The Grace Girls (31 page)

‘You’re no blooming help!’ Heather said, throwing her arms up in the air. ‘I’m beginning to feel almost frightened of him . . . I’m beginning to wish I was miles away from Rowanhill, because that’s the only way I’m ever going to get rid of him.’

Kirsty’s mind flashed back to that night weeks ago when she thought she’d seen Gerry hanging about outside the house, and she suddenly felt a cold chill run through her. But once again, she decided to say nothing to Heather, because it would only make her feel worse than she already did.

The men had been hunted in to join the lads in the living-room, leaving the women to clear up the kitchen in peace, and to allow Mona to get a few things off her ample chest out of their hearing.

‘Another thing that Lily keeps goin’ on about is Claire.’ Mona said, up to her elbows now in hot soapy water at the sink. She kept her gaze straight ahead, although she could see nothing but winter shadows out of the darkened window in front of her.

Sophie continued wiping down the kitchen table, allowing her sister-in-law to approach this difficult subject at her own pace. Although there had been a few shrouded remarks, this was actually the first time that Claire’s name had been mentioned since the visit at the hospital.

‘I’m well aware that everybody thinks I’m being too hard on her and that husband of hers, but I’ve got a family to rear.’ Mona rushed on. ‘And it’s hard enough keeping lads on the straight and narrow with religion, without them having to watch Claire as she swans off disregarding all the Church’s teachings and marries a non-Catholic in a public register office.’ Mona’s voice was now a little thick with the second brandy that Pat had made for her. Noticing that his wife had become that bit fraught, he had quietly replenished their glasses, hoping that it would relax her and help her to sleep when they went to bed that night.

She desperately needed a good night’s sleep, but it was something that seemed to be getting more and more impossible to achieve with all the worry over Lily. At the best of times, Mona could be snappy and awkward, running herself into the ground, rushing backwards and forwards to the priest’s house while trying to keep her own home up to her increasingly impossible standards of cleanliness.

But there was no telling her. She seemed to just work on her nerves – unable to let up. And she had been worse since Lily’s illness, snapping at the slightest little thing or rushing upstairs in tears. And the only time she stopped was when she went to sleep at night, and now even that was being disrupted.

‘Look, Mona,’ Sophie said, folding the dishcloth into quarters and putting it back in the little bowl by the sink, ‘there’s no point in going over and over all this business with Claire. It’s water under the bridge now.’

‘Well, she needn’t think she’s goin’ to worm her way back into our good books,’ Mona stated. ‘Landing in at the hospital like Lady-blidey-Godiva, with her fancy coat and her fancy presents.’ She shook her head. ‘After givin’ Lily that locket, she sent her another present for Christmas – a charm bracelet. Pat got the post, so I had no option but to give her the present this year to keep the peace. But I might as well tell you, the minute I got his back turned, her Christmas card went into the fire as usual.’

‘She sent the two girls charm bracelets as well,’ Sophie said, ‘and they were delighted with them. There’s nobody else in the family has the money to buy nice things like that, and I don’t see why we should make things worse by refusing them. The girls are pleased that Claire thought of them . . . and it makes her feel a wee bit better that she’s had some contact with her own family. I know Fintan is happier that he’s seen her, and it is Christmas after all.’

Mona whirled around now to look her sister-in-law square in the face. ‘Tell me honestly, Sophie, does it not bother you what she’s done? Do you honestly think you could be all pally with Claire Grace – taking presents from
her – and then walk into the chapel, to receive communio
n, knowin’ that we’re condoning the fact she’s living in sin?’

Sophie shrugged, feeling very uncomfortable with the conver­sation. ‘Religion should be people’s own private business. And it’s not as if Claire is
our
sister. Live and let live, that’s my motto.’

‘That’s all right.’ Mona replied, ‘until the problems come knockin’ at your own door.’

‘Well,’ Sophie said, heading out towards the safety of the living-room and the men, ‘there’s no point in meeting trouble halfway.’

‘With two good-looking girls like Heather and Kirsty,’ Mona countered, ‘trouble could be lurking around any corner.’

Chapter 35

‘
You’re wearing the Chanel perfume,’ Larry said, as he held open the car door to allow Kirsty to slide into the passenger seat. ‘It smells lovely on you.’

Kirsty smiled to herself, wondering what he would think when he saw the black dress with the low neck and the pink fishtail that she was wearing under her good black swagger coat.

Apart from the night she had been singing in the talent contest, she had always been wearing ordinary, girlish clothes like Heather’s suit or her own skirts and jumpers or trousers. This would be the first time Larry had seen her all dressed up for an evening out, and she wondered what his reaction would be.

‘Hopefully, we won’t have to queue,’ Larry told her quietly as they walked towards the crowded doorway of the Trocadero. He tucked his hand under her elbow now, guiding her over to a closed glass door at the opposite side o
f the entrance from the queue. ‘I know the owner and he’d give out yards to me if we pay to get in at the main door.’

‘Hi, Larry!’ a fellow in a black suit and bow-tie called to them from the head of the queue. He waved them over and then quickly ushered them in through the side door. As they went past the queue, Kirsty thought she heard her name being called, but when she turned around to see
who had called it, she didn’t recognise anyone in the crowd.

‘
This is lovely,’ she said, taking in the dimly lit, glamor
ous surroundings, the polished dance floor and the white Christmas tree with the sparkly coloured lights that were all reflected hundreds of times in the mirrored walls. She moved across the thick-pile carpet that surrounded the dance floor with him, to a quiet corner table that would have been snapped up by someone else if they’d had to q
ueue outside. ‘Heather was saying she’d read in the paper that they’d just had this place renovated for Christma
s. It really is the most beautiful dance hall.’ It was definitely the sort of modern place she liked and secretly preferred to the old, very posh hotels like the one she would be singing in on New Year’s Eve. The Trocadero gave her a feeling of anticipation – a feeling that anything could happen out of the blue.

This
, Kirsty thought excitedly,
is exactly where I want to be. Before the night starts, I already feel happy.

‘Well, I want you to get used to it,’ Larry said, pulling out a blue velvet-covered chair for her, ‘because it’s the s
ort of place you’re going to be singing in often.’ He helped her off with her coat, pausing for a split second as he caught sight of her sophisticated dress. ‘My goodness
. . .’ His eyebrows shot up in surprise, then – before he got a chance to say any more – a bow-tied waiter came rushing across to take an order for drinks and then take their coats to the cloakroom for them.

While Larry’s attention was taken up with the waiter, Kirsty turned to discreetly check her appearance in the rosy-lit mirror to the side of them. She studied the loosely pinned-up blonde hair that Heather had lightly sprayed in place for her, the ruby-cluster earrings that matched the pink fishtail at the bottom of her dress and the low neckline she had agonised a little over. All in all, she was satisfied with her reflection – more than satisfied. She thought the low lights made her look older and more sophisticated than she’d ever looked before – and tonight, she decided, that’s exactly how she wanted Larry Delaney to see her. She glanced around her for a few moments, at the groups and couples starting to fill up the tables, then she turned back towards their own table and suddenly caught Larry gazing straight at her, an unusually serious look on his face. ‘You’re a fine-looking girl,’ he said in a low, slightly hoarse voice, ‘and tonight you’ve really excelled yourself.’

Kirsty smiled at him, delighted with the compliment.

‘Of course, it’s your voice that’s the main thing,’ he said, nodding his head. ‘But when you’re up on the stage, having a good appearance definitely helps . . . whether you’re male or female.’

‘Well, it’s quite obvious that you believe in appearances,’
Kirsty said, his compliments and the atmosphere in the dance hall suddenly making her feel confident and unusually bold, ‘because you’re always immaculately dressed yourself.’ She paused, studying him. ‘You can tell just by looking at the way your hair’s cut as well, that you’re particular. None of the boys around our way would dream of goin’ to half the trouble with their appearance.’

‘Well, some young fellas don’t –’

‘Oh, it’s nothing to do with them being younger,’ Kirsty told him, her voice rising a little, ‘it’s just because they haven’t got a clue about style and taste. And if they were your age they’d be even worse – sure, they’re the kind that get worse with age, not better.’

Larry shook his head and started to laugh. ‘You’re some case, Kirsty . . . some case.’

The waiter came across to them with a whiskey for Larry and a Babycham for Kirsty.

‘Thank you,’ Kirsty said, holding her glass up to her manager, then she took two big gulps of the drink.

‘Go easy on that,’ he warned her. ‘I don’t want your father blaming me for you drinking too much.’

‘It’s Christmas,’ Kirsty told him, ‘and anyway, I’m eighteen years old, so it’s legal.’ She held up the Babycham glass. ‘It’s not as if it’s whiskey or brandy, it’s only a light drink.’

Larry leaned towards her, half-amused by her attitude and half-concerned. ‘Look, Kirsty . . . I don’t want to get on the wrong side of your family, it could spoil everything with our business plans.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Kirsty told him, giggling and taking a deliberately tiny sip from the drink. ‘It’s not business tonight – it’s still Christmas and we’re in a lovely place and we’re out to enjoy ourselves.’

‘OK,’ he said, smiling wryly, ‘have it your way, but just make sure I’m not held accountable for something I didn’t do . . .’

The band was good – very good. For a long while Kirsty just sat at the corner table opposite Larry watching the female lead singer – watching how she handled the microphone and how she moved – and listening to how she managed the difficult notes. They sat close together, listening, and when each song was finished, they discussed in great depth how well or not so well the singer had performed it.

A few times when a song she particularly liked started up, Kirsty felt like asking Larry whether they should get up to dance, but something held her back. She felt, really, that if he wanted to dance with her he would have asked. It wasn’t her place to ask him. It was a strange kind of feeling, because she loved dancing and rarely missed a dance when she was out with her friends. They always had a stream of lads lined up to ask them to dance, and even on a quiet night she always had her girlfriends or Heather to dance with. Sitting down at the table all the time was a whole new experience for her.

In between watching the band, Kirsty enjoyed watchi
ng the girls coming and going to the ladies’ room, which was within view at the top end of the hall. Their table was set at an angle, which allowed her to observe the groups of girls going back and forth without being too obvious.

Larry was quieter and more thoughtful than usual, K
irsty reckoned. A few times she tried to make conversati
on, asking him what he’d done for Christmas and whether he ever went back to Ireland for the festive period.

‘Not at Christmas,’ he’d said, shrugging. ‘There’s no point. When my father died my mother moved over to Manchester to live near her sisters, so there’s nobody close back in Dublin.’ He had elaborated no further.

‘Friends,’ he said, lighting another cigarette. ‘I have very good friends in Hamilton.’

‘And do you see your mother often?’ she asked, intrigued that he would prefer to spend Christmas with friends as opposed to his family.

‘Often enough,’ he said. ‘I’ll have a few days down with her in the New Year.’ He took a drag on his cigarette and then turned towards the band again.

Kirsty was just wondering whether it would appear very nosy if she asked him more about his family, when she heard her name being called. She turned around and there, waving across the dance floor at her, was Eileen Connor, a small dark-haired girl who used to work in the chemist’s shop with her, until she got promoted to a bigger shop in Motherwell.

‘I thought it was you!’ the girl said, rushing over to her now. ‘I hardly recognised you, Kirsty – you look fabulous!’ She crouched down at the side of Kirsty’s chair, taking in every detail from her hair to her shoes. ‘What have you done to yourself? I can hardly believe it’s you. That dress makes you look dead glamorous and far older.’

‘D’you think so?’ Kirsty said, happy because Eileen was actually three years older than her, and always used to talk to her as if she was still a schoolgirl when they worked together. Eileen was very career-minded and ambitious, so it was nice to impress her for a change.