Lime Street Blues (22 page)

The audience, accustomed to groups being introduced and stumbling in full view on to the stage, tripping over wires, fiddling with their instruments while they talked amongst themselves before deigning to play a note, were stunned by this display of naked professionalism. This was show business for real. They gasped and burst into spontaneous applause.

That’ll do me wee girls a load of good, thought Kevin McDowd, watching from the back. They’d all been nervous, but the little show of appreciation would give them the confidence they needed. He glanced sideways. The Merseysiders, even Sean, looked pole-axed, their mouths hanging open in surprise. He hoped Billy, wherever he was, looked the same, and realised that, so far, not a single soul had laughed.

Kevin waited until the girls had delivered another number, ‘Here Comes Summer’, and were halfway through the next, before making his way upstairs to the bar, where the only occupants were the barman and the two boyos from Granada, one young and red-haired, the other in his forties.

He bought a box of matches and was on the point of leaving, when he stopped, his face a mask of astonishment that only his wife would have recognised was faked. ‘Aren’t you the fellas from the television?’

The younger man nodded. ‘I’m the reporter, Ricky Perry. That’s George, he’s camera.’

Kevin shook his head in a mixture of sadness and bemusement. He was dealing with fools, the look said. ‘Don’t you realise history’s being made downstairs?’

‘I don’t get you, mate,’ said George.

‘You should be down there, recording it for posterity.’

‘Recording what?’ demanded Ricky Perry.

‘The debut performance of the first all-girl rock’n’ roll group in the country, that’s what. The press is there, two of ’em, taking notes. I tell you what, fellas, you’ll kick yourselves for the rest of your lives if you don’t get them girls on film.’

‘What are they called?’ Ricky got out his notebook.

‘The Flower Girls. Anyroad, I’d better be getting back. I only came for these.’ He held up the matches. ‘I don’t want to miss another minute.’

Downstairs again, Kevin threw the matches away and held his breath. Had the boyos swallowed the hook? His girls had done another number for the spellbound audience when the two men strolled in during a rousing version of ‘Be Bop a Lula’. A few minutes later, Ricky Perry was scribbling madly in his notebook and the camera was rolling.

The Flower Girls were being filmed and Kevin had no doubt that some discriminating, far-sighted editor would make sure there’d be a few clips of their performance when the programme was aired, though no one seemed to know when that would be.

After the interval, it was the turn of the Merseysiders.
The lads played for all their worth and congratulated themselves afterwards. They also had no doubts that their performance would be noticed and stardom was tantalisingly close.

Over the next few weeks, numerous families throughout Liverpool scanned the
TV Times
the minute it came out in the hope that
Outside the Cavern
would be shown that week, but found themselves sadly disappointed.

The Flower Girls received a glowing write up in the
Liverpool Echo
but, although Kevin toured the local clubs, waving the review, not a single gig was forthcoming. Even Billy Kidd refused to give the group another booking. He was more than a little annoyed with Kevin McDowd. In some way, he wasn’t quite sure how, he’d been outsmarted and done out of fifty quid.

‘But they were bloody phenomenal,’ Kevin screamed. ‘The audience loved them. You’re an eejit, Billy.’

‘They’re a one-off act,’ Billy maintained stiffly. ‘A novelty. No one’d come to see them a second time. One performance and they’ve lost their surprise value.’

‘The only surprise is women that can play rock ’n’ roll as well as men.’

In June, Jeannie and Benny took their O levels and a Careers Officer came to the school to discuss what they intended doing with their lives. They were interviewed separately.

‘I’m going into show business,’ Benny announced when her turn came.

The smartly dressed woman smiled kindly. ‘It’s what many young people want to do, but it’s not a very secure career, unless you become a star.’

Benny proudly tossed her head. ‘I already belong to a group.’

‘Really! Does it pay well?’

‘Well, no.’ The group had cost more than it had made, a simple deduction, because it hadn’t made a penny. Sean had bought Rita her guitar, Jeannie had been given the piano, the red, sequinned dresses had been hired and returned to the costumier the next day.

‘Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a second career in reserve,’ the woman suggested tactfully. ‘Something you can fall back on if things don’t go as planned.’

Benny sighed. Like all the Flower Girls, she’d been sadly disappointed by the lack of response following their performance at the Taj Mahal where they seemed to do so well. The audience had shouted for more and everyone had said they were fantastic.

‘That’s showbiz, kids,’ Kevin had said only the other day. ‘It’s a case of one step forward and two steps back. You’ll have to learn to get used to it.’

The trouble was, Benny couldn’t afford the time. In a few weeks, she would be leaving school and be obliged to start work. It was the moment her mother had worked towards over the last five years. Mam was due for a rest from her never-ending toil. Working wouldn’t prevent Benny from staying with the group, but Kevin often spoke of the day when she and Jeannie left school and he could look for gigs in other places, even London. She couldn’t ask for days off from a job she’d only just started. It was different for Rita, who could easily get another waitressing job, and Marcia never worked anywhere for more than five minutes. Jeannie had no idea what she was going to do.

‘Me mother’s always wanted me to work for the Civil Service,’ Benny said listlessly.

‘I can arrange for you to sit the exam. I’ll submit your name, shall I?’

‘I suppose so.’

They still rehearsed regularly. Kevin maintained they had to keep fresh, something might turn up any minute, but the spark had gone and even Kevin was beginning to look disheartened. One Sunday afternoon, Marcia didn’t come and sent a blunt message, saying she had more important things to do. It was the first time all four girls hadn’t turned up.

July came and Jeannie and Benny left school. Benny had already taken the Civil Service exam and passed – she wasn’t sure whether to be glad or sorry. She was offered a job as a clerk with the Inland Revenue in Water Street, with the agreement she have one afternoon a week off to learn shorthand and typing.

‘It means extra money when I get the qualifications,’ she told her ecstatic mother. At least someone’s dreams had come true, she thought despondently.

Jeannie’s long-term future had already been decided. As soon as the Merseysiders achieved success, she and Lachlan would get married. It was just a matter of filling in time until the longed-for and inevitable day arrived. In September, she was commencing a six-month commercial course.

During the summer holiday, she met Elaine most days. If it was raining, they went to the pictures, or New Brighton or Southport if it was fine. The nights Lachlan wasn’t playing, he and Jeannie would shut themselves in Dr Bailey’s waiting room, or Lachlan would come to Ailsham and they’d go for a walk through the village that always looked especially lovely because she was linking his arm.

The O level results arrived. Elaine had achieved six A grades, Jeannie a B and four C’s, little better than Benny who got five C’s, and should have been thrilled to bits, but was the opposite when they met her on Friday in the Taj Mahal.

‘I would have been pleased, once, but now I don’t care any more,’ Benny said bitterly. ‘Me job’s as dull as ditchwater. I’m so bored, I ache all over. I can’t stop thinking about the Flower Girls, how different it would have been if . . .’ She shrugged, unable to go on. Her eyes were as bitter as her voice.

‘We’re all a bit fed up about it,’ Jeannie said.

‘I’m more than a bit. I feel like killing meself, if you must know. You’ve got Lachlan, so what do you care? Marcia’s got Graham, and Rita can sing anywhere. It’s not over for her, but it is for me.’ She got up abruptly. ‘I’m going home. I don’t want to see any of you ever again.’

‘Where are we now?’ Rose whispered.

‘Paris,’ Alex said in her ear. ‘We’re on the banks of the Seine and there’s an orchestra playing ’specially for us.’

‘Is it light or dark?’

‘Dark. The moon’s a little yellow curve, like a slice of lemon.’

‘Are there any stars?’

‘Millions,’ said Alex. ‘Millions and millions of stars. If you close your eyes, you can see them.’

‘My eyes are closed and I can already see them. I can see everything, even us.’

‘What are we doing?’

‘Just dancing.’

‘Not kissing?’

Rose, eyes still closed, shook her head.

‘Well, we are now!’ His lips came down on hers, hard and passionate, demanding. They stopped dancing and everything inside her body seemed to melt as she kissed him back, then collapsed against him, helpless with desire. He lifted her up and carried her over to the bed in a very ordinary Liverpool hotel room and they made love. On the rather crackly wireless, the Everly Brothers were singing ‘All I Have to Do is Dream’.

‘Is this just a game too?’ Rose asked when they’d finished. Now her body felt as light as air, completely empty. They lay flat on their backs, not touching, exhausted.

Alex turned on to his side, resting his chin on her shoulder, his hand on her stomach. ‘Is it a game to you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Rose said truthfully. ‘I don’t know if it’s make believe or real.’ They always pretended they were somewhere else, never Liverpool: a South Sea Island, dancing on the flat golden sands while palm trees swayed gently in the warm breeze; a night club in New York; a London park; a luxury liner on its way to who knows where? Today it had been Paris, on the banks of the Seine.

‘It’s real all right.’ Alex kissed her. ‘So real, I’m not sure if I can stand seeing you only once a week
for much longer.’

Neither could Rose. She thought about him every minute of every day, living for Thursdays when they could be together. ‘I think we should just go on playing the game,’ she said nevertheless. ‘I can’t see any alternative.’

‘You know the alternative,’ he said gruffly. ‘You’re just not prepared to consider it.’

Rose shuddered. ‘I couldn’t leave Tom and the children.’ She’d thought about it though.

‘The last thing I want to do is hurt Iris and me lads, but there comes a time when you have to put yourself first.’ He had another son, Carl, two years younger than Ronnie.

‘Does there? If we were together all the time . . .’ – had she really said that? – ‘. . . the games would have to stop. It would be different,’ she said, indicating the bed, ‘being able to do this every day.’ It would be heaven and she knew it. ‘We’d have to live somewhere, an ordinary house. You’d go to work, I’d make the meals, do the washing.’ For some inexplicable reason, she began to cry because it was what she wanted more than anything in the world, yet it seemed impossible. Too many people would be hurt.

Alex kissed the tears away. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ she sobbed. ‘But
why
do we love each other?’

‘We just do. Do we need to know why?’

‘Yes. I think you fell in love with me because you’re so unhappy. You’re searching for things, a different life. You’ve always wanted something different. Iris and the boys were never enough. You dress funny and go to clubs, wander round town and pick up women outside cinemas. Having an affair’s right up your street – romantic and dramatic and exciting . . . Oh! How many affairs have you had before?’ she demanded, suspicious now. She’d die if she discovered she wasn’t the first.

‘None,’ Alex said flatly. ‘And you’re the one and only woman I’ve ever picked up, though you couldn’t exactly call it picking up when we’d met before. Now listen while I tell you why you fell in love with me.’ Rose curled up against his lean, naked body and listened. ‘Because,’ he began, ‘you married an old man . . .’

‘He wasn’t
that
old!’ she protested.

‘OK, so you married a man much older than yourself. You’ve never loved him, but he made you more or less happy. Then your kids started growing up, and all of a sudden it dawned on you what you’ve missed. This!’ He ran his hand over the curve of her hip. ‘And this!’ He kissed her breast. ‘Love and sex. Sex and love. So, one day you pick up this gorgeous guy outside a cinema. He fancies you. You fancy him. After a few weeks, you go to bed together and it’s bloody marvellous.’ His brown eyes creased with wonder. ‘More than marvellous,’ he gasped. ‘Words haven’t been invented to describe it. The thing is, Rose, more or less any decent guy would have done.’

‘That’s not true,’ she cried, shocked. ‘I love
you
!’

‘And I love
you
. We were both ripe for affairs, Rose. But once that fact is put aside, the truth is that we both love each other. I didn’t want it to happen. I didn’t expect it to. It’s a miracle. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.’

Rose was silent. Every word he’d said was true. She had no idea how it had happened that she was able to contemplate leaving her family, her home, everything, for Alex Connors, whom she’d known for only four months, met for merely a few hours every week. As he said, it was a miracle.

‘I wish we’d met twenty years ago.’ She sighed.

‘Twenty years ago I was in Egypt in the Army.’

She clutched him fiercely. ‘Thank God you weren’t killed!’

‘Perhaps He was saving me for you.’

‘How was Clara?’ Tom asked when she got home. He always asked and it always threw her.

‘Not very well. In fact, Tom, I wondered if you’d
mind if I went to stay with her one weekend? Her husband’s going away soon and he’s worried about leaving her on her own. It’d be a little holiday for me. I’ve never had a holiday,’ she reminded him, thinking what a hopeless actress she was. Even to her own ears, it sounded like a lie, but Alex had suggested they try to have a few days away together. They had agreed it would be bliss.