Searching for a Silver Lining

by Miranda Dickinson

  I’ve been collecting essential supplies, have a little money saved and am ready to go. If the moon is full tonight, I will leave the farm forever.

  9 February 1955

  My plan failed.

  Amos Miller caught me crossing his land at midnight and told me to go home. He said I owed Father more than a midnight disappearance. Why did I choose the shortcut when the open lane would have kept me hidden from the neighbours?

  I’m back in my room again and the look on Mother’s face when she heard what I’d been trying to do is enough to make me remain here. Until Father is ready to talk to me, I’m trapped again. And I don’t know what will happen . . .

  Mattie was still thinking about the diary entry when she took Reenie out to the beautiful riverside town of Bewdley for the afternoon. Reading her grandfather’s plan – and the desperation its failure caused him – was like reading the words of a stranger.

  This is who I was . . .

  Was it? Why, then, did he make her choose between him and Asher?

  Pushing the thought away, she smiled at Reenie. They had found a bench on the footpath overlooking the River Severn, and Reenie had fallen quiet for a while. Mattie was reminded of the easy silences that would settle between her and Grandpa Joe when they sat together on Goldsforge Hill above the village on heady summer afternoons. Mattie felt a soothing sense of her grandfather pass by. Those were the memories she should hang on to, not how it had all ended.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ she said, when enough time had passed.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘You said in the shop that 1956 was your biggest regret. What happened?’

  Reenie flicked a stone with the end of her walking cane. ‘My group, The Silver Five. It was my fault it ended.’

  Mattie turned to her, taking in the news. In every conversation she’d had with Grandpa Joe about his favourite group, he had always insisted that the pressures of show business had been responsible for their decision to disband. He had never blamed anyone other than the industry that processed bright young starlets at an alarming rate, spitting them out as soon as trends moved on. What would he have made of this?

  ‘How was it your fault?’

  Reenie let out a sigh, and fiddled with the gold charms on her bracelet. ‘Our biggest gig – the one we’d waited to happen – I scuppered it. Me, the one who’d had enough ambition for all of us. Saturday, 29 September 1956 at the Palm Grove, Soho. Even with our manager’s grand schemes we hadn’t been considered to appear there for the best part of four years. It was the kind of place you dreamed of headlining. Chandeliers, crystal and gold everywhere and a dance floor so polished it shone like glass. It looked like an expensive set from a Fred and Ginger movie. Oh, and lovely Jacob Kendrick, the owner – now he was mighty pretty to look at, too. The crème de la crème played the Palm Grove: Sinatra, Ted Heath’s band – he was the British answer to Glenn Miller, you know – Ella Fitzgerald, Vera Lynn. Not a ragtag band of kids like us, all skinny limbs and hopeful faces. But we had our break when a scout from the club snuck into one of our concerts in Hackney and invited us over.

  ‘There’s not much I regret, kid, but that’s the one that sticks in me throat when I think of my life. We never spoke again. Some of them tried, but – water under the bridge and that. All over, just like that, on the night of our biggest gig. Amazing how you can go from living in each other’s pockets every day for four years, to five total strangers overnight. They say the business does that – she’s a cruel mistress. She’ll snap your neck when you’re riding high. I’ve seen it in my own life enough times.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘It was a long time ago, love. No use going into it all now.’

  ‘But you said it was your fault . . .’

  ‘And none of the band would disagree. But sixty years, Mattie! Grudges held that long leave grooves in your hands and twists in your spine. You can’t change something that big. I just have to resign myself to it.’

  ‘You okay, Mattie?’ Percy’s question jolted Mattie from her thoughts.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Percy, I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘Wherever you were just now looked like a place worth visiting,’ her customer grinned.

  ‘She’s been like it all week,’ Laurie said, bustling in from the stockroom. ‘Away with the fairies. Or should I say, the Reenies?’

  Mattie ignored her assistant. So what if she’d been preoccupied since her last visit to Beauvale? It made a pleasant change to be thinking about something other than Grandpa Joe and Asher. It was a mystery that had her hooked.

  ‘Reenies?’

  ‘She’s being rude about a friend I’ve made recently. Don’t encourage her.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ He leant across the counter and added, with a wink: ‘Jealous, probably.’

  ‘I heard that!’ Laurie marched over to them. ‘And for your information, Percy Walker, I don’t need to be jealous of a troublesome OAP.’

  ‘Reenie is far from your average OAP,’ Mattie returned. ‘She’s famous. Or used to be. Do you remember The Silver Five?’

  Percy’s smile was warm and wistful. ‘Of course I do! I bought my mother their record – what was it now? Oh yes – “Because you loved me, I can face today, chase my blues away and smile . . .”’ Laughing, he grabbed a very surprised Laurie and waltzed her round the shop floor, singing Reenie’s biggest hit.

  ‘Ooh! No! Put me down, Percy!’ Laurie protested, blushing profusely and trying her best not to look like she was enjoying the experience.

  Mattie watched the pair dancing across the oak floorboards and imagined herself as a young girl of nine or ten, spinning across the quarry-tiled floor of her grandparents’ farmhouse kitchen as Grandpa Joe twirled her around, the old familiar boom of his voice warming every surface it reverberated off. Those times where she had been swept up in the memories he held dearest had been the happiest of her life so far, and she longed to reclaim that feeling of complete safety and utter freedom.

  Reenie should see this, she thought. She should see what her music means to so many people . . .

  That was it!

  If Reenie could understand how loved she was – and how much The Silver Five were still missed today – perhaps she would change her mind and put things right now. She’d said one member, Tommy Mullins, was still in contact with all the original members. He knew where they lived now, and even arranged a yearly get-together (which, of course, Reenie had declined to attend every year). It was remarkable that they were all alive – but how long would that be the case? Very soon, it would be sixty years since the fateful booking at the Palm Grove.

  It was all Mattie could do not to squeal out loud as the idea grew. Sixty years – a significant anniversary: what better way to honour the memory of what The Silver Five had been and finally reconcile its members, than to bring all of them together by this date?

  But would it even be possible to bring all five original members of the singing group back together in the same room? She doubted they lived close to one another. Reenie had been firm about her former colleagues not seeing her living in sheltered accommodation, however grand Beauvale was. Could Mattie bring them all to another venue for a tearful reunion? Without knowing exactly what it was that had caused their split in 1956, it was difficult to know whether this would work. If Reenie had chosen to ignore them for all these years, why would any of them – excepting Tommy, perhaps – be willing to make such a journey at all?

  Mattie’s need to know what Reenie had done on the night of their final appearance was stronger than ever. If it was something unforgiveable, her clever idea would be over before it had even begun. She had to persuade Reenie to talk about it.

  ‘If only they still had clubs now like they did in the Fifties,’ Percy sighed, returning a flushed Laurie to the sales desk. ‘Girls, you would have loved them. The lights, the live bands, the glamorous surroundings – I went to Soho once, and the clubs there were beyond belief.’

  M
attie recalled Reenie’s words about the best club venues, and wished she could have seen them. Her love of vintage things often led to her think she’d been born in the wrong era. Everything she’d heard and read about the optimism and hope of the 1950s made it alluring. ‘Perce, did you ever visit the Palm Grove?’

  ‘Sadly not. But some of my friends from London went often. Why?’

  ‘No reason. I just wondered if you knew what happened to it.’

  Percy mopped his brow with a handkerchief. ‘Most of the famous places closed in the seventies and eighties. Bulldozed, most likely. Prime real estate like that in the centre of London? I imagine the developers were all over it like a rash. You could check online – there are some good archive sites dedicated to the Soho clubs.’

  Mattie didn’t hesitate. As Laurie and Percy talked about the music he’d loved from the Fifties, she grabbed her laptop and slipped into the storeroom at the back of the shop. The initial spark of an idea fizzed and grew in her mind as she typed ‘former palm grove nightclub soho’ into the search engine. Would it still be there after all these years?

  Scrolling through the first page of results, she found nothing, bar mentions on a few websites dedicated to 1950s music history. But when she clicked the next page, the third entry from the top made her breath catch. Heart thumping, she opened the link – and suddenly it was as if the small storeroom was invaded by a burst of light and colour and sound.

  It was still there. Not as the Palm Grove, but as a comedy club. The website carried two photographs of the interior, side by side: one taken in 1952, the other in 2015. While the décor was different, it appeared that the auditorium at least was virtually unchanged. This was it! The perfect venue for a reunion – for the past to be put right, in the exact place where it had fallen apart . . .

  But would it be possible to get into the club, let alone stage an event there? Would Reenie want to go back to the place where her biggest mistake had taken place? And what about the others? Would they want such a physical reminder of how their group disintegrated? Mattie thought about the house she’d bought with Asher – the house currently on the market, awaiting another starry-eyed buyer. She couldn’t even bring herself to drive down the road on which it stood anymore. She certainly couldn’t imagine being taken back into the bathroom to revisit the place where her life had fallen apart. What if Reenie’s former friends felt the same?

  Maybe she should think of something else. Sixty-year grudges were unlikely to be solved by a publicity stunt and a lot of wishful thinking.

  Scrolling back through the history of the Palm Grove, the tussle continued in Mattie’s mind. She couldn’t shake the spark of excitement that fizzed within. It was still there. Perhaps she was meant to discover that today – just like she was meant to meet Reenie Silver at Beauvale’s Memory Day. After Asher, Mattie had dropped her long-held belief that everything happened for a reason – but now she thought of how much happier she would be if she could believe that again.

  If finding the former Palm Grove was a sign, shouldn’t she act upon it? This was a chance to follow her heart. Reenie had said she regretted what happened at the Palm Grove – the events that led to The Silver Five’s sudden, devastating end. It was the only regret she’d admitted to in the months Mattie had been visiting her. That had to mean something. Maybe it wasn’t just Mattie who needed a shot at redemption: maybe Reenie Silver needed this, to end her days happily. And maybe she had been waiting all these years for someone like Mattie Bell to make it possible.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Hit and Miss’ – The John Barry Seven

  ‘Reenie shouldn’t be long,’ smiled a young nurse as Mattie took a seat in the day room. She was one of the youngest members of staff at Beauvale, but seemed to have an easy rapport with the residents. Reenie called her ‘Chatty Charlene’ and meant it as the highest praise: Always sunny, that one. Remembers every conversation you’ve had and knows how to natter like the best of them . . . ‘Are you off out anywhere nice?’

  ‘We’re popping over to Bridgnorth,’ Mattie replied, the first stage of her plan being revealed. ‘Reenie was telling me about a tea room there she particularly likes, so I thought I’d treat her.’

  ‘That’s lovely. You know, she’s been a lot brighter since she met you,’ Charlene confided, ducking her head slightly in case any of the other residents heard. ‘I’d been worried about her before, what with her hip operation and everything.’

  ‘Oi, missy, should my ears be burning?’ Reenie chuckled as the nurse jumped to attention. ‘Relax, love, you know I’m hoping you’re both talking about me. Occupational hazard in my business. The time to worry is when people aren’t.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Charlene blushed. ‘Have a nice day out.’

  ‘Day out?’ Reenie settled into a chair. ‘You busting me out of this joint, Mattie Bell?’

  ‘For a couple of hours, if you’d like?’

  ‘Would I like? That’s more than enough time for mischief and a decent cuppa tea. Let’s go!’

  Bridgnorth was a picture in the warm sunshine, and as Mattie escorted Reenie along High Street in High Town, she congratulated herself for choosing today to visit. It couldn’t have been a more perfect setting for the proposal she was about to make to Reenie. The town looked beautiful, decked out in red, white and blue bunting for the annual summer festival and with swaying baskets dripping with gorgeous flowers swaying from every lamppost for Britain in Bloom. It was already buzzing with visitors both local and global, drawn to the pretty market town with its deep river, romantic castle walls and steam railway.

  ‘I’ve always loved it here,’ she said as they walked, ghosts of a thousand memories of similar strolls with Grandpa Joe, her parents and Joanna and Jack overlaying the scene she saw today.

  ‘It’s a special place all right. First time I visited Beauvale I came here for coffee afterwards to mull it all over. It was the walk along this street that swung it for me.’

  ‘I can see why.’ Mattie stopped outside a gorgeously decorated shop front stuffed with vintage-looking items and chalk-painted furniture, stands of fresh-cut flowers and potted roses adding a bouquet of scent outside the door. ‘Shall we?’

  At the back of the fancy goods shop nestled a small café decorated with pages from vintage comic books. Mattie saw the broad smile of her friend as they found a table. It was perfect.

  She waited until their order of afternoon tea arrived and made herself drink a cup of tea before she spoke, but it was all she could do to contain her excitement. All night she’d thought of her idea, how wonderful it would be and how it could help Reenie come to terms with her past. It made a change to spend the night awake from excitement, instead of the constant rollover of regret.

  ‘You remember what you told me about the Palm Grove last week?’

  Reenie’s eyes narrowed over the rim of her violet-covered teacup. ‘Here it comes.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You’ve been like a coiled spring all morning. The last time I was with someone that jumpy, it was my third husband on the day he proposed. You’re not thinking of popping the question, now, are you?’

  ‘Ha – nothing like that. But it is a kind of proposal.’

  ‘Spit it out, girl!’

  ‘Okay.’ Mattie took a breath, acutely aware of so much more riding on this than she’d anticipated. ‘I know you said you couldn’t have the rest of The Silver Five come to visit you at Beauvale . . .’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘What if you were all to meet at the Palm Grove instead?’

  Reenie snorted into her tea. ‘Give over, Mattie! That place closed years ago.’

  ‘What if it still existed?’

  ‘It doesn’t. It’s probably been bulldozed and one of them swanky million-pound bedsit complexes built on its ashes. All of the great Soho clubs went that way.’

  ‘The Palm Grove didn’t.’

  ‘I told you: it closed years back.’

  ‘T
he nightclub did, but the building is still there. It’s a comedy club now – and you’ll never guess who owns it.’

  ‘Richard Branson? That smug bloke off the easyJet adverts? I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s called Kendrick’s.’

  The name hung in the pastel-hued air between them. Reenie’s intake of breath was a little shaky; when she spoke, it was as if the wind had been snatched from her sails. ‘Kendrick’s?’

  Mattie nodded, thrilled by her response. ‘Jacob Kendrick’s grandsons own the club.’

  ‘He had boys? He’d have loved that . . .’

  ‘Listen, I know you don’t want the others seeing you in a retirement village. But what if they didn’t? What if you brought them back together at the Palm Grove – putting things right at the very place where everything was broken?’ As Mattie spoke, she could picture every detail of the event: five former friends reunited, with members of the press invited to document the scene. It would be a celebration of one of British rock ’n’ roll’s golden groups, a coup for both the artistes and the venue that almost hosted them sixty years before. ‘We could organise a celebration dinner there, with a photocall for the press – make it a celebration of everything you all achieved.’

  ‘I don’t think so . . .’

  ‘Don’t say no yet, Reenie, just think about it. You could show them how sorry you are by giving them the limelight they all deserved back then. By reminding the world how great The Silver Five were – what a legacy you’ve created for British pop music. Before Cilla, before Cliff, before Lulu – the five singers who electrified British teenagers after the dark days of the war, who brought the new optimism and hope for the future before the American music invasion . . .’

  ‘I said, no. It’s a sweet thought, kid, but it’s too late. What’s done is done.’

  ‘But if you had a chance to put things right – to change how it ends . . .’ She hated the whine of desperation in her voice.