Lime Street Blues

by Maureen Lee

  ‘Parents!’ Dr Bailey made a face. ‘If they’re not stopping their kids from doing the things they want, they’re forcing them to do the things they don’t!’

  The Cavern was the same as always – hot, smelly, packed, buzzing with excitement. Three groups were playing that night and the Merseysiders were second on the bill.

  ‘Piggy in the middle,’ Marcia shrieked, before thankfully disappearing with the besotted Graham.

  ‘No one knows what he sees in her,’ Benny explained to Rita McDowd. ‘She’s got a voice like a foghorn.’ Benny had taken Rita under her wing. It was nice not to be the odd one out for a change. Rita seemed easily impressed, listening wide-eyed while Benny boasted of her previous visits to the club. ‘I’ve been here loads of times, and to other clubs too.’

  The first group had come on to the stage. ‘This lot aren’t very good,’ Benny hissed. ‘I’ve seen them before.’

  Rita responded with a little nod. It was hard to believe that she was sixteen and actually worked as a waitress in Owen Owen’s. She didn’t look much more than twelve in her plain brown frock with a Fair Isle cardy over. Her blue eyes were huge in her little, peaked face, and she spoke in just a whisper. All she had going for her, Benny thought disparagingly, was the fact she was the sister of Sean McDowd, with whom Benny had been madly in love since the minute she’d set eyes on him.

  It struck her that Jeannie and Lachlan seemed pretty close tonight. She’d noticed at the party the way they had gazed at each other with sickly expressions on their faces. Since they’d arrived at the Cavern, Jeannie had hardly spoken and looked as if she was coming down with the plague or something.

  Jeannie definitely wasn’t herself that night. She felt as if the contents of a feather pillow had come loose inside her stomach and were being blown crazily about.

  Lachlan had kissed her!

  And she’d kissed him back!

  The Merseysiders were around somewhere, probably guarding their gear while they waited to go on. Every now and then, Lachlan would appear and kneel beside her chair. ‘Are you all right, Jeannie?’ he would ask in a strange, cracked voice.

  ‘Yes,’ Jeannie would reply in a similarly strange voice. Or ‘Yes, Lachlan. I’m fine,’ which she undoubtedly was, though it was a pretty peculiar sort of fine. Perhaps tumultuously fine, or turbulently fine would be better.

  She couldn’t wait for the tall, handsome figure to come on to the stage – Lachlan, with his clean-cut good looks and crisp dark hair. He’s mine, she would say to herself.

  People were getting up, moving about. The first part of the programme had come to an end, but she hadn’t heard a note. Elaine spoke to her from somewhere very far away.

  ‘Mm,’ Jeannie said dreamily.

  ‘I said, would you like a Coke?’ Elaine looked amused for some reason.

  ‘Please.’

  There was a commotion through one of the arches. A man shouted, ‘Oh, God, no!’ But Jeannie hardly heard. Nor did she hear when her brother approached and began to gabble something in her ear. It wasn’t until Lachlan’s name was mentioned that she came to.

  ‘Lachlan’s doing what?’ she demanded.

  ‘Him and Fly are trying to keep Mr Connors away from Ronnie in case he kills him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Bloody hell, Jeannie, you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said,’ groaned a wildly exasperated Max. ‘Ronnie’s completely plastered. He’s been lacing his cordial with gin ever since the party – we found the bottle in his pocket. Now he’s gone completely berserk and said he wants no more to do with the group. He claims it was all his dad’s idea and he can’t take any more. Then he collapsed in a heap, and that’s when Mr Connors tried to kill him.’

  Jeannie couldn’t understand why Max was telling her this and why he was looking at her so pleadingly. ‘We’re in a hole, Jeannie,’ he said tearfully. ‘Only for tonight. All our numbers, apart from one, have been arranged around the keyboard. Anywhere else, we’d try and muddle through. We’ve done it before. It’s not the first time Ronnie’s had too much to drink. But not tonight, Jeannie, not at the Cavern.’

  ‘Oh, Max! What are you going to do?’

  ‘Jeannie!’ Max put his hand on her arm and shook it urgently. ‘Please listen! Time’s short and we need you in place of Ronnie. You know all the numbers, you’ve played them at home. I’ve heard you. It’ll be a piece of cake.’

  ‘What?’ Jeannie screamed.

  ‘A piece of cake,’ Max insisted.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly, Max.’ Jeannie was shocked to the core at the idea. ‘I’d be too nervous. I’ve never performed in public before, and please don’t say it’ll be a piece of cake again, because it won’t be.’

  Max sighed. ‘I told Lachlan you wouldn’t do it. He thought you’d never let us down.’

  ‘I’m not letting you down.’ She thoroughly disapproved of people who let other people down.

  ‘How else would you describe it, Jeannie? This is our first gig at the Cavern and we’ll sound like shit.’

  ‘I’ve never played an electric piano before.’

  ‘It’s exactly the same as a normal piano, ’cept it’s plugged in and the keyboard’s smaller.’

  ‘My hands are trembling, Max.’ So was her voice. ‘We all feel like that before a gig,’ Max said kindly. ‘It goes away when you start to play.’

  ‘Honest?’

  ‘Honest.’

  ‘Did Lachlan really believe I wouldn’t let you down?’

  ‘Yes. C’mon, Jeannie. We’re on in a minute.’ He took her hand and led her across the floor of the crowded, sweaty Cavern. The short journey was to change Jeannie’s life for ever.

  At first, she wasn’t just nervous, more like terrified out of her wits. Her hands still shook and she didn’t feel confident she was playing the right keys, though it sounded all right so she must be. The first number was a Chubby Checker song, ‘Pony Time’, followed by ‘Travellin’ Man’ and a rock ’n’ roll version of ‘Mack the Knife’. From across the stage, Max signalled when she was due to launch into a solo.

  Halfway through the fourth number, ‘Peggy Sue’, Jeannie suddenly got into the swing of things. Knowing hundreds of people were listening no longer made her feel nervous, but spurred her into playing faster and faster, better and better, her fingers dancing over the keys. She was using the piano to tell the audience that she’d fallen in love with them and wanted them to love her back. Her timing was perfect. She found herself able to pause for a dangerously long time, then catch up with incredible speed that earned a short burst of applause. The first time she did this, Lachlan turned and gave her the thumbs up sign. Max smiled proudly and Fly Fleming gave her a huge encouraging grin.

  ‘I could do this for ever,’ she cried, but the words were lost in the music.

  ‘And now for a change in rhythm,’ Lachlan announced after about half an hour. ‘I’d like to introduce Rita McDowd, who’s going to sing for us a brand new song, “Moon Under Water”.’ He gestured towards the audience. ‘Rita!’

  Max signalled to a surprised Jeannie that she wasn’t to play as Rita McDowd rose from her seat and came towards the stage, much to the astonishment of Benny, who’d assumed Rita knew nothing about music and had been giving her the occasional lecture in between numbers.

  Sean removed his guitar and put it over his sister’s head, adjusting the strap to make it smaller. Then he stepped back. So did Lachlan and Max. Fly laid down his drumsticks; Jeannie put her hands on her lap.

  Rita plucked a few notes then, with a shy smile at the waiting crowd, began to sing.

  Like the moon under water, I can’t touch you.

  Like stars in a mirror, you’re not there.

  Like a rainbow in the sky,

  Or a shadow flitting by . . .

  Silence fell upon the Cavern and all that could be heard was the glorious, amazing voice of Rita McDowd; deep, thrilling, and silkily smooth, without the slightest tremor, and so powerful it was almost imp
ossible to believe it came from such a small, fragile figure.

  How did I ever think she was plain? Benny wondered. On stage, under a single spotlight, Rita had become an entirely different person, as if a light had been switched on inside her. Her enormous eyes glowed, her mobile face, like her voice, reflected the emotions about which she sang; the melancholy of the words, the sadness and hopelessness of unrequited love.

  At the door of the Cavern, a man, more than twice the age of the usual regulars, had been about to leave when Rita started to sing. He’d missed the announcement and already had his foot halfway into Matthew Street, when he was stopped in his tracks, not by the singer, but the song. His song!

  Kevin McDowd was on his way to London from Ireland and had called in the Cavern, just to see what the place was like, before catching the train. He was hoping that yet another change of scene would bring him luck. Dublin, New York, California, even Australia for a while – not one of these places had produced an improvement in his fortunes. This would be the third time he’d had a go at London and he’d probably end up doing the same as last time; playing the fiddle in the occasional Irish club, earning real money on building sites. He was beginning to toy with the idea of giving up show business altogether. He’d never got beyond the fringes and perhaps it’d be wise to get a decent job before he was too old. Once, he’d saved up religiously for a year and made a record, but it had sunk without trace.

  He returned slowly down the Cavern steps. The girl had a knock-out voice and she wasn’t a bad guitar player, either. The group that had driven him out had remained on stage, instruments still. It was partly envy that had made him leave, mixed with despair. He was envious of their youth, not their talent, and despairing of himself. These young people had their entire future ahead of them, full of hope and dreams of stardom. They might not make it. Lady Luck was arbitrary and could touch the not-quite-so-good with her capricious finger and ignore the best.

  ‘’Tis better to travel than arrive.’ He’d read that somewhere. He’d enjoyed the travelling once, but the journey had taken too long. It was well past the time that Kevin McDowd should have arrived.

  ‘Like a dream that’s gone by morning, or the mist when day is dawning,’ the girl sang hauntingly.

  Where had she got the words from? He couldn’t remember ever writing them down. He’d sung it numerous times himself, many years ago, in pubs and clubs all over Ireland. Surely someone hadn’t remembered the words since then?

  The girl finished singing and there was an outburst of applause. She returned the guitar to its owner and hurried modestly back to her seat. Another guitarist, a good-looking lad, stepped towards the mike. ‘Thank you, Rita. That was great.’

  Rita!

  Kevin suddenly felt very hot. Could it possibly be that this girl, who’d been a babe in arms when he left, was his daughter? It would explain where the song had come from. It had been one of Sadie’s favourites. She was always singing it. And if this was his daughter, then his wife and son mightn’t be very far away.

  He pushed his way through the crowds in every part of the club, heart thumping, expecting any minute to come face to face with Sadie, wondering what he would say if he did, but the girls were all kids. There wasn’t a woman there over twenty, nor a lad who looked remotely like his son.

  The stage! It was the obvious place to look, not for Sadie, but for Sean. The group was raising the roof with ‘Don’t Be Cruel’ and Kevin edged as near as he could. He hadn’t looked properly before, just listened, but now there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the lad who’d loaned the guitar to Rita was his son, Sean.

  Sadie didn’t recognise him at first. She arrived at the Phoenix Hotel promptly at eight. The guests, all men, were in the middle of breakfast. She was sorting through the post behind the reception desk and mentally counting heads as the dining room emptied. They had ten guests at the moment, and when that number had emerged, she took it for granted breakfast was over, so was surprised when Bridget, the ancient cook-cum-cleaner, hobbled out of the kitchen with a rack of toast.

  ‘Who’s that for?’ Sadie enquired.

  ‘A guest, of course. Apparently, he arrived late last night. This is his second lot of toast. I don’t think he’s had a decent meal in quite a while.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘I dunno, do I? It’ll be in the register.’

  ‘I’ll give him the toast while you get on with the dishes.’

  ‘As you say.’ Bridget shrugged.

  ‘Good morning,’ Sadie said brightly when she entered the dining room.

  ‘Good morning,’ replied the guest, a fortyish man, as thin as a stick, with a heavily lined face and receding hair that rested in little black wisps on his shabby collar.

  ‘Here’s your toast now.’

  ‘Thank you, Sadie.’

  The fact that the stranger had used her name didn’t click until Sadie reached the door. ‘How did . . .’ she began, staring at him more closely. ‘You!’ she gasped and grabbed the door for support when her legs no longer seemed prepared to hold her upright. ‘What are you doing here? How did you know where to find me?’

  ‘Rita told me.’

  ‘Our Rita?’

  ‘How many Ritas do we know? I met her last night at the Cavern. She’s got quite a voice on her, that girl. Our Sean’s no mean singer either, and he’s brilliant on the guitar.’

  ‘You’re a sneaky, underhand individual, Kevin McDowd. I bet you didn’t let on you were her daddy.’

  ‘Ah, come off it, Sadie. It wouldn’t have been right. I just told Rita I knew her mammy and she happened to mention where you worked.’ His eyes twinkled in a way that was irritatingly and achingly familiar. He may have lost his looks, but the devilish charm was still there. She was glad she’d worn her favourite dress that morning, bright red, flattering the curves that had re-appeared over the last few years. ‘I thought I should introduce meself to me own wife first.’

  ‘Introduce yourself ! Introduce! As if I didn’t already know you.’ Sadie picked up a plate off the nearest table and flung it at him. He caught it easily.

  ‘Good shot, me darlin’ girl.’

  ‘Don’t darlin’ girl me, you eejit.’ She staggered slightly. ‘Jaysus! I’ll have to sit down before I fall down.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ There was concern in his voice as he jumped to his feet. He came over and helped her into a chair. She flung his hand away.

  ‘Don’t dare touch me,’ she spat. ‘I’ve had to do more on me own than just sit on a chair these last fifteen years. And where have you been, I’d like to know? Why didn’t you come back like you promised?’

  He gave a long, tragic sigh. ‘Because I didn’t want to come back a failure, Sadie, girl. And that’s what you’re looking at, a desperate failure. I tried, believe me I tried, but everything I did, everywhere I went, I failed. I’d intended to come back with me pockets stuffed with gold, but all I can show for the last fifteen years is an ould fiddle in me room upstairs, and a bag of clothes that would make a tramp turn up his nose. Instead of gold, there’s only a few measly bob in me pocket, and a train ticket to London.’

  ‘London?’

  ‘I should’ve gone last night. I only landed from Ireland yesterday afternoon, and I thought I’d drop in on this famous Cavern. To me astonishment, weren’t me own son and daughter there, giving great performances? I’m only surprised you weren’t there as well.’

  ‘I didn’t know Rita was going to sing, did I? She didn’t tell me till she came home last night, or they couldn’t have kept me away. Sean won’t let me watch him play; he’d feel uncomfortable, so he says. He’s got your talent, Kevin McDowd, but he hasn’t got your neck.’

  ‘Maybe not, Sadie, but he’s got presence. Something I never had. The girls couldn’t keep their eyes off him.’

  ‘You couldn’t keep your eyes off the girls,’ Sadie sniffed.

  ‘There was no need to look at other girls when I had you, darlin’.’ His eyes narro
wed appreciatively. ‘And don’t you still look wholesome, even after all these years?’

  ‘You don’t. If the truth be known, you look about ninety-four and you seem desperately short of skin. And hair,’ she added, grinning unexpectedly.

  He grinned back. ‘You’re doing me confidence a load of good, darlin’.’

  ‘When are you leaving for London?’

  ‘I’m not. I’m needed here.’

  ‘Needed! What for?’ She folded her arms and gave him a dark look, despite being, somehow, illogically relieved that he intended to stay. ‘I don’t need you, that’s for sure. Not any more.’

  ‘To see to the interests of me children, that’s what for. They’ve got a future in show business and they’ll be wanting a manager, someone who’ll steer them in the right direction, keep them on the right track. And who better to do that than their daddy?’

  ‘You’re too late. The Merseysiders already have a manager.’

  He looked so disappointed that she felt sorry for him. ‘What’s the set up?’ he asked. ‘Is Rita a member of the group or not?’

  ‘She’s not. That’s the one and only time she’s sung in public. Mind you, I’ve been paying for her to have singing lessons. She goes to Crane Hall every Thursday after work – she works as a waitress not far from here. In case you haven’t noticed,’ she added scathingly, ‘women don’t play much of a part in the music scene today.’

  ‘What about the other girl, the one on the keyboard? She was brilliant.’

  Sadie looked puzzled for a moment. ‘Oh, that was Jeannie Flowers from the other end of Disraeli Terrace. She was just standing in for some fella who got himself pissed rotten beforehand. Jeannie’s still at school. According to our Sean, as from now, there’ll only be four members in the group; three guitarists and a drummer.’

  This news cheered Kevin up somewhat. ‘So,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘there’s two show-stopping young women urgently in need of a manager. All I need to do is find another couple of good-looking wee girls to play the tambourine and sing a bit, and I’ll have a group.’