The Grace Girls (10 page)

Heather went red, hating it when her aunt’s full attenti
on was focused on her. She knew that Mona didn’t care for her half as much as she did for the full-of-devilment Kirsty, and any time she tried to make a joke her aunt always seemed to take it the wrong way. ‘I’m fine,’ Heather said. ‘I’m just sitting reading and waiting for a radio play to come on.’

‘No date tonight?’ Mona asked. ‘I’m sure I saw Liz all dressed to kill at the bus stop earlier on. She looked as if she was heading out to a dance or some such place.’

‘She was down this evening, before she went out,’ Heather said, nodding vaguely. Liz had called in to see what was going on, as Gerry hadn’t seemed himself at all last night when he caught up with them, and he’d said that he was going to be busy for the rest of the weekend and wouldn’t be going out. Thankfully, Liz had already asked Jim to go out on Saturday night with another couple from her office in Motherwell, and the arrangements had all been made, so he couldn’t use the excuse that Gerry and Heather weren’t going to duck out.

‘So, what’s happened?’ Liz had asked, with big round eyes, the two friends seated on Heather’s bed. ‘When he left us at the chip shop to walk you home, he seemed absolutely fine. He was all over you, cuddling you into him and everythin’ – and then he appeared at our gate all miserable and crabbit –’

‘We’re finished,’ Heather had told her, ‘and that’s that.’ There was no point in beating about the bush, because if she thought there was a chance, then Liz would try and talk her out of it.

‘Finished?’ Liz had been horrified. ‘And you didn’t bothe
r to come round to tell me? We’re supposed to be best friends – you might at least have told me a few details before everybody else knows,’ she said, in a wounded tone.

Heather had sighed, knowing that every word she said could well be reported back to Jim – and then reported back to Gerry. ‘Kirsty is the only one that knows so far . . . I haven’t even told my mum and dad.’ She bit her lip, hating even to think about it all. ‘He asked me to get engaged last night,’ she had said quietly.

‘And what did you say?’ Liz had gasped; this was all far more dramatic than she had realised. There was also a little edge of disappointment, as she had hoped to beat her friend to an engagement ring, and had been hinting to Jim about it for weeks. And even if Heather was turning Gerry down, she’d still been asked first. The situation took the shine off her own hopes.

‘I said I needed time to think about it . . .’

‘So, have you not given him an answer?’

‘And then he turned up this afternoon,’ Heather went o
n, ‘saying that he needed an answer straightaway, because
he was thinking of going to Australia in the New Year.’

‘What?’ Liz had said, her face crumpling in shock. ‘
Australia?
Gerry has never mentioned a word about Australia to Jim – not a word.’ Her voice had dropped. ‘What did you say then?’

Heather shrugged. ‘I just told him that I wasn’t ready to get engaged, and that I had no interest in going to Australia.’

There was a silence. ‘My God,’ Liz had said, ‘I can’t believe it! He must have been daft about you to ask you to get engaged and go to Australia with him.’

‘I still can’t believe it either,’ Heather had said, tears suddenly springing into her eyes. ‘I feel really guilty, as though I’d been leading him on. I had no idea what was going through his head.’

‘But you must have known he was really serious about you,’ Liz had pointed out.

Heather had shrugged again. ‘Well, I had no notions of being serious about him, or getting engaged to him . . . I w
as just checking that I’d really gone off him before finishi
ng it altogether.’ She had paused, her throat feeling tight and d
ry. ‘So maybe it was just as well the quick way it happened
– it’s got it over and done with before Christmas and before starting my new job. I’ll have enough to think about then.’

Liz had stood up, checking her watch to make sure she didn’t miss her bus. ‘I suppose Jim will already know . . . I wonder what he’ll have to say about it all,’ she said in a flat, gloomy voice.

‘Well, it shouldn’t affect you two,’ Heather had said quietly. ‘In fact, it might help you if me and Gerry aren’t always out with you.’

Liz had pursed her lips, an anxious look on her face. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that. We’ll have to wait and see.’

Mona looked at Heather now, her wedding skirt clutched safely in her lap. ‘Is the big romance with you and Gerry Stewart goin’ off the boil, then? It’s not like you to be in on a Saturday night.’

Heather attempted a smile. ‘It’s never really been that big a romance . . .’

‘That’s what they all say,’ Mona stated, nodding her head knowingly in Sophie’s direction. ‘Then the next thing it’s engagement rings and weddings. When it comes to fellas – we’re all the same, us women.’

Heather felt a little pang of alarm, wondering if her aunt knew anything about the situation with Gerry. But then she decided that if Mona had known anything, she would have come straight out and said it. Subtlety was not her strongest point. ‘I don’t think there’s any fear of anything like that,’ she said, smiling again. ‘Lily’s fairly coming on at the country dancing,’ she said now, changing the subject to one she knew would lighten her aunt’s conversation.

‘Is she?’ Mona said, with a beaming smile. ‘She certainl
y enjoys it anyway, she’s always leapin’ about up in her bedroom or down in the kitchen any time Scottish music comes on.’ She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. ‘She’s always at something, that one. Her and that Whiskey will drive me to distraction one of these days – although I wouldn’t be without her. She’s the very same as your Kirsty at that age – the life and soul of every­thing.’

Obviously unlike me
, Heather thought ruefully to herself, for her aunt always had a kind of edge to her voice when she spoke to her, and reserved her more light-hearted moments for Kirsty. It amazed Heather, for Kirsty was far cheekier and forward with her aunt than she would ever dare to be. Any time Heather ever tried to affect the same forwardness, Mona quickly put her in her place with a cutting word, regardless of who was there. Consequently, Heather was always on her guard.

Chapter 13

Kirsty Grace floated across the stage with the deafening applause ringing in her ears when The Hi-Tones were awarded second prize in the competition, her pink skirt bobbing up and down on a sea of scarlet net underskirt and her rosebud-pinned hair still perfectly in place. All thoughts of blistered heels and rubbed toes were forgotten, as the stilettos proudly tapped their way across the painted wooden boards, leading the way for the male members of the band who trailed almost bashfully in her wake.

The band had been together for over five years before Kirsty joined them, with Martin Kerr as a fairly decent lead singer, but this was the first time they had achieved any kind of success outside of their own locality, and they found themselves somewhat bemused by it. They were also acutely aware that Kirsty Grace’s voice and choice of songs for the competition – not to mention her slim, blonde good looks – had definitely helped to tip the judges’ opinion in their favour.

‘Well done!’ the main judge had told Kirsty as he hand
ed her the wooden plaque adorned with a silver mould of a figure holding a microphone. He had then bent his shiny, bald head towards her, his subtly expensive aftershave lingering between them.

‘You have a great voice on you there, hen – and I’d say a great future in singing.’

‘Thanks very much!’ Kirsty had said, beaming with delight, then, suddenly realising that she shouldn’t be
conducting a personal conversation on stage, she had blushed and m
oved to let him shake hands with the others, almost tripping in the pink shoes as she went. The spoilt, quarrelsome Shirley Temple – who turned out to have a far better voice than the real one – had walked away with the first prize, and Kirsty and the band had cheered with great gusto when the one-legged Highland dancer walked with great dignity across the stage wearing his artificial leg to receive third prize.

Back in the dressing-room, the lads all toasted their win with a complimentary pint of beer from the bar, and Kirsty decided to risk her father’s wrath by accepting a Babycham, which she was assured by the men would have little or no effect on her.

‘When you show him that plaque your father will be that delighted he’ll be offering you a drink himself!’ Joe Hanlon said, his face red with all the excitement and the beer.

‘I’ll tell him you said that,’ Kirsty joked, taking a sip of the sweet, fizzy drink. It was so nice and harmless-tasting that she took a bigger gulp straight afterwards.

Then, there was a knock on the changing-room door, and the bald, fragrant-smelling man who had presented the awards came in and made straight over to the band. ‘There’s someone outside who would like a wee word with you, Miss,’ he said, indicating the door to Kirsty. ‘It’ll only take a few minutes.’

There was a sudden silence. ‘D’ you mean all of us?’ Kirsty said, looking around the others.

‘I’m quite sure he said just
you
,’ the man said smiling, his gaze never straying from Kirsty. It was obvious from the way he was standing, with his back to the group, that they were not wanted or needed.

‘Who is it . . . and what does he want?’ Kirsty said, her brows deepening now. She turned again towards the others, an anxious look on her face. This didn’t seem right, that people wanted to talk to the youngest, least experienced member of the band.

‘It’s a personal friend of mine,’ the judge said, ‘with some very good contacts in the music business.’

‘Go on out and see, hen,’ Martin Kerr said in a low voice, touching her elbow, and Kirsty noticed that he had a strange, resigned look on his face. ‘If you need us for anything, we’re all just in here.’

The judge led Kirsty through the crowd towards the daz­zlingly lit bar. As they walked along, people kept stopping them to congratulate Kirsty on her great performance and her fine voice. She smiled and thanked them all, and silently wondered if her feet would last the rest of the night in the shoes, as they were really starting to pinch at the toes. Then she found herself being guided into a seat at a table to the side of the bar, and there sat the handsome, smartly dressed man who had been sitting in the front row.

‘Larry Delaney,’ the man said in a refined Irish accent, holding his hand out towards her. He looked up at the judge. ‘And this hugely talented young lady is . . .’

‘Kirsty Grace from The Hi-Tones,’ Kirsty answered, knowing that the judge probably only knew the band’s name and not the individual members. She realised the dark-haired man was still holding his hand out, and quickly offered her hand to him.

‘Kirsty Grace,’ Larry said with a smile, showing a row of perfectly even, white teeth. ‘It works better than the band’s name.’

Kirsty smiled back at him, feeling more relaxed now she knew he was Irish. All the Irish people she knew both in her family and in the village were always warm and friendly.

The judge looked at Larry now. ‘Same again?’ he said, motioning to the bar.

‘That’ll be fine,’ Larry replied, ‘and whatever Kirsty here is having.’

‘A Babycham, please,’ Kirsty suddenly heard herself saying, as though she had been ordering the drink all her life. She had left half of her drink in the changing-room, and she decided that another one would do no harm. As the boys in the band had said, it was a special night and deserved to be celebrated with more than just a glass of lemonade.

‘How long have you been singing, Kirsty?’ Larry asked, taking a fancy packet of cigarettes from his pocket. He offered Kirsty one, which she declined, before taking one himself.

Kirsty shrugged. ‘I suppose I’ve been with the band for nearly a year.’

‘And have you enjoyed it?’ His eyes looked deep into hers now, and he was listening intently as though what she had to say was of the utmost importance.

Kirsty shrugged again, feeling a bit unsure of herself. She knew these questions were leading somewhere,
but she wasn’t exactly sure where. ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘they’re all nice fellas, and they’re a good laugh.’ She paused. ‘They look after me well . . . and make sure I get home safe and everything.’

‘Very important,’ Larry agreed, his head nodding in approval. He paused to light his cigarette. ‘Have you ever thought of branching out on your own?’

‘How d’you mean?’ Kirsty said.

‘I’m going to be very direct with you,’ Larry said, politely blowing the cigarette smoke away from her, ‘because I can tell you’re a mature, intelligent girl. I mean you could do an awful lot better for yourself
without
the band. You’re far more talented than they are. They’re only an average club band, if that.’ He paused. ‘Have you ever thought about going it alone?’

Kirsty took a deep breath, suddenly realising what this was all about. A picture of Martin’s resigned-looking face came into her mind, and she immediately felt guilty. Before she had the chance to reply, the judge appeared back at the table with three drinks – the Babycham and two large whiskeys and water – balanced on a fancy silver tray.

‘I think you and I are of a like mind on this one, Frank,’ Larry said to the judge, ‘aren’t we? We both agree that Kirsty could have a very big future in singing, if we were to sell her as a soloist.’