Page 19 of What Would Dolly Do?

S tanding in the doorway with Tom, Ferg and Laura all staring at me I suddenly felt awkward for the first time since Tom had kissed me.

The way their heads had all snapped in my direction as they instantly stopped talking was most disconcerting.

Now they were looking at me, wearing expressions on their faces I was finding impossible to read.

What was I doing here? How was I hanging out with a famous country music star and why had he brought me to meet his family?

We’d been getting on so well together and I had been enjoying his company so much I hadn’t stopped to wonder why Tom Coltrane …

the Tom Coltrane … had plucked me from my regular life and whisked me to South Queensferry with no warning or explanation.

Should I be worried? This wasn’t something that happened every day, so what was his game here? Should I at least ask questions?

Before I had chance to work out what question it was I wanted to ask, the blue leather bag I had slung over my shoulder started to make a weird buzzing sound and judder.

I saw Tom bite his lip as though he was trying not to laugh.

‘Oh good Lord … it’s not … I think … oh it’s just my phone …

My phone must be set to vibrate!’ I tore the bag off my arm and started to search desperately through the contents to locate my mobile and show them all I wasn’t carrying anything more offensive than an iPhone.

‘There, you see …’ I held the phone aloft and saw they were all desperately trying to hold it together and not dissolve into fits.

I could feel my face was glowing red but even I could see the funny side.

‘Well, what if I was a part-time rep for Ann Summers anyway?’ I said boldly.

The best way out of any embarrassing situation is often to own it – I’d learned that much from years on the stage and of course from Dolly.

No one ever got the better of La Parton, she’d beat you to the punchline of any joke at her expense and it would be a helluva lot funnier too.

I feigned an air of dignity and returned to my seat at the table, selected a shortbread finger from the biscuit tin and just before I nibbled on it added, ‘A girl’s gotta earn a living after all, there’s no shame in it. ’

Tom shot me a beaming smile and I was relieved to feel back in the room and among friends now I’d seized the day and cracked a joke.

The questions I’d wanted to ask concerning what they’d all been talking about were forgotten as Laura launched into a hilarious tale of a kid at Stevie’s primary school who had once brought his mum’s ‘Rampant Rabbit’ to Show and Tell.

The story prompted several follow-up lines of inquiry from us all – the poor mother was apparently still trying to live it down – but then I glanced down to my phone where the screen was face up on the table.

What were all these messages that kept popping up on the screen?

I started to scroll through in case there was some emergency I needed to know about.

‘Everything okay?’ Tom had noticed my attention was diverted to the phone and asked with genuine concern.

‘Err … yeah … I think so. Actually it’s a bit more than okay I think.’ I picked up my mobile and listened to a couple of the messages.

The pings that were coming in thick and fast were all about Tom’s impromptu performance at Sonny’s Bar on Saturday night.

With everything that had happened since, I’d almost forgotten that Tom had taken to the stage and given an incredible show in our little underground bar.

Unsurprisingly several people had filmed him and the footage had been shared all over.

Sonny’s Bar had gone viral, we had thousands more followers on all our social media platforms and I’d even had a couple of voicemails from newspaper reporters and TV stations wanting to interview me about what had happened and find out more about what Tom Coltrane was doing back in Edinburgh.

‘Wow, that’s great … isn’t it?’ Laura said. She looked at me uncertainly as I hesitated and I looked towards Tom for reassurance. Did she mean great for Tom or for Sonny’s?

‘I suppose so,’ I said while I kept looking carefully at his face.

Was this okay with him? Had he known this was going to happen?

Would he mind the bar benefitting in this way?

What if he thought we were just using his name to build our profile?

I remembered then that he’d only come into the bar in the very first place because he’d found one of my leaflets advertising we were looking for fresh talent to come and perform at Sonny’s.

On that occasion I had splattered him with paint and he’d made a fast exit, but he had returned on Saturday night of his own free will, hadn’t he?

And he’d brought his guitar with him. He must have always intended to take to the stage, even though in the end he’d stepped in to save my face when I couldn’t face going on as the second Dolly Parton act of the evening.

‘I just hope the footage is decent quality,’ he said. ‘Can I see?’

Tom and Fergus pored over the clips I’d been sent and Laura found some more and we all watched them on her iPad.

‘That’s cool, man,’ Fergus said as the footage of Tom playing a mean boogie-woogie on our ancient upright piano played out. ‘I haven’t seen you hit the keys like that for a long time.’

Tom’s focus on his own performance was intense but he grinned at that, ‘Yeah man, that’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘I reckoned this wasn’t just a social call,’ Fergus replied.

I had no idea what he meant but he and Laura were smiling encouragingly at Tom and the conversation was still incredibly good-natured.

My disquiet about what ulterior motive Tom might have resurfaced but as my face showed my obvious confusion Tom winked at Fergus and stuck out his hand.

‘C’mon, Rebecca Mooney, it’s time to show ya why I’ve brought you here,’ he said.

As Ferg bounded towards the stairs like an excitable Labrador, Tom grasped my hand.

‘Don’t look so worried, darlin,’ he said.

‘This house is full of surprises … and they’re all good.

’ With that he gave me a smile that melted all my concerns clean away and, leaving Laura to play with the kids in the garden, I let him lead me to the wooden staircase.

We climbed first one, then a second shorter flight of stairs until we reached a landing with a door painted black with silver stars stuck all over it.

‘The kids’ idea of interior design,’ Fergus said over his shoulder as he opened the door and we followed him in.

I don’t know what I’d been expecting but it certainly wasn’t what I found behind the starry door.

The attic room was enormous, taking up almost the entire footprint of the house and stretching up into a criss-cross of wooden beams that took your eye up to the vaulted ceiling.

I spotted a grand piano standing on a faded Persian rug, racks of guitars against one wall, two full-size drum kits, assorted keyboards and all manner of other music paraphernalia here and there in the space.

As I swept my gaze around I realised at the far end there was also a large control room behind a pane of glass and a couple of smaller vocal booths.

Along the side wall were three huge picture windows all giving beautiful views across the Firth.

I could even see the incredible red cantilevered Forth Bridge in the middle distance. It took my breath away a bit.

‘This is the recording studio of dreams,’ I said.

Fergus looked delighted at that and Tom had a huge smile on his face as he headed for the black grand piano and ran his hand lovingly down the keys.

‘Have you got something you’re working on you want to show me?’ Ferg asked him, but Tom quickly shook his head.

‘Maybe later,’ he said. ‘It’s all about Miss Mooney for now.’

‘Me?’ My voice came out as little more than a squeak.

‘She’s got a really great voice, but I don’t think she knows just how good it is. I was thinking we could record a little somethin’ and let her hear what she sounds like. It’s not her voice that needs work … but her self-esteem needs a bit of a boost.’

Tom was talking about me to Fergus but his eyes never left my face. He was watching me warily, almost as though he was scared I might bolt.

I’d been taken off guard, that was true, but the idea of recording something in this amazing studio was not unappealing.

I’d never been inside a recording studio before and I’d never heard myself properly.

Occasionally someone would record something on a shaky phone and upload it onto YouTube but it was never very good quality and I was always performing as Dolly Parton anyway, never as myself.

I knew that’s what Tom was aiming for. He wanted me to perform as me, Becky Mooney, and listen to how that might sound. I had to admit, I was curious too.

Within minutes Ferg had set up a mic but when Tom asked me what I wanted to sing I suddenly felt ridiculous. Without my Dolly disguise, my usual repertoire felt all wrong. Tom picked up on my hesitation immediately.

‘Don’t do any Dolly,’ he said. ‘We know you can impersonate her but we need to hear your own voice, you’ll be too tempted to go into your ‘act’ if you do your usual set.’

That made sense but it didn’t solve the problem of what song I should sing. Fergus’s voice came through from the control room. ‘There’s no rush, guys,’ he said. ‘Just have a play around until you find something that feels right. You tell me when you’re ready to record.’