Georgia (31 page)

‘You can always come back,’ Pop said gently. ‘The door will always be open for you. Good luck!’

He hadn’t rebuked her all week, just long-suffering sighs at her high spirits. His sad, clown-like face was suddenly very dear to her.

‘Thank you for everything,’ she said, running to hug him one last time. ‘I’ll never forget any of you.’

Pop held her tightly, his lips quivering.

‘You’ll never be far from our thoughts. We’ll be watching to see your name in lights.’

‘None of this would have happened without you.’ She lay her head on his shoulder, fresh tears filling her eyes. ‘I want to sing, but I’ll miss you all.’

‘You’ll make new friends,’ he said softly against her hair. ‘Not broken reeds like us lot.’

‘Drop us a line when you are singing in London,’ Janet’s voice was husky with emotion. ‘And remember all the things I’ve taught you about men!’

Georgia sat hunched up in Max’s Jaguar, shaking with fear. In jeans and a sweater, her hair tied up in a pony tail she looked about fourteen.

‘Now don’t let any of them make passes at you,’ Max said gruffly. ‘Don’t start making them tea and stuff otherwise you’ll end up becoming mother to them all, and if you have any problems phone me, either at the office or home.’

‘What will I wear to the gigs?’ she asked.

‘Miriam has all that in hand. I’ll be popping in on Wednesday during the day to see you.’

The church hall was near Aldgate. Dilapidated and sad with ferns growing out of the roof, the wire-covered windows mostly broken.

As they got out of the car Georgia could hear music blasting out, surprising passers-by.

‘That’s good,’ Max said, grinning broadly. ‘They’ve set up. Now don’t be nervous, just sing and forget about everything else.’

As Max swept her into the dingy hall she almost laughed with relief. She had imagined strong, fierce men, but all she saw were boys, weeds in jeans and sweaters, cigarettes hanging out of their lips.

‘Hallo Georgia!’ One of them jumped down off the stage, his pale face brightened by a wide smile. ‘I’m Ian. Has Max filled you in on the music?’

‘I’ve played the records,’ she blushed. Her voice seemed to echo round the hall too loudly now the rest of them had stopped playing and just stared silently at her. ‘I know all the words, I think.’

‘Well, that’s more than I do. I often ad lib.’

‘I’ll shoot off now,’ Max said, backing towards the door. ‘Ring me tonight at seven, Ian. We’ll talk then.’

He was gone in a flash, the doors shuddering behind him.

For a moment Georgia just stood there, eyes downcast. She knew this feeling so well, just the way it had been the first day Celia left her at the new school. Play interrupted as the other kids stared at her, then moving on, forgetting her.

‘Nervous?’ Ian touched her shoulder lightly. ‘Don’t be, love, we all know what it’s like. Come and meet the others.’

She knew it would take forever to remember their names. Ian with his gentle ways and angelic face stood out, and Rod the drummer for his dark brooding looks, but the others seemed so alike.

‘Speedy’s really called Patrick,’ Ian waved his hand at the auburn-haired, fresh-faced one nursing his bass guitar. ‘You’ll find out why we gave him that nickname. Norman on organ, an arrogant little shit-stirrer. Les on lead guitar, thick as two short planks and finally John and Alan the brass section.’

Why did they stare so hard? Was it because Max hadn’t told them about her colour?

‘Let’s get on with it!’ Rod shouted irritably, banging on his side drum.

‘We’ll start with “Soul Train”. Norman sat down at the organ. ‘I’ll play it through to refresh your memory. It might be a good idea to sing by me so you don’t get thrown by the backing.’

Clammy cold hands, butterflies in her stomach and as the introduction started her face broke out in a sweat.

‘I’m on the Soul Train, don’t know where I’m going,’ the first line came out as no more than a croak. She kept her eyes on Norman’s hands dancing over the keys. The second line was easier, by the third she had forgotten her fears, throwing back her head for the chorus.

‘Soul train take me with you,’ she sang moving back away from Norman, microphone in hand.

The trumpet and sax were playing thrilling little riffs, Rod’s drums sent out a heavy beat and she could hear Speedy and Les joining in with vocals. Tingles went down her spine, she turned to sing to them, forgetting that she’d never seen or heard of them till a few moments ago.

As the music died away she looked round.

All seven of them were staring at her.

‘Did I do it wrong?’ she asked turning pink with embarrassment.

‘You did it as good as perfect,’ Ian grinned. ‘Now let’s do it again and I’ll do some harmonies.’

As the day wore on she had a glimpse into each personality. Rod the drummer was the most dangerous, his slanty eyes seemed to be watching her closely. He oozed raw sexuality which made her uncomfortable, when he spoke it was a mere growl. Norman knew his music. Speedy was the calming member of the band and John, Les, and Alan were the quiet ones. But the biggest surprise of the day was Ian. When Max described him as the weak link, he couldn’t have been further from the truth. His sweet face, the baby-soft, yellow hair and big blue eyes, hid a committed musician. He made the decisions, knowing each member’s strengths and weaknesses and he balanced them like a juggler.

‘Sing from the groin,’ he said at one point in the morning, making a thrusting gesture. ‘This is rock not choir practice. You’ve got to sell yourself, not just your voice.’

‘Let’s go down the pub for a few jars,’ John said at two, packing away his trumpet before anyone could argue. ‘This is the nearest thing we’ll get to a holiday for months, so let’s make the most of it.’

*

‘We pool our money,’ Ian smirked as Georgia watched him take a brown envelope out of his pocket to pay for the drinks while the others stood watching. ‘We keep a fiver each, and the rest goes in here for our rent, food, fags and beer. If there’s any left at the end of the week we divide it up.’

‘So what do I do?’ she asked wondering if this meant she had to hand hers over too.

A wall of hostility seemed to spring up round her.

‘Max didn’t tell you it was only an audition?’ Rod’s lip curled back aggressively.

‘I’m sorry.’ She could have died of shame. Max had put her in an impossible position. Why couldn’t he have told her the truth?

She turned and ran to the toilet, tears springing into her eyes.

‘Fuck Max,’ Rod said as the door banged behind her. ‘He’s so bloody –’ he paused, unable to find the right word.

‘Right?’ Speedy grinned. ‘Let’s face it Rod, for once he’s got his head screwed on.’

‘She’s perfect,’ John said quietly, staring at the door Georgia had rushed into. ‘She’s got the voice, the looks, everything.’

‘She’ll be trouble,’ Norman’s face was sharp, as if searching for an alternative argument. ‘What happens when she has to share a room with us? How can we change with her around?’

‘What do you think Rod?’ Ian turned his lazy blue eyes on to his friend.

‘I think she’s brilliant.’

Ian’s mouth fell open. He had expected fierce opposition, at best a bet that he could get her into bed first.

‘I think she could be trouble,’ Rod added quickly. ‘I agree with Norman there. But more from Max than anyone. He fancies her, I saw it in his face. What we need to get straight is how she thinks of Max.’

‘Let’s have a vote on her anyway?’ Ian scanned the boys grouped around him. He could see Rod wanted her in, John too. Alan and Les would go along with the majority.

‘Hold on,’ Speedy’s slow voice halted them. ‘I like her too, but what we’ve all got to think of is Ian’s position. We’ve been together too long to split up now. If she stays we’ve got to integrate her right into the band, never allow her to think she’s the important one. You’ve got to put more beef into it Ian, don’t let her take over. Anyway you haven’t said a word yourself.’

‘I think she’s our saviour,’ Ian blushed. ‘She’s just what we need. Did you hear all of you come alive in there? She’s got that magic touch to make us all reach new heights. I don’t care if it’s going to cause trouble. I say we take her on.’

When Georgia returned from the toilets she knew immediately they had reached a decision.

‘Give us two quid,’ Rod said, holding out the brown envelope. ‘That’ll be your contribution until pay day. We’ll work out your permanent share next week.’

‘You mean?’ Georgia’s eyes opened wide, her lips curving into a dimpled smile.

‘It means you’re in now baby,’ Speedy drawled. ‘Welcome to Samson.’

Chapter 11

‘Is this it?’ Georgia turned surprised eyes on Ian as he banged on a door between a Wimpy bar and a betting shop in Tottenham High Street.

‘Wait till you get inside,’ he grinned, eyes full of mischief. ‘Welcome to de shit-house!’

The door creaked open and a small, scrawny man in a dirty collarless shirt peered out, behind him was a flight of steep stairs, up which came a warm, fetid smell of dustbins.

‘You’re early,’ the man said. ‘I haven’t finished cleaning up yet.’

Georgia clutched the dress Miriam had given her to her chest, her legs turning to jelly.

‘You know we like to set up early to get a balance,’ Ian prodded the old man in the chest playfully. ‘Now come on Sid, don’t be awkward.’

Grumbling under his breath the old man tottered off down the stairs on bowed legs. Ian turned to the boys sitting in the van and waved for them to follow.

‘You’ll soon get used to clubs by daylight,’ Ian grinned at Georgia’s horrified face and putting one hand in the small of her back, pushed her gently towards the stairs. ‘By the time we get back here at half nine tonight it will look different. By two thirty when we leave it will seem wonderful. That’s a promise.’

An hour later Georgia sat huddled on the edge of the stage watching the boys still putting the final touches to their equipment. All they had allowed her to carry down were the small items while they sweated profusely carting the heavy organ, speakers and amplifiers.

The basement club was a huge clammy cellar, the only seating consisted of rows of school-type benches lining the whitewashed walls. Two long strip lights lit the place, making it as inviting as a morgue. Sid was still washing the floor, or rather pushing the dirt round further with an ancient mop.

‘Which one do you belong to?’

Georgia assumed Sid was talking to her, although his eyes stayed glued to the mop in his hand.

‘I don’t belong to anyone,’ she said. ‘I’m the new singer.’

‘Bit young for that aren’t you?’ He shuffled nearer her, pushing the full bucket with one foot. ‘Did they tell you what a rough-house it is?’

‘Yes.’ In fact it had only been mentioned on the way here when Ian gave her instructions to make for the dressing-room and stay there if trouble broke out. Georgia was more concerned with changing in a filthy, tiny hole with one forty watt bulb overhead and a mirror barely big enough to see her mouth in, than it being her sanctuary.

Now that the boys’ band suits hung in there too, there was barely room for any of them. How was she going to change into that awful dress Miriam had given her, without the entire band seeing her almost naked?

‘Some nights they pelt the band with glasses,’ Sid said cheerfully. ‘Course, they’ve never done it to this lot, because they like them. But you get on your toes if anything happens.’

Georgia’s heart sank. She was frightened enough by just singing here, without the threat of violence too.

‘Nearly there now,’ Rod called down from the stage. ‘We’ll run through a couple of numbers, then go and find something to eat.’

Georgia couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to come and spend an evening here, even though the boys insisted it was always packed to capacity. They said it was one of their favourite venues, so what must the worst ones be like? The toilets were old and grubby with no hot water. Not one glass on the bar sparkled. The seating was almost non-existent and if fire broke out they’d all be trampled to death trying to get out that one narrow staircase.

Norman began to play on the organ. A haunting little tune she remembered hearing on Radio Luxembourg while still at school.

‘I’m Mr Blue, when you say you’re sorry,’ she forgot for a moment her anxiety and joined in, turning round to face him. ‘Then show it by going out on the sly, proving your love isn’t true.’

Les and Speedy immediately picked it up, leaning to the microphone and doing exaggerated backing vocals.

‘Do Wah doo, Call me Mr Blue.’

Ian stood back against a speaker, his mouth twitching with mirth, as Georgia, and the three boys aped the fifties song.

‘The balance seems fine,’ Ian laughed aloud as they finished. ‘Don’t call us, we’ll call you.’

The pub on the corner had been empty when they went in at seven. Now at half past eight it was getting crowded, just another reminder soon they would have to leave the comfortable bar and get back to the club.

Ian shot a glance at Georgia as though reading her mind.

‘I’ll go back with Georgia, you lot stay on for a bit,’ he said to the others, standing up and beckoning for her to come too. Georgia flashed a look of gratitude at him. She had been dwelling on the best way to get into her dress in that dressing-room without them seeing her underwear and she still hadn’t found a way of removing her bra and zipping up the hated dress without revealing something.

To Georgia with only the scantiest real knowledge of men, it seemed the boys were obsessed about sex. They described breasts in detail, the size of a girl’s nipples, the weight and feel of them. Rod claimed they all masturbated at least twice a day and insisted she would get used to it. They spoke of a mysterious thing called ‘muff diving’ which she knew was something rude but hadn’t a clue what it was. No woman under fifty was safe from their bawdy banter and not once had she heard a tender or romantic suggestion.

Only Ian was different. He too laughed along with them, even pointed out women they passed in the van, but in Georgia’s presence at least he didn’t swear or say anything to make her blush, and now he was intuitive enough to know she was frightened of changing with them.