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When I Fall In Love
Miranda Dickinson
The brand new release from the Sunday Times bestselling author that bought you Fairytale of New York and It Started With A Kiss.What happens when your happy ever after is suddenly and painfully taken away from you?Elsie Maynard has a whole new life she never expected to have.From inadvertently founding a choir like no other with former 80s rock star Woody Jensen, to daring to date again, Elsie steps out into an unknown future – a future that could include gorgeous designer Olly Hogarth, a man who seems intent on winning her heart. Overcoming problems, challenges and the occasional frustration – namely overconfident Torin Stewart who seems to be everywhere – Elsie believes she is making the most of her life.But then a heartfelt request brings her to Paris – and the last item on a very important List.Can Elsie take the final step and lay her past to rest? Join Elsie as she battles to start again, with the help of a disastrous, newly-formed singing group and her father and sister armed with dating hopefuls.
MIRANDA DICKINSON
When I Fall in Love
Copyright
AVON
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
77–85 Fulham Palace Road
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Copyright © Miranda Dickinson 2012
Miranda Dickinson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9781847562364
Ebook Edition © November 2012 ISBN: 9780007478477
Version: 2014-12-09
As I write this, I am looking back at four extraordinary years of excitement, fun and lots of hard work. I would like to thank all the lovely team at Avon for everything they have done to make these the most exciting of my life so far: my fab editor Sammia Rafique, Caroline Ridding, Claire Bord, Rhian McKay and Jim Blades.
Big thanks to my wonderful agent, Hannah Ferguson, for being one of the most positive people I know and for believing in the crazy stuff in my head (wombats included!) For crucial draft reading and confidence boosts, unending thanks to Kim Curran-Goodson. Thanks also to Kate Harrison for her expert Brighton knowledge and knowing her Laine from her Lanes.
I love my tweethearts on Twitter who keep me going, make me giggle and occasionally make me cry. I would especially like to thank Trish Hills, Cressida McLaughlin, Gem Fletcher, Natalie Hewis, Kayla Staniland, Kath Eastman and Joanna Cannon for being wonderful friends and cheerleaders.
As ever, real people have inspired parts of this novel. So thanks to the gorgeous Gemma Perkins for inspiring Elsie, Chris Armfield for inspiring Woody’s rock wisdom, and the lovely Cupcake Genie team in Crawley whose awesome shop and cupcakes inspired Sundae & Cher’s menu (www.cupcakegenie.co.uk). Thanks as ever to my fab Peppermint massive – watch out for your cameo!
And finally, to my wonderful new husband Bob – thank you for being my unexpected future and for making everything sparkly again.
Life can throw you spanners, curveballs, opportunities and surprises. This book is about going forward, regardless of what lies behind …
Dedication
For Kim. Because this story wouldn’t have been as brave without you.
A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality.
John Lennon
Contents
Cover (#u64fdb3eb-5f93-5b36-8563-cb4f7de7857f)
Title Page (#u8f9a150b-26e3-513f-9ba5-0f6106c28ece)
Copyright (#u62f73e45-d04f-589d-bec5-d0b817eb0557)
Dedication (#ue4cc9998-7733-527a-8582-b4de56cfe1b2)
Epigraph (#uc3a07812-afe0-5590-8aa9-a14ec4ba1c03)
Chapter One: Not supposed to be like this (#u64da257c-0efe-5f9d-93ee-d8f248e7ddc0)
Chapter Two: Moving on … (#ua82f3ac5-685b-53e0-8ff5-5b5d22e4dd4b)
Chapter Three: Pleased to meet you … (#u19449e79-a019-5ed2-8e3c-e1c4f4b9fe96)
Chapter Four: Altogether now … (#u64452890-e4f0-5d1b-85d9-58da533e1ffb)
Chapter Five: Hello again, hello … (#uec855c56-c562-5190-a465-942942d280b0)
Chapter Six: Just the way you are … (#u7b0d0ce8-2fff-5242-b38d-b3a331b34f38)
Chapter Seven: Getting to know you … (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight: Baby steps … (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine: I’m sorry, have we met? (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten: Feel the fear … (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven: Stepping out (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve: Welcome to the world (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen: Take a bow … (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen: A night to remember … (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen: A big ask … (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen: Something like a plan (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen: A sentimental journey … (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen: A beginning and an end (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen: You ain’t seen nothing yet … (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty: Back to the future (#litres_trial_promo)
Moving On – an epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
The List (#litres_trial_promo)
Reading Group Questions (#litres_trial_promo)
Interview with Miranda Dickinson (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
Not supposed to be like this
‘Excuse me, miss?’
Elsie Maynard looked up from her half-crossed-out shopping list to see the hulking figure of a security guard blocking her way. ‘Hi. Sorry, I’m in a bit of a rush, actually, so if you’ll just …’
‘I’m going to have to ask you to come with me, please.’
This was the last thing she needed today. Not only had her lunch break been delayed by forty-five minutes by a particularly persistent wafer-cone salesman but also, in her haste to complete all the shopping tasks on her list, she had left work without her umbrella just as the heavens opened. And now this …
‘I’ve told you, I don’t have time to stop.’
The huge security guard gave a world-weary sigh and clamped an enormous hand rather too heavily on her shoulder. ‘I must insist, miss. I believe you have goods you have not paid for, so if you will just accompany me back into the shop, please …’
What on earth was this man-mountain on about? Of course she had paid! What kind of person did he think she was? Incensed at the very notion, Elsie opened her mouth to protest, when a new voice interrupted her.
‘Hey. Can I help?’
He was young, arguably handsome, with dark brown hair and green eyes. Everything about him gave the impression of someone in complete control: from his neat haircut to the well-cut suit and overcoat he wore, together with the fact that, frustratingly, he was apparently immune to the large splats of rain Elsie could feel soaking through her too-thin work uniform and tights. Over his shoulder Elsie caught sight of a blonde-haired young woman dressed in a turquoise and black Fifties diner waitress outfit, looking as if somebody had just tipped a bucket of water over her head – and her heart sank as she realised it was her own reflection in the shop window.
Mr Impervious-to-Rain’s smile would probably have been welcome, were it not for Elsie’s sneaking suspicion that he was enjoying the sight of her, bedraggled, flustered and now squirming with embarrassment on the steps of the high street chemist’s.
‘I’m fine, thank you. It’s just a misunderstanding …’ she began, but Mount Kilimanjaro had turned his attention from her to seek solidarity with the recent male addition to the street spectacle.
‘She hasn’t paid,’ he confided, pointing a thick finger at the haemorrhoid preparation and earwax softener in Elsie’s hand, ‘for those items.’
Oh. My. Life. In her fury at being accused of theft, Elsie had completely forgotten the two quite possibly most embarrassing items in the whole world that she now held. But of course she had paid for them! Hadn’t she?
The young man suppressed a smile and Elsie felt her stomach lurch again as cold raindrops permeated her collar and began to run down the back of her neck. ‘I’m sure it’s just a small misunderstanding,’ he smiled affably at the gargantuan unsmiling man still gripping Elsie’s shoulder. ‘Look, here’s twenty quid. Can’t be any more than that, can it?’
A brief glimpse of softness flashed across the security guard’s steely expression. ‘Well …’
Sensing his opponent weakening, the young man’s smile eased wider. ‘I imagine you see this kind of thing every day, huh? Lunchtime shoppers, brains left at the office, so many shiny things to buy that they make one tiny slip of judgement …’ He turned the whiteness of his sincerity on Elsie, a move which may have been intended to comfort but had the directly opposite effect. ‘I mean, this girl seems very lovely and not really your average shoplifter, eh?’
The steel returned as Mountain Man surveyed her. ‘Takes all sorts.’
‘I’m sure it does, officer. But, trust me, I see all manner of felons in the course of my job and I can spot a wrong ’un a mile off. This, sir, is not one of them.’
This? Despite the help obviously being offered by the smartly dressed stranger beside her, being referred to as an inanimate object was a step too far for Elsie. ‘Now hang on a minute …’
Her planned tirade was halted by a raised, gloved hand and a look that threatened dire consequences if she defied his gesture. Fuming, she dug her drenched heels into the pavement and glared at him.
‘Come on, twenty quid?’ he continued. ‘I’ll even go back into the shop with you to get a receipt. Can’t say fairer than that, can I?’
To Elsie’s amazement, the security guard shrugged his bulky shoulders and released her. ‘All the same to me,’ he muttered, pocketing the twenty-pound note and turning back towards the store. ‘Just tell your girlfriend to pay a bit more attention next time.’
‘What? I’m not his gir’
‘Absolutely. Stay there, darling. I’ll be back in a moment.’ Smiling like an advert for tooth whitening toothpaste, he winked at Elsie as he accompanied the guard inside the shop.
Gazing down in utter disbelief at the questionable items in her hand, Elsie remained frozen to the spot trying to process what had just happened. One minute she had been dashing around the huge high street chemist on the corner of Brighton’s North Street and Queen’s Road looking for baby wipes and mascara, the next she had been interrupted by her father calling to ask her to pick up some embarrassing but necessary items for him … Maybe her mind had been elsewhere – especially given the important decision she had made that morning – but she had paid for the items, she was sure. Who would try to steal pile preparation and earwax remover anyway? Certainly not Elsie Maynard, assistant manager of Sundae & Cher ice cream café, upstanding citizen of Brighton and the last person on the planet to ever consider shoplifting. Even as a teenager she had always maintained an unblemished record, her fear of getting into trouble only strengthened by witnessing the fallout from minor misdemeanours involving her two older sisters (more often than not involving overindulgence in alcohol and trips home in panda cars …)
‘There, all sorted.’ The smiling man was back, a triumphal glow from his recent chivalrous endeavours lighting his face. He handed her a receipt. ‘Busy day, eh?’
‘I paid for these,’ Elsie insisted, the sting of injustice still smarting.
‘You didn’t. But it’s OK, I sorted it for you.’
Pushing the receipt back at him, Elsie grabbed her purse from her damp handbag and angrily flicked through the receipts in the wallet section. ‘Look, I don’t know who you are, and I’m not being ungrateful, but that bloke was mistaken. I distinctly remember paying for these things with a twenty-pound note. I know this because I only had one twenty in my wallet that I’d just taken out from the cash machine and now, as you can see, it’s not … Oh …’ Her heart plummeted to her soggy toes as she pulled out a folded twenty-pound note, exactly where she’d put it at the cash point before she entered the shop.
The young man’s voice softened. ‘Honestly, it’s fine. It happens to the best of us.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Torin, by the way. Torin Stewart.’
Still reeling from the revelation of her unwitting descent into petty crime, Elsie shook his hand. ‘Elsie Maynard.’
‘Pleasure to meet you, Elsie Maynard,’ Torin grinned. ‘Under different circumstances would’ve been preferable, of course, but I’m glad I was able to help. So, how about a coffee? You look like you need one and it’ll get you out of this rain.’
Thoroughly mortified and filled with a compelling urge to remove herself from the situation, Elsie pushed the twenty-pound note into his hand and began to leave. ‘I’m sorry, I really have to go …’
‘Hey, why the rush?’
‘I’m on my lunch break, which ended about twenty minutes ago,’ Elsie returned, hoping that the pace she injected into her steps would deter him from following her down the street.
Unfortunately for Elsie, Torin was not one to be brushed off so easily. ‘Now come on. I just saved your life back there. Surely that entitles me to at least a coffee with you? It can be my treat if money’s a bit tight …?’
