Читать книгу When I Fall In Love - Miranda Dickinson - Страница 11

‘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’t they?’

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.