Chapter 18
‘So, what do you think, Ben?’
Ben shrugged. ‘They’re . . . okay, man, sort of okay.’
‘Just okay?’
‘’Fraid so.’
‘I see. Well, there’s no point in my wasting any more of your time. You’re the first company I’ve talked to. Reg over at TCA has already been on the blower. I said I was giving you first refusal.’ Freddy Martin stood up.
‘And unfortunately, mate, that’s what you’ve got, a refusal.’ He walked around the long glass table to shake Freddy’s hand.
‘I think you’re making a big mistake. You should see them live. They’re super.’
‘Maybe, but it’s the little circles of black vinyl we’re more interested in. Sorry, Fred, there’s just too many bands fighting for a slice of the action right now. Better luck elsewhere, eh?’
‘Sure. See you, Ben.’
‘See you, Freddy.’ He gave a wave before returning to his desk chair.
Freddy walked along the corridor and out of reception before taking the cage lift down to the lobby. He walked towards Golden Square, opened the black wrought-iron gate and found a bench to sit on.
Freddy clenched his fists. ‘Fuck!’
The elderly lady at the other end of the bench made a hasty exit.
Freddy was getting worried. He’d approached four of the five major record companies and had so far enjoyed nothing more than lukewarm interest. If RCA said no next week, that left only the smaller independent labels without the big financial clout to give his group the push they needed.
Had he got it wrong for the first time? Were The Fishermen nothing special?
Should he cut his losses now and forget the whole deal?
Freddy shook his head. An instinct was still burning somewhere inside him. He’d felt it before with The Tin Men. He was sure The Fishermen had something. The trick was getting others to recognise it and put their money behind the group, as he himself had done.
Freddy stood up. In a few days, he was seeing RCA. If nothing came of that, then he’d just have to look to the independents.
Derek had returned a dozen times to the blue door sandwiched between the chippy and the newsagent’s. After ringing the bell numerous times, he had resorted to loud, intermittent bouts of knocking, all to no avail. He was confused.
It was a Sunday. Ten minutes to nine on Sunday morning, to be precise. After a session of bell ringing and door knocking, the woman who ran the newsagent’s came to the door of her shop.
‘You’re making an awful racket. She’s gone away.’
Derek panicked. ‘When? Where?’
‘Keep your hair on, luvvie. For a holiday, I think. It is that time of year, you know.’
He breathed a literal sigh of relief. ‘Of course. Did she say how long for?’
‘No, I only knows ’cos she asked me to water the plants while she’s gone.’
‘So she will be back?’
The woman chuckled. ‘Course. Most people come back from their holidays, don’t they?’
Derek spun around on his heel and bounded off down the road.
‘None so queer as folk,’ the woman muttered as she went back inside to sort the Sunday papers.
Sorcha had only just walked through the door when the telephone rang.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Sorcha.’ It was her agent Audrey’s voice. ‘Good news, darling. You’ve got yourself your first modelling job.’
‘I have?’
‘Yes. It’s a two-page spread modelling knitwear. It’s only a morning’s work, but it’s certainly a start.’ Sorcha heard Audrey shuffling through papers. ‘Let me see . . . you’ll be shooting in St James’s Park next Wednesday. You need to be there at eight.’
‘Will I need to take the morning off work?’
‘Yes. Say you have to go to the dentist or something. We’ll see what this job leads to. If the work begins to come in frequently, as I think it will, you can leave. The pay’s good. It’s twenty pounds.’
‘Twenty pounds?’ Sorcha repeated excitedly.
‘Is that okay?’
‘Oh yes, that’s grand, just grand.’
‘Good. I’ve given the magazine your home number. They’ll call in the next couple of days. Well done, darling. You’re on your way now. Bye-bye.’
‘Bye, and thank you, Audrey.’
Sorcha put the telephone down and sank into the nearest chair. A triumphant smile crossed her face. In the past four weeks, she had been to two dozen castings and had begun to think that Audrey must have been wrong about her.
The smile left her face as she contemplated telling Con.
A few minutes later, she heard the key in the door. Her fiancé walked into the room, an evening paper tucked under his arm.
‘Hello,’ he smiled. ‘Isn’t it a beautiful evening?’
‘Yes. Con?’ She watched him as he sat down in a chair.
‘What?’
‘I’ve just had some news.’
He looked up at her. ‘Go on.’
She crossed the room and knelt by his side. ‘You have to swear first that you won’t be angry.’
He narrowed his eyes as he stroked her hair. ‘Now how can I do that without knowing what it is you have to tell me?’
‘I tried to tell you before, but there never seemed to be the right moment.’
Con was looking more concerned now. ‘I’m all ears and listening to you, Sorcha. Please get on with it.’
‘Well, a modelling agent has taken me on her books. Today I got my first job, modelling knitwear for a magazine. And guess how much I’ll be paid for a morning’s work? Twenty pounds! Please say you’re happy for me. My agent says this could be the start of lots of work.’
Con folded the paper on his lap and stared down at her for a while before delivering his verdict. ‘I can say that if you want me to but it won’t be the truth. You know how I feel about you working. That will never change. But it’s your decision if you want to go and flaunt your body.’
‘Why, Con, don’t be so soft! This is a women’s magazine.’
‘And what happens when it’s swimwear they want you to model, or underwear?’
‘Then I’ll say no.’ Sorcha shook her head. ‘If nothing else, think of the money, Con. A whole twenty pounds! And more to come after that.’
‘You think that makes me feel better? That I can’t provide enough to look after my woman like any decent man should?’
‘No, Con, you’re wrong. Look at Lulu and Todd. Todd doesn’t seem to mind that she supports him.’
‘Lulu’s different.’
‘Why is she, Con? Why?’
‘Because . . .’ He struggled for an answer. ‘Because she’s . . . English.’
‘And what difference does that make?’
Con wrinkled his nose. ‘I’d say all the difference.’
‘That’s a pathetic answer and you know it!’ Sorcha forced back the tears. ‘I never knew you were like this, Con, really I didn’t.’
‘Like what?’
‘A chauvinist.’
‘And who taught you that fancy word? Lulu?’
‘No! I may have come from a tiny village in Ireland, but I am literate.’ Sorcha shook her head. ‘This isn’t getting us anywhere, Con.’
‘You’re right.’
She looked up at him. ‘Do you not love me any more?’
Con sighed heavily. ‘Of course I love you, Sorcha. That’s why I don’t want to see you demeaning yourself.’
‘But I’m not!’ She hit the side of the chair in frustration. ‘Work isn’t demeaning, Con. It gives you self-respect and independence. And until the time comes when your big deal happens, we need the money. And you can’t say we don’t!’
‘Ah, money. It always comes down to that, doesn’t it? I’m not going to argue with you any further. I’m late for Todd already.’ He stood up.
‘Don’t walk out, Con. We have to talk about this.’ She watched as he tucked the paper in his jacket pocket and walked towards the door. ‘Please, Con, don’t—’
The door slammed behind him.
‘Hi, Con, Todd’s not here.’
‘Oh.’ Con stood on the doorstep and shuffled uncomfortably at the sight of Lulu in a short bathrobe. ‘He said he’d be back at seven.’
‘Yeah, that’s what he told me. I’m sure he’ll be along soon. Come in before half the street sees me déshabillée.’
‘Thanks.’ Con followed Lulu through the door, down the hall and into the sitting room.
‘Want a drink?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Okay, but I’m going to have one. I just got a call from my agent. I’ve landed the lead in the next Hammer movie.’
‘That’s grand news, Lulu. Congratulations to you.’
‘Thanks. I must admit I’m pretty chuffed.’ Lulu bent down to retrieve a bottle from a cupboard, giving Con a perfect view of two rounded buttocks. ‘Sure you won’t join me?’
‘No, thanks.’ Con turned away and went to look out of the window.
‘An Irishman refusing a drink.’ Lulu poured a healthy amount of whiskey into a glass. ‘Whatever next? Cheers.’
‘Cheers, yourself.’
‘So, no news from Freddy yet?’
‘No.’ Con sighed. ‘He doesn’t tell us much but I’m wondering whether he’s having problems getting us a deal.’
‘Freddy’ll get you a deal, Con. I have complete confidence in both him and the group.’ Lulu sat down on the sofa and tucked her legs underneath her. She patted the seat beside her. ‘Come and sit down.’
Reluctantly, Con did so.
‘Excuse me for being personal, Con, but is there something wrong? You look awfully down. Todd was saying you hadn’t been yourself for a while, too.’
‘I’m grand altogether, really, Lulu.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes.’
Lulu stretched out a hand and patted Con’s knee. ‘Look, Con, I regard you as a friend and I hope you regard me in the same light. If there’s ever anything you want to talk about, you know where I am.’
Con studied the hand on his knee.
‘That’s kind of you, but I’m grand, really.’
Con heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. He jumped, throwing Lulu’s hand off his leg and sending her whiskey slopping over the side of the glass onto her bare leg.
‘Steady on, Con. You’re as jumpy as a kitten.’
‘Sorry, sorry.’ Con retreated to his spot by the window as Todd walked through the door.
‘Evening, all. Sorry I’m late. The tube stopped for ages at Earl’s Court.’
‘Darling, guess what?’ Lulu stood up, put her glass down and threw her arms round Todd’s neck, covering his face with kisses.
‘What?’
‘I got the part of Veronica! I’m going to be a proper film star.’
‘Wonderful, darling. I’m thrilled for you.’ Todd hugged her, then removed her arms from around his neck. ‘Don’t you think you should run along and put some clothes on?’
‘Sorry. Con caught me while I was in the bath and we’ve been having such a nice chat, haven’t we, Con, darling?’
Con grunted something in reply.
Todd patted Lulu’s bottom. ‘Go on. Run along now. Con and I have got work to do.’
‘You won’t be too long, will you?’ she pouted. ‘I want to go out tonight and celebrate.’
‘The sooner you go, the sooner we’ll be finished.’
‘Okay. Bye, Con.’ Lulu blew him a kiss and left the room.
Todd raised his eyebrows. ‘Women.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ sighed Con.
‘Want one?’
‘Ah, go on then.’ Con gave in.
‘A problem with Sorcha, methinks?’ Todd fixed them both a whiskey from the open bottle.
‘She’s got herself signed onto a modelling agency without telling me and now it seems she has a job. Thanks.’ Con took the glass from Todd’s outstretched hand.
‘So? Good for her. Where’s the problem?’
Con shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t be expecting you to understand, Todd. We come from different worlds.’
‘And you’re living in this one, Con. Don’t you think you’re being a touch old-fashioned about this?’
‘In Ireland, women stay at home and look after the children. They cook, they clean, they care for their family.’
‘Erm, pardon me, Con, but I can’t believe I’m hearing this.
’ Todd put his spare hand on his hip. ‘For a start, you and Sorcha are not married. You live together, which I’d say is a fairly modern thing to do.
Secondly, you don’t have a family for Sorcha to take care of. And thirdly, this is 1965, not 1865.’
Con shook his head. ‘Look, forget I mentioned it, okay? I shouldn’t have said anything. I can’t be expecting you to understand.’
‘Oh, I understand all right. This comes down to a simple case of male ego and nothing else. Have you ever thought about what Sorcha wants?’
‘Let’s drop it, shall we?’ He gave Todd a stern look.
Todd shrugged. ‘Fine. We need to get down to some work anyway. You can put all your angst into your lyrics. But just one word of advice, Con, and I hope you take it as it’s meant: Sorcha is a lovely girl.
It’s pretty obvious she worships you and she’s certainly given you as much support as you needed since you came to England.
If you carry on like this, you’re going to lose her.
Then you’d be sorry. Right, lecture over.
’ Todd made his way over to the piano, lifted the lid and sat down on the stool.
‘How did you get on with that middle eight?’
It was past eleven when Con arrived home. He’d left Todd’s at nine, then taken a long walk along the Chelsea Embankment. The sight and sound of the water had soothed him and he’d begun to think more clearly.
When he crept into the bedroom, he sensed that Sorcha was not asleep. He removed his clothes and climbed under the sheets, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder.
‘Can we talk?’
‘Of course.’ She rolled over to look at him.
‘I want to say I’m sorry, Sorcha. I’ve been stupid. Will you forgive me?’
‘I will.’
‘Good. Come here.’ He reached for her and she snuggled into his arms. ‘Maybe if I try and explain to you, you might understand.’
‘Please do.’
‘You know where I came from, the kind of childhood I had.’
‘Yes.’
‘I watched my mammy struggle to feed me and keep a roof over our heads while my daddy got langers every night in the bars. Then when he came home, I saw the way he’d take out his desperation and misery on her.
I was there when Mammy went into labour and thirty-six hours later died with the baby, without my daddy ever showing his face. ’
Sorcha watched him silently.
‘To be sure, I promised myself I’d provide for any woman I made mine, give her a grand lifestyle, make sure she never had a day’s worry. When we were living in that terrible place in Swiss Cottage all I could see was history repeating itself.’
‘Con, that’s ridiculous! You’re not drunken or violent. And things are getting better. You have a future that you can almost reach out and touch, it’s so close. Besides which, I’m happy to go out and earn some pennies.’
‘I know that now. I took a walk tonight and saw what an eejit I was being. I’m only explaining to you why I’ve felt like I have. I want to give you the world, Sorcha, that’s all.’
He reached out his fingers and entwined them round hers. ‘If it makes you happy to go off and do your modelling, then it’s fine by me.’
‘Thank you. It does, really.’
‘There’s something else, Sorcha, something that Todd made me think about. I know I’ve been wanting to give you this grand wedding, but I’d say it’s the piece of paper that matters. If you don’t mind, then let’s marry quietly as soon as possible.’
‘Con, I’d marry you in the drain outside if necessary. I’ve never cared. It’s always been you that wanted the big day.’
‘You’re sure you’re not just saying that to make me feel better?’
‘No!’ she replied emphatically. ‘I have a mind of my own. I don’t live and breathe completely to please you,’ she said, half laughing.
‘Then that’s settled. We’ll organise it as soon as possible.’
‘Grand.’
Con reached over and turned out the light.
They slept, their fingers still entwined.