The Melody Girls (4 page)

‘Ma, it's too soon to go into all that. I haven't even arranged anything yet. And then I might have to have an audition. Nothing's for sure.'

‘You won't need an audition, Lorna!' Cissie cried. ‘Mr Riddell's already heard you play at the talent contest.'

And of course Ma wishes he never had, Lorna thought glumly as she began to clear the table.

‘I'll do these cups and then make up the sofa,' she murmured. ‘My bed's all ready for you, Auntie Cissie.'

Ignoring Cissie's protests that she'd be quite happy to take the sofa herself, Lorna removed and washed up the cups, just managing to overhear before she returned, her aunt saying quietly to her mother, ‘You'll have to let her go, Till. It's the way of the world. Young folk have to lead their own lives. No point trying to stop 'em.'

‘Oh, Cissie, I know, but she's all I've got. You canna blame me for worrying.'

‘Lorna's a sensible lassie. You'll see, she'll be fine.'

I hope that's true, Lorna thought, lying awake on the old sofa, trying to avoid, and failing, its malevolent springs. I just hope it all works out. But why shouldn't it? Never in the world had she dreamed she'd have this wonderful chance, but here it was, offered to her just when she'd been so low, and though the last thing she wanted was to upset her mother, she knew she must take it. It was – if it didn't sound too pretentious – her destiny.

Six

All the same, when it came to making the call to Mr Riddell, Lorna found herself hesitating. Not because she'd changed her mind – that wasn't going to happen – but because every time she thought of using the public telephone kiosk outside the post office, her mother's sad face came into her mind. And then her steps faltered and her hand fell to her side.

A piece of nonsense, that was what it was! Lorna was twenty years old. She'd a right to her own life. Hadn't Auntie Cissie said as much? And Glasgow was no distance from Edinburgh, she'd be able to pop home often enough. Ma would just have to accept the situation and would soon get used to it, anyway. Why not?

Well, of course, Lorna knew the answer to that. Her dad was gone and so recently the wound was still raw. Before that, Ma had been happy, with her husband and daughter as part of her life; she'd never have imagined that within a year, she might be left on her own. Husband gone, daughter gone. Which was why Lorna's steps had not taken her to the call box; why her hand had not stretched out to put in her coins and make the call to Mr Riddell. If she didn't do that, her mother would at least still have her.

Aware that both Ewen and Miss Dickinson were beginning to wonder what she was going to do, and with Pattie seeming ready to ask her, Lorna still kept quiet. She knew that she was right about her destiny and that to take the first step on the road towards it, she must make that call, but still she havered.

‘Haven't you phoned that fellow yet?' Ewen asked at break time a couple of days later, as they drank pallid coffee together. ‘From the look of him, I'd say he wouldn't be one to wait around for folk.'

‘I know, and I'm going to ring him. Definitely.'

‘When?'

‘Soon.'

Ewen finished his coffee. ‘You thinking of your ma?' he asked shrewdly.

‘Yes, I am!' she answered, glad now for the chance to talk. ‘I know it's only going to get worse, the longer I leave it, but I'm all she's got, you see, that's the trouble.'

‘But it isn't just that she'll miss you, Lorna. She feels like me. Worried about what you'd be going to.'

‘Oh, you're as bad as she is, Ewen – going on about the band! I can take care of myself!'

He shook his head. ‘Maybe. The truth is, I think you're just as worried as your ma and me. Why don't you just forget the whole thing?'

‘I will not!' she cried, jumping to her feet. ‘I'll have another talk with Ma and ring Mr Riddell tomorrow.'

The unbelieving smile on Ewen's broad face only strengthening her resolve, she felt immensely relieved. Tomorrow it would be. All she had to do was put her mother's fears to rest.

The amazing and wonderful thing was that she didn't have to do that. For, as she later sat at home, staring at the evening paper, waiting for the right time to speak, it was Tilly who spoke instead.

‘Oh, for goodness sake, Lorna!' she suddenly cried from her seat at her old treadle sewing machine. ‘Ring that Mr Riddell and be done with it!'

Lorna's jaw dropped. Her eyes widened. The evening paper slipped from her grasp. ‘What's that, Ma?' she asked faintly.

‘You heard. I said to ring Mr Riddell. You've been sitting around moping ever since he offered you that job, and I just wish you'd get on with it.'

‘Ma, do you mean it?'

‘I do. It came to me in the night. I thought, Lorna's got to go. She's got to find her own way. That's what Cissie says, and it's true. So, I've made my decision. If you take the job in Glasgow, if you want to be like your dad, I'll say no more.' Tilly gave a sigh. ‘But just get on with it, eh? So that I know where I am.'

‘Oh, Ma!' Lorna ran to her mother, swung her round from the sewing machine and hugged her fiercely. ‘You don't know what this means to me. I've been so worried, I can't tell you.'

‘Aye, I know, and that's no' right. You're a grown up lassie, you shouldn't have to be worrying about me.' Tilly planted a quick kiss on Lorna's cheek and then turned back to her work. ‘Now, make us a cup of tea, eh? While I finish this sleeve for old Mrs MacIntyre's new blouse.'

The tea tasted like nectar. After she'd drunk it, Lorna danced into her room, took out her saxophone, and played for so long her mother had to come in at last and remind her that not everybody in the neighbourhood was as keen on the saxophone as she was. At which, Lorna gave a rueful smile, thinking that some folk, at least, would not be minding if she moved on to Glasgow.

Would she be moving to Glasgow, though? All depended on Mr Riddell, and when she finally got through to him from the call box the following morning, it seemed to her that he sounded rather different. Had he already forgotten who she was?

‘What name did you say?' he was asking, as she hung on to the phone with a trembling hand. ‘Sorry, there's a lot going on here, could you speak up?'

‘It's Lorna Fernie, Mr Riddell,' she cried, as loud as she could. ‘Speaking from Edinburgh. You asked me to ring some time.'

‘Did I?' His voice was more hoarse than she remembered, and in the background, she could hear chatter and laughter and somebody on a trumpet playing a scale. ‘Lorna Fernie? Oh, wait a minute. Cam Fernie's daughter, eh? The little sax player from the talent concert?'

‘Yes, that's me,' she answered, breathing a sigh of relief. ‘You said to give you a ring.'

‘So I did, I was thinking of you for my missing sax, wasn't I?' Suddenly Mr Riddell shouted, ‘Hey, you folks, cut the noise, eh? I've got somebody on the phone – you still there, Miss Fernie?'

‘Yes, Mr Riddell.'

‘Nice of you to call. I remember now, I was hoping you would. When would you like to come over, then?'

‘To Glasgow?'

‘Of course, of course, to Glasgow. I take it you're interested in the band?'

‘Oh, yes, Mr Riddell, I am.'

‘Well, can you make it this Saturday, then? Say, two o'clock? I'll call a rehearsal for half past, so you and I can have our talk and afterwards you can meet the band.'

‘That would be good,' she told him, trembling with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. ‘Saturday's my half day.'

‘Excellent. You know Glasgow at all?'

‘No' really.'

‘Not to worry. I'm easy to find. I rent a rehearsal studio in Light Street – back of Cowcaddens. Next to a disused church. You can't miss it. See you then, Miss Fernie. Now, I've got to go.'

And without waiting for her to say goodbye, he was gone and the line was dead. For several moments, she stood without moving, breathing in the smoky, sweaty atmosphere of the call box, going over the practicalities of getting to Glasgow on Saturday in time for two o'clock. Of finding her way to Light Street, wherever that was. Of what music she should take with her, because Mr Riddell would be sure to want her to play. And carefully putting to the back of her mind the thought of meeting the band.

Though, of course, it was what she wanted, as she had to admit, as she left the call box at last to return to work. Of course, she wanted to meet the band, and become part of it as soon as possible. It was just that to begin with, it would be difficult. Like reliving the first day at school or in a new job. Everyone knowing everyone else, everyone knowing what to do. Except you.

On the other hand, it was a challenge, this coming meeting, and Lorna, young as she was, had already learned that you never got anywhere in this world unless you could face challenges. So, head up, shoulders straight, she told herself, and prepare for whatever was to come on Saturday.

Only nothing could have prepared her for the shock, when Saturday eventually arrived, of walking into Luke Riddell's rehearsal studio and meeting what seemed to be a sea of eyes fixed on her. Head up, shoulders straight. How could she remember her own instructions, when the entire band, it appeared, had arrived at two instead of half past and was looking at her?

Seven

If the eyes of the band Lorna met at the door of the large echoing studio were not exactly a ‘sea', it was certainly true that they were looking at her, and with a good deal of interest, too. Twelve men. Two women. All taking stock of her, as they busied themselves setting out chairs and stands for the rehearsal. So, why were they early? What had gone wrong?

‘All my fault, Miss Fernie!' Mr Riddell cried, as though reading her mind, and hurrying forward to greet her in shirt sleeves and without a tie, yet still seeming as spruce as though in his formal suit.

‘Now, how did I get it wrong, then? I should have asked the band to come at half past two, but I forgot and they usually come at two, so of course they came at two. Mea culpa, eh? You find us all right?'

‘Oh, yes, thanks,' Lorna murmured, keeping her eyes down in the hope that other eyes would be turned away. No need to say that she'd lost her way twice and by the time she'd found the studio, was rather wishing she'd let her mother and Ewen come with her, as they'd wanted to do.

No, no, it would've been foolish to let them come. Would have given quite the wrong impression, if anyone here had seen them. As though she, a girl of twenty, couldn't find her way around.

‘No trouble at all,' she added, clearing her throat, and heard someone laugh a little. No doubt thinking she looked so hot and worked up it was obvious she'd had trouble.

‘Good, good,' Luke Riddell said cheerfully. ‘Well, guys – and ladies – as you're all here, I'll introduce you to Lorna Fernie from Edinburgh who might be joining us as tenor sax. Maybe some of you knew her dad – Cam Fernie? Coppers as some called him. Played with Jackie Craik's Edinburgh band?'

Coppers Fernie? Yes, some of the men were nodding their heads. They remembered Coppers.

‘Great player,' put in a comfortably plump man of forty or so with an alto sax, who introduced himself as George Wardie. ‘Good arranger, too. I heard he was better than Jackie at working out who played what from a melody.'

‘Each to his own,' Luke Riddell said with a frown. ‘You may be a damn good arranger yourself, George, but I know exactly who should play what in my band, believe you me.'

‘Oh, sure, Luke, sure,' George said hastily. ‘Everybody knows that.'

‘Yes, well, come on, Miss Fernie.' Smiling again Luke Riddell took Lorna's arm. ‘You take off your hat and coat and we'll go into my little office and let these characters wait a bit, eh? Be looking over the parts for “I'll Get By”, everybody. I want to open with that tonight.'

The office at the rear of the rehearsal room was little, all right. Cramped, might have been a better word, Lorna thought, squashing into a flimsy chair opposite Mr Riddell's desk that was piled high with sheet music and papers, plus a telephone, a typewriter and several used cups and saucers. Round the walls were photographs of well known jazz and swing musicians, and a few group photographs of the band, some posed with young women in evening dress who were probably vocalists, as they were not shown with instruments.

Yet those two girls Lorna had spotted out there in the rehearsal room must have instruments? When were they going to make it to the group photographs? It would be interesting to find out just how far they'd been able to integrate with the men, Lorna thought, and hoped she'd soon be able to find out.

‘Fancy some tea?' Mr Riddell asked. ‘I would, anyway.' He leaped to the door and called through it. ‘Anybody making tea out there?'

‘Yes, Luke,' a woman's voice answered. ‘I've just been volunteered to put the kettle on.'

‘Flo Drover,' he told Lorna, returning to his seat. ‘She plays guitar in the rhythm section. Know what a rhythm section is, Miss Fernie? Or, may I call you Lorna? But why not let's have a look at that sax of yours while we wait for the tea? Then we can get down to business.'

Business? What did that mean, exactly? A proper audition? Or, just a little run through of some of the music she'd brought? Lorna hadn't forgotten that word the bandleader had used when he'd introduced her to the band: ‘might'. ‘Might be joining the band', he'd said. Which could equally well mean that she might not.

‘What a beauty,' Mr Riddell was murmuring as he ran his fingers down her father's sax. ‘Ah, these older horns are good, you know. Give you a head start with the tone, and the thing that's most important about sax playing is getting the tone. That's what I noticed about your playing, Lorna. That's why I asked you if you were interested in my band.'