by Sharon Owens
Shirley sighed. She often wondered how Kate had managed to reach the grand old age of twenty-nine without ever having had one single, profound thought. Or how she could be germ-phobic and boy-crazy at the same time.
‘You could take a PhD in missing the point, Kate. Do you know that?’ But she slipped off her shoes anyway, and held them up by the heels.
‘Don’t sit on the bed,’ warned Kate, eyeing Shirley’s latest outfit: a faded pink and orange silk skirt and blouse from the local thrift store. And horror of horrors, a waist-length necklace of red glass flowers, that even a half-blind maiden aunt wouldn’t wear to the back door. Poor Shirley, only nineteen years old; she actually believed it was the ultimate in cool to wear used clothing.
‘Oh, shut up, it’s all been professionally cleaned,’ said Shirley, ‘and it’s miles better quality than your trendy chain-store rubbish.’
Shirley Winters threw herself down on her sister Kate’s pretty, cast-iron bed and studied Kate’s extensive handbag collection, which was mostly kept hanging on the bedposts.
‘Don’t let that filthy purse of yours touch my pillow, for God’s sake,’ Kate cried.
Shirley laughed and lovingly rubbed the antique purse across her own face, while Kate shivered with disgust. Kate couldn’t be too unkind to her little sister this morning, or she’d be left without an escort for her weekly visit to Hogan’s ballroom.
Kate’s room was a treasure trove of ladies’ accessories. In fact, there were so many animal-print scarves, plastic belts and spike-heeled shoes everywhere, it resembled a well-stocked boutique. The room even boasted its very own mini-chandelier, complete with glass droplets.
‘You’re weird,’ Kate sighed. Shirley’s point-blank refusal to wear new clothes was impossible for her to understand.
‘You buy a new handbag every time you go out with a new man. How weird is that?’ Shirley said.
‘Yeah, well. I’m sentimental.’
‘You’re a narcissist, Kate,’ scoffed Shirley. ‘That means you have no regard for other people’s feelings, in case you didn’t know.’
‘I’m still looking for the perfect man—bag combination,’ Kate said calmly, peering in the mirror of her dainty dressing table and rubbing on some blue eyeshadow. She didn’t suffer from a guilt complex of any kind, that was true. And Kate thought that was a good thing. She’d once dumped a perfectly civil insurance salesman from Derry because he had committed the ultimate fashion-crime of having brown shoelaces in his black brogues.
Shirley counted the handbags. There were forty-three of them, made of velvet, denim, leather and suede. Some were very pretty – beaded or tasselled. Some were modern, minimalist and smart. Shirley wondered again if her big sister might have some sort of shopping addiction. No woman in her right mind could possibly need so many bags. (Or so many boyfriends.) Shirley had one handbag, and one handbag only; it was a small Victorian purse made of pale green silk, with pretty silver handles and a fine chain for carrying. She never let it out of her sight. It was her most precious possession, a once-in-a-lifetime find in an antiques store in the village of Helen’s Bay. Kate was convinced the purse was full of deadly TB germs, and even the girls’ mother wouldn’t allow it in the kitchen, for fear it might contaminate the groceries.
Kate was now brushing her long, dark hair. ‘Kevin McGovern asked me out last week,’ she said, ‘and he was wearing filthy overalls at the time.’
‘He is a mechanic, Kate. He can hardly repair cars wearing a tuxedo.’
‘We bumped into each other outside the newsagent’s at the top of the avenue. I said, “Where are you taking me? To the garage to see your alloy-wheel collection?” We laughed it off, but really, the cheek of him.’
‘Kate, he’s nice.’
‘Can you see me married to an oil-spattered Kevin?’
‘Kevin and Kate? It has a kind of ring to it, don’t you think? Kevin and Kate McGovern, of McGovern’s Garage, Belfast. Solid and dependable, that sounds. Hasn’t he kept that business going single-handedly since his father retired?’
‘Oh, Shirley, you’re away with the fairies. You probably would marry some stupid fella just because your names both started with the same letter.’
‘Come to think of it, he’s always inventing things to do with cars. He told our dad he was working on an antitheft device, last time he saw him. Likely he’ll be rich someday. You should have given him a chance, Kate. He might scrub up rather well, out of the overalls.’
‘I doubt it. Anyway, name me one rich inventor. Pass me that can of hairspray, would you? The extra-strength one, there, in the metallic pink can, at the back of the shelf. With the purple lid.’
Shirley passed the container and stood back as the perfumed cloud enveloped her sister, waving away the strong-smelling fumes. They both held their breath until the fine, sticky mist finally settled on the white carpet.
‘Where did I put that clutch bag with the sequin roses?’ (She’d bought that particular bag after a two-week fling with a professional gardener who wrote love poems to her on the back of horse-chestnut leaves.)
‘It’s there, on the bed. On the pillow, under the denim shoulder bag.’
‘Oh, yeah. Pass it over, would you?’ Shirley passed it.
She stood behind her sister, peering into the mirror from over Kate’s shoulder. She stole a blob of Kate’s pink hair gel and used it to flatten down her blunt-cut fringe. The deadly purse swung from Shirley’s wrist on its delicate chain, and caught Kate in the eye.
‘For God’s sake, I told you to keep that damn purse away from me!’
‘Sorry.’ Shirley tried to sound as if she meant it.
‘Are you really wearing those old rags into town?’ Kate moaned. ‘You’ll make a right show of me.’
‘There’s a matching hat, too,’ laughed Shirley.
‘Please tell me that’s a joke. The hem is hanging off your skirt. People will think you’ve no money. Oh, Shirl-ee…’
‘Okay, first, this is a genuine 1920s’ garment, I’ll have you know. It’s supposed to look old because it is old. Secondly, I have no money to spare. A new oven won’t come for free.’
‘Yes, well. That’s very nice of you, Shirley. But you’ve got to think of yourself. You’ll not get a boyfriend, done up like that. You want to get a nice, leather dress, like my new one. Low-cut in front. Bit of body glitter on the old cleavage. Get the boys’ eyes popping out, that will.’
‘I don’t want their eyes popping out. Or anything else, either. You shouldn’t encourage them, Kate. They’re barely able to control themselves at the best of times. A low-cut, leather dress could push them over the edge altogether.’
‘You won’t get far in your poverty-chic. That’s all I’m saying. And those big buttons give me the creeps. Some old biddy could have died wearing that very blouse. Ugh!’
‘I don’t want any man,’ said Shirley, softly. ‘Just one man in particular. I want Declan Greenwood.’ She thought of his dark brown, deep-set eyes and his blond crew cut, and wanted to hold him so much it was like a physical pain. ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It’s our destiny.’
‘Destiny, nothing, Shirley. You fancy him. Don’t try and dress it up as something from a higher level. You’ll just have to attract his attention. Men are very visual creatures. Everyone knows that. Show him a bit of shoulder if you’re too shy to show anything else. I’ve got a nice top you could borrow. Bananarama –’
‘No, it’s an elemental thing. It’s something spiritual. As old as time. When two people are right for each other, when the chemistry is right, Mother Nature will know it, and she will bring them together. It’s something in nature that pairs people off, you see – knowing they have complementary qualities that will help them to survive in the chaos of the world. That’s my theory.’
‘You’re cracked, Shirley Winters. What about Bonnie and Clyde? Mother Nature slipped up badly the day those two met, didn’t she?’
‘It’s not a perfect system. I’m n
ot saying it’s perfect.’
‘I’m telling you, marriage is all based on physical attraction. Men marry women who are as attractive as they are, on a scale of one to ten. Beautiful people marry each other. Plain people marry each other. That’s a scientific fact. Eventually, people become so plain that nobody at all will marry them. And the plain genes die out. See? I read about it in a magazine. It’s just one big beauty competition out there.’
‘Oh, please, Kate. That’s total rubbish. An insult to human intelligence. Are you trying to tell me that nature cares about high cheekbones and long eyelashes?’
‘It’s true! Now, are you nearly ready?’
‘Just the old eyeliner to apply.’
‘In that case, Quigley’s, here we come!’
‘Kate, we’re not –’
‘You know, you should have your hair updated. Get some layers put in. That flat bob look was over five years ago. And buy some new clothes. You’re like a mad granny in that old blouse. Is it meant to be that colour, or is it just faded? It’s far too big for you. Here, put this belt over it. Cover up that missing button.’
‘No, Kate. I like my clothes baggy. And pink plastic does not go with antique silk. I thought you were supposed to be a fashion expert?’
‘Shirley, you’re hopeless!’
‘I mightn’t bother going shopping now. Or to Hogan’s, either. You’ve spoilt the mood for me.’ Shirley did fancy herself as a mysterious, Bohemian, left-wing kind of girl, but it was a very fragile fantasy indeed, and didn’t stand up to too much criticism.
‘You’re going into that record shop, and that’s the end of it. You’ve been driving me crazy, moping over Declan Greenwood for months now. The sooner you ask him out, the better. And you’ll be at Hogan’s tonight as well, no matter what happens in Quigley’s. I’ll finally get to dance with Alex Stone tonight. I just know it.’ She stood up and stepped into some silver sandals with see-through heels. Shirley was tempted to have a good sulk, but there was no point. Kate never paid attention to the moods of other people.
‘Don’t you mean Standing Stone?’ Shirley said, playing with her strand of beads. ‘That’s what they call him. That’s all he ever does: stand against the wall in Hogan’s.’
‘That’s the beauty of it. I always know where he is. Not like some men. Up until now, all we’ve done is talk.’
‘He talks to all the girls, Kate. He’s just doing his job.’
‘I want him, Shirley, and I’m going to get him.’
‘Oh, dear, here we go again on the merry-go-round of love. Do you never get dizzy? He can’t dance with you, anyway, Kate. Bouncers aren’t allowed to romance the ladies while they’re on duty.’
‘They are if Johnny Hogan’s not about.’
‘Are you actually going to ask him for a dance?’
‘Don’t be silly, Shirley. He’ll be the one doing the asking.’
‘How? I don’t get it. You’ll have to spell it out for me.’
‘Look, I told Alex something about that girl he fancies, that cheeky piece who works in the newsagent’s. Louise Lowry.’
‘What did you tell him?’ Shirley asked, with a sigh. Kate’s ambitious schemes usually ended in tears.
‘Nothing much. Just that she has a glass eye.’ Kate admired her ankles in the dangerously high sandals. ‘Speaking of which, aren’t these glass heels simply divine?’
‘Kate! How could you! And it’s a crazy thing to say. How many people have glass eyes? Louise’ll find out what you said and come after you!’
‘Who’s gonna tell her?’ asked Kate.
‘She’s got hands on her like two bricks. Have you noticed that? She’ll flatten you like a pancake. Even hardened shoplifters won’t go in that shop.’
‘How will she find out? Alex won’t be talking to her now, will he? He’ll avoid her like the plague. He almost threw up when I told him.’
‘Did he really? How prejudiced,’ Shirley gasped.
‘He’s phobic around disability. Phobic isn’t the same as prejudiced,’ Kate said firmly. Shirley shook her head. This was much worse than the time Kate had lied about her height on the stewardess application form, and then tried to convince them at the interview that their tape measure was faulty. And then calling the other girls nothing but a bunch of glorified waitresses when she was asked to leave the room. As if she could ever have convinced them that she wasn’t six foot tall in her bare feet. Kate and Shirley were the tallest girls in Belfast, but that didn’t stop Kate wearing high heels. Boys sometimes asked her if she needed oxygen up there, or if it was going to rain the next day.
‘I don’t believe you sometimes. You don’t even like him that much. You just want him because Louise wants him,’ said Shirley.
‘Not true. I like him. He’s taller than me, for one thing.’
‘Oh, Kate! Anyway, he’s only a bouncer. I wouldn’t have thought he was your type. I thought you wanted a rich husband?’
‘I do want a rich husband,’ admitted Kate. ‘But I do like Alex. A lot. He’s only bouncing temporarily. Look, I’ll tell you a secret, but you must keep it to yourself. Alex stands to inherit a chain of jewellery shops from his elderly uncle, but nobody knows about it.’
‘Are you out of your mind? Come on, Kate. He’s not one of those Stones.’
‘He is. His mate, Jim, told me in confidence, but he swore he’d deny it if I let the word get out. So you see, I’ve got to be his girlfriend before the old uncle pops his clogs, otherwise Alex will think I’m only after his money.’
‘Aren’t you?’ Shirley asked.
‘Of course not. He’s a walking dreamboat, or haven’t you noticed?’
‘No. A bit muscle-bound, for me. I like men who are slightly underweight and over-educated, not the other way round.’
‘He’s got lovely hair, though. You’ve got to admit, he’s got a lovely head of hair. Natural blond. Thick as a thatch.’
‘Him, or his hair?’ Shirley laughed.
‘His hair. Will you stop asking questions and do your face!’ Kate almost shouted.
Shirley pulled a black eyeliner pencil out of her purse and traced a thick line across the delicate skin beneath each eye. Kate shook her head. No foundation, powder or blusher ever settled on Shirley’s face. And she could do with it – she was as pale as death. They both were. Everyone in Belfast was; there were only five days of sunshine each year, on average.
‘I’m sure you’ll be very happy together,’ said Shirley, smudging the black lines with her index finger. The blue of her eyes was greatly intensified. She smiled at her sister. ‘Many’s the lasting marriage was built on far less than a fine scalp. But, you know, I wouldn’t believe a word that Jim says. Likely Alex put him up to it. For a laugh.’
‘No, it’s the truth. His uncle has the same first name, so Alex won’t even have to change the shop signs when he takes over. And I’m not going to wait for the bloody moon and stars to bring us together, either.’
A car horn tooted outside.
‘There’s the taxi! Quick, are you ready?’
‘Wait! I think I’ll wear some lippy.’ Shirley took the lid off the silver capsule she also carried in her purse and quickly smeared on the sensual lip colour. Her lips were suddenly the lips of Joan Crawford about to murder some unfaithful man in a 1940s’ melodrama. ‘Just in case we decide to walk past Quigley’s. Do you think Declan will notice me in this gorgeous lip colour? It’s called Drama Queen.’
‘He couldn’t miss you if he was on the back of a runaway horse. Now put a smile on your fizzog and let’s hit the shops.’
‘Did Alex really believe that yarn? About the glass eye?’
‘Yes. Especially when I told him it keeps falling out when she’s weighing the sweets. Once, I told him, it was in the jar of mint imperials for two days before they found it again.’
‘You witch! If he’s that gullible, she’s better off without him.’ They both laughed. ‘You’ve got a great imagination, Kate.’
‘He
re’s a wee tip for you, Shirley. If you’re going to tell a lie, make sure you tell a right old whopper. Add some detail, embroider it a bit. That way, it’s far more believable than an ordinary old lie.’
‘Thanks, Kate. I’ll remember that. I’m sure it will come in very useful, sometime.’ She dabbed her newly crimson lips with a tissue and looked at herself in the mirror. She was delighted with her new hairclip, 1950s’ original diamanté, only three stones missing. ‘How many marks would you give me for attractiveness, on a scale of one to ten?’
‘Five. Six. No, five. Hopefully, Declan has a poverty-fetish and he’ll really dig the second-hand gear.’
The car horn sounded again. Kate snatched up her sequinned bag, purse, perfume, lipstick, tissues and her leather jacket. Shirley sighed and popped her T-bar shoes back on.
The two sisters went down the stairs, closed the front door behind them and then they were on the street, beside the waiting car.
‘Quigley’s, please,’ Kate told the driver, as she settled herself regally on the back seat. Shirley watched him steal a lusty glance at Kate’s denim-clad thighs, before the car pulled out from the pavement and into the line of traffic.
They didn’t speak again until the taxi stopped outside Quigley’s. Kate paid the driver while Shirley tried to see in through the small window. One fleeting glimpse of a military overcoat and she knew she would chicken out. And then she saw him standing beside the New Releases, looking absolutely fabulous in all-black with a low-slung leather belt with big metal studs on it. And black suede boots with pointy toes. She felt a hot flush of desire and drew back from the doorway. Kate, determined to get the two of them together, gave her a shove and suddenly Shirley knew she just couldn’t go in. Her cheeks were on fire with embarrassment.
Shirley tried to reverse out of the shop, but Kate’s elbow was in the way and a speeding train wouldn’t have moved it. There was a slight scuffle as the two sisters pushed and shoved each other in the doorway, one trying to get in and the other trying to get out.
