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.’
The cheer from the family turned into a rousing chorus of ‘Happy Birthday to You’, then more cheers and shouts of ‘Speech!’
‘Twenty-one is a person’s coming of age,’ Will went on after his further request to be heard had been heeded. ‘It’s that time in a young person’s life when she is considered an adult, considered to be of an age, at last, when she can be independent. She can come and go as she pleases – within reason – which is why she is traditionally handed the key of the door…’
‘She’s already got the key to our door,’ Henzey remarked.
‘It is a time when she doesn’t have to seek permission from her parents to get married, if marriage is on the agenda. It is a time when she can sign up to any legal binding contract. In short, it’s a time of freedom from the constraints of parental discipline. However, I have got to know Maxine a little better since she’s been living here with Henzey and me, and I believe she is not one to abuse such freedoms. She’s sensible, level-headed…and, incidentally, far too modest about the exceptional talent she has. So…before we all shower her with gifts and congratulate her, let’s make her sing for her supper…’ Will grinned roguishly. ‘Maxine, I’m well aware that your cello playing has done you proud recently, but some of us here consider your piano playing worth a listen. So would you like to take the stool and play?’
Maxine blushed, giggling with embarrassment while Joe moved clumsily away from the piano. ‘What on earth shall I play?’ she asked as she sat down.
‘How about ‘Clair de Lune?’’ Henzey suggested. ‘That’s one of my favourites.’
‘Okay. There’s this nice romantic passage…’
Debussy’s inspired music flowed easily, melodically through Maxine’s fingers, while everyone listened in attentive silence. She played the section tenderly, demonstrating an accomplishment beyond her years. It never crossed her mind to wonder if anybody knew how difficult it was; the long hours of practice needed to play well; the dedication. Yet, it was clear for all to see that