When I Fall In Love. Miranda Dickinson
you can. You’re fearless, remember?’ A glint of pure mischief flashed in her dark-blue eyes as she sat back in her chair, a victorious smile on her face. ‘I double-dare you.’
Elsie stared at her sister. If there was one irrefutable truth that the three Maynard sisters knew, it was that a double-dare was the ultimate challenge. To ignore it was to practically betray the Maynard family honour – and incur the unending jibes of the entire clan: Dad, Daisy, Guin, and even their late Grandma Flo, who had been a stickler for it when she was alive. No matter the potential consequences of the double-dare subject, nothing was worth facing the repercussions of turning it down …
Elsie pulled a face at her sister, but the die was cast. As she rose slowly, the sudden jolt of adrenaline caused by the sheer audacity of what she was about to do almost made her squeal out loud. Daisy nodded eagerly as Elsie walked across to the piano. Flexing her hands over the multi-coloured keys, she took a deep breath and dived in.
The first couple of bars of ‘I Will Survive’ were a little shaky – understandably so, given the instantly bemused faces of the customers. But as Daisy began to provide percussion by slapping the stainless steel table, Elsie’s confidence grew. By the time she neared the chorus, her heart was pumping like a steam train and she was singing at full throttle.
And then, something amazing happened.
A bespectacled man in a slim-fitting check shirt at the far end of the boardwalk suddenly got to his feet and joined in the chorus, followed by a lady at the next table. As people began to join in, the shared thrill of their spontaneous performance reverberated around the space. Diners inside the café crowded by the windows and open door to watch this spectacle and a group of dog walkers gathered to observe the extraordinary sight. Joggers along the promenade stopped and peered over the sea-green railings; a gaggle of teenage girls abandoned their texting and turned their camera phones towards the boardwalk café; older couples enjoying ice cream pointed and laughed. Smiles were everywhere, and as Elsie led her improvised band of singers in the final chorus, she felt more alive than she had in a long time.
When the song ended, an enormous cheer went up from performers and onlookers alike, the shared emotion bringing tears to Elsie’s eyes as the café staff wolf-whistled and applauded like maniacs. Then, this being Brighton, the unwitting flashmob performers self-consciously returned to their tables as if nothing had happened.
Elated, Elsie high-fived her grinning sister. ‘How was that?’
Daisy gave a low bow. ‘You are my official hero, Elsie Maynard! Heck of a way to start something new.’
‘I thank you.’
‘This calls for cake – no, I’m sorry, you can’t protest, sis. You’ve just attained legendary status. Cake is the only fitting tribute to your genius.’ Daisy hurried into the café.
Elsie smiled to herself, a strong feeling of fulfilment rushing through her. The stunt had been daft in the extreme, but it had awakened something deep within her. She had been looking for something new: and, while she wasn’t altogether sure that this discovery actually meant anything, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant had just been achieved. And she wasn’t wrong. For unbeknownst to Elsie Maynard, someone had been watching her spontaneous appearance carefully from the promenade railings. Someone who was about to change her life completely …
CHAPTER THREE
Pleased to meet you …
He was dressed entirely in black: from his too-tight jeans (slightly inadvisable for a man of his age), scuffed leather boots studded with silver stars and torn T-shirt emblazoned with a white skull that appeared to be winking, to his well-worn leather jacket and dented Stetson hat. The only exception was the crimson red kerchief knotted at his neck. A long, greying ponytail languished down his back and silver chains jangled at his wrists. Watching the remarkable scene unfolding on the boardwalk café below him, he leaned against the promenade railing, chewed his cinnamon gum thoughtfully and nodded slowly as an undeniably genius plan began to form in his mind.
When the onlookers from the promenade around him began to disperse, he took a pair of blue-tinted, round-lens sunglasses from his back pocket, placed them ceremoniously on his nose, tipped his hat-brim forward and sauntered down the stone steps to the boardwalk.
Daisy returned with a tray, her face flushed from laughter. ‘They love you in there,’ she gushed. ‘Cake’s on the house!’
‘Seriously? Blimey, I should do this more often.’
‘The manager asked if you can come back next Saturday. I think he was serious …’
‘Not sure being a café singer is really me, but it’s nice of him to ask,’ Elsie said, clinking cups with Daisy.
‘A-a-a-ngel!’ said a voice over their heads.
Elsie and Daisy looked up to see a middle-aged man in black standing beside their table.
Daisy frowned at the newcomer. ‘Sorry?’
‘You’re a vision, a miracle, a mystical sign, babe.’
Elsie stifled a giggle, but Daisy took an instant dislike to the unwelcome stranger interrupting their conversation. ‘No, thank you,’ she stated.
He appeared to be momentarily knocked off guard. ‘Say what?’
‘Whatever it is you’re selling, we’re not interested.’
‘Lady, do I look like a common beach merchant to you?’
‘I have no idea who you are. But my sister and I are enjoying a relaxed morning together, so if you don’t mind, we …’
‘Your sister? Your sister is a gift from the gods, girl.’
‘You’re very kind,’ Elsie replied, far more amused by the man in black than Daisy was. ‘But I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.’
‘On the contrary,’ he replied, pulling a chair from a nearby table and sitting down without an invitation. ‘You’re the one I’ve been looking for!’
‘Erm, excuse me,’ Daisy began, but the man in black wasn’t listening.
‘Woody,’ he said, jutting a jangling hand towards Elsie. ‘Woody Jensen. You may remember me from hit Eighties rock band Hellfinger.’
It was clear from the identical expressions of the Maynard sisters that neither did. Unperturbed, Woody pressed on. ‘I co-wrote the global hit “Hard Rockin’ Summer” – 1987? It’s still a leading light on the Kerrang! Radio playlist …’
Elsie shrugged. ‘I was two in 1987 and my sister was six – sorry.’
Visibly deflated, Woody removed his hat and plonked it on the table. ‘It was a seminal hit, man … World tour, groupies – the whole nine yards. Are you sure you don’t remember?’ He began to sing in a throaty falsetto voice, drumming his be-ringed fingers on the table top: ‘Heart beatin’ faster than a-Olympic runn-uhh, we’re livin’ the dream for a hard rockin’ summ-uhh … Oh-oohh, hard rockin’ summ-uhh …’ He looked hopefully at Elsie and Daisy. ‘Ring any bells?’
‘Only alarm ones,’ Daisy muttered.
‘Say again?’
‘Look, it’s been a blast meeting you, obviously, but I’d really appreciate it if you left us alone now?’
Woody folded his arms. ‘Not until your sister’s heard my attractive proposition.’ He grinned lasciviously at Elsie.
Quick to defend her sister from what she perceived to be a scruffy rocker’s dodgy advances, Daisy flew to her feet and leaned threateningly over Woody. ‘Listen, I’ve asked you nicely to leave. If you insist on staying I’m going to have to ask the manager to eject you from the premises …’