‘Why? So you can whisper the song and waste more of our time?’
Sasha’s over-plucked, pencilled-in brows knotted and she lowered her voice to a menacing growl. ‘Play the song and I’ll show you.’
Elsie walked back to the keyboard and began to play. Closing her eyes, Sasha took a breath and began to sing, the power and tone of her voice making everyone in the room stare open-mouthed at her. Thrilled with the confirmation of her suspicions, Elsie carried on playing past the chorus, and Sasha, rising to the challenge, continued the song until the end, when a stunned choir rose to their feet to applaud her.
‘Now that,’ Elsie said, watching Sasha’s flushed face break into a smile in the midst of the applause, ‘is what I call a performance!’ Keen to build on the moment, Elsie quickly assembled the choir together in their requisite parts and began to play the introduction to the Lady Gaga medley. ‘Now that Woody and Sasha have shown us how it’s done, we’re going to go for a full performance of the medley. Don’t worry about what anyone else is doing, just sing your part as we’ve practised, and let’s see what happens. Here we go, two, three, four …’
What happened next was as imperfectly close to a miracle as it was possible to be. The notes were shaky, the parts even more so, but the essence of a performance was there. Everybody felt it, evident in the steady swell of volume and the broadening smiles spreading across the choir members’ faces as they sang. Stan began to sway jerkily as the medley progressed and even Aoife and Irene’s voices became audible in the mix. But above all, the unique thrill of shared performance began to permeate the room, building to a natural crescendo and breaking like a wave over the choir as the medley reached its end. Woody slung his arm around Elsie’s shoulders as they watched their delighted choir clapping and congratulating one another.
‘The magic is starting, babe. Gaga has had her mystical way with all of us.’
Elsie did her best to remove the mental picture she had just been blessed with and allowed herself a small moment of celebration. Her strategy for reaching Sasha Mitchell hadn’t gone as she’d planned, but at least she’d proved that the loud-mouthed woman could achieve a similar volume when she sang. Now all she had to do was to find the key for the rest of them. Aoife surely just needed a confidence boost to perform – and Elsie hoped this would come with time. What Danny lacked in technical skill he more than made up for with enthusiasm, so with a little practice he could become a solid member of the choir. Stan, too, had a steady voice that would hold its own in the lower ranges. Looking across the room, Elsie saw Irene quietly returning to her knitting, the effect of her recent participation apparently dissipated already. What would unlock Irene’s performance, Elsie wondered? The pensioner certainly seemed to enjoy spending time with the choir, and could often be seen engaging in quite lengthy conversations with each one of the members during the tea breaks in rehearsals. Elsie also knew, from a brief conversation she had shared with Irene that evening before everyone else arrived, that she loved the music. Occasionally – as had happened this evening – Irene joined in with the singing and seemed to love it. But how could Elsie encourage Irene to become a full participant in the choir’s fledgling repertoire?
Daisy brought a mug of tea over to her. ‘I think we’ve made progress tonight.’
‘I think we have.’
‘Thanks to Woody,’ Daisy grinned. ‘The way he wound Sasha up was nothing short of brilliant. And then you sealed the deal. Don’t tell him I said so, but I think the two of you have the makings of a great leadership team. I’m proud of you, sis.’
Elsie hugged Daisy. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. I know we have a long way to go, but I really think this could become something a bit special.’
‘With you steering it, it’s bound to be.’ Daisy surveyed her. ‘You look happy.’
‘I am.’
A brief memory of Olly’s smile and gentle kiss flashed across her mind. A good start all round, she congratulated herself. Onwards and upwards, Elsie …
CHAPTER EIGHT
Baby steps …
April arrived with a rush of sunshine, the weather forecasters on TV confirming the promise of a mini-heatwave over the Easter holiday. Brighton was suddenly abuzz with impromptu holidaymakers from London and the Home Counties, students enjoying their extended spring break and local residents determined to make the most of the unseasonably mild weather.
Sundae & Cher saw its usual takings double overnight, the offer of refreshing ice cream too enticing for passers-by to resist. The ice cream mixer in the basement kitchen was on almost permanent service as the café struggled to keep up with demand. Lucas’ Blueberry Choc Chip, their Classic Vanilla and the new Hazelnut Oreo Swirl flavour completely sold out within an hour of being made and Cher worked late into the night creating new batches of ice cream for the increased custom. For four days in a row, Cher and Elsie opened the ice cream café an hour earlier and still, when they arrived each morning, they encountered queues of customers pressed against the windows and already claiming the tables and chairs set outside in the street.
‘I know it’s a bit hotter than usual, but who in their right mind wants to eat ice cream at eight o’clock in the morning – apart from Dennis?’ Cher grumbled as she piled large scoops of Pink Sugar Bubblegum gelato into the café’s signature handmade chocolate-dipped waffle cones.
‘Hey, don’t knock it. Just enjoy the rush,’ Elsie grinned, handing change back to another satisfied customer.
‘You should be on TV,’ the lady gushed. ‘I’ve never tasted ice cream as good as yours.’
‘Now there’s a thought, Cher,’ Elsie grinned, scooping balls of Melon and Grape sorbet into a bowl with two mango cupcakes for the next customer. ‘You could be the Nigella of the ice cream world!’
The increased custom was undoubtedly a boost for the business, but by half past three that afternoon, Cher and Elsie were exhausted. Taking advantage of a brief lull in the flow of customers, Cher poured them each a glass of homemade lemon and peppermint cordial over ice and they collapsed at the table nearest the counter.
Cher kicked off her shoes, pulled up a chair and swung her aching legs onto it. ‘Even in the height of the summer season last year I don’t recall people queuing like that.’
‘What it is to be popular, eh? It’s good to see the place packed.’ Elsie stretched her arms above her head to unknot the muscles in her shoulders. ‘I just wish it could be this full for choir practice tonight. Perhaps we should bribe them with free ice cream.’
‘Still no new members?’ Cher asked, flicking open a copy of the local free paper.
Elsie shook her head. ‘I don’t understand it. I’ve run three adverts in the newspaper, given a couple of interviews to local radio and Stan even handed out flyers to the mums at his granddaughter’s school gate last week. With all the choir programmes there have been on TV lately you’d think the interest would be higher than usual.’
‘Oh for the intervention of Saint Gareth Malone.’ Cher raised her eyes to heaven and clasped her hands together, making Elsie giggle. ‘I wonder if we could stalk him on Twitter until he agrees to help.’
‘Now there’s a thought.’
‘Or perhaps we should unleash the full force of Woody Jensen’s creativity on the choir. One of his The Doors-slash-Beyoncé mash-ups might just do the trick.’
Elsie grimaced. ‘Please don’t encourage him. It’s difficult enough to keep him reined in without granting him carte blanche with our repertoire. I’ll ask everyone again this evening for ideas and hope we come up trumps.’
‘Oh.’ Cher’s smile faded as she pointed at the open paper. ‘I don’t suppose this will help.’
Elsie moved her chair to Cher’s side to look at the story she had found.
AWARD-WINNING CHOIR LAUNCHES TALENT SEARCH
Budding singers are being invited to audition for Brighton’s premier show choir.
The DreamTeam, which last year won the coveted Southeast Choral Cup, has launch
ed ChoirStar – an X-Factor-style search for new members aged 18–35. Auditions are being held over the next three Saturdays at St Mary’s Church Hall, Hove, culminating in a lavish final to be held at Brighton’s Theatre Royal in June, which will feature a celebrity judge.
Choir leader, Jeannette Burton, told The Argus, ‘ChoirStar is a fantastic opportunity for Brighton’s best amateur singers to join the top choir in the Southeast. We are bracing ourselves for an unprecedented response.’
Ms Burton refused to either confirm or deny rumours that TV’s popular choirmaster, Gareth Malone, is due to appear at the grand final …
‘Turncoat,’ Cher scoffed. ‘Good job we didn’t seek his assistance.’
‘This shouldn’t affect our potential members,’ Elsie said. ‘The DreamTeam is as far removed from the spirit of a true choir as you can get. Our choir is all about fun and inclusivity – not about looks and rigidity. We might be few in numbers, but at least all of them are starting to enjoy singing.’
‘All the same, attracting people here could be tricky.’
‘Well, we need to think of something.’
Elsie mulled over the issue for the rest of the day, but by seven p.m. had drawn a total blank. When Woody arrived at Sundae & Cher, he thrust a crumpled newspaper page at her in disgust.
‘Have you seen this?’
‘I have.’
‘It’s not cool with my soul, Elsie. I sense the Greats are not happy with this development, either. We need a radical happening, a call to arms for the musical faithful of this great town …’
Elsie rubbed her aching temples. ‘Or maybe just a few more people to join us?’
‘That too. Now, I’ve been thinking about this all day and I’ve come to the conclusion that we have to make a stand against the plastic, bland, doh-ray-me crap that woman serves up. We need to be the Banksy of show choirs, man! Sticking musical art to the masses and leaving them in total awe while we slink away …’
‘Woody, what on earth are you talking about?’
‘You need to widen your mind, Elsie! There’s no law says choirs can’t rock it large.’ Woody grinned a gold-toothed smile, tapping his rings on the table as if to drive home whatever point it was he was attempting to make. He pulled a chair over from a neighbouring table and sat astride it, leaning his arms on its backrest. ‘So, we up the ante. Offer something that red-trousered woman and her Stepford Children clones couldn’t even dream of.’ He waved his hands in a mystical manner and closed his eyes. ‘Gaga is just the beginning. Now is the time for the big guns: Floyd, Lennon, The Carpenters. I’ve been working on a meeting of ABBA’s “Summer Night City” and Deep Purple’s “Smoke on the Water” that will blow their tiny minds. I’ve even recorded a blistering backing track in my personal bedroom studio …’
‘OK, fine.’
‘Eh?’
Woody’s suggestion was the closest thing Elsie could see to a way forward. ‘Go for it. But you have to take charge of promotion. Surely someone of your musical stature can bring us some publicity?’
Woody’s grey eyes lit up like a slot machine. ‘Just leave it to me, babe. I’m going to float like a butterfly and sing like a bee!’
‘Do bees sing?’
He tutted and stood up, as Irene, Stan and Danny arrived. ‘You’re totally missing the point, babe.’
The prospect of Woody’s unusual musical amalgamation was dodgy in the extreme, but as Elsie saw him explaining his vision to half of the choir, she couldn’t help smiling. At least it would be fun to see the small band of would-be choristers tackling the distinct nuances of Scandinavian pop and stadium rock. Inevitably, her thoughts strayed to Lucas. If only he could see this …
‘Nice place, is it?’
Elsie opened her eyes to see Irene Quinn’s face gazing up at her. ‘Sorry?’
‘Where you were in your mind. It seemed like a nice place. You looked very peaceful.’
A little taken aback, Elsie nodded. ‘I suppose it was.’
Irene smiled. ‘I have a place like that. Often end up there when I’m knitting.’ She lifted the knitted length of blancmange-blue and orange striped wool to emphasise her point. ‘Jumper, this is, for my grandniece’s little one. Not that I’m making much progress.’
‘It looks lovely.’ Elsie decided to take the opportunity to ask the question she had been pondering since the choir’s first meeting. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, are you enjoying being part of the choir?’
Irene didn’t miss a beat before answering. ‘Love it.’
‘Oh – er, good. It’s just that I haven’t really heard you sing much and I was wondering if perhaps you had a particular song you thought we should do?’
‘No need to worry about me, dear. You and Woody are doing an excellent job with us all. And more people will come, of that I’m sure.’ Seeing Elsie’s confusion, she leaned closer and added, ‘Isn’t about the singing for me, you see. It’s the company. Long time since I felt so much a part of something.’ She placed a blue-veined, parchment-skinned hand on Elsie’s arm. ‘For us that have lost, company is important.’
Elsie’s breath caught in her throat. Had someone told Irene about Lucas? ‘How did you …?’
‘I recognised it in you, dear.’ She smiled in the direction of the choir members, who were gathered around a small CD player watching Woody with a mixture of amusement and fascination as he acted out his vision for the new songs, the bobbles around the edge of the buff scarf wrapped around his neck jumping with every movement. ‘This project’ll bring you more than you expect. It’s a good thing, Elsie. A comfort, for you as much as for them – perhaps more.’ Smiling to herself, she left Elsie and resumed her favoured seat by the counter, her attention claimed once more by the half-knitted jumper in her hands.
Elsie watched the tiny old lady settling herself, her blush rose cardigan matching the rouge on her downy cheeks as her watery blue eyes sparkled. She wasn’t sure whether to be comforted by Irene’s perception, or unnerved by it. A loud whoop from Woody summoned her attention.
‘Magic! The magic is here, dudes! Now we’re getting somewhere …’
Later that week, Elsie joined her sisters for a family dinner at Jim’s. As usual, Jim had been scouring his extensive recipe book collection for a suitably exotic meal and tonight they were enjoying a feast of grilled halloumi cheese with apricots, flaked almonds and allspice on a bed of fluffy basmati rice, with homemade chapattis and mango chutney.
‘Dad, your chapattis are always so good,’ Guin said, tearing one in half and dipping it in the sweet chutney. ‘I haven’t had any cravings with this pregnancy but I reckon I should invent one for these.’
Jim laughed. ‘It would be my pleasure to supply you, Guinie. I learned how to make them when I spent time in Goa before I met your mother. Maybe one day I’ll teach your little one to make them, too.’ He smiled at his daughters gathered around the carved wood dining table in the small dining room that was bedecked in jewel-like Indian silks and illuminated by tiny candle lanterns. ‘This is so nice. All my girls together.’ His eyes glistened in the candlelight.
Daisy reached across and patted his hand. ‘We wouldn’t miss it, Dad.’
‘Oh blimey, don’t you start, Dad, or we’ll all be in tears,’ Guin laughed.
‘Well, I mean it. You three are my proudest achievements. I look at all of you and I’m so unbelievably amazed at the wonderful young women you’ve grown into. My Daisy, successful and beautiful; my Guin, about to become a mum; my strong little Elsie, moving on with her life. It does this old heart good.’
‘Talking of moving on,’ Daisy said, turning to Elsie. ‘How is that gorgeous designer of yours?’
‘He isn’t my designer,’ Elsie retorted, feeling the full force of the Maynard family stares falling on her. At that moment, her mobile began to ring and she caught her breath as Olly’s name appeared. Fantastic timing, Mr Hogarth. ‘Um, I just – I’d better take this. Sorry, Dad.’
Jim grinned at her. ‘I’ll
make an exception to the “no mobiles at the dinner table” rule if that’s who I think it is.’
Ignoring the excited chatter of Jim and her sisters, Elsie walked out into the kitchen to take the call.
‘OK, we can speak now.’
‘I’m sorry, do you have guests?’
‘No, I’m at Dad’s with Daisy and Guin. So you can imagine their faces at this precise moment.’
‘Oh no, hope I haven’t made things awkward for you?’
Elsie laughed. ‘Not at all. You’ll have made their day. So, how are you?’
‘I’m good, thanks. Sorry for not calling sooner, I’ve been snowed under at work and, you know, after my embarrassing eagerness last Friday I didn’t want to scare you by calling before.’
‘Well, I’m glad you called.’ She hesitated, unsure whether to say more. It was lovely to hear his voice and she realised she was grinning as she spoke to him.
‘I’m glad I called, too. Listen, how about meeting up on Saturday – in town? We could have lunch or coffee or whatever?’
‘Sounds good.’
‘OK. So, how about brunch on Saturday at BiblioCaff at, say, eleven-ish?’
‘That would be fine.’
‘Excellent. Hey, I had a great time on Friday.’
A sliver of joy wriggled down to Elsie’s toes. ‘Me too.’
Daisy accosted her the moment she set foot back in the dining room. ‘So? Was it who we think it was?’
‘Probably. That was Oliver Hogarth and we’re meeting on Saturday for brunch. Happy?’
Jim clapped his hands and swept Elsie up in an enormous bear hug. ‘Wonderful news! I’m so thrilled for you, darling!’
‘Dad, it’s only brunch,’ Elsie protested.
‘Ah, but it’s a start,’ he beamed.
As the conversation around the dining table progressed to different territory, Elsie sat back, suddenly presented with a new sensation. Something was building within her – a note of caution, an unexpected question that, as yet, she couldn’t decipher. Maybe it was the unanimous vote of confidence in Olly from her family, or the speed with which their friendship appeared to be progressing. Or maybe it was her own fear at what might lie ahead. But then, all she had agreed to was one more date, she told herself. And Olly was a wonderful man. The safety she had felt with him, and the peace his closeness and kiss had brought her, had been unexpected gifts. She was excited at the prospect of seeing him again – and that must be a positive thing, mustn’t it?
When I Fall in Love Page 12