Miranda Dickinson - When I Fall In Love

‘What time are the others turning up?’

Elsie checked her watch. ‘In about ten minutes. Right, what do you want me to do before they arrive?’

Cher dismissed the suggestion with a wave of her scarlet-painted nails. ‘Don’t you worry about that. Pop the kettle on and let’s have a cuppa. Mine’s a Rooibos, please.’

Elsie smiled. ‘Yes, boss.’ She flicked the switch on the kettle and fetched one Rooibos teabag for Cher and a peppermint teabag for herself. ‘Thanks for letting us meet here this evening, hun. I didn’t trust Daisy in a pub setting. One glass of red wine and she’d be likely to tell Woody exactly what she thought of him: the choir would be over before we’d even started.’

‘Not his biggest fan, eh?’

‘You could say that.’

Cher stretched and pushed her order sheets away. ‘I might hang about and meet this famous Woody, then. If he can wind your perfect sister up that much then I’m intrigued.’

Elsie handed Cher a mug of tea. ‘Be my guest. In fact, I can sign you up as our first official member if you fancy it?’

‘No fear,’ Cher snorted. ‘My loopy mother might’ve named me after a singer but that’s as far as the association goes. My voice could curdle our entire stock.’

Daisy was on time, of course. Despite the fact that she had worked a long day, she looked fresher than Elsie did first thing in the morning, dressed in a well-cut grey trouser suit, her long blonde hair swept to one side in a low ponytail and one of her many pashmina scarves draped expertly around her shoulders. For the umpteenth time, Elsie marvelled at her older sister. No wonder she had reputedly left a string of broken hearts across Brighton and beyond during her twenty-eight years on the planet: Daisy Maynard was one of life’s beautiful people. Not that she realised it, of course. But then that was one of her most endearing qualities. Her partner André, while not the most demonstrative of men, had said as much to Elsie when she had last seen him, at Jim’s birthday party a couple of months ago:

‘She’s stunning. Every day I wake up beside her I’m amazed she can’t see it.’

Daisy’s choice of partner had been the source of great consternation to her father, especially when he knew how often they were apart, but André’s successful business life seemed to suit Daisy’s strong independence and somehow they made the relationship work. Recently, however, Elsie had detected a tiny note of dissatisfaction creeping into Daisy’s comments about her boyfriend. Perhaps she was beginning to want more – but, as with most things in her life, she was remaining tight-lipped.

Elsie was closer to Daisy than she was to Guin, largely because she had idolised her eldest sister for as long as she could remember, but also because, with their mother out of the picture during most of her childhood, Daisy had assumed an almost maternal role in the Maynard household. Now they were simply best friends who happened to be siblings, and Elsie was fiercely proud of their relationship.

‘I take it our former rock star hasn’t arrived yet?’ Daisy asked, already prepared for battle.

‘He’ll be here.’

‘Hmm.’ She sat down at one of the tables and produced an expensive Moleskine notebook from her handbag. ‘Maybe it would be better for all of us if he didn’t bother.’

Irritated, Elsie sat opposite her sister. ‘I told you that you didn’t have to be here this evening. I don’t expect you to hold my hand, you know. Besides, Cher’s in the kitchen – any trouble from Captain Hellfinger and she’ll manhandle him off the premises.’

Daisy had to smile at the mental picture of retro Cher ejecting the rocker from her ice cream café. At that moment, the brass bell above the door jangled to herald Woody’s arrival. He stopped in the doorway, looked up and nodded sagely at the bell.

‘Cool. For whom the bell tolls, yeah?’ He walked over to Elsie, grabbed her hand and blessed it with a bristly kiss. ‘Angel.’

‘Hi, Woody. Great you could make it.’

He nodded again, his eyes making a considered survey of the café interior from behind his sunglasses as he shrugged off his fringed black leather jacket to reveal a faded grey Mötley Crüe T-shirt beneath. ‘Good vibe here. I sense the satisfied souls of generations, man. Ice cream is a great healer of hearts and hurts.’

‘It certainly is.’ Cher had entered from the kitchen and was observing Woody with a wry smile. ‘I’m Cher Pettinger. I own this place.’

With one move, Woody removed his sunglasses, hooked them over the back pocket of his jeans and slid across the harlequin tiles to Cher’s side, his eyes eagerly drinking in the sight of her enviable figure in her low-cut white blouse and turquoise circle skirt with matching heels. ‘Then you must be an angelic visitation into this poor rocker’s life. If your wares are as inspirational as your establishment, I wouldn’t mind sampling them.’

Cher lowered her false eyelashes and purred, ‘Easy, tiger.’

Daisy rolled her eyes heavenwards and picked up her pen. ‘Much as I hate to break up the party, can I suggest we get started? Els and I have to go to Croydon straight after this meeting.’

‘Croydon? Who goes to Croydon for anything?’ Woody frowned but Daisy’s interruption had achieved its purpose, bringing him back to the table.

‘Thank you. Now I think we should discuss what we’re trying to achieve with this choir. What songs will we sing? Are we forming for a particular performance opportunity or simply as a social gathering?’ Daisy looked up from her list at Elsie and Woody’s bemused expressions. ‘What?’

Elsie placed her hand gently on Daisy’s. ‘This is Woody’s vision. And I’m helping him with it. You’re here for moral support, remember?’

‘Well, I was only trying to help …’

‘I know and, believe me, you’re being a great help. Lots of important things to consider there, which we will, after we’ve heard what Woody has to say.’

Open-mouthed, but remembering that Elsie stood between her and the questionable Swedish home décor she needed for work, Daisy folded her arms and nodded at Woody.

‘Good girl,’ he grinned, oblivious to the killer death stare Daisy shot back. ‘This choir – and I don’t even want to call it a choir because it’s more like a meeting of musical minds – it needs to be meaningful , yeah? None of that Ave Maria shizzle. No offence, Daisy, if you like that kinda stuff. I’m just working to a higher calling. We’re gonna represent the greats – bestowing their music on this generation so the legends live on in hearts and minds. We’ll be like undercover agents for the forces of music: choir ninjas, if you will. We’ll strike fast and hard, leaving minds reeling with musical missiles, man. It’ll be a spiritual awakening for the masses, through the medium of musical mash-ups. So whaddya say?’

Elsie didn’t really know how to respond. Woody’s vision didn’t sound like any choir she’d ever encountered – more like an underground resistance movement than a group of people getting together to enjoy singing songs. It was immediately obvious to her what she could bring to the table in this partnership: sanity, mostly.

‘It all sounds very impressive. But to get to where you want this to be, I think we need a more – um – practical strategy. What type of people are we looking for to be part of this? And, perhaps most importantly, where are we going to rehearse? I called a couple of church halls and community centres today and I have to say it’s not looking promising. Those that aren’t booked up completely during the week are either too far out of town or ridiculously expensive.’

Woody looked as if he had just lost the award for Best Band 1984 to Black Lace. ‘But this thing has gotta happen, Elsie! I saw it in my dream …’