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
