Page 17 of What Would Dolly Do?

W e left the humble cafe in a lot more style than how we’d arrived. I hadn’t spotted him do it but while I was busy paying for breakfast (he fought me on this but I insisted) Tom had somehow summoned his driver.

A sleek and shiny black Audi with tinted windows was loitering on the kerb and a smartly dressed man in his fifties opened a rear door as soon as he spotted us.

Was this the same car and driver who had whisked us back to the hotel the night before?

The thought struck me that this might be the same guy who had witnessed some rather naughty antics on the backseat as we’d been driven through the late-night streets.

It was perfectly possible but I had absolutely no recall of either the man or the car.

It could have been Billy Connolly driving a clown car for all the notice I had taken as I’d been rather distracted at the time.

‘Hey Iain,’ Tom said smiling broadly as we walked towards him, then stepped back and added to me, ‘After you, Miss Mooney.’

Iain inclined his head as he opened the car door for me and smiled warmly with no hint of recognition or judgement. Of course, this wasn’t the same car and driver. Last night we’d hailed a taxi on the street, I remembered now. Phew.

I couldn’t help being impressed however at this smartly dressed driver and gleaming saloon car.

It made sense that a star as famous as Tom Coltrane would have a chauffeur on call, despite his enthusiasm for a greasy spoon cafe.

I registered the fact Tom must be used to a lot more luxury than I would have ever encountered in my time gigging around the pubs and clubs of Scotland.

My experience was limited to The Highlands, not the high life.

The car seats were buttery cream leather, the legroom was insane and there were fresh bottles of water in the seat backs in front of us. I sank into the comfort with ease.

‘D’ya wanna know where we’re heading?’ Tom asked with a barely suppressed laugh.

I’d presumed the car was dropping Tom back at his hotel. I’d stuffed my sweater in my bag and had left nothing else in his suite, in case I wasn’t ever going back there. I was more than happy to make my own way home, I wasn’t expecting to be chauffeured around.

Tom saw the bemused look on my face and laughed more openly now. ‘I swear this isn’t a kidnap, Rebecca, but if you’ve got nothing else planned today there’s somewhere I’d love to take ya. If that’s okay, darlin’?’

It certainly was. I wasn’t presuming Tom and I were going to be seeing a lot of each other from now on but I was more than happy to spend a bit more time with him.

He was fun, good company and very, very sexy.

I’d take every hour of this fairy tale interlude I could before real life came rushing back in.

I settled back in my seat as the car sped north out of the city.

Tom said we weren’t going too far so I held in my curiosity about the destination and got him to fill me in about his encounter with Dolly Parton instead.

‘I’m not claiming we’re big buddies or anything like that,’ Tom said. ‘But Nashville is a surprisingly small place for us musicians. Everyone knows everybody else. I’ve worked with loads of fellers from her band and I did once bump into her backstage at The Grand Ole Opry.’

I shook my head slowly as I imagined just ‘bumping into’ Dolly Parton at The Grand Ole Opry. Mind boggling.

‘She was tiny, like a little doll, incredibly polite to everyone and as sweet as sweet can be. It’s not all a Dolly-act, you know, she really is just the way everyone wants her to be.

That’s why I say she’s the most real of them all.

What you see is what you get with Dolly, she doesn’t disappoint.

’ I knew it! But it was still good to hear that Dolly was as charming and authentic as she always appeared.

‘Then there was this other time,’ Tom went on.

‘I was working late in a studio in downtown Nashville and I was really struggling with a song that I just couldn’t seem to finish.

The chorus wasn’t feelin’ right so I was playing around with it and getting nowhere fast. The more I tried to nail it the more of a mess it seemed to be.

I was getting so frustrated I felt like swingin’ my guitar against the wall.

I was just about to call it a night as it was getting really late when my producer came through the talkback saying there was someone in the control room who wanted to talk to me.

The next thing I know I hear Dolly’s voice. ’

‘Oh my God, Dolly had been watching you work?’

‘Yep, she’d wandered in to talk to my producer Vince and I hadn’t got a clue how long she’d been standin’ there.

I was completely mortified as I certainly hadn’t been showin’ much skill in songwriting up until that point.

But then this sweet Southern voice fills the room and Dolly says …

Tom, honey, you’re nearly there, don’t give up now boy, you’re just a whisper away from something great . ’

I gasped. I knew that song. ‘That’s how you wrote “Whisper Away?”’

‘That was the missing piece of the jigsaw,’ Tom said nodding. I had the verse melody and some good lyrics but the chorus just wasn’t workin’ out. As soon as I heard that line I knew it would fit.

‘It was a really big hit for you, wasn’t it?’

Tom rubbed his hand over his head, ruffling up his hair as he admitted, ‘Here in the UK and in the States. Last real hit song I had, yeah.’

I didn’t know what to say to that. I wanted to say something like ‘until the next one’ or ‘there’ll be lots more I’m sure’ but what the hell did I know about hit songs and how to get a record up the charts?

‘Did Dolly stick around and help you write it?’

Tom gave a short sharp laugh at that and I was relieved to see the cloudy look on his face blow over.

‘I started foolin’ around with “whisper away” as a lyric as soon as Dolly said it, singing it over and over listening to how the rhythm of the phrase suggested a cool new hook for the song.

I’d worked it out in minutes but when I looked up there was no blonde goddess to be seen in the control room. ’

‘So Dolly didn’t realise she’d helped you finish the song?’

‘Oh, she knew. Vince said she gave a little laugh as I started using her words in my song. He said she could tell right away it was going to work. Apparently, she told him “ Tell Tom Coltrane he can keep that, no charge ”.’

‘That’s so cool.’

‘That’s so Dolly.’

As he said that I spotted we were passing signs for South Queensferry, the port that overlooked the Firth of Forth.

It had been a long time since I’d visited the pretty port with pastel-coloured cottages and quirky shops and cafes.

I quite fancied having a Sunday afternoon wander around with Tom, pretending we were a regular couple.

Maybe this was somewhere he used to come as a child?

Or maybe he just fancied playing at being a tourist for the day.

Before I could start asking questions about his plans I noticed Tom was looking thoughtful again.

‘Perhaps I need a bit more Dolly magic to get me back on track?’ He turned to me with his eyebrows raised and a small smile on his lips. ‘Whaddaya say, “Dolly”? Could ya see your way to helping a struggling musician out?’

‘Me?’

He was in full-on teasing mode now and I feigned mock outrage as he answered, ‘You’re the closest thing to Dolly Parton I’m gonna find around here, so y’all just have to do!’

I shook my head and laughed and considered telling him to maybe give Jack the one man double-act ‘Dolly Partly’ a call, but before I could suggest it Iain swung the car off the main road and started driving up a long, overgrown driveway.

‘Ahh great, we’re here.’ Tom looked excited and pointed towards a large red-brick house at the end of the drive.

With its huge sash windows, arched front door painted sage green and imposing chimneys towering above, it looked like somewhere a vicar would live in a Miss Marple mystery.

A peeling painted sign at the driveway entrance said ‘Forthview House’.

Iain turned the car around in front of the house to park just as the double front door opened and a young woman with strawberry blonde hair emerged. She had a child of about four on her hip and a girl aged around seven at her side, both of them red-heads.

I looked at the woman and I looked at Tom.

‘That’s my little sister, Laura,’ he said.

Laura greeted us warmly, a big hug for her brother and a genuine welcome for me. If she was fazed by her brother showing up with a random woman in tow she didn’t show it. Maybe it was a frequent occurrence.

The kids, introduced as Reggie and Stevie, threw themselves at Tom who responded with tickles and cuddles.

‘Say howdy to my friend Rebecca,’ Tom said.

They both said ‘hello’ shyly and then immediately ran off into the garden through the wide open French doors in the massive rustic kitchen Laura had led us into.

‘Welcome to the mad house, Rebecca,’ Laura said. ‘Shall I make us a pot of tea?’

As she put the kettle on and assembled a line-up of four colourful mugs I looked around.

The house itself was large and grand but inside it was homely and sort of shabby.

The furniture looked like it had been there for decades.

All ornate carved wood and faded chintz fabric, absolutely nothing matched.

The only modern touches were some pop art pictures and framed music posters on the walls and a few children’s toys scattered around.

I liked it enormously. As we settled at the table my eye was caught by a painting on the wall, the strong lines of colour depicting a figure with a guitar looked awfully familiar to me: it was very like the collection of pictures I’d hung all around Sonny’s Bar.

I wondered if it was by the same artist?

Such a coincidence, somehow it made me feel even more welcome in the house.