LITMIR.BIZ

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one out?’ Cher asked, nibbling on a teddy-shaped wafer as she worked.

      ‘Finally. I think Mrs Annick has almost managed to demolish the tub of Sticky Toffee Pudding ice cream single-handedly this week. And she always looks so crestfallen when I tell her we’re closing. I think she’d quite like to live here if she could.’

      Cher’s throaty laugh ricocheted around the lemon-yellow kitchen tiles. ‘Obviously I’m missing a trick there. I should make the place an ice cream B&B.’ She cast a critical eye over Elsie. ‘You OK, kid?’

      Elsie rubbed her forehead and drew a chair up to the preparation table. ‘A bit tired, but otherwise I’m good.’

      It was only a partial truth, but the rest of it was difficult to put into words. Ever the pragmatist, Elsie had put it down to all the new things that were happening in her life and the significant decisions she was making, all of which were bound to carry an emotional cost. Being able to look objectively at everything was a step forward in itself – eighteen months ago her view of the future had been markedly different. So, while she would admit to feeling more than a little apprehensive about meeting Daisy and Woody this evening to set the wheels of the choir project in motion, it was a good thing. ‘A little bit of fear can get you moving forward,’ her father always said, himself not immune to the unexpected twists and turns of life.

      ‘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

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