Lime Street Blues (46 page)

Jeannie knew that coming had been a mistake as soon as the first group, Status Quo, far away on the distant stage, struck up with ‘Rockin’ All Over the World’. It reminded her too much of Lachlan, who would have been there if she hadn’t made such a mess of their lives.
Where is he?
she fretted. He seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth.

Another disturbing thing was that, even though it was eighteen years since the Flower Girls had last played together, it seemed unnatural on such a grand occasion to be a member of the audience and not part of the show. ‘I never realised till now how much I miss performing,’ she lamented.

‘Me neither,’ Zoe cried. ‘I want to be on stage or in the wings, waiting our turn to go on.’

‘I feel completely out of things,’ Marcia wailed. ‘Not
only that, I look like everybody’s grandmother. Whose idea was it to come?’

‘Yours!’ the others chorused.

‘Stop being such prima donnas,’ Elaine chided.

The stadium was a sea of people, few of them over twenty; bright-eyed, excited young people, enjoying the electric atmosphere and conscious they were present at a unique event. For some, it was the first time they’d realised how lucky they were to live in a country where they led comfortable lives and had enough to eat. It was a gratifying sensation to know that by buying a ticket they were helping people less fortunate than themselves.

The next group was Style Council, followed by the Boomtown Rats with ‘I Don’t Like Mondays’. A deafening cheer went up for Bob Geldof, who’d already become something of a saint. INXS performed on a giant screen via satellite from Melbourne, then Ultravox and Spandau Ballet. With each group, the ex-Flower Girls became more and more loudly depressed. Why had they given up? they moaned.

‘You’d’ve looked daft, prancing around the stage at your age,’ Elaine said caustically. ‘You, Marcia, are forty-five and have six children. Where’s your pride?’

‘Men prance around the stage,’ Marcia argued. ‘The Rolling Stones are on later. Mick Jagger’s got dozens of children, and he’s about the same age as us.’

‘It’s different for men.’

‘What about Tina Turner? She’s on too. And Joan Baez.’

‘Tina Turner doesn’t even vaguely look like anybody’s grandmother and Joan Baez is a folk singer. She can get away with growing old.’

Growing old! The Flower Girls shuddered.

‘What shall we do?’ Zoe asked. ‘I can’t stand much
more of this. I keep telling myself that
Chocks Away
is far superior to being a Flower Girl, but I’m not sure if I believe it. I’m beginning to think my life is crap.’

‘It
is
crap,’ Marcia informed her. ‘It’s about time you got married, settled down, and had some children. But you’d better hurry up before it’s too late. Oh, come on, let’s go,’ she urged. ‘Let’s find a pub and drown our sorrows. Lord! What a disaster this has turned out to be. Look at all the happy faces everywhere! Ours are the only sour ones.’

‘My face isn’t sour,’ Elaine heatedly pointed out. ‘I’d be enjoying myself no end if it weren’t for you lot.’

Jeannie was all for leaving, but Elaine insisted she wanted to see Sting and Queen. She was mad about Freddie Mercury, she claimed. ‘And Sean McDowd will be on later from Philadelphia. I haven’t seen him since he left the Merseysiders.’ They agreed to wait for Sting who would be on soon, but not Queen or Sean McDowd, who weren’t performing until the evening.

Elaine tossed her head derisively. ‘That’s nice of you, I must say. I’m never coming to a gig with you again.’

‘Don’t worry, sis,’ Marcia sneered. ‘You’ll never get the opportunity. Anyroad, I’d’ve thought you’d be the first who’d want to leave. At least us three have got a decent head of hair. Yours is almost completely grey and have you never thought of giving it a comb? You look far more like a grandmother than I do.’

It was past midnight when Jeannie arrived home. ‘Did you have a nice time?’ her mother asked.

‘No,’ Jeannie said bluntly. ‘We all felt as old as the hills. I kept thinking about the Cavern and Lachlan and how wonderful things used to be. Oh, Mum! Why does everything have to change?’

‘We’d all like the best times of our lives back, love. I know I would. But it’s not possible. Time moves on, things
do
change, and you’ll just have to be happy with what you’ve got – Ace and Chloe and this lovely house.’

Two months later, on a humid, airless evening in September, the phone in Sean McDowd’s New York apartment rang. It was the desk downstairs to tell him he had a visitor. ‘It’s a guy, name of Lachlan Bailey. Shall I send him up?’

Sean hesitated a few seconds before answering. ‘Yeah, OK.’

What the hell did Lachlan want? He went outside and prowled the corridor, listening to the mechanism of the lift shift into gear at the bottom of the shaft. It was three years since Lachlan and Jeannie had split up. Sean’s normally iron self-control faltered slightly. Did Lachlan know that Sean had made love to his wife? If so, surely he hadn’t come round to make a scene after all this time? The split had come directly after some girl had claimed she’d had Lachlan’s baby. Although the allegation had been withdrawn, Sean had always assumed it was the reason why the pair had broken up and his involvement in their lives had had nothing to do with it. He’d rung Jeannie a few times. She’d been polite, but distant.

The lift whirred, clanged to a halt, and the doors slid open. Sean turned to greet his visitor. ‘Hi! Great to see you after all this time. How’s things?’ He was aware of the tone of false joviality in his voice.

‘Hi.’

The two men stared at each other. The first thing Sean noticed was that Lachlan had lost a considerable amount of weight. When last they’d met, he’d still been recognisable as the boy who’d introduced him to rock’n’
roll in the Flowers’ garden shed. Now the skin sagged on his neck and there were deep lines on his gaunt, deeply tanned face. His eyes, which had always been soft, were hard. The guy had been through a tough time. He was dressed like a tramp, in a shabby suede jacket and tattered jeans.

‘You haven’t changed, Sean,’ he said without a smile.

‘I could say the same for you,’ Sean lied. ‘Come on inside.’

They went into the vast living area of the apartment overlooking Central Park. ‘Would you like a drink?’

‘Something cold. A Coke or a Pepsi. New York always gives me a thirst, though it’s cool in here.’

‘I’ve got air conditioning. You’re sure you want nothing harder?’

‘No, thanks. I’m on the wagon. Had a bit too much of the drink and drugs for a while.’ Lachlan wandered over to the window and looked out on to the traffic that never stopped. ‘I like the view. Do you ever use the balcony?’

‘Occasionally. The noise can get too much, even from this far up. Sit down, why don’t you.’

Lachlan threw himself into a brown corduroy armchair on a stainless steel frame. He looked around the room, at the dark, hessian-covered walls and sparse, plain furniture, and chuckled. ‘Jeannie would have some fun with this place. She’d have it painted orange within a week and hang pictures everywhere.’

‘I was sorry to hear you two had broken up,’ Sean felt obliged to say.

‘Were you?’ Lachlan gave him a keen look.

‘Sure thing,’ Sean said with all the sincerity he could muster. He wished the guy hadn’t come, that he would quickly go, and searched his mind for something to say in
the meantime. ‘Why did you leave the Survivors? It was one of the best rock bands in the country – in the world, come to that.’

‘Why did you leave the Merseysiders?’ Lachlan countered.

‘To do my own thing.’

‘Me too. I’ve been doing it for the last couple of years; seeing the world, how the other half live, realising there’s more to life than rock ’n’ roll, that showbiz people are basically shallow and don’t see any further than the ends of their noses, me included, and that you, Sean, me old mate, are nothing but a fucking hypocrite.’ Lachlan grinned and became immediately recognisable as the boy from the Flowers’ shed.

Despite the grin, Sean braced himself for a ‘How dare you screw my wife’ routine, but Lachlan had other things on his mind.

‘I watched you on the Live Aid concert – I was in Africa at the time, Somalia – and I thought to myself, “That guy’s nothing but a fake, singing about peace and love, and all that crap.” Your entire career has been based on that sort of stuff; anti-war, anti-poverty, brotherly love, yet since when have you ever given a shit about anyone apart from yourself ?’

‘They’re songs, not statements of belief,’ Sean said stiffly.

‘Yeah, ’cos you don’t believe in anything except number one.’ Lachlan’s face was contemptuous.

Sean managed a croaky laugh. Lachlan’s words had shaken him. He had the sickening feeling they might be true. ‘Is this why you’ve come, to tell me I’m a hypocrite? If so, you’re wasting your time. I don’t give a damn what you or anyone think.’

Lachlan shrugged. ‘That figures. You don’t give a
damn about anything. I feel sorry for you, Sean. You’re the best guitarist I’ve ever known, but you lost your soul a long time ago. Now, you play with one eye on your bank balance.’ He laughed. ‘All that money, but nothing to spend it on except things, not people. The only person you’ve ever loved is yourself.’ He got to his feet just as Sean had been about to suggest it was time he left. It seemed the short visit had merely been to point out a few home truths. ‘Thanks for the drink,’ Lachlan said. ‘I’m off to California in the morning. Don’t bother to wish me luck.’

Sean went towards the door, opened it. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’

They were in the corridor. Lachlan pressed the button for the lift. ‘Oh, there’s just one more thing before I go.’ He swung his fist and caught Sean a mighty punch on the jaw. ‘That’s for fucking my wife.’

Sean staggered backwards, nursing his face, while Lachlan stood there, waiting honourably for his response. But Sean had no intention of engaging in a fight. ‘You’re wrong about only loving myself,’ he said slowly. ‘I love her – Jeannie. I always will.’

‘Lachlan and I had planned on going to Paris on my fortieth birthday,’ Jeannie said sadly.

‘If you tell me that again, I’ll throw something at you,’ Elaine said threateningly. ‘This jug of cream, perhaps. That’ll make a fine mess of your new frock.’ Jeannie’s frock was misty blue, very plain, with long tight sleeves, the skirt flaring into soft folds from the hips.

‘Sorry. I’m not being very good company, am I?’

‘The worst. I take my best friend out to dinner on her birthday to the most expensive Chinese restaurant in
Southport, and all she does is complain she’s not with someone else.’

‘I wonder where he is, what he’s doing,’ Jeannie sighed. ‘I bet he’s not having as good a time as me,’ she added quickly when Elaine picked up the cream. She’d gone through a startling transformation since Jeannie had last seen her. Her bird’s nest of hair had been ruthlessly cut and framed her face in little curly spikes and she wore a red velvet frock with a low neck and cap sleeves, exposing an unusual amount of bosom. Her skin was smooth and creamy. They’d actually finished eating when Jeannie became aware she wasn’t wearing glasses.

‘Ah, so you’ve noticed at last!’ Elaine exclaimed. ‘I’ve got contact lenses. They feel dead uncomfortable, but the optician said I’ll get used to them.’

‘You remind me of someone I used to know when I was young. Her name was Elaine too, and she was very pretty, just like you.’

They smiled at each other, and Elaine said, ‘I didn’t want to give our Marcia the opportunity to make any more rude remarks about my appearance. Remember what she said at that Live Aid concert?’

‘We’re not likely to meet Marcia tonight, are we?’

‘No, no, of course not.’ Elaine went pink for some reason. ‘I was just speaking generally. Would you like more wine?’

‘One more glass, then I think we’d better go. The children were in a funny old mood tonight. I’m worried they might be giving Mum a hard time.’

‘I’m sure she’ll be able to cope. She coped with you, Max, and Gerald. I bet your Max was a handful, wasn’t he?’

‘Not until he began wanting things, like televisions and guitars.’ She frowned suspiciously. ‘Are you trying to
keep me here for some reason, Elaine? I’ve a feeling you’re just making conversation. I’m sure you’re not interested in whether Max was a handful.’

‘I used to be quite keen on your Max.’

‘You’ve never mentioned that before because it isn’t true. You’re playing for time, I can’t think why.’ Jeannie looked around the darkly lit restaurant, already lavishly decorated for Christmas. ‘I half expect the staff to come in with a giant cake and a male stripper will leap out and wish me Happy Birthday.’

‘No such luck, I’m afraid.’ Elaine glanced at her watch. ‘Eight o’clock. Come on, let’s go. I’m obviously boring you, and you’re stuck with me until you get home, seeing as we came in my car.’

They linked arms on the way to the car park. Specks of ice were being blown to and fro by the arctic wind that penetrated their thick winter coats and cardigans. They laughed and began to run. ‘Thank you for the lovely meal,’ Jeannie gasped when they reached the car. ‘I adore fried seaweed, though Lachlan used to say . . .’ She broke off. ‘Sorry.’

‘You can mention his name, idiot. Our Lachlan used to say what about fried seaweed? Tell me in the car. I’m freezing to death out here.’

‘That it tasted like starched grass. Oh, Elaine!’ she cried, collapsing into the passenger seat. ‘This will be our fourth Christmas without him and each one is worse than the one before.’

Elaine squeezed her arm. ‘He’ll come back one day, Jeannie,’ she said gently. ‘I can feel it in my bones. He loves you every bit as much as you love him. Whatever it was he did, or you did, I’m sure it will all work out all right in the end.’

They drove back in silence. The ice turned to snow
and began to collect in little heaps at the bottom of the windscreen.

‘There’s no lights on inside,’ Jeannie said anxiously when the car drew to a halt outside Noah’s Ark. ‘I hope everything’s all right.’

She felt even more anxious when she unlocked the door and went inside. The house was unnaturally quiet; no children making their usual din, no television. ‘Mum,’ Jeannie shouted, ‘Ace, Chloe. I’m home.’ She reached for the light switch, but before she could touch it, the lights went on, and a thousand voices, at least it sounded like a thousand, screamed, ‘Surprise!’