Page 14 of What Would Dolly Do?

Tom slapped the table and gave a huge laugh. ‘You really are Edinburgh’s answer to the queen of country music, aren’t ya?’ he said, still chuckling. ‘Talk about life imitating art,’ he added and gave a low whistle once I finished my tale of tragedy and comedy. ‘So how good a Dolly are ya really?’

‘Huh?’ I knocked back the last of my drink and went to get another but Tom laid a hand on my arm. I didn’t understand his question. ‘What d’you wanna know? I’ve pretty much told you everything.’ His touch had rattled me as much as his question, the heat of his hand on my bare flesh was intense.

‘Well, yeah, I get how ya wound up here and I’ve seen y’all Dollied-up, but what I really want to know is … how much d’ya sound like her?’ As he spoke he reached for his guitar, propped against a nearby chair. ‘There’s only one way I can think of for me to find that out.’

He wanted me to sing for him? Right there in the bar?

With him playing and me singing? I snorted dismissively and went to refill our drinks but when he started finger picking the notes to ‘Little Sparrow’ I found myself sitting slowly back down in my seat.

Whether it was the strangeness of the day or the effects of the alcohol I’ll never know but it was like I’d been hypnotised by the music as I began singing the poignant lyrics of the folksy song straight from Dolly’s bluegrass roots.

Once I started singing my initial shyness fell away, my voice soared and I sang the song with all my heart and soul.

Tom stopped playing along but that felt right.

Dolly herself always performs the song a cappella.

The dark surroundings of the bar seemed to stretch away in every direction around me, leaving just Tom and I captured in the warmth of a golden spotlight.

There was no other audience, no Sonny’s Bar, even Edinburgh itself seemed miles away.

There was just me and Tom and the song I was singing.

The last notes seemed to hover in the air for a while once the song was sung.

I looked down into my empty whisky glass as the last of the ice melted away.

Eventually I looked up. Tom was staring at me but I couldn’t read the expression in his eyes.

After what felt like a very long time he spoke.

‘You’re not Dolly,’ he said, and the blood in my veins turned as cold as the ice in my glass. But Tom wasn’t finished; ‘You’re real good, Becky. Too good to be hiding behind a Dolly wig and tassels.’

My nerves were jangling so loud I was afraid he would wonder what the noise was, so I pretended I was used to handsome, talented men playing me huge compliments and shrugged off his words.

I headed to the bar to refill our glasses.

Despite feeling a little tipsy I desperately needed another drink and I also needed to shake off the funny feeling Tom’s staring eyes were giving me.

‘Well gee, thank you kindly sir,’ I said with a self-conscious giggle in my ‘Dolly voice’, but Tom wasn’t buying it.

‘Becky, I’m serious, y’all need to forget about being a daft tribute act, your voice is too good for just that.

Don’t ya wanna chance at being yourself out there?

’ He gestured vaguely in the direction of the Edinburgh streets above our heads as I tried to work out if I was flattered or offended by his words.

‘Out where?’ I said raising a quizzical eyebrow as I handed him his drink and decided to concentrate on being pleased he said I had a good voice rather than miffed he’d labelled me ‘daft’.

He was talking nonsense really, not about my voice: I knew I could sing and I knew I’d done a great job on ‘Little Sparrow’ just now, you could feel it in your bones when you’d sung a song well.

But I knew, even if Tom Coltrane didn’t, that the world was not waiting for a new singer with no stage presence or image of her own to underwhelm them.

But when I said as much to Tom he shook his head vehemently.

‘How will ya know unless ya try? Your voice is great, you’re used to performing and being up on a stage in front of an audience. Just drop the Dolly part and give yourself a chance.’

Drop the ‘Dolly part’? He really couldn’t have a clue what he was suggesting and I wasn’t sure I would be able to explain it properly.

Dolly Parton’s outfits were like wearing a suit of armour, for me.

Performing as a tribute act had been the only way I’d felt comfortable to carry on with any sort of singing career.

Mum and Dad had got me performing with them as The Moonshine Trio as soon as I was old enough, touring the pub and club circuit together for years.

I’d taken to it easily as a little one, soaking up the attention and applause from the age of three, but my teenage years took their toll on my confidence.

My spots might have cleared up and bouts of self-doubt were less frequent but the scars of both remained.

The thought of performing on stage simply as Becky Mooney wasn’t something I could imagine ever feeling confident enough to do.

I didn’t expect Tom Coltrane to empathise with my dilemma but to my surprise he was very understanding.

‘It’s not unusual for singers to use an alter ego on stage, y’know,’ he said. ‘You must know even Beyoncé pretends to be someone else when she’s performing!’

I found it hard to believe that a global diva of her brilliance ever struggled with anything like stage fright but I knew Beyoncé channelled a character called ‘Sasha Fierce’ for her awesome stage performances.

I’d assumed it was just part of the game though, I’d not thought about it as protection or for confidence – celebs didn’t need that, surely?

‘And have ya heard of self-esteem?’ Tom asked.

‘Of course I’ve heard if it, I’ve just not got any!’ I was a bit snappy; did he think I was some sort of thicko?

Tom’s mouth twitched as though he wanted to laugh. ‘No, the musician Self Esteem … she performs under that name but she’s really called Rebecca Lucy … something.’

My insides shrivelled with embarrassment but I jerked my head as though I’d just remembered exactly who Self Esteem was.

Cringe. I took another gulp of my drink and as the warmth of the whisky flowed through me my embarrassment began to fade and the sense of what Tom was saying started to take hold in my mind.

‘Do you have a stage persona?’ I was genuinely curious. Was this technique the difference between artists who achieved greatness and those who didn’t?

Tom shrugged but suddenly he looked sad, vulnerable even.

‘No, I never needed anything like that, I’ve always found being on stage thrilling, energising … although lately …’ He looked around as though he was scared of being overheard and although we were completely alone he stopped talking.

‘Lately?’

Tom stopped turning his glass around on the table and slowly looked up as I repeated the word.

It hung in the air between us and the air felt charged with crackling electricity.

He wanted to tell me something, I could tell, and the connection between us felt so real I could almost see it.

I held his gaze and waited. I had no idea what was coming. Then he kissed me.