Page 9 of What Would Dolly Do?

‘S o I reckon he thinks you’re deranged but I told him you’ve been under a lot of stress lately coz you’re so new to the job.

’ Stella had taken her time to get back to the bar and from her flushed cheeks and starry eyes I could see she was quite the smitten kitten after catching up with Tom Coltrane.

It was the little things that gave her away: she kept checking her reflection in the mirror beneath the optics while she filled me and Donald in on their little chat, fiddling with her blonde punky cut and re-tying the patterned bandana around her throat.

‘You told him what!?’ I was grinding my teeth so hard it was a wonder I could speak at all.

‘Well I had to tell him something! You were accusing him of all sorts and, according to Tom, you assaulted him once already at the police station when he was trying to be a gentleman and help you with a bag you’d dropped.

He really has the most adorable manners you know, picked up some proper Southern charm from the States, along with that incredible accent …

there’s a hint of Scottish burr beneath a cowboy drawl’ she tailed off, looking lost in thought for a moment.

‘It’s like Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Honey.

’ Stella gave herself a little shake and then added, ‘He said you fell down the stairs and then jumped up and hit him on the head with an iron bar, or something?’

I closed my eyes at the painful memory, painful for both me and Tom in different ways, and then opened them to find Donald staring at me in shock. ‘You committed “Actual Bodily Harm” on Tom Coltrane? Outside the police station? Any witnesses?’

‘Well, there was my lawyer and this big copper, a sergeant I think he was,’ I grimaced at my latest confession.

How the hell did I keep getting myself into situations where I could be accused of criminal actions?

Me? The girl who had never even got a speeding ticket …

although that may have quite a bit to do with the fact I’ve never learned to drive.

Stella stopped fixing her hair and tried to calm Donald: ‘Yeah, that was Tom’s brother Jack, he’s a custody sergeant, he told me.

He said they’d been larking about at the top of the steps.

You’re lucky they didn’t get you arrested.

’ She directed the last bit at me as though she thought they really should have thrown the book at me and that I was lucky not to have been sent straight to jail.

I didn’t think now was the time to tell her I still might be.

‘So he wasn’t trying to snatch my handbag that day?’ The cogs were whirring slowly but my brain was beginning to understand I must have completely misunderstood the situation outside the cop shop.

Stella rolled her kohl-rimmed eyes but didn’t dignify my statement with a response. She was now talking about the fact I’d managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory by driving away the biggest draw Sonny’s Bar could ever dream to have play our tiny stage.

‘Tom’s come back to Edinburgh for the first time in years, he said. He lives in Nashville, you know, but he saw your leaflet and just thought it would be fun to play a tiny little local gig in his hometown again, like he used to in the old days.’

‘Cool …’ Donald exhaled the word in a long breath then shook his head at the magnitude of the missed opportunity.

‘So he’s gone off the idea now he knows I’m the manager here?’ I knew the question was redundant as soon as I said it.

‘Well he thought you were some lunatic interior designer we’d hired in at first.’ My heart leaped with hope that the situation might still be retrievable until Stella added, ‘But I had to tell him you weren’t the decorator, you were the boss.

’ I should have known Stella wouldn’t lie, she was truthful to a fault.

With the emphasis on fault. But she was persistent, a bit like a dog with a bone, she hadn’t given up hope that Tom could be convinced to come back and perform, and boasted they had swapped numbers and she would be talking to him about it again.

I highly doubted Coltrane had the same motive for swapping contact details with a swooning hot blonde.

Call me cynical but I wouldn’t be holding my breath for a superstar of Tom Coltrane’s status to ever grace our tiny stage.

I decided to try and win back some favour by giving Donald and Stella the rest of the afternoon off.

We’d made good progress with the clean-up and stock check and no customers would be in before six o’clock but I doubted the early dart made much difference to their increasingly low opinion of me.

I just couldn’t stand any more analysis of what an appearance by Tom Coltrane could have done to put Sonny’s on the map and gain me more brownie points than a Brown Owl could ever dream of.

Stella had theorised that Coltrane was probably after a publicity stunt of some sort to launch a new album, but so what?

Of all the basement bars in all the world Tom Coltrane had walked into mine, dangled the most amazing opportunity right in front of my face and I’d blown it.

I tidied up the brushes and fetched some white spirit to clean up the worst of the paint splashes on the floor.

Luckily the worn flagstones were so ancient there wasn’t much damage there and I’d managed to avoid splattering any tables and chairs.

No, I’d just Jackson Pollocked a Grammy award-winning singer-songwriter but I was trying very hard not to think about that.

I was grabbing my jacket from behind the bar when I heard the sound of someone coming down the stairs.

My stomach instantly turned a somersault, hoping Tom Coltrane had decided his tiny gig gimmick idea was too good to throw away just because he thought I was a graffiti artist with violent tendencies.

My mouth went dry as the steps got closer.

What could I say to a misunderstood musician to make amends?

Offer to buy him a new shirt? Tell him how much I loved his latest record?

No … I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t actually remember what his most recent record was …

damn it. I’d loved his earlier stuff … his lyrics were witty backed with boogie-woogie piano-playing and honky-tonk guitar, his songs had spoken directly to my country music loving heart.

Why then had I not recognised him instantly outside the police station?

My only explanation was that I really hadn’t expected to see a star of Tom Coltrane’s magnitude fooling about on the Edinburgh streets.

I had also been rather preoccupied by my own police-related predicament.

I steeled myself to give a much better account of myself at what was about to be our third encounter, third time lucky, hopefully.

I also realised I was suddenly conscious of what I must look like.

Ridiculous really as, on our first meeting, he’d seen my knickers and my temper, and in the last hour he’d seen me in my painting scruffs.

Unless I was dressed up as Dolly Parton I never made much effort with my appearance.

I’d got into the habit of being a ‘take me as you find me’ sort of gal.

I liked comfy jeans and practical t-shirts and sweaters and it was nice not to bother about plastering on make-up or bothering much with my hair when I wasn’t on stage.

I reckoned it was good to let my skin breathe but I was kicking myself I didn’t have at least a lipstick to hand right now.

I quickly pinched my cheeks and licked my lips so I didn’t look too washed out.

There wasn’t much that ever could be done with my mousey locks.

My hair wasn’t dead straight but it wasn’t properly curly either, it could never seem to make up its mind what it wanted to do.

I was currently wearing a red headscarf tied Land Army-girl style with a bow on top of my head.

I made the snap judgement that was a better option than revealing what was underneath.

Perhaps Tom might think it was adorable.

I stepped towards the stairwell and told myself to pull it together: this wasn’t a first date, this was an opportunity to nail an amazing coup for Sonny’s Bar, so I needed to be polite and professional not pretty and pouty.

But, of course, it wasn’t a famous music star coming down the stairs.

That sort of thing could only ever happen once in a lifetime not twice in an afternoon, I told myself.

I quickly tried not to look too disappointed as Calum Crutchley peered around the red velvet curtain and caught me hovering expectantly.

‘Ah, Miss Mooney, there you are, I was hoping I’d catch you here. I have some news and I thought it would be good to deliver it in person.’

I offered the solicitor a drink, even though he didn’t look old enough to be served alcohol, but he waved it away. He did indeed have news and for once it was good.

‘I’ve spoken to the detective looking into your case and she says they don’t think they have enough to take it forward to the CPS.’

I was still recovering from my forlorn hope that singer songwriter Tom Coltrane would reappear so I just looked at Calum blankly.

‘That means they’re not going ahead with a theft prosecution. They didn’t think Guy Grayson’s account of what happened added up against your story and also deduced he’d be a terrible prosecution witness. Called him a bit of a slimy snake, between you and me. You’re off the hook.’

I understood that. I let the news sink in. I’d been more tightly wound up than I’d realised: it was all I could do to stop the tears pricking behind my eyes.

‘Thank you, really, thanks so much Calum, it’s really good of you to come and tell me in person.’ My voice was thick but Calum just smiled and nodded. He stood up from the table where we were sitting, his mission now accomplished the boy wonder was on to his next adventure.

‘No problem, although …’ he hesitated and sat back down looking at me with an earnest expression on his face.

‘This has been a bit of a weird case if I’m honest. You might not be being prosecuted for theft, but you have lost your job and we’ve no real clue as to why Guy accused you the way he did.

The CPS might be content to call it a ‘misunderstanding’ and accept all the missing items have now been accounted for but there’s much more to it if you ask me. ’

Calum was right of course and it was the one thing that had been troubling me almost as much as the thought of going to court.

What had it all been about? It wasn’t an insurance job – the police had retrieved all the items Guy had claimed had been stolen.

If he’d simply wanted me out of the way, couldn’t he have just fired me?

Maybe he needed a proper reason to do that?

Is that what all this was about? It seemed a lot more vindictive and personal than that. Calum Crutchley seemed to think so too.

‘If I were you, Miss Mooney, I’d watch my back.’ With that final warning Calum nodded and stood up again.

‘You make it sound like he’s out to get me.’ I tried to laugh but the sound caught in my throat. Calum got to the stairwell and put his head on one side as if carefully considering what he should say next.

‘Now the police have decided not to prosecute, that should be the end of it, but …’

‘But …?’ Did Calum really think Guy Grayson had some sort of vendetta against me? Why? What had I ever done to him?

‘You should go and see your old boss, Gordon, is it? I know I told you to steer well clear while you were under investigation but now you’re in the clear, it might be wise to get back in touch.

Perhaps he said something to the police to help your case.

Calum was still talking, trying to convince me to go and see Gordon and Morag, but I was having trouble taking anything in beyond the thought that I’d escaped a spell of incarceration condemned to a diet of porridge.

I snapped back to reality and managed to nod back at him enthusiastically, glad to be given the go ahead from Calum to go and visit the Graysons.

I couldn’t imagine they were my enemies.

I’d missed them. We’d got on so well right from the start.

I couldn’t bear to think that they might think badly of me or that I’d caused them any stress on top of everything they’d been through with Morag’s illness.

As I locked up the bar a feeling of exhaustion washed over me.

The relief of having the case dropped had released a ball of tension inside me but the result was I now felt tired to my bones.

The crazy second encounter with Tom Coltrane in the last hour now felt like a fever dream …

had it really happened? I knew if I went home right now I’d probably collapse into a big bag of marshmallows and then sleep for a week.

That wouldn’t do. I needed to come back and join Donald and Stella for the evening shift or they really would think I was the worst boss in the whole world. I had to keep going.

I glanced at my watch: it was only four o’clock in the afternoon.

Really? It had felt like such a very long day already.

As I reached street level and locked up the bar, the little cake shop along the street caught my eye.

Its window was always filled with gorgeous Parisienne-style delicacies. It gave me an idea.

I selected half a dozen of the prettiest fancies and had them boxed up and tied with pink and white striped ribbon.

It wasn’t a peace offering as such, and it certainly wasn’t an apology – after all, I hadn’t done anything wrong – but it felt wrong to arrive unannounced at Gordon and Morag’s without some sort of gift.

They had old-fashioned manners themselves and I couldn’t imagine them going to visit anyone empty-handed.

I held the box gingerly on my lap as I sat on the bus to Murrayfield. With any luck Gordon and Morag would invite me in for a cup of tea. I was excited to see them, like a little girl going to visit her grandparents for a special treat. I could only hope they’d be just as pleased to see me.