Lime Street Blues Read online

  The unkindest cut of all came when the colonel accused him of being unforthcoming. ‘I had to find out about Max from Mrs Denning, and it was a chap in the pub who told me about Jeannie. Really, Tom.’ He shook his head sorrowfully. ‘I wish you wouldn’t keep me in the dark about your children’s achievements.’

  Achievements! Tom was more confused than ever. People in the village kept stopping to congratulate him on how well Max had done, but in Tom’s view, Max had done nothing but disappoint him. If things had gone the way he’d planned, his eldest son would now be at university. That was something Tom wouldn’t have hesitated to boast about. That would have made him proud. And instead of Jeannie finding a nice safe job in an office, something else that would have pleased him, it looked as if she were following in the footsteps of her brother.

  ‘Gerald’s starting guitar lessons soon,’ he muttered just in case the colonel found out from someone else.

  ‘Good,’ the colonel said approvingly. ‘You know, Tom, it’s a pity Rose knows nothing about her antecedents. One or other of her parents must have been very musical, because the children certainly don’t take after you.’

  Tom humbly agreed.

  Rita McDowd had always wanted to sing but, except for very rare occasions, had felt inhibited by circumstances and her own withdrawn nature. It was impossible for her to burst into song the way her mother sometimes did. Her body felt too tight, closed up. She felt scared, almost ashamed, of someone hearing. When they sang hymns at school assembly, Rita merely whispered the words, worried she’d draw attention to herself by releasing her voice, knowing it would soar as high as the ceiling, drowning every other voice around.

  The singing lessons at Crane Hall made her feel like a caged bird that had suddenly been set free. For an entire hour, she was able to sing as high and as low and as loud as she liked. Her voice flew, as smooth as velvet, up and down the scales. The instructor, Madame Vera, a retired opera singer, who was never seen without full make-up and adorned with an assortment of colourful silk scarves, was hugely impressed. Rita was taught to relax, breathe more slowly, draw in her stomach, sing for an audience, not just for herself.

  ‘You’re holding yourself back, dearie,’ Madame Vera advised in her lovely contralto voice. ‘You must learn to let go. Imagine yourself being born, being expelled from your mother’s womb, wanting to let the whole world know that you’re alive and well. Sing, Rita, sing! “I’m alive and well.” ’

  ‘I’m alive and well,’ Rita sang, not in the least embarrassed.

  Nor did she mind when Sean asked if she would sing at the Cavern, their father’s song, ‘Moon Under Water’. She felt as if she had truly been reborn. She could sing any time and anywhere.

  It was the song her father had recognised first, not his children. Now he was back amongst them and she’d loved him straight away. They were a family again. For the first time in her life, Rita was properly happy.

  Kevin said he’d never known a first rehearsal go so well as the one on Good Friday in Colonel Corbett’s smartly renovated barn. Rita was brilliant, Jeannie was brilliant, Marcia and Benny were almost brilliant, understanding straight away what was expected of them. They had to move in unison, only a simple series of steps; once to the right, clap hands, once to the left and clap again, turn towards each other, step forward, step back, then turn to face the audience and clap. With the slower numbers, they just had to sway to and fro and hum.

  ‘You were great, girls,’ said a pleased Kevin when they’d sung the final number, ‘Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow’. ‘Once you’ve got the movements off pat, I’ll work out a more complicated routine.’

  ‘I’ve already got them off pat,’ Marcia informed him.

  ‘So’ve I.’ Benny was determined not to be outdone.

  ‘I’ve yet to work the new steps out,’ Kevin said sternly.

  ‘Can’t we work them out between ourselves?’ Marcia demanded.

  ‘Indeed you cannot,’ Kevin replied, even more sternly.

  ‘I thought we were supposed to have tambourines?’

  ‘You’ll have tambourines when I’ve got the money to buy them.’

  ‘Well, I think you were all marvellous.’ Sadie had come with them, armed with refreshments. ‘Who’d like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Me!’ everyone chorused.

  Sadie left to make it and Jeannie’s thoughts switched to Lachlan, who was rarely far from her mind these days. He thought the whole idea of the Flower Girls daft and she desperately hoped to prove him wrong, even if she didn’t have a great deal of faith in the project herself. It didn’t stop her from putting all her heart and soul into her playing both for Kevin’s sake – and her own.

  Marcia thought the whole thing a bit of a giggle, but a highly enjoyable one at that. She was determined to experience every aspect of life, within reason, that is, before marrying Graham and settling down. It didn’t matter that it was taking much longer than Graham would have liked.

  Benny smiled at everyone agreeably, but inwardly simmered. She had only a competent singing voice and had never touched a piano in her life, yet felt jealous of Rita and Jeannie. They were the stars. It wasn’t fair. For Benny, the group was the opportunity of a lifetime. She didn’t want to take the Civil Service exam that Mam was always on about. Say she didn’t pass? And if she did pass, was she supposed to work at a humdrum job until a husband came along? The Flower Girls were her ticket to a different, exciting world. She was praying like mad they would succeed.

  Sadie emerged from the kitchen with a tray of tea things, and they sat around and discussed the future. It was Kevin’s opinion they would soon be ready to perform in front of an audience. ‘Just a few more rehearsals and you’ll be fine. I’d like you all back on Sunday and Easter Monday. Now, when you’ve finished your tea, we’ll go through the whole performance again.’

  When Rose Flowers left the Post Office at one o’clock, she was surprised to find it was a beautiful day and quite warm for early April. The sun was a crisp yellow ball in a perfectly clear blue sky. That morning, it had been raining, and since then she’d been imprisoned in a tiny cubicle at the back of the shop. Several customers had probably remarked on the fact the weather had improved, but she hadn’t listened. With a heavy heart, she began to trudge in the direction of Holly Lane. It was Thursday and Gerald was going to tea with a friend straight from school and wouldn’t be home till late. The other two could turn up any old time. Tom would arrive on the dot of ten past six, as he always did. Lately, when she heard the catch go, she felt the urge to scream and never stop, knowing his sour face would shortly appear in the kitchen and they would hardly speak to each other for the rest of the evening.

  Perhaps if Max and Jeannie weren’t having such a wonderful time she wouldn’t have felt so discontented. She was ashamed of feeling envious of her children, Jeannie in particular, who literally glowed with love for Lachlan. But she couldn’t help it. Rose had never been in love and now it was too late.

  She passed the station, paused, retraced her steps for some mysterious reason and went inside. People were waiting on the platform for the Liverpool train. Impulsively, she bought a ticket and joined them. It would be the first time she’d gone into town on her own and she felt guilty, as if, somehow, she was betraying Tom.

  The train arrived and her legs felt heavy when she stepped into the carriage. She remembered the dirty breakfast dishes were still on the table at home and there was washing waiting to be hung on the line because it had been raining when she left. There would have been time to hang it out and have it dry by teatime.

  Rose felt like an escaping criminal while the train made its way towards Liverpool, stopping frequently to let passengers on and off, many of them women on their own. She wasn’t doing anything unusual. It just felt that way.

  The train drew into Exchange Station and everyone got off. She walked in the direction of the shops and spent an enjoyable hour wandering around Lewis’s department store admiring the latest fashions.
Next time she bought a frock, she’d get black, and she’d love a pair of stiletto heeled shoes. Tom would hate both, but she didn’t care.

  Yes, she did! Well, not exactly care. She just didn’t want to create more animosity between them, and in order to do that it seemed she would have to spend the rest of her days doing only the things that Tom wanted, dressing the way he liked.

  Back again on the ground floor, she bought a lipstick, a box of face powder, and a tiny bottle of scent, then retired to the Ladies to experiment. The powder took the country girl shine off her nose and the lipstick accentuated the shape of her already shapely mouth. She dabbed the scent behind her ears and put some on the corner of her handkerchief.

  Satisfied, Rose left the shop and strolled along Lime Street, looking for more big shops to explore. A small queue had formed outside a cinema on the corner waiting to see a picture called Some Like It Hot. Rose chewed her lip. Dare she go? She’d only seen one film in her life before. One Christmas, when the children were small, they’d all gone to see The Wizard of Oz. Would it be yet another betrayal? Did Tom disapprove of the cinema as much as he did of television? She couldn’t recall him passing an opinion on it.

  A hand touched her arm. A voice said, ‘It’s a great picture.’

  Rose jumped. ‘I beg your pardon!’

  ‘I said, it’s a great picture. I’ve not seen it, but it got dead good reviews.’ A good-looking man in a cream suit, cream tie, and dark green shirt was smiling at her warmly. ‘Remember me, luv? Alex Connors, Ronnie’s father. We met at the Baileys’.’

  ‘Of course I remember you.’ She recalled he’d paid her some embarrassingly flattering compliments. ‘Oh, and thank you for the piano. Jeannie was thrilled to bits.’

  ‘I’m just glad it went to a good home. How’s the group coming on, the Flower Girls?’

  ‘I don’t get much from Jeannie, she has other things on her mind, but Sadie McDowd says they’re very good, though they still haven’t played a gig. How’s Ronnie?’

  His thin lips twisted wryly. ‘Happy, according to him. Are you planning on seeing this picture?’

  The queue had started to move. ‘I don’t think so. There’s no one going on their own.’

  ‘In that case, why don’t we go together?’

  ‘Oh!’ Rose blushed scarlet. ‘I wasn’t dropping a hint.’

  ‘I know you weren’t, luv.’

  ‘What about your work?’

  ‘They can manage without me. Anyroad, I’ve done enough for today. I’ve just copped a contract fitting bathrooms, materials and labour, on a big estate round Gateacre way. That’s what I was doing in town. C’mon, luv.’

  Before she could protest, he’d cupped her elbow with his hand and was leading her quite firmly towards the cinema entrance. ‘Two at the back,’ he said to the woman in a glass cubicle, much bigger than the one Rose occupied five mornings a week. ‘Would you like some chocolates, Rose? You said I could call you Rose at the party,’ he reminded her.

  ‘No, thank you,’ she croaked. What she was doing was terribly wrong, yet there was nothing to stop her from leaving, particularly when Alex Connors said he’d buy chocolates anyway. He crossed to the sweet counter, giving her the opportunity to escape if she wanted. Rose did want, but rather less than she wanted to stay.

  Some Like It Hot was hilariously funny. Rose laughed till she cried, conscious all the time of Alex Connors’ shoulder pressing lightly against hers.

  ‘I’ve never known anyone enjoy a film so much,’ he said when it was over and they were outside.

  ‘I don’t get to the pictures much,’ she confessed. ‘It was quite a treat.’

  ‘You should go more often. Watching you enjoy yourself was a treat in itself.’ He looked at her keenly. He had nice eyes, a sort of tobacco brown, with short, stubby lashes. ‘Would you like something to eat?’

  Rose wished she could stop blushing. ‘I should be getting back,’ she murmured, making absolutely no move to do so. She didn’t want to go back. The afternoon in his company had been magic and she wanted it to last.

  ‘Can’t you ring your husband and tell him you’ll be late?’

  ‘I suppose I could. What time is it?’ She noticed the shops had closed. People were making their way home.

  ‘Almost six.’

  ‘Tom doesn’t get home till ten past. I’ll ring then.’ He wouldn’t answer, having refused to have anything to do with the phone, but at least she could claim she tried. ‘Shouldn’t you call your wife?’

  ‘Iris never expects me till she sees me. I often stay late at work, after everyone’s gone. It’s nice and quiet, and I can think.’ He sighed and looked rather sad. ‘Mind you, saying that, it’s even better the nights the Merseysiders rehearse in the store room.’

  ‘It was awfully nice of you to let them stay when Ronnie’s no longer a member.’

  ‘It would have been dead mean to have made them stop.’

  ‘What do you think about when it’s quiet?’ Rose asked.

  ‘The opportunities I never had, the dreams that didn’t come true, why I’m there, and not somewhere else entirely different. I’m a discontented sod, Rose.’ He laughed shortly. ‘Do you like Chinese food?’

  ‘I’ve never had it before.’

  ‘Well, there’s a first time for everything. There’s a place in London Road. If we cut through Lime Street station, you can call your husband from a phone box.’

  To her surprise, when Rose dialled, the receiver at the other end was picked up. It was Gerald.

  ‘Mum!’ He sounded hurt. ‘You’re not here and Dad’s really angry. The table hasn’t been cleared and there’s no tea made.’

  ‘I thought you were having tea at your friend’s?’

  ‘His mum’s ill. I left early without anything to eat.’

  ‘I’m sorry, love.’ She wanted to cry for some reason. ‘Tell Dad I’ve been unavoidably detained. You’ll find a casserole in the fridge. It just needs heating up, and there’s fruit cake in the larder. Just heap the dirty dishes in the sink and I’ll do them when I get home.’

  ‘All right, Mum. What time will that be?’

  ‘I’m not sure, love. As soon as I can.’

  Alex was waiting for her outside the phone box. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked when she came out. ‘You seem a bit upset. Look, if you like, I’ll drive you straight home. My car’s not far away. I don’t want you getting into trouble with your husband.’

  ‘I’ve never done anything like this before but, no, I don’t want to go home, thanks. I’d rather have a meal with you.’

  They looked into each other’s eyes and Rose saw straight away that he was as lonely and unhappy as she was, and that the afternoon had been as magical for him as it had been for her. She also knew her words had moved their short relationship on to a different plane that he might not find acceptable. She almost hoped he wouldn’t, so she could return to the dull safety of Disraeli Terrace and never see him again. But Alex said in a soft voice, ‘Come on, Rose. Let’s go.’

  He held out his hand and Rose took it.

  Gerald was still up watching television when she got home – Alex dropped her off at the end of Holly Lane. There was no sign of Tom.

  ‘Where’s your dad?’ she asked.

  ‘Gone for a drink,’ Gerald sniffed. ‘He said I was to go to bed.’ Tom occasionally went to the Oak Tree for a pint. ‘Jeannie rang to say she’s staying with Elaine. I’ve no idea where our Max is. Hardly anybody’s in these days, Mum,’ he said sulkily, ‘not even you.’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Gerald. Today’s the first time I haven’t been here when you’ve come home from school.’

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘You’ll never believe this, but I’ve been to the pictures!’

  ‘Who with?’ he asked suspiciously. He was worse than Tom.

  ‘A woman called Clara Baker,’ Rose said promptly, having prepared an explanation on the way home. ‘I bumped into her in Liverpool. We used to be friends.
She was in the Women’s Institute and we used to do the cake stall together at the Midsummer Fête. She and her husband moved away, ages ago, to Hoylake.’

  Gerald blinked. ‘What were you doing in Liverpool?’

  ‘Shopping. Honestly, love. I think you’re turning into Inspector Maigret.’ Rose laughed, hoping he didn’t notice how false it sounded. ‘Liverpool’s only a few miles away, not the other side of the world.’

  ‘You usually go shopping in Ormskirk on Saturdays.’

  ‘Well, today I decided to shop on Thursday and go further afield.’ She clapped her hands. ‘Bedtime, Gerald, otherwise your dad’ll be cross when he gets home and finds you’re still up.’

  ‘He’s already cross. ’Fact, I’ve never known him in such a bad temper. I hope you’re not going to the pictures again.’

  ‘It so happens that I am. I’m meeting Clara Baker on Thursday next week. And there’s no need to pull a face, Gerald Flowers, because you can’t exactly claim you’ve been neglected. Next time, I’ll leave the tea on the table, something cold. And I’ll tidy up before I go, so you and your dad will have nothing to complain about.’ He was thirteen and well old enough to look after himself, while she was thirty-seven and still young enough to . . .

  She daren’t even think of the things she’d like to do.

  Tom came home, his face like thunder. He obviously felt that this time he had a genuine grievance. She told him the same story. His face hadn’t changed by the time she’d finished.

  ‘I might have known you wouldn’t understand,’ she cried. ‘You’d think I’d committed murder, not been to the pictures.’

  ‘It’s not the sort of thing you’ve ever done before.’

  ‘More’s the pity. But it’s the sort of thing I’m going to do again. I’m entitled to something out of life, Tom. I’m bored out of my mind, staying in night after night.’

  ‘You’ve got the W.I.,’ he argued.

  ‘Do you really think that’s enough?’

  ‘It is for some women.’