Lime Street Blues (31 page)

Jeannie’s half-sisters were splashing about in a plastic pool uttering tiny, excited cries. They were nothing like Jeannie or her brothers, the children Rose had had with Tom. Alex’s girls were white-blonde, fragile creatures, like little fairies.

She was almost sorry she’d come. Her mother’s lack of interest in Max worried her. It could only mean she’d be equally disinterested if she, Jeannie, had a problem. Or Gerald. She said, ‘Gerald’s coming home on Friday for a few days, Mum.’

‘Is he, love?’ She didn’t add, ‘Tell him to come and see me,’ or ask how Gerald was getting on, living on his own in London, something he’d been doing for a year since he’d turned eighteen. Unlike Max, Gerald had realised he would never make more than a second-rate guitarist. In London, he had joined a group of like-minded youngsters, who played together for fun. By day, he worked in the advertising department of the
New Musical Express
, and was occasionally called upon to write an article or represent the magazine at a not-very-important gig. His ambition was to become a professional journalist covering the pop music scene. The few times a year he came back to Liverpool he stayed with his sister and Lachlan. Gerald wasn’t important enough for Monica to make welcome at his brother’s house.

‘Have you seen your father lately?’ her mother asked.

‘Not since April. I’m not sure if he really wants to see me.’ They’d more or less been abandoned by their parents, Jeannie thought ruefully. Rose preferred her
new family, and Tom seemed sullen and depressed whenever she called. He was sixty-seven, still tending Colonel Corbett’s garden. Various women attended to his domestic needs – possibly other needs if the frequent presence of Mrs Denning was anything to go by. She made his evening meal and stayed for hours.

‘I wish he’d agree to a divorce,’ her mother grumbled. ‘Iris and Alex divorced quite amicably – she’s already married again – but Tom positively refuses.’

‘He’s just being awkward.’

‘He’s good at that. I can’t remember him being much else.’

‘Never mind, Mum. You and Alex are perfectly happy as you are. A piece of paper won’t make much difference.’

Rose rolled her big blue eyes and sighed. ‘I suppose not, but it makes me feel like a kept woman instead of a wife. You’re not going, are you, love?’ she exclaimed when Jeannie got to her feet. ‘You haven’t had a cup of tea. Oh, aren’t I a terrible hostess!’

‘It’s all right. I’d like to get back and make Lachlan some lunch.’ Lachlan was quite capable of making his own lunch should he feel hungry, which was most unlikely. Anyway, the house had been gradually filling up with people when she left. It would be even fuller now and nobody would think twice about raiding the fridge. She just wanted to get away from the mother and the rose-covered cottage where she didn’t belong.

‘Marzipan Dream’ was released to general acclaim. Wildly enthusiastic reviews in the music press declared it to be the best song the Merseysiders had ever done. Within its first week, it shot to number four in the charts.

‘Next week, it’s bound to reach the top,’ Lachlan said
gleefully, rubbing his hands, but a few days later, the Beatles’ ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’ came out and soared to number one, where it would stay for weeks, while ‘Marzipan Dream’ slowly went down.

‘Never mind, there’s always a next time,’ Jeannie said consolingly.

‘We’ll never do anything better than that,’ Lachlan groaned.

‘Of course you will. That’s a defeatist way to think.’ He looked so woebegone she gave him a hug, though she thought him silly to want so much when he already had more than enough.

It was late when Monica rang, almost midnight. Jeannie answered. She was about to go to bed and Lachlan was winding up in the studio downstairs.

‘Do you know what your husband has done to Max?’ Monica screamed.

Jeannie’s heart sank. Unable to think of a suitable answer, she mumbled something incomprehensible, which didn’t matter, as Monica continued with hardly a pause. ‘He’s only gone and given him the push. Max is bloody beside himself. He’s in the bathroom, crying his eyes out. I never knew men could cry. You might like to know I’m having another baby and we’re about to have an extension built on the house.’

‘I’m sorry, Monica.’ Now didn’t seem the appropriate time to congratulate her on the baby.

‘Did you know about this, Jeannie?’

‘Lachlan did mention it, yes.’

‘And you didn’t tell Max? Fine sister you turned out to be. But then, you’re all right, aren’t you?’ The spite in the shrill voice made Jeannie’s blood run cold. ‘The money just keeps rolling in. How are me and Max
supposed to manage? We’ll soon have two kids and the house isn’t nearly big enough.’

‘I’m sure something else will turn up, Monica.’ The house was already three times as big as the ones in Disraeli Terrace, more than enough for four people.

‘Oh, fuck off, Jeannie!’ The receiver at the other end was slammed down with such force that the sound hurt Jeannie’s ear.

She sat on the bed, nursing her ear and taking deep breaths, wanting to rush down to the basement to tear Lachlan off a strip for not preparing her. It would be best to wait, calm down a bit, before she faced him. He must have told Max tonight. They’d gone out to dinner earlier, Fly and Sean too, something they’d never done before. Perhaps Sean had announced he was leaving at the same time.

The phone rang again. Jeannie considered ignoring it because she knew who it would be. Let Lachlan answer. There was a phone in the basement, but he wouldn’t hear if the studio door was closed.

Gritting her teeth, she picked up the receiver. ‘Hello.’

‘Jeannie!’ It was Max, as expected, and he said her name with such reproach she wanted to weep. ‘Why didn’t you tell me what Lachlan was going to do?’

‘Oh, Max! What difference would it have made?’

‘I would have known where I stood. Did you try to talk him out of it?’

‘Of course I did, Max. We had an argument, but you know Lachlan. He wouldn’t be moved.’

‘When was this?’

‘On the way to Marcia’s wedding.’

‘That’s more than a month ago.’ His voice was sad and dejected. ‘You’ve let me down badly, Jeannie. I’m not
sure if I can ever forgive you.’ The receiver was replaced, gently this time, with scarcely a click.

‘Max!’ Jeannie yelled, but Max had gone.

Gerald called a few days later. She’d heard no more from Monica or Max, and there was no answer whenever she tried to ring.

‘Is this true about our Max being dropped and Sean McDowd leaving the Merseysiders?’ Gerald asked.

‘How did you find out?’ Jeannie felt angry. There’d been no need to announce to the world the truth about Max. Why couldn’t he just ‘leave’, like Sean?

‘It’s in a press release that arrived this morning from Eddie Ford. Has Lachlan lost his marbles or something? I know he couldn’t have stopped Sean from going, but he’s mad to drop Max at the same time.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘It’s common sense. The Merseysiders will seem like a completely different group without Sean and Max. I’m not just saying this because Max is my brother, Jeannie,’ Gerald said earnestly. ‘Max may not be the best guitarist of all time, but people have got used to him. They don’t like change. Tell Lachlan he’s making a big mistake.’

‘I will, Gerald,’ Jeannie promised.

But Lachlan pooh-poohed Gerald’s advice. ‘What does he know? He’s just a kid. He’s worked on a music mag for a year and thinks he knows everything.’

‘So did you when you were nineteen.’

‘Yeah, I suppose.’ He patted his knee. ‘Come and keep me company.’

‘I want to practise.’ The Flower Girls had had no engagements for six weeks while Marcia and Phil were on their protracted honeymoon. Now Marcia was back
and they were due to make another record and had a series of gigs lined up for the autumn.

‘Am I being rejected?’

She stuck out her tongue at him. ‘Yeah, I suppose.’

There was something about Sean McDowd that demanded silence from the audience. There wasn’t a murmur, a cough, not even a movement from the rapt
Top of the Pops
audience, just total concentration on the tall, slight figure nursing his guitar. His voice was a husky, compelling whisper, hypnotic. There was no backing group, just Sean and his guitar.

He’d chosen an unusual number for his first solo recording, the Christmas carol, ‘Silent Night’. It was released, appropriately, in December. Everyone wanted to be top of the charts at Christmas. Sean was twelfth and was quite happy about it, according to Kevin, who was now his manager. It was twice as high as the Merseysiders’ latest release, which had managed only twenty-fourth before sinking into oblivion, the first time the group hadn’t reached the top ten.

Lachlan had made a terrible mistake. It had all been Eddie Ford’s idea, but it was Lachlan’s group and there’d been no need to go along with it. He’d lost his judgement in a desperate desire to be the best. Jeannie had felt qualms when the two new members, Tod and Eric, had turned up at the house to make the recording. They were eighteen, good-looking, but only slips of kids who found the whole thing highly amusing. They would appeal to the teeny-boppers, but not the mature following the Merseysiders had built up over the years, the genuine music lovers.

Jeannie felt even more worried when she watched the group play together for the first time on
Ready, Steady,
Go
. Gerald was right, the change had been too drastic. The boys skitted around, laughing at each other, whereas, as always, Lachlan was putting his heart and soul into his performance. There was perspiration on his brow, as if he realised, too late, he’d been seriously wrong to get rid of Max and not replace Sean with someone older.

She ran into his arms when he arrived home later that night, his face grey and drawn.

‘All right, there’s no need to say it. Enough people already have. I’ve made a major cock up.’ His voice was harsh. ‘I suppose it serves me right.’

‘I wasn’t going to say anything, darling.’ She pressed her cheek against his, stroked his neck. ‘Only that I love you. I always will, even when you behave like an idiot.’

The Flower Girls’ next record turned out to be their last. After Christmas, Marcia announced she was pregnant and had decided to leave. Zoe immediately piped up to say she’d had an offer to host a children’s programme on TV. ‘I was going to turn it down, but if the group’s breaking up, I’ll accept.’

Kevin looked nonplussed. ‘We can always get another girl in Marcia’s place. We don’t
have
to break up.’

‘I’d sooner do the TV thing, Kevin, though I wouldn’t have mentioned it if Marcia hadn’t said she was leaving.’

‘Then we can get two other girls.’

‘Actually, Kevin, me and Lachlan are thinking of starting a family.’ Monica was pregnant, so was Stella, and now Marcia was expecting a baby. Jeannie longed for a baby of her own. She was young and healthy, only twenty-three, it shouldn’t take long for her to conceive.

‘What about you, luv?’ Kevin asked his daughter.

‘I’d like to go solo, like our Sean,’ Rita said, surprising everyone.

‘Jaysus!’ Kevin gasped. ‘It’s taken just five minutes for youse lot to fall apart.’

‘Nothing lasts for ever,’ Jeannie said with the suggestion of a sigh. It would be a wrench, she’d always miss the Flower Girls, but time moved on. She’d made an awful lot of money in the nicest possible way and had made her mark on show business, something furthest from her mind when she’d been growing up.

No one seemed upset, not even Kevin. He had Sean’s career to keep him busy and now Rita’s. He was commissioned to write songs for other artists and the royalties were piling up.

Jeannie was glad they’d split without a shred of acrimony and hoped they would always remain good friends. She only wished she could say the same for Lachlan’s group.

The news quickly spread that the Flower Girls intended to disband after their next record had been released. Articles appeared in the national press applauding their effect on the world of pop music. They were invited on chat shows to explain their reasons for disbanding. Marcia proudly displayed her slightly bulging stomach.

The publicity was huge. Demands for gigs poured in. They toured Europe, playing in a different country every night for a week. Kevin said gleefully that their final record, ‘Nightfall’, was bound to be a hit. He was just as keen as Lachlan to get a number one under his belt.

In March 1968, ‘Nightfall’ reached number two. They were perfectly happy to be second.

For the first time in her married life, Jeannie became a
housewife, not that there was much housework to do. A very nice woman, Connie Davies, came in three times a week to clean Noah’s Ark and do the washing. Jeannie had been looking forward to, yet half dreading, a permanent return. Although it had been a relief to come back after a tour, her diary had always been crammed full with things to do – tours, gigs, appearances on television, making records. How would she feel when there was nothing? She prayed she would conceive soon. Everything would be different once she had a baby.

For the first few weeks, she went down to the basement and played the keyboard like a mad woman, hour after hour. Lachlan wanted to know if she regretted giving up her career – ‘You’re awfully young to retire, darling’ – but Jeannie explained she was just getting things out of her system.

‘What things?’

‘I don’t know.’ When Connie wasn’t there the house seemed too quiet. She was nervous the nights Lachlan was away, though she’d been alone before and it had never bothered her. They saw little of Kevin, and nothing at all of Sean or Rita. Marcia lived in Wiltshire; Zoe had moved to London. The Merseysiders still used the studio, but Fly’s was the only familiar face. Stella was having a difficult pregnancy and Jeannie went to see her often. She badly missed Max.

Months ago, when she’d plucked up the courage to call on him, he’d refused to speak to her.

‘Do you blame him?’ Monica sneered from the doorstep. Jeannie hadn’t even been asked inside.

‘But it wasn’t
me
who dumped him!’

‘It was as good as.’

‘I tried to persuade Lachlan it was a bad idea.’