When I Fall in Love

by Miranda Dickinson

  ‘I came here because I wanted to apologise. For last week. I had no idea of your loss and, believe me, if I had I would never have suggested that you …’

  ‘You couldn’t have known. I don’t generally introduce myself with that fact. I find it scuppers polite conversation.’

  ‘Elsie, I …’

  ‘Torin, I really don’t have time for this.’

  ‘All the same, I think you need to listen.’

  Elsie glared at him, wishing with every fibre of her being that he would disappear and let her return to the safety of her work.

  Taking her silence as an invitation, Torin began. ‘I don’t blame you for hating me. I completely took advantage of the situation and, to be honest, made a total prat of myself. Ordinarily I would just have ignored the whole thing and not sought to make amends but … You see, the thing is, I’ve felt so dreadful about it since our date, and’

  ‘It wasn’t a date.’ The words tumbled out of her mouth before her head could stop them. Frustrated with her outburst, she grabbed a blue sundae glass from the dishwasher tray on the counter and started to dry it on her apron.

  Torin stared at her. ‘Our meeting, then.’

  ‘Right.’ She put the sundae glass on the counter, grabbed a Tupperware box and began to pile peach and raspberry cupcakes onto a glass cake stand on the counter, the tongs in her hand shaking as she did so. Why wouldn’t he just go away? Couldn’t he see how awkward he was making her feel?

  ‘I wanted to say sorry. Whatever else I might have said, or implied in recent weeks, I never meant to make a point of your loss.’ He held up his hands. ‘That’s all I wanted to say.’ He nodded, picked up his newspaper and bag and walked to the door.

  ‘Wait.’

  Despite her intense vexation with the man, Elsie couldn’t let him leave without acknowledging how difficult his apology must have been to make. She didn’t have to like him, but she knew she wasn’t a mean person and couldn’t bear the possibility of anyone thinking of her as such – even Torin Stewart.

  Surprised, he turned back. ‘What?’

  ‘Thank you. It can’t have been easy for you to come here and I appreciate the gesture.’

  ‘Er – thanks.’

  ‘And, for the record, I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated anyone, actually. Not really. We’re never going to be friends – that much is evident – but I’m not the person you seem to think I am. I’m better than that.’

  ‘I don’t think …’

  Elsie reached under the counter and produced a large mug. ‘Look, the machine’s ready and I’m guessing you might not have had time for coffee this morning. Can I interest you in one?’

  For someone so used to keeping his personal feelings concealed in the course of his job, Torin was making a complete mess of doing it now, his shock as plain to see as the bespoke suit he wore. ‘Yes. Yes, that would be good.’ He placed his paper on the counter and sat at one of the red leather and chrome bar stools, dropping his rucksack to the floor, watching her all the time.

  She put the last peach and raspberry cupcake from the box onto a plate and slid it across the counter towards him, avoiding his stare. As she turned towards the coffee machine, Elsie took advantage of the hiss of steaming milk and buzz of percolating espresso to calm herself and assess the unexpected situation. Making coffee for Torin Stewart had definitely not been on her To-Do list for today, but it felt right to be doing it. He could have one coffee and a cupcake, and her act of mercy would be complete. Then he could walk away for good. Layering steamed milk and dark, glossy espresso in the mug, she caught a brief image of Lucas in her mind’s eye, sitting beside the coffee machine as he always did when waiting for her shift to finish, leaning back on one of the tall bar stools procured from the window bar and grinning at her.

  ‘Whatcha doin’, Elsie?’ he would ask, in his best Forrest Gump impression. ‘Tell me whatcha up to?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Elsie said out loud.

  ‘Sorry?’

  Snapping back to the present, she returned to the counter and placed the coffee before Torin. ‘Nothing. You realise your acceptance of this makes us quits for your helping me with that security guard?’

  He raised the mug to his lips. ‘Absolutely. Verbal agreement thus sealed. Wow, good coffee. I shall come here again.’ He stopped when he saw her expression. ‘Or, maybe I won’t.’

  Elsie poured a mug of steamed milk for herself and added a dash of almond syrup. ‘Glad we have an understanding.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand it. Nevertheless, while I’m here on what will therefore be my only visit to your good establishment – mind if I ask you a question?’

  Fair enough, Torin. It’ll be the last time we talk anyhow. ‘Be my guest.’

  ‘How long ago did …? I’m sorry, feel free to tell me to get lost.’

  Elsie took a deep breath, still not sure whether she wanted him to know these details about her life. ‘Lucas – my husband – died eighteen months ago after a twelve-month battle with pancreatic cancer. He was twenty-five.’

  Torin winced. ‘That’s no age at all, I’m sorry. So Maynard is your married name?’

  Elsie shook her head. ‘My maiden name. Lucas didn’t believe I should change it when we married.’

  ‘I see. How long had you been married?’

  ‘Four years. But we’d been together since we were seventeen.’

  ‘Wow. Such a tragic thing to lose a love like that.’

  Elsie pulled up a stool behind the counter and sat down. ‘I don’t see it that way. I was loved by the most amazing guy in the world for eight wonderful years. Most people don’t get to enjoy that kind of love their whole lives. I count myself as one of the lucky few.’

  Torin looked at her for a long time, the clicking of the cooling coffee machine the only sound in the café. Then, he dropped his gaze towards the froth on his coffee. ‘That’s … I haven’t heard someone talk about loss like that.’

  ‘I suppose a lot of people don’t feel that way. But I do.’

  He picked a wooden stirrer from the countertop display and pushed the froth around in his mug with it. ‘Right. Forgive me for asking, then, but if you think you already found the love of your life, how come you agreed to go on a double date with your boss last week?’

  Elsie took a sip of sweet, warm milk and gazed out towards the street beyond the large windows of the café, which was beginning to fill with morning commuters and shoppers. ‘It’s time to start again,’ she replied, the thought of it sending a pulse of trepidation through her core. ‘Besides, Cher wanted to meet Jake so much that I could hardly refuse.’

  His eyes met hers. ‘And if you’d known it was me you’d be meeting?’

  Elsie smiled. ‘Then I’d have refused, naturally.’

  A moment of understanding passed between them. Then, as soon as it had arrived, it vanished as Torin drained his mug in one long gulp and stepped down from the stool.

  ‘Well, I have clients to see, the law to upkeep, et cetera.’ He swung his rucksack over his shoulder and nodded at Elsie. ‘Thank you for my one-and-only excellent coffee in Sundae & Cher.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘I’d like to say I’ll see you later but …’ he raised his hand in surrender ‘… that’s unlikely.’

  ‘It is.’

  The brass bell rang out as he stood in the open doorway, a broad smile illuminating his features. ‘Thank you.’

  Elsie looked down at the folded newspaper still on the counter where he had dropped it. ‘Don’t forget your paper.’

  He waved his hand. ‘Keep it. Consider it a peace offering.’ And with that, he was gone, the door closing fast behind him.

  Staring at the door, Elsie realised she felt relieved. Lucas would have been proud of her. Turning her mind back to her morning chores, she picked up a handful of serviettes and began to set the tables.

  The day passed uneventfully, mercifully so given its unexpected and unsettling start, the details
of which Elsie continued to mull over, as morning became lunch and afternoon. She chose not to tell Cher or her sisters about her conversation with Torin, deciding it was best they didn’t know. For now, she was satisfied that they had parted as never-to-be-friends.

  Standing in her bedroom at seven p.m., she turned her attention to tonight’s date. She had chosen a plain blue flared dress with matching heels and a beautiful scarf Cher had brought her from one of her many trips to Paris, covered in tiny pale pink rosebuds on a sky-blue background. Consulting the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door, she was pleased with the combination. She didn’t look like she was trying too hard, but felt feminine enough to remind herself that she was a woman out on a date – a fact she figured would both boost her confidence and help her to relax enough to enjoy the evening.

  Just before seven-thirty, her mobile lit up with a text from Daisy:

  Have a fantastic time tonight, lovely!

  Let me know how it goes J D xx

  The doorbell rang at exactly seven-thirty-one and Elsie couldn’t help grinning at the thought of Olly waiting one minute longer to ensure he didn’t appear too keen. He was dressed in a white shirt with khaki trousers and wore a simple leather band around one wrist. When he stepped across the threshold into her home he brought a small bunch of orange and yellow ranunculus blooms from behind his back to present to her.

  ‘I know flowers are a bit of a lame gesture, but I thought you might like them.’

  ‘They’re lovely. Thank you.’

  He checked his watch. ‘Table’s booked for seven-forty-five, so we should probably get going, if that’s all right with you?’

  They made their way down the small path from Elsie’s front door towards Olly’s Mazda, which was parked on the street. He held open the passenger door for her and half-sprinted round to the driver’s side. To her relief, Elsie found herself enjoying this chivalry as she settled into the cream leather seats. It was charming and thoughtful – unlike her first date with Lucas, which had begun with stilted awkwardness, fraught with teenage nerves. She remembered the way he had shaken her hand stiffly, as though she was interviewing for a job rather than stepping out on a date with him, and it had taken him a full thirty minutes to make any kind of eye contact. But this evening her suitor was relaxed and chatty, putting her delightfully at ease.

  Olly drove them along the coast road until they pulled in at a small restaurant overlooking a secluded bay. The evening light was fading as a waitress took them to their table by a set of French doors overlooking the jetty outside.

  ‘I hope this is OK,’ he said, consulting the menu. ‘A friend of a friend owns this place and the seafood here is so fresh it’s practically still swimming. You do like seafood, don’t you?’

  Elsie smiled. ‘Love it.’

  Olly blew out a whistle. ‘That’s a relief! By the way, you’re looking lovely tonight …’ He pulled a face and slapped his hand against his forehead. ‘I’m sorry, that was the worst line ever.’

  Elsie reached across and placed her hand over his. ‘Olly, stop apologising. This is a great place and I’m looking forward to spending time with you. OK?’

  He hooked his thumb over hers to keep her hand on his. ‘Thank you. I’ll be honest, your dad told me at lunchtime that this was your first proper date since … and I wanted to make sure it was perfect for you.’ He let go of her hand. ‘I promise I’ll relax now. Let’s order, shall we?’

  From that point on, their conversation flowed freely, Elsie enjoying the opportunity to find out more about the good-looking man opposite her. She discovered that he, like her, was the youngest of three children, the son of a veterinarian father and legal secretary mother. He had fallen in love with kitesurfing while on a year out in Australia before university and had recently purchased an aged Volkswagen camper van, which he hoped to restore and take on trips to Cornwall and North Devon. He loved reading spy thrillers, was a big fan of films adapted from John Grisham novels, but disliked action films with no plot. His dream was to set up his own design studio and he hoped to one day run a marathon.

  In return, Olly asked about the choir, Elsie’s job and Lucas – and, unlike her conversation with Torin that morning, Elsie encountered no reservations about sharing her past with him. In fact, everything about Oliver Hogarth made Elsie feel at home. When he took her hand during dessert, she didn’t object, the closeness of their interlacing fingers completely welcome and not alien as she had anticipated it might be; and later outside, when he draped his jacket across her shoulders, she found herself leaning against his warm body as they walked together along the shingle beach before returning to his car.

  A comfortable silence settled between them on the journey back, the glow of a good evening filling Elsie with a surprising sense of peace. When they reached her front door, Elsie looked up into Olly’s eyes that were sparkling in the light of the porch lamp, and felt her heartbeat quicken.

  ‘So, how did I do?’ he asked, the joke of his earlier eagerness now firmly established between them.

  ‘Not bad,’ she grinned back. ‘But I think perhaps I should let you try again, just to see if you improve.’

  He raised an eyebrow and moved closer. ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Mm-hmm.’

  ‘You think I have potential?’

  ‘Yes, I think maybe you do.’

  Smiling, he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her to him, the softness of his lips on hers as soothing as a blanket on a winter’s night. It was quite unlike the insistence with which Lucas had kissed her – the intensity and hunger of his kisses never waning from their first date to their last goodbye. Olly’s kiss was gentle and new, respectful of the occasion but entirely heartfelt. Slowly, Elsie returned it, the unhurried luxury of the kiss drawing her in as their embrace deepened. When it ended, they shared a nervous giggle, suddenly tentative again.

  ‘I’ll call you, soon?’ he asked, stroking her face gently.

  ‘Yes. Thank you for a lovely night, Olly.’

  He paused to look at her, his face flushed and his eyes alive. ‘Thank you. Goodnight.’

  Elsie was still smiling as she turned the key in the front door lock and walked slowly into her home. As first dates go, she thought to herself, it had been a very good night indeed.

  ‘I don’t see why she should be singing soprano if she isn’t planning to sing,’ Sasha Mitchell growled, sending an accusatory glance at Aoife, who blushed fiercely and stared at the floor.

  Elsie surveyed the assembled choir members in the café and witnessed the same frustration on their faces that was currently gnarling at her insides. By now she had imagined her fledgling choir would be well on the way to working together as a closely-knit team – their lack of experience compensated for by the rise in confidence as they discovered the joy of singing together. So much for that theory.

  ‘Sasha, forget Aoife for a minute, will you? All I want you to do is to sing the line so that she can hear it. Beginning at the top of the chorus of “Bad Romance”, here we go …’

  Sasha Mitchell had to be one of the most frustrating women ever to grace the streets of Brighton, Elsie grumbled to herself as she started to play. From the sheer speed of Sasha’s sarcastic retorts it was obvious that her mind was quick, but all too often she chose to hide her intelligence behind the loud, obnoxious façade of a woman more concerned with peroxide blonde hair extensions, fake tan and skirts so short that even the bravest teenager would think twice about wearing them in public. Her heels were so high and pointed that they could quite conceivably be handed in to the police during a dangerous weapon amnesty and leopard-print was a perennial feature of any outfit she (almost) wore. She spoke her mind without hesitation, rarely smiled (unless she was ruthlessly massacring someone else’s character) and appeared to relish every opportunity to be outspoken and controversial.

  But – she had a voice, well concealed as it was behind the vitriol, that hinted at skill beyond its current use as a weapon of mass dest
ruction. And it was this single fact – this tantalising glimpse of something more – that right now was the only thing preventing Elsie from personally ejecting the objectionable creature from Sundae & Cher.

  Sasha tutted and began to sing quietly, her voice strained by the effort of holding it back.

  ‘Louder, Sasha!’ Elsie urged, turning up the volume on the keyboard in a vain attempt to coax the singer into a competition.

  Stubbornly, Sasha retained her current volume, rolling her eyes heavenwards as if the very act of singing was beneath her.

  Elsie was about to give up when a loud, falsetto voice began to sing the soprano line. She looked up from her music to see Woody springing to the centre of the floor, his legs spreading wide into a rock-star stance as he threw back his head and gave a full-on rendition that would have had Gaga herself rising to her platform heels with applause. When the chorus ended, Stan, Danny and Aoife clapped and whistled, the spectacle of the ageing rocker strutting his stuff instantly uniting them. Even Irene, knitting quietly by the counter, lowered her needles to her lap and joined in the ovation with polite applause. Sasha glowered as Woody took a bow.

  ‘Why, thank you, fellow musical adventurers,’ he said, tipping his Stetson. ‘Now that’s how you do a soprano line, girl.’

  ‘Your trousers must be too tight, mate,’ Sasha shot back. ‘I think your balls need air.’

  ‘Woody has a point, Sasha,’ Elsie interjected.

  ‘There was a point to that?’

  ‘Yes, actually. He was demonstrating how to perform a song.’

  Sasha pulled a face. ‘I know how to perform.’

  ‘Do you? Do you really?’ Elsie stepped away from her keyboard, irritation at Sasha’s tone intensifying with every word. ‘Because after hearing your lacklustre attempt I’m starting to wonder if you’re able to sing at all, or if you’re just bluffing in a pathetic attempt to get attention.’

  The café fell silent – even Woody was taken aback by the sudden change in Elsie’s attitude. Sasha pointed at the keyboard. ‘Play.’