‘I’m doing champion, thanks to Irma here.’
Irma was seated by the bed and smiled at Harriet as she got quietly to her feet. ‘I’ll fetch us all a cuppa, give you two a bit of privacy,’ and she slipped quietly out of the room.
‘She’s lovely, is Irma,’ Rose said. ‘Can’t think how I’d’ve managed without her.’ And she told Harriet all about the exercises she was putting her through, the constant stream of music and chatter. ‘I couldn’t even talk at first,’ Rose explained.
Harriet squeezed her hand. ‘You sound like you’ve got your voice back now all right.’
‘Tell me all about yourself, lass. Where are you living, what are you doing? How are you surviving?’
‘Don’t worry about me, I’m doing fine.’ Harriet gave her nan a carefully sanitised version of her life with the band, giving the impression it was very much a temporary situation until she got herself sorted out and made some long-reaching decisions about her life. She told her how good Vinny was to her, and showed off her new clothes. Rose said nothing.
Irma came back with the tea and as they drank it, enjoying a slice of Irma’s best sultana and walnut cake, they talked about the campaign to save the market. Rose was full of it, and it was clearly giving her a focus and helping her to get over the stroke. Then quite out of the blue Irma took Harriet’s hand, and turning it palm up began to trace the lines with one finger, examining them closely.
‘You’re not strong on ambition, love, but you have a great deal of heart and deep compassion,’ Irma told her.
Harriet was startled, pulling her hand away. ‘I’m not sure I believe in all of that stuff.’
Rose said, ‘Listen to her. She’s a dab hand at fortune telling is this mate o’ mine.’
Again Irma examined Harriet’s palm. ‘There’s some indication of emotional turmoil here which has been making you very unhappy.’ She looked keenly at Harriet, who sat mute, intrigued now despite her instinctive dismissal that it was all superstitious nonsense. ‘I’d say you are too intense, too sensitive, too giving. You allow people to use you, and that’s not a good trait.’
‘Will I have a long life?’ Harriet teased, as jauntily as she could manage, not wishing to reveal how Irma’s words had touched a raw nerve and inflamed her deep sense of insecurity. Nevertheless, Irma seemed to sense it and her voice softened.
‘You’ve suffered a serious change in your life, some cataclysmic event.’
‘I think we all know this,’ Harriet said.
‘But there’s more to come, I’m afraid,’ Irma continued, as if she hadn’t been interrupted. ‘Your general health seems uncertain, lacking vigour and strength, and I’d say the cause of that is largely because you allow your heart to rule your head.’
‘Our Harriet allus was soft as butter,’ Rose put in.
‘Looking at your fate line I’d say you still have many obstacles to overcome.’ Irma turned the hand a little, examining the edge of it, the fingers, pressing the pads of it here and there. ‘I see problems with a man. You’d do well to be wary of this person as he is the one draining away your ability to make decisions. Perhaps because he is too demanding or self-serving. You need to break free and go your own way, not pander to the needs of others all the time.’ She lifted Harriet’s other hand and compared the two. ‘There is every sign of happiness for you in the long-term. You will find a man to love. You’ll marry and have three children.’
‘And does it tell you his name?’
‘Don’t be flippant, Harriet,’ Rose scolded. ‘Irma is only trying to be helpful.’
Irma let go of Harriet’s hands with a smile. ‘When you have had time to think on what I’ve said, then you should act upon it. Remember, your hands only tell so much, the rest is up to you.’
Harriet swallowed. There was something knowing in the older woman’s steady gaze, as if she could read Harriet’s soul, see all her miseries and problems, her insecurities and needs. She got up. ‘I have to go.’
She kissed her grandmother goodbye, promising to call again soon. The next moment she was climbing into Steve’s beat up old Ford car and driving away, Joyce not even troubling to come downstairs to see her off. Not that Harriet cared, she was only too relieved to be returning to Vinny and the band, and her new friend Shelley. They were the ones who mattered now, and no superstitious nonsense spouted by two credulous old women was going to unnerve her.
There was even less conversation between herself and Steve on the way back, and Harriet got him to drop her at the corner of Cross Street, rather than directly outside the hotel. She really didn’t want him to see the shabby hotel in which they were staying. Before getting out, she thanked him for taking so much trouble to inform her of Nan’s illness.
‘I appreciate your kindness, but don’t take this as any indication that you and I could get back together. I meant what I said, Steve. Best you forget all about me. I’m not worthy of your love, not any more.’ Then she climbed out of the car, closed the door and walked away. But not before she’d heard Steve say that he never could forget her, not as long as he lived.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As the weeks passed and autumn slid into winter, the band became busier than ever, particularly over Christmas, with gigs night after night. Harriet was pleased to be busy as it stopped her from thinking too deeply about where she was going and what she was doing with her life.
Even so, she’d been haunted by what Irma had apparently read in her palm. Despite her scepticism it had touched a chord. Harriet had been unnerved by the woman’s accurate assessment of her character as well as what was going on in her life. It seemed to tally so exactly with Steve’s attitude, and even the warnings Shelley had made that she shouldn’t rely too much on Vinny but depend only upon herself.
A part of her wondered if perhaps she should start listening to these people. Why was she sticking by Vinny Turner? Was this love she felt for him the kind which would last, one on which she could base the sort of happiness which Irma had predicted, with marriage and three children? Harriet very much doubted it, but was that even what she wanted?
Every week, without fail, she would ring the salon and leave a message for Nan, even if Joyce was always frosty with her on the phone.
‘I’m not your message boy, why don’t you just write to her?’
‘I do write to her, as often as I can, but since you’ve got a telephone why shouldn’t I ring and ask how Nan is? Just give her my love, that’s all.’
‘Fine,’ Joyce would snap, followed by a sharp click as the receiver clattered down. Not once did she ever ask Harriet how she was, if she was well, or if she was thinking of coming over. It was as if those years of bringing her up had never existed, as if her own mother – stepmother – didn’t care if she lived or died.
As they entered a new decade January too was busy with the band playing at many parties left over from the New Year. Now it was February and they were enjoying a well earned break, sitting on their bed while Vinny sang to her.
Never knew what I missed till I kissed ya', uh huh, I kissed ya.
Harriet let him sing the Everly Brothers number all the way through to the end before rewarding him with the kiss he clearly wanted. He was in one of his soft, caring, benevolent moods this evening, and she meant to take advantage of it to try and get to know a bit more about him. Maybe then she’d be better able to judge whether these well-wishers were right and her future with Vinny was doomed from the start.
‘When did you first start playing the guitar?’ Harriet asked as she sat beside him, arms wrapped about her knees, content to watch as he strummed on his precious instrument.
‘You don’t want to hear all of that rubbish.’
‘I do. I want to know all about you. You’ve told me about your parents, your background, so tell me about your music.’
He smiled at her, that enigmatic, sensual smile that set her heart racing. ‘You ask too many questions, Harriet.’
‘Only when I like someone.’<
br />
He considered her, eyebrows raised in mock disbelief, a cynical twist to his mouth which sent a shiver right down to her toes. ‘Don’t get to like me, babe, I’m not the likeable sort.’
‘I beg to disagree.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Now don’t go all needy on me. The last thing I want is a needy woman, or commitment or responsibility of any sort.’
Harriet looked down, avoiding his gaze for a moment as she strove not to show any reaction to this stark comment. A nagging worry had recently crept into the back of her mind, which, if it turned out to be true, would mean responsibility of the kind even she hadn’t bargained for, although perhaps she should have. Maybe it was one of the obstacles Irma had warned her of.
Usually she was so regular, and marking the dates off in her pocket diary was merely a matter of form. Now she was late, by only three days, admittedly, but it had never happened before. Harriet couldn’t believe it had happened now, not to her. They’d been careful to use protection, so what had gone wrong? Had Vinny slipped up one night when he was far gone on the drink or the pot he smoked? Maybe she should have gone for some of those new birth control pills Shelley kept mentioning to her.
If it was true and she was indeed pregnant, then she didn’t know what she’d do. Joyce would call her a slut, saying it proved she had bad blood in her veins, and Winnie Holmes would spread the gossip all round the market. She’d really be a pariah then. Harriet tried to pretend that she didn’t care if people talked about her, but deep down her sensitive soul cared very much.
He’d have to marry her, she couldn’t manage on her own. A baby might curtail this great desire they both had for freedom, but that’s life, Harriet thought. They’d be a family, able to take care of each other. She felt a warm glow inside at the prospect.
But she was getting a bit ahead of herself. Three days overdue didn’t mean a thing. It could simply be a false alarm, so no need to mention it just yet. Harriet smiled brightly at Vinny, giving no indication of these concerns. What was it they’d been talking about? Oh, yes, she’d been asking him about his guitar. She did so love to have him all to herself.
‘Did your mother teach you to play?’
He laughed. ‘She taught me to love music. I’ll say one good thing for my ma, she could sing like a canary as well as look like one. She’d come home from that munitions factory exhausted, rush into the house, change and dash straight out again, off to some pub or other to sing her heart out for a few more bob. Course, the silly mare never got home till the early hours so I’m sure there was a great deal more involved than singing.’
‘What a thing to say about your own mother!’ Harriet said, shocked.
‘If you’re looking for a perfect world, don’t hang around with me. Don’t know why you are hanging around, anyway, good looking chick like you from a decent home.’
‘Decent home? You have to be joking. Go on, you were telling me about your music.’
Vinny carried on strumming his guitar, saying nothing for a while. Harriet was the only one who ever asked him to talk about himself. He liked that in her. ‘It all started one night when I went looking for Ma. Probably because she’d forgotten to leave us anything to eat, yet again.’
After another silence, Harriet prompted him to continue. ‘Did you find her?’
‘Sure, in some pub or other, and she was all contrite, mortified to think she’d left us penniless with not so much as a crust of bread in the place. Our Sal was little more than a toddler at the time. Mam dashes off to find us some money, and is gone ages. When she comes back I’m tinkling on the piano keys and not making too bad a job of it. The customers are egging me on, paying me with lemonade and crisps, and I’m lapping it up. After that she did find time to give me a few lessons. The pub landlord let her borrow the piano occasionally when the pub was closed.
‘And then she bought you a guitar?’
Vinny shook his head. ‘Naw, but it was Mam what taught me my scales, and, as I say, to love music. I didn’t actually get me hands on a guitar till after she was dead and we were in the orphanage. There was this teacher, po-faced, hard-hearted old git with glasses and a beard. He found me playing ‘How Much Is That Doggy in the Window’ on the school piano one day, so he began to take an interest. He had other interests in me too, but we won’t go into those, eh? Whatever I had to put up with was worth it.’
‘I’m not sure what you mean …’ Harriet interrupted.
‘Let’s just say his wasn’t the first pink appendage I’d seen waved about, or been obliged to avoid. I managed to confine him to the odd feel.’
Harriet’s eyes widened with shock. ‘You can’t be serious. Oh, that’s dreadful.’
‘No, lovey, that’s real life. Where’ve you been living all these years, under a cabbage leaf? Anyway, in return I persuaded him to buy me my first guitar and he taught me the chords. D-seven was the first one I learned, I seem to remember, then the rest, one by one. It was slow going, hard on the fingers.’ He held out his hands to show her. ‘They’ve never been without calluses since. But I stuck with it and learnt to play the damn thing in the end. It made me feel good to be able to play the piano, and the guitar. I was no longer a dead-leg, I had a skill at my fingertips, literally. One that might make my fortune one day, you never know.’ He grinned at her, then leaned over to kiss her full on the mouth.
‘You deserve to do well. I think you’re wonderful!’ she murmured, moving into his arms.
‘You’re not too bad yourself.’
Pushing her down on the bed he stroked and caressed her, touched and explored her body which he’d come to know almost as well as his own. He teased her with his fingers, with his tongue, till she was gasping and begging him to love her, and finally, exhausted from their love making, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
When morning came the first thing he did was reach for her again. She was all sleepy and warm and instantly wound her arms about his neck, eager for more loving. Vinny liked that in her too, that eagerness to please.
Harriet simply loved him all the more, no thought now in her head of leaving him.
The Scrapyard Kids were doing well. They played at hotels and clubs, church halls and ballrooms all over Manchester, including Belle Vue and the Locarno. They played in the interval at the Classic Cinema on Oxford Road, and even at the Ritz on pancake night, which was hilarious with the girls tossing pancakes then feeding them as fast as possible to their man. They were making more money than some professional bands.
Unfortunately, despite Harriet striving to encourage restraint, the lads were spending it as fast as it came in. Several of them bought cars, and smart new suits. It never occurred to them to save, or rent a place of their own, or cook a meal. They simply stayed at better hotels, ate out every night, and spent the rest on drinking in bars and idling away hours on end in snooker clubs and taking girls out. It was a hedonistic sort of life, with no thought of tomorrow, which was worrying.
Nevertheless, she was content to be with Vinny. It was fun in a way, exciting, and life was never dull. Even if they hadn’t hit the big time, they were a success in their own little world, and Vinny remained convinced that one day some record producer would walk in and catch their act. Then their fortunes would truly be made. The other lads would laugh at his dreams, content simply to have a bit of money in their pockets.
Most of the time everything went smoothly, although there was occasional friction between Vinny and Al, the drummer. Vinny seemed to hate it if anyone was given more attention than him, or if Al’s drum solo went on for longer than he liked. He’d suddenly leap in front of him and start banging on his guitar, stopping it in mid-flow.
Mostly Al would be philosophical about this attitude, but one night Vinny allowed him even less time than usual. Al had scarcely got started before Vinny stepped forward and brought the guitars back in far too soon. It was evident Al was annoyed. Later, after a drink or two, the pair of them had a real set to, in which Vinny got so furious he accus
ed Al of deliberately trying to undermine his authority. Al argued vehemently that he was doing nothing of the kind, that Vinny wasn’t some star who could hog all the limelight.
At this Vinny flew into a rage and smashed his guitar on a bar stool, swearing never to play the damn thing again.
He sulked for days after that. Eventually though, he went out and bought himself a new guitar, but he wasn’t happy. Vinny had loved that old instrument, had had it for years, and blamed Al entirely for the loss of it. At the very next gig he made it clear before they even went on that he was the one in charge of the band, and the drum solo would end when he said so.
But Al still wasn’t having it. ‘You don’t interrupt till I’m good and ready, that was our deal, if you remember. I get one full minute, nothing less.’
‘You’ll get thirty seconds, if you’re lucky.’
‘Perhaps you’d prefer to find yourself another drummer then?’ Al taunted him.
‘Good idea. You’re sacked.’
Harriet instantly stepped in to calm frayed tempers. ‘Vinny, you can’t do this, not right now. This isn’t the moment, not with an audience waiting. Listen to them, they’re getting impatient, doing the slow hand clap. Sort this out later, for goodness sake, and get on that stage. Now!’
‘Why does everyone think they can tell me what to do?’ Vinny yelled, and stormed out of the hall. The band did not go on that night. The following morning Al packed his bags and left.
‘You’d be wise to leave too,’ he warned Harriet. ‘He’s falling apart. I know the band is doing well and Vinny is on a high, but it won’t last. He’ll go all the way down, right to the bottom.’
‘Not if his friends stand by him, he won’t,’ Harriet stubbornly retorted.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It took them over a month to find another drummer, the result being that they missed several gigs in the mean time. Even when they found one he wasn’t half as good as Al. The row between the two friends, united in their passion for music, had distressed Harriet as it was so unnecessary.
Lonely Teardrops (2008) Page 21
