Lime Street Blues (32 page)

‘Huh!’ Monica slammed the door.

She knew Lachlan was suffering pangs of conscience for what he’d done to Max – and to himself – by firing him. It only made worse his constant struggle to get the Merseysiders back to the position where they’d been before. The group barely entered the charts, even though he spent hours in the studio, composing new songs, arranging the music. But he missed Sean’s input. He was making himself ill, emerging in the early hours of the morning, listless and haggard.

‘Hey! We’re supposed to be trying for a baby,’ Jeannie would remind him when he claimed he was too tired to make love.

‘I’m sorry, darling. So sorry,’ he would mutter before falling asleep in her arms.

Soon she would be twenty-four, still not old, but she was desperate to start a family. Stella had had a girl, Samantha, who was gorgeous, and they’d all gone to Harwood Hall for the christening of Marcia’s chubby little boy, Iain. She didn’t know whether Monica had had a boy or a girl. Last time she’d passed the house, it had been up for sale.

They’d been trying for over a year and she was getting more and more upset every time a period started. She dreamt of babies, of giving birth, but always woke up before the baby was put in her arms.

Without telling Lachlan, she went to see her doctor who sent her for tests. A fortnight later, she was told she was perfectly healthy and there was nothing to stop her from conceiving.

‘But it won’t help if you get too anxious about it,’ the doctor, an affable, grey-haired man, advised. ‘How does your husband feel about things?’

‘He’d like us to have a family, but he doesn’t think about it as much as I do.’

‘Perhaps you should be like your husband and think about it less. Try to relax. You’re only young and there’s plenty of time.’

Jeannie didn’t think so. Marcia, Stella, Monica, even her own mother at almost forty, none had had a problem getting pregnant, so why was she? Until now, her life had always run smoothly, with few hiccups, none of which had mattered much. Jeannie wasn’t used to things not going as planned.

Despite what she’d told the doctor, she wasn’t sure if Lachlan cared if they had a family or not. He probably never thought about it. He was too consumed by his music. Jeannie suspected that, given the choice, he’d much prefer to be top of the charts than have a baby.

Eighteen months after he’d been so unceremoniously dumped, Max rang and asked Jeannie if they could meet. ‘Somewhere in town.’

‘Why don’t you come here, to Noah’s Ark?’ asked a surprised Jeannie, thrilled to hear from her brother at last.

‘I’m not setting foot in Noah’s Ark again while Lachlan Bailey lives there.’

‘Lachlan’s away.’

‘I don’t care.’

They arranged to have lunch the following day in a new restaurant in Bold Street. ‘It’s lovely to hear your voice at last, Max,’ she said warmly. ‘I’ve missed you terribly.’

‘I didn’t want to see anyone, not even my family, until I’d done something constructive with my life, had something to boast about,’ Max said. Jeannie hadn’t expected him to look quite so cheerful and pleased with
himself. The last stressful year had apparently affected him less than it had done Lachlan.

‘Come on, then, boast!’ Jeannie said encouragingly. His answer was the last thing she expected.

‘I’ve got three A levels.’ He smiled, clearly proud of his achievement. ‘The results only came yesterday. I got two A’s and a B. They’re the same subjects I studied at school, so I was already part of the way there. I’m amazed I could remember a thing, because I didn’t listen during the lessons.’

‘That’s wonderful, Max.’ But she didn’t think it all
that
wonderful and was surprised he was so pleased.

‘Guess what I’m going to do now?’ His eyes twinkled.

‘I’ve no idea, Max.’

‘I’m going to college to train to be a teacher.’

‘That’s even more wonderful. What does Monica think?’

‘Monica!’ He gave a cynical laugh. ‘Monica left me ages ago. You can imagine why. We’re getting divorced. She’s virtually cleaning me out. I’ll end up with hardly a bean to show for all the years I was with the Merseysiders.’

‘And Gareth?’ Jeannie asked anxiously. ‘I’ve thought about him a lot, Max, almost as much as I did you. Monica was pregnant when we last spoke, so you’ll have two children by now.’

‘I have a daughter, Tammy, as well as a son. Monica’s met some guy who’s a bit actor in films and they’ve moved to California. I haven’t seen Gareth since he left, and I haven’t seen Tammy at all.’

‘That’s a terrible shame.’ She put her hand on his sleeve.

He looked puzzled. ‘It’s strange, but in a way, I don’t miss them. That part of my life seems totally unreal. I can
hardly believe it happened. I was nothing but a bag of nerves. Monica didn’t help. She made me feel as if the whole world was against me. When Lachlan said he was letting me go, it was like the culmination of a sinister plot that had been hatching for years.’

‘Lachlan’s incapable of hatching a plot.’

‘I know, but I still think what he did was pretty contemptible. We were friends. You know something, Jeannie,’ he said ruefully, ‘it’s terrible to discover you’re no good at the thing you wanted to do more than anything else on earth. I still play the guitar, but only for myself. I’m going to be a teacher. It’ll always be second best, but I was only a second best guitarist, so what the hell! I’ve just got to learn to live with that.’

Soon it would be another Christmas and it seemed they were going to spend it on their own. Jeannie was quite looking forward to it. The Baileys, Elaine included, were going to Harwood Hall, and Max, who wouldn’t have come anyway, was going to stay with Gerald in London. Her mother would never agree to be prised away from Magnolia Cottage on Christmas Day, nor invite anyone to share it with her perfect little family.

It was years since she’d done any baking, but she could still remember how. Every day, she spent hours in the super modern kitchen turning out trays of mince pies, sausage rolls, cheese straws, and a Christmas cake that took all night to decorate. She bought a turkey so big it would have to be squeezed into the oven.

‘Are you planning to feed an army?’ Connie wanted to know. Every time she came into the kitchen, more food was being put in the oven or taken out.

‘There’s only me and Lachlan.’

Connie blinked. ‘There’s enough there to last the both of you till next Christmas.’

When she woke up on Christmas morning, Jeannie discovered herself alone in the bed. It often happened. If Lachlan woke up early, he went straight down to the studio.

‘You think he’d have stayed, today of all days,’ she grumbled.

She got up, dragged on jeans and a sweater, and went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Usually, they had only a piece of toast, but she wanted to do a special, Christmas breakfast for a change, a mixed grill. She put the sausages and bacon in the frying pan and went down to tell Lachlan that it would soon be ready.

Ten minutes later, everything was done, but there was no sign of Lachlan. She went down again. He was sitting in front of the bank of studio equipment staring into space.

‘Breakfast’s ready and it’s getting cold,’ she said crossly.

‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ he murmured.

‘
Now
, Lachlan.’

He looked up. There was a dark expression in his eyes, not just irritation, almost dislike. Jeannie shrank back, shocked to her bones. A moment of nothingness hung between them, until she turned on her heel and went upstairs. With shaking hands, she scraped the breakfasts into the bin and made coffee, as strong as she could take it. If Lachlan wanted some, he could get his own. There was a kettle and supplies downstairs, a toilet, a telephone. He could live there permanently if he wanted.

She sat down at the table, took a sip of the coffee, and burst into tears. What was happening to them? She prayed that Lachlan would come soon and make
everything better, say he hadn’t meant the look, that he couldn’t remember giving her a look that wasn’t anything but loving, because he loved her and always would.

But Lachlan didn’t appear. She put the turkey in the oven, pushing it in with her foot, and at midday started to peel the vegetables and steam the pudding that she’d prepared days before. She set the table in the dining room they hardly ever used.

Two o’clock, and still Lachlan didn’t come. Jeannie poured a glass of wine and took it into the lounge, where she switched on the fire and the lights on the six-foot tree that had taken longer to decorate than the cake. Holly hung from the white walls and there was mistletoe over the door. Their cards, eighty-five in all, had been stuck with sellotape to the breastwork. The room looked very festive.

She sighed and went over to the window. It was snowing outside, only lightly. The flakes touched the ground and melted instantly. The garden was a lonely place, desolate. The canvas cover on the pool had sunk in the middle and contained an icy patch of water. Two birds were pecking at it furiously.

More wine! She needed more wine. In the kitchen, the cake, with its circle of red candles that she’d intended to light while they were having their Christmas dinner, stared at her balefully, each candle like a round, red, angry eye. Jeannie picked up the cake and flung it at the wall. In her entire life, she’d never done anything so outrageous. The plate broke, but the cake itself fell to the floor in one piece, landing on its bottom, not even the icing cracked.

Gosh! It must be hard. It must have the consistency of concrete. Jeannie started to laugh. They’d have had to
fetch a saw from the garage to cut it and a hammer for the icing.

The laughter swiftly turned to more tears. How could Lachlan
do
this to her?

Three o’clock. He was an hour late for dinner and six hours late for breakfast. She wondered if he would turn up for his tea.

Jeannie made a swift decision. Unless he arrived within the next five minutes, she wouldn’t be there. She would go and see someone.

Who?

Everyone she knew was away. Everyone, that is, except her mother. She
needed
her mother. She needed to sink into someone’s arms and cry her heart out. It was what mothers were for, and her own would just have to damn well be there for her.

‘Sweetheart!’ Rose cooed, holding her daughter in her slim arms. She’d turned out to be a perfect mother, after all, when Jeannie had arrived at Magnolia Cottage in a flood of tears. ‘You should have come earlier. You shouldn’t have stayed all day in that mausoleum of a house on your own.’

‘I wouldn’t have minded being on my own,’ Jeannie sobbed. ‘It was Lachlan being there that made it so horrible.’

‘I know, love.’ Jeannie’s cheek was patted and her forehead kissed. ‘I didn’t realise you had problems.’

‘Neither did I, not until today. Things have been getting worse, but I didn’t notice. Or perhaps I just
pretended
not to notice.’ Lachlan’s total absorption with the group was unnatural. His obsession to be the best in the world even more. While these things had been stealthily building up, she’d been desperate to conceive.
No one, not even Lachlan, knew how much she longed for a baby. She wouldn’t have left the Flower Girls had she known how long it was going to take. She felt sure Rita McDowd would have stayed if Jeannie had wanted to. They could easily have got two girls in place of Marcia and Zoe, who’d never been the most important members of the group.

‘Here we are. I’ve made it extra strong.’ Alex came in with a tray of tea things. He was wearing a cream Arran sweater, obviously a Christmas present, and new red plush slippers. He looked a perfectly contented, happily married man, even if there wasn’t a piece of paper to prove it. ‘I’ll pop upstairs and make sure the girls are all right.’ It was his tactful way of removing himself from the room while Jeannie continued to pour out her heart.

Amy and Eliza had been put down for their afternoon nap just after she arrived. ‘They’ve been up since the crack of dawn, anxious to see what Santa Claus had brought them,’ Rose had said smilingly. She’d used to say ‘Santa Claus’ when they were little, Jeannie remembered. At school, she’d wondered why the other children got their presents off someone called Father Christmas.

‘Did they like the dolls from me and Lachlan?’ she asked when Alex had gone.

‘They loved them. Eliza’s is almost as big as she is. They’ve taken their clothes on and off half a dozen times. I’ve promised to make them nightdresses for bed. Oh, and thank you, Jeannie, for the scent. It’s lovely, and Alex is very pleased with his new driving gloves.’

‘I haven’t opened our presents yet,’ Jeannie said sadly. ‘We usually do it after breakfast but, well, you know what happened.’

Rose sighed and said soberly, ‘I’ve neglected you, haven’t I? The thing is, I never really looked upon you
three as children. I didn’t know my own mother, so I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to behave. Your father always treated me like a child, then you and Max seemed to grow up so much more sensible and wiser than I was. I couldn’t imagine you really needing me.’

‘I needed you today, Mum.’

‘I know, love.’ She stroked Jeannie’s arm. ‘I’m just glad I was here for you as I should have been for Max. But thank goodness he’s all right now. Sit up and let’s have this tea before it gets cold.’

Jeannie’s half-sisters came down soon afterwards, their faces pink with sleep, their pale hair tousled. She’d never really got to know them as she should, but they were pleased to find her still there and thanked her nicely for the dolls.

She watched them play on the hearth with the dolls and their other presents. The scene could well have featured on a Christmas card; two pretty little girls in front of a blazing log fire separated by a gleaming brass fireguard, a fat tree threaded with tinsel. The beamed walls were looped with paper chains. It was beautifully warm and the settee where she’d fallen into her mother’s arms was soft and downy. Despite the awfulness of the day, she felt relaxed. She did her utmost to put Lachlan to the back of her mind and think about something else, such as how nice it was to find that her mother was still her mother after all. She liked being in her pretty, warm house.