago:
‘She’s stunning. Every day I wake up beside her I’m amazed she can’t see it.’
Daisy’s choice of partner had been the source of great consternation to her father, especially when he knew how often they were apart, but André’s successful business life seemed to suit Daisy’s strong independence and somehow they made the relationship work. Recently, however, Elsie had detected a tiny note of dissatisfaction creeping into Daisy’s comments about her boyfriend. Perhaps she was beginning to want more – but, as with most things in her life, she was remaining tight-lipped.
Elsie was closer to Daisy than she was to Guin, largely because she had idolised her eldest sister for as long as she could remember, but also because, with their mother out of the picture during most of her childhood, Daisy had assumed an almost maternal role in the Maynard household. Now they were simply best friends who happened to be siblings, and Elsie was fiercely proud of their relationship.
‘I take it our former rock star hasn’t arrived yet?’ Daisy asked, already prepared for battle.
‘He’ll be here.’
‘Hmm.’ She sat down at one of the tables and produced an expensive Moleskine notebook from her handbag. ‘Maybe it would be better for all of us if he didn’t bother.’
Irritated, Elsie sat opposite her sister. ‘I told you that you didn’t have to be here this evening. I don’t expect you to hold my hand, you know. Besides, Cher’s in the kitchen – any trouble from Captain Hellfinger and she’ll manhandle him off the premises.’
Daisy had to smile at the mental picture of retro Cher ejecting the rocker from her ice cream café. At that moment, the brass bell above the door jangled to herald Woody’s arrival. He stopped in the doorway, looked up and nodded sagely at the bell.
‘Cool. For whom the bell tolls, yeah?’ He walked over to Elsie, grabbed her hand and blessed it with a bristly kiss. ‘Angel.’
‘Hi, Woody. Great you could make it.’
He nodded again, his eyes making a considered survey of the café interior from behind his sunglasses as he shrugged off his fringed black leather jacket to reveal a faded grey Mötley Crüe T-shirt beneath. ‘Good vibe here. I sense the satisfied souls of generations, man. Ice cream is a great healer of hearts and hurts.’
‘It certainly is.’ Cher had entered from the kitchen and was observing Woody with a wry smile. ‘I’m Cher Pettinger. I own this place.’
With one move, Woody removed his sunglasses, hooked them over the back pocket of his jeans and slid across the harlequin tiles to Cher’s side, his eyes eagerly drinking in the sight of her enviable figure in her low-cut white blouse and turquoise circle skirt with matching heels. ‘Then you must be an angelic visitation into this poor rocker’s life. If your wares are as inspirational as your establishment, I wouldn’t mind sampling them.’
Cher lowered her false eyelashes and purred, ‘Easy, tiger.’
Daisy rolled her eyes heavenwards and picked up her pen. ‘Much as I hate to break up the party, can I suggest we get started? Els and I have to go to Croydon straight after this meeting.’
‘Croydon? Who goes to Croydon for anything?’ Woody frowned but Daisy’s interruption had achieved its purpose, bringing him back to the table.
‘Thank you. Now I think we should discuss what we’re trying to achieve with this choir. What songs will we sing? Are we forming for a particular performance opportunity or simply as a social gathering?’ Daisy looked up from her list at Elsie and Woody’s bemused expressions. ‘What?’
Elsie placed her hand gently on Daisy’s. ‘This is Woody’s vision. And I’m helping him with it. You’re here for moral support, remember?’
‘Well, I was only trying to help …’
‘I know and, believe me, you’re being a great help. Lots of important things to consider there, which we will, after we’ve heard what Woody has to say.’
Open-mouthed, but remembering that Elsie stood between her and the questionable Swedish home décor she needed for work, Daisy folded her arms and nodded at Woody.
‘Good girl,’ he grinned, oblivious to the killer death stare Daisy shot back. ‘This choir – and I don’t even want to call it a choir because it’s more like a meeting of musical minds – it needs to be meaningful, yeah? None of that Ave Maria shizzle. No offence, Daisy, if you like that kinda stuff. I’m just working to a higher calling. We’re gonna represent the greats – bestowing their music on this generation so the legends live on in hearts and minds. We’ll be like undercover agents for the forces of music: choir ninjas, if you will. We’ll strike fast and hard, leaving minds reeling with musical missiles, man. It’ll be a spiritual awakening for the masses, through the medium of musical mash-ups. So whaddya say?’
Elsie didn’t really know how to respond. Woody’s vision didn’t sound like any choir she’d ever encountered – more like an underground resistance movement than a group of people getting together to enjoy singing songs. It was immediately obvious to her what she could bring to the table in this partnership: sanity, mostly.
‘It all sounds very impressive. But to get to where you want this to be, I think we need a more – um – practical strategy. What type of people are we looking for to be part of this? And, perhaps most importantly, where are we going to rehearse? I called a couple of church halls and community centres today and I have to say it’s not looking promising. Those that aren’t booked up completely during the week are either too far out of town or ridiculously expensive.’
Woody looked as if he had just lost the award for Best Band 1984 to Black Lace. ‘But this thing has gotta happen, Elsie! I saw it in my dream …’
‘How many people do you think you’re looking for?’ asked Cher.
‘It depends who responds when we put the call out for singers,’ Elsie replied. ‘We can try to get a story in the local papers and I thought I’d make some posters and see if I can get the shops and pubs in North Laine to display them. My guess is we’ll probably get five or six people to begin with.’
‘So meet here,’ Cher suggested. ‘I presume you have a keyboard or something you can bring?’
Elsie nodded, thrilled at Cher’s kind suggestion. But not as thrilled as Woody Jensen was. For at that very moment he had leapt from his chair and scooped Elsie’s boss into a dramatic Hollywood clinch, as Daisy looked on in sheer horror. Breathless and laughing, Cher broke free from Woody’s embrace and straightened her blouse.
‘Blimey, if that’s the reception I get for offering you a venue for the choir, I’d like to see what happens when I offer you something you really need.’
Woody’s grin was pure lechery. ‘Stay around for long enough and you might find out, treacle.’
Cher winked at Elsie. ‘Ooh, I like this one. You can bring him again!’
An hour later, as Elsie and Daisy drove towards Croydon, Daisy was still struggling to cope with the outrageous flirting she’d witnessed.
‘Talk about overt. I thought they were going to ignore us completely and just go at it right in the middle of the café,’ she shuddered.
Keeping her eyes on the building traffic ahead, Elsie smiled. ‘I thought it was sweet.’
‘It was obscene. I’m not surprised he acted that way but I would’ve thought Cher had more sense.’
‘It was nice to see her having fun,’ Elsie replied. ‘She’s had a bit of a rough run lately with her latest flame.’
Daisy tutted and stared out of the passenger window. ‘And she thinks that man is going to be any better? Well I’m glad I was with you. Who knows what kind of moves he might have pulled on you otherwise? You know what they say about rock’n’roll stars and their liberal behaviour …’
The traffic lights ahead changed to red and the car came to a halt in a long line of early evening traffic. Elsie let out a sigh and turned to her sister.
‘Dais, you’re going to have to find something to like about Woody if you want to be a part of this choir project. Or else it might be best for you to bow out now.’
Her sister stared at her. ‘Is that what you want?’
The traffic inched forwards, anticipating the signal change.
‘Of course it’s not. But I also don’t want to have a battle raging between the two of you. The choir is meant to be fun, remember? Either sort it out or don’t be involved.’
The green light framed Elsie’s flint-like expression as the car pulled away from the junction. For a long time, neither sister spoke, the only sound the robotic tones of the sat-nav lady.
‘In. Point-five miles. Turn. Left. On. Beddington Farm Road. Then. Turn. Right.’
The familiar yellow and blue warehouse came into view and Daisy took the opportunity to break the silence. ‘Looks like we’re here.’
‘Arriving. At. C-R-0. 4-U-Z.’
‘It would seem we are.’
‘Els, look, I’m sorry. He just seems to bring out the worst in me. But I’ll try to get on with him, I do want to be involved in this project.’
Elsie reached across and patted her sister’s knee. ‘Then that’s good to hear.’ She surveyed the busy car park before them. ‘My life, I wasn’t expecting it to be this busy.’
The vast car park sprawled around the superstore was heaving with cars as they crawled at a snail’s pace along the rows. Some vehicles had clearly given up looking for actual spaces and were jacked up at awkward angles on the surrounding pavements, while others lurked ominously behind parked cars with open boots being packed by grim-faced shoppers. It was every person for themselves today it seemed, a reality quite at odds with the relaxed Scandinavian images the chain displayed on its enormous billboard signs across the car park.
‘Maybe we should have set off earlier,’ Daisy mumbled, the smallest hint of panic beginning to sound in her voice.
‘We’ll find a space, don’t worry,’ Elsie assured her, scouting the lines of parked cars ahead for any glimpse of a departing vehicle or vacant space.
‘I beg to differ. This is worse than Christmas.’
‘We’ll find one,’ Elsie repeated. Suddenly, she saw it: at the end of the row, barely visible behind the boot of a tank-like four-by-four. But it was a space … Putting her foot down, Elsie sped towards it and practically handbrake-turned her car in. Flushed with pride at her daredevil parking skills, she whooped loudly and turned to a pale-faced Daisy, just as a car horn blared loudly behind her.
‘Did you see that? Am I the Queen of Parking Space Spotting or what? Daisy? What’s wrong?’
‘I think that car was waiting.’ Daisy nodded towards a sleek black Jaguar that was furiously screeching away.
Elsie was unrepentant. ‘Their fault for not claiming it quickly enough.’
‘But they were indicating …’
‘Daisy. You wanted to come to this highly questionable home store – despite what Dad would say if he ever found out – and if I hadn’t parked in this space we could well have not been able to stay. It was a genuine mistake on my part. I didn’t see there was a car waiting. But this kind of thing happens all the time, so stop worrying and let’s go inside, OK?’
Reservations thus laid to rest, Daisy agreed and they stepped out of the car.
‘That was a pretty nifty bit of parking, I’ll give you that.’
Elsie locked the door and grinned at her sister. ‘High speed stunt-parking is one of my many specialities.’
‘Oi! You should drive with your eyes open, love,’ an angry voice shouted behind them. Elsie and Daisy turned to see a man storming in their direction. Never a fan of confrontation, Daisy groaned and hurried quickly towards the store entrance. Elsie made to follow, then froze as the features of the fuming figure came into view. Oh no. Surely not …
At exactly the same time, the man recognised Elsie and skidded to a halt inches away from her. ‘You!’
‘I don’t believe this.’
‘Un-be-lievable!’
Elsie sighed and stared at him. ‘I didn’t realise you were waiting, OK? I’m sorry.’
‘You’re sorry.’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘But you still stole my space.’
‘Your space? Oh, forgive me, I didn’t see “Torin’s Space” painted across the piece of public tarmac I just parked in.’
Torin raised an eyebrow. ‘So, you remembered my name?’
Irritated, Elsie folded her arms. ‘I happen to have an excellent memory.’
‘So do I, Elsie Maynard. Man, it seems like you just can’t keep away from me, doesn’t it? First that awkward incident with your pile cream and now this …’
‘Whatever.’ Elsie had heard enough. Her blood boiling, she slung her handbag on her shoulder and headed quickly towards the entrance to the store.
‘This isn’t the end of this,’ Torin called after her, an annoying chime of amusement in his voice that made her cringe even more. ‘Mark my words!’
Reaching the vast entrance where Daisy was waiting, Elsie virtually yanked her sister up the escalator into the shop. ‘Do you have your list? Good. Let’s find what you need and get out of here as soon as possible.’
As they raced around the room layouts, Elsie was aware that Daisy was staring at her. When she was sure they had gained enough distance from Torin (who was no doubt following in their wake), Elsie came to a halt by a bright purple kitchen display.
‘You’re never going to believe this,’ she said, her breath shortened by their speedy circuit of the shop floor, ‘but that was him.’
‘Him who?’
‘The bloke – the one who was there when the stealing thing happened – the annoying one I was telling you about.’
Daisy’s eyes were wider than the glossy white dinner plates artfully arranged on the black granite worktop beside them. ‘No!’
‘Yes. And he wasn’t particularly impressed with my parking.’
‘Well I never. How funny! You have to laugh at this, Els, I mean, what are the chances of us driving forty-three miles and you bumping into the same guy?’
Elsie sank onto a black plastic bar stool by the breakfast area mock-up. ‘It beggars belief,’ she replied, willing her heart rate to slow. ‘He wasn’t happy, I can tell you.’
‘I could see that – oh, watch out, Els, he’s coming!’
Horrified, Elsie looked across the store to see Torin walking quickly past the living room layouts. Grabbing Daisy, she ducked down behind the breakfast bar and peered around the side as he approached.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Daisy protested, yelping when Elsie jabbed her in the ribs with her elbow.
‘Shh!’
‘Elsie, we’re hiding in a kitchen display …’
‘I know!’ Elsie hissed back. ‘We’re just waiting until he goes past. Then he’ll be following the arrows like all the other shoppers and we’ll be sufficiently behind him.’
Daisy shot her an incredulous look. ‘You’re mad, you realise that?’
Elsie ignored her sister’s amusement and waited until Torin was out of sight. When she was satisfied he had gone, she rose slowly to her feet, coming face to face with a very bemused store assistant.
‘Er – do you need any help?’ he asked, his acne-strewn brow furrowing.
Adopting her brightest, most innocent smile, Elsie patted the beechwood-effect top of the breakfast bar. ‘Excellent workmanship. Truly. Even at floor level, you can see the quality.’ With Daisy in tow, she maintained her grin until they were clear of the kitchen display and out in the space of the walkway once more.
Daisy laughed, ‘Shopping with you is never dull.’ She pulled a typed list from her bag. ‘We’d better find these items before there’s any more excitement.’
So they continued circumnavigating the store, with Daisy taking her time to select cushions, vases, table lamps and rugs, while Elsie kept a vigilant eye out for any sign of Torin. For the next twenty minutes, he was nowhere to be seen and she began to relax.
Despite her merciless mocking of Daisy about this controversial visit, she relished the opportunity to spend time with her sister. Watching Daisy at work was fascinating. The items she selected – most of which Elsie would have walked straight past – created an eye-catching mix in her yellow woven plastic store bag. It was so much fun to watch that Elsie completely forgot her irritation at seeing Torin again.
But then, it was as if a switch flicked and suddenly he was everywhere. Twice they had to duck into room displays, several times behind affordably priced sofas and even once into a mock shower cubicle when he was spotted in the vicinity. Feeling her hackles rising, Elsie made a momentous decision that shocked her sister even more than her recent revelation about dating again:
‘Right. We’re going against the arrows.’
‘But you’re meant to follow the arrows, Els! It’s what you do when you come here. It’s understood.’
Eyes wild with panicked determination, Elsie faced her. ‘I am not bumping into that man again, you hear me? I’m tired, we have an hour’s journey home and I really don’t want another awkward confrontation today.’
Much to the consternation of the shoppers behind them, Elsie and Daisy began to pick their way back, finding the recklessness of the act surprisingly liberating. They had almost reached the stairs to the ground floor when someone stepped into their path from behind a ceiling height advertising hoarding – and Elsie’s heart hit the floor.
‘Funny. I never pictured you as an “against the arrows” kind of girl.’ Torin’s green eyes were sparkling like the crystal lampshade over his head, the same half-amused smile playing on his lips.
Daisy was looking from Torin to Elsie and back like an overexcited Wimbledon spectator.
Elsie closed her eyes. ‘Please go away.’
He laughed – a sound that made all of Elsie’s defences instantly build. ‘Oh come on, you nicked my parking space. At the very least that should win me some gloating rights?’
Daisy nudged her. ‘That seems fair to me, Els.’
Elsie stared at her sister. ‘Thanks for nothing.’
Surprised, Torin held his hand out to Daisy. ‘Thank you. I’m Torin Stewart.’
‘Daisy Maynard. I’m Elsie’s sister.’
They shook hands, Torin holding Daisy’s for a moment longer than she was expecting.
‘Ah, a pleasure to meet another of the Maynard clan,’ he said, glancing sideways at Elsie. ‘Especially a polite one.’
Daisy ignored the muttered remark from Elsie and smiled back at Torin. ‘Oh, Elsie’s usually the picture of politeness. I guess there must be something about you that brings out her bad side.’
‘Oh and I expect you know all about that, being her sister?’
‘You’d be amazed at the stories I could tell you …’
They’re enjoying this, Elsie moaned to herself, they’re both flipping enjoying it. ‘Pleasant though this attack on my character is for both of you, we really should be going.’
Daisy shook her head. ‘No hurry, hun.’ She smiled her famous Daisy Maynard Smile™ at Torin – the one that had set many a man on a course towards heartbreak over the years – and Elsie knew this was far from over. ‘Actually, we were thinking of having a coffee before we head home. Don’t suppose we could tempt you to join us? As our way of apologising for the car park incident?’
Torin looked at Elsie, who averted her eyes. Right now all she wanted was to leave as soon as she could. Her expression must have betrayed her true feelings because, quite unexpectedly, Torin declined.
‘I’d love to, but I’m on a bit of a tight schedule. It was good to meet you, Daisy. Elsie, nice to see you again. I hope you find everything you’re looking for. Good evening.’
Elsie watched him walk away and, for the second time in as many weeks, felt the small pang of conscience in her stomach. Shaking it away, she faced Daisy.
‘Thanks for the help there, sis.’
‘I’m sorry, he just seemed like a really nice guy. I was trying to be polite … Oh, don’t look at me like that. It was an awkward situation and I thought maybe if we all sat down over coffee it might be a little less so.’
‘Believe me, it would have been a hundred times worse. He is the most arrogant, jumped-up individual I’ve ever had the misfortune to run into. Twice now.’
Daisy nudged Elsie’s arm. ‘My mistake, lovely. He did seem to be a little too pleased with himself, now you mention it. Let’s pay for this contraband and get the heck out of here, shall we?’
Two days later, Jim called Elsie at work and asked her to meet him at his house for tea. Always a fan of a Dad-cooked meal, Elsie was happy to oblige, heading straight over when her workday ended.
The most delicious aroma of cinnamon, onions, rosemary and pomegranate filled the kitchen when Elsie entered. In the middle of an industrious cloud of steam, Jim emerged, carrying a huge earthenware tagine.
‘We’re going Moroccan tonight!’ he announced, holding the pot aloft as if it was a sporting trophy. ‘There’s a bowl of couscous on the counter and a nice bottle of Chilean red. Be a dear and bring them over, would you?’
‘It smells amazing, Dad. New recipe?’
Jim set two places at the table and accepted a glass of wine from her. ‘Yep. Excellent Moroccan cookbook I bought from that second-hand bookshop café Olly loves so much. In fact, I was having coffee with him when he spotted it.’ His awful attempt at slipping this into the conversation made Elsie giggle.
‘Dad. That was terrible.’
Jim’s face fell. ‘I thought I was being subtle.’
‘No offence, but perhaps you’d better stick to cooking?’
‘Point taken. Sit, sit! We should have this while it’s hot. Preserved lemon? Found these in a wonderful deli that’s opened near the Theatre Royal.’
‘You’re such a foodie.’
Pleased by this, Jim winked at her. ‘Next stop MasterChef, eh?’ He served the aromatic vegetable stew and handed her a multi-coloured plate. ‘Now, tell me what you think.’
It was wonderful – warm, spicy flavours that made Elsie’s palate tingle and reminded her of a holiday they had taken to Marrakech when she was fourteen, Jim determined that his daughters should have every opportunity to visit new and exciting cultures. She could still remember his brave but ultimately fruitless attempts at bartering over a rug in the souk, as the sights, sounds and smells of the bustling market laid siege to their senses.
She had to hand it to Jim: he was a tremendous cook. But more than the chance to sample his excellent food, Elsie relished the opportunity to spend time with her father. The past two years of her life had often demanded her attention to the point where she had neglected time with her family; only now was she feeling like she was reclaiming some of it. Growing up as one of three siblings, with the added complication of her mother’s absence, time alone with her father had always been invaluable; even now, as each of the Maynard sisters lived out their lives, Jim’s time was divided. A fair man in everything, he tried to give each of them an equal portion of his attention, although Guin’s impending motherhood meant this was likely to change soon.
‘So what was it you wanted to tell me?’ Elsie asked, when the meal was over and they were sitting in the comfortable lounge watching soft candlelight bathe the walls from the collection of oil burners and pillar candles on the coffee table. Patchouli and lavender incense pervaded the air and Jim’s favourite Bollywood chill-out album provided an exotic soundtrack.
‘Ah yes. It’s very exciting. You know that I’m on the Traders’ Association committee for the Brighton Carnival this year?’
Elsie didn’t, but this was nothing new. Jim was nothing if not committed to his town.
‘Well, I am. Never learn, will I? Anyway, the point is, we were discussing community music for the street stage we’re sponsoring and I suggested your choir! I told them how much of a community endeavour it’s going to be, and they thought it was a fantastic idea! What do you think?’
‘I think it’s great, Dad, but don’t you think it might be better to wait and hear the choir we put together before you start booking us?’
‘It’s not till July, so there’s plenty of time to prepare for it.’ Jim hugged her. ‘I have every faith in you.’
Whether or not the choir would be able to take up Jim’s offer, Elsie was encouraged by the vote of confidence. She walked the streets of Brighton delivering choir recruitment posters to local businesses, handed out leaflets to customers at Sundae & Cher and persuaded a journalist at the local free paper to write a story, thus saving her the expense of placing an advert. She and Woody discussed their plans at length, determined to create something that stood out from the other choirs in the area.
‘It’ll be fun and inclusive, more than anything.’
‘Babe – we can’t lose. We’ll be the only choir with destiny on our side.’
‘And we’ll make the songs interesting and different. Try to avoid some of the choir clichés and create a repertoire that they want to sing.’ Elsie hesitated, as a thought occurred. ‘People will come, won’tthey?’
Woody’s conviction was Jedi-like. ‘If we ask them, they will come.’
The day of the widely advertised first choir meeting arrived, and Elsie spent most of it wrestling with nerves and trying her best not to dwell on the possible outcomes for the evening. It was as if she was at the edge of a tall precipice, her toes dangling over a two-thousand-foot sheer drop, waiting to take a step of faith: thrilling and utterly terrifying in equal measure.
Daisy arrived a little after seven that evening, with an unapologetic Woody appearing twenty minutes later.
‘I was seeking inspiration,’ he shrugged. ‘You can’t rush that.’
By eight, Elsie was trying not to check her watch, Daisy was pacing the floor and even Woody was beginning to show signs of apprehension.
‘What time was on the posters?’ Cher asked.
‘Seven-thirty,’ Daisy and Woody chorused.
‘Ah.’ She looked uneasy. ‘Perhaps they’re caught in traffic. Wednesday nights, you know …’ Unconvinced by her own argument, she fell silent.
‘Nerves, man. That’s what it is. Deep down the whole town knows this choir is about to shake the establishment.’
‘It’s a choir, Woody, not a political movement.’
Woody regarded Daisy with disdain. ‘So you say.’
Daisy ignored him. ‘This is ridiculous. They’re not coming, Els. Let’s just call it a night.’
Elsie considered the disheartened group. Part of her wanted to pack up and go home, but she had been so sure people would respond – surely that level of certainty counted for something? ‘You can go, if you like. I’m going to wait to see if anyone turns up.’
‘Suit yourself. If you don’t mind, I’ll head off.’ Daisy picked up her coat.
‘Yeah, you go, girl,’ Woody replied. ‘Leave the believers keeping the dream alive.’
Incensed, Daisy pointedly dropped her coat over the back of a chair and sat down again. ‘Then I’m staying, too.’
Elsie groaned and stepped outside, leaving the Mexican standoff in the ice cream café behind her. The early-April evening was clear and a slight breeze sent goosebumps along her arms as she gazed up the quiet street. While she didn’t want to admit it to the group inside, she could feel her optimism fading like the light in the early evening sky above. Maybe the venue was wrong, or the night of the week? She shivered as a gust of wind whipped along Gardner Street. If there was one thing that could be said about her, she reminded herself, it was that Elsie Maynard wasn’t a quitter. This was, she told herself, merely a blip. It may not be the establishment-rocking, quasi-revolutionary idea that Woody seemed to think it was, but starting this choir was something she wanted to do. Therefore, she had to find a way to make it happen …
‘Am I too late?’
Elsie turned her head to see a tall figure approaching. As the light from the café window illuminated his face she felt her heart lift.
‘Olly! I’m so pleased to see you.’
Olly’s smile was easy and completely welcome. ‘That’s the best reception I’ve had all day. So, how’s it going?’
Elsie’s shoulders dropped. ‘It’s not. The only people here are my sister, my boss and Woody.’
‘Ah.’
‘I know. But now you’re here, so that’s a step in the right direction.’
‘Mmm. Only slight problem is that I can’t stay, I’m afraid. I was on my way to a family thing and thought I’d look in.’
The bright glimmer of hope in Elsie’s heart spluttered out. ‘Oh, I see. Thank you, though – for thinking of me.’
His brow furrowed and he held up his hand. ‘Wait there.’
Elsie watched as he raced off, ducking into a doorway about fifty yards down the street. Taken aback, Elsie remained obediently outside the shop, pulling her thin cardigan around her shoulders to ward off the evening chill. For a full five minutes, she waited, peering in the direction Olly had disappeared for any sign of his return. Finally, just as the tips of her fingers were beginning to numb, a shaft of light flooded into the street from the doorway and Olly stepped out, accompanied by five others. Elsie could hear their excited conversation as the group approached.
‘Here you are: choir volunteers!’ he announced happily.
‘But how did you …? Where …?’
Olly dismissed her questions. ‘Doesn’t matter. You can buy me coffee when we meet on Saturday.’
Elsie frowned. ‘Which Saturday?’
‘Whichever Saturday you like. As long as it’s soon. Not saying you owe me or anything but …’ he indicated the small group of people around him. ‘Deal?’
It was impossible not to smile at his brazen cheek. ‘Fine, deal.’
‘Excellent. I’ll call you. Now, don’t you have a rehearsal to run?’ With a grin so wide it would make the Cheshire Cat envious, he left Elsie on the street surrounded by the volunteers. She watched him leave, the surprise of this new development tingling through her, before bringing herself back to the present and ushering the group inside.
Daisy and Woody’s faces were a picture when she appeared with the new choir members and they sprang into action, shaking hands, taking names and contact details and arranging the chairs into a circle in the middle of the room. The first members of the choir were a diverse group of people indeed: nineteen-year-old Danny Alden and his bird-like girlfriend Aoife McVey; self-assured twenty-nine-year-old Sasha Mitchell; fifty-something taxi driver Stan Goodson and quiet pensioner Irene Quinn. It transpired that they had all been drinking in the pub at the end of the street when Olly had burst in and silenced the patrons with an impassioned appeal for choir members. Whether he had offered anything in return was unclear, although Elsie suspected money might have been placed behind the bar to quench the thirst of potential volunteers. But it didn’t matter – whatever his modus operandi, Elsie was immensely thankful for Olly’s assistance and, she had to admit, more than a little thrilled by it.
Once the group had assembled and had been furnished with coffee by Cher, Elsie motioned for the meeting to begin.
‘Thank you all, so much, for being here this evening. I know that none of you were expecting to join a choir today.’
A ripple of laughter passed around the room.
‘But let me explain why I think this project will work. Firstly, there are no auditions, no prerequisites for joining and no charge for being a choir member. We’ll all decide the songs we want to sing and try to include something for everyone. The most important thing for me is to create something we can all be a part of and enjoy. All I need from you, if you’re interested, is enthusiasm. Everything else will come along the way.’
Woody coughed loudly, causing all eyes to turn towards him.
Elsie took the hint. ‘I won’t be doing this alone. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Woody Jensen …’
The assembled group murmured their hellos as Woody stood, his Matrix-style leather coat and skull T-shirt beneath giving him what he hoped was a suitably imposing appearance. Silver chains jangled at his wrists as he raised both hands in a red carpet greeting. ‘Greetings. You may remember me from the hit Eighties rock band,Hellfinger?’
Daisy stifled a giggle at the uniformly blank looks that met this question.
‘No bother, you can Google me later. I’m proud to say this choir was my idea and the universe itself sent me this wonderful woman to be a minstrel to my musical wizardry. Together, friends, we can shake the very foundations of this town, infuse the collective psyches of the people with mystical tunes and bring power back to the proletariat through the medium of music …’
‘… Or just have a lot of fun making music,’ Elsie added quickly, noting the relief on several of the group’s faces.
Woody nodded. ‘Well, yeah, that too.’
‘Does that sound good?’
Danny raised his hand. ‘Could we do some up-to-date stuff? I was part of The DreamTeam for six months and the most modern thing we did was “Mr Postman” by The Carpenters.’
Sasha sniggered. ‘Talk about lame. I vote we do Gaga.’
‘Gaga is great, man! We can mash her up with Led Zep or Hendrix …’ Woody’s grey eyes were alive as a million musical possibilities flashed before him.
‘We can do whatever you want,’ Elsie said, trying her best to rein Woody in. ‘It’s important that we find music we all like and have fun performing it.’
Stan raised his hand. ‘Well, you can count me in, girl. I love a bit of warbling, me.’ He nudged Irene, who was sitting beside him. ‘What d’ya reckon, Reenie? Up for showing these whippersnappers how it’s done?’
Irene smiled but said nothing, her downy cheeks turning the tiniest bit pink.
‘Don’t let her fool you,’ Stan said. ‘Irene used to be on the stage, back in the day. One of Brighton’s finest, she was. Sang with Vera Lynn on a concert tour for the troops in Canada at the end of the war when she was just seventeen.’ He patted her knee. ‘Bit of a hoofer in your day, weren’t you, girl?’
‘Stop it, Stanley,’ she replied, and Elsie noticed how bright her eyes shone as she smiled. ‘I haven’t sung for years.’
‘It doesn’t matter. It’ll be good to have another Brighton great in our ranks,’ Daisy remarked, pointedly nodding at Woody.
‘So what happens now?’ Aoife asked, the sudden arrival of her voice surprising everyone in the room.
Elsie shrugged. ‘It’s really up to you all. I suppose the first thing is to find an evening to meet that suits everybody and then we start work proper next week.’
After much discussion – and several random veerings off-course with Woody’s Hellfinger references – Wednesday evenings were deemed to be perfect for choir rehearsals, and the inaugural meeting of the choir came to an end.
Elsie thanked them as they began to leave, wondering how many would return the following week.
‘It sounds like a bit of a laugh,’ Sasha said at the door, long false eyelashes fluttering beneath her razor-sharp, bleached-blonde fringe. ‘Will we be able to do solos and stuff? Only people say I have a bit of a solo voice.’
Elsie shrugged. ‘I don’t see why not. This choir can be whatever we want it to be.’
‘Sweet. See you next Wednesday.’
Stan and Irene shook Elsie’s hand. ‘Lovely evening,’ Irene smiled. ‘Most unexpected, but lovely.’
‘I hope you’re ready for our vocal delights, girl,’ chuckled Stan.
‘I’m looking forward to experiencing them.’
Daisy joined Elsie by the door as the last of the choir members filed out into the chilly night. ‘Do you think that went well?’ she asked, clearly not all that convinced that it had.
‘I think so. I suppose we’ll find out next week.’
Walking home, Elsie took a deep breath and looked up at the starlit sky. The night might not have taken the course she was expecting, but it felt good nevertheless. Positivity seemed to sparkle around her as she walked: the lights from the homes she passed were brighter, the night sky was a beautiful midnight blue and her heart felt lighter than it had for years.
‘This choir could well be the making of you, Elsie Maynard,’ she said to herself.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hello again, hello …
It was still dark when Elsie awoke next morning, pools of light from the streetlights outside her windows pooling in through the half-closed curtains in the bedroom of her Victorian terraced house. The dream from which she had stirred was the same that had brought her to daylight many times before: not a nightmare as such, more a captured moment of time playing on a perennial loop in her subconscious. She had dreamed it so often that it was strangely comforting now, almost reassuring in its reliability. There were never any words, only sensations. Oddly enough, the locations regularly changed, but the essence of the dream remained constant: the touch of a hand on hers followed by a tiny squeeze – barely perceptible to the naked eye but as powerful as a one-hundred-thousand-volt shock. And then, nothing but the feeling of being suspended in a pitch-black void, as if hanging above the earth before the lights of morning appeared. At first, Elsie had been unnerved by the dream but now it was an accepted part of her new life: a last vestige of the past to remind her of how far she had come.
Slowly rising from sleep-tossed sheets, she padded down white wood-stained stairs to her kitchen and leant against the beechwood countertop as the kettle bubbled up into life. She rubbed her eyes and caught sight of the list of possible choir songs she had scribbled on the back of an electricity bill by the phone hours before. Instantly, she felt her heart lift as the thrill of potential struck her like it had last night walking home from the choir meeting.
There was a mixture of material – from well-loved musical numbers to a smattering of recent chart songs and a couple of choir classics she remembered singing at school. Woody had, of course, suggested a few that she had so far successfully avoided – including an intriguing medley of Blue Oyster Cult ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper’ and Katy Perry’s ‘I Kissed a Girl’, performed to a stomping glam rock-style beat. Something told Elsie that Brighton, however bohemian it liked to appear, wasn’t quite ready for that musical delight to be unleashed …
She made tea in a mug Guin had made for her and smiled as she read the legend in vivid pink paint-strokes surrounded by blue and orange flowers:
Do it, or Elsie!
It was a bad joke, typical of her sister’s humour – but this morning it assumed a feeling of greater significance. Taking her tea back upstairs, Elsie sat on the side of her high, iron-framed bed and reached over to pick up the silk-covered box from her bedside table. Lying on top of the pile of papers inside it was the next message:
I love you because you love surprises xx
Not all surprises, Elsie thought. Some surprises I could live without. As she sipped her tea, watching the dawn begin to peek over the rooftops of her street, she couldn’t have known how timely her thoughts would prove to be …
As soon as she arrived at Sundae & Cher, Elsie knew that something was up. For a start, Cher was already in, which was most unlike her, and had uncharacteristically restocked the ice cream cabinet – a job normally reserved for Elsie on account of the fact that Cher disliked lifting the bulky tubs from the freezer. This task completed, Cher now appeared to be pacing the kitchen floor.
Elsie smiled as she entered the kitchen. ‘Morning. Is everything OK? Only I didn’t think seven-thirty a.m. existed in your vocabulary.’
‘It doesn’t, usually. But I thought I’d break with tradition today,’ she replied, fiddling with a box of sugar sachets and failing in her attempt at nonchalance. ‘I had that new batch of Kiwi and Gooseberry to mix downstairs and there’s a ton of Cookie Dough waiting for you to work your magic on. Not right now, obviously. Just – um – whenever you’re ready.’
‘Right.’ Frowning slightly, Elsie passed Cher to put her coat and bag in the cupboard by the back door. ‘I’m going to check the freezer stock levels downstairs.’
Cher’s guilty smile did nothing to remove Elsie’s growing suspicion. ‘Absolutely. Yes. Great idea.’ She paused as if to say something else, then clapped her hands. ‘In fact, I’ll come down with you.’
‘Fine.’ Leading the way, Elsie walked to the stairs at the back of the kitchen that led to Sundae & Cher’s ice cream lab in the small basement of the café. The smell of vanilla filled the air as she entered the chill of the basement and Elsie momentarily forgot Cher’s strange behaviour as she revelled in the magic of the room. She loved it here: not just because of the sweet aroma or large industrial mixer (the sight of which always brought out the kid in her, reminding her of standing on a stool next to Jim learning how to use the food processor on one of their many Saturday baking sessions), but because this place signified the heart of Sundae & Cher. This was where the magic happened – taking a basic ice cream mix and adding weird and wonderful ingredients to create brand new taste experiences.
She opened the door of the enormous freezer cabinet and began to count the stacked tubs inside. ‘Looks like we’re running low on Vanilla. We should probably get another batch made today.’
‘I’m on it. We can’t be running out of our top-selling flavour, can we?’
Elsie lifted out two heavy tubs of pale green gelato. ‘Is this the new flavour?’
‘Yes. Mixed it earlier. Good, huh?’
‘I think this is going to be really popular,’ Elsie replied, turning to Cher. ‘It might be an idea to put one of them out straight away. Shall I swap it for one of the regular flavours today and see how it sells?’
‘Yes. Good. Er – actually, before you do that, there’s something you should know …’
Elsie ignored the tightening in her stomach. ‘Yes?’
‘Now don’t be mad at me, but I might have just maybe, set you up on a date …’
‘Cher …’
Cher shrugged apologetically. ‘I know, I’m sorry. I just happened to be chatting with an old friend of mine and she mentioned that her brother would be fun for a date – if you were interested, of course.’
‘Well, that’s very kind of you, but right now I’m not really in a position to …’
‘Of course. I mean, no pressure, obviously. Although I did tell her that we were going to The Feathers for a drink after work this evening.’
Elsie felt her backbone bristling. ‘I might not be able to make it.’ She picked up one of the tubs and began to ascend the stairs.
Cher followed her with the other tub, hurried past her in the kitchen and stood across the entrance to the café, blocking Elsie’s way. ‘Actually, I think you should.’ Her forthright assertion was fatally undermined by her uncertain expression.
‘You do?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK. Why?’
Cher sighed. ‘Because it would be good for you. And because my friend might have arranged for her brother’s boss to be there too, who happens to be rather gorgeous.’
Elsie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘So you’ve set us up on a double date?’
‘Don’t say it like that, Els, you make me sound conniving.’
‘Well, maybe that’s because you are …’
‘I really like him. I mean, I think he has serious potential. And I’ve been trying to score a date with him for over a year.’ She lowered her voice and clasped her hands together like a plaster saint. ‘He has his own house, Elsie! Not like the last one. And his own teeth! He’s normal and has no strange hobbies or questionable personal habits. Do you know how hard it is to find someone that sane in this town? Practically impossible! Not to mention the fact that he’s successful and interesting and I know he thinks I’m attractive. You know how rubbish my dating life has been. This one is normal! So I’m not even going to ask you: I’m going straight to pathetic begging. Please?’
Elsie knew she had no choice. If Cher could have the chance to enjoy a normal date for once, perhaps it was worth one uncomfortable evening in presence of a ‘someone’s brother’.
‘I don’t have anything to wear,’ Elsie replied slowly.
‘I’ll give you cash to buy an outfit at lunchtime,’ Cher answered. ‘Shoes too, if you like.’
‘I haven’t brought my make-up with me.’
‘You can borrow mine. Or buy new. Please?’
Elsie weighed up her options. ‘Fine. But I’m only staying for an hour.’
Cher beamed like a kid at Christmas. ‘One hour is all I need.’
The day passed with excruciating tardiness, every minute outstaying its welcome. The more she thought about it, the greater Elsie’s dread of what could lie ahead became. By four-thirty, her nerves were beginning to get the better of her, and there was only one person she knew who could help to keep her resolve strong. Leaving Cher manning the counter, Elsie grabbed her mobile and stepped outside. Gardner Street was a buzz of busyness, the warm hum of chat and countless footsteps reverberating the length of the street. She smiled at Emma from the Vegetarian Shoe Shop as they passed one another and watched as a group of Goths crowded with surprising enthusiasm in the doorway of Cybercandy. Smiling to herself, she dialled her sister’s number.
‘Hello, Daisy Maynard speaking?’
‘Daisy, it’s me. Can you chat for a minute?’
‘No problem. Wait there …’ Elsie could hear the click-clack of her sister’s heels as she walked from her office to somewhere more conducive to a private conversation. ‘OK. What’s up, lovely?’
Elsie moved to let a dog walker hurry past. ‘Cher’s set me up on a completely daft double date tonight. I agreed at first but now I’m freaking out about it. I mean, it’s too early – I haven’t had any time to prepare, or make sure my head is in the right place. What was I thinking? This is the craziest idea. I can’t go through with it, can I?’
Daisy’s laugh was not unkind. ‘Slow down, Speedy Gonzalez! Take a deep breath and let’s look at this practically. Where are you meeting the bloke?’
‘At The Feathers, this evening.’
‘Right, a public place, that’s good. So, what do you know about him?’
‘Only that Cher fancies his boss, he’s a brother of someone she knows and he’s supposed to be a nice guy.’
‘Anything else? What he does for a living? What he looks like?’
Elsie kicked a screwed-up crisp packet at her feet. ‘Nothing. That’s the problem, Dais. How on earth am I meant to know whether I have anything in common with him or not?’
‘Well, you don’t. But that’s kind of the point of dating, isn’t it? All you are doing is meeting someone who may or may not be interesting enough for you to want to get to know him. It’s hardly rocket science, is it?’
Daisy was making sense and, as so often happened when Elsie talked things over with her sister, the situation began to look less like a forty-foot-high brick wall. ‘Thanks, honey. I don’t know what happened there.’
‘You were scared. And it’s totally understandable. Blind dates are notorious for dodgy dating encounters. But I know you’ll be fine. It’s been a long time since you last dated. Things have changed – and you’ve changed too, remember. I think you should try not to over-think this and just see it for what it is. You’re doing a favour for a friend and possibly meeting a nice bloke in the process. It’s a step, not an entire journey.’
Daisy’s words were still resounding in Elsie’s mind as she changed in the small cloakroom at the back of the café an hour later. The kooky bluebird-print dress she had hastily purchased from the small boutique a few doors away from Sundae & Cher in her lunch break with a bunch of notes thrust into her hand by a very excited Cher was sweet but casual and, teamed with her favourite red ballerina pumps, felt comfortable. Cher had loaned her a red cardigan, which completed the look. She gathered her blonde, shoulder-length bob into a relaxed up-do and held it in place with a couple of black combs. It wasn’t the most inspired dating attire, but it felt like her.
Cher went a little over the top with her enthusiastic reaction when Elsie walked into the kitchen, but Elsie accepted the compliments anyway. She needed to feel confident and, after Daisy’s pep talk, she was determined to enjoy the experience. You love surprises, she reminded herself, her fingers closing around the piece of paper from the satin box in the pocket of her coat, as she and Cher walked to the green-tiled pub near the Theatre Royal where many local shopkeepers headed after work for a drink.
The pub was already packed with post-work revellers, the loud buzz of conversation peppered with stabs of raucous laughter. Elsie had always loved this place and liked the way it had stubbornly resisted the urge to succumb to gastro-pub tweeness as so many others in the area had done. It was her father’s favourite watering hole and she had often accompanied him there in her mid to late teens when he met fellow councillors or furniture suppliers.
They squeezed through the bodies to reach the bar and waited for a full five minutes before catching the attention of Nick, the cheerful, red-faced landlord.
‘Evening, girls,’ he shouted. ‘What can I get you?’
‘Just an orange juice for me and a red wine for Cher, please.’
‘Right you are.’
‘Is Jake Long in yet, Nick?’ Cher asked.
‘Not yet.’ He placed a glass of wine in front of her and flicked the top off a bottle of orange juice to pour into a glass of ice for Elsie. ‘Early, though. He’s normally in about six. Why, you looking for him?’
‘Might be.’ Cher winked at Nick and disappeared into the crowd to find a seat as Elsie paid for the drinks.
‘Hot date,’ Elsie confided.
‘Serious? He’s too normal for Cher, isn’t he?’
Elsie laughed. ‘It’s a bit of a new direction for her.’
Nick gave an overdramatic sigh. ‘I’ve told her: if she’s looking for a real man, she knows where I am.’
‘I’ll pass the message on,’ Elsie replied, taking the drinks and winding through the throng of bodies until she found Cher proudly guarding a table with four chairs by the window. ‘Nick offered to be your real man again.’
Cher rolled her eyes heavenwards and took a large gulp of wine. ‘He can go on dreaming. I’ve heard too many rumours about Nick Plass to go there.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Jake shouldn’t be long. Aren’t you drinking?’
‘I might have one later.’ Elsie might have been thankful for a little Dutch courage, but she fully intended to go into this without the aid of alcohol.
They made themselves comfortable and chatted aimlessly about work for twenty minutes, neither of them really thinking about the subject, as the prospect of the evening ahead loomed large over them. When Cher’s glass was empty, she stood to head back to the bar but was stopped in her tracks by the sight of two men weaving through the standing drinkers. Jake Long strode in front, his impeccable suit standing out amongst the casually dressed locals, an expensive overcoat folded over one arm. He was handsome for his age – his kind dark eyes and lightly tanned skin contrasting with the flashes of silver at his temples and running through his lustrous brown hair. Cher was suddenly all coy eyelashes and shy smiles as he approached the table.
Elsie was so busy being impressed by Jake’s appearance that she forgot to look at her own date for the evening, who was waiting behind his boss, obscured from view by the crush of pub customers.
‘Delighted you could make it,’ Jake smiled at Cher, an obvious twinkle in his eye. ‘Apologies for our lateness – we had a last-minute meeting at the office.’ He extended his hand to Elsie. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘You too.’
‘I have a feeling this is going to be a most pleasant evening,’ Jake replied, moving to one side. ‘Let me introduce you to our most brilliant junior partner in the practice …’
As he was speaking, the young man beside him stepped forward, and instantly Elsie’s breath deserted her. Surely not …
‘… Torin Stewart.’
Jake and Cher were grinning like a pair of hungry hyenas, but as Elsie’s eyes met Torin’s, neither of them was smiling.
Forced by propriety to be civil, Elsie held out her hand. ‘Elsie Maynard. Nice to meet you.’
‘Is it?’ Torin briefly shook her hand, the shock of his warm skin on hers causing her to pull away as quickly as she could. The briefest of smiles passed across his lips before he turned to Jake. ‘I’ll get the first round in, shall I?’
Jake clapped his hands together. ‘Excellent idea. Mine’s a single malt with water, no ice. Ladies?’
‘Red wine for me. Elsie?’
Struggling to stop the room from spinning around her, Elsie wrestled her way back into the moment. ‘Same, please. Large.’
Cher raised an eyebrow and Elsie managed a weak smile in return. As Jake sat opposite Cher, she quickly turned her attention squarely onto him and Elsie sank back into her chair. How was it possible for Torin to be her blind date? After their initial meeting and the excruciating second round in Croydon, Elsie had felt sure that she and Torin Stewart were never destined to cross paths again. Yet here he was – for the third time in as many weeks. What was she going to say to him?
All too quickly, Torin returned with a tray of drinks, seemingly charmed when it came to being served quickly in the only pub in Brighton that made a virtue of its long bar waiting times – a fact attested to by a large sign over the bar bearing the legend:
We don’t do ‘fast’. Our beer is worth the wait.
‘Blimey, we’ll send you to the bar again,’ Cher remarked, raising her glass to Torin. Grinning, he clinked his pint glass against hers and then held it towards Elsie.
‘To a pleasant evening?’
Reluctantly, she accepted the toast. ‘A pleasant evening.’ Pleasant, she added to herself, meaning short …
Jake and Cher immediately launched into animated conversation, their body language screaming attraction as they did so. Torin sipped his beer slowly, his eyes never leaving Elsie. Doing her best to present an unaffected air, Elsie returned his gaze, smiling pleasantly as she desperately scrabbled for suitable topics of conversation to make the evening pass quickly.
‘I take it you’re a solicitor?’
‘I prefer lawyer – bit of a fan of the US terminology, I’m afraid. But yes, that’s what I do. How about you?’
‘Assistant manager of a retro ice cream café.’
This appeared to surprise him. ‘Oh? Whereabouts?’
For a split second, Elsie was tempted to concoct a fake address to ensure he couldn’t find her, but then common sense prevailed as she realised Jake or Cher would gladly furnish him with the correct information in any case. ‘In North Laine – Gardner Street. I work for Cher.’
‘I see. So, who’d have thought us two would meet up again like this, eh?’
Instantly, Elsie felt her insides clench into a knot and she looked down into her already half-empty wine glass.
Torin gave an almighty sigh and muttered something into his beer.
Suddenly irritated by this, Elsie glared straight at him. ‘Sorry? Didn’t catch that.’
‘I said it’s a shame you can’t be more civil, given the circumstances.’
‘Excuse me? I am being civil, thank you very much. I’m having a drink with you and making polite conversation. I fail to see what else I need to do to increase my civility.’
Torin held up his hands. ‘Well – not do that, for a start.’
‘Do what?’
‘Fly off the handle. Totally overreact to everything I say. You’ve done it every time we’ve met and it hasn’t once been warranted.’
‘Everything good with you two?’ Jake interjected, the glow of a successful date illuminating his expression.
Elsie and Torin smiled politely and, satisfied, Jake returned his attention to Cher.
Elsie lowered her voice and leant towards Torin. ‘I beg to differ. You were completely full of yourself when you “rescued” me from the security guard and then you proceeded to stalk my sister and me around that store.’
‘I was pleased to help you,’ Torin hissed back. ‘And I wasn’t stalking anyone. You were the one walking against the arrows and your sister was perfectly charming, as I recall.’
Elsie ignored him and drank her wine, looking across to the clock above the bar. Twenty minutes? She had only endured twenty minutes so far? Elsie had promised Cher an hour – but if their conversation continued to head down the dicey road it was careering along, it would be impossible to keep her promise. Reeling in as much of her anger as she could, she took a breath and returned her stare to his.
‘This is getting us nowhere. I think we should change the subject. I don’t want another fight and I would hazard a guess that you don’t, either.’
The fury in his eyes softened. ‘I don’t. What else can we talk about?’
At a loss for anything more creative to suggest, Elsie said, ‘Tell me about your job,’ instantly reprimanding herself for sounding like advice from a 1950s manual on successful dating conversation topics: Show an interest in his career …
So Torin explained about the kind of law he practised, what it meant to be a junior partner, what his ambitions for the future were and how he had made the decision while at primary school that he would study law.
‘Classic case of going into the family business,’ he explained. ‘Only my mother’s side of the family, not my father’s. Dad owns a music shop in Hove – about as far removed from law as you can get.’
‘And you knew from the age of – what – eight or nine that you wanted to be a lawyer?’ Elsie momentarily forgot her consternation, the fact of his early conviction startling her.
‘Yes. Why, is that so surprising?’
‘It’s not, I suppose. But I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do with my life when I was that age, apart from have fun and maybe one day appear in Neighbours. In many ways, I still don’t really know if there’s a career that would fit me perfectly. But I love what I do, so that’s fine for me for now.’
She could see him relax and was surprised at how much relief this brought her.
‘There’s a lot to be said for job satisfaction. I see many people struggling in my profession because they’re trying to live out someone else’s expectations for their career, not pursuing something they are passionate about. Kids fulfilling their parents’ ambitions at the cost of their own.’
‘And you?’ The question was out before she realised it, far more personal than she was intending.
‘Thanks for asking. I count myself as one of the lucky ones because I love what I do.’
‘I’m going to attempt to beat Torin’s bar time,’ Jake grinned. ‘Same again for everyone?’
All agreed apart from Elsie, who decided it was safest to revert to orange juice for the remainder of the evening. As Jake left, Cher grinned at Torin.
‘I hope Elsie’s told you about the new exciting venture she’s embarking on?’
‘No, not yet. Tell me.’
‘A community choir!’ Cher replied before Elsie had the chance to speak. ‘And they’re meeting in my café.’
‘I’m impressed,’ Torin replied, and Elsie could have sworn she saw a flicker of genuine sentiment in his expression. ‘Is this something you’re experienced in?’
‘No. But then the point of it is to create something new, not regurgitate an old method that has been used before. We’re going to sing a variety of songs and the emphasis will be on fun.’
Sensing their conversation was safely set up, Cher made her excuses and headed towards the Ladies’. Torin folded his arms and leant back in his chair. ‘So, you know how to have fun, after all?’
So much for your sincerity, Elsie thought, her hackles rising. However much she might have hoped they could have a civil conversation, it was obviously not going to happen. Ever. ‘I do, as a matter of fact. Which just proves that you know nothing whatsoever about me.’
‘It was merely an observation. I guess everyone else must see a different side of you than I have so far.’
Go figure, Torin. ‘I guess they must.’ She looked at the clock again. Five minutes had dragged their heels past since she last checked. This was going to be the longest hour of her entire life …
‘Please don’t be offended. I just have a knack of getting the measure of people very quickly, which I know can be unnerving. It’s an occupational hazard, I’m afraid. I can accurately sum up someone’s character often within a few minutes of meeting them.’
Elsie couldn’t believe his smugness. ‘You mean you’re quick to judge people? I don’t see that as a skill. I see that as a flaw.’
‘Oh really? Well, I’ve already worked you out, Elsie Maynard.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t possibly know that much about me.’
‘I think you’ll find I can.’ He sipped his pint and scrutinised her for an uncomfortable moment. ‘Are you challenging me to prove it?’
The gall of him! Well, Elsie reasoned, there was only one way to haul him off his high horse. ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’
Rubbing his hands together, he began. ‘Right. Well, from your blatant misunderstanding of me and misreading of my motives, I can conclude that you have had very little experience of men – one or two serious boyfriends at most. From the small indentation on the third finger of your left hand I can see that one of those relationships resulted in marriage; from the absence of a ring now and your noticeably prickly nature towards men in general I assume that this marriage came to an end, perhaps some time ago. Am I correct?’
‘I’
Elsie swallowed hard as a groundswell of emotion threatened to sweep her off her feet. Torin had unwittingly broken through the layers of carefully constructed defences and his observations stabbed deeply. Momentarily blindsided, she struggled for control and he saw it, the same glint of triumph in his eyes as before.
‘What? Nothing to say? Surely this can’t be the great Elsie Maynard, queen of the lightning comeback? I must say, I thought you’d have retaliated by now.’
He was goading her, she knew it, but the pulse of shock was fast turning to anger within her and she needed a moment to formulate her reply.
‘Just – just give me a minute …’
Torin took a celebratory glug of beer and slapped the table. ‘Aha! Admit it – I totally summed you up! I am too good at this.’
‘Fine. You want to know?’ With every last scrap of resolve within her, Elsie rose to her feet. ‘You were correct when you said I’d only had one serious relationship. It did lead to marriage and that marriage ended, eighteen months ago.’
He spread his hands wide. ‘Hey, it’s what I do. Please don’t be offended. Sit down, would you? We were just beginning to have fun.’
‘No, thanks. I think I’ve stayed long enough.’
‘Oh come on, Elsie. There’s no need to be embarrassed about it. Plenty of women your age are divorcees.’
Elsie fixed him with a stare that could freeze sunbeams. ‘That’s true. But not many women my age are widows.’
With that, she turned her back on a visibly shocked Torin and walked with purpose out of the pub and onto the street beyond. Her promise to Cher was completely forgotten: the only impulse driving her steps was to escape.
CHAPTER SIX
Just the way you are …
Lucas would have loved it. He would have thrown back his lovely black hair and guffawed so loudly that even half-deaf Mrs Rafferty next door would have heard it. And Elsie would have laughed with him – it was impossible not to when faced with a laugh as infectious as his. Even towards the end of his battle, when every movement required concerted effort, his laugh was the one part of him that never succumbed to the cancer claiming his body. Jim often said he heard Lucas laugh more during the last year of his life than in all the years he’d known him. But then the last year was something Lucas was determined to enjoy. He had a point to prove – a list to fulfil. And each of the items on The List he created for their final year together was designed to amuse them both, to squeeze every last drop of joy out of the time they had left.
Lucas Webb was a lover of the absurd, his sense of humour one of the things Elsie loved the most about him. He could find the ridiculous, hilarious side of any situation, no matter how grim it first appeared. The bleak diagnosis of his cancer was no exception to this: and his coping mechanism was the spark for The List.
When Dr Hayes had delivered the devastating news to Lucas and Elsie in the too-small, too-warm consulting room in the Royal Sussex County Hospital, their first reaction had been mind-numbing shock and disbelief, quickly leading to body-shaking sobs as they both broke down. Twelve months, at most – a meagre allocation for someone who loved life as much as Lucas did. All their plans – travelling, a business of their own, children – now lay screwed up and discarded like the balls of paper strewn in the dull grey metal bin beneath Dr Hayes’ regulation NHS desk. The sense of injustice was immense, a crushing weight of hopelessness robbing the room of oxygen, deeper than Elsie had ever experienced.
But an hour later, when they were walking hand-in-hand along Brighton Pier, a remarkable transformation began in Lucas. Elsie remembered him stopping, near the entrance to the amusements, hope blazing in his dark brown eyes.
‘Elsie, I’ve had quite possibly the most brilliant idea!’
So startling was the sea change in his mood that Elsie gave an involuntary laugh. ‘What is it?’
‘OK. Hear me out. When I heard the diagnosis this morning I was like, “Only twelve months?” But I’ve thought about it and I realised – we have twelve months. Twelve months to do whatever we like and nobody can argue with us! So, here it is: we make a list of things we have to do. And I’m not talking about naff stuff like swimming with dolphins because, frankly, I think they’re overrated. In fact, that should be our criteria: nothing overly sentimental, nothing expensive and nothing predictable. We pick, say, fifty things we have to complete before I … you know …’
He was shaking when he suggested it, but his smile was all the persuasion Elsie needed to agree. And so the idea for The List was born: fifty tasks unique to them, a personal mandate for fun in their final year together. Such as sneaking into Brighton Library to stick smiley-face sticky notes within the pages of classic novels that Lucas had deemed to be so depressing that readers would be in need of some guerrilla-placed light relief (to Elsie’s knowledge, some of those notes might still be lying in wait amid the leaves of Jude The Obscure, The Mill on the Floss and War and Peace …); decorating the rubbish bins along Brighton promenade with tinsel at midnight on a balmy July night; paddling in wellies in the ornate Victoria Fountain in Victoria Gardens in the centre of town; and spending the night in a neighbour’s son’s tree house with a large bottle of Jack Daniel’s, snuggled up, drunk and sniggering like school kids under layers of blankets.
Every item on The List conformed to the three criteria. All except one.
‘Oh, and Paris,’ Lucas had added, when fifty items had been listed.
She observed him with amusement. ‘Hang on a minute, you said nothing overly sentimental, nothing expensive and nothing predictable, right?’
‘Right.’
‘So what’s Paris, then? Surely it’s all three.’
His grin was pure Lucas Webb mischief. ‘Paris is geographical.’
‘Lucas …’
‘Humour me, Els? I’m a dying man, remember? You have to honour my wishes.’
And so The List that should only ever have contained fifty items became fifty-one, the last task destined to become the only one never to be fulfilled in time …
Standing on the dark beach as the inky ocean lapped the shore below her, Elsie found herself laughing now, despite her tears. Lucas would have applauded her parting shot in the pub: the ultimate way to win an argument.
‘If all else fails, play the death card, kid. It gets them every time.’
What Lucas would have loved the most, though, was that Elsie had been in the pub in the first place tonight. For the entire twelve months they had planned until the end, Elsie’s mandate to carry on afterwards had been Lucas’ recurring theme.
‘You have a whole life ahead of you, darling. And I will be expecting you to live it. No moping around like you’ve died, too. Promise me. Promise me you’ll live life for us both?’
Of course she missed him. He was in every thought, every action of the day, and he had loved Brighton so much that even the bricks and streets of the town seemed to be infused with his spirit. But a strange thing had happened when he finally passed away after their extraordinary last year: the overriding emotion Elsie experienced was thankfulness for the years she had been blessed with Lucas in her life. Some of her extended family put it down to an anomaly of grief: she was in denial, obviously, and the pain and anguish would surely follow. But it didn’t – or, at least, not the debilitating grief that she had expected to feel. Deep sadness and a longing to be close to him again, yes: often and sometimes entirely without warning. Tiny, insignificant things that induced unexpected tears, absolutely. But so much deep grieving had assaulted her during their final year together, catching her off-guard in the middle of the crazy tasks on The List, that it was almost as if the most profound part of her grieving was done during this time. Maybe it was because Lucas had talked with her so much about what life would be like once he was gone:
‘Wait six months after I leave and then take your wedding ring off. And no longer than that. I mean it, Els. Consider it a gift to me, OK? In return I’ll be giving some other lucky chap the chance to have you in his life.’ … ‘You’ll be fine, honey. I believe in you, remember? You’re beautiful and so strong – that’s what I love about you. So I’m expecting you to get out there again, whenever you’re ready.’ … ‘And none of this “black widow” shizzle, OK? Black isn’t your colour anyway. Dress like Queen Victoria and I’ll haunt you until you change it!’
In the months since his death, Elsie had followed his wishes to the letter and, as with so many of the things Lucas had suggested, it made her feel better. It was almost as if each act was a gift to him, her strength his reward for the faith he had placed in her to carry on.
Even so, she hadn’t meant to reveal her past to Torin this evening, and she was angry with herself for using it as such a trivial point-scoring act. Torin’s inference that she was merely a bitter, betrayed divorcee had incensed her. Especially when the truth was so markedly different. But Lucas was worth more than that. And no matter how much her parting shot would have amused him, he deserved his memory to be treated with more respect.
Leaving the sea behind, she crunched across the pebbled beach back to the steps leading to the promenade, her mind awash with thoughts.
‘Babe. The Led Zep mash-up will work, I’m telling you.’
‘I’m not having this conversation again, Woody. We’ve got a list of six songs and that’s plenty to be going on with. And we only have six members, remember? I don’t want to lose any of them before we’ve even begun.’
Woody tutted and pushed his sunglasses up his nose, despite the Saturday morning greyness surrounding the beach café. ‘I expected more of you, girl. I thought we were meant to be different.’
‘We are different! Your Lady Gaga medley is still in – it’s the first thing we’re doing.’
‘Gaga is merely an interesting aperitif, an amuse bouche to the real event, if you will,’ he sniffed, twisting his espresso cup in its saucer.
‘Fair enough. So let’s make sure it’s the best it can be before we ask the choir to tackle the greats …’
Woody signalled his assent and Elsie congratulated herself for finding the correct phrase to pacify the ex-rocker’s concerns. It was good to think of something other than her encounter with Torin yesterday, the memory of which had plagued her mind all night. She looked down at the list before her and tapped the notebook with her pen.
‘Now, Dad says that the offer to perform at Brighton Carnival in July is pretty much confirmed, so that gives us three months, give or take a week, to create something worth watching. Do you think we can do it?’
Woody held up a hand, the silver rings clinking together as he did so. ‘Wait. Let me consult the Oracle.’ He raised his forefingers to his temples and closed his eyes.
Elsie made a quick check around her to see if the other customers in the Driftwood Café were watching this spectacle: thankfully, newly purchased pages of the Guardian and The Times were occupying most of them, and those without newspapers were either deep in conversation or transfixed by mobile device screens. Thanking heaven for small mercies, she returned her attention to Woody, who now appeared to be muttering and chuckling under his breath. After a few minutes of this, he opened his eyes and folded his hands slowly on the table in front of him.
‘I have duly consulted. The answer is yes.’
‘Right. Good, then.’ Elsie resisted the temptation to ask which celestial being had bestowed this information on her fellow choirmaster, reasoning that it was probably safer not to know.
He picked up his cup again and gazed over its rim towards the clouded horizon out at sea. ‘But we must work hard to make them the music warriors destiny has ordained.’
‘Sorry, do what?’
With unhidden pity at his companion’s obvious lack of insight, Woody stared at her. ‘They ain’t gonna get far if they don’t sing something, babe.’
Even considering his dubious connections to mystical guides, Woody could not have foreseen the wisdom this statement would have.
The following Wednesday, Elsie sat behind her keyboard and motioned for the small choir to stop talking and listen.
‘Right, so it’s time we got started. Woody has put together a great medley of three Lady Gaga songs, which I think we can have a lot of fun with. Daisy’s going to hand out some music sheets so hopefully everyone will be able to follow along. Does anyone know what they sing?’
Danny raised his hand. ‘Um, songs?’
‘Yes, we’ll definitely be singing songs,’ Elsie replied in her best encouraging tone, which bore more than a hint of Joyce Grenfell. ‘What I meant was, do you all know which parts you sing? Alto? Tenor? Soprano?’
‘I watch The Sopranos,’ Stan grinned, affecting the most appalling impression of an Italian-American accent, ‘cos you gotta love a bit of Tony and duh family, eh?’
‘Ooh, I love that show,’ Sasha agreed as she and Stan launched into an excited commentary on their favourite episodes.
Daisy smiled helpfully at Elsie as she handed out music. Elsie inhaled deeply and hoped that her smile wasn’t drooping as much as her spirits were. It was nearly nine p.m. already and so far all that had been accomplished was an elongated discussion of where they could find customised T-shirts for a choir uniform, and a small fracas over Sasha’s curt reaction to Woody’s suggestion that a medley of Hellfinger hits could be a better opening gambit for the choir:
‘Bit difficult to make a medley out of only one song, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll have you know our debut album sold over eighty thousand copies!’
‘Really? I wonder how many of those are now landfill?’
‘How dare you besmirch the name of England’s seminal Eighties rock gods!’
‘Seminal rock gods? Don’t make me laugh! Most of you are dead, in rehab or so drunk you can’t stop shaking. That’s what Wikipedia reckons. Only the chap who had the good sense to leave and become a record producer got anything out of your seminal band!’
‘I won’t have his name uttered in this space, you hear me, girl?’
The argument had only been halted by Cher’s timely intervention with freshly baked dark chocolate and espresso cookies from the kitchen served with scoops of white chocolate ice cream, but now a distinct atmosphere hung over Sasha and Woody who had assumed disgruntled positions at opposite sides of the room.
Elsie took a deep breath and smiled brightly at everyone. ‘OK, I’m going to play some notes and ask you to sing them. I should be able to work out from that which parts everyone should be taking.’
Initially, the collective sound made by the gathered singers was anything but encouraging. Danny came in way too high and continued in a strained falsetto for several minutes until Elsie sang the note in the correct key for his voice. Sasha’s instrument proved a powerful one, although she clearly thought singing a single note was beneath her, opting instead for a set of vocal acrobatics that even Beyoncé would have considered a little over-the-top. Aoife just looked terrified and Elsie had to stop everyone else singing just to hear the young girl’s whispered tone. Stan got a fit of the giggles and couldn’t sing for laughing. Irene managed a note at least, which shrank away to nothing when Elsie complimented her on it. Woody sat next to Elsie, eyes wide in sheer horror at the ear-gratingly awful sound, and even Daisy looked as if she was ready to throw in the towel.
Elsie clapped her hands and surveyed the mournful choir before her. ‘OK, take a break, everyone. Now I’m going to come round and just sing with each of you to give you the notes you need, and then we’ll try it again all together when everyone’s happy.’
Twenty minutes later, Elsie had arranged the group into something resembling choral order. Aoife and Sasha represented the sopranos, Irene was designated the alto part, while Danny was the sole tenor and Stan somewhere between baritone and bass. Elsie patiently sang each part in turn for the group (who mumbled in return) then raised her hand to quiet them again.
‘OK, that’s good. Not very loud, but I appreciate we’re all still finding our voices …’
Sasha tutted. ‘Some of us more than others.’
Danny glared at her. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘Irene doesn’t speak at all, let alone sing, and your girlfriend couldn’t make a noise if her ass was on fire.’
‘Sasha, there’s no need for that,’ Elsie jumped in. ‘I think you should apologise …’
‘I will not. I’ve been holding back my voice all night to let this lot sing and none of them have bothered even trying.’
Stan’s face reddened. ‘Easy on, now. It’s the first time we’ve all sung, remember.’
‘Well sing, then!’
Woody stormed over to Elsie. ‘I think we made a mistake with these people. None of them understand their destiny …’
‘What would you know about destiny, you failed rocker freak?’ Sasha retorted as the room became a mass of raised voices, angry words and wild gestures.
Elsie stood and was about to speak when a booming voice pierced through the din.
‘Ee-e-e-e-e-e-e-enough!’
The room fell silent and all heads turned to see an uncharacteristically ruffled Daisy breathing heavily by the counter.
‘I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Grown men and women acting like spoilt children – no, worse than that because I’m pretty sure even children would draw the line at such pettiness. Now you listen to me, my sister has put so much effort into making this choir something fun, something different – something you’ll want to be a part of. You’ve not even given her the courtesy of your attention to complete one song yet! If you knew what she has been through in the last few years …’ she swiped at a tear that dared to show itself at the corner of her left eye ‘… if you had any idea
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