The Melody Girls (18 page)

‘I told you, you wouldn't have time to come home much,' Cissie said, rocking Sam who had begun to whimper, but Lorna took him in her arms and soothed him.

‘Sure, I will,' she said softly. She raised her bright eyes to George. ‘But I'm very grateful to you, George, for getting us this chance. We shan't let you down.'

‘How about a toast?' Ewen asked, passing round tea. ‘Have to be teetotal, I'm afraid. But how about we all raise our cups, anyway?'

‘Hang on, I'll just put Sam down in his basket,' Lorna said. ‘Wait for me, I want to make the toast, too.'

‘What is it, then?' asked Tilly.

‘Why, the Melody Girls!' Ewen replied, and when Lorna came back, to take up her cup, everyone rose, smiling over the non-alcoholic toast.

‘To the Melody Girls!' they cried, and then there were hugs all round, and a few tears and kisses.

‘May you have all the success in the world!' Cissie cried, embracing Lorna to make up for her earlier criticism.

Ewen, his eyes on Lorna, sighed. ‘Don't worry,' he told her, ‘they will!'

Thirty-Two

Rehearsal time, and the day, in August, 1948, was sunny. Too nice, to be inside. Ah, but if you didn't rehearse, you didn't play well, and if you didn't play well, you might end up having nowhere to play at all. So Flo reminded her Melody Girls – those who sighed for fresh air and a bench in Princes Street Gardens. Or, even, if they could afford it, tennis.

‘Tennis, would you credit it?' Flo whispered to Lorna, fixing her eyes on Bridie, a trumpet player, who'd been moaning that if it hadn't been for the rehearsal she might have been at the club she'd joined, flashing her legs in her wee tennis skirt and making up to the pro.

Drawing her brows together, Flo said she'd have to have a ‘word', and beckoning Bridie over, told her in a loud enough voice for any other would-be tennis players to hear, that if she wanted to play tennis instead of her trumpet, she knew what she could do.

‘Why, Flo, I never said I'd no' want to play ma trumpet!' Bridie exclaimed. ‘I'm a Melody Girl, and that's what counts.'

‘And that applies to everyone?' Flo asked, and at the chorus of agreement, nodded. ‘OK, then, let's get started. “Buttons and Bows”, Lorna?'

‘“Buttons and Bows”,' Lorna replied, her eyes taking in the girls who'd ranged themselves in their usual places, remembering how she'd once thought she'd never get to know them all, but now counted herself an expert on everyone's character, looks, talent and problems. And, oh heavens, didn't they have problems, then? More than the men? Well, more worries over love affairs, that was for sure. Or, maybe the lassies just talked about them more.

Sweet girls, though, all of them: Bridie, Alison, Katie, Jeannie, Sylvia, Nancy, Rhona, Vinnie, Trish, Win, Lynne, Madge, Heather, Gloria, and Claire – so happy to be in a band that in quite a short time was already achieving some success, in spite of those men who said they'd never make it. Bookings at the Carillon, at good hotels and occasionally the theatre, with possible radio contracts to come and maybe tours – och, the world was their oyster! They all knew that, and if they complained about rehearsals in good weather, what of it? Both Lorna and Flo knew quite well that none of their girls was going to give up her chair in the band. Especially not when wages were up too!

As she picked up her baton, however, Lorna, still smiling, suddenly met Claire Maxwell's dark eyes upon her and felt for a moment the oddest feeling of unease. Someone walking over her grave, perhaps? Wasn't that the way folk described the feeling? How ridiculous! As though Claire's gaze could make her feel like that! With a little shake of the head, her smile fading, Lorna looked away and called to her girls,

‘Now, remember, this is a new song and full of rhythm, so, give it your best, eh? It's our opener at the hotel tonight.'

And off went the rehearsal. Situation normal.

Later, over a cup of tea in their tiny office, Flo and Lorna relaxed, enjoying that time of day when they could just, as they described it, flop. The rehearsal over, the girls had departed – probably for belated sun bathing or tennis – and the time to play for dancing was a lovely long way off.

‘So, a cup of tea and a cigarette, what could be nicer?' Flo asked, as though she were truly at ease. But it had come to Lorna, watching her, that she was not as relaxed as she was pretending to be.

‘Why the smoking, Flo?' she asked at last. ‘It's no' like you to smoke so much. You got something on your mind?'

‘Och, nothing gets past you, does it?' Flo shook her dark head and with a quick movement, stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Makes me sure I'm right in what I'm thinking.'

‘Why, what are you thinking, then?'

‘That you should take over this band completely.'

Lorna's blue eyes widened, and she caught her breath. ‘Whatever are you talking about, Flo? You know we're a team, we're partners, we have been from the word go. What's got into you, saying I should take over the band?'

‘I think it would be better with just you, Lorna. You're a natural at the conducting, and you've got the personality as well.' Flo smiled a little. ‘No' to mention the hair.'

‘Oh, come on!' Lorna's cheeks were suddenly as bright as that auburn hair Flo seemed to think had something to do with the argument, which Lorna considered to be a piece of nonsense. ‘Look, you're much more knowledgeable than me, much more experienced. If anyone should be leading the band all the time, it's you. Folk look at me and they're probably thinking, what does she know, then? Why, she's no' been around five minutes!'

‘That isn't what they're thinking at all.' Flo was lighting another cigarette and shaking her head. ‘They're admiring you, seeing somebody who's absolutely right for what she's doing. Now, for me, it's a struggle. I hate having to stand up in front of everybody, always have, so when it's my turn to lead the band, all I'm wanting is to play in the rhythm section the way I usually do.'

Lorna was silent for a moment, trying to take in this aspect of Flo she hadn't known existed. ‘You've always seemed so positive to me,' she murmured. ‘So good at getting what you want from the players. I never dreamed you weren't happy.'

‘I wouldn't say I wasn't happy. I'm really glad we've got the band going and that we've done so well. It's just that we learn by what we do and what I've learned is that the band would be better as just yours, and not shared with me.'

‘We have done well,' Lorna said softly. ‘Think back to when we first started. At the Carillon that time – remember?'

‘Sure, I remember. George got us the chance and we took it. I'm proud of that.'

‘They thought we'd be a novelty, didn't they? They thought we'd be a flash in the pan. But then we got the hotel bookings and the King's Theatre that time, and the publicity was so good—'

‘“Flame-haired band leader sets feet tapping” was one headline I seem to recall,' Flo said with a grin. ‘See what I mean, Lorna?'

‘“Flame-haired”,' Lorna repeated with a grin. ‘When they probably meant ginger? But, look, tell me you aren't serious about this. Why can't we keep on the way we are?'

As Flo drew on her cigarette, hesitating, Lorna, with the quickness Flo had already observed, said, quietly, ‘There's something else, isn't there? Something you haven't told me yet?'

‘OK, clever clogs.' Flo shrugged. ‘The truth is, George has asked me to marry him.'

‘George?' Lorna sat, stunned. ‘George has proposed? What – what did you say?'

‘I said yes. Well, I'm very fond of him, you know. In fact, we do love each other. He's a bit older than me, but that doesn't matter.'

‘No, of course not.'

‘And we think we can make a go of it, anyway.'

‘But, Flo, you're no' leaving me, are you?' Lorna was winding her fingers together. ‘Has all this about me running the band been just a way of telling me you're going?'

‘No!' Flo ground out her cigarette, her gaze on Lorna very steady. ‘There's no question of me leaving. What George wants to do is join us.'

‘Join us? As a sax player? Flo, we're an all-girl band. And he's never wanting to leave Luke, is he?'

‘He is, then. Luke's even more difficult than he used to be and George has had enough. No' the only one, either. Josh Nevin's already left to join Jackie Craik's band, here in Edinburgh.'

‘Josh has?' Lorna was bewildered. ‘I can't take all this in. I know Luke's difficult – I mean, look at the way he treated us, and once he heard about our band, he never once came over to hear us play, or even wish us luck. But he runs a good band and George would surely be better off with him. I mean, he can't play with us, anyway.'

‘He doesn't want to play with us. He wants to be taken on as agent. You know how helpful he's been so far, with his contacts and so on. And then he found us an accountant and he's helped us with publicity. He's just wondering if we could find enough money in the kitty to pay him to work full time.'

‘He's certainly been helpful – I don't know what we'd have done without him.' Lorna's face was thoughtful. ‘And we probably are making enough to pay him as agent, though I don't know the going rate. The thing is, Flo, he's a saxophone player. I can't see him giving that up.'

‘He's been a saxophone player for a long time, Lorna. Feels like a change.'

‘Especially if it means he can marry you?' Lorna asked with a smile.

‘Well, there's that.' Flo smiled, too. ‘But the other thing he wants to do for us is more arranging. He's first rate – much better than me.'

‘Flo, you're very good!'

‘Not compared with George. But, listen, what do you say? Can we at least consider this? Discuss it with the accountant?'

‘Sure, we can!' Lorna leaped up. ‘Just as long as you don't depart to Glasgow, Flo!'

‘No need to worry about that. So, I can tell him you approve, then? He's . . . well, he's coming over this evening, told Luke he'd urgent business, would you believe? We're going to have dinner before I've to be at the hotel.'

‘You devil, Flo! You were pretty sure what I'd say, eh? Oh, but I'm so happy for you, and for George. I'm planning what to wear for the wedding already!'

Thirty-Three

It soon became clear that taking on George as agent was one of the best things Lorna and Flo had done. He was so knowledgeable about every aspect of big band life; he had such a vast experience of other bandleaders and musicians, of where to get bookings, of wages and practical matters, Lorna felt she was learning more and more just by having him around.

‘To be honest, he's as much manager as agent,' she told Flo, as the summer progressed into autumn. ‘And I never wanted a manager, I wanted to do everything myself, but now I feel I'm learning so much from him, I couldn't do without him.'

‘Don't forget the arranging,' Flo replied, her face showing her pride. ‘You must admit he's creating a special character for our band, the way he blends the instruments in a particular way.'

‘I'm learning to do that, too, in case I ever lose George!' Lorna said with a laugh. ‘Hope things don't change when you two get married, eh?'

‘Och, that's a long way off. Next spring, I should think.'

‘And then I'll be losing my flatmate,' Lorna sighed.

Some time before, she and Flo had finally been lucky enough to find a place they could afford in the New Town, which had given Lorna more flexibility than living at her mother's could provide. Of course, it had been a wrench to leave Sam, but she visited whenever she could and shared her mother's joy in watching him change from baby to toddler. He was, though, still a secret from her girls in the band and her public, and she couldn't see that changing any time in the near future.

One dark Sunday afternoon in early November, when she was visiting at Tilly's, Ewen looked in, hoping for a walk, but the weather was too bad and he had to settle for tea instead. While Tilly bustled about in her little kitchen, preparing sandwiches, Lorna and Ewen sat playing with Sam, who was piling up bricks and enjoying knocking them down.

‘Oh, dear, hope he isn't going to grow up into a vandal!' Lorna said, laughing as she helped Sam pile up his bricks again. ‘Or, do you think he might become a demolition expert?'

‘I think he's going to be something pretty good,' Ewen said earnestly, touching Sam's auburn head with a gentle hand. ‘He's a grand little boy. Who does he look like, then?'

‘Nobody, really. He's just himself.'

Not true, of course, for in looks Sam was undeniably Rod Warren's son, but if she didn't admit it, Lorna didn't mind. As time had progressed and her heartache had eased, she sometimes liked to remember the good times with Rod. It was right, she thought, that her son should have been the result of love, even if the love had faded.

‘Still haven't told folk about him?' Ewen whispered. ‘I mean the lassies in the band and such?'

‘No, I don't see the need.'

‘Yet the neighbours all know, eh?'

She shrugged. ‘They have to. But what's your point, Ewen?'

‘I just feel a fine little laddie like Sam shouldn't be kept under wraps. You've put him in one compartment and your work in another. It doesn't seem right.'

‘I've told you, it's the way it has to be. People aren't ready to be understanding yet. They aren't all like you, Ewen.'