MIRANDA DICKINSON
When I Fall in Love
As I write this, I am looking back at four extraordinary years of excitement, fun and lots of hard work. I would like to thank all the lovely team at Avon for everything they have done to make these the most exciting of my life so far: my fab editor Sammia Rafique, Caroline Ridding, Claire Bord, Rhian McKay and Jim Blades.
Big thanks to my wonderful agent, Hannah Ferguson, for being one of the most positive people I know and for believing in the crazy stuff in my head (wombats included!) For crucial draft reading and confidence boosts, unending thanks to Kim Curran-Goodson. Thanks also to Kate Harrison for her expert Brighton knowledge and knowing her Laine from her Lanes.
I love my tweethearts on Twitter who keep me going, make me giggle and occasionally make me cry. I would especially like to thank Trish Hills, Cressida McLaughlin, Gem Fletcher, Natalie Hewis, Kayla Staniland, Kath Eastman and Joanna Cannon for being wonderful friends and cheerleaders.
As ever, real people have inspired parts of this novel. So thanks to the gorgeous Gemma Perkins for inspiring Elsie, Chris Armfield for inspiring Woody’s rock wisdom, and the lovely Cupcake Genie team in Crawley whose awesome shop and cupcakes inspired Sundae & Cher’s menu (www.cupcakegenie.co.uk). Thanks as ever to my fab Peppermint massive – watch out for your cameo!
And finally, to my wonderful new husband Bob – thank you for being my unexpected future and for making everything sparkly again.
Life can throw you spanners, curveballs, opportunities and surprises. This book is about going forward, regardless of what lies behind …
For Kim.
Because this story wouldn’t have been as brave without you.
A dream you dream alone is only a dream.
A dream you dream together is reality.
John Lennon
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter One: Not supposed to be like this
Chapter Two: Moving on …
Chapter Three: Pleased to meet you …
Chapter Four: Altogether now …
Chapter Five: Hello again, hello …
Chapter Six: Just the way you are …
Chapter Seven: Getting to know you …
Chapter Eight: Baby steps …
Chapter Nine: I’m sorry, have we met?
Chapter Ten: Feel the fear …
Chapter Eleven: Stepping out
Chapter Twelve: Welcome to the world
Chapter Thirteen: Take a bow …
Chapter Fourteen: A night to remember …
Chapter Fifteen: A big ask …
Chapter Sixteen: Something like a plan
Chapter Seventeen: A sentimental journey …
Chapter Eighteen: A beginning and an end
Chapter Nineteen: You ain’t seen nothing yet …
Chapter Twenty: Back to the future
Moving On – an epilogue
Fairytale of New York – an extract
Welcome To My World – an extract
It Started With A Kiss – an extract
The List
Reading Group Questions
Interview with Miranda Dickinson
About the Author
By the same author
Copyright
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
Not supposed to be like this
‘Excuse me, miss?’
Elsie Maynard looked up from her half-crossed-out shopping list to see the hulking figure of a security guard blocking her way. ‘Hi. Sorry, I’m in a bit of a rush, actually, so if you’ll just …’
‘I’m going to have to ask you to come with me, please.’
This was the last thing she needed today. Not only had her lunch break been delayed by forty-five minutes by a particularly persistent wafer-cone salesman but also, in her haste to complete all the shopping tasks on her list, she had left work without her umbrella just as the heavens opened. And now this …
‘I’ve told you, I don’t have time to stop.’
The huge security guard gave a world-weary sigh and clamped an enormous hand rather too heavily on her shoulder. ‘I must insist, miss. I believe you have goods you have not paid for, so if you will just accompany me back into the shop, please …’
What on earth was this man-mountain on about? Of course she had paid! What kind of person did he think she was? Incensed at the very notion, Elsie opened her mouth to protest, when a new voice interrupted her.
‘Hey. Can I help?’
He was young, arguably handsome, with dark brown hair and green eyes. Everything about him gave the impression of someone in complete control: from his neat haircut to the well-cut suit and overcoat he wore, together with the fact that, frustratingly, he was apparently immune to the large splats of rain Elsie could feel soaking through her too-thin work uniform and tights. Over his shoulder Elsie caught sight of a blonde-haired young woman dressed in a turquoise and black Fifties diner waitress outfit, looking as if somebody had just tipped a bucket of water over her head – and her heart sank as she realised it was her own reflection in the shop window.
Mr Impervious-to-Rain’s smile would probably have been welcome, were it not for Elsie’s sneaking suspicion that he was enjoying the sight of her, bedraggled, flustered and now squirming with embarrassment on the steps of the high street chemist’s.
‘I’m fine, thank you. It’s just a misunderstanding …’ she began, but Mount Kilimanjaro had turned his attention from her to seek solidarity with the recent male addition to the street spectacle.
‘She hasn’t paid,’ he confided, pointing a thick finger at the haemorrhoid preparation and earwax softener in Elsie’s hand, ‘for those items.’
Oh. My. Life. In her fury at being accused of theft, Elsie had completely forgotten the two quite possibly most embarrassing items in the whole world that she now held. But of course she had paid for them! Hadn’t she?
The young man suppressed a smile and Elsie felt her stomach lurch again as cold raindrops permeated her collar and began to run down the back of her neck. ‘I’m sure it’s just a small misunderstanding,’ he smiled affably at the gargantuan unsmiling man still gripping Elsie’s shoulder. ‘Look, here’s twenty quid. Can’t be any more than that, can it?’
A brief glimpse of softness flashed across the security guard’s steely expression. ‘Well …’
Sensing his opponent weakening, the young man’s smile eased wider. ‘I imagine you see this kind of thing every day, huh? Lunchtime shoppers, brains left at the office, so many shiny things to buy that they make one tiny slip of judgement …’ He turned the whiteness of his sincerity on Elsie, a move which may have been intended to comfort but had the directly opposite effect. ‘I mean, this girl seems very lovely and not really your average shoplifter, eh?’
The steel returned as Mountain Man surveyed her. ‘Takes all sorts.’
‘I’m sure it does, officer. But, trust me, I see all manner of felons in the course of my job and I can spot a wrong ’un a mile off. This, sir, is not one of them.’
This? Despite the help obviously being offered by the smartly dressed stranger beside her, being referred to as an inanimate object was a step too far for Elsie. ‘Now hang on a minute …’
Her planned tirade was halted by a raised, gloved hand and a look that threatened dire consequences if she defied his gesture. Fuming, she dug her drenched heels into the pavement and glared at him.
‘Come on, twenty quid?’ he continued. ‘I’ll even go back into the shop with you to get a receipt. Can’t say fairer than that, can I?’
To Elsie’s amazement, the security guard shrugged his bulky shoulders
and released her. ‘All the same to me,’ he muttered, pocketing the twenty-pound note and turning back towards the store. ‘Just tell your girlfriend to pay a bit more attention next time.’
‘What? I’m not his gir’
‘Absolutely. Stay there, darling. I’ll be back in a moment.’ Smiling like an advert for tooth whitening toothpaste, he winked at Elsie as he accompanied the guard inside the shop.
Gazing down in utter disbelief at the questionable items in her hand, Elsie remained frozen to the spot trying to process what had just happened. One minute she had been dashing around the huge high street chemist on the corner of Brighton’s North Street and Queen’s Road looking for baby wipes and mascara, the next she had been interrupted by her father calling to ask her to pick up some embarrassing but necessary items for him … Maybe her mind had been elsewhere – especially given the important decision she had made that morning – but she had paid for the items, she was sure. Who would try to steal pile preparation and earwax remover anyway? Certainly not Elsie Maynard, assistant manager of Sundae & Cher ice cream café, upstanding citizen of Brighton and the last person on the planet to ever consider shoplifting. Even as a teenager she had always maintained an unblemished record, her fear of getting into trouble only strengthened by witnessing the fallout from minor misdemeanours involving her two older sisters (more often than not involving overindulgence in alcohol and trips home in panda cars …)
‘There, all sorted.’ The smiling man was back, a triumphal glow from his recent chivalrous endeavours lighting his face. He handed her a receipt. ‘Busy day, eh?’
‘I paid for these,’ Elsie insisted, the sting of injustice still smarting.
‘You didn’t. But it’s OK, I sorted it for you.’
Pushing the receipt back at him, Elsie grabbed her purse from her damp handbag and angrily flicked through the receipts in the wallet section. ‘Look, I don’t know who you are, and I’m not being ungrateful, but that bloke was mistaken. I distinctly remember paying for these things with a twenty-pound note. I know this because I only had one twenty in my wallet that I’d just taken out from the cash machine and now, as you can see, it’s not … Oh …’ Her heart plummeted to her soggy toes as she pulled out a folded twenty-pound note, exactly where she’d put it at the cash point before she entered the shop.
The young man’s voice softened. ‘Honestly, it’s fine. It happens to the best of us.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Torin, by the way. Torin Stewart.’
Still reeling from the revelation of her unwitting descent into petty crime, Elsie shook his hand. ‘Elsie Maynard.’
‘Pleasure to meet you, Elsie Maynard,’ Torin grinned. ‘Under different circumstances would’ve been preferable, of course, but I’m glad I was able to help. So, how about a coffee? You look like you need one and it’ll get you out of this rain.’
Thoroughly mortified and filled with a compelling urge to remove herself from the situation, Elsie pushed the twenty-pound note into his hand and began to leave. ‘I’m sorry, I really have to go …’
‘Hey, why the rush?’
‘I’m on my lunch break, which ended about twenty minutes ago,’ Elsie returned, hoping that the pace she injected into her steps would deter him from following her down the street.
Unfortunately for Elsie, Torin was not one to be brushed off so easily. ‘Now come on. I just saved your life back there. Surely that entitles me to at least a coffee with you? It can be my treat if money’s a bit tight …?’
That was the final straw. Blood pumping furiously in her ears, Elsie spun round to face him. ‘Excuse me? I have money, actually. What part of “I have to go” do you not understand? I’m late for work and I’m soaked through from this stupid rain and, believe me, the very last thing I would like to do right now is go anywhere with you. I’ve paid you back so I don’t owe you anything.’
‘Is that the way you thank all your rescuers?’ The twinkle in his eye sent a second wave of fury pumping through Elsie.
‘Who do you think you are, Lancelot? And where do you get off interfering in other people’s business, anyway? I am entirely capable of looking after myself, you know. I am not a damsel in distress that needs rescuing by a big, strong bloke. I would have sorted the situation, without your help. I would have managed. So thank you very much for jumping in, but I really didn’t need you to.’
Torin was stopped in his tracks and Elsie felt the smallest glint of satisfaction as she walked away. Fair enough, he had helped to release her from the iron grip of the security guard, but he didn’t have to make a virtue of the fact. Or attempt to turn the situation into some kind of emotional blackmail to go with him for coffee, either. Honestly, the cheek!
‘Un-be-lievable!’ a voice shouted behind her.
Elsie groaned as she pressed on, dodging lunchtime shoppers hurrying through the insistent mid-March rain. Does this bloke ever give up?
‘I thought you looked like somebody in need of assistance,’ Torin continued, drawing level with Elsie as they stormed together down the street. ‘And all I did was try to save you from an embarrassing and potentially litigious situation. Well, more fool me!’
‘You said it,’ Elsie muttered, wishing with all her heart that he would get the message and leave her alone.
‘Talk about ungrateful! Some women would see what I did just now as chivalrous.’
‘And some women would think you were a pathetic male on an ego trip, making yourself appear superior. “Stay there, darling …” as if I was some dumb-nutted bimbo! Chauvinism is not chivalry, mate.’
‘Oh, so stopping a security guard from hauling you back into a shop in full view of half of Brighton was patronising, was it?’
Of course it wasn’t. But Elsie was tired, embarrassed, soaked to the skin and not likely to give in to the annoying man who still seemed impervious to rain. ‘I’m sorry, I really don’t have time for this.’
‘Time for what? For being told how unreasonable you are?’
Elsie gave a hollow laugh as she skirted round a café A-board placed unwisely in her path. ‘Oh right, I’m unreasonable …’
‘Yes, you are. May I remind you that there was every chance that security guard wouldn’t have let the situation go?’
‘How do you know that? You can’t possibly know that!’
He was matching her pace, step for step, his reddening face pulling closer to hers. ‘It was obvious to anybody! You only had to see the gleam in his eye to know that he intended to make an example of you. It could have involved the police, a magistrates court visit, a fine … a criminal record?’
Halting suddenly, Elsie faced him. ‘OK, enough! Believe it or not, I have more important things to think about today than whether or not I would have ended up with a criminal record if you hadn’t intervened. I’ve said thank you, I’ve paid you back, what more can you possibly want from me?’
Breathing heavily, Torin held up his hands. ‘Nothing. Obviously nothing.’ Then, to Elsie’s surprise, instead of hurling a clever comeback at her, he backed away, turned and disappeared into the crowd.
If she hadn’t seen the look of sincere disappointment in his eyes, Elsie would have just dismissed the whole thing. But the unexpected impact of it sent a whisper of conscience cutting like a scythe through her consternation. Blinking away the raindrops dripping from the edges of her fringe, she stood in the middle of milling shoppers, the events of the past ten minutes replaying over and over in her mind.
The insistent ringing of her mobile brought her sharply back to the present.
‘Hello? Oh hi, Dad. Yes, I have your things. I’ll bring them over after work.’
Taking one last glance up the street, Elsie shook the nagging doubt from her mind.
‘Weirdo,’ she told herself. ‘Clearly a weirdo.’
CHAPTER TWO
Moving on …
By the time Elsie parked her car outside her father’s three-storey townhouse later that day, thick grey clouds had laid siege to Brighton’s skies
, emptying their weight of rain on the streets of the seaside city. Despite her best efforts to shield herself from the torrential downpour by holding her handbag above her head as she dashed from the car, she arrived at the purple wood and stained-glass front door soaked once more.
The tinkle of a small wind-chime over the door and heady smell of warming patchouli oil and Nag Champa incense sticks were immediately soothing as she walked into the hallway and headed towards the Indian bead curtain that covered the entrance to the kitchen. It had been many years since she had moved out of this place but it still always felt like home when she returned.
Jim Maynard beamed when Elsie walked into the kitchen. He was out of his work clothes already, his respectable business suit replaced by his favourite Nepal striped patchwork shirt, baggy combat trousers and bright orange Doc Marten boots. Elsie smiled back. She always preferred the sight of her father in his relaxed attire, with his much-beloved gold earring back in his ear: it was a truer version of himself than his well-respected Brighton businessman persona that he had adopted since taking over his father’s classic furniture store business.
‘It’s my favourite youngest daughter!’ he exclaimed, wrapping her up in one of his famous Dad-hugs, which was even more welcome today than usual. ‘Good day?’
Elsie opened a brightly painted enamel tea caddy and popped two ginger and cinnamon teabags into a hand-painted kingfisher-blue teapot, a gift to Jim from his middle daughter Guin when she set up her pottery business in Shoreham-by-Sea four years ago. ‘Annoying day, actually.’ She smiled at her father. ‘But it’s better now I’m here.’
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