Mersey Murder Mysteries Collection

Chapter 11

The crowd had gone home, and Brendan and the group sat quietly around a table at The Iron Door Club, sipping Coca-Cola through straws as they waited for Marie to bring Mr. Oxley"s van round to the front, Mickey"s sister having taken on the role of driver for the group whenever she had a free evening. The group"s drum kit and instruments were waiting at the rear entrance ready to be loaded into the van as the boys relaxed after another night in the smoky atmosphere of the club.

“Still no sign of our big break then, Brendan,” said Mickey. “Even your great master plan didn"t work did it? Marie and her mates did all they could to get that Epstein fella in the right place at the right time and we know he"s been in a couple of clubs when we"ve been playing so he must have heard us.”

“If he has, that means he doesn"t rate us,” said Phil Oxley, a hint of sadness in his voice. “Why don"t we just admit we"re not as good as we think we are? The Beatles are number two in the charts with Please Please Me, it"s great, and they write all their own stuff, while we turn up everywhere and play cover versions of other people"s music. We"re just not original enough Brendan. You"ve got a great voice, lad, but we don"t have what it takes to write enough of our own songs, and maybe that"s what"s holding us back.”

Please PleaseMeBrendan Kane nodded sadly at his friend, knowing in his heart of hearts that Phil was probably correct in his summing up. Yet, something in his heart refused to allow him to give up on his dreams, at least not yet.

Before he could reply to Phil"s depressing statement, Marie bounced into the club and called out to the group.

“OK, you lot, who"s for home then? Come on, get loaded up, we haven"t got all night, you know. I"ve got work in the morning and need some sleep, even if you lot don"t.”

The little group began to rise from their seats but, as they did so, Phil Oxley raised a hand to signal them to stay put.

“Listen everyone, before we go, I"ve got some more bad news.”

“Oh God, Phil, what is it now?” asked Brendan, as tiredness suddenly washed over him like a tidal wave. He wanted nothing more than to get home and sleep. He too didn"t want to be late for work the next day. Mr. Mason was a great boss, but wouldn"t tolerate a lame excuse like sleeping in because he"d been out late at a gig.

Phil"s face took on a serious look as the others slumped back into their seats, Marie standing just behind Mickey, anxious to leave and get them all home. She"d keep the van parked outside her home overnight as usual and return it to Mr. Oxley"s home the next day as always, on her way to work.

“It"s about the van, actually,” said Phil. “Dad says he"s still okay with us using it at night, but, well, things are a bit tight at present. He"s had to let his mate Mick go, and he used his own van to make deliveries during the day, and there just isn"t enough work to keep them both "gainfully employed" as Dad puts it.

Phil"s father had been a ship"s carpenter, a highly qualified tradesman, until the shipyard where he worked suffered a downturn in new ship-building contracts. Along with others, he"d suffered the ignominy of redundancy, but had used his redundancy payout wisely and started a small, but initially profitable business, creating hand-made furniture. His friend, Mick Donnelly had joined him as a part-time employee, working with Dave Oxley on the manufacturing side of the business and then using his own small van to make deliveries to the homes of customers. With Mick gone, Dave would need his own van to be available every day, and the group would have to manage without his generous loan of the vehicle.

“Maybe you could use the drum kits most of the clubs have in place, Phil,” said Mickey, knowing that Phil"s drum kit was the largest piece of equipment they had to move from place to place. Most clubs possessed amplifiers they could use for their electric guitars, though he knew it would still be a problem for everyone carrying their instruments, including the acoustic guitars they often used through the streets of Liverpool, on foot or on buses.

“Are you kidding me?” Phil said, a hint of anger in his voice. “I saved every penny I earned from me paper round for three years, and me Mam and Dad paid the rest of the cash for them drums. I know they"re second-hand, but they give me the right sound I want, and I"m not about to start using some heap of old crap that everyone and his uncle has probably used for years, and don"t forget, I paid three quid to get our name stenciled on the front.”

Bassist, Ronnie, always the quiet member of the group now spoke up.

“So, what do we do now, then? Do we give up, pack in the group, like?”

“Not if I can help it,” Brendan replied, firmly. “There has to be a way we can carry on. We just need to think it through.”

“We can tell the clubs we can only do evening gigs from now on.” Ronnie suggested.

“Yeah, then they"ll think we"re being uncooperative,” said Mickey.

Brendan thought for a few seconds, and then said, “Look, for now, nights it is, no daytime gigs, okay? Phil, tell your Dad thanks from all of us. We really appreciate him letting us use the van all this time, and tell him we understand how things stand for him, and we hope business"ll get better for him, real soon.”

Phil breathed a small sigh of relief. He"d expected a row of some sort after making such an announcement. All in all, he thought, Brendan and the others had taken things pretty well, so far, though he still had another bit of bad news to share with his mates.

“Thanks, Brendan, I"ll tell him what you said, but, well, there is one more thing.”

Seeing hesitation in Phil"s expression, Brendan pressed him further.

“Oh Christ, Phil, for f**k"s sake, spit it out, man. How much worse can things get?” Suddenly remembering that Marie was standing behind Mickey, he added, quickly, “Sorry about the language, Marie, love.” Marie just nodded at him, knowing he was more than a little worked up.

“It"s the petrol,” Phil went on. “Dad hasn"t minded us using his fuel, up to now, I mean, he knows they"re only short trip to most of the clubs and round our houses like, and we pay a bit towards the fuel, but with money short and everything…”

“Is that all?” Brendan sighed. “Tell your Dad we"ll put an extra gallon a week in the tank, Phil. That should cover the few miles we clock up when we use it. If we don"t have any gigs some weeks, we"ll give it a miss, but if we all chip in a bit from our take from each gig, we"ll hardly notice a couple of shillings a month.”

The club manager was gesticulating to Brendan from the club exit. He needed to lock up and wanted Brendan and the group to leave him in peace to get on with it and allow him to go home. Brendan acknowledged him with a wave, and within a couple of minutes the group was in the van, Marie at the wheel, heading for their various drop-offs.

That night, sitting at the kitchen table, his parents fast asleep upstairs, a sleepless Brendan Kane held his head in his hands, as a wave of depression swept over him. Despite his outward display of positivity in front of the other members of the group, he had a sinking feeling in his gut that was telling him the days of Brendan Kane and the Planets might be numbered. If they were, he needed to formulate a new plan if he was ever going to achieve his dream of pop stardom. Later, in bed, with just the sound of his old Westclox Big Ben alarm clock ticking away on his bedside cabinet, and the occasional creaking sound as the house seemed to settle itself down for the night, the germ of an idea began to grow in the recesses of his mind. The others might not be too keen, he thought, but there was a way forward, and Brendan became determined to explore the avenue that had just revealed itself to him in his most private of thoughts. He suddenly heard the sound of his Dad experiencing a coughing fit in the next bedroom. The thin walls of their house meant that little was private between rooms, particularly in the dead of night, and Brendan was quite used to the occasional sounds of his parents indulging in passionate love-making, though how they still managed it at their age he really couldn"t comprehend. For Christ"s sake, he always thought as the sound of his father"s heavy breathing and his mother"s gasping, combined with the banging of the headboard against the adjoining wall had kept Brendan awake many a night, they"re in their bloody forties! Brendan just couldn"t imagine being that old, and now he listened as the coughing gradually died away and all fell silent once again.

For Christ"s sakethey"re in their bloody forties!Brendan"s Dad smoked around twenty cigarettes a day, and despite the advent of filter tipped cigarettes which were supposed to reduce the recently announced health risks associated with smoking, Dennis Kane happily continued to smoke the same Capstan Full Strength unfiltered cigarettes he"d always enjoyed. In his mind, filter tips were meant for women and "pansies", not for "real" men. He didn"t know of one single man down at the docks who smoked filter tipped cigarettes. Brendan"s Mum smoked the new brand, Cadets, and even if he"d occasionally smoke one of his wife"s cigarettes if he"d run out of Capstan, Dennis would invariably break off the tip and smoke it "neat" as he put it.

Brendan would occasionally smoke one of his Dad"s cigarettes, surreptitiously "nicked" from his father"s packet, as Dennis would never dream of keeping count of his smokes, though he"d happily give one to Brendan if he asked. Trouble was, they made Brendan cough a lot and the last thing he wanted was to break into a coughing fit in the middle of a performance, so he was determined not to become a regular smoker and limited his indulgence to the odd one when he felt in need of a quick "lift" such as was provided by the nicotine in the little white sticks, and never of course, on the day of a gig. Brendan had noticed his father had been coughing a lot more recently, just a "smoker"s cough" his Dad called it, but Brendan worried his Dad might be suffering from some kind of chest disease as a result of a lifetime"s inhaling of the smoke. For now though, such thoughts died away in tune to the gathering silence from the next room and, still thinking of his new master plan for his own future, Brendan Kane drifted into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.