Nancy Carson - Rags to Riches

‘I never realised,’ Maxine said. ‘I thought somebody just invented it.’

‘Well, there you are. You learn something every day…Fancy another cup of tea?’

She leaned over to the trestle table to return her empty cup and saucer. ‘Oh, I’d best not, thank you. Any more and I’ll be plaiting my legs,’ she remarked self-effacingly.

‘And you can’t play the cello with your legs plaited.’ His eyes met hers directly with a candour that prompted her colour to rise at what she imagined he implied though, to her surprise, she did not mind. ‘Anyway, what are you doing afterwards, Maxine?’

‘After the concert?’ Her heart fluttered while she sipped tea again, her eyes down, lids lowered, in an effort to conceal her intensifying blushes.

‘There’s this club I go to…I wondered if you’d like to come.’

She managed to stifle the urge to choke. ‘I can’t,’ she said, surprised at the depth of her disappointment. ‘Sorry. Not tonight at any rate. But thanks for asking.’

‘Some other time, maybe?’

‘Yes…I’d like that.’ She felt guilty for encouraging him, because of Stephen. But what was wrong with a half promise to go out with Brent at some other time? It was a vague agreement anyway. It might never happen…And yet why shouldn’t it? She was not married to Stephen. She was not even engaged. Nor ever likely to be.

‘Is it because of your young man that you can’t come?’

‘No, not just him,’ she said. ‘My whole family is out there. There’s a celebration afterwards. It’s my twenty-first today, you see.’

‘Your twenty-first?’ Brent turned round. ‘George, d’you hear that? It’s Maxine’s twenty-first today.’

It seemed that all the rest of the orchestra heard it, too, and at once Maxine was swamped with congratulations from all directions.

‘Your first concert with the band on your twenty-first birthday, eh?’ somebody said. ‘You’ll never forget that.’

Maxine flashed a polite smile.

‘Does the boss know?’ another person asked.

‘We’ll make sure he does,’ yet another replied.

Maxine looked with amused bewilderment from one to the other, thanking each well-wisher. What had she done to deserve all this attention? She looked at Brent and shrugged.

‘Will you excuse me, Maxine?’ he said.

Someone else stepped up and began talking to her, then another, and another. Before long, she was the centre of an animated group. They spoke as if they had known her all their lives and she felt easy with them. But afterwards she could not remember a word any of them had said; her mind was awhirl with Brent’s offer to take her out and her regret that she’d had to refuse. But she did have Stephen to consider after all. She could hardly dump Stephen on a whim and take off with Brent.

But what about the beautiful girl she’d seen Brent with? Surely she warranted some consideration too? Besides, how could she compete with a girl like that? How could any man want anybody else when he already had a girl as beautiful as that? A girl with those looks could have her pick of men. Why would Brent be interested in dull Maxine Kite? These questions plagued her till she sat down at her cello for the second part of the concert and for some minutes into it; until she made herself pay attention lest she made any embarrassing mistakes.

Her embarrassment, however, came at the end of the performance. Everyone, including Leslie Heward the conductor, had taken their final bows when he held out both hands to Maxine and gestured for her to stand up. Bewildered, she obliged. But she was even more bemused to receive a round of applause and some cheers, not only from the auditorium, but from the orchestra as well. Still reeling from the shock of it all she turned around and saw that Brent Shackleton and George, his fellow trombonist, were holding up a huge poster for all to see, evidently hastily cobbled together, that proclaimed in huge letters, ‘Maxine – 21 today’ . To her embarrassed delight, he and George then led the singing of ‘Twenty-one today’.

Almost at once, the audience was good-humouredly joining in and, when that finished, there rose the inevitable strains of ‘Happy Birthday to You’.

At any concert of classical music there are always huge bouquets of flowers ready to be presented to soloists, leading musicians and so on. So it was a surprise to nobody, except to Maxine, to find herself being presented with such a bouquet from Leslie Heward, who shook her hand and stepped forward to afford her a fatherly peck on the cheek. She grinned with delight, said thank you and bobbed a neat curtsy, which had the combined effect of invoking more cheers.

‘I can’t believe all this,’ she said in an aside to Gwen Berry.

‘It’s not every concert when one of our members is twenty-one,’ Gwen replied. ‘Most of them are at least twice that age. Make the most of it, my girl.’

Three motor cars and a motorcycle, conveying family and friends, all jovial and lively, left Birmingham Town Hall after the concert and travelled in convoy to Daisy Road where Mrs Fothergill, the next door neighbour, had been babysitting for Aldo.

‘Glorious concert, young Maxine,’ Jesse Clancey, her stepfather, commented.

‘Oh, it was brilliant, Jesse. I couldn’t believe it when everybody sang “Happy Birthday”.’

After they had discussed the concert a while longer, Henzey said, ‘And this is Stephen’s sister, Pansy, I presume?’

Henzey and Pansy had not met before but they greeted each other like long-lost sisters and Pansy’s green eyes creased into a warm smile. She was about the same height as Maxine, slim and pretty, with a mop of thick, titian hair. There could be no confusing her and Maxine; they were so different.

Meanwhile Will was welcoming others, taking their coats and hats and guiding them to the parlour where mounds of sandwiches and cakes graced the table.

‘You must be proud of your youngest daughter, Lizzie,’ Will said. ‘I thought she did very well tonight. She seemed to fit in well.’

‘Oh, I’m proud of her all right, Will,’ Lizzie answered, taking a dry sherry from him and nodding her thanks. She raised her glass. ‘But Jesse can take some of the credit. He’s encouraged her as much as anybody – paid for her to go through music school. He’s been like a father to her…to them all.’

Jesse joined them, clutching a pint of beer. ‘Can I just say, Will, how grateful we are to you for holding this party here. We’d intended holding one at the dairy house, o’ course, but with Maxine suddenly landing this job and all…’

‘You’re welcome, Jesse. It just seemed more logical now she’s living here.’

‘Behaving herself, is she?’

Will laughed and patted Jesse on the back. ‘What do you think? I’ve got no complaints.’

‘Lizzie tells me you’re moving house, Will. To Dudley. Do you intend Maxine to lodge with you still? I mean she’d be welcome to live at the dairy house.’

‘It’s up to her, Jesse. I’m content for her to live with us if that’s what she wants. Like I say, I’ve got no complaints.’

In the front room, somebody was thumping out tunes on the piano.

‘That’ll be Joe, Lizzie’s brother,’ Jesse chortled. ‘He don’t half love to play the piano at parties. He’ll have we all singing at the tops of we voices in no time. Mark my words.’

‘They’re a lively lot, aren’t they?’ Pansy remarked.

‘You just wait.’ Jesse turned to Will. ‘Anyway, Will, we’ve all brought something for Maxine. Can I count on you to bring everybody to order later, so’s we can present ’em to her?’

Will nodded. ‘Leave it to me, Jesse.’

Before long, after he had already shepherded everybody into the front room, Will was trying to attract their attention, his hands in the air like a politician fending off hecklers. ‘All right, everyone! Would everyone please listen?’ The piano playing, the singing and the talking stopped. ‘Now, we all know why we’re here, and I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves…Well it’s time to wish Maxine, my very talented sister-in-law, a very happy birthday.’