The Grace Girls

by Geraldine O'Neill

  ‘I think we’ll go for that second Saturday in February,’ Liz said, looking at the brand-new holy calendar that someone had sent her mother for Christmas. ‘I mean, we’re not in that big a rush to have to make it the end of January.’

  Kirsty didn’t look near her sister, for fear of smiling at the wrong time and getting into trouble. ‘You’ll still have plenty of things to organise for February,’ she told Liz, as though she organised weddings every day of the week herself.

  ‘Well, it’s not going to be a great big occasion,’ Liz said cautiously. ‘That’s OK if you want to wait for years and save up for it . . . but I’d far rather get married now than have all that waitin’ and savin’.’ She held her hands out and shrugged. ‘If you waited for years for these things – God knows what could happen in the meantime.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Kirsty said, a mite too enthusiastically, ‘Jim could meet somebody else and run off and get married to them!’

  ‘Well, thank you, Kirsty Grace, for that vote of confidence in Jim Murray,’ Liz said, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

  Heather threw her sister a look that could have killed at ten paces.

  ‘Och, I’m only kidding,’ Kirsty said, pushing Liz’s arm. ‘Come on, Liz, don’t lose yer sense of humour!’

  ‘It’s a good job I know you,’ Liz said, smiling wryly in spite of herself. ‘And it’s a good job I can’t get anybody else as good to sing at the wedding, or I’d be hunting you straight out of that front door.’

  ‘Tell us,’ Kirsty said, ‘what about your dress? Have you decided on anything yet?’

  ‘Plain empire-line,’ Liz said in a definite tone. ‘Three-quarter length with a matching coat . . . you know the kind of thing. Definitely not a suit – but something akin to it.’

  ‘And will you wear it with a veil?’ Kirsty enquired, taking a drink of her coffee.

  Liz pursed her lips together and shook her head. ‘I’m not bothering about all that palaver – a nice wee feathered half-hat is far more fashionable, and I can wear it again. You only get one wear out of a white dress and a veil.’

  As she heard her friend’s statements, Heather could hear Mrs Mullen talking instead of Liz. They had obviously hammered it out, and Liz had been forced to come down on the side of finance and practicality.

  ‘Have you seen your outfit yet?’ Heather asked, feeling obliged to show some interest, and that it would be better if she asked more tactful, ordinary questions than the kind of blatant things that her sister might ask.

  Liz shook her head. ‘Not yet. I’m waiting until the sales start. My mammy was saying that you never know what you could pick up in them. We’re going to go into Glasgow next weekend and have a look in Lewis’s and the other big shops.’ She paused. ‘If I don’t see anything I really like, I thought I might ask your mammy to make it . . .’

  ‘Well, you’ll still have about a month,’ Heather calculated, ‘so she should have time to do a nice job for you if you need her.’

  ‘And what about your bridesmaid?’ Kirsty asked, since there had been no mention of it.

  Liz looked up at Heather. ‘I’ll see what there is in Glasgow, and if I see something that suits you, I’ll ask them to put it aside for you. You’ll be able to go in and look at it during your lunch break, won’t you?’

  ‘Aye. Of course I will,’ Heather replied, suddenly feeling sorry for Liz and all this wedding organisation that had been thrust upon her and the unknown things that lay ahead. ‘Just let me know as soon as you decide.’

  The girls finished their coffee and chatted for a while longer about this and that. Heather didn’t mention the fiasco with Sarah in Glasgow and just made out she had had a good time, and she was grateful to Kirsty for neither contradicting her nor laughing. Then Liz asked all about Kirsty’s big hotel debut and they talked about that for a while.

  ‘Listen,’ Kirsty said, looking at her watch, ‘I’ll need to go. I’ve to be at May Ingles to get my hair done at half past three, and I’ll have to get my bath first.’

  ‘You’re not going to go straight outside after a bath, are you?’ Liz said, her face aghast at the thought. ‘You could catch pneumonia.’

  ‘Of course I am,’ Kirsty laughed. ‘I do it all the time.’

  Liz turned to Heather now. ‘Are you sure you won’t come to that party in Motherwell with me and Jim tonight? There’s a good crowd going.’

  Heather shook her head. ‘No thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m happy just staying in. I had enough gallivanting going in to Glasgow the other day.’

  ‘But there’s a minibus going from Rowanhill at eight o’clock,’ Liz insisted, ‘and there’s quite a few girls and fellas going on their own.’ She rhymed off the names of local girls they often went dancing with. ‘Och, don’t miss it, Heather, it should be a great night.’ She suddenly halted. ‘Is it because of Gerry?’ She gave a big smile. ‘He’s not going – honest! That wee lassie he’s going out with has asked him to go to a party out at her house in Wishaw.’

  ‘Hey, less of the “wee” if you don’t mind,’ Kirsty put in, ‘she’s actually about the same size as me!’ She rolled her blue eyes in mock indignation and they all laughed.

  ‘What d’ye think?’ Liz asked. ‘I’d love you to go, because once Jim gets a few drinks in him he’ll be off chatting to the other lads and leavin’ me like a wallflower as usual.’

  ‘He won’t do that now that you’re engaged . . . surely?’ Kirsty said, knowing full well that Jim Murray was quite likely to do just that. If they were married for ten years he would probably still do it. He was the type that never changed.

  Liz pretended not to hear Kirsty’s comment as she waiting for her friend’s answer.

  Heather thought for a moment. ‘Are you sure Gerry’s not going?’

  Liz nodded her head vigorously. ‘Definitely – you know I wouldn’t do that to you. Jim definitely said that he’s goin’ to that lassie’s house.’

  ‘You should go to the party,’ Kirsty prompted her. ‘You never know who you might meet.’ Her eyes suddenly widened with delight as a great idea came to her. ‘Ooooh, you can take a loan of one of those fancy dresses I have in the wardrobe – I don’t have to give them back until next week! That black lace one would look brilliant on you.’ She gestured towards her bust. ‘You’ve got more to fill it than I have.’

  ‘OK,’ Heather suddenly said, picturing herself in one of the glamorous dresses. There was no point in sitting at home moping when she could be out having a good time. It might just make up for the big let-down she’d had last week. ‘I think I will.’

  Chapter 43

  Heather sorted her clothes out for the party while she waited for the water to heat up again after Kirsty had had her bath and rushed over to the hairdresser’s house. Heather had picked out a few of the dresses to try on, but after she tried the black lace one on she knew there was no point in trying any of the others. It looked absolutely fantastic, and the small neat size fitted her to perfection.

  ‘Good God!’ Sophie had said, when Heather had called her mother up for her opinion. ‘I hadn’t realised you’d lost so much weight, that dress really shows off your lovely slim figure. You look like a film star in it.’ She put her glasses on to look closer at the boned lace bodice and the thin spaghetti-style straps. It was all hand-sewn and must have taken ages to make – and cost a fortune.

  ‘In fact,’ Sophie said now, ‘I’m sure that’s the very same dress I saw Diana Dors wearing in one of the Photoplay magazines. If it’s not the same dress, then it’s as close as you can get.’

  Heather turned around, looking at herself in the long wardrobe mirror. ‘You don’t think it’s too low and tight for me?’ she asked. ‘I feel a wee bit self-conscious . . .’

  ‘It’s low right enough, but I don’t think it’s too low, and those dresses are all the fashion,’ Sophie said. She smiled indulgently at her daughter. ‘Och, it’s New Year and it’s a party, isn’t it? All the girls will be dressed up to t
he nines.’

  ‘I’ll wear a stole with it,’ Heather decided. ‘There’s a plain black satin one that goes with one of the other dresses and a pair of long black satin gloves, so they’ll help to cover me up a wee bit more.’

  ‘Just make sure you have your coat and stole on when you come down the stairs to go out,’ Sophie said, winking conspira­torially. ‘What your father doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I’ve heard him going on about Kirsty’s stage outfits and there’s no point in getting into a row with him over something stupid like that on New Year’s Eve.’

  Larry picked Kirsty up at seven o’clock. ‘The outfit and hair are just perfect,’ he said, looking approvingly at her.

  ‘Thanks,’ Kirsty said, giving him a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘I thought the lights would catch the sequins on the dress, so I asked the hairdresser to put a few in my hair as well.’

  ‘You’re catching on,’ he said, starting the car engine up. ‘What counts is how it looks on stage. If you’ve got the right image and the right voice you have everything.’

  Catching on, Kirsty repeated to herself. You’d think she was only a schoolgirl the way he was talking. She fought back a smart remark, determined not to cross swords with him. Tonight was too important to let anything get in the way.

  The band members were already there, setting up the microphones and tuning their instruments. They greeted Kirsty with cheery smiles and a few light-hearted words, and she realised that after only a couple of times rehearsing with them, she felt relaxed and easy in the same way she’d had felt with The Hi-Tones.

  When it dawned on her, Kirsty felt very good about it. Larry had explained that it was important for a solo singer to be able to adapt to the different bands in different places. The crowds started to come in to the beautifully decorated function room, to find their individual tables with their place-names, stopping to admire the very classy Christmas tree and decora­tions that still looking sparklingly fresh even though they’d been up several weeks by now.

  As she watched the formally dressed men and women take their places, Kirsty decided that it was time for her to disappear into the dressing-room for a final run over the songs again.

  When she came out on stage, the lights were dimmed very low, with candle-light flickering on each table. It was too dark to actually make out faces, but Kirsty was instinctively aware of Larry sitting at a table to the side of the stage – watching and waiting to see how she performed.

  ‘I told you that Jim Murray would swan off with his pals,’ Liz said with an indulgent smile as she watched him from across the crowded room. She was all dressed up for the evening in a pale pink strapless satin dress that suited her light colouring, and her fiancé was in his best suit. ‘But you can’t tie them down all the time, and as he said, he might as well enjoy this New Year as we don’t know what situation we’re going to be in next year.’ She paused for a moment, her hand patting the back of her elegant, swept-up hair to check that it was all in place. ‘We could have a baby or anything, and that would halt all the gadding about at the weekends.’

  Heather slowly nodded her head in agreement, hardly able to believe that Liz had broached the subject of babies herself. She still hadn’t come straight out and said, ‘I’m expecting’ or ‘I’m pregnant’, but she was obviously preparing people for the fact that they probably would have one in the next year.

  Heather was glad she had dressed up, as everyone else looked very glamorous, the girls in lovely evening gowns and the boys in their best suits and one or two of them wearing bow-ties. When she arrived she had taken off her coat, but so far had kept the light stole around her, draped in such a way that it completely covered her bust. ‘It’s a gorgeous big house,’ she said now, ‘isn’t it? It’s obviously private and must be worth a fortune.’ She gave a little giggle. ‘How did we get invited? We don’t usually go to parties in places like this.’ She looked around the high-ceilinged sitting-room, admiring the intricate coving and the floral centrepiece that surrounded the fitting for a fancy crystal chandelier.

  The downstairs hallway was beautiful, with very expensive-looking red velvet wallpaper, the kind Heather had only ever seen in the sorts of restaurants that her mother liked to visit on days out in the summer. The staircase was painted white with a dark wood banister, and the same patterned carpet that was in the hall below ran all the way up the stairs.

  Both girls whispered how they would love to see inside the bedrooms.

  ‘I bet they’re gorgeous,’ Heather had said, with dreamy eyes. ‘All flowery and romantic. You can just tell – it’s the type of house that it would just suit.’

  ‘When you’re upstairs in the bathroom later,’ Liz said, ‘look along the corridor and see if any of the doors are open wide enough to peep in.’

  Heather had shaken her head. ‘You must be joking, Liz Mullen – you know fine well I’m not brave enough. You’ll have to do it yourself.’

  ‘I will,’ Liz grinned. ‘I want to get ideas for when Jim and I eventually have our own house.’ She’d glanced around her. ‘Some day I’d like to own a house like this.’

  ‘Wouldn’t we all?’ Heather said, and then the two girls looked at each other and went into childish fits of giggles, drawing inquisitive looks from the others around them.

  Earlier on they had been shown into the dining-room where an expensive radiogram was playing jazz music, and the polished mahogany table and chairs had been pushed into the large bay window to give room for dancing later on. An older kitchen table had been piled up with bottles of beer and lager that people had brought along with the usual drinks for the girls like Snowballs, Babycham and Cherry-B. There was also a bottle of whiskey that someone had brought and a bottle of gin. Dishes with crisps and nuts were dotted about the place and Liz had reported that she’d heard someone say that there would be sandwiches and more substantial food later.

  Heather had grimaced to herself at the thought of the gin and tonic she’d forced herself to drink at the Pavillion in Glasgow, and had happily settled on a glass of lemonade. She decided she’d see how she felt later, but she might have one of the fancy little bottles of something when it was time for the bells.

  ‘Who’s actually giving this party?’ Heather suddenly asked Liz in a low whisper. ‘I feel funny being in here and not even knowing them.’

  ‘I don’t know the people at all,’ Liz whispered back now. ‘As far as I know it’s a sister and brother who’re having the party. Mark and Katherine somebody . . . I can’t remember the name. Jim said they’re a wee bit full of themselves wi’ all the money, but quite nice considering.’ She halted. ‘The mother and father are away to a big posh do at a hotel in Edinburgh and they’re not coming back until tomorrow night.’

  ‘That’s very handy,’ Heather said, taking a sip from her glass of lemonade. ‘Although I’d be terrified to have anything at home in case things got broken or damaged, and if I owned a place as nice as this I’d be even more terrified.’

  ‘Seemingly they’re a very decent family, so there won’t be any rough ones here or anything. Jim knows the fella through work,’ Liz explained, ‘and he just told Jim to bring a few friends with him since you never know who’ll turn up, because a lot of people like to see the New Year in at home.’

  ‘Well it’s a nice change to see some new faces,’ Heather said quietly. ‘I know it’s terrible if you don’t know a soul, but we’ve got the best of both worlds tonight because there’s the wee group that came from Rowanhill with us in the minibus if we’ve nobody else to talk to.’ She gestured over to a corner where the other six were chatting animatedly, three lads and three girls – none of whom were going out with each other.

  ‘D’you not fancy any of them?’ Liz asked her now. ‘Michael Heggarty’s a nice fella – I had a couple of dates with him before I started goin’ out with Jim.’

  ‘No thanks,’ Heather said, shooting her friend a warning glance. ‘I think if I’d fancied him you’d have
known by now.’

  An hour later there was a nice-sized crowd in the house and Heather and Liz had met quite a few of the people they didn’t know. Jim had come across to introduce Mark McFarlane who was the fellow who lived in the house. He was very friendly and well-spoken, with smooth brown hair and glasses.

  ‘This is Liz, my fiancée,’ Jim had said, and Heather noticed the glow that came to Liz’s cheeks at being described in such a way.

  ‘And this is my friend, Heather,’ Liz had said, almost pushing her forward. ‘And she’s single before you ask – and she’s got a good job in an office in Glasgow!’

  Everyone laughed at Liz’s pointed introduction but Heather found herself cringing as she shook Mark’s hand. Her friend had made it sound as though she was trying to flog her off at a cattle market. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Liz had pointed out that she had good hair and nice white even teeth.

  Later, when the dancing started up in the dining-room, Mark McFarlane came across to ask Heather to dance. He was very friendly and chatty, asking her all the usual questions about where she lived and what schools she’d gone to. He then went on to tell her how his father owned several bookies’ shops and that he was now managing the biggest one. He’d previously worked with Jim, not wanting to get involved in the family business, but his father had made him several offers that were much too good to refuse.

  ‘Let’s be honest,’ he’d told Heather as he swept her around the floor in a waltz, ‘how many fellas my age are driving brand-new cars and going to Italy for their holidays? And it’s just as easy working for my father as it is for any other boss . . . and there’s a lot more perks.’

  Heather had nodded her head in agreement, wondering what it must be like to have such a glamorous lifestyle. ‘Well, there’s no fear of me following my parents into anything,’ she’d laughed at one point. ‘My father’s a school janitor and my mother does sewing – but I’m happy enough with my job in Glasgow.’ She twirled around the floor and ignored the sinking feeling that came into her stomach at the thought of returning to work on the fourth of January and facing Sarah.