10 #4
As she’d hoped, Lyssa Moore was beginning to stir things up, and who knew what was going to float to the surface as a result?
Lyssa usually preferred to talk to people face to face, but in this instance, she felt she had no choice.
Taking a deep breath, she dialled Monica’s phone, hoping that she wasn’t still in bed.
It was now gone ten o’clock, but she had no idea what the older woman’s sleeping habits were.
The last thing she wanted was to rouse her from sleep and start things off on the wrong foot.
But after only two rings, Monica answered, sounding chipper and alert.
‘Hello? If you’re about to spout nonsense that my computer is faulty and I need to talk to your IT expert, you’re out of luck. I’m a silver surfer! You don’t scam me.’
Lyssa couldn’t help but grin. ‘Hello, Monica – it’s Lyssa Moore. We spoke the other day about the biography I’m writing?’
‘Ah, the lovely Lyssa. Of course, I remember you, sweetheart. What’s up?’
‘I’ve just had a visit from your daughter, Jennifer.
’ And now that she thought about it, Lyssa mused, just how had the woman found her address?
Not that it was that hard to do nowadays, she supposed.
Even so, the thought of Jennifer Joiner tracking her down left her feeling distinctly uncomfortable.
There was a deafening silence on the other end of the line for a few heartbeats, and then a slight sigh. ‘Oh dear. I hope she wasn’t too rude? Jen can be . . . somewhat abrupt sometimes. But she doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s just her way.’
‘Oh no, nothing like that,’ Lyssa fibbed. ‘Only I think I might have inadvertently upset her.’
To her relief, there came a dry laugh down the line. ‘Oh, that’s easily done. I shouldn’t let it worry you.’
‘I’m glad to hear you say that,’ Lyssa confessed. ‘I’m afraid she was quite upset to hear that it was Monty that I was writing about, and not the Lucky Cuckoos, as such. I almost got the impression that she seemed to take it for granted that the book was specifically all about her father?’
‘Oh yes, she probably would think that, I’m afraid,’ her mother said, trying to sound offhand and unconcerned, but Lyssa was fairly sure that was just a front.
Over the years, she’d become very sensitive to nuances and tones of voice, and she was certain that she could hear a quaver in Monica’s voice that meant Monica wasn’t as unworried about it as she was trying to sound.
‘Jen has a bit of a bee in her bonnet about her father, that’s all.
I think losing him at such a young age really affected her.
Now she’s very protective of him, and his memory. ’
‘I’m sure that’s only natural,’ Lyssa said soothingly. ‘I just wanted to let you know that we’d talked and that I don’t think she’s going to be participating in the book.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, but not really surprised,’ Monica said, her effervescence deserting her, and now sounding rather flat.
Mindful of Elizabeth’s desire to learn more about Monty’s potential songwriting contributions, Lyssa hesitated for a moment about how best to bring the subject up, then decided to simply take a punt.
Instinct told her there would be little point trying to beat about the bush with Monica.
‘Jennifer gave me the impression that she was in possession of most of her father’s memorabilia and papers, but I was wondering if you had any letters from Racey that I might look at? ’
‘I doubt it, sweetheart,’ Monica said, sounding genuinely regretful. ‘I gave them all to Jen long ago. She seemed to need them,’ she added defensively.
Lyssa couldn’t help but sigh. ‘I don’t suppose he kept a journal by any chance?’
At this, Monica let out a small yelp of a laugh. ‘Racey? Keep a diary? Not him – he was too busy living life and having a good time. Or being miserable. Either way, he wasn’t much for writing anything down – he didn’t have the patience for it for a start. And writing wasn’t his thing.’
Lyssa, seeing the opening, went for it. ‘Oh, so he never helped Glen with the songwriting, then?’
‘No – oh, he would play guitar riffs, but even then, it was up to Glen to actually write the music down. But to be honest, no matter what Racey said, I don’t think many of his music riffs made it into the songs either. That was mostly Glen – he was the one with the real ear for tunes.’
‘And words, presumably,’ Lyssa added, very nonchalantly.
‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ Monica said, not sounding so certain now. ‘Funny, but I got the impression that though he could sing well enough, Glen wasn’t particularly erudite, if you know what I mean?’
Lyssa nodded to herself. Although it was hardly confirmation, it did go some way to bolstering Elizabeth’s contention that Monty might well have been the person who’d added the words to Glen Bannister’s catchy tunes.
‘I don’t suppose you have anything of Racey’s like sheet music, or Glen’s notes on the songs or anything like that?’ she asked, without much hope.
‘Sorry, no.’
‘Yes – I was afraid you might say that,’ Lyssa said.
Something of her deflation must have sounded in her voice, for Monica said next, ‘Was there anything specific you were after? I might be able to help.’
At this, Lyssa felt herself give a mental shrug.
Why not just ask her outright what she wanted to know?
She had little to lose at this point. ‘I was just wondering if you had anything from Racey, or one of the other members of the band for that matter, that indicated that Monty might have helped Glen out with the lyrics on some of their songs?’
‘Not that I can think of,’ Monica said, after a moment’s thought, clearly not at all startled by the idea that Monty might have done so. Which was another, minor, plus-point for Elizabeth’s theory. ‘But if anyone would have known anything about that, then it would have been Luke Raines.’
‘The manager?’
‘Yeah – he and Monty were tight, don’t forget,’ Monica said.
‘And he had his finger on the pulse of everything the band did. He died yonks ago now, of course, but I’m sure he had a daughter .
. . or maybe it wasn’t a daughter. There was something sad I seem to remember about him .
. . I might be wrong, so you’ll have to check up on it, but I have a feeling he raised someone as his daughter after her parents died.
His brother’s kid maybe? Or was it the sister who died?
I’m not sure. What was her name now . . .
’ Over the line came a gentle sigh. ‘I remember thinking how horrible it must be to lose your parents like that,’ Monica mused.
‘I was only a teenager myself at the time, of course, so it struck a chord . . . Caroline! Or Carol? Or Karen? Something along those lines. If you can find her, she might be able to help you out.’
Lyssa smiled. ‘Bless you, Monica, I’ll do that.’ Of course, the orphaned girl might not have kept any of Luke’s papers, she mused, warning herself not to get too excited just yet. But negative thinking never helped anyone – least of all a biographer!
‘And Lyssa – don’t worry about Jen, yeah?’ Monica said.
And something sad and wistful – and maybe just a little bit fearful – in her voice, tugged at Lyssa’s heartstrings, making her respond warmly. ‘Oh no, it’s fine Monica, really. I was just sorry we parted on rather bad terms. I didn’t mean to upset her.’
And with that, the two women said their somewhat muted goodbyes.
Lyssa spent the rest of the day researching the most pressing items on her to-do list (she mustn’t forget about setting up a session with Jason’s Aunt Edna!) and went to bed, if not totally free of the vague depression that had been with her all day, then at least not totally deflated.
After all, tomorrow she was due to talk to Jonas Bannister, and who knew what he might be able to contribute. His father had been one of those actively engaged with Monty and Glen during the Lucky Cuckoos’ heyday and he must surely have told his son plenty of stories about them both.