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 bespe
ctacled 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, McCartn
ey, 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?’
When I Fall in Love Page 3
