The Melody Girls (2 page)

‘I haven't forgotten,' she said quietly, looking away from Aunt Cissie sitting in her father's chair.

Of course she remembered her dad saying she'd never follow him into a dance band, much as he wished she could if it was what she wanted. That had been long ago, before Lorna had heard that some women musicians had got their chances and taken the place of the men gone to war. But now the war was over and maybe things had gone back to the way they were. Lorna didn't know. All she knew was that she needed to get her foot in the door, and that this talent contest might be the door she could open.

‘Ma, I'd better have my tea and get ready,' she muttered. ‘Time's getting on.'

‘Ah, now, you're upset.' Her mother put her arm around Lorna's shoulders. ‘But it's best to face facts, pet. As your dad always used to say, even if you were given a job, a dance band is no place for a lassie.'

‘Look at the hours he used to keep, eh?' Cissie added, rising from Cam's chair. ‘Never home till the small hours, and then there'd be the drinking and the smoking. I always said he'd never make old bones.'

‘Yes, well, let's no' go into all that now,' Tilly murmured, quickly blinking her pale blue eyes. ‘Best get our tea and be on our way.'

‘There are such things as all girl bands, you know,' Lorna said, passing out plates. ‘Maybe they'd no' turn me down.'

‘All girl dance bands?' Cissie echoed. ‘Where are they, then?'

‘There are plenty in America, but some in England as well. There's a lady has a band plays on the wireless sometimes.'

‘But no' girl bands here in Scotland, eh?'

Lorna shook her head. ‘Haven't heard of any.'

‘Don't tell me you'll be running away to England, then?' her mother asked, not altogether in fun. ‘Ah, look, you stick to your post office job and play your music in your spare time. That's the best for you, I'm telling you. Now, I'll get the tea.'

‘What are you going to wear tonight, Lorna?' Cissie asked, as they sat down to pies and peas. ‘Got to cut a dash, you know.'

‘Well, I can either wear my green,' Lorna answered, smiling at last. ‘Or, my dark blue. If I don't wear my dark blue, I can wear my green. That's the choice.'

‘One of these days we won't need clothing coupons,' Tilly remarked. ‘I'd say the blue, Lorna, the one I made for you. You suit the colour.'

‘I think the blue, too. Always think it makes me seem taller.'

‘Now you don't need to worry about looking taller. Leave that to the men. Which reminds me – is that nice fellow from the post office going to the concert tonight?'

‘Ewen? Yes, he says he'll be there.'

Tilly glanced at her sister. ‘He's a lovely laddie, Cissie. Lorna could do a lot worse.'

‘Oh, Ma, stop your matchmaking!' Lorna cried, rolling her eyes and jumping to her feet. ‘Ewen's a friend, that's all. Look, mind if I don't help clear away? I'm going to get ready.'

‘She's a wee bit worked up,' Tilly whispered, as Lorna hurried off. ‘Nerves, you ken.'

‘No' like her to be nervous.'

‘Seemingly, this talent thing is something special. I just hope she wins.'

‘No need to worry,' Cissie said comfortingly. ‘She will.'

In her little bedroom that was hardly bigger than a box room, Lorna tried on the dark blue dress. It was her belief that she had the smallest mirror in the world, perched on top of the smallest chest of drawers, yet as she twisted and turned, trying to get a view of herself, she knew she would never complain. Compared with girls in some of the tenements, she lived like a princess. Own room, own mirror, own place to put her things! Heavens, she was lucky not to be taking a turn at sharing a bed!

All the same, it wasn't easy getting ready when you had to make do with fractions of a reflection, but from what she could see, she decided she'd been right about the blue dress. It definitely made her seem taller, and once she'd put on her high heels, it would look even better. Wouldn't be warm, of course, but then the hall would probably be too hot, anyway, when the audience was all stuffed in, and for travelling in the tram she could wear a cardigan under her coat.

When she'd given her hair a good brush she was about to put on some lipstick when she paused. Better wait to do that.

With a little catch of breath, she turned to pick up her father's saxophone case from her one chair and took out the brass instrument she had so often seen him play. It was so beautiful. So lovingly crafted by someone probably long dead, for it was quite old, her dad had said, and yet shone as brightly as though newly made. Of course, that was the special lacquer put on to protect the brass, but even the well-used keys, some covered in mother of pearl, seemed to Lorna to be as good as new.

She ran her fingers down the cone-shaped body, remembering that she'd said she'd like to practise before the contest, but of course there'd been no time. Still – she put her lips to the mouthpiece – she would just play a few notes, to put her in the mood, for she did so love to hear the deep, special sound that from the first had drawn her to listen when her dad was playing his sax.

He'd been pleased that she'd liked it; the saxophone wasn't to everyone's taste. Didn't she prefer the piano? Oh, she loved her piano, but the saxophone was to her more special. Sometimes its music was so soft, so sad. Sometimes, when her dad played jazz, just the opposite: loud, bright, so full of rhythm, it set her feet dancing. One day, she used to say, she would learn to play the saxophone, and her dad would say, yes, and he would teach her. And so, of course, he had and said she was a natural. But he still didn't think she could ever play in a band.

Ah, well, best not to think of that now. Just try a few notes from the piece she'd be playing first that evening, which was a Bach suite arranged for the saxophone. Very hard, but she had to show what she could do and there was an easier piece to follow.

‘Lorna, Lorna, are you ready?' came her mother's voice, before she'd scarcely begun. ‘It's time to go.'

‘Oh, no,' Lorna groaned, and hastily packed away the saxophone, put on her lipstick, found her cardigan and her coat, and ran out to join her mother and Auntie Cissie.

‘OK, I'm ready.'

‘Why, you're never wearing high heels to go out, Lorna?' Cissie asked. ‘It's raining, you ken. Quick, put your boots on and I'll take your shoes in ma bag. Tilly, have you got the umbrellas?'

If we could just get going, Lorna thought, as nervous now as a racehorse under starter's orders. Just hope I feel better when I get there.

Three

Although they thought they'd given themselves plenty of time, when Lorna and her family arrived at the Merchant Hall in Newington, they found it almost full and already uncomfortably warm. Not something you normally had to complain about in Edinburgh's public rooms, as Cissie remarked, but oh, dear, what about the smell of the damp coats and wellingtons, then? It would have to be a wet night, wouldn't it?

‘Just as long as we get seats,' Tilly murmured, scanning the rows of chairs. ‘You'll be all right, Lorna, you'll be behind the scenes, eh?'

‘I'd better go and see what's happening,' Lorna said, putting her hands to her flushed cheeks. ‘Will you take my coat and cardigan, Ma? And Auntie Cissie, where's my shoes?'

‘There's somebody waving to us,' Cissie said, nobly handing over Lorna's high heels in exchange for her damp boots. ‘It must be that young man you mentioned, eh? I think he's got some seats for us.'

‘Yes, it's Ewen!' Tilly cried. ‘Oh, good lad, he's saved us some seats – that's a relief.'

As they made their way through other family members and friends of the performers searching for seats, Lorna was staring in surprise.

‘Why, there's Pattie!' she exclaimed, ‘And – oh, no – Miss Dickinson! Who'd have thought she'd come tonight?'

‘Hi, Lorna!' Ewen cried, as they came up to the front row. ‘Hello, Mrs Fernie. I made sure of some seats for you – they're in the second row – got here before they even opened the doors.'

‘And I'm sure we're very grateful,' Tilly gasped. ‘Well done, Ewen.'

‘Never thought to see you here, Pattie,' Lorna was murmuring. ‘And Miss Dickinson – it was nice of you to come.'

‘Why, Lorna, we had to come and give you our support!' cried Miss Dickinson, who was looking younger and smarter than when at work. ‘And it's in aid of the children's hospital, too, isn't it? I'm always one for a good cause.'

‘Wanted to come and wish you luck,' Pattie said earnestly. ‘We'll all be cheering for you, Lorna.'

But Lorna's eyes were on three men and one woman taking their seats in the front row. One of the men she recognized as being the conductor of a local orchestra and another the head of a school music department – their photographs were often in the local papers. So was the woman's – she was a well-known soprano. But the fourth person Lorna didn't know and could only guess who he might be. From the BBC, perhaps? For these, of course, were the judges.

‘I've got to go,' she muttered, and holding tight to her saxophone case, made her way towards the platform, just as a middle-aged man came out to speak. She didn't need to wait to hear what he said, she knew he was from the hospital for sick children and would be thanking everybody for the shilling entrance fee they'd paid to hear the contest and wishing all the entrants good luck. All she wanted now, as she moved to join her rivals in a small room at the back of the platform, was for it to be her turn. But of course, they were all wishing the same.

Although there were only ten talent hopefuls – five young women, five young men – the room seemed full, for some had brought their accompanists, and there were also several women organizers, ticking off names, setting out chairs and trying to put everyone at ease.

‘Not long to go now,' one of these said brightly. ‘There's Mr Dean making his introduction. Before you know it, it'll all be over!'

‘We're supposed to be enjoying it,' one of the girls murmured, at which a small ripple of laughter ran around the room.

Another girl – tall and pale with anxious eyes and brown hair unevenly cut short – laid her hand on Lorna's arm. ‘Have you seen the judges?' she whispered. ‘Are they out there?'

‘In the front row. Want to take a peep?'

‘No, no, I think we'll be starting any minute. Where are you on the programme they sent? I'm fifth.'

‘I'm fourth. Just before you, then. Before the interval, as well. That's good, eh?' Lorna introduced herself, adding that she would be playing her saxophone.

‘Oh, my, a saxophone! Is it as difficult as it looks?'

‘Worse.'

‘My name's Hannah Maxwell. I'm just playing the piano.'

‘Well, that can be difficult, too. What are you starting with?'

‘Chopin's “Minute Waltz”.'

‘Oh, nice,' Lorna murmured, looking down at the girl's hands on her roll of music. Strong, pianist's hands, with spatulate broad fingers. She had the feeling that this girl was good. Probably she could play the “Minute Waltz” in under the time. So, what a bit of luck, eh, that she, Lorna, had decided to play her sax?

‘Why in God's name aren't we starting?' a young man with a tenor's voice asked. ‘It's ridiculous, keeping us hanging about like this.'

‘Are you first on?' Lorna asked kindly.

‘Yes, and I can't decide whether that's good or bad.' He gave a tremulous grin. ‘I'm dead keen to win, you ken. No' for the money, but the spot on the wireless.'

‘We all want that,' said a tall statuesque young woman, who looked to Lorna like a singer. ‘But I want the money as well.'

‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?' boomed the voice of a stout woman, one of the organizers. ‘The contest is about to begin. Could Anthony Baird step forward please?'

‘Oh, God,' said the young tenor, swallowing hard. ‘That's me. Where's my accompanist? Janet, Janet!'

‘I'm here, Tony,' a girl said comfortingly. ‘No need to panic. I've got the music.'

‘This way, please, Mr Baird,' the organizer told him, holding his arm as though he might suddenly run away. ‘You, too, dear, if you're accompanying him. And when you've finished your pieces, could you both just move into the audience? No need to return here.'

‘Oh, listen, they're clapping,' someone said. ‘That's nice, eh? If they clap when we come on.'

‘Hope they clap when we've finished, as well,' the statuesque young woman sighed, at which Lorna smiled.

‘Are you joking? They're all friends and relations out there. They'll clap, all right.'

‘But maybe no' for everyone.'

‘Never mind the audience,' Hannah said sharply. ‘Think of the judges.'

‘Everyone keep quiet,' hissed the organizer, returning. ‘Mr Baird is beginning.'

And as the strains of Sullivan's ‘Take a Pair of Sparkling Eyes' came back to them, the contestants fell silent.

Four

Exquisite agony, was how some later described it, having to sit and wait to go on, while listening to others performing and wondering how good they were, and whether it was worth even stepping out on to the platform, as confidence gradually drained away.

Whatever happened, Lorna knew that she would go on, do her best, even if all seemed hopeless, for you could never be certain what the judges were looking for – it might be something you'd never expect and you might have it.