Lime Street Blues

by Maureen Lee

  ‘This one looks quite nice,’ she said when they were approaching a long, low, thatched building with a hanging sign outside and Lachlan was about to roar right past. The brakes screeched, and, with an air of reluctance, he slowed to turn into the car park.

  The garden was full of customers, drinking and baking in the sun. They went inside where it would be cooler and they hoped they could tuck themselves in a quiet corner, out of the way of any eager autograph hunters.

  Jeannie found an empty booth where they could hide behind the high wooden partitions. After a few minutes, Lachlan arrived with two glasses of orange juice and said their chicken salads wouldn’t be long. Then he sat, staring into his drink, not speaking.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Jeannie asked. She wasn’t prepared to wait any longer for him to tell her whatever it was that was bothering him.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Don’t lie,’ she said sternly. ‘You’ve been worried about something for ages. I’m your wife. You should be able to tell me.’

  ‘You won’t like it.’

  ‘Do you want a divorce?’

  ‘Jeannie!’ He looked quite horrified. ‘What an awful thing to say!’

  ‘Have you got a disgusting sexual disease?’ He laughed then. ‘What other terrible things are you going to accuse me of ?’

  ‘Everything I can think of that a man would be reluctant to tell his wife.’

  ‘OK, then.’ He gave a deep, soulful sigh. ‘Sean wants to go solo. He’s waiting until “Marzipan Dream” is launched before going public with the news.’

  She frowned, puzzled. ‘But you always expected that might happen one day. We’ve talked about it before. You’ll just have to get someone else to take his place.’

  ‘That won’t exactly be easy. He’s a one-off, people like Sean don’t grow on trees. But that’s not all.’ There was something almost furtive about the glance he gave her. ‘Eddie Ford wants me to dump Max at the same time.’

  ‘Dump Max! Oh, Lachlan! It would kill him.’ Her brother was just as obsessive about music as Lachlan. More than that, he was vulnerable in a way Lachlan had never been. Max was fussily concerned about his image and his size, painfully aware his fame wasn’t as great as the others. Egged on by Monica, he constantly complained he was being sidelined, under-exposed. ‘Since he met you,’ she said, ‘all he’s ever wanted is to play the guitar.’

  ‘I know,’ Lachlan said slowly. He gave her that furtive look again. ‘That’s why it’s going to be so hard.’

  ‘You mean you’re going to do it? Dump him?’ she gasped.

  He began to twist his glass around, one full turn, then back again. ‘I’ve got no choice,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Yes, you have, Lachlan. You can tell Eddie Ford to go and jump in the lake.’

  ‘Except that Eddie’s right, darling.’

  ‘Don’t darling me, Lachlan Bailey,’ she said angrily. ‘It’s my brother we’re talking about. I think you should dump Eddie.’

  ‘Eddie’s a first-class agent. Max is just an adequate guitarist without an ounce of personality on stage. The Merseysiders get thousands of fan letters. Most are for me and Sean.’ He said this matter of factly, without conceit. ‘Quite a few come for Fly, but Max gets hardly any. He’s become a drag on the group. Eddie thinks it’s due to him we’ve never managed to hit the number one spot in the charts.’

  The barmaid came with the food. She said quietly, ‘I know who you are. I won’t disturb your meal, but if you wouldn’t mind signing the menu before you go, it would please my daughter very much. She hasn’t been too well lately.’

  ‘We’ll do that.’ Jeannie gave her a smiling nod, but as soon as the woman had gone she turned on her husband. ‘Lachlan, every record you’ve made has been in the top ten. You earn as much in a week as most people do in a year. Do you have to be so greedy?’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with money or greed,’ he said coldly. ‘It’s to do with being the best, being number one. It’s what I’ve always wanted for the Merseysiders. I’ve carried Max all this time because he was my friend and your brother, but Eddie’s just signed up these two kids, only eighteen. They’ve been playing the northern clubs. I’ve heard them and they’re bloody brilliant. They’ll be joining the Merseysiders when Sean and Max leave.’

  ‘You mean, when Sean leaves and Max gets dumped.’

  Knowing that her brother was about to have his world fall apart spoiled what would have otherwise been a very enjoyable weekend. She had never felt so cross with Lachlan before.

  Harwood Hall was a lovely place to stay in summer, with its spacious lawns and gardens, its orchard and the lake shaped like a figure of eight surrounded by lush, trailing trees. The other time they’d come it had been March, and the place was desolate, the trees bare, the grass overgrown, and the house icily cold.

  There was no sign of Marcia or the occupants of the house when they arrived to find people hurrying purposefully in and out of rooms, up and down stairs, along corridors, busy with preparations for tomorrow’s wedding. A maid showed them to their extremely grand, but shabby room on the first floor.

  Jeannie unpacked their clothes – Lachlan’s grey morning suit with flared trousers, her yellow costume, a wispy black semi-evening frock for tonight – and hung them in the wardrobe that was big enough to live in. The yellow cartwheel hat of lacquered straw and Lachlan’s grey top hat were placed carefully on the top shelf.

  Harwood Hall was woefully short of bathrooms, so she was glad to find the nearest free. After wallowing briefly in the oversized tub, she returned to their room and was pulling on a pair of white jeans and a sky blue T-shirt, when Lachlan announced he was going to look for Sean and Fly. ‘Their cars are outside,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘See you later,’ Jeannie said stiffly back. They’d hardly spoken to each other since they’d left the pub.

  The window overlooked the side of the house where the visitors’ cars were parked; Sean’s black Maserati, Fly’s low slung red Jag, the Baileys’ Ferrari, Zoe’s bright red Mini with daffodils painted on the doors. ‘’Cos I’m a Flower Girl. Geddit?’ Zoe said when she first showed it off. Rita couldn’t drive and was coming with Kevin and Sadie in their Rolls. Soon, Max would arrive in the sensible Mercedes, which had a special seat in the back for Gareth. Dr and Mrs Bailey couldn’t come till tonight. He still drove the pre-war Humber, refusing to relinquish it for something more modern, though parts were becoming more difficult to obtain.

  Three people were standing by the opulent cars; an elderly man and a young couple hand in hand, admiring – or possibly envying – the sleek shapes, the luxurious interiors. Like most people, they probably couldn’t afford to buy a set of tyres for the Ferrari, let alone the car itself. She felt disappointed with Lachlan, who had so much, yet still wanted more. He wouldn’t rest until he was top of the charts; second or third wouldn’t do. Their wealth had been acquired easily from doing what they enjoyed, and they’d quickly got used to buying anything they wanted.

  For the first time, Jeannie felt guilty for having so much money when most of the population had so little. She almost wished Marcia was getting married in Walton Vale to someone very ordinary, like Graham, not the son of a lord in a church where the bones of his ancestors rested in their crumbling tombs. Life had been more fun, she thought nostalgically, more lighthearted, in the days when they’d had to pool their money to see if there was enough to get them in the Cavern or pay for the cheapest seats at the pictures.

  But things couldn’t be expected to stay the same. The Beatles, for instance, were world famous now. Last year, they’d gone to Buckingham Palace to collect their MBEs from the Queen. Lachlan had never said, but she sensed he was jealous of their fame.

  Jeannie was about to turn away from the window, when a dusty Morris Traveller drove up, parked badly, and the driver got out, a pretty, rosy-cheeked young woman, dowdily dressed, her dark hair knotted in an untidy bun.

  Jeannie hammered on the window. ‘Elaine!’ she yell
ed. ‘Elaine! Wait there, don’t move, I’m coming down.’ She raced downstairs. Minutes later, she flung her arms around her friend. ‘Oh, Elaine! You look marvellous. The very picture of health. It’s ages since I last saw you. How’s things?’

  ‘Wearisome. I hate driving, but how else was I supposed to get from London to Wiltshire with loads and loads of luggage. I finished Imperial College today,’ she explained. ‘My fourth year. Only another two to go.’

  ‘You work so hard, you make me feel ashamed.’ They linked arms. ‘How’s things, medically speaking?’

  ‘Fine. I gave Cordelia an appendectomy the other day.’

  Jeannie shuddered. ‘I don’t want to know anything about Cordelia! I shall definitely not be leaving my body for medical research. I can’t stand the thought of people like you mucking about with me, even if I’m dead.’

  The cadaver Elaine and her group practised on had been christened Cordelia. She was treated for a variety of medical conditions, then heartlessly shut away at night in a freezing drawer.

  They wandered around the grounds, passing the big marquee where trestle tables were being erected, talking animatedly as they brought each other up to date with all that was happening in their busy lives. Elaine was dating a fellow student, but it wasn’t serious. ‘I’ve no intention of marrying a doctor. We’d never see each other.’

  Jeannie told her about ‘Marzipan Dream’ – ‘it’s not like anything the Merseysiders have done before’ – and that ‘Moon Under Water’ had been included on Frank Sinatra’s latest LP. ‘Kevin’s beside himself with joy.’

  Elaine declared that news capped anything else she might have to say. ‘It would be so trivial by comparison.’ She wanted to know if Jeannie had seen Marcia around. ‘Last time I came, my bridesmaid’s dress wasn’t quite finished. I have to try it on and make sure it fits.’

  ‘We’re not long here ourselves. Lachlan’s gone in search of Fly and Sean. Let’s go indoors, though it’s a madhouse in there.’

  They found a woman who thought Marcia might be upstairs with the bridesmaids who were trying on their dresses. ‘The dressmaker arrived about an hour ago.’

  After another search they found Marcia in a bedroom along with half a dozen other women, one of whom was Zoe and another Lady Elroy-Smythe, Julia to her friends. Two were bridesmaids, cousins of the groom, wearing their cream slipper satin dresses inside out. The dressmaker was kneeling on the floor, her mouth full of pins, making last-minute adjustments to the waist of one. Marcia was standing in the middle of the room ordering everyone about. Her designer wedding gown had been bought in Paris, a magnificent creation comprising yards and yards of lace criss-crossed with pearls. It was suspended like a balloon from the picture rail.

  ‘Elaine!’ Marcia screeched. ‘You’re late. Come and try your frock on immediately. Oh, and look at your hair! It really is disgusting. Just because you’re nearly a doctor, it’s no excuse to lose all interest in your appearance. Thank goodness there’s a hairdresser coming in the morning. Oh, hello, Jeannie. She’s another Flower Girl,’ she announced to the other women.

  Jeannie accepted a glass of sherry from Julia on condition she stayed well away from the dresses. She sat next to Zoe on the bed, wondered where her husband was, and decided she didn’t care. It wasn’t the first disagreement they’d had, but it seemed the most serious. She’d never felt so disappointed with him before.

  After dinner, the young people, about thirty in all, descended en masse on the village pub. Jeannie was glad when the men remained in the saloon and the women went into the lounge. She sat with Elaine and Stella, who’d never met before. An understandably sulky Monica had been forced to remain at Harwood Hall when she could find no one to look after Gareth. Stella listened, occasionally startling the room with her infectious laughter, while Elaine described how she used to play the tambourine in the Flowers’ garden shed. ‘And Lachlan used to make me and Jeannie sing. That was in the days before Fly joined the group.’

  ‘I don’t think my father would have taken lightly to a set of drums in his shed,’ Jeannie said drily.

  As the night progressed, the crowd in the saloon grew rowdier and rowdier. Someone started to play the piano and the Merseysiders gave an impromptu, drunken concert. Stella tut-tutted and promised to give Fly an earful when she saw him.

  ‘Have you and our Lachlan had a row?’ Elaine asked when Stella suddenly had to make a dash for the ladies. ‘You hardly spoke to each other during dinner.’

  ‘Not a row, more a difference of opinion.’ She imagined an inebriated Lachlan, who usually drank no more than a single pint or a couple of glasses of wine, with his arm around Max, best mates, when in the very near future he intended stabbing him in the back. She contemplated warning Max what his ‘best mate’ had in mind, but it would only prolong the agony and do no good at all. What was more, there was always a slight chance Lachlan might change his mind. ‘Actually, Elaine, I’m getting a headache. It’s the smoke and the noise and this awful heat. I think I’ll have an early night.’

  ‘D’you want me to come with you?’

  Jeannie wouldn’t have minded, but Elaine was obviously enjoying herself. ‘No, I’ll be all right. Tell Stella I’ll see her in the morning.’ She impulsively kissed her friend. ‘You’re going to make the most beautiful bridesmaid the world has ever seen.’

  The noise from the pub could still be heard when Jeannie went through the gates of Harwood Hall, where the lights appeared to be on in every room. She didn’t feel remotely like an early night. It was too hot to sleep and her head was buzzing rather than aching. What she would have liked was a long talk with a sober Lachlan, an unlikely prospect right now.

  To the side of the house, through the trees, the lake was visible, glistening like a mirror in the light of a full moon. Jeannie strolled towards it, disturbing the birds in the trees and other small, earthbound creatures, as she made her way through the rough undergrowth. She arrived at the glassy stretch of water and saw a bench clearly visible on the other side. She tramped around the edge accompanied by faint plopping sounds, as if fish were raising their heads above the water, then diving for cover when they saw her.

  She came to the bench and sat down with a thankful sigh. The metal bars felt cool through her thin frock as she cast around in her mind for something to think about other than Lachlan and what would happen to Max when he was no longer a Merseysider. A memory surfaced and she grimaced. They’d forgotten to sign the menu for the barmaid who’d asked so nicely, hadn’t interrupted their meal as some people would have done. Her daughter had been ill, she’d said. Jeannie resolved they would return the same way and give the woman the autographs she wanted. She didn’t like letting people down.

  The moon was reflected in the lake, she hadn’t noticed until now, a shimmering circle of golden light, as still as the real moon, and looking just as solid. Had Kevin been watching a similar sight when he’d written his song?

  ‘Moon under water,’ Jeannie sang. She didn’t have much of a voice, it was too thin, but Kevin thought it sweet. ‘I can’t touch you. Like stars in a mirror, you’re not there. Like . . .’

  She jumped and stopped singing when, from somewhere within the middle of the trees, came the haunting strains of a mouth organ playing the same song. Her mind immediately went back to the day she’d first met Lachlan. He’d done the same thing, though she’d been playing the piano and he the violin.

  A man emerged from the black trees on the bank opposite. She couldn’t tell who, only that it wasn’t Lachlan, who was probably legless by now, and unable to tell one end of a mouth organ from the other.

  The man continued to play as he came round the edge of the pool with long, loping strides, and she recognised Sean McDowd. They rarely spoke to each other. She’d never liked him and sensed he felt the same about her. It seemed strange that he should approach her now. Perhaps he thought she was someone else. Sean had had relationships with a string of well-known women. His picture was often in the paper
s, a grim, unsmiling figure escorting some model or actress to a play, a nightclub, or a film premiere.

  He was only a few feet away when he put the mouth organ in his pocket. ‘Hi, Jeannie,’ he said, so couldn’t have thought she was someone else. ‘I saw you leave the pub.’

  ‘I had a headache,’ she explained, adding, ‘It’s gone now,’ in case he offered sympathy for something she didn’t have.

  ‘Good.’ He sat beside her on the bench. ‘It’s nice here.’

  ‘I was just wondering if it was a scene like this that inspired your dad to write his song.’

  ‘Could be.’ He nodded thoughtfully and said no more.

  ‘Lachlan said you’re leaving the group,’ Jeannie said eventually. ‘I hope you do well on your own.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it. I prefer to make me own decisions, be in charge of me own destiny, as it were.’

  ‘I love being a Flower Girl, but I don’t look upon show business as my destiny. I don’t care who’s in charge.’

  ‘So, what is?’ he asked curiously.

  ‘My destiny?’ She was surprised he was interested. ‘I’d like a family; two children at least, quite soon.’

  There was another long silence. Jeannie felt strangely comfortable in his presence. He stretched his arms along the back of the seat, stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. His chin was sunk into his chest and Jeannie surreptitiously examined his perfect profile. He wore his hair long and tied back, like Lachlan, and was dressed all in black. She recalled that a recent poll had placed him second in a list of Britain’s sexiest men – another Sean had come top, the star of the James Bond films, Sean Connery. The man she was sitting next to on the bench by the lake, who people in Ailsham once thought had the makings of a master criminal, had become a famous entertainer instead, a heart throb. Thousands, if not millions, of women would give anything to be in her place.

  Jeannie experienced an unexpected and totally unwelcome thrust of something in her chest that could only be described as desire, a sensation that, until now, had been reserved only for Lachlan. She gasped and shifted uneasily on the bench, trying to rid herself of the sensation, think of other things – the moon, the moon under the water, moving now, wobbling a little. The water must have been disturbed.