3 #3
She repressed a small sigh. She had been hoping that they’d simply confirm that Emily Bannister was living there and that whatever ailment afflicted the old lady, she was still mentally alert enough to talk to visitors.
Most people enjoyed talking about themselves and the past, and even if Emily might have been a little uncertain at first, Lyssa was sure she’d have been able to put any of her doubts about the biography to rest. She certainly had no interest or intention of writing a prurient or inaccurate book, after all.
As it was, Emily now had a very easy way out of it by simply telling her carers that she wasn’t interested.
Next, she telephoned the head office of the company that Jonas Bannister ran.
It claimed to support green and ‘bio-efficient’ businesses doing everything from manufacturing recycling bins to equipping incinerators.
The website had leaned heavily towards stressing how ‘green’ the company’s credentials were, and how it was ‘helping the environment’, but Lyssa (call her a cynic) had her doubts.
After having to select various options from an automated list, she found herself (naturally) talking to the wrong human being, who put her on hold, before transferring her (naturally) to another person who couldn’t help her, before finally getting hold of a woman who said it was impossible for her to speak to Mr Bannister right then, but which energy company did she represent and would she like a business appointment?
Patiently, Lyssa explained (yet again) who she was and what she wanted, and that it was a strictly personal matter, and was put on hold for nearly ten minutes.
Fighting the urge to hang up and swear, she forced herself to wait it out and was duly informed that Mr Bannister had been given her message and would think about it and call her back. Did she have an email address? Wearily, Lyssa gave it out and finally hung up.
She was not sanguine about ever hearing from Jonas Bannister (or any of his minions) again and made a note in her notebook to try once more in a few days’ time and viciously underlined it.
Without much hope now, she tried Monica Farley’s number next. As she heard the phone ring, she was quite prepared to discover that the lady was out, or had since moved, leaving no forwarding address, but after just a few seconds it was answered by a woman’s cheerful voice.
‘Hello, whoever you are. If you’re trying to sell me double glazing, hard luck, I already have it, and no I don’t want my loft reinsulated.’
‘Oh, hello, is this Monica Farley?’
‘I was the last time I checked,’ the voice said breezily, and Lyssa couldn’t help but grin.
Quickly, she launched into her little speech about who she was and what she wanted, fully prepared to receive a negative reaction, and so was pleasantly surprised when Monica gave a little squeal of delight.
‘No! Really – you’re going to write a book about Monty and the Cuckoos? That’s great.’
Lyssa gave a little fist-pump of victory on her couch and finally began to feel more cheerful about her success rate. ‘So would you be willing to give me an interview?’
‘Oh, of course, darlin’ – anytime, anywhere.
I love talking about the good old days, because they really were, you know.
Good old days, I mean. Woodstock, rock and roll, free love, the world was our oyster.
Nowadays all we’ve got are computers that stuff everything up, bands that all sound the same and the world is going to a well-known hot place in a hand basket. Depressing, isn’t it?’
Lyssa, quickly realising that she was going to have no trouble getting good source material from Racey Joiner’s widow (and some probably quite sensational quotes!) got down to business.
‘Where do you want to meet up? I can come to your home, but if that worries you, we can meet in public, at a café somewhere. You’re in London, I think? ’
‘Barely.’ Monica gurgled with laughter, but gave out her address without a qualm, and they set up a mutually convenient date for Lyssa to call on her at her home.
‘I was wondering if your daughter Jennifer might be willing to chat to me as well?’ Lyssa said, and for the first time there was a small silence on the line. Then, ‘Well, she might,’ Monica said slowly. ‘I can always ask her. She was very close to him – hero-worshipped him, you know?’
‘I’d be grateful if you would,’ Lyssa pressed, sensing that for some reason she had put a small dent in the older woman’s exuberant nature.
‘And if you or she have any photos that you’d be willing to have copied for inclusion in the book, that would be wonderful.
And would you mind if I took photographs of any memorabilia that you might have kept? ’
‘Oh sure, sure,’ Monica said breezily. ‘Help yourself. It’ll be nice to see the band being remembered again.’
‘The main focus of the biography is on Amelia Montrose, of course,’ Lyssa felt compelled to remind her, ‘but she was such a big part of the lives of the Lucky Cuckoos at that time, so of course, they’ll all feature prominently.’
‘Fine, fine,’ Monica said nonchalantly. ‘I’ll get some wine and nibbles in. It’ll be fun.’
Lyssa smiled. She had the feeling that Monica Farley, formerly Mrs Racey Joiner, still liked to live life to the fullest, and why not? Good on her! ‘Sounds smashing,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you soon then.’
She hung up with a happy sigh and wandered over to the window. This was going to be a great book – she could just feel it.