I love you because you never back away from a battle.
xx
Well, I’m sorry, Lucas, but this time you’re wrong. Once I might have waded into the fray, but not since you left. I’m a different woman now.
This time she wasn’t just backing away – she was retreating as fast as she could. Was this how it would be from now on, she wondered: running away whenever the opportunity to move on presented itself? When she made the decision to start again she had felt so strong, so full of confidence for the unknown life that stretched out in front of her. Had she been mistaken?
I’m not like that, she argued back, I’m stronger than this. Aren’t I?
Olly didn’t follow her when she walked away. Only when she reached the safety of the promenade did she dare to look back towards the beach, seeing his hunched figure exactly where she’d left him sitting on the shingle ridge, staring out to sea. Nor did he try to call or text her during the following week. The dull ache of their argument hung anvil-heavy on her heart every day, the words of Lucas’ note calling like a mockingbird in her mind. Cher noticed the change in Elsie – as did Daisy, Guin and Jim – but something about her mood must have warned them against inquiring further.
In the end, a most unlikely confidant came to her aid.
It was a warm Wednesday afternoon, just over a week since her exchange with Olly, and Elsie had taken advantage of an almost empty Sundae & Cher to claim some outstanding overtime she was owed to head out into the comforting anonymity of Brighton’s streets. Walking slowly through the Lanes full of people getting on with their day, Elsie let the rumble of traffic and flow of bodies wash over her, the ordinariness of it all soothing the jumble of questions knotting inside. She crossed a main road without really thinking about where she was and it was only when she was at the other side that she recognised the imposing gated entrance to the Royal Pavilion Gardens. Skirting it, she walked round and into the gardens, the exotic domes and towers of the historic building rising up from very British flowerbeds.
As a child she had often played here with Daisy and Guin, imagining that the Pavilion was Aladdin’s palace and they were princesses playing amid its delphinium, rose and lavender beds. Later, she would stroll here with Lucas for tea and cakes at the Pavilion Gardens café on Sunday afternoons in the summer. Recently she hadn’t ventured here – largely because it was odd to be in this place without Lucas. Today, it was quiet, save for a group of students lounging on the grass and a lone mandolin busker plucking through a medley of REM songs, his coat spread out before him on the path to catch any change offered. Elsie reached into her pocket and dropped a pound coin into the small pile at his feet. He nodded his thanks with eyes closed, lost in the melodies of his instrument.
Elsie turned towards the café and was about to walk towards it when a familiar voice called her name. Looking around, she eventually traced its owner, sprawled on the grass, his leather jacket folded behind his head and a half-opened six-pack of beers by his side.
Smiling, Elsie lifted her hand to greet him. ‘Hey, Woody. Bit early for beer, isn’t it?’
He grinned back, his cheeks a little flushed already in the warm sun. ‘It’s past one o’clock, babe.’ He patted the grass beside him. ‘Care to join old Woodster for a Wednesday bevvy?’
Finding no good reason to refuse, she stepped over the low wire fence and sat cross-legged on the grass beside him. Woody pulled a bottle from the cardboard holder, levered off its metal cap with a key from his pocket and offered the bottle to her.
‘Here’s mud in your eye.’ He clinked his bottle against hers and they drank. The beer was warm and cheap, but it was a welcome distraction from the muddle of Elsie’s head. As she took a swig of it she was aware of Woody’s eyes on her. ‘Looks like you needed that,’ he said, when she lowered the bottle.
‘You know what? I did.’
‘Sometimes beer is all that’s needed,’ he chuckled. ‘Although judging by your face today, maybe not.’
His insight surprised her and she attempted to shrug it off. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re not, though, are you? You’ve had the weight of the world on you for a while now. Don’t look so shocked, babe, you think your Uncle Woody can’t see what’s happening?’
‘Seriously, Woody …’
‘You can trust me, girl. I mean, who am I likely to tell?’
Elsie observed the ageing musician by her side as if seeing him for the first time. It was terrible to admit, but until now she had assumed the years of rock’n’roll had reduced his mind to the borders of sanity. He had been a fun source of entertainment, with his quasi-spiritual ramblings and belief in himself as some kind of musical guru – but the thought of him being able to perceive changes in someone else had never entered the picture.
‘It’s Olly – no, it’s me … Well, it’s a bit of everything, really.’ She hesitated, unsure whether Woody wanted the details of her life to intrude on his Wednesday afternoon beer session. ‘Do you really want to know? I mean, I don’t want to spoil your afternoon …’
He laughed, a deep guttural guffaw that boomed around the gardens and dislodged some disgruntled pigeons from the top of a Pavilion minaret. ‘I have all the time in the world, angel. Explain away.’
So, she told him. About Lucas and The List; about his box of messages that suddenly spoke of a woman she no longer recognised; about Olly’s pain and her own frustrations at not being able to jump in where once she would have. Several times she felt tears threatening and she broke off to wash the emotion back down inside with gulps of warm beer. As the mandolin played and groups of people moved slowly through the space, their shadows growing longer in the afternoon sun, Elsie told Woody everything: things she couldn’t express to her dad or sisters, things they just wouldn’t understand. Woody listened to it all, nodding occasionally and draining one bottle before reaching for another.
When she came to an end, he looked up at the clouds drifting overhead as if seeking some divine insight for the right response. ‘You have nothing to reproach yourself for,’ he said, finally. ‘All the stuff with Irene passing – it’ll have raked up the muck again. This journey you find yourself on, it’s going to be a rocky one. You can only walk it in your own time, when you’re ready – not when anyone else expects you to be. But you’ll get there – wherever “there” ends up being.’
Elsie hugged her knees to her chin. ‘Do you think I will? Honestly? Because I’ve never been so unsure of anything.’
Woody sniffed. ‘I don’t doubt it. Been through it myself, you know: I understand. When Sid died – our drummer – man, I was like an old soul lost at sea. For a long time I didn’t even recognise myself in the mirror. Life was useless, pointless. I let friends go and almost drank myself to oblivion. Worst of it was, I never understood how much he meant to me till he wasn’t there any more. And I blamed myself for not seeing the signs, you know? He was the most together bloke I ever met – had answers for everything, Sid did. Then we walked into that dressing room in Japan and he was hanging from a beam …’ He fell silent and Elsie instinctively placed her hand on his knee. Nodding back at her, he downed half a bottle of beer before speaking again. ‘Broke me, babe, ripped the heart out from me. Took years to find it again. Difference with you is, your man knew where he was going and believed in you.’
‘But what if he was wrong about me?’
Woody shook his head, a smile working its way across his face. ‘He wasn’t. You just need to trust him, girl. See the strong warrior in you the rest of us see already. Sounds like my kind of bloke, your Lucas. See, you and me aren’t so different, angel. We know what it is to have life kick us in the nuts – so to speak. Kindred spirits, that’s what we are. Digging through the dirt to get to the diamonds.’ He lifted his almost-empty bottle. ‘A toast. To the road ahead. However crap it might be.’
Elsie didn’t know exactly what this meant, but the welcome lightness within her from this afternoon’s unburdening was enough for her to join
Woody’s toast.
‘To the road ahead.’
That evening, Elsie arrived at Olly’s house without trying to call first. Of course, she risked him not being in, but at least this way she didn’t have time to think better of it.
The shock of seeing her on his doorstep was evident in the fact that Olly couldn’t speak for a few moments when he opened the door. This was enough of a break for Elsie to take the initiative.
‘I’m sorry,’ she rushed. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you. And I’m sorry I walked away. I know I’ve probably just confirmed everything you said about me blowing hot and cold, but I didn’t know how strongly you felt about all this. The fact is, I like you being in my life, but beyond that I – I just don’t have the answers you need. I’ll understand if you decide this isn’t worth it and, if that’s the case, then I’ll turn round and walk away and you won’t see me again. But I couldn’t leave it without saying how much I’ve appreciated you being my friend.’
He shook his head and held his arms out. ‘Come here.’
Heart racing, Elsie stepped into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his arms as they encircled her.
‘I overreacted,’ he whispered, his breath a summer zephyr in her hair. ‘I’m still here.’
Elsie pulled back and gazed into his dark eyes. ‘And if I can’t promise you what you want?’
‘Just you being here is enough for now. Let’s deal with whatever whenever we have to.’
‘And that was enough to convince him?’ Cher asked the next day, as Elsie cut an enormous lemon and ginger cake into slices ready to meet the hungry afternoon tea crowd due to arrive at any moment.
‘It seemed to be,’ Elsie replied. ‘Although I couldn’t tell whether he was happy about it or just resigned to wait longer.’
Cher patted her shoulder as she passed her to fetch a new batch of cherry, raspberry and walnut scones from the oven in the kitchen. ‘You’ll get there.’
‘You sound like Woody.’
‘Eh?’ There was the sound of metal clanking and a barely concealed obscenity.
Elsie looked over her shoulder to see Cher hopping round the kitchen, flapping her right hand wildly. ‘Everything all right in there?’
‘Peachy, kid. That blasted oven got me again. I think we need to get the door hinge looked at.’ She kicked the oven door shut and ran her burned digits under the tap. ‘I hope our customers appreciate us risking life and limb for their refreshment provision.’
‘I’m sure they do.’
Cher walked back into the café with a basket of scones and placed them on the counter. ‘I know they do. I had another proposal this morning.’
‘Not Mr Orfanos again?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘What was it this time? Your devastating wit, personality and ample chest?’
‘You’d think so. But I suspect it had more to do with his Maple and Nibbed Sugar Ice Cream Pancake Tower. With extra banana and chocolate sprinkles.’
Several times a week for the past five months, since he and his brother bought the small wine bar in nearby Sydney Street, Mr Dmitri Orfanos had made the short pilgrimage to sample the delights of Sundae & Cher. A divorcee with a love of good food, he had been enamoured first by Cher’s infamous blouses, then won over completely by her culinary prowess. As a result, Cher regularly received ever more impassioned proposals of marriage from him – which, while sweet, had become a running joke between her and Elsie.
‘Given that much edible temptation, how could the poor guy resist?’ Elsie laughed.
Cher raised her head. ‘Is that your phone?’
‘Ooh, it is.’ Elsie pulled her mobile out of her apron pocket. ‘Hello?’
‘Ms Maynard?’
‘Speaking.’
‘Good morning. My name is Andrew Delaney and I’m a family law solicitor at Denbigh Associates. I have a matter of probate that concerns you – a will, in layman’s terms. I wonder if you could come to our offices to discuss this?’
His formal request threw her for a moment. ‘Can I ask whose will it is?’
‘Certainly. I am acting for the family of Mrs Irene Quinn.’
Elsie could hardly believe it. Irene had left her something in her will? Why would she do something like that? Intrigued, Elsie replied, ‘My day off is tomorrow. Would that be suitable?’
‘Perfect. Shall we say nine o’clock?’
‘Yes, that’s fine.’
‘Good. I shall see you then.’
Ending the call, Elsie turned to Cher. ‘I’ve been left something in Irene’s will.’
‘Seriously? Wow, that’s a bit of a surprise, isn’t it? I wonder what she’s left you.’
Mind whirring, Elsie nodded. ‘I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.’
I love you because you always
follow your instincts.
xx
The next morning, with the words of Lucas’ message reverberating in her mind, Elsie arrived at the offices of Denbigh Associates, which were set in a row of elegant black and white brick buildings. Whatever direction her instincts might decide on today, they were obviously enjoying a lie-in, leaving Elsie feeling completely lost. After signing in with the receptionist she sat alone in the small waiting area.
As Mr Delaney had given precious few details about the will, other than Elsie being named in it, she hadn’t told any of The Sundaes, including Daisy and Woody, not wanting to create any awkward situations with the other choir members. She felt considerable unease at Irene’s inclusion of her, especially in the light of the small amount of time she had known the elderly lady. Eventually, she had broken her silence and told Olly after dinner at his house last night.
‘The more I think about it, the more wrong it seems. I don’t think she should have left me anything. I mean, I’ve only known her a few months.’
Olly sat beside her on the bench in his back garden, as the evening light succumbed to petrol-blue darkness, the smell of sea salt and sun-toasted grass filling the night air. ‘From what I know of Irene, I doubt time had any bearing on her decision.’
‘All the same, I’m not sure I can accept her money.’
‘Look, there’s no point trying to figure this out until you know the score. She might just want to say thank you for creating the choir. Why don’t you reserve judgement until you hear what the will actually says?’
She turned to him, gaining strength from his smile, which was as warm as the autumn evening. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘I am. Trust me, Els, you’ll be fine tomorrow. Just go along and see what happens – then deal with whatever you have to.’
The offices were smartly laid out and had a sterile air of professional efficiency about them. Impeccably dressed legal staff scurried from office to office with large folios of papers under their arms. Whenever they passed a colleague, each legal would refer to the other in formal terms, making the general tone of the office sound like a scene from a Jane Austen novel:
‘Mr Clark.’
‘Miss Westwood.’
‘Mr Jevons.’
‘Mr Powell.’
‘Good day, Mr Guest?’
‘Indeed it is, Mr Nicholls.’
Elsie couldn’t help but be amused by this archaic communication: not least because it made her remember Number 27 on The List, when she and Lucas had spent an entire day using only Shakespearean language – witnessing the bemusement of others when they ordered coffee, enquired about books in Waterstones and dropped off their washing at the local launderette …
‘Ms Maynard?’
Elsie returned from her memories to see an impeccably dressed man approaching.
‘Yes. Hello.’
‘Andrew Delaney. So glad you could come in. Shall we?’ He indicated the corridor to the left, along which were several doors leading to frosted-glass-fronted offices.
Elsie followed him to the far end of the corridor and into a bright office that smelled of furniture polish and new paint.
‘First of all, please accep
t my apologies for the rather cloak-and-dagger approach. As I’m sure you’ll appreciate when you hear the stipulations of the will, it was a necessary evil. Would you like coffee before we begin?’
‘No, thank you. I must admit, this has all come as a bit of a surprise to me. I’ve only known Irene for a couple of months.’
The solicitor raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s not uncommon in matters like this. I once presided over the will of a man who left a considerable sum to his window cleaner, whom he had only met a fortnight before his death. Mrs Quinn sounds a remarkable woman, by all accounts. I haven’t seen such a specific will in a very long time.’
Elsie shifted in her seat. If, from his inference, Elsie had been left a considerable amount of money, it would be difficult to accept; and if The Sundaes found out, it could be potentially damaging. ‘Specific in what way?’
Mr Delaney’s smile was kind and patient. ‘A good way, I believe. I think it’s best if I read the section of Mrs Quinn’s will that concerns you.’ He produced a thin folded document, unfurled it and began: ‘“I wish for the following to be read in its entirety: I would like to mention a wonderful young lady who I have only recently had the pleasure to know. Elsie Maynard, the leader of The Sundaes community choir, has given me a gift greater than I could have imagined: she has given me the opportunity to be part of something, to feel useful once again. It has been many years since I abandoned singing after my beloved George passed away, and I was more or less determined it would stay that way until I died. But, quite by chance, I was invited to attend a new choir meeting, into which I was welcomed unconditionally by all present. In the short time I have been a member of The Sundaes I have regained my love of singing and gained a surrogate family in the process. Each one has shared important details of their lives with me and I have been privileged to be trusted with such information. Which brings me to my desire to reward Elsie Maynard and her lovely choir …”’ He looked up from the will and smiled at Elsie. ‘How are you doing? All making sense so far?’
When I Fall in Love Page 24