The Grace Girls (2 page)

‘Oh!’ Heather teased. ‘You’ll be the talk of the street!’

‘If I am, it won’t be the first time,’ Sophie said wryly, taking a drink of her tea. ‘She told me that I might at least have been doing my sewing
and
listening to the radio.’

‘And you could have tied dusters around your feet and polished the linoleum while you were at it!’ Heather said, giggling at the thought.

‘Och, she was probably looking for that skirt she asked me to hem last night, but I’ve told her that I have two bridesmaids’ dresses to hem before I can look at her skirt.’ Sophie had a small sewing business going, and was kept very busy by the locals, repairing torn items, hemming and altering garments and running up curtains.

The front door opened, and Kirsty’s cheery voice called a greeting. ‘It’s me-e!’

‘We’re upstairs!’ Sophie called back.

There was the sound of footsteps thumping up the stairs and then the bedroom door was energetically thrust open. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late, Mammy, I met this lassie from school that I hadn’t seen for ages and we got chatting,’ the younger girl explained. Her curly blonde hair and camel-coloured duffel coat glistened around the edges with droplets of rain. ‘Anything new or exciting happened since this morning?’ Kirsty was always looking for something exciting to happen.

Heather shrugged. ‘Nothing – we’re just talking about me going to work in Glasgow.’

‘You lucky thing! It’ll be brilliant,’ Kirsty said, sinking down on the bed beside her mother. ‘I wish it was me. I’d love to be in the city every day, being able to walk around the big shops in your lunch break.’ Her eyes took on a dreamy look. ‘I wish I was in
Oklahoma
or
South Pacific
or any of the shows that are on in the big music halls . . . then when the weather gets better we could tour around all the big cities like Edinburgh and London.’ She closed her eyes. ‘It would be my greatest wish . . . I’d just love it.’

‘You’re doing well enough for eighteen years old,’ Heather reminded her. ‘You’re one of the youngest singers in any of the bands,
and
you’re earning more money between your two jobs than I make at the office.’

‘And you’re certainly doing more than enough travelling, M
adam,’ Sophie said, stroking her youngest daughter’s dam
p, blonde curls, which were restrained by a large clasp as her job in the local chemist’s shop dictated. ‘Some evenings you’re hardly in the door, until you’re back out it again.’

‘I know, I know,’ Kirsty said, her blue eyes brightening. ‘We’re out tomorrow night in Coatbridge playing at a dan
ce, and then on Saturday night we’re playing at a talent co
mpetition in Hamilton.’

‘Well,’ her mother said, her eyebrows raised in concern, ‘you’d better make sure you get an early night tonight. You can’t be burning the candle at both ends.’

‘We’ll see . . .’ Kirsty said vaguely. She turned to her sister. ‘Who’s going out tonight?’

‘The four of us,’ Heather said, unpinning a roller now to check if her hair was dry yet. It was still a bit damp, so she rolled it back up again.

‘And who’s the four?’ Kirsty persisted.

Heather made a little impatient sound. ‘Oh . . . me and Gerry, and Liz and Jim.’

‘Oh . . . Gerry,’ Kirsty said meaningfully, then started to unbutton the toggles on her coat. ‘And what are you going to see?’

Heather shrugged. ‘I’m not sure . . . I think it might be some kind of a gangster film.’ Her face darkened a little. ‘It
was Gerry’s idea – so no doubt it will be a fella’s kind of film.’

‘Well, at least it’s a night out, and it won’t cost you anything if Gerry’s taking you,’ Kirsty pointed out.

‘Sometimes
I
pay,’ Heather retorted, ‘and if he gets the tickets first, I often buy the ice-creams and the drinks.’ She looked over at her mother. ‘I must make sure that we don’t stuff ourselves with hot-dogs again tonight, I can feel my working skirts getting a bit too tight again.’

‘Just cut out the rubbish,’ Sophie said firmly, ‘and you’ll be fine.’

‘You’re daft,’ Kirsty stated. ‘I wouldn’t be arguing with him if he wanted to pay for everything. It leaves you more money to spend on yourself. Anyway, he earns more than you – and you’ve been going out with him for nearly six months.’

‘Maybe I don’t want to let him pay for everything,’ Heather said, her voice rising in indignation. Although they got on well for sisters, sometimes Kirsty really got on her nerves the way she voiced her opinions on everything so forcefully. And it was especially irritating when the opinions were about Gerry.

‘Right,’ Sophie said, standing up now. She could alwa
ys tell when things needed diffusing between the girls. She made towards the hallway now. ‘I’ll go down and check that the potatoes aren’t boiling too quickly and you ladies can follow me down shortly. Put that wet coat in the airing cupboard now, Kirsty, so that it’s dry right through for work in the morning.’

‘What’s for dinner, Mam?’ Kirsty asked, getting to her feet now. ‘I’m absolutely starving.’

‘Stew and carrots and peas.’

‘Brilliant! I’ll have a big plateful, because I’ve only had a roll and a wee Dairylea triangle since I left the house this morning.’

‘You should have come home at lunchtime and I’d have made you something decent,’ Sophie told her.

‘I know,’ Kirsty agreed, ‘but the others were all staying in the shop, and anyway, it was that miserable out I couldn’t be bothered walking home in case I got soaked.’

‘A cheese triangle and a roll – it’s no wonder you’re so skinny, if that’s all you’re eating during the day,’ Heather told her, secretly wishing she could last all day on such a small amount. Maybe her skirts would fit better if she tried to copy her sister. ‘That’s a really stupid way to be carrying o
n.’ Even after a breakfast of cereal and boiled egg and toast,
Heather often found herself starving by eleven o’clock in the morning, and could quite easily demolish the two rounds of sandwiches, crisps and chocolate biscuits she took to work every day for her lunch. Some days she did exactly that, and other days she made do with a bun or a hot sausage roll when the tea-trolley came around, and kept the sandwiches until one o’clock.

‘Och, that’s very unusual,’ Kirsty said for her mother’s benefit, but she pulled a face at her sister as soon as Sophie’s back was turned. ‘Most days I usually eat a lot more. But sometimes I could easily go all day without eating and it wouldn’t bother me. If we get busy or if I’m doing my nails during my lunch break I often forget to eat – it’s only when I come in the door at home and I smell the cooking that it suddenly hits me.’

‘I hope you’re not being silly, and making yourself ill,’ Sophie called as she went down the stairs. ‘Maybe you should start coming back home again for your lunch break eve
ry day where I could make sure you’re havin’ somethi
ng decent to eat.’

Kirsty passed by Heather now, giving her a poke in the back. ‘Stop getting me into trouble, you!’ she said in a low, joking hiss.

‘I don’t need to,’ Heather retorted. ‘You’re well able to get into trouble without
my
help.’ Kirsty went out to the airing cupboard with her coat, and then returned to lean against the doorjamb. ‘Are you getting fed up with Gerry?’ she asked, her eyes narrowed.

‘What makes you ask that?’ Heather said, frowning.

‘Oh, I can tell,’ her younger sister said airily. ‘I always know the signs. You’re not bringing him back to the house as often . . . and I can see he’s starting to get on your nerves already.
All the little habits that you liked in the beginning are starting to irritate you . . .’

A broad smile suddenly broke out over Heather’s face, and then she reached into the plastic basket. ‘I’ll tell you what’s starting to really irritate me, Kirsty Grace –’ A small pink roller came flying across the room. ‘You!’

‘So it’s all decided then?’ Fintan Grace said in his Irish lilt, beaming across the table at his elder daughter. He had come in from his work as the local school janitor and quickly washed and changed into his evening clothes.

‘Aye, more or less . . .’ Heather said, nodding her head. ‘I’m handing my notice in tomorrow.’ She moved back in her kitchen chair now, as her mother went around the table with the hot plates.

‘They’ll be sorry to lose you,’ Fintan said, lifting up his knife and fork, ‘but people have to move on.’

‘I wish
I
could move on,’ Kirsty said, attacking her potatoes and stew with an eager fork. ‘That Sheila is driving me mad. She’s got an eye on her like a hawk, and if you have a couple of minutes without a customer she finds you a cloth and tells you to wipe down the shelves or polish the glass doors.’ She shook her head then lifted the fork to her mouth.

‘Ah, Kirsty, don’t be complaining now,’ Fintan told his younger daughter in a light, teasing manner. ‘You have a grand set-up there, with your half-days Wednesday and Saturday, and only a five-minute walk away from the house.’

Kirsty finished chewing her piece of stew, conscious of the table manners that had been drilled into her years ago. ‘There’s times it’s dead boring, Daddy,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘You get fed up with moanin’ old wives coming in for prescriptions who think you’re only too delighted to stand there listenin’ while they tell you all about their varicose veins or their husband’s piles.’

Fintan shook his head, his eyes twinkling in amusement. ‘You should take it as a compliment; they must think you’re a real expert on all their complaints to be confiding in you.’

The conversation suddenly halted as the latch on the back gate sounded. ‘Lily, I’d say,’ Sophie said with a wry smile, ‘and no doubt Whiskey.’ Lily was the elfin, curly-blonde, ten-year-old daughter of Mona and Pat Grace – Fintan’s brother – and the only girl after four boys.

‘Hopefully it’s not about the flamin’ dog-house again,’ Fintan said under his breath.

‘Shhh . . .’ Sophie hissed. ‘Don’t let her hear you.’

There was a slight tap on the kitchen door and, unrehearsed, all four chorused in unison, ‘Come in!’

‘It’s only me and Whiskey,’ a high-pitched voice soun
ded as the door slowly opened, and the small, grinning face appeared wrapped in a knitted red pixie-hat with what looked like two little ears at the corners. She wore a green duffle coat and red gloves that matched the hat. ‘I came round to see if ye wanted any messages or if ye had any empty ginger bottles ye wanted taking to the shop?’

‘It’s too dark for you to be out,’ Fintan told his niece. ‘Does your mother know you’re out of the house?’ He finished the last few forkfuls of his meal now.

‘Did ye not notice?’ Lily said, grinning broadly and ignoring his question. She stepped into the kitchen now, still holding on to the dog lead. She pushed the door to, leaving a small space for the lead to run through but not enough room to allow the dog to squeeze inside the house. She tapped the top of her pixie. ‘It’s snowin’!’

‘Is it?’ Heather said, getting to her feet to look out of the window. ‘I can’t see anything.’

‘Och, it’s just a wee flurry,’ Lily said, her eyes dancing, ‘but it’s definitely snowin’. You can see it on our garden at the front.’

‘A wee
flurry
?’ Kirsty said, imitating her young cousin. She loved teasing her, although it was always done in a good-natured way that the little girl enjoyed. ‘That’s a very posh word. Where did ye get that one from?’

‘Out of a book,’ Lily stated, her eyebrows shooting up. ‘Where d’you think?’

Her gaze now shifted over to the corner where Sophie kept the empty bottles. She grinned. There were two: an Irn Bru and an American Cream Soda bottle.

‘I still don’t think you should be out at this time of night,’ Fintan repeated. ‘Who let you out?’

‘Och, I just said I was taking the dog for a wee walk to the corner,’ the little girl said, folding her arms now. She shook her red pixie head like a wise old woman. ‘Dogs need walkin’ two or three times a day – and there’s not a single person in that house who would bother takin’ him out, if it wasn’t for me. Them lads are absolutely useless – especially our Patrick. My mammy’s always tellin’ him that he’s nothing but a lazy bizzim.’

‘Was your mother in?’ Sophie cut in, not wishing to encourage the girl to be telling tales from home.

‘At the chapel,’ she said, her eyes sliding back to the bottles that she would get threepence each on. ‘There’s a funeral on in the morning – that crabbit old fella that goes into the library – and she needed to go and sort the flowers into the vases.’

‘I knew damn fine she wasn’t in,’ Fintan said, smiling and raising his eyebrows. ‘She wouldn’t let you out on your own in the dark, especially on a school night. It’s your bed you should be heading off to, never mind gallivanting around the streets.’

‘Och, it’s perfectly safe, and I’m not a bit tired,’ Lily said, waving a small gloved hand dismissively. ‘Anyway, I know every single person around this place and they all know me.’

‘Come on,’ Fintan said resignedly, pushing his plate away and standing up, ‘I’ll walk the pair of ye around to the shop and then back home. I could do with a packet of Woodbines.’

‘Will you carry the bottles?’ Lily asked, grinning with delight. She stretched her red gloves further up her wrists and pulled the sleeves of her coat down over them.