‘Who was that?’ The words were out of Kirsty’s mouth before she could stop herself.
‘Fiona McCluskey,’ Larry said in an even voice.
‘And is she in the music business, too?’
‘No,’ Larry said, ‘she’s involved in a number of businesses, but music isn’t one of them.’ He took a sip of his whiskey. ‘Now, back to our discussion . . .’
The meal went smoothly, much to Kirsty’s relief, and it was helped by the one glass of cold white wine that Larry had poured for her – the first wine she had ever tasted. ‘I wouldn’t want your mother and father to think I was leading you into bad habits,’ he’d said earlier, laughing as he ordered a half-bottle between them. ‘And if we’re going to be working closely together, it’s best if I don’t start off on the wrong foot with them.’
Kirsty almost said that she would have preferred another Babycham or a small sherry with her meal, but something had held her back. She wasn’t sure why she had said nothing when he ordered the wine, but later when she looked back on the evening, she realised it was when she noticed Fiona’s group with two bottles of wine on their table that she decided wine was obviously a social nicety she needed to learn about. And even though Larry seemed kind and understanding, Kirsty thought it best not to enlighten him that the only wine she knew anything about was tonic wine.
She could feel herself burning with embarrassment again, as she recalled having half a tumbler of the strong red wine one Christmas at an elderly neighbour’s house, which she’d downed in two gulps, and had felt her head spinning for the rest of the afternoon. In Rowanhill and the surrounding villages, Buckfast and Sanatogen wines were regarded by decent people as lethal, and only bought by the lowest of the low, heavy drinkers, or old ladies who indulged in a tiny glass now and again, supposedly for their health. Sadly, some of the poor old souls got so used to it that they were often seen discreetly buying bottles of the stuff on a daily basis.
When the waiter had carefully poured their wine from a cold bottle wrapped in a white damask linen napkin, they had clinked their wine glasses together, and then Larry had started talking, outlining all the great plans he had for her.
He talked first about her having a course of singing lessons with a renowned teacher from Motherwell, just to ‘sharpen up her voice’ on the high notes.
‘I used to go for singing lessons when I was younger,’ Kirsty told him, slightly defensively.
‘Good,’ Larry said, smiling. ‘It will be no bother to you learning breathing techniques and scales again.’ Then he talked about her changing her whole repertoire of songs, which he felt would attract a more sophisticated audience.
‘It might take a month or two before you’re ready to go on stage again, but when you do, you’ll be a very different type of performer. You’ll be in a different class. We have to get it right from the very beginning – voice, songs, clothes, hairstyle . . . everything.’
‘But that’s going to cost a fortune.’
When Kirsty had looked alarmed at all his plans, he had taken her hand between his and squeezed it reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry about a thing – it’ll all be taken care of.’ He had leaned forward and looked into her eyes. ‘I understand that you’re only a young girl, and you can’t be earning a huge amount in that chemist’s shop . . .’
‘It’s not a bad job,’ Kirsty said sounding defensive again, annoyed at being described as only a young girl. ‘There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s handy for home and a chemist’s is a nice clean place to work.’ She sat upright now, straightening out the rib of her sweater for something to concentrate on, without having to look at Larry. ‘It’s as well paid as anything around here . . . and I’ve made a bit extra from singing with the band.’
Larry nodded, and held his hands up apologetically. ‘I’m not saying anything about your job, Kirsty,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I’m sure it’s a fine job . . . for a girl who doesn’t have your outstanding talent.’
Kirsty registered his two last words, and she suddenly felt her heart soar. ‘Do you really think so?’ she whispered. ‘Do you really think I’ve got a good singing talent?’
Larry laughed out loud now, and Kirsty felt all self-conscious again. She hoped that Fiona wouldn’t look across and think he was laughing at something silly she’d said.
‘Would I be out here with you tonight, if I didn’t think you had talent?’ he said quietly, his face suddenly becoming more serious. ‘Why else would I be sitting here with you? I’m a very busy man, and I haven’t time to waste on things that aren’t important to me.’
Kirsty dropped her gaze now and started fiddling with her napkin. Now she did feel silly.
‘Well,’ she said, giving a little shrug, ‘I don’t like to act big-headed or anything . . . and there’s a big difference between thinking you’re not a bad singer in a local band and somebody like you sayin’ that I have . . . a real talent.’
‘You have a real talent, make no mistake about it,’ Larry confirmed. ‘So we won’t waste any more time debating it.’ He tapped his fingers on the lace tablecloth. ‘I was trying to say you’re not to worry about the singing lessons and the clothes being out of your reach . . . we can come to an arrangement.’
‘How?’ Kirsty asked, her brow furrowing. ‘What kind of arrangement?’
‘Well, I can always put the money up front,’ he explained, ‘and then we can deduct it from your wages when you start earning decent money from your singing. It’s fairly standard in this business . . . it’s the professional way to do things.’
There was a little silence. ‘I have savings in a post office account . . .’ Kirsty volunteered. ‘I don’t really like the idea of owing anybody money.’
‘We’ll see,’ Larry said. His eyes were dancing with amusement, but he kept his face straight just in case she took further offence. For someone who was used to dealing with all sorts of people, he suddenly realised he’d never actually met anyone like Kirsty Grace before – and certainly had never worked with anyone like her. One minute she seemed quite confident and mature beyond her years, and the very next minute she was a touchy, prickly teenager. He reckoned he was just going to have to play their working relationship very much by ear.
But one thing was sure: Kirsty Grace had a voice like no other singer on his books. He would just have to be patient and understanding with her, and hopefully she would become wiser in the ways of the business world.
Larry talked and talked throughout the meal, and Kirsty’s confidence soared as she listened to him praising her singing, and then at one point she suddenly realised she was relaxed and enjoying herself in this posh restaurant.
The array of gleaming silver cutlery that had caused her heart to sink had gradually began to make sense as she followed Larry’s example with each course, starting with the obvious soup spoon. And she had heaved a small, silent sigh of relief when the strangely shaped object – which turned out to be a fish knife – had been removed by the friendly waitress and replaced with a more recognisable wooden steak knife.
And then – feeling reckless since she hadn’t made a fool of herself – she decided to be brave and pick an Italian-sounding dessert because she liked the description of the coffee-flavoured liqueur in the centre. When the dessert arrived, she was disappointed to discover that it was darker and the liqueur was much more bitter than she had expected. But funnily enough, the more she ate of it, the more she got used to it. Like the man sitting beside her.
At first she wasn’t sure what to make of him. But the more time she spent in his company – the more she got used to him.
Chapter 18
December 1955
This was not half-hearted, melting-before-it-dropped snow. This was real Scottish snow – crisp, hard snowflakes that would lie on the ground to be joined by millions of others, mingling together to make a hard white carpet. A carpet that would be enjoyed for days to come in the lead-up to Christmas – and Lily Grace was determined to get out and abo
ut in this real white stuff as much as possible.
‘Can I have a shillin’, Mammy?’ Lily asked, hopping from one foot to another in an unconscious Highland step. She was all decked out for the wintry weather in a green woollen suit, with trousers and hooded jacket lined in a creamy fleecy material and fur-lined, leather, zipped ankle boots. Pat often teased her that she looked like a little leprechaun in the outfit.
‘A shilling?’ Mona repeated in a high voice, as she drained the excess milk from a slow-cooked rice pudding that would be eaten in two seconds flat by the boys that evening. There were two dishes, the large one she had just drained for the family, and a smaller one which was for Father Finlay to have this afternoon. The priest preferred his main meal in the middle of the day, and was happy with a cold plate of something in the evening, even in the winter.
‘Ye see, I want to buy my daddy a wee present for Christmas,’ Lily explained, coming to a standstill, one hand on her right hip and the other occasionally waving in the air for emphasis. Now and again she threw a glance at the slightly mottled, but fancily framed, mirror above her mother’s head to see how she looked as she was speaking. Anything that resembled the mannerisms of Kirsty or Heather’s age-group was the general aim. ‘Ye see, I’m sixpence short for this lovely pen I saw . . .’ Her voice dropped now. ‘And I owe the paper shop sixpence for a comic.’
Mona plonked the rice on the draining board and whirled around. ‘Did I just hear right?’ she gasped, her eyes almost bulging. She rubbed her damp hands on the floral apron tied around her thickish waist, and then she tucked an irritating strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Did I hear you sayin’ that you owe the paper shop money?’
Lily’s little hands were quickly stilled by her mother’s tone, and moved to join together behind her back. ‘It’s just this once,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘You see, there was a bit of a mix-up . . . but it wasn’t my fault.’
‘Don’t tell me!’ Mona said, raising her eyes skywards. ‘Don’t tell me, you’ve muddled them all up changing comics again? Not just before Christmas when they’re up to their eyes selling books and annuals and everything?’
‘It wasn’t me – honest!’ Lily protested. ‘It was that Sammy again. I telt him to write it in the book last week, but he must have forgot.’ The hands were out waving expressively again, just in case the words weren’t getting the point across to her mother. ‘You see, I telt him that I wanted to change from The Dandy and The Beano to The School Friend and The Girl.’ She took a deep breath to continue. ‘I felt since I was ten now, it was about time I was gettin’ more girls’ stuff . . .’
The outside door sounded now, and Lily offered a silent prayer that it was her father, who might just get her out of this situation, and not one of her brothers, who just might make it worse.
‘Wait until you hear this,’ Mona said as Pat came in, taking his bus driver’s hat off. He got the half-day off every second Saturday. ‘This lady’s only been getting stuff on tick up at the paper shop again.’
Lily’s eyes opened wide in indignation, and her mouth moved into a circle of denial. ‘It wasn’t my fault – it was that Sammy,’ she said, her voice now high and bordering on hysterical. ‘It was all a big mistake!’
‘No – it’s you that’s the big mistake,’ Mona countered.
‘Now, now,’ Pat interjected, ‘don’t be sayin’ things like that to the child –’
‘Can you not just do what you’re told for once?’ Mona went on. ‘The last time this carry-on happened, you said it would never happen again.’
Lily joined her little hands as though in prayer. ‘I promise I never asked for tick. I went up to collect my comics as usual, and he handed me two instead of one.’ She turned to Pat now, her eyes filling with tears, and her lip trembling. ‘Ye see, two of the comics come out on a Tuesday, and two come out on a Thursday – and I wanted to change to a different one on each day . . . if ye get what I mean.’ Her father’s face was more patient than her mother’s but it was blank, showing that he didn’t get what she meant at all. ‘But that stupid Sammy didn’t write it down . . . and he was too late to cancel them for this week, so that’s how I ended up owin’ them sixpence.’
In actual fact, it was sevenpence ha’penny that Lily owed the shop, due to the fact that one of the new comics was fourpence ha’penny as opposed to threepence for the rest. But she had worked it all out that if she got the sixpence at least, she could always make the other threeha’pence up with an empty ginger bottle.
A fairly straightforward transaction – if the adults didn’t complicate things as usual.
‘Isn’t that some carry-on?’ Mona said to her husband. ‘A right ha-hoo over blidey ould comics. We’ve never owed a penny in our lives, apart from at the Co-op, and if she had her ways, we’d be owin’ money right, left and blidey centre.’ She pursed her lips and gave a long, weary sigh. ‘We’ll be ashamed to show our faces in the shop after this.’ She looked at Lily with a severely pained expression. ‘We’ll be the blidey talk of the place wi’ you and your blidey comics.’
Pat hung his bus driver’s jacket and hat on the back of the kitchen door. ‘How much?’ he said, his hand now jingling coins in his thick working-trouser pocket.
‘I’ll leave you to it, if you want to bale her out,’ Mona stated, with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘But she’ll learn nothin’ about managin’ money if she gets it handed to her every time she spends money she doesn’t have.’ Her finger was now wagging in her daughter’s direction. ‘And I hope she’s going to tell it all when she’s next at confession.’ Mona flounced out to check how the fire was doing in the living-room, hoping that her husband and daughter would feel that she was so upset she had abandoned the two dishes of rice pudding on the sink drainer. In actual fact, she had left them there to cool, but it made a handy dramatic exit, and kept up her status as a beleaguered wife and mother.
‘About a shilling altogether . . .’ Lily whispered, relieved that her mother had left the kitchen, and hoping that her father wouldn’t find out that he had just paid the last instalment on his own Christmas present.
The business was duly sorted out at the paper shop thanks to the shilling that Pat had come up with and threepence that her brother Declan gave her on the way up the road. Lily had slid all her way to the shop, making good use of the icy pavements, paid her debts, and slid onwards to the library, which closed early on a Saturday, to show the librarian her scrupulously washed hands and then pick up her books for the weekend. The librarian was a nice type, but she had been told off by the County Librarian for letting careless children into her little private toilet to wash their grubby hands before handling the books. Lily Grace had taken the lesson to heart after the one occasion when she had been sent all the way back home in the rain to wash her hands.
She had deposited the two Famous Fives, a Just William and the newly released Secret Seven she’d been waiting weeks for, back at the house. Then she slid over to the school for the very last Saturday-afternoon Scottish country dancing rehearsal before the fundraising concert.
Mrs McGinty had been surprisingly good-tempered, and on two occasions had brought Lily and her wee partner Willie out to the middle of the hall to demonstrate the more intricate moves. ‘Just like your cousins,’ she had told Lily in front of the whole class. ‘The Graces are gifted with light feet in the family.’
She hadn’t seemed too annoyed about the fact that Heather hadn’t turned up for this important last rehearsal, she tutted and just gave Lily a note for Heather, saying not to forget the actual dance display the following Saturday afternoon, which was the week before Christmas.
‘And make sure you all have your proper dancing shoes and socks,’ Mrs McGinty reminded the group, ‘and a tartan sash to go over your school skirt and blouse. If your mothers haven’t managed to make the sash themselves, then tell them they’ve to go straight to Lily’s Auntie Sophie, and make sure she knows it’s for next Saturday.’
Lily’s hand h
ad shot up. ‘My Auntie Sophie says she’s done a few extra sashes,’ she said importantly, ‘so if anybody needs one, they can just go straight to the house with a shilling and buy one.’
After the dancing, Lily had spent another wee while playing snowballs out in the schoolyard with Willie and some of the other boys and girls, and then they had all slid up to the Co-op to press their noses against the window and stare longingly at the colourful Christmas display of toys and books.
‘I want that and that and that off Santie!’ Lily said, pointing to a baby doll, a chalkboard and easel and The School Friend annual.
‘And I want that and that and that off Santie!’ Willie echoed, pointing to a red-painted wooden sledge that stood in the corner of the window, a football annual and a big jar of Quality Street.
The three other children followed suit, chanting their preferences and then they all had another game of snowballs and sliding.
Later, when Lily got back home and complained of having sore arms and shaky legs and generally not feeling well, Mona told her that less running about and less sliding would help both her legs and the soles of her new zip-up boots.
Chapter 19
‘This is the first Saturday night I’ve had off for ages,’ Kirsty stated, as she jostled for a place at the bathroom mirror beside her sister. She turned the tap on very carefully, to let a drop or two of water fall onto her Max Factor cake mascara, then she rubbed the brush onto the damp block to work up a good paste. ‘I can’t believe it! I feel all excited at the thought of a night out at the dancin’ in Motherwell Town Hall. You’d think I was a schoolgirl let loose for the night.’
Both girls were all dressed up for going out – Kirsty in a fine red wool sweater, with a fashionable, tight black pencil skirt and a shiny black belt nipping in her waist. She had black suede ankle boots with a black fur trim to wear with her black swing coat for travelling, and planned to carry high black stilettos in a bag to change into when she arrived at the dance. Her blonde hair was loose down over her shoulders, with the waves kept in place by a light setting lotion as opposed to gallons of sticky lacquer for the swept-up creations.
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