The Melody Girls

by Anne Douglas

  It was agreed that the world was not perfect, things happened that had not been planned, but if the welfare of the child was always considered, all could be well, and Lorna’s message to others was to face what came with spirit and hope. And always to remember that even if the world was not perfect, it had its good side. So Lorna herself had found.

  Oh, God, is that going to be true? she asked herself, as the questioner thanked her at the end of the interview. What can I hope for out of this?

  What she had never hoped for, or expected, was that after the appearance of the interview, there would be sackfuls of letters delivered to her office, almost all of them sympathetic and filled with understanding. Yes, there were some from those who considered her a terrible example to others, but mostly those who’d wanted to write had sent only their best wishes and congratulations on the way she had faced her problems, some even telling of facing similar problems themselves and of how she had inspired them to find the spirit and hope she’d shown herself.

  ‘Keep on playing, Lorna!’ one fan had written. ‘We love your music and we love you and your Melody Girls.’ At which Lorna had burst into tears and had to be soothed by the combined efforts of her mother, Flo and George.

  ‘I never dreamed that people would be so kind,’ Lorna sobbed. ‘It’s just so touched my heart, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Canna believe everybody’s so tolerant,’ Tilly commented wonderingly to Cissie, who had been following events with the greatest interest. ‘But, there you are, there’s hope for us all yet.’

  ‘Might just be that all these folk who’ve written have been musical, eh?’ Cissie asked, but Tilly only pursed her lips.

  ‘Now, when did musical folk appear any nicer than others, Cissie? Look at the way the men won’t help the women! Look at Luke Riddell, giving Flo and Lorna the sack!’

  Yet Luke had rather surprised everybody by writing Lorna a little note of good wishes. He and Suzie had been so astonished to hear of the wee one, you could have knocked them over with a feather, he said, but, well done, Lorna! To keep on with her band in spite of all, and congratulations to her and Flo and all the lassies, not to mention George, the dog, deserting his old band, but never mind, he’d done well too.

  ‘So, there you are,’ Lorna murmured. ‘A turn out for the book, as they say, Luke being so generous.’

  ‘Seems too good to be true,’ Flo answered. She would have liked to ask if anything had been heard from Josh, but knew Lorna would have told her. As for Rod, Lorna herself had said there’d been no word from him, as she had thought perhaps there might be. But then, they probably didn’t take Scottish magazines in America.

  ‘Or, he was too stunned to reply,’ Flo suggested.

  ‘If he’d wanted to reply, he would have done,’ Lorna said honestly. ‘Maybe there wouldn’t be much point, anyway, after all this time.’

  ‘Shows the difference between men and women, though, doesn’t it?’ Flo asked. ‘Here we have you who’ve been looking after Sam all his life, and Rod, who doesn’t even know he’s a father. Are you listening, George?’

  ‘Hmm?’ George answered, looking up from an American music magazine. ‘Says here there’s a lot more of rockabilly music going around in the States.’

  ‘Rockabilly?’

  ‘Sort of mixture of everything. Country and jazz, plus a bit of boogie woogie and blues. Been around a while, in one form or another.’

  ‘Rockabilly?’ Lorna smiled. ‘Can’t see that being our sort of thing.’

  ‘Should suit the kids, eh?’

  ‘We play for grown-ups,’ Flo said. ‘But there are always new crazes turning up.’

  ‘And dying down.’ George threw his magazine side. ‘Listen, have you girls done any cooking? I could eat a horse.’

  Fifty-One

  Ever since she’d begun to earn what she called ‘real’ money, Lorna had wanted to move her mother into better accommodation, but Tilly had always said no. She didn’t want a better flat, she wanted the flat she had. It was where she’d spent most of her married life; it had its memories of Cam and the two wee boys she’d lost, as well as of Lorna growing up.

  ‘I’m no’ moving,’ she told Lorna, when they were having a cup of coffee while Sam was out at playgroup. ‘And that’s that.’

  ‘But the thing is, Ma, Sam’s going to need his own room one day, and I want one when I come home, and so do you. We really need three bedrooms now, and I suggest we look for a house. A detached house with a garden.’ She gave her mother a persuasive smile. ‘You’d like a garden, eh?’

  ‘I’d like a garden,’ Tilly agreed, ‘but no’ enough to move house for one. And there’s another thing. I’ve got my dressmaking customers to think about. They’ll no’ want to go traipsing miles away to come to me, and they’d have to do that, eh? Seeing as there are no detached houses round here.’

  ‘Maybe you could give up your dressmaking? You’ve worked hard all your life. Why don’t you have a rest?’

  ‘Give up my dressmaking!’ Tilly exclaimed. ‘What are you talking about? I’m no’ old enough to retire!’

  ‘I’m only thinking you might like a break.’

  ‘The secret of keeping well is to work. You like working, eh? Well, so do I. Let’s say no more.’

  ‘Well, at least let me look around at properties,’ Lorna said, with a sigh. ‘And then if I saw something really nice, you could come and see it.’

  ‘I can tell you’re dying to look at properties yourself,’ Tilly said dryly. ‘All right, you do that, but I’m no’ promising anything.’

  ‘I know, I know. I’ll just get The Scotsman and read the property pages. Might ask Ewen to come with me. He’d be interested.’

  ‘Ewen.’ Tilly frowned. ‘It’s time you let that laddie go, Lorna. Time he was married, and no’ to you, seeing as you don’t want him.’

  ‘He’s my friend, Ma. We’ve always been friends. If he wants to marry, I’m no’ stopping him.’

  ‘You are while you keep him hanging on. It’s no’ fair, Lorna. You’ve a lot in your life today, you’re successful and making money. Just let Ewen go.’

  ‘I can’t see why we shouldn’t meet as friends, Ma, and if you don’t mind, I’ll decide when to stop seeing him. Which I’ve no plans to do.’

  ‘All right, I’ll leave it to you.’ Tilly bent dark brows on Lorna. ‘But you know what I think.’

  ‘Fine.’ Lorna rose to go. ‘Now, I’ll just go and collect Sam, then I’m away.’ At the door, she hesitated. ‘Do you realize, Ma, Sam’ll be starting proper school in September? Can you believe it.’

  ‘Och, no! But he’s that bright, he’s ready to go now, eh? And wanting to play a saxophone like you.’

  ‘He’s a bit young for that,’ Lorna laughed. ‘But I am thinking of getting him a piano. When we find the new house.’

  ‘Never give up, do you?’ Tilly shook her head. ‘I tell you, I’m staying here.’

  Ewen, of course, said he’d be delighted to help Lorna house hunt, and on his next afternoon off, they began their trawl of possibilities. If she was looking for a detached house with a garden in the Haymarket area, however, Ewen told Lorna she hadn’t a hope.

  ‘I know that,’ she retorted. ‘I know I’m going to have to spread my net. But Ma won’t move too far away from where she is now, so there are problems.’

  ‘How about abandoning the detached idea and considering something terraced in the West End?’ Ewen studied his copy of the newspaper’s property page. ‘There’s a nice terraced house here in Grosvenor Place – whole house, not yet turned into flats. Pricey, though.’

  ‘Let me see. Why, it’s lovely, Ewen! Looks like three floors. And Victorian?’

  ‘Aye, so good-sized rooms. Small sunny garden at rear. Easy distance from where your ma is now.’ Ewen grinned. ‘Only question, I’d say, is can you afford it?’

  ‘It will go to sealed bids at the lawyer’s, I suppose.’

  Lorna sat with her finger to her mouth. ‘Our
Scottish system of offers over a price is OK – until you try to guess how much other people will bid.’

  ‘Haven’t even seen it yet, Lorna.’

  ‘No, but I’ve a feeling it’s the one. Let’s ring for a viewing.’

  As soon as she saw 29 Grosvenor Place, Lorna knew she was right. This was the one, this was the house for her, her mother and Sam. It was on the big side, true, but that meant it had space, they could spread themselves. Each of them could have a bedroom and there were also two spare rooms, plus a tiny room that would be ideal for practising if soundproofed. And then the main rooms were really grand, with fine cornices and plastered ceilings, long windows and original fireplaces. And the secluded little garden at the back was quite a suntrap. Ma could sit there, looking at the flowers she would plant, while Sam could whizz round with his latest cars, and no one could even see.

  ‘I think I could afford to put in a good offer,’ Lorna whispered to Ewen, while Mr Rowe, the young man from the lawyer’s office, showed them round.

  ‘Is there a closing date for offers?’ Ewen asked.

  ‘There is, sir, it’s Friday.’

  ‘No’ much time, then.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but if you and your wife could reach a decision, you’d still have time to put your offer in.’

  ‘Mr MacKee is just a friend of mine,’ Lorna said hastily, as Ewen turned brick red. ‘I’m the one interested in the house. I think you have my name there? Miss Fernie?’

  ‘Oh, of course, Miss Fernie,’ Mr Rowe agreed, colouring almost as much as Ewen. ‘Sorry about that. Now, is there anything else I can show you?’

  ‘No, I’m very happy with what I’ve seen. Think I’d better get on now with arranging my offer, but thanks for showing us round.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ With some relief, Mr Rowe escorted them to the front door. ‘We’ll look forward to hearing from you, then.’

  Outside in the quiet, elegant street, Lorna gave a light laugh. ‘Hope that wasn’t too embarrassing for you, Ewen?’

  ‘No, no,’ he answered quickly, though he had turned away to look back at the house Lorna wanted so much to buy.

  So solid, eh? So obviously well cared for, with its fine front door and brass letter box, its wrought iron railings lining the steps, its gleaming windows. How many maids had worked here in the old days, he wondered, cleaning, polishing, scrubbing? No maids now, of course, they’d vanished with the war, never to return, but he supposed Lorna could find a cleaning lady, someone to help, anyway. It would be a different way of life for her, living in a place like this, but then she already had a different way of life – made by herself.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked, touching his arm. ‘You’ve got one of your brooding looks.’

  ‘I was thinking how far you’d come, Lorna.’

  ‘What, from the Haymarket?’ she laughed.

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘I’ve been lucky, that’s all. I don’t play any better than my dad, but I thought of having my own band and it’s worked out for me. So, now I can find a better place for my mother and son to live. That comes with success.’

  ‘You’re going to ask your mother to see it, before you go to your lawyer?’

  ‘Of course. I’m going to fetch her now.’

  ‘Lorna, don’t be disappointed, will you? If she still doesn’t want to move?’

  ‘She told me to look at places, Ewen. I’m sure I can persuade her to change her mind. I mean, wait till she sees the house!’

  ‘It may not be what she wants,’ he said gently. ‘Why don’t you buy it for yourself – if you can – and let Sam join you when he’s older? Your ma could come over whenever needed, eh?’

  For some time, Lorna stood in thought, before flinging her arms round Ewen and laughing. ‘Ewen, you’ve done it again! Solved the problem. Yes, I think you’re right. That’s what Ma would like, and I’d like too. Come on, let’s tell her what’s happening.’

  ‘Hang on.’ He took her hand. ‘Listen, would you like to come out for a meal with me?’

  ‘To celebrate my house? I haven’t got it yet!’

  He hesitated. ‘I was thinking . . . well, it’s my birthday next week, you see . . .’

  ‘Oh, Ewen, of course! Your birthday! I’d love to come for a meal, but I’ll have to check my diary. I know there’s one night next week we’ve nothing booked, but it’s probably not on your birthday. Would it matter?’

  ‘Course not. It’ll just be grand if we can meet. Will you let me know the date? I want to take you somewhere nice.’

  ‘Sure I will.’ She put her arm in his. ‘Now, let’s go and see Ma.’

  Fifty-Two

  When Lorna met Ewen the following week, she was touched to find that he’d booked dinner at one of her favourite restaurants in George Street. Much too expensive for him, she worried, though he’d had a promotion recently and had now taken over Miss Dickinson’s job, she having been transferred to Glasgow.

  ‘I know it’s my birthday,’ he told her calmly, when she ventured to suggest that she should be paying the bill in celebration, ‘but this is my treat, so no arguments.’

  ‘The thing is,’ she told him with shining eyes, ‘I’ve got the house! My bid came top at the lawyer’s auction. And Ma’s thrilled that I’m not going to ask her to move in, but says Sam should definitely come to me when he’s older. So, this really must be my treat too.’

  ‘Let’s just decide what to eat, Lorna. And drink, eh? I don’t know much about wine – maybe you could help me choose?’

  ‘It’ll be the blind leading the blind, if I do. I’m no’ much of a drinker at all. Let’s just have the house red. That’ll do me fine.’

  The meal at first went well. Ewen had ordered with confidence, the wine, too, and he and Lorna seemed as wonderfully at ease with each other as they always were, until they reached the coffee stage. It was then that a change seemed to come over him. He began to look around the restaurant, at other diners, the waiters – anywhere except Lorna, and to fiddle with his cup, spilling a little coffee over the pristine white cloth and being overcome with confusion.

  ‘Oh, trust me, trust me,’ he groaned. ‘Can’t take me anywhere, can you?’

  ‘Come on, it’s nothing to worry about,’ Lorna told him, waving away a waiter who was anxious to change their cloth. ‘We’ve almost finished, anyway, and it’s been lovely, Ewen, a real treat.’

  ‘Has it?’ Finally he brought his anxious gaze to hers, and as he ran his hand over his face, Lorna suddenly realized that more than anxiety over spilt coffee was troubling him.

  He had something on his mind, something he wanted to get out. What on earth could it be? Then the idea came to her like a flash of light illuminating everything. Could it be that he was going to propose?

  After all these years of being only friends, had he decided, as Tilly had suggested, that it was time for him to marry? And that she, Lorna, should be the obvious one to ask? Even if it was true, as he’d once said to her, that he’d never expected to be the one for her, that he was the boy next door, the one who wasn’t special, he might now believe she might consider him. He had, after all, supported her through two unhappy love affairs, been her rock, her trusted friend. Surely, he might think, she was ready to turn to him now.

  And perhaps she might be. For the first time, she considered how it would be, to be married to Ewen. Maybe there was a lot to be said for being married to a rock. Someone who’d always be there for you, who’d never let you down.

  ‘Ewen,’ she said gently, leaning towards him. ‘What’s wrong? You’re desperate to speak to me, aren’t you? Why don’t you, then?’

  He looked quickly round at the tables nearest to them, saw no one was listening, and gave a long sigh, not of relief, Lorna could tell, but of decision.

  ‘There is something I want to say to you,’ he said in a low voice. ‘But we’ve been special friends for so long, it isn’t easy.’

  ‘Why, being special friends should make it easie
r to talk, instead of harder, Ewen. You can say anything you like to me, you know.’

  ‘Can I?’ His eyes on her were filled with appeal. ‘Well, I should think you’re right. I don’t suppose what I do will change things for you, eh?’

  ‘Certainly could. But what are you planning to do, then?’

  He drank the remains of the wine still in his glass, and set the now empty glass down.

  ‘Lorna, I’m going to be married.’

  Married.

  She sat back in her chair with a jolt, taking the shock of his words as an extraordinary and totally unexpected blow. Ewen, to be married. And not to her? Not even seeking to be married to her? She felt a strange pain behind her breastbone, which was ridiculous, for if she had actually been considering him as a husband, she still could not think of him as a lover.

  So why did she feel as she did? Completely knocked sideways, at the idea of her rock being married to someone else? Because her rock had crumbled? Because she was now clinging on to something that wasn’t there?

  ‘Married?’ she repeated huskily. ‘You’re going to be married, Ewen?’

  He had been watching her carefully, obvious relief that he’d finally broken his news shining clearly over his dear, honest face.

  ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘To Pattie.’

  ‘Pattie? Pattie MacDowell?’

  Well, of course, he meant Pattie MacDowell. Pattie, who had been Lorna’s special friend at the post office, who still worked at the post office and was still Lorna’s friend, though they met only rarely. And now she and Ewen were to be married?

  Lorna, trying hard to appear happily interested, felt herself failing, felt herself in immediate danger of showing her true consternation, yet couldn’t manage to save herself. Ewen to marry Pattie? She simply couldn’t believe it. When he had never said a word, never given the slightest hint . . .