‘Might be.’ Cher winked at Nick and disappeared into the crowd to find a seat as Elsie paid for the drinks.
‘Hot date,’ Elsie confided.
‘Serious? He’s too normal for Cher, isn’t he?’
Elsie laughed. ‘It’s a bit of a new direction for her.’
Nick gave an overdramatic sigh. ‘I’ve told her: if she’s looking for a real man, she knows where I am.’
‘I’ll pass the message on,’ Elsie replied, taking the drinks and winding through the throng of bodies until she found Cher proudly guarding a table with four chairs by the window. ‘Nick offered to be your real man again.’
Cher rolled her eyes heavenwards and took a large gulp of wine. ‘He can go on dreaming. I’ve heard too many rumours about Nick Plass to go there.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Jake shouldn’t be long. Aren’t you drinking?’
‘I might have one later.’ Elsie might have been thankful for a little Dutch courage, but she fully intended to go into this without the aid of alcohol.
They made themselves comfortable and chatted aimlessly about work for twenty minutes, neither of them really thinking about the subject, as the prospect of the evening ahead loomed large over them. When Cher’s glass was empty, she stood to head back to the bar but was stopped in her tracks by the sight of two men weaving through the standing drinkers. Jake Long strode in front, his impeccable suit standing out amongst the casually dressed locals, an expensive overcoat folded over one arm. He was handsome for his age – his kind dark eyes and lightly tanned skin contrasting with the flashes of silver at his temples and running through his lustrous brown hair. Cher was suddenly all coy eyelashes and shy smiles as he approached the table.
Elsie was so busy being impressed by Jake’s appearance that she forgot to look at her own date for the evening, who was waiting behind his boss, obscured from view by the crush of pub customers.
‘Delighted you could make it,’ Jake smiled at Cher, an obvious twinkle in his eye. ‘Apologies for our lateness – we had a last-minute meeting at the office.’ He extended his hand to Elsie. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘You too.’
‘I have a feeling this is going to be a most pleasant evening,’ Jake replied, moving to one side. ‘Let me introduce you to our most brilliant junior partner in the practice …’
As he was speaking, the young man beside him stepped forward, and instantly Elsie’s breath deserted her. Surely not …
‘… Torin Stewart.’
Jake and Cher were grinning like a pair of hungry hyenas, but as Elsie’s eyes met Torin’s, neither of them was smiling.
Forced by propriety to be civil, Elsie held out her hand. ‘Elsie Maynard. Nice to meet you.’
‘Is it?’ Torin briefly shook her hand, the shock of his warm skin on hers causing her to pull away as quickly as she could. The briefest of smiles passed across his lips before he turned to Jake. ‘I’ll get the first round in, shall I?’
Jake clapped his hands together. ‘Excellent idea. Mine’s a single malt with water, no ice. Ladies?’
‘Red wine for me. Elsie?’
Struggling to stop the room from spinning around her, Elsie wrestled her way back into the moment. ‘Same, please. Large.’
Cher raised an eyebrow and Elsie managed a weak smile in return. As Jake sat opposite Cher, she quickly turned her attention squarely onto him and Elsie sank back into her chair. How was it possible for Torin to be her blind date? After their initial meeting and the excruciating second round in Croydon, Elsie had felt sure that she and Torin Stewart were never destined to cross paths again. Yet here he was – for the third time in as many weeks. What was she going to say to him?
All too quickly, Torin returned with a tray of drinks, seemingly charmed when it came to being served quickly in the only pub in Brighton that made a virtue of its long bar waiting times – a fact attested to by a large sign over the bar bearing the legend:
We don’t do ‘fast’. Our beer is worth the wait.
‘Blimey, we’ll send you to the bar again,’ Cher remarked, raising her glass to Torin. Grinning, he clinked his pint glass against hers and then held it towards Elsie.
‘To a pleasant evening?’
Reluctantly, she accepted the toast. ‘A pleasant evening.’ Pleasant, she added to herself, meaning short …
Jake and Cher immediately launched into animated conversation, their body language screaming attraction as they did so. Torin sipped his beer slowly, his eyes never leaving Elsie. Doing her best to present an unaffected air, Elsie returned his gaze, smiling pleasantly as she desperately scrabbled for suitable topics of conversation to make the evening pass quickly.
‘I take it you’re a solicitor?’
‘I prefer lawyer – bit of a fan of the US terminology, I’m afraid. But yes, that’s what I do. How about you?’
‘Assistant manager of a retro ice cream café.’
This appeared to surprise him. ‘Oh? Whereabouts?’
For a split second, Elsie was tempted to concoct a fake address to ensure he couldn’t find her, but then common sense prevailed as she realised Jake or Cher would gladly furnish him with the correct information in any case. ‘In North Laine – Gardner Street. I work for Cher.’
‘I see. So, who’d have thought us two would meet up again like this, eh?’
Instantly, Elsie felt her insides clench into a knot and she looked down into her already half-empty wine glass.
Torin gave an almighty sigh and muttered something into his beer.
Suddenly irritated by this, Elsie glared straight at him. ‘Sorry? Didn’t catch that.’
‘I said it’s a shame you can’t be more civil, given the circumstances.’
‘Excuse me? I am being civil, thank you very much. I’m having a drink with you and making polite conversation. I fail to see what else I need to do to increase my civility.’
Torin held up his hands. ‘Well – not do that, for a start.’
‘Do what?’
‘Fly off the handle. Totally overreact to everything I say. You’ve done it every time we’ve met and it hasn’t once been warranted.’
‘Everything good with you two?’ Jake interjected, the glow of a successful date illuminating his expression.
Elsie and Torin smiled politely and, satisfied, Jake returned his attention to Cher.
Elsie lowered her voice and leant towards Torin. ‘I beg to differ. You were completely full of yourself when you “rescued” me from the security guard and then you proceeded to stalk my sister and me around that store.’
‘I was pleased to help you,’ Torin hissed back. ‘And I wasn’t stalking anyone. You were the one walking against the arrows and your sister was perfectly charming, as I recall.’
Elsie ignored him and drank her wine, looking across to the clock above the bar. Twenty minutes? She had only endured twenty minutes so far? Elsie had promised Cher an hour – but if their conversation continued to head down the dicey road it was careering along, it would be impossible to keep her promise. Reeling in as much of her anger as she could, she took a breath and returned her stare to his.
‘This is getting us nowhere. I think we should change the subject. I don’t want another fight and I would hazard a guess that you don’t, either.’
The fury in his eyes softened. ‘I don’t. What else can we talk about?’
At a loss for anything more creative to suggest, Elsie said, ‘Tell me about your job,’ instantly reprimanding herself for sounding like advice from a 1950s manual on successful dating conversation topics: Show an interest in his career …
So Torin explained about the kind of law he practised, what it meant to be a junior partner, what his ambitions for the future were and how he had made the decision while at primary school that he would study law.
‘Classic case of going into the family business,’ he explained. ‘Only my mother’s side of the family, not my father’s. Dad owns a music shop in Hove – about as far removed from law as you can
get.’
‘And you knew from the age of – what – eight or nine that you wanted to be a lawyer?’ Elsie momentarily forgot her consternation, the fact of his early conviction startling her.
‘Yes. Why, is that so surprising?’
‘It’s not, I suppose. But I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do with my life when I was that age, apart from have fun and maybe one day appear in Neighbours. In many ways, I still don’t really know if there’s a career that would fit me perfectly. But I love what I do, so that’s fine for me for now.’
She could see him relax and was surprised at how much relief this brought her.
‘There’s a lot to be said for job satisfaction. I see many people struggling in my profession because they’re trying to live out someone else’s expectations for their career, not pursuing something they are passionate about. Kids fulfilling their parents’ ambitions at the cost of their own.’
‘And you?’ The question was out before she realised it, far more personal than she was intending.
‘Thanks for asking. I count myself as one of the lucky ones because I love what I do.’
‘I’m going to attempt to beat Torin’s bar time,’ Jake grinned. ‘Same again for everyone?’
All agreed apart from Elsie, who decided it was safest to revert to orange juice for the remainder of the evening. As Jake left, Cher grinned at Torin.
‘I hope Elsie’s told you about the new exciting venture she’s embarking on?’
‘No, not yet. Tell me.’
‘A community choir!’ Cher replied before Elsie had the chance to speak. ‘And they’re meeting in my café.’
‘I’m impressed,’ Torin replied, and Elsie could have sworn she saw a flicker of genuine sentiment in his expression. ‘Is this something you’re experienced in?’
‘No. But then the point of it is to create something new, not regurgitate an old method that has been used before. We’re going to sing a variety of songs and the emphasis will be on fun.’
Sensing their conversation was safely set up, Cher made her excuses and headed towards the Ladies’. Torin folded his arms and leant back in his chair. ‘So, you know how to have fun, after all?’
So much for your sincerity, Elsie thought, her hackles rising. However much she might have hoped they could have a civil conversation, it was obviously not going to happen. Ever. ‘I do, as a matter of fact. Which just proves that you know nothing whatsoever about me.’
‘It was merely an observation. I guess everyone else must see a different side of you than I have so far.’
Go figure, Torin. ‘I guess they must.’ She looked at the clock again. Five minutes had dragged their heels past since she last checked. This was going to be the longest hour of her entire life …
‘Please don’t be offended. I just have a knack of getting the measure of people very quickly, which I know can be unnerving. It’s an occupational hazard, I’m afraid. I can accurately sum up someone’s character often within a few minutes of meeting them.’
Elsie couldn’t believe his smugness. ‘You mean you’re quick to judge people? I don’t see that as a skill. I see that as a flaw.’
‘Oh really? Well, I’ve already worked you out, Elsie Maynard.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t possibly know that much about me.’
‘I think you’ll find I can.’ He sipped his pint and scrutinised her for an uncomfortable moment. ‘Are you challenging me to prove it?’
The gall of him! Well, Elsie reasoned, there was only one way to haul him off his high horse. ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’
Rubbing his hands together, he began. ‘Right. Well, from your blatant misunderstanding of me and misreading of my motives, I can conclude that you have had very little experience of men – one or two serious boyfriends at most. From the small indentation on the third finger of your left hand I can see that one of those relationships resulted in marriage; from the absence of a ring now and your noticeably prickly nature towards men in general I assume that this marriage came to an end, perhaps some time ago. Am I correct?’
‘I’
Elsie swallowed hard as a groundswell of emotion threatened to sweep her off her feet. Torin had unwittingly broken through the layers of carefully constructed defences and his observations stabbed deeply. Momentarily blindsided, she struggled for control and he saw it, the same glint of triumph in his eyes as before.
‘What? Nothing to say? Surely this can’t be the great Elsie Maynard, queen of the lightning comeback? I must say, I thought you’d have retaliated by now.’
He was goading her, she knew it, but the pulse of shock was fast turning to anger within her and she needed a moment to formulate her reply.
‘Just – just give me a minute …’
Torin took a celebratory glug of beer and slapped the table. ‘Aha! Admit it – I totally summed you up! I am too good at this.’
‘Fine. You want to know?’ With every last scrap of resolve within her, Elsie rose to her feet. ‘You were correct when you said I’d only had one serious relationship. It did lead to marriage and that marriage ended, eighteen months ago.’
He spread his hands wide. ‘Hey, it’s what I do. Please don’t be offended. Sit down, would you? We were just beginning to have fun.’
‘No, thanks. I think I’ve stayed long enough.’
‘Oh come on, Elsie. There’s no need to be embarrassed about it. Plenty of women your age are divorcees.’
Elsie fixed him with a stare that could freeze sunbeams. ‘That’s true. But not many women my age are widows.’
With that, she turned her back on a visibly shocked Torin and walked with purpose out of the pub and onto the street beyond. Her promise to Cher was completely forgotten: the only impulse driving her steps was to escape.
CHAPTER SIX
Just the way you are …
Lucas would have loved it. He would have thrown back his lovely black hair and guffawed so loudly that even half-deaf Mrs Rafferty next door would have heard it. And Elsie would have laughed with him – it was impossible not to when faced with a laugh as infectious as his. Even towards the end of his battle, when every movement required concerted effort, his laugh was the one part of him that never succumbed to the cancer claiming his body. Jim often said he heard Lucas laugh more during the last year of his life than in all the years he’d known him. But then the last year was something Lucas was determined to enjoy. He had a point to prove – a list to fulfil. And each of the items on The List he created for their final year together was designed to amuse them both, to squeeze every last drop of joy out of the time they had left.
Lucas Webb was a lover of the absurd, his sense of humour one of the things Elsie loved the most about him. He could find the ridiculous, hilarious side of any situation, no matter how grim it first appeared. The bleak diagnosis of his cancer was no exception to this: and his coping mechanism was the spark for The List.
When Dr Hayes had delivered the devastating news to Lucas and Elsie in the too-small, too-warm consulting room in the Royal Sussex County Hospital, their first reaction had been mind-numbing shock and disbelief, quickly leading to body-shaking sobs as they both broke down. Twelve months, at most – a meagre allocation for someone who loved life as much as Lucas did. All their plans – travelling, a business of their own, children – now lay screwed up and discarded like the balls of paper strewn in the dull grey metal bin beneath Dr Hayes’ regulation NHS desk. The sense of injustice was immense, a crushing weight of hopelessness robbing the room of oxygen, deeper than Elsie had ever experienced.
But an hour later, when they were walking hand-in-hand along Brighton Pier, a remarkable transformation began in Lucas. Elsie remembered him stopping, near the entrance to the amusements, hope blazing in his dark brown eyes.
‘Elsie, I’ve had quite possibly the most brilliant idea!’
So startling was the sea change in his mood that Elsie gave an involuntary laugh. ‘What is it?’
‘OK. Hear me out.
When I heard the diagnosis this morning I was like, “Only twelve months?” But I’ve thought about it and I realised – we have twelve months. Twelve months to do whatever we like and nobody can argue with us! So, here it is: we make a list of things we have to do. And I’m not talking about naff stuff like swimming with dolphins because, frankly, I think they’re overrated. In fact, that should be our criteria: nothing overly sentimental, nothing expensive and nothing predictable. We pick, say, fifty things we have to complete before I … you know …’
He was shaking when he suggested it, but his smile was all the persuasion Elsie needed to agree. And so the idea for The List was born: fifty tasks unique to them, a personal mandate for fun in their final year together. Such as sneaking into Brighton Library to stick smiley-face sticky notes within the pages of classic novels that Lucas had deemed to be so depressing that readers would be in need of some guerrilla-placed light relief (to Elsie’s knowledge, some of those notes might still be lying in wait amid the leaves of Jude The Obscure, The Mill on the Floss and War and Peace …); decorating the rubbish bins along Brighton promenade with tinsel at midnight on a balmy July night; paddling in wellies in the ornate Victoria Fountain in Victoria Gardens in the centre of town; and spending the night in a neighbour’s son’s tree house with a large bottle of Jack Daniel’s, snuggled up, drunk and sniggering like school kids under layers of blankets.
Every item on The List conformed to the three criteria. All except one.
‘Oh, and Paris,’ Lucas had added, when fifty items had been listed.
She observed him with amusement. ‘Hang on a minute, you said nothing overly sentimental, nothing expensive and nothing predictable, right?’
‘Right.’
‘So what’s Paris, then? Surely it’s all three.’
His grin was pure Lucas Webb mischief. ‘Paris is geographical.’
‘Lucas …’
‘Humour me, Els? I’m a dying man, remember? You have to honour my wishes.’
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