‘D’you think I’ll manage in these shoes all right?’ Kirsty asked Heather now, her brow wrinkled in concern.
Lily looked down at the new shoes. ‘If ye want my opinion, you’d better watch the way you’re walkin’ in them or they’ll all think you’re drunk! You might even fall off the stage and gie them all a great laugh.’ She went into peals of laughter now again.
‘Hoy, Elephant-ears!’ Kirsty said, suddenly realising the little girl was taking in the whole conversation. ‘There was nobody speaking to you – this is an adult conversation. Come back to us in another ten years and we’ll let you join in.’
Lily turned away towards the window, looking all injured. It was hard to get it right, because sometimes the adults all laughed hysterically at things like that, and other times they gave her a right earful.
‘Who did your hair?’ Heather asked her sister. She came over now to examine the elaborate creation. ‘It looks really lovely.’
‘May Ingles,’ Kirsty said. May was a neighbour who earned a bit of pin-money from doing hair in people’s houses. ‘She did it in the kitchen. It only took about twenty minutes.’
‘Did you warn her not to put too much lacquer on?’ Heather said, her tone suddenly serious.
Kirsty’s eyes widened. ‘Well . . . she said she had to put a good bit on otherwise it could fall down in the middle of the performance. She said all that stuff about the lacquer-bug is a load of nonsense. She said all the hairdressers got letters about it.’
All sorts of stories about the so-called ‘lacquer-bug’ had been flying about recently, although there wasn’t a scrap of evidence that the bug actually existed.
Heather shook her head. ‘They might just be saying that, because it could affect their business. Liz was telling me that two girls down in England have died from it.’
‘That’s probably because they hadn’t washed the lacquer out of their hair for weeks,’ Kirsty said, patting her coiffered hair thoughtfully. ‘I only put mine up at the weekend and I give it a good wash on a Monday night to make sure I’ve got every bit of the lacquer out.’ She glanced across at Lily, who was now over at the sink looking out of the window. Kirsty’s voice dropped to a low, ominous tone, not wanting the young girl to be alarmed by the conversation. ‘Did Liz say that the bug ate through their scalp and right into their brains?’
Heather nodded. ‘I don’t want to frighten you by going on about it,’ her voice lower now than her sister’s. ‘Your hair is really lovely . . . but if I were you, I would change your style for the stage into a more casual one that doesn’t need so much lacquer. I wouldn’t take a chance about that bug thing, until there’s definite proof it doesn’t exist.’
‘I’ll wash it out first thing in the morning,’ Kirsty decided, sitting down to take the pink shoes off. They were already making her feet sore and she had only worn them for a short while.
‘I was just thinkin’,’ Lily suddenly piped up, ‘you’d be better washin’ that lacquer straight out of yer hair when you come in tonight. For all ye know, that bug could be eatin’ right into your brain when you’re asleep in bed.’
‘Out!’ Heather said, pointing to the back door. ‘You’ve been warned once already about earwigging into adults’ business. You can go on up to the school right now, and tell Mrs McGinty I’ll be following on behind you.’
Lily flounced out of the door, biting back the comment that the two girls weren’t even adults – sure, they were still only teenagers, and not a whole lot older than herself.
Chapter 10
‘And where d’you think you pair are going?’ Miss McGinty shrieked to a mismatched couple – a tall thin girl, a small fat boy – who were heading in the opposite direction to all the other dancers. The rest of the group broke out into high-pitched giggles, and the dancing teacher waved furiously to the young man on the accordion to stop playing.
‘Sometimes, I wonder why I bother,’ the bespectacled, elderly teacher said in an exasperated tone. She turned to Heather who was standing by one of the Gay Gordons groups. ‘Giving up my Saturday afternoon when I could be out having a lovely high tea in Glasgow with the rest of my ladies’ group. And I’m sure the members of the school football team won’t even give a thought to the country dancing once they have their strips bought and paid for.’
Heather nodded and made a sympathetic face and turned away so that Lily would not catch her eye and attempt to set her off laughing about Miss McGinty’s high tea. She, too, could think of better things to do with her Saturdays than supervising a group of giddy ten-year-old Scottish dancers, but guilt at letting Lily and her father down, not to mention Miss McGinty, had brought her out. Fintan took his job as school janitor seriously, and felt it his duty to support every event that went on.
‘Right, Heather,’ she called now, in the same tone she had used when Heather was ten years old, ‘you and I will demonstrate exactly how the Gay Gordons should be done.’ She whirled around now to the grinning group, her finger pointing. ‘And God help anybody I catch skitting and laughing!’
As always, Heather started off feeling rather foolish and embarrassed as Miss McGinty held her hand aloft in an over-dramatic fashion, but as soon as the music started and her feet naturally moved into the steps of the dance, she felt the same surge of enjoyment she’d always felt as a young girl.
They did several bars of the dance while the children watched, and then both women came to a slightly breathless halt. ‘Back to the beginning,’ Miss McGinty instructed, with an impatient wave of her arm, ‘and make sure that we’re all twirling round in the same direction.’
They had several more rounds of the Gay Gordons until it was ascertained that everyone knew exactly where they were going, and then they were swiftly moved on to The Red River Valley. At one particular point, when they should have been moving in pairs under a bridge made by two girls holding up their arms, Lily’s group came to a mangled, giggling halt.
‘What in the name of the wee man is going on across there?’ Mrs McGinty called, rushing across the floor. Without a word she took Lily and Willie, the perky-faced, red-haired fellow she was dancing with, in either hand, and brought them out to the front to demonstrate exactly how the going under the bridge manoeuvre should be accomplished. Heather stood to the side of the floor, arms folded, observing her small, curly-haired cousin. Lily stood, the focus of all attention, with head erect, and toes poised for the first bar of the music.
‘Grace by name,’ Mrs McGinty murmured to Heather, ‘and grace by nature. When she’s dancing. The rest of the time her chattering and endless flitting around would drive you to drink!’
Heather swallowed back her laughter and watched in admiration as Lily’s strong little legs and feet hopped around in perfect time to the music, the knobbly knees moving as high as she could lift them. At one point the ginger-haired lad made to go off to the left instead of the right, and was swiftly jerked by the sleeve back into step, causing both the children and Mrs McGinty and Heather to titter with laughter.
‘Well done, Lily and Willie!’ the elderly teacher called in her prim voice, clapping her hands high in the air. ‘And now, if the rest of you will make some attempt to follow suit, we’ll run through The Red River Valley again.’
As they were nearing the end of the session, the hall door gave its usual groaning signal that someone had entered. All eyes turned towards the door to see Fintan Grace gesturing to his daughter that he wanted to have a word with her. She left her group and wearing a worried frown she hurried over to see what he wanted.
‘It’s Gerry,’ Fintan said, pointing downstairs. ‘He called at the house looking for you and your mother told him where you were.’
Gerry, Heather thought, her heart sinking. They were supposed to be having a break from each other over the weekend to think over the engagement. Usually he went along with what she said about wanting to go out or not. ‘What can he want?’ she asked.
‘I’ve no idea,’ Fintan said lightly,
‘but he looks fairly serious.’ He nodded towards the dancers. ‘I’ll have a wander around the hall and check they’re all behaving while you’re out.’
‘Thanks,’ Heather told her father, and then she took a deep breath and went down the stone Victorian steps to where Gerry was waiting at the janitor’s office at the bottom.
As she walked towards him, Heather found herself looking him up and down – almost scrutinising him – trying to imagine how she would feel about his looks – his face, his whole shape, his clothes and his dark, wavy hair – if she didn’t know him.
She knew he was considered good-looking and a great catch by loads of other girls. And she knew that’s why she’d gone out with him in the first place – so maybe all she had to do was look really closely at him and she would remember. She might just remember how good-looking and clever she had thought he was before she really got to know him. But the closer Heather got to him and the expensive navy woollen coat he was wearing, the more she realised she couldn’t do it. However hard she tried to remind herself how good he was on the outside, she knew that he was still just the Gerry she wasn’t sure about on the inside.
‘I’m sorry for bringing you out of the dancing,’ he said, reaching forward to take her hand in both of his, ‘but I really needed to talk to you.’
The gesture was unusual and something about the way he was looking very seriously into her eyes made Heather’s throat tighten. ‘Is there something wrong?’ she said, her voice slightly croaky.
‘I need to know your decision,’ he said quickly. ‘I can’t wait until after Christmas . . .’
Heather felt a heat rushing to her cheeks. ‘Why . . . what’s the matter?’
He took a folded envelope from his top pocket. ‘This came through this morning.’ He held the envelope out to her. ‘What is it?’ she said, not having the faintest clue what it was about. Then, she heard the hall door creaking at the top of the stairs and guessed that it was either her father or Miss McGinty who had come to have a look over the banister to see what was going on.
Heather still felt in awe of the older woman, even though she hadn’t been her teacher for a number of years, and would feel embarrassed if she were to be seen in a heated conversation with a boyfriend. She guided Gerry by the sleeve into her father’s small workroom.
‘It’s from my uncle in Australia,’ Gerry said, sounding anxious but excited at the same time.
Heather looked up at him and then she slid the paper out of the envelope. She was silent as her eyes scanned the words, amazed at what she was reading. Amazed that Gerry had been planning all this for months without saying a word to her about it.
‘What do you think?’ he eventually asked. ‘My uncle says it’s all gone through – the job’s waiting for me the minute I can start.’
Heather thought for a moment, and then she shrugged. ‘It’s not for me to say anything,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I told you before – it’s your decision, Gerry. If you want to go to Australia, then you should go –’
‘But if we got engaged . . . or maybe even married – we could think of going together.’
Heather sucked her breath in. So this is what it was all about. ‘Australia . . . I’ve never said I wanted to go there. We’ve never even talked about it.’
When he saw the look on her face Gerry went on quickly. ‘Or I could go on ahead and see how the land lies –’
‘No, Gerry,’ Heather heard herself say in a firm, determined voice. ‘I’m not ready for anything like that . . . and I don’t think I’d be the right one for you anyway. I don’t think I’m the right girl for you, whether it was in Rowanhill or in Australia.’
His face suddenly paled. ‘When did you come to this decision?’ he asked in a strangled tone.
Heather’s gaze moved to the little, black-painted window. ‘I’d never really thought about it before . . . but I just know that we’re not right for each other.’
‘You can’t say that!’ Gerry said, coming forward to grip both her arms tightly. ‘Things were fine between us.’
‘Leave me alone!’ Heather said loudly, pulling away from him.
Soft footsteps sounded in the hallway. ‘Are you all right, Heather?’ a high-pitched little voice said.
‘I’m fine, Lily,’ Heather said, coming out towards her.
‘Mrs McGinty sent me down to check that you were all right,’ the young girl said, her eyes darting from Heather to Gerry. ‘She says she needs you back upstairs for the Dashing White Sergeant.’
‘You go on,’ Heather said, folding her arms over her chest. ‘Tell Mrs McGinty I’ll be back upstairs in a minute.’
‘Well, don’t let me keep you back,’ Gerry said. ‘I’m sure you’re far too busy to waste your precious time on me! Far too busy to consider the best offer you might ever get in your life.’ Then he suddenly pushed past both Heather and her young cousin, banging his way out of the small workroom and then the heavy outside school door.
‘He didn’t look very happy, did he?’ Lily said in a hushed voice, her eyes wide. ‘Did youse have an argument?’
Heather raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Sort of,’ she said, smiling faintly at her cousin.
‘And have you fell out? Have you finished up?’
Heather started to walk back upstairs towards the hall and the waiting dancers. ‘I suppose you could say that, Lily.’
‘Never mind,’ Lily said, coming over to link her arm through Heather’s. ‘You’re startin’ a new job soon – so ye might as well find yourself a new boyfriend while you’re at it.’
Chapter 11
‘Wouldn’t it be great to be playin’ in a place like this every weekend?’ Kirsty said, her eyes darting around the sparkly, glittery dance hall as the band headed through to the backstage rooms. They had arrived nice and early on Joe’s advice to get the pick of the dressing-rooms before the other acts relegated them to a few feet at the side of the stage, as would happen to the latecomers. The fellows in the band were particularly smart tonight in their dark suits, white shirts and black dickey-bows. ‘When I think of that mocket dive we played in last night, and then havin’ to put up with violent wee nyaffs on top of it.’
‘We all have to start somewhere, Kirsty, hen,’ Martin Kerr laughed, swinging the door open, ‘and if we didn’t have the dives we wouldn’t appreciate the decent places like this.’
‘Who are you kiddin’?’ Kirsty scoffed. ‘That’s the same thing that people say about money – that you need to have been poor to appreciate it when you have a wee bit extra.’
‘It’s true, hen,’ Martin replied, nodding his head solemnly. ‘Those that get it easy don’t enjoy it as much as our kind who’ve had to struggle.’
She followed him in through the dressing-room door, hobbling ever so slightly in the new pink stilettos. ‘Well, I don’t agree with it. I think you can imagine quite easily what it’s like to be skint without havin’ to experience it. I’d be happy bein’ rich and would love being able to buy myself nice things every day.’ She wondered now if she might have been wiser to bring a spare, more comfortable pair of shoes to change into should the pink ones become absolutely unbearable. ‘Oh, yes . . . I could take to the high life quite easily.’
She looked around the palatial, pink-painted dressing-room with the fancy lace curtains and the framed pictures of famous singers. Then her eyes came to rest on the large, shiny, gilt mirror outlined with rows of white bulbs and the matching fancy table. Kirsty made a beeline for the mirror before one of the other acts claimed it. ‘This is more like it – yes, this is definitely more like it,’ she said, swinging her bulging handbag onto the table. The men looked at each other now, shaking their heads and laughing.
‘Are you actually quiet when you’re in bed at night, Kirsty, hen?’ Joe Hanlan asked now. ‘Or do you blether on all night in your sleep?’
‘We’re sixth in line,’ Kirsty said, studying the sheet of paper that gave the running order. ‘We’re just before the novel
ty sword-dancer – whatever that is, when he’s at home.’
‘I saw a kiltie fella when I was in the Gents’,’ the drummer said thoughtfully, ‘but he didnae look novelty to me, in fact he looked quite serious. He was all decked out in the kilt and sporran and everythin’.’
Kirsty looked at her reflection in the mirror, checking that all her little rosebuds were still perfectly in place and that there were no curls straying out of her beehive hairdo, then she went back to study the performance sheet. ‘There’s three other groups – but I’ve only heard of two of them. There’s three women singers called Sweet Sensation that are supposed to be like the Beverley Sisters.’ She pulled a face. ‘And that Stella Queen wi’ the screechy voice that thinks she’s like Vera Lynn – and it’s got to be the fourth or fifth band she’s sung with. The fellas say she’s terrible to work with, and she keeps fallin’ out with them.’ She pointed her finger around the group. ‘Youse boys don’t know how lucky you are havin’ somebody as easy-going as me for a singer. You could land wi’ a right cracker, bossing everybody around and then throwing tantrums when they don’t do what she wants. You’d know all about it then.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry,’ Martin said, ‘we all know how lucky we are with you, Kirsty, hen. And we’ll know even more the night if we get placed in the contest.’
Kirsty leaned forwards, her face serious now. ‘D’you think there’s much chance of us getting placed?’ she whispered. ‘Even third would be great . . .’
The Grace Girls Page 6
