Mersey Murder Mysteries Collection

Chapter 13

“You"ve got to be kiddin" us, man,” Mickey Doyle shouted at Brendan"s latest pronouncement.

The four group members, Brendan, Mickey, Ronnie, and Phil, together with Marie were sitting on the grass in what they all knew simply as "The Park." The Park was in fact a small grassed area just a couple of streets away from Brendan"s home, identified, as it"s grand name suggested by the council"s generous provision, in one corner of the fenced-in area, by a number of items of play equipment designed to amuse the younger children of the area. As well as four traditional swings the play area possessed a slide, a small roundabout, powered of course by the eager little hands that would propel it in a whirl, and a "Bobby"s Helmet", the odd, conical structure that served as a kind of rocking roundabout-c*m climbing frame, and the source of many resulting accidents involving cut and bleeding knees, elbows and fingers and the occasional broken arm from the numerous accidents that seemed to proliferate during the warm sunny, summer days such as today. Brendan"s favourite, in his younger days, had always been the little hand-push roundabout, which he and his pals from the local junior school would spin round and round until they couldn"t go any faster, then grab a hold of one of the metal hand rails, jump on, and then bend over the small domed centre of the apparatus, peering through the small gap between the dome and the wooden slats of the seating area, and then suddenly jumping up and feeling the eerie sensation of accompanying dizziness that inevitably followed. It took quite some doing to remain in control of one"s faculties in such a dizzy state and more than once, Brendan and his mates had lost their hand-hold and fallen from the roundabout, propelled by centrifugal force onto the hard concrete surface into which the structure was mounted, and of course, more cuts and bruises would be sustained, but, what the heck, it was fun, and that was what being a kid was all about, after all.

The summer holidays being in full-swing, the play area was currently busily occupied by a number of young children all enjoying the same activities Brendan and the other members of the group had indulged in some years earlier. It was from one particularly nasty fall from the Bobby"s Helmet that the twelve-year old Brendan Kane had broken his left leg and subsequently spent many weeks in a plaster cast, steadily gathering the signatures of friends and relatives on the plaster-of-Paris cast, until the day it was removed, and Brendan almost reluctantly said goodbye to the crutches that had made him feel just a little important and had drawn much sympathy on his behalf from his school mates. It was a strange coincidence that lead guitarist, Mickey Doyle, had suffered a similar fracture at the age of thirteen, not from the same source, but during a school football match, an accident which in Mickey"s case had left him with a barely noticeable limp, and ended his own boyhood dream of becoming a professional footballer. Mickey found himself watching as a group of young boys enjoyed an impromptu game of football, using jumpers for goal posts, just as he and his mates had done.

Now, however, the raucous laughter of the boys and the happy squeals and screams of the girls in the play area seemed to disappear into the ether as all eyes and ears among the group sitting on the grass, some hundred feet or so from the swings, turned their attention to Brendan and Mickey as a potentially explosive argument gathered strength. Marie"s transistor radio was blasting out Elvis Presley"s Devil in Disguise, the current number one in the UK Top Twenty, but Marie turned the volume down as the argument gathered momentum.

Devil in Disguise,“I mean it, Brendan. How the f**k can you even think of doing this to us?” Mickey asked, his voice growing louder with almost each word that spilled angrily from his lips.

“Look, Mickey, everyone,” Brendan said, defensively, “I just said the word might, not definitely, at least not yet.”

might,definitely“f**k you, Brendan,” Mickey went on. “You"re talking about splitting the group up so you can go off and try to make it on your own. Just where the f**k would that leave the rest of us, eh? Three piggin" years we"ve stuck together through thick and thin, trying to make it, man. Now, just because things are a bit tough, you want to f**k us off and go and do your own thing. It stinks, man, that"s what I think.”

“Yeah,” Phil Oxley now joined in, “You just wanna dump us, ain"t that right, Brendan? Christ, man, I know we"ve not done so many gigs since we lost the use of the van in the daytime and the night jobs have dropped off a bit, but that"s no reason to split up. We"re still popular and getting bookings, even if they"re a bit fewer.”

“Look,” said Brendan, realising his new plans weren"t exactly being received well, “I said we ought to try one last time to make a breakthrough, and if things don"t work out then it might be time to think about splitting up. We wouldn"t be the first group to give up you know. Not every group in the city or in the country, come to that, makes the big break, I just think that if that happens, I might stand a chance of a solo career as a singer, that"s all.”

“Oh yeah, and just how do you propose we go about tryin" to make this last attempt at making the breakthrough? I"m thinkin" maybe you"ve got some plan up your sleeve, right? Ronnie asked in a less threatening voice than the others, trying to be the voice of reason as the argument became more heated.

“Well, yeah, I have as a matter of fact, if any of you are prepared to hear me out without wanting to knock me block off.”

“Go on then, mister bloody big-shot Brendan Kane,” said Mickey, his voice laced with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Let"s hear your latest master plan.”

Silence fell for a few seconds as Brendan gathered himself for a moment, and almost prophetically the sound of Do You Want to Know a Secret? from the local group, Billy J Kramer and the Dakotas, came from Marie"s radio.

Do You Want to Know a Secret?“Okay, then. Here"s what I"m proposing,” Brendan began, “I"ve been doing some adding up and such like and the group"s bank account is pretty healthy, considering the fewer gigs we"ve been doing.”

“It shouldn"t take a f*****g Einstein to work that out,” Mickey interrupted. “We haven"t exactly spent much of it apart from money for travel to gigs and replacement strings and things.”

“Are you going to listen to me, or not?” Brendan bit back at his friend.

Mickey held both arms out to the side in a gesture of supplication.

“Sorry, do go on, mastermind.” Mickey"s voice was heavy on cynicism as they waited for Brendan to continue.

“Right, what we do is use the majority of what we have in the bank to produce a demo disc. We record a couple of covers that demonstrate our talents to their best effects, that"s vocals, guitars, and drums. We show how well we harmonise together, and use two tracks that will show how diverse we can be in style and performance. Then, we send them to every major record company, and every independent producer we can think of. It won"t cost the earth for the stamps, and then, we wait a reasonable time to see if we get any replies. If we do, great, but, if we go past an agreed cut-off date and we haven"t heard anything positive, then we seriously consider the fact that we"re just not going to make it, guys, and the time will have come to try something new.”

“With the "something new" being you going off on your own to seek your fame and fortune,” Phil Oxley said, scornfully. Brendan knew he was on the verge of losing not only the support but the friendship of these three young men with whom he"d put in so many hours over the years in their attempt to break into the music business. He tried to remain calm as he went on,

“Look, fellas, it might be the best thing for all of us. You guys can keep the name of The Planets if you want to, or change it if you want. Maybe with a new lead singer, you might still have a chance of getting somewhere.”

“And just maybe we"ll sink like a stone being thrown into the Mersey,” said Ronnie. “We"d have no chance without you fronting us, Brendan, and you know it.”

Suddenly, as the sound of The Searchers" Sweets for my Sweet faded away on the radio, Marie Doyle unexpectedly entered the boys" argument.

Sweets for my Sweet“Here, you lot, listen to me a minute would you? You might not like it, but I think Brendan"s right. You"ve all tried really hard to make it, but just how many years are youse goin" to keep floggin" away at this? I think if you were going to make it big, someone would have spotted you by now and offered you a contract. I"m not saying youse guys are crap, "cos you"re not, you"re good, dead good, but so are a lot of groups out there, okay? Brendan isn"t saying he wants the group to split up just like that, is he? He wants to give it one more go and if it works, you"ll all be happy. If it doesn"t, you can"t say you never tried, and if Brendan wants to try and make a go of things on his own, then youse lot should just accept it and wish him luck. That"s what I think, anyway.”

A shocked silence fell over the group. Marie"s defence of Brendan"s idea had truly taken the others by surprise.

“Are you serious, sis?” Mickey Doyle spoke, incredulous at his sister"s apparent betrayal of the group.

“Course I"m serious,” she replied. “Look, listen to me. I"ve driven you lot all over Liverpool, Birkenhead, even as far as St.Helens, Wigan, and even bloody Southport to gigs over the years. I might not get up on stage with you and play the guitar or drums, but I feel just as much a part of this group as the rest of you, so I think I"ve got some say in this, don"t you?”

A general murmur of agreement gave Marie the impetus to continue.

“You know as well as I do that loads of groups have started out and then folded in a lot less time than we"ve been together. Want me to name a few? There was The Trojans, you know, Dave Morris and his mates, The First Sound, The Lee Gibson Band, and lots more. They all gave it their best shot but had the sense to know when to quit. You lot have got to be realistic too. No one wants you to succeed more than me after all the time I"ve given to the group, but sometimes we can"t always have what we want. All of you have been dead lucky to be able to get time off work from your bosses when we had daytime gigs, and God knows how many sickies you"ve all pulled from time to time, when we"ve got back from a late night gig and you"ve been too knackered to get up and go to work the next day, but that"s not really professional is it?”

A kind of pall appeared to gather over the little group as Marie fell silent. The children carried on playing on the swings and roundabout, the sound of Peter, Paul and Mary"s Blowing in the Wind issued forth from Marie"s transistor radio, but all these peripheral sounds simply dimmed in the minds of the members of the Planets as Marie"s words sank home and for a few seconds, no one seemed prepared to break the silence.

Blowing in the WindEventually after what felt like an age to everyone but in fact was only the space of about ten seconds, her brother Mickey sighed heavily, and in a softer voice than the one he"d previously displayed during the voicing of his anger at Brendan, said,

“Wow, sis, you"ve really given this some thought haven"t you?”

“Yes, Mickey, I have.”

“I know you"re usually the sensible one in the family, but I"m still not sure about this.”

“Me neither,” said Phil, while young Ronnie Doyle stayed silent, not sure how to react to his elder sister"s words.

“And you think I am?” Marie said to her brother. “Come to that, do you think Brendan"s sure? None of us is sure, Mickey, but nothing is certain in life is it? Brendan is being realistic, that"s all, and I think we should listen to him and give things one more try, a big push to try and get you noticed and if it fails, then, well, let"s do what he suggests, and at least give one of us a chance to make something of their talent. Brendan might just have a chance as a solo performer, and you never know, if he makes it, he might just need a backing group one day in the future, right Brendan?”

“Well, there"s always a possibility,” Brendan replied, caught on the hop by Marie"s comment. The truth of the matter was that he hadn"t thought things through that far ahead.

Within minutes, thanks to Marie"s intervention, tacit agreement was reached to go along with Brendan"s idea. It had become clear to the others that Brendan had basically made his mind up and if they were going to split up, better to do so after having a last attempt at achieving recognition in the business. At least, they all agreed, if nothing else, they"d each have a copy or two of their demo disc to play to their children or grandchildren in the future, some proof that they had at one time nearly made it as recording artists.

As they left the park on that warm, sunny, summer"s afternoon, they would also have been surprised to learn that Marie had not only stood up for Brendan"s idea from any altruistic sense, but that for nearly three months, she and the lead singer had been indulging in a much closer relationship than any of them could have possibly dreamed about, one that would have also caused consternation in other ways if their relationship became public knowledge. There were other factors involved in the couple keeping their liaison secret, though for now, love"s young dream made them both oblivious to the possible consequences of their current course of action.

A slight breeze rustled the bushes that lined the park boundary and a small gust caught the hem of Marie"s new, floral summer dress, revealing a little more of her legs than she"d like, and she quickly smoothed her dress down, but not before attracting a wolf-whistle from a young man walking past on the other side of the street from the park. Mickey quickly shouted, “f**k off, p*****t,” and the group couldn"t help but laugh, as Marie blushed with embarrassment. As a bank of thick cloud rolled in to blank out the sun, Marie walked behind the others, lost in thought, and then turned off the radio. Somehow, the gesture seemed appropriate.