Lime Street Blues (8 page)

‘She only goes the nights
Hancock’s Half Hour
is on, and
I Love Lucy
,’ he pointed out.

Elaine was annoyed with Marcia’s attitude towards her friend. ‘Jeannie can play the piano really well,’ she boasted. ‘That’s a proper achievement, not like watching telly and going to the pictures night after night. One of these days, you’ll get square eyes.’

‘I can’t play all
that
well,’ Jeannie said bashfully.

‘Let’s see how well you can. You’ve nearly finished tea, so play something for us. There’s a piano in the upstairs parlour.’

‘She’s not here to entertain you, Marcia!’ Elaine was even more irritated. ‘I don’t ask
your
friends to put on a show, not that you’ve got many.’

‘I don’t mind.’ Jeannie was anxious to avoid a row. She’d play
Minuet in G
, one of the first real pieces she’d learned. Nowadays, she was able to include several of her own little flourishes. She ate the remainder of the meal and asked to be shown the piano. Despite her bashfulness, she could play well and was keen to impress Marcia.

The parlour was large and shabby, and the piano had been sadly neglected. She ran her fingers along the yellowing keys; it urgently needed tuning.

‘Don’t you need music?’ Elaine asked.

‘Not for this. I know it by heart.’ Her father often asked her to play for visitors. Jeannie had no ambition to become a professional pianist. She enjoyed playing, but it wasn’t a passion. Even so, if she was in the mood, she was able to put real feeling into a tune. She did so now, playing the gentle melody with the image in her head of crinolined ladies and men with powdered wigs bowing and curtseying to each other before beginning their minuet.

To her astonishment, she was halfway through, when she found herself being accompanied on a violin. A boy, very like Elaine, appeared beside her, grinning, a violin tucked under his chin, wielding the bow with great enthusiasm. It could only be Lachlan, who’d never read a book. She grinned back, and they managed to finish together, at exactly the same time.

Elaine and Marcia laughed and clapped their hands, and Marcia demanded they play something else.

‘Do you know this?’ Lachlan closed his eyes and began to play a haunting tune she’d never heard before. Jeannie watched. The sleeves of his grey shirt were rolled up, revealing slight, suntanned arms. Taller than Max by at least six inches, his face was slightly leaner than his sister’s, his mouth thinner and wider, curled in a slight
smile. He was quite clearly lost in the music. She realised guiltily that she’d been watching for far too long and hoped no one had noticed. With one hand, she began to pick out the notes then, gaining confidence, added the bass. She thought she’d made an adequate job of things by the time they’d finished.

‘What was that?’ she asked.

‘ “Love Me Tender”.’ Lachlan’s brown eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘It’s an Elvis Presley song.’

When Jeannie said she’d never heard of Elvis Presley, Marcia screamed, ‘Honestly, Jeannie! You can’t be real.
Everyone’s
heard of Elvis Presley.’

‘
I
haven’t, but I love his song.’

‘It’s from a film of the same name,’ Lachlan said. ‘It’s on at the Plaza the week after next. Why don’t you come to see it with me and Marcia?’

‘Only if Elaine comes too.’

‘I’ll go if you go, Jeannie.’

‘I would have loved to hear you and Lachlan play together,’ Rose said wistfully when Jeannie told her what had happened. ‘It would be like having a little concert in our own home.’

Jeannie had an idea. ‘Why not ask Elaine and Lachlan to tea, and Marcia, I suppose, though I don’t like her much. They could come next Sunday, while the weather’s still nice. I can meet them at the station.’

‘I’ll see what your dad has to say.’

At first, Tom regarded the request with suspicion. ‘How old is Lachlan?’ he enquired of his daughter.

‘Fourteen.’

‘Hmm!’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t like the idea of you being involved with lads at your age. You’re only eleven.’

‘Oh,
Dad
! We played a duet, that’s all. And I’ll be twelve in December.’ It would be best not to admit she felt quite enthusiastic about seeing Lachlan again. He was the first boy she’d ever
noticed
out of the scores of boys she’d known.

‘Your mother said something about going to the pictures. I’m not sure if I can allow that. These people are strangers. I know nothing about them.’

Jeannie knew he was only being protective, but it would be highly embarrassing to have to tell Elaine that her father had forbidden her to go to the pictures, endorsing Marcia’s belief that life in Ailsham was positively Victorian.

‘Why don’t we at least ask them to tea, Tom?’ Rose suggested. ‘We can see what they’re like? I’d love to hear Jeannie and Lachlan play.’

‘I don’t suppose there’d be much harm in that,’ Tom said grudgingly.

‘I doubt if our Lachlan will come,’ Elaine said. ‘Marcia will, because she’s dead nosy and she hasn’t many friends of her own, but Lachlan always goes to the Cavern on Sundays.’

‘What’s the Cavern?’ Jeannie enquired.

‘A club in town, Matthew Street, where they play music – jazz and skiffle. I’m dying to go, but Lachlan won’t take me. He goes with a crowd of boys from school and says I’m much too young.’

‘Oh, well.’ Jeannie didn’t show her disappointment. ‘It’ll be nice to have you and Marcia.’

Elaine returned to school next day with the surprising news that Lachlan had accepted the invitation. ‘It’s not like him; he’s not usually the sort of person who goes to tea. I don’t quite know what’s got into him.’

Jeannie hoped it was because Lachlan wanted to see her again as much as she did him.

There was no need to meet the Baileys at the station as their father was bringing them in the car – perhaps he felt the need to see what sort of family
his
children were associating with. They arrived on the dot of three in the big, black, pre-war Humber that was its owner’s pride and joy, according to Marcia. ‘Dad thinks more of that car than he does of us,’ she grumbled.

Dr Bailey was a tall, prepossessing man with a luxurious moustache and a warm bedside manner even with people who weren’t his patients. Jeannie had neglected to mention that her friend’s father was a doctor, and Tom Flowers was quite bowled over by their distinguished visitor. He humbly showed him around the impressive garden and picked a bunch of chrysanthemums for him to take to ‘your good wife’. The doctor left, promising to return at half past six.

Earlier, Max had announced he was going out, having no desire to meet a couple of girls and a boy who played the violin and was bound to be a cissy. Jeannie had pleaded with him to stay and at least be introduced. ‘It would look rude, otherwise.’ To her chagrin, Max and Lachlan liked each other on the spot, and disappeared into Max’s bedroom to talk about football.

The girls went for a walk through the village. It always looked particularly pretty in autumn, even though today was rather dull, without a glimmer of sun. The gardens were bulging with russet flowers and the numerous trees had started to shed their golden leaves, providing a crisp carpet for them to walk on. But Marcia wasn’t remotely impressed and loudly proclaimed her astonishment that
people were able to
breathe
in such a deadly dull atmosphere.

‘There’s no one around, only us. I’m convinced nothing but corpses live here.’

‘Corpses don’t
live
, Marcia,’ Elaine said scathingly.

Marcia ignored her sister’s intervention. ‘It’s like that film,
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
. It was about a village just like this, ’cept it was in America, where the people were gradually being taken over by aliens and weren’t human any more.’

‘What about Jeannie’s family?’ Elaine enquired. ‘Aren’t they human any more?’

‘Yes, but only because the aliens haven’t reached the part where they live yet.’

‘Don’t be silly, Marcia.’ Jeannie burst out laughing. Yet in a way, although she wouldn’t have admitted it, she knew what Marcia meant. Today, Ailsham was silent and deserted. It
did
look dead, and she gave a little shiver, wondering what people were doing behind their front doors and blank windows.

It would be nice to live somewhere like Walton Vale, with a cinema around the corner, loads of shops, and trams running to Liverpool every few minutes. It would also be nice, she thought traitorously, to have a dad like Dr Bailey, instead of one who raised a hundred objections every time his children wanted to go out. Perhaps it was because he was old; he’d forgotten how to enjoy himself and didn’t realise she and Max wanted a good time. She kicked at a pile of leaves. There was nothing she could do about it. She loved her father and, if she said anything, it would only upset her mother, whom she loved most of all.

‘Are you sure the aliens haven’t taken you over?’
Marcia quipped. ‘You’ve been quiet an awfully long time.’

‘I was just thinking.’

‘Could you stop thinking and take us back? I’m starving.’

Elaine gasped. ‘I’d like to apologise for my sister’s non-existent manners, Jeannie. It’d be nice to say she’s not always this rude, except she is. She badly needs her head examining.’ She glared at Marcia’s head. ‘I might do it once I’m a qualified psychiatrist.’

Marcia was unperturbed by this remark and Jeannie explained they were at the other end of Holly Lane and already going back.

As they approached Disraeli Terrace, two boys emerged from the first house; one tall and dark, the other small and fair.

‘I spy other human beings!’ Marcia remarked with pretend amazement.

‘Hello, Jeannie,’ the blond boy shouted as they passed. ‘What’s it like at your posh school?’

‘All right.’ Jeannie shrugged.

Marcia turned and looked at the boys with interest. ‘I quite fancy the tall one.’

‘Sean McDowd? He’s only thirteen, far too young for you.’

‘Only thirteen! He looks more like twenty. Did you notice the way he looked at me? He’s got dead sexy eyes.’

‘He was looking at Jeannie, not you,’ Elaine pointed out. ‘I think he quite fancies you, Jeannie.’

‘Well, he needn’t bother.’ She wouldn’t look twice at Sean McDowd.

Tea was cold chicken with tomatoes freshly picked from
the garden, potato salad, and chunks of home-made bread, thickly spread with butter. For afters, they had damson pie and cream.

Marcia, as liberal with praise as she was with criticism, declared it quite the nicest meal she’d ever eaten.

‘It was delicious, Mrs Flowers,’ Lachlan said courteously. ‘I really enjoyed everything.’

‘Me too,’ concurred Elaine.

Rose glanced at the clock. ‘It’s almost six. Your father will be here at half past and I’m dying to hear Jeannie and Lachlan play.’

Everyone went into the parlour; even Gerald seemed interested.

‘Shall we start off with
Minuet in G
again,’ Jeannie whispered to Lachlan, who condescended to look at her properly for the first time.

‘Why not!’

‘And then what about a Strauss waltz and some Chopin? The music’s on the stand. We could finish with “Love Me Tender”. I’ve been practising all week.’

Lachlan grinned. ‘I couldn’t have chosen a better programme myself.’ He bowed at the small audience, tucked the violin under his chin, raised his eyebrows at his accompanist, and they began to play.

Dr Bailey arrived when they’d just started their final piece. Rose crept out to let him in, and the doctor enthusiastically joined in the applause at the end of the little concert.

‘Well done, son, and you too, Jeannie,’ he said. ‘That was most enjoyable.’

‘I won’t be playing this for much longer.’ Lachlan waved the violin. ‘I’m getting a guitar for Christmas. I want to play rock ’n’ roll, like Chuck Berry and Bill Haley and the Comets.’

‘That’s a shame!’ Rose cried. ‘You’re very good.’

‘Well, if it’s what the boy wants . . .’ Dr Bailey didn’t seem the tiniest bit bothered by his son’s intentions.

‘Dad,’ Lachlan said eagerly, ‘if Max comes with us to the Cavern tonight, would you mind driving him home? The Merseysippi Jazz Band and the Ron McKay Skiffle Group are playing.’

Max glanced warily at his own father. Tom was frowning, stuck for words, obviously wanting to protest, but unwilling to do so in front of the doctor. The boys had almost certainly set it up between them, knowing neither man was likely to refuse.

‘You can’t expect your father to go so much out of his way,’ Tom stuttered.

‘I don’t mind,’ the other man said easily.

Jeannie’s heart sank at the idea of being left behind, but help came from an unexpected quarter.

‘In that case, why doesn’t Jeannie come back too? Dad can bring her home with Max,’ Marcia suggested in her foghorn voice. ‘We can go to the pictures. They only show old films on Sundays.
Frenchman’s Creek
is on the Plaza with Joan Fontaine. I saw it ages ago, but I wouldn’t mind sitting through it again.’

‘Please come, Jeannie,’ Elaine implored, as if Jeannie was likely to have any say in the matter.

‘That’s a good idea, isn’t it, Tom?’ Rose said before her husband could open his mouth. ‘We’ll have a quiet evening for a change. There’s a good play on the wireless. Gerald will be in bed by then.’

And so it was that fifteen minutes later, Jeannie found herself squashed beside Lachlan Bailey in his father’s car and being driven to Walton Vale.

Frenchman’s Creek
was really exciting. Jeannie was on the edge of her seat the whole way through. When it was
over, they went to the Baileys’ and Elaine made bacon sandwiches, which they ate in the kitchen. They were still there, talking, when Dr Bailey popped his head around the door to say he was off to collect Lachlan and Max, and would Jeannie like to keep him company?

She went like a shot. It was a new experience to see such brightly illuminated streets and the lights still on in shop windows at such a late hour. There were lots of people about for a Sunday night, but that was because the pubs were letting out, Dr Bailey explained.

As had been arranged, Lachlan was waiting in Whitechapel, outside the Post Office, when his father arrived. There was no sign of Max. He came a few minutes later, staggering slightly, causing the alarmed doctor to ask if he was drunk. ‘I thought they didn’t sell alcohol in the Cavern!’