When I Fall in Love

by Miranda Dickinson

  ‘Did you drive here?’

  ‘No, I had a lift. Olly’s just parking the car.’

  ‘Olly’s here? How come you didn’t come in your car?’

  ‘Because I was at his office when you called me and he insisted.’ Jim noticed Torin and extended his hand. ‘Hello, I’m Elsie’s father. Jim.’

  Torin stood and shook Jim’s hand. ‘Torin Stewart.’

  Jim’s eyebrows made a bid for the white ceiling tiles. ‘Ah, the famous Torin! Well, it’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.’

  Elsie jumped in. ‘Dad – Torin was the one who brought us here.’

  ‘Oh, forgive me. Thank you so much for helping my girls. I dread to think what could have happened if …’

  ‘No problem. I saw Elsie’s tyre blow from the opposite carriageway. Her driving was impeccable,’ Torin replied.

  ‘That’s my little girl.’ Jim hugged Elsie again. ‘Is Guinevere well?’

  ‘All good and the baby’s fine, too. Joe’s in with her.’

  ‘Good, good.’ Jim rubbed his hands together. ‘All a bit weird, this. I can hardly believe Guin’s going to be a mum.’

  ‘And you’re going to be a grandpa,’ Elsie winked as her father visibly cringed.

  ‘I suppose I should call your mother?’

  The mention of her mother caused the muscles in Elsie’s back to tense. ‘She won’t come, Dad, you know she won’t.’ It had been over a year since she had last heard from her mother: a painfully stilted phone conversation, which mostly revolved around recriminations at the entertainment industry that had overlooked her for years. No questions about Elsie and her sisters, no flicker of any maternal instinct. This came as no surprise to Elsie, having long abandoned any hope of building a meaningful relationship with her mother.

  Not that Jim could see it, of course. Despite everything that had occurred between them, he retained a selfless sense of decency towards his former wife and Elsie suspected he still carried a flame for the woman who abandoned him and his family so many years ago.

  ‘All the same, she should know. I’ll call her after the baby’s born. Do you think they’d mind if I went in to see Guinie?’

  Elsie smiled. ‘I’m sure they’d be happy if you did.’

  ‘Excellent.’ He shook hands with Torin once more. ‘Thank you again, for all your help. I hope you know how much my family appreciate it.’

  ‘My pleasure, sir.’ Torin had been watching the conversation with passive interest and when Jim had gone he turned to Elsie. ‘I take it you’re not your mother’s biggest fan?’

  It was an incredibly personal question to ask, but Elsie had no qualms about answering. ‘Not really. She left us when I was two and hasn’t had an awful lot to do with us since. We speak occasionally on the phone – at Christmas mainly – but the last time I physically saw her was nearly two years ago, at Lucas’ funeral.’

  ‘Wow. That must be difficult, not having a mum around?’

  ‘I don’t miss it, really. I’ve never known her in a maternal capacity. But Dad is fantastic and in many ways he’s been both parents to us.’

  Torin sipped his coffee. ‘So, how come you aren’t in with your sister?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Well, you were out here when I arrived and you’ve just let your father go in without you.’

  Confused by his insinuation, Elsie stared at him. ‘She’s with her husband and Dad won’t be happy until he’s seen her. I would imagine the midwives don’t want umpteen family members in the delivery room. It’s enough for me to know she’s here and being cared for.’

  He shook his head. ‘Forgive me, but I don’t think that’s the reason.’

  What did he think gave him the right to question her motives? ‘Well, forgive me, but I don’t think that’s any of your business.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Personally, I think you’re too scared to go in there.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I think this place unnerves you.’

  Not again. Disgusted, Elsie stood. ‘I am not going to listen to this.’

  His voice was velvet-soft but edged with a diamond sharpness. ‘I don’t want to offend you, Elsie. But I don’t imagine that being here is easy for you. I saw your expression when we arrived – for a moment I thought you weren’t going to go inside, you looked so fearful.’

  ‘How dare you …’

  ‘Elsie!’ The lift doors closed as Olly emerged. ‘Are you OK?’

  Heart racing from her exchange with Torin, Elsie hurried into Olly’s embrace, the sensation of his protective arms providing a safe place for her whirring mind. ‘I’m so glad to see you.’

  Surprised, Olly laughed, the rush of his warm breath rustling Elsie’s hair as she hugged him. ‘Now that’s what I call a welcome.’ He looked over to Torin. ‘Hey, thank you so much for rescuing the girls. I’m glad you were there when they needed help.’

  Torin stood and shook Olly’s hand as Elsie stepped back. ‘It was nothing. Right place, right time.’ His eyes met Elsie’s. ‘Give my regards to your sister.’ Digging in his pocket, he produced a business card and held it out to her. ‘I don’t suppose you’d text me when the baby arrives? I’d like to know the details of my mystery passenger.’

  She hesitated for a second. How could he go from challenging her motives to asking her to contact him? But as she stared back Elsie was aware of his earnest expression – as though the card were an olive branch, the gesture an apology. She accepted it, feeling the brief brush of his fingers as he released the card. ‘I’ll do that.’

  ‘Hope all goes well.’ He gave a strange half-smile and walked to the lift.

  Olly grinned at her. ‘I can’t stay long, I’m afraid, but I think we’d better check that your dad isn’t pacing the floor before I go. He was a bag of nerves in the car on the way over.’

  Agreeing, Elsie walked with him to the maternity unit entrance. Olly went through first and she followed, but as she reached the doors she looked back down the corridor towards the lift. As its steel doors opened, Torin cast a glance back at her, the same earnest expression on his face. Nodding slowly, he stepped into the lift and was gone.

  In the seven hours that followed – amid countless coffees, long meandering conversations and false alarms – Elsie thought about her conversation with Torin. How had he recognised the battle in her, when even she had been struggling to define her own emotions?

  There had been something in Torin’s admittedly ham-fisted attempt at broaching the subject – something that unnerved her more than the events unfolding around her. That tone of voice, that unrepentant insight …

  ‘You’re in denial.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  ‘Lucas, please drop this. I don’t want to fight today.’

  ‘You need to hear it, Els. We have to talk about what the end’s going to be like. You have to be ready for it.’

  ‘I know I do, but you only received the diagnosis last week. Can we not just be us for a while longer before this has to take over everything?’

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry, baby.’ He had taken her into his arms and held her, the strength of it reassuring. But Elsie had hated that a finite sentence had now been pronounced over even this – that each embrace from that moment on would be one closer to the day when they would cease to be available to her …

  It was almost midnight when Joe rushed out to Jim, Daisy and Elsie, wearing hospital scrubs and looking as if he’d gone a week without sleep.

  ‘The baby’s heart rate has slowed. They’re worried about its condition, so they’re taking Guin in for an emergency Caesarean. I’ve got to go back in there. Pray they get through this, OK?’

  An hour and forty-five minutes passed, the Maynard family on tenterhooks every time the double doors to the theatre opened. Elsie willed the fear in her heart to subside, trying her best to hold back the ghosts of the past as the nursing staff raced pa
st them. Daisy held her hand, as if reading her mind, and Jim paced backwards and forwards, pausing to check his watch.

  Finally, the smiling nurse approached. ‘The surgery went well, and mother and baby are fine. You can go in now.’

  They crammed into the delivery room, where Guin was sitting up in bed, drained and bruised, cradling a tiny bundle of blankets.

  ‘It’s a girl,’ she beamed. ‘Meet Ottie Rose.’

  Hi Torin. Ottie Rose Thomas, born at 1.43am, 6lbs 7oz. Mum, Dad and baby all well. Thank you for helping us. Elsie J

  Elsie pressed ‘Send’ and closed her aching eyes. It was nearly light, the birds already filling the neighbourhood with their song, and after a long night at the hospital followed by a taxi ride with Jim to change the tyre on her abandoned car, she was exhausted. In little over an hour and a half, she would have to be up again. Snuggling down into the blissful comfort of her duvet, she was slipping into sleep when her mobile buzzed. Reaching blindly to locate it on her bedside table, she squinted at the screen:

  Good news, thanks for letting me know. I’m sorry for pressuring you. Don’t hate me? Torin.

  Elsie blinked at the message. The apology was certainly unexpected, but why the last sentence? Since when did he care whether she hated him or not? And was she meant to respond to this message? Elsie moaned and rolled over. It was too late and she was far too tired to deal with this now. Torin would have to wait.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Take a bow …

  Morning came far too early and Elsie wearily made her way to work. As usual, she was the first person there but the lack of company proved a relief, given the tiredness weighing heavily in her body. What little sleep she had managed to snatch had been plagued by memories of the day and night before, flitting across her subconscious like blurred, frantic dancers.

  At nine-thirty, Cher arrived. In between the usual bartering with Dennis over the number of scoops he could have with his breakfast, a long conversation with Gennaro from the body-piercing and tattoo shop across the street about a possible ice cream discount he could offer his recently punctured customers (‘Imagine the comfort of your excellent spiced apple cake with a hearty scoop of Toffee Crunch to soothe the pain of their endeavours, ladies!’) and the noisy arrival of several regulars from the Vegetarian Shoe Shop for their take-out Almond Milk and Raspberry ice cream, crêpes and chai tea lattes, Cher plied Elsie with countless cups of dark, smoky espresso and sticky, sweet cinnamon and lemon pastries while Elsie recounted the events of the past twenty-four hours.

  ‘How lucky that Torin was nearby when the tyre went,’ Cher said, eyes alive with the information Elsie had just presented to her. ‘I mean, imagine what could have happened if he hadn’t been there.’

  ‘I was about to call an ambulance,’ Elsie replied, keen to diminish Torin’s hero status. ‘I’m sure we would have been fine.’

  ‘And Olly showed up, too? Blimey, I bet you’ve never felt in so much demand!’

  ‘Hmm.’ When faced with the sheer force of Cher’s inquiry, Elsie had long ago learned it was best to remain defiantly non-committal. ‘But you should see Ottie Rose. I know I’m a biased aunt, but she’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.’ She reached under the counter for her handbag and flicked through the photos of her new niece on her phone, feeling the rush of love for Ottie Rose all over again.

  ‘Look at that little mop of red curls already!’ Cher gushed. ‘No prizes for guessing where she got those from.’

  Elsie smiled. ‘Yes, Joe was very happy to see a redhead for the family. Guin’s convinced it’ll turn blonde like hers did, but I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Was Torin there when Ottie was born?’

  ‘No, he was long gone by then. I did text him, though – you know, to thank him for everything.’

  Cher’s eyes narrowed. ‘So you have his number?’ The question was more heavily loaded than a ten-tonne cannon.

  ‘Yes, I have his number.’ She looked over to the door, where a new customer was shaking the rain from his coat. ‘And you have a customer.’

  ‘Elsie Maynard, you are no fun,’ Cher growled, as Elsie hopped down from the stool to head into the kitchen.

  Later that afternoon, Woody arrived. He was dressed in a long black leather coat that made him look like a cross between Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Caribbean and Neo from The Matrix, and his hair hung lankly from his rain-soaked red skull-print bandana.

  ‘Are you a sight for my weary eyes,’ he drawled when Cher met him at the counter. ‘An angel in turquoise satin and lace. Tell me what I can say to tempt you away from this place?’

  ‘You can’t, you naughty man,’ Cher giggled and leaned a little forward to ensure Woody received a full view of the charms of her work uniform. ‘Now what can I get you?’

  Woody gave her a lascivious wink. ‘Arrested?’

  ‘Are you harassing my boss again, Woody?’ Elsie grinned, drying the café’s oversized coffee cups with a tea towel.

  ‘Nah. She won’t let me, angel. Shame, though.’

  ‘Take a seat and I’ll bring you a drink over,’ Elsie said. ‘Cher, is it OK if I take my lunch break?’

  ‘Feel free, sweetie.’

  Elsie made two cups of peppermint tea, helped herself to a bowl of butternut squash soup (Cher’s latest menu innovation) and took a large slice of dark chocolate and chilli cheesecake from underneath the display dome on the counter. She joined Woody at his table and passed the cheesecake to him.

  ‘There you go, your reward for our recent choral triumph.’

  ‘That, angel, is why the universe brought you to me.’ Woody’s face lit up and he began to enthusiastically demolish the sweet treat. ‘Is this made by the fair lady Cher’s delicate hands?’

  ‘It is indeed. So, to what do we owe the honour of your company this afternoon?’

  Woody dropped his fork on his empty plate and wiped his stubble-framed mouth with a paper napkin. ‘Phase Two.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of our plan to rock it to this town. See, everything we did before was leading up to the Carnival. They had a purpose. Now they need a new challenge – a righteous cause, if you will – to unite them like the Carnival did.’

  Elsie knew he was right, but with no other offers of performance opportunities currently available she didn’t know what to suggest. ‘I suppose we could ask around to see if there are any amateur concerts we could perform at?’

  ‘Concerts?’ Woody scoffed. ‘The Sundaes don’t do “concerts”. We deal in happenings, dude.’

  ‘Well, perhaps we’d better ask everyone at rehearsal to get their thinking caps on. I’m sure between us we can come up with something.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘I’m sorry, mate. I’ll be more on the ball then.’

  ‘Tough night, angel?’

  ‘My sister had her first child in the early hours, so it was a bit of an epic day.’

  Woody blew out a whistle. ‘Heavy stuff. I wouldn’t have guessed she was with child at the Carnival.’

  ‘Not Daisy, you muppet. My middle sister, Guin. You’d like her. She’s very – um – alternative.’

  ‘Like your dad? That guy is a dude, man!’

  Elsie suspected that a major reason for Woody’s summation of her father was Jim’s unfettered admiration for Hellfinger. When they had met at the Carnival, Jim had become a bright-eyed fan, jabbering on for a full thirty minutes about Hellfinger’s one and only album and the effect it had on him. Even last night, while Jim, Elsie and Daisy were waiting for news of Guin and the baby, Jim had regaled them with the finer details of the conversation with his rock hero.

  ‘That man is an overlooked lyrical legend,’ he had insisted. ‘I mean it. So many so-called experts of the day denounced “Hard Rockin’ Summer” as a candyfloss-rock ditty, but they failed to see the deeper significance behind the lyrics. Anyone truly worthy of their salt could tell you what that song really means. The industry press didn’t know what they were talking about.’

&nb
sp; It amused Elsie no end to think of her father bopping around his house to Woody’s cheesy rock tunes when nobody was looking. ‘We should ask Dad if there are any council-run events coming up where we could sing.’

  ‘It’s a start, I guess,’ said Woody. ‘But hear this, angel, we’re meant for bigger things. I sense destiny in the air!’

  ‘It won’t work.’

  ‘Open your mind, girl!’

  Sasha fixed Woody with a stare that could shrivel steel. ‘My mind is always open, thank you very much. We should be singing cool stuff, not random old songs shoved together.’

  ‘The ABBA/Deep Purple medley went down a storm at the Carnival,’ Graeme suggested, his round cheeks flushing.

  ‘That’s true. People loved it,’ Danny agreed.

  ‘It was a fluke. A one-off,’ Sasha pouted.

  ‘Could be the first of many,’ Daisy said.

  Sasha pointed at Woody. ‘Or a one-hit wonder.’

  Woody folded his arms. ‘I don’t respond to the term “one-hit-wonder”. I find it offensive. Hellfinger wrote the definitive rock anthem – so where was there to go from that? We were like the Sistine Chapel, man: nobody ever said to Michelangelo, “We’ll only call you a success when you do twelve more like it” …’

  Elsie took a breath and stepped into the fray. ‘Look. Why don’t we choose some chart stuff and also work on some of Woody’s ideas? We’ve always said The Sundaes should be about including everyone.’

  Sasha gave a loud tut. ‘All right.’

  At last, some progress! So far this evening the choir rehearsal had been a world away from the happy, post-performance celebration they had enjoyed the week before. A strange atmosphere filled Sundae & Cher that Elsie couldn’t quite define: not boredom, or ill feeling, but an odd sense of restlessness, as if their enthusiasm had stalled. Perhaps it was because not all the choir members were there: Aoife was working late at college, Juliet, Sheila and Stan were taking part in a fundraising event for a local under-11s football team, Kathy was away on holiday and Irene hadn’t come this week.

  The rehearsal came to a quiet end at nine p.m. and, after locking up the café, Elsie and Daisy began to walk home.