‘Och, that’s very unusual,’ Kirsty said for her mother’s benefit, but she pulled a face at her sister as soon as Sophie’s back was turned. ‘Most days I usually eat a lot more. But sometimes I could easily go all day without eating and it wouldn’t bother me. If we get busy or if I’m doing my nails during my lunch break I often forget to eat – it’s only when I come in the door at home and I smell the cooking that it suddenly hits me.’
‘I hope you’re not being silly, and making yourself ill,’ Sophie called as she went down the stairs. ‘Maybe you should start coming back home again for your lunch break every day where I could make sure you’re havin’ something decent to eat.’
Kirsty passed by Heather now, giving her a poke in the back. ‘Stop getting me into trouble, you!’ she said in a low, joking hiss.
‘I don’t need to,’ Heather retorted. ‘You’re well able to get into trouble without my help.’ Kirsty went out to the airing cupboard with her coat, and then returned to lean against the doorjamb. ‘Are you getting fed up with Gerry?’ she asked, her eyes narrowed.
‘What makes you ask that?’ Heather said, frowning.
‘Oh, I can tell,’ her younger sister said airily. ‘I always know the signs. You’re not bringing him back to the house as often . . . and I can see he’s starting to get on your nerves already. All the little habits that you liked in the beginning are starting to irritate you . . .’
A broad smile suddenly broke out over Heather’s face, and then she reached into the plastic basket. ‘I’ll tell you what’s starting to really irritate me, Kirsty Grace –’ A small pink roller came flying across the room. ‘You!’
‘So it’s all decided then?’ Fintan Grace said in his Irish lilt, beaming across the table at his elder daughter. He had come in from his work as the local school janitor and quickly washed and changed into his evening clothes.
‘Aye, more or less . . .’ Heather said, nodding her head. ‘I’m handing my notice in tomorrow.’ She moved back in her kitchen chair now, as her mother went around the table with the hot plates.
‘They’ll be sorry to lose you,’ Fintan said, lifting up his knife and fork, ‘but people have to move on.’
‘I wish I could move on,’ Kirsty said, attacking her potatoes and stew with an eager fork. ‘That Sheila is driving me mad. She’s got an eye on her like a hawk, and if you have a couple of minutes without a customer she finds you a cloth and tells you to wipe down the shelves or polish the glass doors.’ She shook her head then lifted the fork to her mouth.
‘Ah, Kirsty, don’t be complaining now,’ Fintan told his younger daughter in a light, teasing manner. ‘You have a grand set-up there, with your half-days Wednesday and Saturday, and only a five-minute walk away from the house.’
Kirsty finished chewing her piece of stew, conscious of the table manners that had been drilled into her years ago. ‘There’s times it’s dead boring, Daddy,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘You get fed up with moanin’ old wives coming in for prescriptions who think you’re only too delighted to stand there listenin’ while they tell you all about their varicose veins or their husband’s piles.’
Fintan shook his head, his eyes twinkling in amusement. ‘You should take it as a compliment; they must think you’re a real expert on all their complaints to be confiding in you.’
The conversation suddenly halted as the latch on the back gate sounded. ‘Lily, I’d say,’ Sophie said with a wry smile, ‘and no doubt Whiskey.’ Lily was the elfin, curly-blonde, ten-year-old daughter of Mona and Pat Grace – Fintan’s brother – and the only girl after four boys.
‘Hopefully it’s not about the flamin’ dog-house again,’ Fintan said under his breath.
‘Shhh . . .’ Sophie hissed. ‘Don’t let her hear you.’
There was a slight tap on the kitchen door and, unrehearsed, all four chorused in unison, ‘Come in!’
‘It’s only me and Whiskey,’ a high-pitched voice sounded as the door slowly opened, and the small, grinning face appeared wrapped in a knitted red pixie-hat with what looked like two little ears at the corners. She wore a green duffle coat and red gloves that matched the hat. ‘I came round to see if ye wanted any messages or if ye had any empty ginger bottles ye wanted taking to the shop?’
‘It’s too dark for you to be out,’ Fintan told his niece. ‘Does your mother know you’re out of the house?’ He finished the last few forkfuls of his meal now.
‘Did ye not notice?’ Lily said, grinning broadly and ignoring his question. She stepped into the kitchen now, still holding on to the dog lead. She pushed the door to, leaving a small space for the lead to run through but not enough room to allow the dog to squeeze inside the house. She tapped the top of her pixie. ‘It’s snowin’!’
‘Is it?’ Heather said, getting to her feet to look out of the window. ‘I can’t see anything.’
‘Och, it’s just a wee flurry,’ Lily said, her eyes dancing, ‘but it’s definitely snowin’. You can see it on our garden at the front.’
‘A wee flurry?’ Kirsty said, imitating her young cousin. She loved teasing her, although it was always done in a good-natured way that the little girl enjoyed. ‘That’s a very posh word. Where did ye get that one from?’
‘Out of a book,’ Lily stated, her eyebrows shooting up. ‘Where d’you think?’
Her gaze now shifted over to the corner where Sophie kept the empty bottles. She grinned. There were two: an Irn Bru and an American Cream Soda bottle.
‘I still don’t think you should be out at this time of night,’ Fintan repeated. ‘Who let you out?’
‘Och, I just said I was taking the dog for a wee walk to the corner,’ the little girl said, folding her arms now. She shook her red pixie head like a wise old woman. ‘Dogs need walkin’ two or three times a day – and there’s not a single person in that house who would bother takin’ him out, if it wasn’t for me. Them lads are absolutely useless – especially our Patrick. My mammy’s always tellin’ him that he’s nothing but a lazy bizzim.’
‘Was your mother in?’ Sophie cut in, not wishing to encourage the girl to be telling tales from home.
‘At the chapel,’ she said, her eyes sliding back to the bottles that she would get threepence each on. ‘There’s a funeral on in the morning – that crabbit old fella that goes into the library – and she needed to go and sort the flowers into the vases.’
‘I knew damn fine she wasn’t in,’ Fintan said, smiling and raising his eyebrows. ‘She wouldn’t let you out on your own in the dark, especially on a school night. It’s your bed you should be heading off to, never mind gallivanting around the streets.’
‘Och, it’s perfectly safe, and I’m not a bit tired,’ Lily said, waving a small gloved hand dismissively. ‘Anyway, I know every single person around this place and they all know me.’
‘Come on,’ Fintan said resignedly, pushing his plate away and standing up, ‘I’ll walk the pair of ye around to the shop and then back home. I could do with a packet of Woodbines.’
‘Will you carry the bottles?’ Lily asked, grinning with delight. She stretched her red gloves further up her wrists and pulled the sleeves of her coat down over them.
‘Do you think I came up the Clyde on a banana skin?’ her uncle said, his brows deepening in a mock-serious frown.
Lily went into peals of laughter as she always did when her uncle teased her.
‘What about your cup of tea?’ Sophie asked her husband, mildly irritated at the interruption to their meal.
‘I’ll have it when I come back,’ he said, going to get his heavy grey wool coat from the rack beside the back door.
‘Did you tell Heather about the country dancing?’ Lily suddenly remembered. Since Fintan was the janitor in their school, she expected him to keep fully up to date on everything that went on.
‘I never got a chance yet, bossy boots,’ Fintan said, pursing his lips. ‘I was just about to tell her when you arrived.’
‘What about it?’
Heather asked.
‘Saturday afternoon at three o’clock,’ Lily stated. ‘Mrs McGinty said to tell you that she needs a really good dancer to help out with the practice for the Christmas show.’
‘I’ll have to see what I’m doing,’ Heather said. ‘I might have to go into Motherwell or Wishaw to do a bit of shopping.’
‘Oh, but you’ll have to come!’ Lily gasped, her eyes like saucers. ‘I told Mrs McGinty that you’d come. This practice is for a really special display for the parents at Christmas. Everybody has to pay a shillin’ each to get in – it’s to buy new football strips for the school team.’
‘You’d no business saying I’d come until you had checked,’ Heather told her. ‘I’m very busy at the weekends and I might not be able to help out.’
Undaunted, Lily looked over at Kirsty now. ‘You could come too, after work, since Saturday’s your half-day.’ She narrowed her bright blue eyes in consideration. ‘You’re nearly as good a dancer as Heather.’
‘Oh, could I?’ Kirsty said, rolling her eyes. ‘And what if I have other plans?’
‘Out wi’ your boyfriend, I suppose?’ Lily said, raising her eyebrows suggestively. ‘Have you got a new one yet?’
‘Never mind out with my boyfriend,’ Kirsty said, pretending she was getting up out of the chair, ‘just get your nosy wee face out of that door before I give you a good skelp!’
‘You’ll have to catch me first!’ Lily giggled, opening the door just wide enough to allow her to squeeze out without the dog coming flying in. ‘Come on, Uncle Fintan, and don’t forget the empty bottles.’
Chapter 2
The light scattering of snow gradually turned into a grey slush as Heather and her friend Liz Mullen stood on the main street waiting for the bus into Wishaw.
‘That was a big change in the weather today. I can’t believe how cold it is now,’ Heather said, her breath coming in white clouds into the freezing night air. She had dressed for the wintry weather in her black and white checked coat with matching black beret, scarf and gloves – plus the black umbrella she carried everywhere when rain threatened.
‘It’s blidey freezin’!’ Liz agreed, hugging the wide collar of her blue swing coat closer to her exposed throat. Giving more attention to fashion than warmth, the collar buttoned low down on her neck, and she hadn’t thought to bring a scarf. ‘I only hope this film is worth coming out for. What’s it about anyway?’
Heather shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. Horror or gangster, no doubt.’
‘Och, it’s a free night out,’ Liz laughed, slipping her arm through her friend’s. ‘And I always feel that going out on a Thursday night starts the weekend earlier. Anyway, I suppose we should be grateful that it’s us they’re spending their money on – they’re two fine-looking fellas and could get any lassie they want. At least that’s what Jim’s always reminding me.’
Heather’s face darkened. ‘You should tell him to get lost! I wouldn’t let any fella speak to me like that, and you shouldn’t let Jim Murray speak to you like that either. There’s nobody going to make me grateful to him for going out with me. I’d sooner be on my own.’
‘Aw, you know what they’re like,’ Liz sighed in a world-weary fashion. ‘Jim’s always been full of big talk when there’s an audience. He’s different on his own, all over me. I have my work cut out trying to get him keep his hands to himself.’
‘You’d better be careful with him,’ Heather warned, her frown deepening. ‘I told you I’d heard rumours about him with the last girl he went out with from Wishaw – there was talk that she’d disappeared down to England to have a baby.’
‘Oh, I tackled him about that, and there’s no truth in that whatsoever. She got a new job in Coventry and just decided to take it. And there’s no fear of anything like that happenin’ to me,’ Liz said airily. ‘I have the measure of Jim Murray, and there won’t be anything going on until I have a ring safely on my finger.’
Feeling slightly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking, she stepped out onto the road now to see if the bus was coming. ‘Anyway, Gerry’s absolutely mad about you, and would do anything to hang on to you,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘I hear all the girls in his work are daft about him, but they know they’ve no chance when he’s going out with you.’
‘I’m not sure if that’s what I want either,’ Heather said moodily. ‘Sometimes he’s a bit over-keen . . . keeping tabs on every single thing I do.’
Liz stepped back into the bus shelter, relieved that she’d succeeded in moving the conversation away from herself. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything . . . but your Kirsty told me that she thought you were getting a bit fed up of him . . .’
‘She’s a nosy individual,’ Heather said, irritated at Kirsty butting into things as usual, ‘and she should mind her own business.’
‘Aw, don’t finish with him, Heather,’ Liz said pleadingly. ‘I really like Jim . . . and he’s always keen if we’re going out in a foursome. The longer we all go out together, the better chance I have of getting an engagement ring on my finger. Don’t do anything until after Christmas – please.’
‘I’ll have to see what happens,’ Heather said, not promising anything.
The girls’ chat came to an abrupt halt as a medium-sized, stocky figure under a flowery umbrella came bustling towards them. ‘It’s my Auntie Mona,’ Heather hissed. ‘Don’t mention anything about Glasgow.’
‘Well, girls, off out for the night?’ Mona stated in her Galway lilt, pushing into the bus shelter beside them and shaking the snowflakes from her umbrella. ‘Cold the night, isn’t it?’ She turned to her niece, her brows down. ‘Did you come to any decision about the job in Glasgow?’
‘I’ve decided that I’m accepting it,’ Heather said quietly, turning her attention to examine one of her gloved hands.
Mona’s face was aghast. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve handed your notice in already?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Heather stated. ‘It’ll all be official then.’
Mona shook her head. ‘Glasgow’s not the be-all and end-all, you know. There’s plenty of young girls would have been happy to work their way up in that office in Wishaw. It’s one of the best in the area, and very little travel involved.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I’d think long and hard tonight before doin’ anything drastic in the morning. You still have time to change your mind. All that travelling to Glasgow would wear a young girl out . . . and you could get in with the wrong kind.’ Her brow deepened. ‘I’ve seen it happen.’
‘There’s all kinds of people worked in the office in Wishaw and it was fine,’ Heather said, trying to sound friendly and light.
Mona shook her head. ‘Take it from an older, wiser woman. Glasgow’s very different from Wishaw or Motherwell or any of the local places. And Glasgow people are very different too.’
Then, out of the drizzly, foggy night the pale yellow lights of the red bus came looming in the distance.
‘Quick, Heather!’ Liz said. ‘Wave your umbrella and make sure he sees us or we’ll miss the start of the film.’
‘I’ll see you, Auntie Mona,’ Heather said cheerily, relieved that the bus had saved her.
‘It’s busy enough for a Thursday night,’ Gerry said, coming back to the seat laden with ice-creams, drinks and a large bag of chocolates. He divided them out between himself and Heather.
‘Thanks,’ Heather said with a smile, taking the ice-cream and the bottle of Pepsi with the stripey straw from him. ‘I wish you’d at least let me pay for the sweets.’
‘Another time,’ Gerry said, winking at her, his blue eyes suddenly looking bigger and softer. ‘When you get your first wage from the new job.’
There was a little silence. ‘Do you think I’m daft for giving up the office in Wishaw?’
‘Not at all,’ he answered, frowning now. ‘It’s what you want, isn’t it? If you want to get on in life, you have to take a few risks, you have to make the most of your chances. I
don’t think you’re daft at all – I admire you.’
‘I wish more people did,’ Heather half-muttered to herself, thinking of her aunt’s doom and disaster warnings this evening. This was the bit of Gerry that she liked – the bit that had attracted her to him in the first place. He was ambitious for himself and admired ambition in others – even girls.
‘We’re a good team, you and me,’ Gerry whispered, squeezing her hand. ‘I think we could . . .’ He halted, picking his words carefully. ‘I think we want the same things out of life.’
There was something in the huskiness of his tone that made Heather’s throat tighten, and she was suddenly aware of the lingering grip on her hand, which didn’t feel as comforting to her as it used to. She took a deep breath, a kind of claustrophobia now creeping all over her. She had felt echoes of this before, but in a much more fleeting way. But now, the feeling of wanting to move away from him was more powerful and immediate. She realised she wanted to move out of the cinema seat – and out of the cinema, away from him. What on earth was happening? she wondered to herself. There was a time when she enjoyed every minute she spent with him. There was a time when she felt he was a really good catch.
The lights suddenly dimmed in the picture-house and the pianist struck up a rousing opening tune.
Chapter 3
‘Did you get a chance to look at that suit skirt yet?’ Mona Grace asked, as she came along the hallway behind the slim figure of her sister-in-law.
‘It’s on my list of things for the morning,’ Sophie told her, ignoring Mona’s resulting disappointed sigh. She had recently decided to change tactics with Fintan’s bossy sister-in-law, thinking that if she took longer to do her sewing jobs then Mona might not be so keen to turn up every other week with the mountain of trousers and skirts that needing hems taking up or seams letting out.
The Grace Girls Page 2
