Kitabı oku: «When I Fall In Love», sayfa 2

Cher was obsessed with 1950s and 1960s fashion, proudly wearing vintage finds from the retro clothing boutiques that lined the streets of Brighton’s famous shopping district. Her home, too, was a shrine to retro kitsch, her love of which was evident wherever she was.

As such, she looked every inch the part behind the glass counter of Sundae & Cher – as did Elsie in her black short-sleeved blouse with white collar and cuffs, turquoise satin circle skirt and white frilled apron. It was fun to dress up for work and even though the days were long and busy, Elsie adored being part of Cher’s throwback business vision. It was as if Cher’s trademark dynamism was infused into the very fixtures and fittings of the ice cream café – a sense of optimism and fun pervaded everything, something which had proved precious to Elsie during the last eighteen months.

Today, as she scooped colourful balls of handmade ice cream into deep blue sundae glasses, Elsie felt more positive about her decision than ever.

‘So, want me to set you up?’ Cher asked, popping Belgian chocolate-filled wafer sticks into the top of the sundaes. ‘Because I’m sure I know some suitable gents. Not that I’m saying you won’t find anyone under your own steam, you know, but every little helps and that.’

The door opened and a middle-aged man bounded across the harlequin-tiled floor towards them. ‘Morning, lovely ladies!’

‘And here’s one of them now,’ Cher winked. ‘Dennis, my lovely. How’s our favourite morning customer?’

Dennis’ ample cheeks flushed. ‘Always the better for seeing you, m’dear.’

Cher feigned coyness and batted her false eyelashes at him. ‘Such a charmer! So what can I tempt you with today?’

His eyes made a greedy survey of the generous swirling mounds of rainbow-hued ice creams before him (and, arguably, a wider reconnoitre of Cher’s generous chest in the process). ‘Ah, decisions, decisions. I think I will have one of your excellent breakfast pastries, considering the early hour.’

‘Good choice. Anything with that, Dennis?’

Elsie knew the script of this conversation by heart. Every Monday and Thursday morning, at nine o’clock precisely, Dennis Keith would visit Sundae & Cher on his way to the small accountancy office where he worked. His ultimate goal was to have three scoops of ice cream with his breakfast pain au chocolat, but his sense of British propriety and conscience would never allow him to ask for this outright. Instead, a well-practised bartering ensued, after which he could rest easy that he was not being greedy but, in fact, merely accommodating Cher’s culinary suggestion. It wouldn’t do to hurt her feelings by refusing ice cream, would it?

‘I wonder if I might have a scoop of your excellent gelato with my breakfast?’

‘Of course, lovely. Which one would you like?’

Dennis made a grand show of indecision, hopping left to right as he surveyed the selection. ‘Vanilla – no, wait – Mango and Ginger Swirl looks most inviting … But then there’s Chocolate Space Dust … oh, it’s so hard to choose!’

Cher leaned over the counter just low enough to momentarily lure his eyes away from the ice cream. ‘Dennis, you know I’ll be offended if you don’t try all three …’

Mission accomplished, his eyes twinkled as he pretended to be surprised. ‘Really? In that case, how can I refuse?’

As he walked away happy, Cher twirled her ice cream scoop like a Wild West sharpshooter. ‘See? Do I know men or what?’

Elsie grinned and picked up a menu covered in vivid pink Post-it notes. ‘No doubting that fact. You thinking of redesigning the menus again?’

Cher handed Elsie a cup of tea. ‘Not the menus. The menu.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I’ve been thinking about being a bit more adventurous with what Sundae & Cher offers. Try to extend our reach a bit. Now we’re heading towards Easter I thought it was as good a time as any to have a bit of a spring clean.’

Elsie looked at the written suggestions on the menu stickies. ‘I like the idea of porridge and pancakes for the Breakfast list. After all, not everyone can face ice cream first thing in the morning like Dennis.’

‘I’ve asked our friends at Cupcake Genie to do us some seasonal specials, too, and I can tie in the ice cream flavours with some of their ideas,’ Cher continued, her eyes ablaze with inspiration. ‘And there’s more …’ She hurried into the kitchen behind the counter and returned a few moments later with a frosted Tupperware box. She cracked open the lid and scooped a spoonful of palest lilac-coloured gelato from inside, handing it to Elsie. ‘Try that.’

The taste was unbelievable – like crushed Parma Violets and rose petals. ‘Wow, that’s amazing.’

‘It’s organic and dairy-free,’ Cher beamed. ‘I made it using almond milk. It works with any of our flavours and it’s something we can offer that nobody else in Brighton does. Then I’ve ordered a crêpe hotplate, so we can offer handmade crêpes on site with scoops of ice cream, fresh fruit and pretty much any of our toppings. It’ll look fantastic and the smell of freshly cooked crêpes will fill the place! If that works, who knows? Waffles made in-house, takeaway ice cream, more of your awesome cookies … anything’s possible.’

‘Sounds like you’ve thought of everything. So when are all these menu changes taking place?’ Elsie asked.

‘Not for a while. I’m still working on bringing everything together. I want your ideas, too. This needs to be a joint effort, OK?’ She looked over to the corner of the café where Dennis was blissfully engrossed in his guilt-free breakfast. ‘If only all our customers were as easy to please as Dennis, eh?’

Elsie grinned. ‘Maybe we should appoint him Chief Menu Consultant.’

‘You’re kidding, aren’t you? He’d never leave!’

‘Fair point.’ Elsie placed the menu on the counter. ‘So, being more adventurous it is then.’

The wink Cher blessed Elsie with was pure filth. ‘In as many ways as we can, girl.’

On 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 Daisy Maynard was an impossibly gorgeous woman on a mission. ‘I mean it, Els! Do it now – go on, sing something!’

‘I can’t …’

‘Yes, 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 …’

‘Hey, babe, chill. All I want is to ask your sister one question and then I’m gone. Acceptable?’

Suddenly feeling sorry for the former global rock star at their table, Elsie placed her hand on her sister’s arm. ‘I think we should hear what Mr Jensen has to say, hun.’

Daisy sank back onto her chair. ‘But he’s …’

Ignoring her sister’s protest, Elsie turned to Woody. ‘Ask away.’

A look of pure reverent awe washed across Woody’s stubble-edged face. ‘A-a-a-a-ngel,’ he breathed, before composing himself. ‘I need your help. You see I’m a man burdened with ambition and creative skill beyond anything what a man should have to carry. But it’s a cross I bear for my creativity, babe. Point is, I’m on the edge of a rebirth – a spiritual readjustment, if you will – and I have a feeling that this new phase of my life will be my strongest yet. If I can only get my project off the ground, that is.’

Daisy was staring at him like he was a three-headed alien. Elsie gave him a patient smile. ‘And what is your question, exactly?’

‘Well, I was up on the prom, considering my next move, when a vision appeared to me – just like in ’84 when I dreamed of a rock band that would take over the known world and Hellfinger was born. And the vision was you – here, on this humble boardwalk – like a musical shaman, charming the Brighton faithful to do your mystical will.’

Elsie laughed. ‘It was “I Will Survive”, not a religious chant.’

‘But that’s the point, girl! You took a humble song and made it magical. That’s what I want to do.’

‘I’m sorry, I really don’t know what you’re asking me to …’

Woody grasped her hand, taking her by surprise. ‘I’m talking about a choir, babe! But not a goody-goody, saccharine sweet choir in a church hall. I’m talking a band of vocal believers, faithfully bringing classic tunes to the masses. Hendrix, Lennon, McCartney, Gaga. But I can’t do this alone: I need a musical director – a collaborator, if you will – to bring my dream to reality. I was asking the universe for a sign – just as you started to sing. It’s fate, babe! So what do you say? Will you jump into the abyss of chance and play destiny’s piano?’

‘With an offer like that, how can you refuse?’ scoffed Daisy.

‘How indeed …?’ Elsie answered, her mind suddenly racing with possibilities.

Daisy gripped her arm. ‘Wait – you’re not seriously considering this, are you?’

Elsie couldn’t lie. Despite all the good reasons there were for her not accepting, she liked this middle-aged rocker with his crazy idea. The hint of something beyond the norm intrigued her intensely. This week’s note had said she was fearless: surely pursuing this was evidence of the fact?

‘I was looking to start something new. This might be it.’

‘No way! I’m sorry, Elsie, I can’t let you do this.’

Woody’s brow lowered. ‘I think you’ll find Elsie can …’

‘Daisy, I think this could work. I wanted to do something musical and this could be fun. Imagine the people who would respond to a non-conventional choir. People I might have something in common with and be able to build something with … Come on, Dais, you said you’d support me in whatever I chose to do. If I’m going to start something new and maybe begin to date again, this could be a perfect opportunity.’

‘Yeah, Daisy, lighten up and catch the vision,’ Woody added, perhaps unwisely given the murderous look in Daisy’s eyes.

‘Nobody has introduced us so you shouldn’t use my name!’ she exclaimed, the utter Britishness of her argument only serving to make Elsie giggle.

‘Daisy Maynard, meet Woody Jensen. Woody, meet Daisy. And I’m Elsie. Now we’re all formally introduced. Happy?’

‘Not particularly.’ Irritated, Daisy wrapped her long pashmina scarf around her shoulders and glared at them both. ‘If you want to do this, fine. But I’m coming too. I’m not letting you go anywhere alone with this – this – person.’

Woody scooped up the Stetson and replaced it on his head. ‘Cool with me, babe. The more the merrier.’

They arranged to meet the following Tuesday evening at Sundae & Cher, Woody clearly relishing the prospect of ‘dreams and ice cream’. Daisy waited until Woody had left to reveal her true feelings to Elsie.

‘I can’t believe you’d even consider doing anything with that man,’ she said, as they picked their way slowly across the pebbled beach. ‘He’s a nutjob!’

Elsie bent down to pick up a smooth, grey pebble. ‘I know he’s a little … eccentric, but isn’t everybody in this town? You have to admit, it sounds like fun.’

‘It sounds like a nightmare,’ Daisy retorted. ‘Els, are you sure this is what you want? Because there are all manner of perfectly decent choirs in Brighton that you could join instead. The DreamTeam are meant to be wonderful – and they perform at the Theatre Royal every year. Imagine singing on that stage! You’d love it, I’m sure …’

Elsie shot her sister a wry look. ‘Be in a choir run by Jeannette Burton? The only choirmistress who grabs more of the spotlight than her choir? No, thank you. I don’t want to be led in musical medleys by a fifty-something woman in skin-tight red leather trousers. It would be most off-putting …’ She smiled, remembering Cher’s damning verdict on the woman: ‘Just like Simon Cowell in red leather’ … ‘Besides,’ she continued, turning the pebble over and over in her hands, ‘the kind of choir Woody and I could create would be fun and definitely not conventional.’

Change was a good thing, Elsie decided, as she mulled over the events of the past week. Deciding to date again – even if right now it was a theory rather than a plan of action – and the possibility of participating in whatever type of mystical musical happening Woody had in mind filled her with a sparkling sense of excitement. On the surface neither decision was particularly world-shaking, but they represented significant steps forward for her.

Later that afternoon, when Daisy had left to meet her friends for lunch, Jim called to ask Elsie to pop into his shop. With nothing else to do, Elsie was glad of the invitation; besides, she always loved visiting her father at work.

Jim Maynard was the proprietor of Brighton Home Stores – Brighton’s premier furniture and home furnishings emporium in the centre of town. He had inherited the business from his father and grandfather before him, and was consequently a well-known figure in Brighton. It amused Elsie to see him in a suit and tie – because she knew the truth about him. Outside work, Jim shunned convention more than any of his children (even New Age vegan and self-confirmed Earth Mother, Guin) and, when at home, he was the embodiment of all things alternative. He had lived in a hippy commune for four years in his teens and never quite lost his love of peace, love and tie-dye. The family home was an explosion of colour, each room swathed in jewel-hued Indian fabrics and bright stencilled painted walls. He ate homemade vegetarian meals from hand-thrown pottery plates (made by Guin), burned incense and joss sticks in the living room and kitchen and possessed a penchant for hypnotic sitar music, which was usually floating through the house from one of his many CD players.

Yet at work, Jim Maynard was the model businessman, the only clue to his closet-hippyness being the small gold ring he wore in one ear – something which his well-heeled (and decidedly conventional) customers hardly even noticed. It had been a conscious decision of his when he first took over the business, a sign of respect for his father who had convention stamped through his core like a stick of Brighton rock. And, while Jim would never express it, this work persona defined another side of his character: the dutiful, committed side, which characterised his all-conquering love for and devotion to his daughters.

Elsie loved the family shop – the smell of polish and new fabric mingling with the scent of fresh coffee, which Jim insisted on having available for his customers all day. As a small child she had spent many happy hours watching her father work, pretending that the entire shop with its elegant room displays was her own home. When her mother had deserted the family, Elsie and her sisters had spent even more time in the shop, arriving after school and waiting until closing time to go home with Jim. As they grew up, each was given a Saturday job in the store and, consequently, all three had fallen in love with interior decorating, something that was reflected in all of their homes today.

Elsie often wondered which of them – if any – would one day inherit the shop from their father. Guin was busy building her home, managing her pottery studio and preparing for a family which she planned to expand to at least three children; Daisy had her partnership in the interior design practice and was unlikely to want to trade that in to run a provincial furniture store; which only left Elsie, who right now was more than happy to remain as assistant manager of the ice cream café. Jim appeared unworried by the prospect, however; content instead to see his three girls making their own way in the world.