When I Fall in Love

by Miranda Dickinson

  ‘I wish I could have wine,’ Guin wailed from a brightly striped deckchair beside her sister. ‘I tell you, as soon as this baby’s out I’m ordering a large one. Intravenously, if possible.’

  ‘Honey, you know what the midwife said,’ Joe replied, his auburn curls bobbing as he spoke. ‘No alcohol until you finish breastfeeding.’

  Guin glared at her husband. ‘Well, maybe I’ve decided to nominate you for that task.’

  Joe laughed nervously. ‘She still has her sense of humour you see, Elsie.’

  ‘Mmm, yes. Good luck with that when Junior arrives!’

  ‘May I propose a toast?’ André suggested, his velvety French accent causing the others to turn to listen as he raised his glass. ‘To friends, old and new.’

  Elsie felt a rush of love as everyone joined in the toast.

  ‘To friends, old and new!’

  ‘And to you, Olly,’ Jim said, grinning with pride as Olly slipped his arm around Elsie’s waist. ‘Welcome to our family. And thank you for making my little girl smile …’ His eyes welled with tears, which was met with a chorus of ‘Dad!’ from his three daughters. ‘You’ll have to forgive this old sentimentalist. It’s just so wonderful to see my girls happy and looked after.’ He waved his hand. ‘Now, as you were, everybody.’

  Olly smiled down at Elsie. ‘Thank you for this.’

  She leaned against him. ‘You’re welcome.’

  In the following weeks, Elsie felt increasingly surrounded by positivity: the choir, her friendship with Olly and the Maynard family’s anticipation of the impending arrival of Guin’s baby as she neared the eighth month of her pregnancy.

  The box messages from Lucas were also a secret source of strength for her, underpinning the events of her day with his affirmations. Many of them were observations significant only to him and her:

  I love you because you watch quiz shows with me, even though you hate them xx

  I love you because you make biscuits at midnight xx

  I love the way your boobs wobble when you laugh xx

  Other messages made Elsie suspect he had perhaps begun to run out of ideas in the admittedly tall task of identifying over thirty reasons why he loved her:

  I love you because of your dad’s Sunday dinners xx

  Occasionally, a message would prove almost prophetic for the place in which Elsie found herself, taking her breath away with its pertinence. As summer arrived, one such message stopped her in her tracks …

  Sundae & Cher had been particularly busy that week, the task of speedily serving so many customers further complicated by Cher accepting a last-minute trip to Cannes with Jake, leaving Elsie in charge and seriously short-staffed. Arriving early each morning to bake cookies, mix batches of ice cream and crêpe batter, and make sure everything was ready for when the hastily-arranged part-time staff came in, then leaving late at night after extra rehearsals with The Sundaes, meant that Elsie didn’t have an opportunity to read the latest box message until the Thursday night. Taking advantage of her rare free evening, Elsie treated herself to a long bath before snuggling up on the sofa to watch her favourite film, The Philadelphia Story, with a large helping of roast vegetable lasagne that Jim, concerned that his daughter was too busy to cook, had made and smuggled into her fridge the day before.

  It was only when she headed up to bed that the silk-covered box caught her eye. Opening it, she pulled out the top paper from the stack inside.

  I love that you’ve read this far. And I love that your life is moving on so well. Keep going, beautiful girl. I love you xx

  Stifling a cry with her hand, Elsie burst into tears. Lucas couldn’t possibly have known that she would wait eighteen months to read his messages, yet his faith in her ability to live without him was perfectly placed for this moment in her life. And, right then, she missed him more than she could bear, the surprise gift of his words both wonderful and devastating.

  Lucas was right. She was moving on – for the first time in many years Elsie felt the world opening up before her; no certainties, no givens, just possibilities. Before, life with Lucas had always been underpinned by a safe foundation of assumptions: while their circumstances might change, career choices could diversify and homes could move, they would always be together. That was the plan. After he died – for the first year at least – she had felt compelled to carry on as before, her mandate from him to live translating into busyness and routine. But now, it was as if she were lifting her eyes from her immediate surroundings to dare to gaze towards the horizon, where the lay of the land was less certain than that beneath her feet.

  And Lucas knew. Because Lucas had known her better than anyone. But the thought of him preparing the box messages as he lay in their bed in his final weeks, accosted by pain on all sides, yet looking forward to a picture of his wife in a future that wouldn’t contain him, remained almost too profoundly hurtful for Elsie to comprehend. If she needed any further proof of how extraordinary Lucas had been, this was it.

  Lucas believed in her. And that was all she needed to keep moving forward.

  ‘Sage green.’

  ‘Too dull.’

  ‘Clementine?’

  ‘Ugh. Too bright.’

  ‘Duck-egg blue?’

  ‘Too last year …’

  Daisy threw her hands up in frustration. ‘Do you want this room repainted or not?’

  Cher scrutinised the paint chart in her hand for the millionth time. ‘I do.’

  ‘Well, surely you must have some idea of the colour you want?’

  Cher raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you were the interior designer.’

  ‘Look, why don’t we try to narrow it down?’ Elsie suggested, gently removing the chart from Cher’s grip. ‘Daisy, pop the kettle on. Now you sit here, Cher, and let’s think logically about this. It’s your bedroom, so what do you have in it that could inform the colour scheme?’

  A filthy smirk claimed Cher’s scarlet lips. ‘Jake Long.’

  ‘For pity’s sake …’ Daisy, clearly horrified, escaped to the kitchen.

  ‘You’re dreadful,’ Elsie giggled. ‘But it’s good to see you so happy.’

  ‘I am. I really am. He’s amazing, Els! You should have seen him in Cannes – so attentive, so chivalrous. Hearing those French words slipping off his tongue was just the sexiest thing … I can’t help it, I think I love the guy! And you know how rare it is for me to admit that.’

  ‘I’m glad. It’s about time, too. So, this redecoration – is it for him?’

  Cher walked to the window in her small bedroom and lifted the edge of a curtain to inspect it critically. ‘Maybe. But more for me. I love my retro stuff and I don’t want to change it all, but I reckon it needs a rethink for how I’m feeling now.’ She pulled a face. ‘I haven’t offended Daisy, have I?’

  ‘No. She might look like a fragile goddess but she’s made of sterner stuff. If I were you, I’d let her design something for you. Trust me, it’ll be perfect.’

  Half an hour later, Elsie and Daisy waved to Cher as they walked down her garden path.

  ‘I should take you on at the practice,’ Daisy said, when she was certain they were out of earshot. ‘We’ve a few awkward clients you could work your magic on.’

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’

  A small child on a blue scooter hurtled towards them on the pavement and the sisters parted to let him through. ‘Road-hog!’ Daisy called after him. ‘Typical male driver.’

  ‘That could be our nephew in a few years’ time,’ Elsie reminded her. ‘Or niece. I still can’t quite believe Guin’s going to be a mum.’

  They reached the end of Cher’s road and paused by a small bakery on the corner with a couple of chairs and tables set outside. Daisy checked her watch. ‘I’ve got an hour until André arrives. It’s crazy but I always get butterflies when I know he’s coming home. The minutes just can’t come quickly enough. Fancy a coffee to take my mind off having to wait to see him?’

  It was a beautiful Sunday afte
rnoon bathed in sparkling sunshine that glinted along the roofs of the cars parked nose to tail along the road. Children were playing in the front garden of a B&B opposite the bakery and their unbridled laughter instantly reminded Elsie of her own childhood games with Daisy and Guin.

  ‘Remember when we used to invite all the neighbourhood kids round to ours in the summer holidays? Fifteen of us dashing through the house to the garden.’

  ‘More like twenty, one summer,’ Daisy said. ‘I think that was the time we had a double-glazing salesman measuring up for new windows and he thought all the kids playing in the garden were Dad’s. I suppose with Dad’s hippy clothes he probably thought we were part of some dodgy commune. Strange to think of a child running around the garden again.’ She paused. ‘Do you think you and Lucas would have …?’

  Elsie nodded, inhaling the scent from her espresso and feeling oddly peaceful. ‘Lucas wanted to be a thirty-year-old dad. He said he reckoned he would have grown up by then.’

  ‘André mentioned kids the other day.’

  Daisy’s calm bombshell caused Elsie to almost drop her cup. ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘That was pretty much my reaction, too. I mean, we see each other maybe ten days a month at the moment, if that? Quite how he thinks that constitutes a relationship constant enough to support a child is beyond me.’

  ‘Do you think he might be hinting at settling down?’ Elsie asked.

  Daisy raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘Who knows? He’ll be fifty next year – maybe he’s reached that time of life where kids are on the cards. We’re not like Guin and Joe, or you and Lucas; we rarely talk about the future. I suppose I’ll find out more today.’

  ‘How long is he staying?’

  ‘A whole week. That’s practically a lifetime for us. So, cheer me up. How’s Olly?’

  ‘Good, I think. He’s helping Dad set up the Traders’ Association stage for the Carnival next week.’

  ‘No more attempts to jump you, then?’

  Elsie laughed. ‘You’re impossible! No, we’re staying friends for the time being.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Daisy smirked into her latte. ‘For the time being.’

  The Sundaes’ final rehearsal took place the day before their Carnival debut. A strong sense of urgency filled Sundae & Cher as the choir arrived ready to work. Even Woody withheld his usual lengthy pre-rehearsal pep talk, ushering The Sundaes straight into their first song. Elsie listened intently as she played along, noting the areas that still required work and jotting notes down on a reporter’s notebook balanced on the end of her keyboard. Everyone bore a look of grim determination as they progressed twice through the short programme – and Elsie loved them for it.

  At tea break – today complemented with double scoops of Cher’s latest flavour experiment, Peach and Bacon ice cream, which elicited pleasant surprise from everyone – the visibly exhausted choir gathered together for a halftime post mortem.

  ‘I think we were a bit early coming in on the second song,’ Stan said, as Graeme agreed. ‘I lost my timing after the chorus, sorry.’

  ‘I’m having trouble remembering the lyrics for “Forget You”,’ Juliet confessed.

  Sheila sighed. ‘I don’t have any lyrics to remember for that song but I keep getting my oohs and aahs mixed up.’

  ‘People! Chill your collective beans,’ Woody said, stepping into the middle of the choir. ‘Tomorrow will be the triumphal entry of The Sundaes into the consciousness of this good town. You are the lyrical army I saw in my dream. It’s going to be epic!’

  ‘Woody’s right,’ Elsie agreed.

  ‘He is?’ Daisy was incredulous.

  ‘Yes, he is. You’ve all worked so hard to get these songs ready and it shows. Sure, there may be some tiny details we could still improve on, but you’re sounding so good! All I want is for us to get up on that stage and have fun. Do you think we can do that?’

  Smiles broke out across the room and Elsie sensed that the weight of worry had been lifted.

  ‘Great. Now let’s go through the programme one more time and then call it a night. I think we’re ready!’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Welcome to the world

  Early next morning Brighton seafront was alive with frenzied activity as stands, stalls and stages were set up. It was already warm, with forecasts of high temperatures and, more importantly, no rain – a perfect day for the Carnival.

  Butterflies had begun to bombard Elsie’s stomach from the moment she awoke and now, a little after eight a.m., they intensified with the sight of every streamer, string of coloured lights and painted stall she passed. The biannual weekend of Brighton Carnival had always been a highlight of her childhood and now she was about to showcase her very own choir as part of it. Whatever happened today would feel like a glowing achievement.

  There was an atmosphere of excitement and expectation pervading the whole town this morning. As she walked, Elsie could almost see the ghosts from Carnivals of years past: herself and Lucas with artfully painted faces, dancing half-drunk with bottles of warm beer as the colour, noise and splendour of the procession passed by. Lucas claimed to be unmoved by the event, but in every photograph Elsie possessed of him at successive Carnivals, his exuberant expression gave the game away.

  ‘Ready for the grand performance?’ Olly grinned from the top of a stepladder when Elsie arrived at the small stage. He had a long length of bunting over one shoulder and was fixing it around the metal gantry.

  ‘I think so. How long have you been here?’

  ‘About an hour or so. Jim was panicking it wouldn’t be done in time but, as you can see, we’re almost finished.’

  ‘That’s my Dad,’ she grinned. ‘Want any help?’

  Olly pointed across the stage to two bulging bin bags. ‘You could put those balloons up. Sticky tape and scissors should be nearby. Aren’t you needed at the café’s stall? I thought Cher would be flapping about it.’

  Elsie laughed. ‘I’ve just seen her and she’s assured me that everything’s under control. She’s brought enough supplies to feed most of the town by the look of it.’

  ‘Well, if the weather stays like this I reckon she’ll have sold out by lunchtime. Even her crazy flavours.’

  For the next thirty minutes they worked alongside each other, their conversation jovial and easy. Elsie noticed how much more relaxed Olly was now, his demeanour far less intense than it had been since their heart-to-heart in his office. When the bunting and balloons were all up, they stood back to admire their work.

  ‘How wonderful!’ Jim exclaimed, arriving with coffee and doughnuts from a nearby café just in time to see the work completed. ‘Glad I have the two of you to help me this morning. What a crack team you make!’

  Thanks Dad, Elsie smiled to herself, subtle as a breezeblock. ‘Do you like it?’

  Jim wrapped his arm around her. ‘Love it, darling. Olly, your bunting skills are remarkable.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll – er – put that on my CV.’

  ‘Good, good. I’m looking forward to meeting Woody Jensen, I can tell you. His was one of the best gigs of the Eighties – Hellfinger at The Basement, the summer before they hit the charts. I went with your mother, actually. Just before she … well, you know.’ He pulled a folded list from the back pocket of his jeans, switching the subject before it became too controversial. ‘Right, if you’ll excuse me I’ve got to check with the chap from local radio where he wants us to set up microphones.’ He shook hands with Olly. ‘Thanks so much for your help, mate. And Elsinore – it’s going to be fantastic, so don’t you worry.’

  Olly turned to Elsie, bemused, as soon as Jim had left. ‘Elsinore? Is that a nickname?’

  Elsie sighed. She hadn’t been looking forward to this question. ‘No. That’s my name. Elsinore Galadriel Maynard.’

  ‘No!’ He burst into great guffaws of laughter and Elsie waited impassively for him to finish.

  This wasn’t the first time she had encountered this reaction to the revelati
on of her full given name. At primary school, after a year of taunting, Jim had informed all of her teachers that they were to refer to her as Elsie immediately, for fear that his daughter would be traumatised by school if her full name continued to be used.

  Seeing her expression, Olly’s laughter quickly subsided. ‘I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I can’t believe I’ve only just found this out about you now. How did you come by that name?’

  Elsie sat on the edge of the stage and took the lid off her polystyrene cup to blow on her coffee. ‘My mum has an obsessive streak, which is probably a bad thing considering she’s an actress. She was cast in Hamlet just before she found out she was expecting me, received rave reviews for her portrayal of Ophelia and became obsessed with the play from then on. Hence Elsinore. Then, just before I was born, someone gave her a copy of The Lord of the Rings, which she was addicted to until I was born. Hence Galadriel.’

  ‘You’re kidding me?’

  ‘Nope. When she was expecting Daisy she became fascinated by The Victorian Language of Flowers, so Daisy’s middle name is Heartsease. And Guin – or Guinevere Isolde – was named after characters in Le Morte d’Arthur, which was her constant companion all the time she was expecting.’

  ‘Wow. My middle name is Henry – I feel positively plain by comparison.’

  Elsie grinned. ‘You’re lucky. I used to dream of changing my name to something really sane – like Jane or Lucy or Kate. Adults think it’s cool to be different, but having an unusual name at school means that all your teachers make an effort to learn it, so you can never get away with anything. And when you’re fourteen and wanting to fit in unnoticed with everyone else it’s a pain in the bum, frankly.’

  ‘No other Elsinores in your class, I take it?’

  ‘Funnily enough, no.’

  ‘Elsie suits you,’ Olly said, a self-conscious smile appearing immediately afterwards. ‘Which is a good job, obviously, seeing as it’s your name.’