by Shari Low
‘Och, for God’s sake, lass. If I had a figure like yours I’d be coming to work in a bra and tea towel,’ Josie said, clearly disgusted at Chrissie’s modesty.
Chrissie’s gaze went back to her reflection in the mirror. The dress was beautiful, but it was red, figure hugging, had shoestring straps, and stopped about six inches above the knee. In other words, there was more chance of finding Brad Pitt in her wardrobe than this frock.
‘Right, you two, you’ve had your fun, but if I’m going to do this it has to be something I’ll actually want to wear.’
‘Okay, love. We understand and we’ll absolutely abide by your wishes,’ Val said.
‘Really?’
‘Nope, we’re lying, but we’re hoping we’ll wear you down. What about the pink sparkly one?’
Chrissie’s laughter could be heard throughout the whole of the womenswear department of House of Fraser. Despite being accompanied by two elderly Scottish versions of Gok Wan, and currently being dressed as a jalapeno pepper, this was the most fun she’d had in ages that didn’t involve sport, pizza, or superhero movies.
Today had definitely been a surprise. She’d been expecting to head into work, to have a busy pre-Christmas rush of customers, and then to hastily change into jeans, her one sparkly top, and a black jacket that she’d packed in her bag this morning and go meet her date. Val and Josie had other ideas. They’d arranged with Jen for her to have time off because they were taking her shopping for a new outfit. It was the loveliest, sweetest most thoughtful thing anyone had done for her in a long, long time and she welled up every time she thought of it. For so many years it had been just her and Ben – it never stopped being a wonderful feeling that she’d been welcomed into this crazy extended family.
‘What is it you’d actually like to wear?’ the assistant asked, enjoying the camaraderie between the women, but conscious that this was one of the busiest shopping days of the year and they were blocking a changing room.
Chrissie shrugged her shoulders helplessly. ‘I don’t know. Something… classy.’
Josie, all seventy odd years of her, rolled her eyes. ‘Dear God, I’ve taught her nothing.’
‘Something elegant, that I’ll be able to wear again. I prefer black. Maybe with just a little bit of sparkle. And something not too expensive.’ Christmas had already wiped her out, but she’d managed to avoid putting anything on the credit card, so that was a huge bonus. Still, the last thing she needed to be doing was blowing what little she had left on a dress, especially one she’d never wear again.
Val stood up. ‘Josie, come with me. You slip back into the changing rooms, love, and we’ll go on the hunt. I’ll supervise Josie, so hopefully we’ll find something that doesn’t make you look like you’re auditioning for Little Mix.’
Josie’s face was a picture of disgust. ‘Girl’s got to get out there,’ she argued.
‘Oh, sweet Jesus, you’re channelling Beyoncé again, Josie,’ Val chided. ‘She does indeed need to get back out there, she just doesn’t need to look like she’s escaped from Santa’s porn grotto.’
‘Now there’s somewhere I’d like to visit,’ Josie admitted, grinning, while the assistant’s jaw dropped lower than the cleavage on the last three navel exposing frocks.
Beyoncé and her sidekick were back in ten minutes with a new array of outfits. Chrissie discarded anything that had sequins – around ninety per cent of the options – finally coming to a beautiful black mid-calf crepe dress that was sleeveless, had a fairly modest thigh split, and was adorned only with a very simple diamanté studded strap draped diagonally across one shoulder. Chrissie had never come even close to wearing a dress this gorgeous.
‘I picked that one,’ Val told her proudly, while Josie muttered something about funerals and mourning.
In the changing room, Chrissie checked the size – Fourteen. Perfect. She slipped it on, pulled up the side zipper and felt a rush of… something. She wasn’t sure what it was. Relief. Appreciation. Happiness. Freedom. Joy. And a tiny little bit of self-belief. She looked okay. She actually looked okay. It would need a nice shrug or shawl, because there was a fair chance it would freeze her bits off, but for the first time in forever she could see a glimmer of her former self in the mirror – the person she’d been before she’d slipped to the bottom of her own priority list.
Even if she bottled out of going tonight, which was still a very strong possibility, at least she’d have this stunning dress to wear in the future – even if it was only on the couch while binge watching the latest series of Grey’s Anatomy.
She stepped out of the changing room and both Val and Josie gasped, then Val pulled a hankie out of her bag because she’d welled up and didn’t want tears to make her eyeliner run.
‘You are gorgeous, sweetheart, absolutely gorgeous,’ she said, her voice wobbly. This was the woman who was strong as steel, with the most resolute game face, who endured every challenge and tragedy like a warrior, but who crumbled with happiness when something good happened to someone she loved.
Josie’s heart was every bit as huge. ‘Okay, I give in to your better judgement. You look gorgeous. But how about a wee red jacket to go over the top. Gold? Silver?’
Eventually they settled on a beautiful shrug made of a silver web that matched the dress perfectly, before detouring to the shoe department for a stunning pair of black velvet shoes, with skyscraper steel heels.
‘The chances of ending up in A&E are high, but they’re worth it,’ Val told her.
She couldn’t argue. ‘Just promise me you’ll visit when I’m in traction,’ she said, with a grin, realising that resistance was futile. One new dress. One new pair of shoes. One gorgeous new shawl. One highly enjoyable morning.
At the till, she pulled out her purse, but Josie barged her out of the way and handed over a credit card. ‘This is our treat…’
‘No, Josie, you can’t!’ Chrissie objected.
‘Indeed we can. It’s a Christmas present from me, Val and Jen. It’s that or a subscription to Match.com, your choice.’
Chrissie knew when she was beaten and flushed with yet another wave of gratitude. She hugged them both in turn. She really could not wish for better friends. ‘Thank you, Josie. And you, Val. Suppose this means I actually have to go tonight. I’d pretty much talked myself out of it.’
She was just verbalising what she’d been thinking since last night. She didn’t need to go. She could cancel. Why did she need this kind of stress in her life? They were doing just fine, her and Ben. Relationships just complicated things, sucked up time and emotional investment. The thoughts had been tumbling over in her mind since the moment she’d agreed to go.
The only reason she’d said yes in the first place was because she had a vague recollection of Davie Bailey from school. He’d been one of those guys that everyone knew because he played for the school football team and he had a good looking, confident, swagger thing going on. Half of the girls in Chrissie’s year had been madly in love with him, but not Chrissie. She found that kind of popularity mildly terrifying. And besides, back then it was all about…
She blocked the thought. If she let herself go down that path she would cancel tonight and end up spending the whole weekend thinking about him, feeling that pain again. In the early years, self-preservation had forced her to develop tools and strategies to keep going – refusing to allow herself to wallow in the past was at the top of the list.
Now, she knew it was time she developed tools and strategies to open her life up to a romantic relationship again. Even that thought made her feel nauseous, but she had to get over it, embrace the fear. When Davie had suggested they meet, her first instinct was to refuse point blank, and she did, a couple of times, but he’d persuaded her in the end. What did she have to lose, other than a night of her life and a bit of her confidence, if it all went wrong? Well, hello again, nausea.
‘Thank you very much,’ Val said to the cashier, as she handed over a large bag containing their purchases. L
et’s go,’ Val said, ‘Lots more to get done today.’
‘But I have to get back to work. Jen will be rushed off her feet…’
‘Don’t you worry about that. The Saturday staff are in working extra hours today so the shop will be absolutely fine,’ Val told her. ‘We have plans…’
‘Oh God. Should I be worried?’ Chrissie said, only half-joking.
‘Absolutely,’ Josie told her. ‘If Liam Neeson was your dad, he’d be getting a message that you’d been kidnapped right about now.’
‘But we’re good to our hostages,’ Val added. ‘So, lunch first, then the next surprise of the day. We’ve booked a table over at the Italian restaurant in Princess Square.’
Chrissie felt yet another jolt of happiness. Princess Square was one of her favourite places in Glasgow. Built in the 1840s, it was originally a merchant square, but was now a huge shopping and dining centre that housed several stories of upmarket stores and restaurants, all situated around a glorious glass roofed atrium. Chrissie had never had the money to shop there, but every year at Christmas, she’d take Ben and they’d sit on the steps at the edge of the courtyard on the lower floor, eat ice cream and listen to the carol singers or watch the bands playing. It was the perfect way to top up their Christmas spirit.
They crossed over Buchanan Street and entered the centre, then headed for the escalators. ‘We’re going to the Third floor. Och, isn’t this gorgeous,’ Val said, as they stepped on to the moving stairway.
As they rose, Chrissie scanned the area. It was truly beautiful. The Christmas tree on the ground floor was a stunning masterpiece of white and gold. The cascades and spirals of lights hanging from the higher floors were magnificent. The festive music and the crowds of shoppers bustling along behind the glass balconies and brass railings only added to the Christmas spirit. And the…
Chrissie froze as her eyes caught sight of the curving, majestic stairway diagonally across the centre. The couple. He had jet black hair, wide shoulders emphasised by the impeccable cut of his suit. She had tumbling waves of brunette curls that fell almost to the point where his hand rested on the small of her back as they climbed the stairs. She could only see him from behind, but she knew. The way he moved. The way he walked. The gesture of protection…
She felt herself wobble, lose her grip on the top of the escalator, then the steadying pressure of Val, pushing against her to hold her upright.
‘Chrissie, are you okay? Jesus, love, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Chrissie couldn’t find the words to tell her that she had.
Eight
George
She was a real looker, our Flora. My da was always saying he had to beat them off with a stick when it came to that lass, and he wasn’t kidding. The cricket bat sat right inside the front door, where it had been since we were kids. He wasn’t afraid to use it then when we stepped out of line, and he wasn’t afraid to use it on any poor bugger who thought they could come calling for our Flora.
Flora had our father’s dark hair and our mother’s piercing blue eyes. Always thought she looked like that actress. What was her name now…? Bloody brain is so riddled with cancer it’s deserting me.
Not Joan Crawford. Or Bette Davis. The other one. Ava Gardner! That was her. Stunning looking lassie. Aye, our Flora bore more than a little resemblance to her. Not that she was ever going to be an actress, mind. Our da would have gone to his grave before he allowed that. He made no secret of the fact that she was his favourite and he protected her at all costs.
Flora worked for my father in his bookkeeping business. I’m fairly sure he took her on to keep her out of harm’s way, because she was never particularly good with numbers. She went along with it though, after my mother begged her to do as he wanted and keep the peace. That was my ma. Bloody terrified of upsetting him and triggering one of his rages. Anyway, Flora did as she was bid, took the job and even began courting the son of one of my father’s business clients. Da was well pleased. They had a huge house in Newton Mearns and I think he could see himself up there, hobnobbing with the posh ones.
Our Annie, though? Well, she was a different case altogether. Her full name had been Bethany, but my parents had decided early on that Annie was more suited to her than her more formal given name. She was a wild one all her life, always the first to try new things and push boundaries. She even saved up her money from her job as a typist in an insurance company in the city centre and bought a record player. It seemed like every week, home she came with another single by Elvis or The Everly Brothers. I was more of a Frank Sinatra fan myself.
She was a case, our Annie. She didn’t have the looks of Flora, but she was pretty enough, with her red hair and the freckles on her pale cheeks. But oh, she was quick with her mouth. She could make anyone laugh and she let no one get away with anything. Fearless, she was. My da… well, she was the bane of his life, quite frankly. The only one that had the nerve to stand up to him, until he was red in the face and my mother had to get between them and shoo Annie out of the door before my da lost his head and went for her.
We would hear Annie laughing as she jogged off down the path and that would just set my da off again. More than once he tore out there after her but she was too fast for him.
I actually think he was relieved when she got herself a boyfriend, because, unlike how he felt about Flora, he wanted Annie up the aisle and off his hands and didn’t much care who took her.
Declan Docherty was an insurance broker at her firm, and by God, Annie was besotted. Never liked the look of him myself. Too cocky. Too sure of himself. Too fast with the chat. There was no use telling Annie that though, because that lassie didn’t care what anyone else thought. She had a heart of gold but she was bold as brass and the only thing she’d inherited from our father was sheer bloody mindedness. Nothing could stop her when she set her mind to something.
Still, I did speak up when I found out she was sneaking Flora out at night to go dancing with her crowd from work. Annie would have been twenty-four then, and Flora twenty-two. They were grown women with their own minds, but I could see what was coming if my father found out what Annie was doing with his favourite child.
I waited in the kitchen after I’d come home from a date with Betty one Saturday night. I left the light on until I heard them coming down. They’d both been home at 11 p.m., as was the rule in my da’s house, but now it was midnight and they were sneaking out again. I knew how it went. Declan Docherty had a car, the flash bastard, and he’d be waiting around the corner for them.
‘Da’ll not be pleased, Annie,’ I said, as I switched on the light.
‘Christ Almighty, George, you near gave me a heart attack there,’ she hissed. Their outfits would have had my da reaching for the heart pills too. Both of them had on skirts so tight it was a wonder they could put one foot in front of the other. ‘You’ll not be telling him,’ she said, her voice low, her hands on hips, challenging me, her face making it clear it wasn’t up for discussion.
‘No, I won’t. But you shouldn’t be dragging Flora into it, too.’
Annie laughed. ‘Is that what you think?’
For the first time Flora stepped forward. ‘She’s not dragging me into anything, George. I begged her to take me. It’s the only bloody time I can get away from him looking over me.’
I was as surprised by her language as by what she was saying.
‘He’s determined to get me married off and I’m not having it. I want to have some fun first, do a bit of living.’
Well, that had me stunned.
‘Let her have her night out, George. I’ll make sure I get her back in one piece.’
Annie was less than two years older than Flora but it could have been ten years in maturity.
I shrugged and went off to bed, tossing and turning until I heard them coming back in at 4 a.m., only an hour before my old man’s alarm went off. Thank God he’d always been a heavy sleeper.
It went on for months, and I never spoke of it aga
in. Betty and I got engaged and set to be wed, Flora seemed happy and Annie was full of the joys and the chat about how great her man was.
‘He’s going to propose, George, I know it. He says I’ll always be the only one for him and we’re made for each other,’ she told me one night, just a week or so before her birthday.
That’s when I knew they were sleeping together. There was something in the way she said it, an excitement, and let’s face it, Annie had always been one for staring danger in the face and asking for more. I should have tracked him down then and leathered him. Or at least, given him a warning and told him to back off, but I didn’t. I did nothing. Just kept to my own business and stayed out of it. I took the easy option. Shameful, when I look back on it.
I realised the following week that was a mistake. On Annie’s birthday there was no engagement ring, just a bottle of cheap perfume and a Cliff Richard single. She didn’t even like Cliff Richard. Always the tough one, she tried to act like she wasn’t bothered, but I could see how hurt she was and I cursed Declan Docherty for messing with her feelings.
The next evening, I headed out late to my night shift at the factory, I turned the corner of our street and I started at what I saw.
Declan Docherty, up against a fence, kissing my sister.
But it wasn’t Annie.
I pulled him off her and smacked him straight across the face, while Flora begged me to stop. I couldn’t. Punch after punch I landed on his face, until I heard another voice.
‘George, stop it. You’ll kill him.’ Annie. She’d heard the commotion and come out to see what was going on. She wasn’t screaming hysterically like Flora. Her voice was deathly calm and controlled. ‘You,’ she said to Declan, who was scrambling to his feet. ‘You can fuck off.’
He dragged himself back into his car, and only when he was inside with the doors locked did he wind down the window.
‘You’re a dead man,’ he shouted at me.
‘Aye, come ahead, ya prick,’ I replied, angrier than I’d ever been in my life. I wasn’t a fighter, but he’d deserved every bit of that.
