Lime Street Blues (30 page)

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 papers, 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.

Then Sean slid his arm further along the bench until it rested on her shoulders. Gently, very gently, he pulled her towards him, put his other hand on her cheek, and kissed her. She didn’t respond, but nor did she stop him. She didn’t want him to stop. His lips were hard, yet undemanding. He wanted nothing back, just her acceptance of his long, sweet kiss, that was only interrupted by the voices of people coming home from the pub.

‘I love you,’ Sean whispered, and was gone.

Lachlan wasn’t the slightest bit drunk. He was stone cold sober and walked a straight line to prove it. ‘You know I never drink much. I had one beer, that’s all.’

‘You
sounded
drunk,’ Jeannie argued. She’d been pretending to be asleep when he came into the room and tripped over her shoes so she pretended he’d woken her. It was then she accused him of being drunk and he accused her of thoughtlessly leaving her shoes in the middle of the room for anyone to fall over.

‘I sounded as if I was having a good time, that’s all,’ he said haughtily. ‘We all were. It’s not necessary to get plastered in order to enjoy yourself, though Max over-indulged, as usual. He’ll have a head on him in the morning. Fly can drink like a fish and it doesn’t affect him.’

‘Perhaps Max senses his entire world is about to collapse, and that’s why he over-indulged.’

‘Don’t exaggerate, Jeannie. Max is lucky to have got as far as he has. He can join another group or go into management. He must have more than enough in the bank to last till he sorts himself out.’

‘Oh, and you think Monica will be happy about that? She’ll be as mad as hell and the person she’ll be maddest with is Max himself.’ Jeannie turned over in the bed with a flounce so she was facing away from Lachlan when he got in. For the first time they slept with backs to each other. Not that Jeannie slept much, and it wasn’t thoughts of her brother that kept her awake, but the memory of Sean’s kiss, which she could still feel on her lips. Why hadn’t she pushed him away, slapped his face, stopped him somehow? It troubled her that she’d let another man touch her when Lachlan was the only man she’d ever wanted. She’d betrayed him, just as he was about to betray Max.

When they woke, the sun was streaming into the room and they were facing each other. Jeannie reached for him at the same time as he reached for her. They made love, savagely, like strangers.

‘Perhaps we should row more often,’ Lachlan gasped hoarsely when it was over. ‘We’ve been married for four years, but that was the best ever.’ He groaned. ‘I love you, Jeannie Flowers.’

‘And I love you, Lachlan Bailey.’ She snuggled into his arms, Sean’s kiss forgotten until later in the day when she saw him again. They greeted each other coolly, as if the kiss had never happened.

Rita hunched in the background when the guests followed the newly married couple out of church, where they were met by an enormous cheering crowd, a posse of eager photographers, and two television cameras. She hated being filmed or photographed except if she was singing, when she didn’t care. Other times, it made her uncomfortably aware of her plain looks and her inability to smile naturally. She managed to stay out of sight until there was a call for the other Flower Girls to be photographed with the bride and her dad came looking for her.

‘You’re wanted, girl.’ Kevin took her hand and led her to a shady spot under a tree where Jeannie, Zoe, and a radiant Marcia were waiting. ‘I wish you’d taken your mam’s advice and worn something a bit more fashionable, luv,’ Kevin said. ‘You look like Little Orphan Annie in that get up.’ Rita’s calf-length frock, bought from C&A, was cream with a pattern of pastel flowers and a sailor collar. She’d bought her hat in the same shop, a little cream straw boater.

Rita clenched her teeth and tried not to wince while
the photographers yelled at them to look up, lookdown, smile, look at the bride, and the television cameras rolled.

The torture continued. The Merseysiders were requested to join the group and positively refused to wear their top hats. It was too hot and they looked daft with long hair. She was grateful when Sean put his arm around her. He was the only one who guessed how she felt. ‘It’ll be over soon, sis,’ he said quietly. She noticed his eyes flicker in the direction of Jeannie, who looked gorgeous in a brief yellow frock and a big hat to match, and wondered if he still had a crush on her after all this time. His girlfriend had arrived this morning, a model called Anita something. She came from somewhere in Latin America and had thick, black, shining hair.

The camera wielders announced they’d had their fill. The guests began to drift towards the line of cars waiting to take them back to the reception. Some preferred to walk. Rita tagged on to the end of a group of walkers.

No one spoke to her, until an elderly man in front turned round, and waited for her to catch up.

‘Aren’t you a Flower Girl?’

‘Yes,’ Rita mumbled.

‘I’ve seen you on television. You look very different when you sing. For a minute there, I hardly recognised you.’

‘People never do.’ When she sang, she came alive. He held out a hand for her to shake. ‘Robert Briggs, the bridegroom’s grandfather. How do you do, Flower Girl. I’m afraid I don’t know your name.’

‘Rita McDowd. Are you a lord?’

‘Good gracious me, no. I’m just plain mister. Philip’s mother is my daughter. You’re very shy, aren’t you, Rita McDowd?’ he said in a kindly voice.

Rita nodded numbly at this undeniable and clearly obvious fact.

‘You shouldn’t be. You’re a very talented, extremely successful young woman, yet you pretend to be invisible. Would you like to hold my arm?’

‘Please.’ She linked him and he patted her hand.

‘There!’ he said comfortably. ‘I feel very honoured. What you need is a guardian angel, someone who’ll constantly remind you of how wonderful you are, take you out of your shell. I’d offer to do it myself, but I’m getting on in years and it takes me all my time to walk up this hill.’

‘What hill?’

Robert Briggs laughed and said that only proved his point.

It was two o’clock in the morning when the reception drew to an end, by which time Marcia and Phil had long ago left for their honeymoon in the Seychelles, and the villagers had gone home, exhausted, to their beds. Only relatives and close friends remained for the last waltz.

The eight-piece orchestra began to play ‘Some Enchanted Evening’, and Sean’s girlfriend, Anita, jumped to her feet and they began to dance. Sean wished with all his heart it was Jeannie he was holding in his arms. She was dancing with Lachlan, her head on his shoulder. He’d scarcely been able to take his eyes off her all day.

Elaine and Zoe remained seated, lamenting the fact they didn’t have a man between them. Zoe’s boyfriend had had to leave early. ‘He’s in a play in London and he had to be back in time for the first house.’

‘I haven’t got a proper boyfriend,’ Elaine said. ‘I’m too busy with my studies for anything serious.’

Max Flowers knew that Monica would give him hell tomorrow for getting drunk two nights in a row. Hours ago, she’d taken Gareth back to the house in a huff. He sighed. Getting plastered didn’t seem such an awful thing to do, not at a wedding. Sometimes, he wished he’d tried to pay her off, as everyone had suggested, not gone and married the damn woman.

‘Well, if this isn’t the best wedding I’ve ever been to,’ Kevin McDowd said to his wife. He’d danced himself silly and made himself look ridiculous, but didn’t care.

‘Every wedding you go to is the best ever,’ Sadie remarked tartly. ‘Lord knows what people thought, you turning everything, even the Twist, into an Irish jig.’

‘They thought, “That fine fella drives a Rolls and manages one of the best known pop groups in the country. If he wants to dance a jig to the Twist, then hasn’t he got every right in the world?” ’

‘Ah, go on wit’cha.’ Sadie nudged him sharply.

Kevin gasped. Her nudges always turned him on. ‘D’you think our Rita’s clicked with that ould geezer?’ he asked. His daughter was being swirled around by a sprightly individual with snow-white hair. ‘She’s been with him all day.’

‘Don’t be an eejit, Kevin McDowd. That’s the groom’s granddaddy.’ Sadie gave him another nudge.

Jaysus! If she nudged him again, he’d drag off both their clothes and give her one on the spot.
That
’d give folks something to talk about.

‘So, you see, Mum,’ Jeannie finished, ‘Max will be gutted when he finds out. It’ll destroy him.’

‘I think you’re exaggerating, Jeannie. Our Max is a strong person. He’ll survive.’

Jeannie didn’t argue that Max was anything but strong. Her mother hadn’t been really listening when she’d told her that Max was about to lose his place with the group that had been his life since he was fourteen. These days, she was totally preoccupied with Alex and their two little girls – Amy, three, and Eliza, who would soon be two.

It was the Monday after the wedding and the weather was still hot and stuffy. Jeannie and her mother were on a swing seat in the garden of Magnolia Cottage, a fairy-tale place, with crooked latticed windows and a red tiled roof. The garden was a tumble of trailing flowers and fragrant shrubs. Climbing roses hung around the front and back doors – Lachlan complained they had been fitted with elves in mind every time he banged his head.

Inside the cottage was just as pretty. The walls and the low ceilings were criss-crossed with black beams and there was a miniature inglenook fireplace in the living room where logs were burnt when it was cold. Rose had never been allowed much say in the decoration of the house in Disraeli Terrace and had disliked the big, dark furniture that had belonged to Tom’s mother. This time,
she’d had free rein. Every curtain was draped and held back by a frilly tie and the cretonne three-piece suite had its own matching cushions edged in thick lace. There were flowers in the fireplace in summer and the crockery was covered with rosebuds.