‘I wouldn’t normally be rushing you,’ Mona said, as they came into the living-room, where Kirsty was curled up reading in a corner of the deep, wine-coloured couch, ‘only I need it for that bloomin’ Kelly wedding next Saturday, and I’d feel happier if I was lookin’ at it hanging up in the wardrobe all ready.’ She gave a small, apologetic smile, hoping to appeal to her sister-in-law’s good nature. ‘You know what I’m like, I hate leavin’ everything to the last minute.’
‘Och, we’ve plenty of time,’ Sophie said vaguely, lifting a pile of newspapers and books from the armchair by the fire to let Mona sit down, before seating herself in the armchair opposite.
‘Hi, Auntie Mona,’ Kirsty said, looking up from a sheet of paper that held the words of a new song she was trying to memorise for the band’s date the following night.
‘Well, Miss!’ Mona greeted her niece with a beaming smile. ‘All ready for bed in your nice warm pyjamas and dressing-gown I see.’
‘Och aye.’ The young girl smiled, patting the back of her damp, curly hair. ‘I’m all bathed and hair washed and everything. I’m gettin’ all set up for the weekend early. You never know who I could meet in the dance halls on a dark night.’
‘Good girl yourself!’ Mona said, making a grab for her niece’s bare feet – a little friendly tussle they often had. ‘And if you get knocked down crossing the street, and have to be rushed away in an ambulance, at least you’ll be spotlessly clean.’
‘Pure as the driven snow,’ Kirsty said, slapping at her aunt’s hand and drawing her bare feet well in under her.
Mona laughed to herself as she sat her ample frame down into the chair. ‘Purer than a lot of others around here, that’s for sure,’ she said. ‘I hear that young Helen Kelly one is gettin’ married in white after all.’ She shook her head, tutting. ‘How can they brass-neck it when everybody knows that she’s expectin’? And her havin’ to be carted out of Mass when she fainted in front of the whole village. A fortnight later the wedding invitations were out, and they’re saying they set the date ages ago. They must think we’re a right pack of eedjits.’
‘There but for the grace of God,’ Sophie said in a low voice. ‘It could happen to anybody – and indeed it has. There’s plenty of families have quicker weddings than they would have liked.’
There was an awkward little silence. Kirsty went back to studying the words of her song.
‘I’m not sayin’ it can’t happen to anybody,’ Mona said, her voice slightly brittle now. ‘The point I’m makin’ is about the hypocrisy. The fact that she’s gettin’ married in pure white, and we’ve all got to stand there while they’re takin’ photographs and everything and smile and kid on we don’t know she’s due in seven blidey months’ time.’
There was another little silence.
‘As a matter of fact,’ Sophie said quietly, ‘she’s not actually getting married in pure white. I’ve been asked to sew a few pale pink rosebuds under the top layer of her dress and veil.’
Mona puffed out her cheeks. ‘You’re a dark blidey horse at times, Sophie Grace. Knowin’ all that and sayin’ nothing.’
Sophie got up and put the kettle on and a while later came back with a tray filled with mugs of tea, three thin, hot buttered crumpets and a plate of mixed biscuits.
‘I saw Heather and Liz Mullen at the bus stop earlier,’ Mona said, taking a tiny bite of her rolled-up crumpet. ‘Off gallivantin’ into Wishaw with the fellas, no doubt.’
Kirsty stared at her aunt, fascinated by how she always ate so very daintily for such a buxom woman. Kirsty often wondered if Mona ate quite so politely when there was nobody watching her or whether she wolfed things down. ‘The pictures,’ she confirmed, taking a much bigger bite of her own crumpet.
Mona sucked her breath in now and shook her head. ‘She’s decided on the big office in Glasgow, she was telling me.’
Sophie nodded, her china teacup thoughtfully clasped between both hands. ‘If it’s what she wants, then she might as well give it a try. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say.’
‘It’s no joke gettin’ up every morning and trekkin’ up to that railway station . . . and if you miss it, you’ve to wait another hour for the next,’ Mona pointed out. ‘She only has to wait ten minutes at that time of the mornin’ going into Wishaw on the bus – and if the weather’s bad and the buses are stopped, she can always walk it home.’ She took another little nibble at her crumpet. ‘And there’s every type there . . . foreign and all sorts.’
‘I wish it was me,’ Kirsty put in now, her blue eyes shining at the thought. ‘I’d love it – going into Glasgow on the train every day. It would be dead exciting.’
‘Get away with you!’ Mona said, her face brightening with amusement. For all her stern, critical ways, Kirsty knew exactly how to appeal to her aunt’s sense of humour.
‘You’re some blade to be travelling into Glasgow, so you are – they wouldn’t know what hit them. How Joe Simpson puts up with you, I’ll never know – it’s usually the serious, brainy types like Heather that they go for in a chemist’s.’
Kirsty swallowed the last of her crumpet, ignoring the inference that she wasn’t as clever as her sister. ‘It’s because of me that all the fine young fellas come in lookin’ for Brylcreem and bottles of hair oil they don’t even need,’ she said, winking knowingly at her aunt. ‘Joe Simpson should be grateful to me for all the custom I bring in, for he would have hardly any business except for doctors’ prescriptions if it was left to the miserable-faced older ones just like yourselves.’
The two older women now hooted with laughter.
Chapter 4
A small group stepped off the rattling bus at the shops in Rowanhill, and back out into the drizzly dark night. The bus engine revved up and it pulled away, leaving clouds of steamy grey exhaust fumes billowing into the nippy November air.
‘Are you two going for chips?’ Liz called over the bus noise, moving as quickly into the bus shelter as her high heels would allow. ‘Jim says he’s starving.’
The thought of the Italian shop’s newspaper-wrapped chips made her mouth water, but Heather shook her head. ‘I don’t want any . . .’ she said in a voice that sounded surprisingly convincing even to herself. She looked at the grinning, sandy-haired Jim first and then at Gerry.
‘No, I’m not bothered about chips either,’ Gerry said quickly, taking Heather’s hand and putting it into his coat pocket.
Immediately, the claustrophobic feeling started again. ‘We’ll walk over to the chip shop with you, anyway,’ Heather said. Then, Liz caught her eye and gestured with a nod of her head that she would prefer it if she and Jim were left to themselves.
‘Well, maybe –’ Heather started to say when Gerry interrupted, his hand tightening around hers.
‘Tell you what,’ he suggested to his friend instead, ‘we’ll walk on to Heather’s house, and then I’ll catch up with you at Liz’s and we’ll head home together.’ The two boys lived another half-mile on from Liz’s house, which was just off the main street in Rowanhill.
‘Fine,’ Liz said, thrusting her arm through Jim’s before he had a chance to voice any objections. She wasn’t too bothered about the chips, but the chance of spending any time on her own with Jim was definitely not going to be turned down – especially when there was an empty bus shelter. Especially when the last bus had gone and there would be nobody around to disturb them.
‘I’m glad we’ve got a bit of time on our own,’ Gerry said quietly as he and Heather walked down the drizzly lamp-lit street. ‘You can never say too much with Liz’s big ears taking in everything.’
‘I don’t actually think she’s too interested in anything about you or me,’ Heather said. She moved her hand away from him now, to allow herself to put the umbrella up. ‘I think Jim takes up all her attention.’
‘Here, I’ll hold that for you,’ Gerry said, taking the umbrella out of her hand. His arm slid around Heather’s waist, pulling her closer to him.
‘I’ve something I want to tell you.’
Heather looked up at him. ‘What?’ she asked.
‘I got a letter from my uncle in Australia this morning,’ he told her, ‘and he said if I want to go over next year to work for him, that he’ll vouch for me. It’s easier to get in if you have a work sponsor.’
‘And are you going to go?’ Heather asked, surprised at the news. Gerry had mentioned his uncle in Australia several times before, but she hadn’t realised that he was seriously considering a move there.
‘I don’t know . . .’ he said, pulling her to a halt under the yellow-orange light of a lamp-post. ‘It all depends . . .’
‘On what?’
‘You and me,’ he said, looking her directly in the eye. ‘I need to know how the land lies with us first.’
Heather took a deep breath. ‘Well . . . I wouldn’t want to hold you back.’
There was a little silence. ‘You wouldn’t, Heather,’ he said, with a little crack in his voice. ‘Having you could never hold me back.’
‘But if you want to go to Australia, things would definitely change.’
‘As I’ve said,’ he went on, ‘it all depends on you and me . . . whether it would be worth my while staying in Rowanhill.’
Heather’s stomach tightened and her gaze now shifted down to the wet, tarmacadam pavement. ‘What do you mean?’
He moved closer to her, his head bent so close she could feel his warm breath on her face and neck. ‘How serious are you about us, Heather?’ His eyes searched hers, and his arm tightened around her waist.
‘I don’t know what to say . . .’ Her voice was low and her eyes cagey. ‘I haven’t really thought about things like that.’
‘Look,’ he said, his tone brusque and determined, ‘I’m not going to keep beating around the bush . . . how would you feel about us getting engaged at Christmas?’
Chapter 5
There was great laughter going on as Kirsty recounted another of her funny customers’ stories from the chemist’s shop, which suddenly halted when the front door sounded. A few moments later Heather came into the living-room, shaking the raindrops from her black beret and scarf. ‘Hi, Auntie Mona,’ she said politely, before turning to her mother and sister. ‘It’s absolutely bucketing down outside. Thank God I brought the umbrella.’
‘Snow all gone?’ Sophie asked.
‘Just a bit of slush in at the kerbs, the rain’s washing it all away.’
‘You may get used to it,’ Mona said, all joviality now gone from her face and voice, ‘because you’ll do plenty of running in the winter when you’ve to go all the way up that hill to the train station in the freezin’ cold.’
‘There’s tea newly made in the pot,’ Sophie interrupted, ‘and some pancakes and crumpets in the bread bin.’
‘Great,’ Heather said, turning back to the hallway to hang up her damp outer clothes and to escape any further interrogation from her aunt.
Kirsty got to her feet now, pushing them into her comfortable velveteen, embroidered slippers, and tightening the loose belt on her quilted dressing-gown. ‘Did you and Liz decide not to go for chips tonight?’ she asked, following her older sister into the kitchen.
If Kirsty was out with her friends, the perfect ending to the night was to stand gossiping in the Italian-run chip shop waiting for their turn in the long queue. The wait enabled them to find out who had been dancing with whom in the various local dance halls, who had fixed up dates, and what romances had come to an expected or abrupt ending. Sometimes the girls found that part of the evening more exciting than the dance, for there was always the chance that some good-looking boys they fancied might just come in for chips as well, and that would prolong the entertainment of the evening.
Unfortunately, with all her commitments singing with the band, Kirsty lately found herself having to rely on Heather and her friends for the latest gossip.
‘It was too wet to go for chips,’ Heather informed her sister as she poured herself a hot mug of tea from the large brown pot and then added milk and half a spoon of sugar. She went over to the cooker and lit the grill with a match and slid a small pancake and a crumpet on the pan underneath. ‘Anyway, I wanted a reasonably early night for work in the morning, I’m a bit keyed up about handing in my notice.’
‘Did you see anybody you knew at the pictures?’ Kirsty queried.
Heather shook her head as she reached up into the kitchen cabinet for a small plate. ‘Nobody that I recognised – nobody from around here anyway.’
Kirsty poured herself a fresh cup of tea. ‘Well, was the film any good?’ she enquired now, disappointed that there weren’t any snippets of news they could mull over in some depth.
‘Actually,’ Heather replied, her serious face breaking into a smile, ‘it was great. You would have enjoyed it – it was a frightening one – The Hound of the Baskervilles.’
‘Seen it,’ Kirsty informed her, pulling a chair out at the yellow Formica-topped table. ‘It was brilliant. I bet you ran all the way home from the bus stop without looking round.’ The two girls laughed.
Kirsty suddenly gave a shiver. ‘It’s bloomin’ freezing in here,’ she said in a low voice, ‘but I suppose it’s better than listening to my Auntie Mona wittering on about what a terrible place Glasgow is.’ She bent over her cup, giggling.
‘She’s got a right bee in her bonnet about it, hasn’t she?’ Heather said, tutting. She lifted her hot pancake and crumpet from the grill onto the plate and came over to the table to butter it. ‘She’s that obvious, too. She makes out that all the people are terrible and the whole of the city is a dreadful place, when you know fine well it’s all to do with Auntie Claire who we’re not supposed to mention. It’s all because she met up with an older, Protestant man in an office in Glasgow, got married in the register office and went off to live in a posh part of Glasgow.’
‘I love keeping Mona going about it,’ Kirsty giggled again. ‘I love it when she gets all aerated and indignant.’
‘Well don’t!’ Heather hissed. ‘It’s me that gets it in the ear every time the word Glasgow is mentioned. Anyway I think it’s terrible the way she’s turned the whole family against Claire. She’s a lovely person, and I always liked her. It would be like everybody trying to turn Lily against one of us in a few years’ time.’
‘True enough,’ Kirsty said, suddenly seeing her sister’s point. ‘I couldn’t imagine us not ever seeing Lily again . . .’
‘It’s terrible when you’re young and people don’t give you any say in things,’ Heather moaned. ‘I’d love to see Claire again – wouldn’t you?’
‘Definitely,’ Kirsty agreed. She paused for a moment. ‘What about Gerry?’ she asked now, going onto a more interesting subject. ‘Was he all dressed up as usual?’
Heather gave a little sigh, and her cheeks turned pink. ‘You’re not going to believe it . . .’
‘What?’ Kirsty gasped, her blue eyes wide with expectation. ‘What’s happened?’
Heather hesitated for a few moments, then looked towards the slightly ajar door and motioned her sister to close it over fully.
‘Come on!’ Kirsty insisted, clicking the door shut with her foot.
‘I’m still in a state of shock,’ Heather said. ‘Gerry asked me if I wanted to get engaged at Christmas –’
‘Engaged?’ Kirsty repeated in an astonished tone. She looked down into her teacup and then back up to her sister’s face. This was the last thing she had expected. The enormity of all the changes that might lie ahead – weddings, Heather moving out of the house, out of the bedroom they had shared all their lives – had suddenly struck her. ‘What did you say?’
Heather shrugged then ran both hands through her thick dark hair, which was drying into soft waves around her shoulders. ‘I said I’d have to think about it . . . that I wasn’t sure if I was ready for anything that serious yet. I said it might be better if we had a couple of nights apart from each other – have a break over the weekend j
ust to give ourselves time to think everything over properly.’ She bit her lip. ‘I don’t want to be out dancing with him tomorrow night with this hanging between us. Even though he says he understands . . . I know he wants an answer soon.’
Kirsty took a sip of her tea, trying to digest this shocking information. ‘A lot of girls think he’s a good catch,’ she said cagily. ‘I know of a few who would love to jump into your shoes. He’s good-looking with nice hair, a good worker . . . a great dancer. I know he’s not exactly the love of your life – but you’d be hard pushed to find somebody better around here.’ She leaned her elbows on the Formica table now, and looked up earnestly at her sister. ‘You might come to feel more for him later – and if you turn him down, you might regret it.’
‘I know all that,’ Heather said a little testily, the untouched supper in front of her now going cold. ‘And I know I should be grateful . . . but there’s something not quite right.’ She went silent. ‘I know it might sound stupid – but there’s times when I feel I’d rather be on my own, paying my own way, than chance making a mistake by wasting my life on the wrong person.’ She paused again. ‘What would you do, if it was you?’
‘Well . . .’ Kirsty said, ‘I wouldn’t be too hasty.’ Her eyes lit up now. ‘You could always string him along for a bit longer – see what happens. It would save you money in the meantime, and your feelings could change towards him.’ She dug her sister gently in the ribs. ‘Alternatively . . . you might meet somebody new in Glasgow with even more money, and then you could chuck Gerry and you wouldn’t have lost anything! And just think – if you get engaged now, you’ll always have a nice diamond ring to remember him by.’
‘Kirsty Grace!’ Heather said, laughing along with her sister in spite of herself. ‘I should have known better than to ask you for advice!’
Chapter 6
‘Does it look OK? It doesn’t make my stomach look too big, does it?’ Kirsty twirled around in front of the fire in an off-the-shoulder, tight-waisted blue dress. She held out the wide skirt with the dark navy petticoat for her sister’s approval.
The Grace Girls Page 3
