The Grace Girls (27 page)

‘Everything that goes on in the chemist’s is professional and confidential,’ Kirsty said indignantly, prodding her finger on the table for emphasis. ‘It’s just like the doctor’s. I would be sacked on the spot for talking about customers – we’re not allowed to discuss the prescriptions they come to get filled or anything like that.’

‘Well, that’s good to hear,’ Liz said, sounding just sligh
tly impressed, ‘because that’s exactly how it should be. Who wants the whole village knowing if you’ve got piles or verrucas?’

‘Anyway,’ Kirsty went on, ignoring the jibes, her eyebrow
s were meeting in the middle with curiosity, ‘what’s this big secret?’

Liz took a deep breath. ‘Jim bought me a ring in Glasgow yesterday – an engagement ring.’

‘What!’ Kirsty exclaimed, her eyes growing bigger. ‘I d
on’t believe it. That’s some bolt out of the blue.’ She look
ed across at Heather. ‘Did you get a big shock when you heard too?’

‘Well, I suppose I was a wee bit shocked . . . but I’m delighted for them both,’ Heather said diplomatically, getting up again to finish opening the biscuits, and pour out the tea.

‘There’s plenty of people get engaged out of the blue.’ Liz suddenly felt slighted for the second time that night. The pink dots of awkwardness grew larger on her cheeks. ‘And it’s not as if we’ve only been going out a short time. It’s been years on and off.’

‘Aye, and sometimes more off than on!’ Kirsty joked, then seeing Liz’s agitation growing she smiled broadly and hurriedly added, ‘Well, congratulations. I’m delighted for you both. Are you havin’ a party or anything?’

‘My mammy and daddy thought we might invite people
in for a wee drink around the New Year to celebrate.’

‘You should have a big party in the church hall and ma
ke a right do out of it,’ Kirsty suggested. ‘You’ve big enough families on either sides, and you could give all your
friends like us a good night out. Couldn’t she, Heather?’

‘Well, it’s up to them what they want to do,’ Heather said, lifting down three mugs.

‘We thought there was no point in wastin’ money on the engagement,’ Liz said, her voice sounding slightly strained now. She paused, growing redder and hotter by the minute. ‘The thing is – we don’t really want to wait. There’s nothin’ to hold us back . . . so we were actually thinking of gettin’ married early on in the year.’

There was a little silence, during which Heather poured the three cups of tea and made sure she avoided catching Kirsty’s eye. She knew her sister would be thinking the exa
ct same thing as herself. Then, for a split second, Heathe
r w
ondered if she was really understanding the conversatio
n that was taking place. Maybe she was putting the worst interpretation on it. She decided it was best to say nothing f
or the moment, and let Liz explain it all without interruptions. She turned back to occupy herself again with the opening of the biscuit tin, and reached for the knife.

‘That’s what I wanted to speak to you about,’ Liz went on. ‘I wanted to ask you if you and the boys would play for us at the wedding?’ She drummed her nails gently on the kitchen table, a habit she had when she was anxious. ‘I know you’re splitting up from them, but you’re still doin’ odd nights, aren’t you? I’d like them because they’re local.’

‘Well, sort of. It all depends on what Larry’s got booked up for me. Have you got a date in mind?’ Kirsty said, all businesslike, as if all of this wasn’t the biggest surprise that had descended out of the blue. Being businesslike, the way she always was when people approached her about playing at private functions, was the only way she could handle this particular
conversation. Otherwise, she was afraid she might start to laugh or say something stupid.

‘How early would you have a Saturday free in February,’ Liz ventured in a small voice, ‘or even late January?’

Heather stifled a sigh of satisfaction at finally opening the biscuit tin, not wishing her friend to mistake the sigh as some comment on her news. Then she took the layer of grease­proof paper out of the box and stared down at the contents. There was a lovely, luxurious mixture of dark, milk and white chocolate-coated biscuits in every shape and size. Before she could stop herself she had lifted a small hexagon­shaped dark chocolate biscuit and popped it whole into her mouth.

As soon as she bit into the chocolate delicacy, she felt a slight pang of guilt at breaking out before Christmas Day as she’d promised herself. But as she placed the open tin on the table in front of her sister and her friend, she decided that the sweet biscuit was in some way medicinal – necessary to get her through this awkward situation. Whether it served the purpose of keeping her tongue quiet and unable to ask all the questions that most people would ask – whether it was the soothing chocolaty sweetness that made the awful situation more palat­able she didn’t really know. All she knew was that the biscuit made her feel slightly more calm and relaxed, and that was very necessary for the moment. She went to the pantry to get the milk for the tea.

‘Pity you hadn’t come around yesterday before I saw Larry,’ Kirsty said, ‘because he has a list of all the dates we have booked over the next few weekends. He said he would bring me some music over Christmas, so I’ll check w
ith him then or I might even give him a ring on the pho
ne.’ She paused. ‘Have you any idea where you’re havin’ the wedding?’

‘Jim’s going to have a word with the priest about the chapel hall,’ she said quietly, ‘and if that’s booked up he’s goin’ to try the Miners’ Club.’

Kirsty nodded and smiled. ‘Och, well,’ she said, ‘it sounds
as if you’re all organised.’ What else was there to say? She pulled the biscuit tin towards her to examine the choice.

Heather put a cup of tea in front of Liz and then she put another at her sister’s elbow. ‘Help yourself to biscuits,’ she offered, going back to the worktop to get her own cup.

Kirsty pointed to her mouth, into which she had just stuffed a white chocolate circle. ‘Thanks very much, but I’ve already helped myself!’ she said, laughing through the crumbs.

‘What’s your engagement ring like?’ Heather asked, trying to sound all excited – excited in the way she would have done in any other circumstances. Excited in the way she would have been if her friend wasn’t having a shotgun wedding.

Sophie had come in and made them all their glass of Advocaat and lemonade and cut them all a slice of Christmas cake, and a while later Heather got another surprise as she saw her friend off at the door.

‘I wanted to ask you if you’d like to be my bridesmaid,’ Liz said in a low voice, fearful of Sophie or Fintan overhearing. ‘Since I’ve only got two brothers, and you’re my oldest friend . . .’

‘I’d love to,’ Heather said, giving her a hug. ‘And I’m delighted and honoured that you’ve asked me.’ She reached back into the coat-hooks in the hall and lifted Kirsty’s working duffel coat. ‘I’ll walk down the road to Mona’s with you,’ she said, pulling it on.

‘There’s only one thing about the wedding you might n
ot like,’ Liz said quietly as they walked along, their breat
h co
ming out in small white clouds in the cool, still Decemb
er air.

Heather’s throat tightened as she waited to hear confirmation of her friend’s pregnancy.

‘Jim’s asked Gerry to be the best man . . . and I know you won’t feel very happy about it.’ There was a little pause. ‘They’ve been friends for years, and it wouldn’t be fair to make him choose somebody else. You see, Jim’s got a funny feeling that Gerry might still go off to Australia, and if that happens he might never see him again.’ She rushed on, obviously anxious. ‘You know Jim thinks the world of him.’

‘It’s your wedding day,’ Heather said softly, hiding her true feelings about the situation very well, ‘and I’ll agree to whatever makes you happy.’

‘Oh, you’re a brilliant pal!’ Liz said, her voice sounding all emotional. ‘And some time soon we’ll get a chance to have a decent chat about everything . . . Are you goin’ to Midnight Mass tonight?’

‘Aye, Kirsty and I are going,’ Heather confirmed, thinki
ng that Liz might invite her back to the house for a heart-to-heart after Mass.

‘Well, I might see you there,’ Liz said. ‘Then me and Jim and my mammy and daddy and the boys are invited over to my Auntie Mary’s for a glass of that terrible dandelion wine she makes every year. It’s just a family thing like.’

It wasn’t going to be tonight, Heather thought. Liz wasn’t going to say anything tonight about expecting.

Chapter 30

Heather was in the kitchen in a little world of her own, ironing a blouse for Midnight Mass. Her thoughts kept flitting around, and she was half-thinking about her friend’s dilemma and half-listening to the seven-thirty news when the doorbell rang. When it went for the second time, she realised that nobody else was going to answer it and went rushing down the hallway to get it. She remembered then that her parents had gone to Mona and Pat’s for a television programme and Kirsty had said she was going to have a bath.

‘Is Kirsty there?’ a rich, well-spoken Irish voice asked. ‘I was just passing and I thought I’d drop off this music I’d promised to give her.’ He put his hand out. ‘I’m Larry Delaney, by the way . . .’

‘I’m Heather . . . Kirsty’s sister,’ Heather said, looking up at him. He had his heavy winter coat loose over a wine-coloured polo-necked sweater, a navy tartan scarf draped casually around his neck. It was the sort of style that Gerry had aspired to, but Heather instinctively knew that this older man’s clothes came from a more expensive tailor than Gerry’s.

Larry smiled in an open, friendly way at her, and she suddenly she felt all flustered and lost for words. She put her hand out to meet his, and was surprised by the warmth and strength of his handshake. ‘Come in,’ she said, opening the door wide, ‘and I’ll run upstairs and tell her you’re here.’

Kirsty was sitting on the bed in her dressing-gown with a towel wrapped around her damp hair, the wardrobe door flung open wide as she decided what she would wear to church. She wanted to look her best for tonight, as going up the aisle to communion at Midnight Mass – where everyone was dressed in their winter best – was like running some kind of fashion gauntlet. It was the very same at Easter when anyone who could afford the latest spring fashions and fancy hats took the chance to show them off.

‘That Larry Delaney is downstairs in the hall,’ Heather said in a breathless voice. ‘You’d better come down to see him.’

‘Oh, that’s brilliant,’ Kirsty said, smiling. ‘I can check out those dates for Liz’s wedding while he’s there.’ She stood up now, taking the towel off her head, and shaking out her thick, curly hair. She reached for a brush on the dressing-table to tame it down a little.

‘Surely, you’re not coming down in your dressing-gown, are you?’ Heather asked, frowning in disapproval.

‘I’m decent, amn’t I?’ Kirsty stated, dragging the brush through her hair and wincing as it caught on the odd damp tangle. She pulled the tie-belted towelling gown tighter around the waist and checked that it wasn’t in any way low or revealing at the chest. ‘It’ll take me ages gettin’ dressed, and you’ll have to sit chatting to him until I’m ready. Anyway, he only wants to drop somethin’ off, so there’s no point in me wasting time getting all dickied up just to speak to him for a couple of minutes.’

‘Are you not embarrassed at the thought of him seeing you like that?’ Heather said, knowing she would die rather than be seen by a lad in her dressing-gown. It just didn’t seem right.

‘Not a bit,’ Kirsty replied airily. ‘Doesn’t my daddy see
me like this every night of the week?’ They moved tow
ards the bedroom door. ‘I’m sure he’s got sisters of his own,’ Kirsty said as they went out into the hall, ‘and at his age, he’s not likely to see anything he’s never seen before!’

‘You’re unbelievable!’ Heather hissed, starting down the stairs.

Kirsty began to giggle as she followed behind, and then quickly stopped herself when she looked over the banister and saw the top of Larry Delaney’s dark head.

For the first time ever, Kirsty saw her new manager look slightly disconcerted when he realised he’d come at a bad time. ‘Oh . . . I’m sorry for disturbing you now, Kirsty,’ he blustered, his Dublin accent more pronounced than normal. He held up a large brown envelope. ‘I was passing by Rowanhill and I thought I’d drop off the music for ‘This Ole House’ and ‘Only You’ that I’d promised you. You said you’d like to look over the words during the Christmas holidays.’

‘Oh, that’s really decent of you,’ Kirsty said, beaming at him and thinking how he was always as good as his word. W
hen Larry said he would do something, you could always guarantee that he would. She motioned towards the living-room door. ‘You can’t stand out here in the freezin’ cold – come on into the living-room where it’s warmer.
’

‘No, no,’ Larry said, holding his hand up. ‘I only called for the minute, and I don’t want to be disturbing your family on Christmas Eve.’

‘There’s only me and Heather in,’ she said, touching him on the elbow, ‘come on in and have a wee drink at least. My mother would go mad if I let you go without something.’ She moved down the hallway towards the door into the living-room.

‘No, honestly,’ he protested, reaching into his coat pocke
t. ‘I haven’t time, I need to get back to Motherwell . . .’ He held out a small rectangular-shaped box wrapped in very cla
ssy unusual paper. ‘I wanted to give you this . . . I
thoug
ht it would give you that little bit more confidence for New Year’s Eve.’