When I Fall in Love

by Miranda Dickinson

‘Excuse me, are these finished with?’ a barman asked, bringing Elsie’s attention back to the pub.

  She looked down at the empty chip basket and collection of plastic glasses on the table. ‘Yes, thanks.’

  He put down the large round tray he was carrying to load it with the glasses, but as he lifted it away the tray caught the clasp on Torin’s organiser, sending it flying off the edge to burst open on the concrete floor beneath the table.

  ‘Oh, man, I’m so sorry,’ the barman stuttered, shoving the tray onto the table and bending down to scoop up the organiser’s contents that had spilled out. Still apologising, he handed it all back to Elsie before hurrying away.

  Smiling at the amount of detritus Torin had managed to pack into his organiser, Elsie put the pile of paper scraps on the table and began to place them carefully back into the black folder. She’d never pictured him as a hoarder before, but the evidence on the table now proved otherwise. He had kept a matchbook from La Fantasmagorie and a small paper doily from the saucer of his coffee cup in the café with the bright yellow walls near the police station in Montparnasse. There was a full sugar packet from BiblioCaff and a Sundae & Cher business card … Elsie froze as a thought began to form in her mind.

  No – that’s not possible. Is it?

  Leafing through the rest of the papers she discovered a receipt from the café Torin had taken her to on the day Irene’s will was read, a flyer for The Sundaes’ concert at The Feathers, a pay-and-display car park ticket from the Royal Sussex County Hospital and a scrap of notepaper from an order pad of the Scandinavian interiors store in Croydon. And last of all, folded up in a handwritten receipt from a high street chemist in Brighton, was the twenty-pound note Elsie had shoved into his hand on the very first day they met.

  A chair scraped along the concrete floor and Elsie raised her head to see Torin standing there, drinks in hand, a look of pure horror on his face.

  ‘What’s all this?’ she asked slowly.

  He didn’t move, his eyes frantically scanning the damning evidence lying across the metal table. ‘It’s not what you think,’ he said, quickly.

  ‘I don’t know what to think,’ she replied, looking at him, then back at the table.

  ‘How did you – why did you open it?’

  ‘I didn’t. A barman knocked it off the table and everything fell out.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘OK, I think you should put the drinks down and talk to me.’

  He did as he was told, sitting down slowly while keeping his eyes on the table. Elsie had never seen him like this – suddenly so unsure of himself, stripped of his usual arsenal of comebacks by the truth of his motives now lying bare before her.

  ‘Everything here is to do with me,’ she said, slowly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So every time we met you kept a souvenir?’

  ‘It’s not what you think.’

  ‘Answer me.’

  He closed his eyes. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘I think it does. Why keep this stuff? You always seemed so intent on having the upper hand, and being the one in control. I thought you were amused by me. I thought you enjoyed pointing out my failings.’

  ‘It was never like that. And certainly not recently.’

  Elsie’s mind was whirring as she processed it all. And then, quite without warning, she began to laugh. Torin stared at her in disbelief as she threw her head back and let out great, breathless guffaws that caused the students on the beach to abandon their songs and air-guitaring to stare at her, too. Tears began to stream from her eyes as the absurdity of the situation dawned upon her – that all the time she was assuming Torin was out to make her life difficult, he was actually carefully preserving the memory of their every meeting.

  Thoroughly embarrassed and irritated by her response, Torin went on the defensive. ‘I might have known this would be your reaction. You’re loving this, aren’t you? I can tell. Mocking the man who you’ve waited the best part of a year to get the upper hand on. Well, thanks for showing me your true colours, Elsie Maynard. I’m glad how I feel is such a source of amusement to you.’ He pushed back his chair and stormed off over the beach.

  Elsie stopped laughing and stared at the items from his abandoned organiser on the table. For a moment, she didn’t move as a truth began to dawn.

  No – surely not …

  Scooping the souvenirs back into the organiser and snapping the clasp shut, she flung it into her bag and ran out onto the shingle of the beach. The red-gold sun was halfway into the sea now, its rays painting a line of ripples towards the shore as the sky flamed around it. To her left, the multi-coloured strings of lights on Brighton Pier were reflected in the dark waters beneath the vintage structure.

  Torin was striding ahead down the shingle ridge of the beach, his figure cast into silhouette against the sunset sky. Elsie raced towards him, her feet sending showers of pebbles along the beach as she ran. Skidding down the steep pebble ridge, Torin reached the shoreline and stopped abruptly, running his hand through his dark hair and bowing his head. Elsie slowed as she neared him, stopping a few feet away.

  ‘You forgot this,’ she called, taking the organiser from her bag and holding it out to him.

  ‘Keep it,’ he called back, refusing to turn round. ‘I don’t need it now.’

  Elsie took a breath and walked to his side. ‘That’s not good enough, I’m afraid,’ she said, raising her voice over the noise of the waves breaking by their feet. ‘I still haven’t had an explanation.’

  He let out a long groan and turned to face her. ‘It’s hardly rocket science, is it? I’m sure you can work it out.’

  ‘You like me,’ Elsie made no attempt to hide her smile.

  ‘Would you just leave me alone?’

  ‘But you don’t just like me. You really like me …’

  ‘Great. Now we’ve established that fact you can go home happy and laugh at me all you want.’

  ‘In fact, you like me so much you’ve been carrying round mementoes of me. In your retro organiser …’

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and glared at her. ‘Fine. Mock me.’

  Her smile faded. ‘And all this time, when I thought you were laughing at me, when I dreaded seeing you because I knew we would end up fighting, you wanted to see me …’

  ‘OK, for the love of all things sacred, enough! Of course I like you! I fell for you the moment I saw you standing in the rain with that security guard and those ridiculous items in your hand. And I couldn’t stop thinking about you after you walked away. I didn’t engineer every meeting, but I found myself hoping for another opportunity to see you again. And it happened, time after time. But it was always so much of a battleground when we met and I didn’t know how to deal with it …’

  ‘Torin …’

  ‘How could you be so easy with everybody else, yet never more than three sentences away from a fight with me? It’s pretty clear what you think of me and now I have my answer I can walk out of your life for good …’

  ‘Torin.’

  ‘What?’

  Elsie shook her head. ‘Shush.’

  ‘What is that supposed to m’ He stopped, mid-sentence, as Elsie moved forward and kissed him.

  It was a moment when reason was discarded and her heart took control; when the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place; when the world around them stood still. Then, his arms were wrapping round her, pulling her body tight against his as he returned her kiss. And Elsie felt her heart softening as the truth of Torin’s love for her began to open doors she had never noticed before …

  The last message in the silk-covered box read:

  I love you because, after all the crazy things I’ve asked you to do for me, after all the pain and heartbreak you’ve endured, and after bravely stepping out into your new life without me, you’re every bit the wonderful, courageous, perfect woman that I spent my whole summer holiday trying to blag a date with.


  I will always love you. Be happy, gorgeous.

  Lucas xxx

  NOT THE END,

  BUT A BEGINNING …

  Moving On – an epilogue

  Oliver Hogarth sat in his Brighton kitchen and stared longingly out at the garden, where a strong wind was rustling through the bushes and shrubs.

  It was the kind of day to find a plausible excuse and head out to the wild shoreline, not wait at home for a kitchen designer who was – he checked his watch – fifteen minutes late already. Gus and the guys would be down at Shoreham beach now, rigging up their kites and preparing to ride the bracing wind currents. Olly mentally kicked himself for the hundredth time that morning. Why hadn’t he just rescheduled this visit? How important was a new kitchen anyway?

  But then he thought of the vision for a purpose-built kitchen that he had dreamed about for months now, ever since Freebird Design won the large advertising contract and a lovely bonus arrived in his bank account. Black granite work surfaces, ultra-cool Rangemaster ceramic range cooker, bespoke cupboards designed to his specification … the list was endless. Olly loved nothing better after a day at work or on the beach than to come home and cook, indulging his passion for cuisine and discovering new culinary methods and techniques. His colleagues often laughed at him, calling him the ‘Kitesurfing Gourmet’, but Olly didn’t mind. Cooking was his private passion, something that never grew old for him, and this kitchen would be the place where the magic happened.

  Magic … He frowned as a picture of her face flashed across his mind. Elsie Maynard. Four months on from the end of their – whatever it was – and still the memory of her lingered on. Of course, she had been right: if they had been destined for each other then she would have been certain from the beginning. And while he had clung stubbornly to the hope that she might change her mind while they were semi-dating, deep down he knew that her reluctance to commit to a relationship with him was a warning sign.

  He had avoided her for a month, preferring to stay away while she embarked upon her new relationship and, frankly, dreading meeting her in Brighton with that man. But he found he increasingly missed her friendship and so, in a spontaneous act one Friday morning, he had taken a detour on his way to work and walked into the retro ice cream cafe in Gardner Street once more.

  She was serving a middle-aged, balding customer who appeared to be trying not to order ice cream with his breakfast croissant when Olly arrived, and he waited for a few nervous minutes while her attention was occupied. But as the customer returned to his table, she looked up and saw him. Her face was a picture when her eyes met his – so much so that it made him laugh, thus breaking the ice immediately.

  ‘Olly …’

  ‘Hey you. Don’t look so surprised – I told you that you hadn’t seen the last of me.’

  She had hurried out from behind the glass counter to hug him – and the hug felt good. ‘How have you been? I wanted to contact you but I honestly didn’t know what to say.’

  ‘I know. Me too.’ He gave a nervous laugh. ‘How rubbish are we, eh?’

  Her smile was full of relief. ‘Completely useless.’

  They had chatted for almost an hour, Sundae & Cher emptying as the ice-cream-and-croissant customer finished his odd breakfast and hurried out, and for the first time in five weeks Olly had felt calm inside. Following that, they had met a couple of times for coffee in BiblioCaff, the second-hand bookstore café Olly loved so much. Of course, this changed nothing: she was still with Torin and Olly was still just a friend. It hurt, undeniably. But he sensed that their friendship would always remain, in some shape or form. And who was to say that Elsie and her lawyer would go the distance anyway?

  He checked his watch again. This was getting ridiculous. His gaze fell on his wetsuit, leaning stiffly against the radiator in his kitchen and made a decision. The kitchen designer would have to reschedule. Being twenty-five minutes late was more than enough reason for him to cancel. The pull of the beach was just too strong …

  The kitchen design company’s phoneline was busy when he called (no surprise there, given the unreliability of their sales team), so Olly stripped off, pulling on his wetsuit. Shoreham beach, you’re mine …

  He was halfway into his wetsuit when the doorbell rang. Peering around the kitchen doorway into the long, Minton-tiled hall, he could see a shadowy outline of a figure through the stained glass panel in the doorway. Great. Mere seconds away from his escape to the beach and now he was trapped. Should he answer or pretend not to be there?

  Feeling like a naughty kid, Olly slunk back behind the architrave and held his breath – which, he instantly realised, was ridiculous, as he would have to be breathing down a megaphone in order for the visitor to hear him. The doorbell rang again, followed by a smart knock. Clearly the visitor wasn’t likely to give up so easily. Just go away, Olly willed the caller, take the hint and bog off...

  At that moment, his mobile buzzed, causing him to dive back into the kitchen. He was about to answer when he caught sight of the name on the screen: WILSON-THOMAS KITCHENS. Instantly his hand fell away from the phone. If he answered, they would know he was in. They would tell their persistent sales rep at his front door and his planned trip to Shoreham beach would be well and truly scuppered.

  Well, he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. He let the phone ring out until it stopped and a “1 Missed Caller” message appeared on the screen. Another knock at the door, more hesitant this time. They’re weakening, Olly grinned, the whole crazy scenario now utterly amusing. Serves them right for being so late. He peered into the hallway again and was relieved to see the shadow retreating down the steps. Victory!

  Ten minutes later (after a final check to ensure the beleaguered sales rep wasn’t camped out stubbornly on his doorstep), Olly loaded his kitesurf gear into his car and drove away, congratulating himself on not only successfully sidestepping the tardy rep but also magnificently securing himself a day off in the process. It was the perfect cover story: ’I waited in all morning, but they didn’t show …’ He could complete the work he had brought home for the day later that evening – working late was nothing new for him – and enjoy himself all afternoon. He had worked so much lately that one day away from the office was in order, surely?

  Shoreham beach was peppered with fast-moving, brightly coloured kites when he arrived, his heart jumping as he recognised the figures of his friends already out on the waves having fun. With all that had happened with Elsie and the increased load at work, he had been kept away from this place for too long. It felt good to be back to what he knew best: taking nature on and trying to ride the wind and sea …

  ‘Ski-i-i-iver!’ came a loud shout from his friends as he approached. Gus, senior director at a small advertising business in Hove and Olly’s partner in crime since junior school, grinned broadly. ‘Boss know you’re here, does he?’

  ‘Erm, isn’t that a bit pot-calling-kettle?’ Olly laughed. ‘Only you’re out here more during the week than I ever am. At least I have an excuse today. What’s yours?’

  ‘Research, mate. Pitching an idea to an extreme sports company next week and really need to be up to speed on the old outdoor pursuits.’

  ‘Handy. So they deal specifically with kite-surfing, do they?’

  The look of sheepishness Gus wore elicited cries of ‘Busted!’ from the assembled kite-surfers.

  Gus laughed and held up his hands. ‘You can’t blame me today, can you? Look at the currents, man! Is this the most perfect condition or what?’

  Olly looked at the thin clouds whipping across the wide arc of blue sky overhead. It was a perfect day: he felt free, thrilled by his own rebelliousness and oddly peaceful, given all that had happened. Maybe it was better he and Elsie remained friends if this was how he felt. Being friends was good, he reasoned, at least for now. Being friends implied a viable future with Elsie in it – and who knew what else might lie ahead for them?

  He headed out into the water, the strong air currents
pulling the kite up as soon as he released it. Immediately he leaned into the pull, lifting up off the water and feeling the familiar thrill as his body twisted in the air. The taste of salt on his lips, the force of the wind against his face and the tensions on his body invigorated him entirely, sending the stress of the day skittering away faster than the clouds across the sun. Out here he was free, his whole being consumed by the air and the water. It was when he was riding the wind and sea currents that he felt most alive – most like himself.

  An hour later, Olly returned to the beach where two of his friends Tim and Owen were doling out bacon sandwiches from a cardboard box.

  ‘Sweet! Where did you get these?’ he asked, ripping the warm greaseproof paper from his roll and biting into soft bread, tangy tomato ketchup and sweet-salty bacon.

  ‘There’s a van just off the main road I noticed when we were driving over,’ said Tim, another of Olly’s former schoolfriends. ‘So I went back just as the chap was closing up. I think we cleared his entire stock.’

  ‘Skills,’ nodded Gus, clearly approving of Tim’s expedition.

  ‘Any left for me?’ said a female voice and the group of guys turned as one to see a tall, dark-haired girl in a wetsuit walking towards them. ‘I could murder a bacon sarnie.’

  They stared at her like a group of sleepy wildebeest observing a lioness, her presence taking them by surprise. She raised an eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips.

  ‘Wow, now that’s what I call a welcome.’ She turned and looked pointedly at Owen. ‘So?’

  Jumping into action he smiled at her. ‘Sorry Laura – guys, meet Laura. She’s a big mate of my sister’s and somewhat of a surfing genius, as it turns out. She fancied her chances at kite-surfing, so I’ve been showing her the ropes – as it were.’

  ‘I’ll bet you have,’ Gus replied, a cheeky twinkle in his eye.

  Tim fixed him with a non-plussed stare. ‘You’re only making yourself look bad, Gusboy.’ Reaching into the box, he handed Laura a wrapped roll. ‘Wasn’t likely to forget you, was I?’

  ‘Thanks. So, who’s who?’ She cast her eye around the group as she bit into her roll.