When I Fall In Love. Miranda Dickinson
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Saturday morning, Elsie met Daisy for breakfast in the Driftwood Café on the beach near the Palace Pier. As usual, Daisy looked as if she had been expertly dressed and prepared by a team of beauticians and fashion stylists: her simple white shirt was completely crease-free and elegantly teamed with dark, slim-fitting jeans and brogues, with a large silk pashmina scarf completing her outfit. Elsie had always been in awe of her eldest sister and had spent much of her early teens trying to emulate Daisy’s style, until she reached the age of sixteen and discovered the kooky fashion boutiques in North Laine, which helped her to develop her own style. Today she was wearing a sweet, cherry-print dress over loose-fitting jeans, her beloved red Converse trainers and a bright green cardigan to fend off the cool sea breeze, her hair tied into a ponytail with a length of scarlet ribbon. A good four inches shorter than her sister, Elsie nevertheless bore a striking resemblance to her, both of them taking after their absent mother with their high cheekbones and large, denim-blue eyes, while their sibling Guin was the spit of Jim – tall and athletically built with a mass of thick, wavy blonde hair, the envy of her sisters whose tresses wouldn’t know a curl if they saw one.
The late morning sun was warming the deck of the café as Daisy poured tea from a quirky spotted teapot into two oversized cups.
‘I hope you realise this is the first Saturday I’ve taken off in five months,’ Daisy said, sliding a cup across the mosaic table-top towards her sister. ‘You should feel highly honoured.’
‘I do.’
‘Good.’ Daisy stirred her tea, observing Elsie carefully. ‘So, how are you with everything? And I mean really, Els, not the Wonderwoman impression you put on for Dad and Guin.’
‘I’m good. Don’t give me that look, I’m honestly fine with all of this.’
Daisy was far from pacified with this answer. ‘Then tell me – because I’m not sure I understand – what brought about your decision to date again?’
‘I’ve started to read the box messages.’
Daisy’s spoon dropped onto the saucer with a clank. ‘Oh. Wow.’
‘I know. And it feels good. The right time, you know? In fact, I read the second one this morning and it’s brilliant. Look …’ She took the folded paper from her purse and passed it across the table.
I love you because you’re fearless
and never afraid to start something new.
xx
For someone whose emotional control was legendary, Daisy looked dangerously close to tears. The paper shook gently in her fingers as she read the message and she was silent for some time. ‘What a beautiful thing to say …’
‘Not that we should be surprised.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Daisy handed the paper back to Elsie. ‘I know this will sound strange, considering, but you really are incredibly lucky. André’s never said anything like that to me in all the time I’ve known him.’
‘Do you wish he would?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I think it would be nice to hear how he feels about me, but other times I just think we’re one of those couples who don’t work that way. Not that it’s important, really.’ She flicked the topic away with a wave of her long fingers as if it were a troublesome fly. ‘So, what are you going to do with this message?’
‘I need to start something new.’
‘Like what?’
Elsie inhaled the salty air rising from the waves crashing on the pebble beach in the distance as a pair of squawking seagulls circled above. ‘I’ve no idea. But I think starting something new would help me to begin to think of myself as a person in my own right, you know?’
‘You are a person in your own right …’ Daisy began to protest.
‘No, I know that. But I have this whole unexpected life stretching out in front of me now and I should work out what to do with it. I just need to discover what happens next.’
Daisy shook her head. ‘You’re amazing. The way you’ve coped with all this … well, I think it’s wonderful.’ Embarrassed by her own emotion, she quickly moved on. ‘Have you thought about what you’d like to do?’
‘A little. The only thing I’ve come up with so far isn’t really a new thing, though.’
‘Tell me.’
Elsie felt a rush of excitement as she spoke. ‘OK, do you remember when we were growing up and we used to put on those dreadful musical shows for Dad?’
‘On Sunday afternoons! I’d forgotten those!’ Daisy clapped her hands and laughed so loudly that a passing waiter almost dropped his tray.
Around the time of Elsie’s eighth birthday, Sunday afternoons in the Maynard household became musical spectaculars. Daisy, then twelve, had just joined a kids’ drama club at the local Methodist church hall and was convinced she was destined for the bright lights of the West End. As with most things during their childhood, the Maynard sisters’ productions were instigated by Daisy, largely as a vehicle for showcasing her own performing skills, dragging middle sister Guin and little sister Elsie in as supporting cast. Not that either of them minded, as both were in constant awe of their confident, headstrong sibling. Each week, the Sunday Spectacular would become more enthusiastic and elaborate, with Elsie and Guin introducing costumes, wonky-eyed sock puppets and, eventually, music to the proceedings. By the time Elsie was twelve, she had attained the position of Musical Director, playing the family’s forever-out-of-tune piano in the dining room as her sisters danced and hammily acted their way through lengthy self-penned productions.
‘Poor Dad,’ Daisy laughed, ‘I can’t believe he actually sat through those week after week.’
‘He was a very good audience, though. Standing ovations every Sunday, remember?’ Elsie grinned.
‘How could I forget? You’re not thinking of resurrecting the Sunday Spectaculars, are you?’
‘Hmm, I’m not sure even Brighton is ready for that much theatrical experimentation. But I was thinking I might join a drama group or an operatic society. I’d quite like to do musicals – even though the old vocal cords haven’t had an outing for years. And it would be good to meet new people, get “out there” again. I need to start somewhere, and doing something I enjoy seems like a good enough place to start. Even if my voice isn’t up to scratch after all this time.’
Daisy stared at her sister as though she had just proclaimed the sea to be pink. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Your voice is brilliant. Far better than anyone else in the family – including Uncle Frank, and he’s been making a living in local pubs for years trashing the Great American Songbook. I reckon you could sing anywhere and people would listen.’
‘That’s kind of you to say but I think I might need to work on it a little before I let it out in public.’
‘Nonsense. Hang on a minute …’ Daisy’s eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. ‘You could sing right here.’
She pointed to the corner of the café’s boardwalk, where a rainbow-painted upright piano sat. It wouldn’t have looked out of place at a Coldplay gig and had been a feature of the café since the previous summer when a six-week arts project had left it behind. Its lid bore the invitation: Play me – I’m yours! and occasionally someone would accept the challenge, meaning that at any time your organic, Fairtrade coffee could be accompanied by a rock’n’roll medley, a Chopin piano concerto or a terrible rendition of ‘Chopsticks’.
‘Shh, don’t be daft!’ Elsie gave a nervous laugh and looked around, praying that none of the café’s customers had heard Daisy’s suggestion. Thankfully, the other people on the boardwalk appeared to be blissfully unaware of it, enjoying their leisurely breakfasts in the spring sunshine.
But