‘You’ll be fine,’ her mother had said, coming over to put her arms around her. ‘Just wear something nice and tidy, that makes you look as if you know what you’re talking about.’
Kirsty rifled through the hangers, vaguely muttering to herself as she did so, and every so often lifting out a dress or a suit and throwing it on top of the growing pile on Heather’s bed. She hoped to have picked an outfit and have everything back in the wardrobe before her fussier, tidier sister came in and started complaining about the state of the room.
The wardrobe was split into two distinct halves, with the girls sharing the hanging rail and each having a shelved section at either side of the mirrored wardrobe. Normally, Kirsty kept strictly to her own section because Heather was extremely fussy about the order things were hung in. She liked skirts and dresses all together, blouses on hangers and jumpers carefully folded on the shelf, and she hated Kirsty touching her stuff. But tonight Kirsty was desperate for just the right outfit, and she was counting on her sister to understand.
‘The bath’s ready, hen!’ her mother called from along the hallway. ‘I’ve turned the taps off so’s it doesn’t run over . . .’ There was a pause. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a wee plate of home-made soup before you go out?’
‘No thanks,’ Kirsty called back in a high voice, irritated with the interruption. She picked out a reddish-blue tartan suit of Heather’s, which had been covered in a polythene dry-cleaner’s bag, and then she swung the wardrobe door closed to see what it looked like held up to her in the long mirror. It had a lovely, single-breasted jacket caught in at the waist with a half-belt and a tight-fitted skirt. She knew that Heather had bought it in Glasgow last Christmas, and had only worn it a few times because it just fitted her and no more. She was always hoping to lose a few pounds so that it would look and feel better on her. Kirsty looked at it now, her eyes narrowed in thought, turning her head to one side and then the other. It was definitely the best so far, and she knew that it would easily fit her with room to spare, and if she wore it with her tight red sweater, with a nice broad belt, it would look lovely when she took the jacket off.
‘I’ve a big favour to ask,’ Kirsty said, meeting Heather at the top of the stairs wearing a dressing-gown and with a towel wrapped around her damp hair. ‘I’ve got a really important meeting tonight with that manager, Larry Delaney . . .’ She bit her lip. ‘He’s taking me out for a meal, and I need to look my very, very best . . .’ She paused. ‘I haven’t anything suitable amongst my own clothes . . . You know I wouldn’t normally ask, but it’s really, really important.’
Heather gave a loud sigh and unpinned the green beret she was wearing from her dark hair. Kirsty was forever doing this, and the number of times she had returned things with buttons missing and hems coming down had resulted in her older sister putting a ban on them borrowing clothes from each other.
Heather moved from the top step to the hallway outside their bedroom door. ‘Which outfit exactly are we talking about?’ she asked, on her tiptoes now, holding the beret and trying to see past her sister in through the open bedroom door.
‘I promise I’ll pay to get it dry-cleaned again as soon as you feel it needs it,’ Kirsty rushed on, almost barring the way into the room where the suit lay spread out on the bed alongside the red sweater and a fancy garnet brooch she’d borrowed from her mother. ‘So . . . is it OK if I take a loan of one of your suits?’
Heather’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s not the good tartan suit you’re talking about?’
A pained expression came on Kirsty’s face. ‘I wouldn’t normally ask . . . but it’s a really special occasion, and I need to make a good impression.’
Heather shook her head. ‘“You know fine well I’ve only worn that about twice . . . I was keeping it up for Christmas.’
Kirsty’s shoulders sagged and she looked almost wounded. ‘I’ve nothing of my own that would look as nice,’ she said in a low, uncertain voice, ‘or anythin’ that looks kind of professional. If I’d had time, I’d have run into Glasgow or Motherwell and bought myself somethin’ new, but he only asked me this afternoon . . .’
She looked at Heather now, and Heather looked back at her.
‘Aw – go on!’ Heather finally said. ‘Take it – but you’d better –’
‘I will, I will!’ Kirsty said, hugging her. ‘I’ll really look after it, and I promise I’ll get it dry-cleaned at the weekend.’
Sophie and Heather stood at the side of the curtain as Kirsty and Larry went down the little path still flanked with the straggly remnants of the autumn wallflowers, Kirsty walking with great dignity in a pair of reasonably comfortable black stilettos. They watched as Larry moved forward to open the passenger door on the shiny Wolseley to let Kirsty in first.
‘Good manners,’ Sophie murmured, nodding her head in approval, ‘that’s the sign of a real gentleman.’
‘My daddy always lets you in the car first,’ Heather said. They both watched now as the car pulled away. Not that our car’s as fancy as that, Heather thought to herself.
‘That’s exactly what I mean,’ Sophie said, smiling. She started drawing the curtains now to keep in the heat. ‘And that’s one of the first things I liked about your father. He might be rough and ready in certain ways, but in other ways he’s always been a real gentleman . . . always had that wee touch of romance.’
When Heather turned to look at her mother, there was a dewy, far-away look in Sophie’s eyes that made her feel a little uncomfortable, along with the thought of her father being described as romantic.
‘Kirsty looked well in the suit,’ her mother said now. ‘It made her look older and more confident.’
‘I wish it fitted me as well as it fits her,’ Heather said ruefully, smoothing down her dark pleated working skirt. ‘I need to cut out all the biscuits and things in the office at the break times.’
‘I think you look as though you’ve lost a few pounds already,’ Sophie said, going over to check if the fire needed more coal. Fintan had left a heaped bucketful before going up to put the heating on in the school hall for the boys’ guild that met there every Thursday night.
‘D’you really think so?’ Heather said, smiling now. ‘I’ve noticed that my skirts aren’t just as tight, right enough.’ She sat down on the edge of the couch, picking up the Daily Record to check what was on the radio that night.
‘All that running up and down to the station and the walk up that hill to your office will be helping to keep you trim,’ Sophie told her, as she picked a few big lumps of coal from the bucket with the tongs, and threw them into the heart of the fire.
‘Aye,’ Heather said, feeling the little gap in the waistband of her skirt that wasn’t there when she bought it a few weeks ago. ‘If I cut out all the sweet things, it might make a good difference by Christmas.’
Sophie sat down in the armchair by the fire, a thoughtful look on her face. ‘What did you think of that manager fella?’
Heather shrugged, flicking through the paper now. ‘He seemed nice enough . . . what did you think?’
‘Aye,’ her mother said, nodding, ‘he seemed a nice man. Well dressed and well spoken.’
‘That’s what you’d expect from a manager or an agent, or whatever he’s called,’ Heather commented. ‘They’ve got to look the part for people to take them seriously.’
‘Aye,’ her mother said again. ‘But he’s a handsome-looking man, and I’d say he knows it only too well.’ She looked up at the clock, checking when Fintan would be back in for his cup of tea. ‘Kirsty was takin’ their night out very seriously anyway, she was like a scalded cat running up and down the stairs and checking she looked all right.’ She halted. ‘I hope she doesn’t take it all too seriously, for he’s the type of man that would have plenty of women running around after him.’
‘Mammy!’ Heather said, rolling her eyes in mock horror. ‘Kirsty’s not going to be in the slightest bit interested in the likes of him, apart from her singing.’ She s
tarted to giggle now, amazed at the daft ideas her mother came up with. ‘He’s ancient! He must be about thirty at least . . . Kirsty wouldn’t look twice at him. If she heard what you were saying, she’d die laughing.’
Sophie smiled now and shook her head. ‘Don’t be too sure.’
‘Get away – he’s far too old for her,’ Heather said, still laughing at the thought.
‘Famous last words,’ Sophie said quietly. ‘Famous last words.’
Chapter 17
‘A Babycham, if I remember correctly?’ Larry said in his rich Dublin accent, smiling warmly at Kirsty.
‘Lovely,’ Kirsty replied, smiling back, delighted that he’d remembered.
They had arrived half an hour before the restaurant booking, as Larry said it would give them plenty of time in case the roads started to get icy, but the drive up to Lanark had turned out to be lovely and the roads had been perfectly dry and clear. They had veered off the main road just outside the town and climbed a narrow winding road past lovely big old houses up to the Clydeside area.
Then they had driven on a little further and suddenly when they turned a corner, the old Victorian sandstone hotel was just in front of them. Larry had parked at the side of the hotel, and then moved quickly again to open the passenger door for Kirsty.
When she got out of the car and looked around her at the beautiful gardens still miraculously in colour in winter, and the other fancy cars that were parked, Kirsty had felt a pang of nervousness.
The thought of having to walk into the imposing building had suddenly made her remember her father’s uncomfortable attitude when they had days out on the train to Edinburgh and Glasgow, and their mother suggested going into places like this for afternoon tea or a cup of coffee and a cake.
‘They’re not for the likes of us,’ Fintan would venture as they stood outside the hotels, debating whether or not to go in. The thought of having to give orders from complicated menus to waiters in tailed coats and bow-ties filled him with dread, and there was always the matter of negotiating the tiny china cups with his large hands, which were much more suited to shovelling in coal or fiddling with the Victorian plumbing in the school. They would walk on for another while past homely tea-rooms or big bustling restaurants frequented by people more like themselves, but eventually they would turn a corner to be confronted by another formidable establishment and that would start Sophie off again.
‘But I would really like to go in,’ she would argue in a low voice, ‘and our money is as good as anybody else’s. We’re all dressed up for the day, and it lets us see how the other half live.’
‘I’m not in the slightest bit interested in how they live,’ Fintan would sigh.
Sophie would then pause. ‘I want the girls to feel confident – to know they can walk into places like this when they’re older and be every bit as good as the next one. After all, it’s only once a year . . . it’s not as if we’re out together as a family every weekend. It’s only a bit of a treat . . .’
And their father would give in, as the girls knew he would. The easy-going Sophie made few demands on him, and it would have been churlish of him not to agree. And then all four of them would walk into the nice hotel or restaurant, where the three females would enjoy the smart surroundings and the small fancy cakes – and after a stiff Irish whiskey, Fintan would eventually relax and endure it.
Bolstered by her mother’s words now of being as good as the next one, Kirsty had straightened her back and lifted her chin and smiled at Larry Delaney as if she was used to walking into posh places every night of the week.
She watched him now from her high-backed green leather Chesterfield chair as he crossed the floor in the surprisingly busy small bar, and wondered if there was ever a time, back in Dublin years ago, when he would have been nervous in a place like this. She watched as he caught the barman’s attention through the crowd with a mere nod of his head, and then had a light, friendly conversation with him as he ordered the drinks, and decided that Larry Delaney must have been born confident.
Kirsty thought it might have been quiet tonight since it was only a Monday, and was amazed to see so many people being able to afford to go out for a meal on a working night.
She took the opportunity to have a good look around the elaborately decorated, dimly lit lounge while she was on her own, starting with the glass-topped table in front of her, which was underlaid with the same green leather as the chair. She leaned forward to discreetly examine the chunky crystal ashtray that matched the crystal candle-holder, which had a round well in the middle holding a small thick candle. She lifted the candle-holder a few inches off the table and was surprised at how heavy it was.
While Larry was at the bar, Kirsty took advantage of his absence at the table to remove her suit jacket and make sure that her red sweater was smoothed down and sitting just perfectly. Then she discreetly checked in her compact mirror that her lipstick and hair were fine and the garnet and gold brooch was still properly pinned on. Satisfied that she looked decent, she then sat with a straight back in the leather chair and surveyed the other people around her.
Most of them were much older than her, and probably a bit older than Larry too, and they all looked very much at home. Kirsty wondered if they lived in some of the big houses they had passed on the way up here – the sandstone ones that looked like smaller versions of the hotel. Then, she became aware of a striking, dark-haired woman gazing across the room at her and she suddenly went back to feeling all self-conscious again. She started to fiddle with the clasp on her brooch, just to give herself something to do. When she lifted her eyes later, the woman was engaged in conversation with a man and two other women, her hands waving expressively, and her dark hair swinging around as she laughed out loud.
Larry came back to their glass-topped table with the drinks and while he was pouring Kirsty’s drink into her glass, a young – obviously new – waiter rushed over with a dish of nuts, apologising for not having been there to take their drinks order. His red-faced awkwardness reminded Kirsty of some of the boys in her class at school, and she started to feel a little more relaxed.
‘This is a lovely place,’ she said, taking a sip of her sweet, bubbly drink.
‘Good,’ Larry said, ‘I’m delighted you like it . . . I hoped that you would. It’s one of my favourite places around here.’
There was a little silence, during which Kirsty took another drink of Babycham and wondered who Larry usually brought along to his ‘favourite places’.
Then, he unexpectedly leaned forward and patted her hand and Kirsty felt a funny little tingle run through her. ‘We need to get down to the serious business now –’ He halted, looking up as a figure suddenly appeared by the side of their table.
‘Hello there, Larry,’ a low, refined Scottish voice cut in. ‘I thought it was you . . .’ It was the glamorous, dark-haired woman who had been staring at Kirsty earlier. Close up, Kirsty could see that she was older than she had appeared at a distance, probably even older than Larry, but very good-looking and beautifully dressed in a simple black shift dress with long black gloves and pearls.
‘Fiona . . .’ Larry said, a smile crossing his handsome face. It wasn’t a broad smile – more a careful, quizzical smile. He stood up now to embrace her and kiss her on the cheek. ‘What are you doing in this neck of the woods? This is a wee bit out of your usual area, isn’t it?’
‘It’s not that far from Hamilton,’ she said. ‘I’m out on what you could call business . . .’ She smiled up at him, giving her head a little shake, which sent a long dark wave covering one eye. ‘Although – as you well know, Larry – it’s very easy to mix business with pleasure.’
Larry nodded, then he seemed to hesitate for a moment. ‘How are Helen and David? Have you seen them recently?’
Fiona’s eyes narrowed. ‘I see them regularly, and they’re both well,’ she said quietly. She tilted her head, as though studying his reaction. ‘Helen made a wise decision . . . very practical a
nd one that works well for all concerned.’
Larry nodded again, but this time he said nothing.
Fiona turned now to Kirsty, raised her eyebrows expectantly and waited for some explanation as to who she was.
Kirsty gave the woman a smile, and then, as she found herself being scrutinised, her stomach tightened and her smile disappeared. Then she felt her neck and face start to burn with the deep red flush that always let her down when she was nervous – and the more she worried about it, the worse it got.
‘We’re out on a professional nature, too,’ Larry told the woman with a casual smile that showed his even white teeth. He put a hand on Kirsty’s shoulder, the way her father sometimes did when he was introducing her. ‘This young lady is Kirsty Grace . . . a brilliant new singing talent that I’ve had the great good fortune to discover.’
‘Imagine!’ Fiona said, smiling broadly, but Kirsty was quick to notice that the smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Imagine actually discovering a new talent . . . I look forward to hearing her some time.’ She gave a tinkly little laugh, as though she had just heard something funny. ‘You’re so very clever at all this, Larry, aren’t you? Discovering new talent.’
‘I have no doubts that you will hear her,’ Larry said, with a little edge to his voice, and his hand still lingering on Kirsty’s shoulder. ‘Now, would you like to join us for a drink?’
‘No, no . . . not at all,’ Fiona said, glancing back in the direction of the table where she’d been sitting. She pushed her black hair back over her shoulder. ‘I have to go . . . we have a table booked in the restaurant and I think it’s nearly time.’
Larry nodded. ‘We’re heading in there ourselves.’
Fiona’s eyebrows shot up again in surprise, but she said nothing. She gave another little smile. ‘I’m sure I’ll see you later,’ and then with a flick of her glossy black hair, she set off back to her table, her high heels silent in the deep pile of the carpet.
The Grace Girls Page 10
