Where was she?
‘Want us to go and look for her?’ Kelvin asked.
Mattie willed herself not to cry in front of them. ‘Yes. Do that. Call me if you find her.’
They hurried back inside, leaving Mattie with nobody but her broken van. The cars that had been parked on either side when they’d arrived had gone one by one, making Rusty a sad, lonely island in a sea of cracked tarmac. She leaned against his faded red side and forced herself to consider the worst.
If Reenie has gone . . .
If she’d run away at the eleventh hour, the gig would still go ahead. It had to. Because it was no longer just about Reenie. Or Mattie. Or Grandpa Joe. It was about Tommy Mullins making it back to the stage he’d abandoned when his beloved group imploded. About June Knight who, despite her age and medical problems, maybe should always have been the lead singer as she was promised, because she could sing Reenie off the stage and had waited so long for her chance to shine. It was about Thalia Powell-Cutler, seventeen years old, with her whole life – and no doubt countless stages – sparkling ahead, dedicating her first public performance to her inspirational grandfather, Chuck. And it was about Alys Davis fulfilling a sixty-year-old wish to perform a return concert at the club where she’d first forged her own dream of stardom.
Instinctively, Mattie raised a hand to Grandpa Joe’s tiepin. A plan had been forming in her mind that still wasn’t complete, but when it was, this would be an integral part of it.
What if this entire journey hadn’t been about Reenie Silver at all?
If Reenie isn’t here, the concert goes ahead. I’ll make certain it does.
Grandpa Joe wouldn’t have been deterred by a last-minute spanner in the works. The thought hit her without warning. But what she’d known of her grandfather during his life, and what she was learning about the young Joe Bell and his willingness to bypass authority, friendships and even his own common sense to get what he wanted, told her as much. What would he think of her now, of what she was willing to do if Reenie didn’t come back?
She checked her phone to see if a text had arrived from the breakdown service. Nothing. In her car-park isolation, she was at a loss to know what to do. Until Pru and Kelvin came back – or Reenie resurfaced – there wasn’t much else she could do. She slid open Rusty’s side door and sat on the metal step inside. It was as if all the constant momentum of the road trip had suddenly been culled; like a switch had been flicked accidentally, and she was in limbo until someone noticed their mistake.
There was no sign of anyone approaching this far corner of the vast car park. A few intrepid birds twittered hesitantly from the surrounding trees as if not really sure they belonged here. Overhead, the distant droning of an aeroplane engine arced across the sky. In the place of her anger, a cool resolve now rested. Whatever Reenie Silver decided to do, Mattie could make this work.
Then a sound caught her ear, a low, growling hum that seemed out of place in the large car park. Mattie looked around her, but could see nothing that could be making it. Beyond the constant hum of the motorway in the distance the noise began to rise: an undulating, metallic roar like a swarm of enormous, angry bees. It seemed to come from the ground itself, the boom of an earthquake without the movement.
Mattie could see Pru and Kelvin approaching. She raised a hand, but it was left hanging in mid-air as they suddenly halted, staring back in the direction from which they had come as if seeing an alien invasion approaching. Mattie stood up and began to walk towards them, but stopped in her tracks, too, hardly believing her eyes . . .
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘You Can’t Catch Me’ – Chuck Berry
From around the side of the main service station building, a bank of revving motorcycles appeared: an imposing black convoy, snaking its way around the parked cars, riding seven abreast, each rider clad in black leather emblazoned with silver designs. As it came towards Mattie she instinctively hurried back to Rusty, slamming his door shut as if it might protect the old camper van from the approaching horde.
It was an impressive sight and an awesome sound as the motorbikes – fifty at least – fanned out across the empty parking spaces in formation, pulling up just a few feet away. Up close, she could see that most of the riders had long, well-cared-for beards of varying hues, and none of them seemed a day under fifty years old. They didn’t smile as they stared at her. What did they want? Had she unwittingly chosen the middle of their unofficial meeting ground to park?
She was about to say something when a familiar face grinned at her around the broad shoulders of the lead biker.
‘Stuff the garage, kid. I got us a better ride into town!’
Mattie had thought she’d seen it all on this journey, but Reenie Silver had floored her again. The sight of an eighty-four-year-old lady clinging to the ample, leather-clad frame of a Hells Angel, an open-face black helmet balanced on her lilac curls, was the most extraordinary thing she had ever witnessed.
‘Reenie, what on earth are you doing?’
‘Well, you didn’t seem to have many ideas about getting us to this gig and, let’s face it, that van of yours won’t be going anywhere in a hurry. So I went looking for alternatives. This is Keith. I met him in the queue for the disabled loo.’
‘Dodgy knee,’ Keith said, his cheeriness a surprise given his scary appearance. ‘Came off me bike at Canvey last spring, knocked it right out of place. Hasn’t been the same since.’
Mattie could barely find words. Had she fallen asleep in Rusty and entered the weirdest dream of her life? ‘Oh – um – sorry to hear that.’
‘Nah, s’fine. Still get to ride out with the lads of a weekend, you know. Won’t be doing the TT any time soon, o’course.’
‘Aren’t they smashin’? We got talking and the boys offered to give us a ride into town. They reckon they can bring our stuff, too.’
‘Yeah, luggage ain’t a problem,’ another, equally friendly biker offered. ‘Sid, Reg and Creasie have good, roomy panniers.’
‘Creasie?’ Mattie repeated, realising too late that she’d said it aloud.
‘Lost over two stone this year on that 5:2 diet thing. So his leathers are a bit baggy now, like his skin.’ Keith grinned back at a svelte-looking biker who gave a cheery wave. ‘Used to be Fatso – but we couldn’t keep calling him that for obvious reasons.’
‘Ah, I see. Um, Reenie, could I have a word?’
‘We don’t have time for words, Mattie! We have to get to the sound-check and it’s gettin’ late. They have extra helmets. Hop on, kid!’
‘But the van – and the breakdown people . . .’
‘We’ll wait for them,’ Kelvin said, as Pru nodded.
‘See?’ Reenie grinned. ‘It’s all sorted. Now stop fretting and choose a chauffeur!’
It occurred to Mattie, as she clung for dear life to the portly hulk of Sid, Keith’s right-hand man in the bikers’ Chapter (‘We’ve ditched the Hells Angels thing. Not good PR nowadays. We prefer “the Braintree Banshees” now’), that nobody at home was ever going to believe this story.
‘Lovely day for it,’ Sid yelled over the throaty roar of his Harley-Davidson.
‘Yes,’ she shouted back, not really sure what else to say. Insulting her last chance to make it to Kendrick’s would not be advisable. Thankfully, the biker chattered on.
‘My missus loves the Smoke. Loves it. Shopping. Theatre. Wine bars. The lot. You been there much yourself?’
‘Not really.’
‘You take my advice: stick to the museums. You can shop anywhere, but you don’t see the Elgin Marbles or a Van Gogh every day, do you?’
Mattie’s brain hurt. It was too much to take in: from the row with Gil to the journey almost back to London followed by Rusty’s breakdown, to her fight with Reenie, and now this unscheduled, ridiculously impressive convoy bringing them to the final event of their extraordinary adventure. Too busy being swept along by the flood of highs and lows, she’d hardly had time to catch her breath. But at las
t she could see an end to it all. Ahead of her lay the culmination of her dream: the group reunited, history altered, peace restored.
Except with Gil. And the mystery surrounding Joe Bell’s absence from the concert he’d set his heart on attending. These two things remained stubbornly unresolved. At least Mattie had Grandpa Joe’s diary, where some of the answers might be found. As for Gil – that was a problem she might never find the solution to.
She was dreading seeing him, still angry about how he’d spoken to Reenie and lumped Mattie into his anger. What would she say to him? If she weren’t so concerned with hanging onto her motorcycle escort driver at that moment, Mattie would have kicked herself. She’d believed Gil was a good man and had dared to trust him – but the tirade he’d launched at Reenie challenged everything she’d been so certain of. Heart hurting, she told herself that the water streaming from her eyes was just the cold breeze from the city as Sid and the Braintree Banshees drove magnificently into town.
The convoy arrived outside Kendrick’s with fifteen minutes to spare, and Mattie and Reenie climbed gratefully down from their rides. Handing her helmet back to Sid, Mattie turned to Keith, who was grinning with all the triumph of a Viking return.
‘Thank you. The gig wouldn’t have been possible without your help. Do you and the boys want to come tonight? It’s going to be wonderful.’
‘Nah, we’ll take a rain-check if you don’t mind,’ he replied. ‘It’s been a pleasure but we should be headin’ off. My missus will go certifiable if I ain’t back in time for dinner. And it ain’t really my style of music – no offence, Reenie, love.’
‘None taken, Keith. But if you easy riders are ever up Shropshire way, you come and see me, yeah? I’d love to see the faces of the Beauvale lot if fifty of you fellas rocked up.’
‘We’ll do that. Ladies, it’s been fun.’ He revved his engine and every Braintree Banshee followed suit. ‘Banshees! We ride!’
Mattie and Reenie waved like rescued damsels wishing farewell to their knights until the motorbikes rounded the corner from the club and the square fell back into London hum.
‘I’m sorry, kid,’ Reenie said quietly.
‘What for?’
‘For shouting at you. And being rude about your camper van.’
Mattie gave out a long breath. ‘We’ve both said stuff we shouldn’t have.’
‘No, listen to me. You gave up a lot to get us here. I appreciate it. All of it. Even that grandson of Jake’s. He’s hurt, but he’s harmless. Poor lad just found out the chap he’d idolised all his life was flesh and blood, like everyone else. That’s hard; I get it. You know it better than anyone, too. Time gives you a strange perspective, Mattie. And the more of it you have, the more the truth moves from black and white to a shade of grey. I’m not proud of every choice I’ve made, but they were my choices. I’m a survivor – and in the end, isn’t that what everyone wants to say?’
That was what Mattie wanted – she understood it now. She had survived Asher’s betrayal and Grandpa Joe’s decision. She was still standing, when either blow could have ripped the ground from beneath her feet. And Gil? Well, she was wounded by his words but she’d survive that, too. After tonight’s concert her life stretched out before her, an uncharted road she no longer feared. ‘Is that why you went back to Rico? To survive?’
Reenie looked up at her. ‘Yeah. I had to shove everything to the back of me mind and focus on the road ahead. It was the only way to move forwards. In the end, you see, Rico could get me where I wanted to go. And I slipped back into old ways with him for a while because – well – it was just easier. Once I’d established myself I broke things off, romantically speakin’. But by then we’d been through it all, he was older and maybe a little wiser, so he stayed as my manager for ten years. And then I finally got shot of him when I met young Bill O’Shea in Vegas. Billy worked for me until last year, when he passed on. His son represents me now, as a favour to his dad, I think.’ She gazed up at the former Palm Grove and gave a sad smile. ‘Sixty years ago, I arrived here knowing I was goin’ to lose four friends overnight.’
Mattie smiled. ‘We should go in. They’ll be waiting for us.’
Reenie linked her arm through Mattie’s. ‘Here’s hoping, eh?’
Chapter Thirty-Three
‘I Was the One’ – Elvis Presley
‘Miss Bell, Ms Silver, a pleasure to see you again!’ Derry met Mattie and Reenie just inside the door, his hair Brylcreemed at an odd angle. ‘Forgive the barnet. I’ve been trying to perfect a quiff and I’m failing miserably.’
‘Give me that comb, young man. I’ll show you how it’s done,’ Reenie said. ‘Bend down a bit . . . More than that, love! Right . . .’ She set to work, pulling and working the bar manager’s hair until it glistened in a quiff any Teddy Boy would have been proud of. ‘There.’
Derry ducked down to see his reflection in the glass covering a display board in the club’s foyer. ‘That’s the business! Thank you, ma’am.’ He planted a kiss on Reenie’s cheek. ‘You should see the old place. Gil and Colm have totally transformed it. Let me take you through.’
Mattie looked at Reenie, butterflies suddenly dancing in her stomach. ‘Ready?’
‘Ready. Let’s go.’
Derry pushed open the double doors. ‘Allow me to present – the Palm Grove, circa 1956!’
All the breath in Mattie’s body left her as she gazed at the scene. Beside her, Reenie swore loudly.
It was beautiful. Where dark walls and floors had been, swathes of cream satin and warm wood were now in place. Tables had been placed in a wide arc around the curved dance floor and stage, each one covered with a long white cloth that reached to the floor. Each table had six gold chairs around it, cream satin bows tied to the back. Crystal candelabras formed centrepieces with tall white candles, and more candles in glass hurricane lanterns edged the dance floor and stage. When these were lit it would flood the space with warm, dancing light. High above the centre of the room, three huge shimmering crystal chandeliers were suspended from the lighting gantry, sending a shower of tiny rainbow flecks floating across the floor and tables below.
A swing band was setting up beside the stage, their gold and cream music-stand pennants decorated with two letters: P and G – the ampersand between them topped with a stylised cluster of leaves to resemble a palm tree. Meanwhile, a group of dancers rehearsed jive routines on the newly laid dance-floor squares.
But it was the stage that really caught Mattie’s attention – and summoned tears to her eyes. The old red velvet curtains she had admired so much on their first visit had been edged with two new horizontal lines of shimmering gold.
‘It’s just like I remember,’ Reenie breathed. When Mattie hugged her, she gave out a loud sob. ‘The kid did good.’
On cue, Gil walked into the centre of the remarkable scene. He was dressed all in black, like a young Johnny Cash: black jeans with a black open-necked shirt rolled to the elbows. He carried a clipboard, which drew Mattie’s attention to his hands – immediately making her regret looking, as memories she wanted to forget suddenly returned. Beside Gil was another man, of identical height but with cropped auburn hair and a more athletic frame. He was smiling where Gil frowned, a perfect yin-yang of Kendrick brothers.
‘Who’s that?’ Reenie asked.
‘That must be Colm, Gil’s brother. They’re twins.’
‘Get away! They’re about as similar as me and that baby grand piano over there.’
‘It’s true, apparently.’
‘If I were you, kid, I’d take everythin’ that lad told you with an almighty pinch of salt.’
The piano began to play the opening bars of ‘Because You Loved Me’, and a small group of people moved slowly across the floor towards it. Mattie watched Alys, June and Tommy take each other’s hands and share excited hugs and kisses, as Thalia smiled from beside the piano.
‘There they are, Reenie,’ Mattie said. ‘Back together, just like we planned.’
&
nbsp; ‘They look happy.’ Reenie’s smile had gone as she leaned heavily on her walking cane. ‘I shouldn’t spoil it.’
‘You won’t. Go and join them.’
‘The thing is, Matilda, they were always goin’ to be better off without me. I was never comfortable being part of a team. They all were. I often think I did them a favour, skippin’ out on them.’
‘But you had your reasons. If they knew why you’d had to leave . . .’
‘No, love. They don’t need to know that. Not now.’
Gently, Mattie took Reenie’s hand. ‘You listen to me, lady. That group aren’t called The Knight Five, or The Davis Five, or The Powell-and-Mullins Five. They can’t be The Silver Five without you. They never could be. You’ve brought them back here for a reason. You’re the returning star, not the forgotten fifth member. Go. They’re waiting for you.’
With one last look at Mattie, Reenie Silver walked down the steps and across the dance floor. As she neared the others they turned, throwing their arms open wide as if welcoming home a long-lost sister.
Mattie watched from a distance as The Silver Five became one hugging, weeping entity, the wrongs of years gone by finally forgotten, permanently put aside. She saw smiles breaking out across the group, followed by laughter and loud recollections of their past experiences. And at that moment, she no longer saw four pensioners by the ebony-black baby grand, but five young people, the world at their feet, looking to their bright future with eager eyes. Sixty years ago today they had gathered here like this, preparing for the culmination of their career to date. But one of them had hidden a dark secret behind her excited smile; a devastating device set to detonate just before The Silver Five were due to take the stage.
It didn’t matter now. The Silver Five were back where they belonged – and Mattie had fulfilled her promise to Grandpa Joe. But what of Joe Bell, whose plans had taken him from his beloved club on the night he’d anticipated the most?
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