The Grace Girls (4 page)

There was another little silence.

‘As a matter of fact,’ Sophie said quietly, ‘she’s not actually getting married in
pure
white. I’ve been asked to sew a few pale pink rosebuds under the top layer of her dress and veil.’

Mona puffed out her cheeks. ‘You’re a dark blidey horse at times, Sophie Grace. Knowin’ all that and sayin’ nothing.’

Sophie got up and put the kettle on and a while later came back with a tray filled with mugs of tea, three thin, hot buttered crumpets and a plate of mixed biscuits.

‘I saw Heather and Liz Mullen at the bus stop earlier,’ Mona said, taking a tiny bite of her rolled-up crumpet. ‘Off gallivantin’ into Wishaw with the fellas, no doubt.’

Kirsty stared at her aunt, fascinated by how she always ate so very daintily for such a buxom woman. Kirsty often wondered if Mona ate quite so politely when there was nobody watching her or whether she wolfed things down. ‘The pictures,’ she con­firmed, taking a much bigger bite of her own crumpet.

Mona sucked her breath in now and shook her head. ‘She’s decided on the big office in Glasgow, she was telling me.’

Sophie nodded, her china teacup thoughtfully clasped
be­tween both hands. ‘If it’s what she wants, then she mig
ht as well give it a try. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say.’

‘It’s no joke gettin’ up every morning and trekkin’ up to that railway station . . . and if you miss it, you’ve to wait another hour for the next,’ Mona pointed out. ‘She only has to wait ten minutes at that time of the mornin’ going into Wishaw on the bus – and if the weather’s bad and the buses are
stopped, she can always walk it home.’ She took an
other little nibble at her crumpet. ‘And there’s every type
there . . . foreign and all sorts.’

‘I wish it was me,’ Kirsty put in now, her blue eyes shining at the thought. ‘I’d love it – going into Glasgow on the train every day. It would be dead exciting.’

‘Get away with you!’ Mona said, her face brightening with amusement. For all her stern, critical ways, Kirsty knew exactly how to appeal to her aunt’s sense of humour.

‘You’re some blade to be travelling into Glasgow, so you are – they wouldn’t know what hit them. How Joe Simpson puts up with you, I’ll never know – it’s usually the serious, brainy types like Heather that they go for in a chemist’s.’

Kirsty swallowed the last of her crumpet, ignoring the inference that she wasn’t as clever as her sister. ‘It’s because of me that all the fine young fellas come in lookin’ for Brylcreem and bottles of hair oil they don’t even need,’ she said, winking knowingly at her aunt. ‘Joe Simpson should be grateful to me for all the custom I bring in, for he would have hardly any business except for doctors’ prescriptions if it was left to the miserable-faced older ones just like yourselves.’

The two older women now hooted with laughter.

Chapter 4

A small group stepped off the rattling bus at the shops
in Rowanhill, and back out into the drizzly dark night.
The bus engine revved up and it pulled away, leaving clouds of steamy grey exhaust fumes billowing into the nippy Novem­ber air.

‘Are you two going for chips?’ Liz called over the bus noise, moving as quickly into the bus shelter as her high heels would allow. ‘Jim says he’s starving.’

The thought of the Italian shop’s newspaper-wrapped chips made her mouth water, but Heather shook her head. ‘I don’t want any . . .’ she said in a voice that sounded surprisingly convincing even to herself. She looked at the grinning, sandy-haired Jim first and then at Gerry.

‘No, I’m not bothered about chips either,’ Gerry said quickly, taking Heather’s hand and putting it into his coat pocket.

Immediately, the claustrophobic feeling started again. ‘We’ll walk over to the chip shop with you, anyway,’ Heather said. Then, Liz caught her eye and gestured with a nod of her head that she would prefer it if she and Jim were left to themselves.

‘Well, maybe –’ Heather started to say when Gerry interrup­ted, his hand tightening around hers.

‘Tell you what,’ he suggested to his friend instead, ‘we’ll walk on to Heather’s house, and then I’ll catch up with you at Liz’s and we’ll head home together.’ The two boys lived another half-mile on from Liz’s house, which was just off the main street in Rowanhill.

‘Fine,’ Liz said, thrusting her arm through Jim’s before he had a chance to voice any objections. She wasn’t too bothered about the chips, but the chance of spending any time on her own with Jim was definitely not going to be turned down – especially when there was an empty bus shelter. Especially when the last bus had gone and there would be nobody around to disturb them.

‘I’m glad we’ve got a bit of time on our own,’ Gerry said quietly as he and Heather walked down the drizzly lamp-lit street. ‘You can never say too much with Liz’s big ears taking in everything.’

‘I don’t actually think she’s too interested in anything about you or me,’ Heather said. She moved her hand away from him now, to allow herself to put the umbrella up. ‘I think Jim takes up all her attention.’

‘Here, I’ll hold that for you,’ Gerry said, taking the umbrella out of her hand. His arm slid around Heather’s waist, pulling her closer to him. ‘I’ve something I want to tell you.’

Heather looked up at him. ‘What?’ she asked.

‘I got a letter from my uncle in Australia this morning,’ he told her, ‘and he said if I want to go over next year to work for him, that he’ll vouch for me. It’s easier to get in if you have a work sponsor.’

‘And are you going to go?’ Heather asked, surprised at the news. Gerry had mentioned his uncle in Australia several times before, but she hadn’t realised that he was seriously considering a move there.

‘I don’t know . . .’ he said, pulling her to a halt under the yellow-orange light of a lamp-post. ‘It all depends . . .’

‘On what?’

‘You and me,’ he said, looking her directly in the eye. ‘I need to know how the land lies with us first.’

Heather took a deep breath. ‘Well . . . I wouldn’t want to hold you back.’

There was a little silence. ‘You wouldn’t, Heather,’ he said, with a little crack in his voice. ‘Having you could never hold me back.’

‘But if you want to go to Australia, things would definitely change.’

‘As I’ve said,’ he went on, ‘it all depends on you and me . . . whether it would be worth my while staying in Rowanhill.’

Heather’s stomach tightened and her gaze now shifted down to the wet, tarmacadam pavement. ‘What do you mean?’

He moved closer to her, his head bent so close she could feel his warm
breath on her face and neck. ‘How serious are you about us, Heather?’ His eyes searched hers, and his arm tightened around her waist.

‘I don’t know what to say . . .’ Her voice was low and her eyes cagey. ‘I haven’t really thought about things like that.’

‘Look,’ he said, his tone brusque and determined, ‘I’m not going to keep beating around the bush . . . how would you feel about us getting engaged at Christmas?’

Chapter 5

There was great laughter going on as Kirsty recounted another of her funny customers’ stories from the chem­ist’s
shop, which suddenly halted when the front door sound
ed. A few moments later Heather came into the living-room, shaking the raindrops from her black beret and scarf. ‘Hi, Auntie Mona,’ she said politely, before turning to her mother and sister. ‘It’s absolutely bucketing down outside. Thank God I brought the umbrella.’

‘Snow all gone?’ Sophie asked.

‘Just a bit of slush in at the kerbs, the rain’s washing it all away.’

‘You may get used to it,’ Mona said, all joviality now gone from her face and voice, ‘because you’ll do plenty of running in the winter when you’ve to go all the way up that hill to the train station in the freezin’ cold.’

‘There’s tea newly made in the pot,’ Sophie interrupted, ‘and some pancakes and crumpets in the bread bin.’

‘Great,’ Heather said, turning back to the hallway to hang up her damp outer clothes and to escape any further interrogation from her aunt.

Kirsty got to her feet now, pushing them into her comf
ortable velveteen, embroidered slippers, and tightenin
g the loose belt on her quilted dressing-gown. ‘Did you and
Liz decide not to go for chips tonight?’ she asked, followin
g her older sister into the kitchen.

If Kirsty was out with her friends, the perfect ending to the night was to stand gossiping in the Italian-run chip shop waiting for their turn in the long queue. The wait enabled them to find out who had been dancing with whom in the various local dance halls, who had fixed up dates, and what romances had come to an expected or abrupt ending. Sometimes the girls found that part of the evening more exciting than the dance, for there was always the chance that some good-looking boys they fancied might just come in for chips as well, and that would prolong the entertainment of the evening.

Unfortunately, with all her commitments singing with the band, Kirsty lately found herself having to rely on Heather and her friends for the latest gossip.

‘It was too wet to go for chips,’ Heather informed her sister as she poured herself a hot mug of tea from the large brown pot and then added milk and half a spoon of sugar. She went over to the cooker and lit the grill with a match and slid a small pancake and a crumpet on the pan underneath. ‘Anyway, I wanted a reasonably early night for work in the morning, I’m a bit keyed up about handing in my notice.’

‘Did you see anybody you knew at the pictures?’ Kirsty queried.

Heather shook her head as she reached up into the kitchen cabinet for a small plate. ‘Nobody that I recognised – nobody from around here anyway.’

Kirsty poured herself a fresh cup of tea. ‘Well, was the film any good?’ she enquired now, disappointed that there weren’t any snippets of news they could mull over in some depth.

‘Actually,’ Heather replied, her serious face breaking into a smile, ‘it was great. You would have enjoyed it – it was a frightening one –
The Hound of the Baskervilles
.’

‘Seen it,’ Kirsty informed her, pulling a chair out at the yellow Formica-topped table. ‘It was brilliant. I bet you ran all the way home from the bus stop without looking round.’ The two girls laughed.

Kirsty suddenly gave a shiver. ‘It’s bloomin’ freezing in here,’ she said in a low voice, ‘but I suppose it’s better than listening to my Auntie Mona wittering on about what a terrible place Glasgow is.’ She bent over her cup, giggling.

‘She’s got a right bee in her bonnet about it, hasn’t she?’ H
eather said, tutting. She lifted her hot pancake and crump
et from the grill onto the plate and came over to the table to butter it. ‘She’s that obvious, too. She makes out that all the people are terrible and the whole of the city is a dreadful place, when you know fine well it’s all to do with Auntie Claire who we’re not supposed to mention. It’s all because she met up with an older, Protestant man in an office in Glasgow, got married in the register office and went off to live in a posh part of Glasgow.’

‘I love keeping Mona going about it,’ Kirsty giggled again. ‘I love it when she gets all aerated and indignant.’

‘Well
don’t!
’ Heather hissed. ‘It’s me that gets it in the ear every time the word
Glasgow
is mentioned. Anyway I think it’s terrible the way she’s turned the whole family against Claire. She’s a lovely person, and I always liked her. It would be like everybody trying to turn Lily against one of us in a few years’ time.’

‘True enough,’ Kirsty said, suddenly seeing her sister’s po
int. ‘I couldn’t imagine us not ever seeing Lily again . . .’

‘It’s terrible when you’re young and people don’t give you any say in things,’ Heather moaned. ‘I’d love to see Claire again – wouldn’t you?’

‘Definitely,’ Kirsty agreed. She paused for a moment. ‘What about Gerry?’ she asked now, going onto a more interesting subject. ‘Was he all dressed up as usual?’

Heather gave a little sigh, and her cheeks turned pink. ‘You’re not going to believe it . . .’

‘What?’ Kirsty gasped, her blue eyes wide with expectation. ‘What’s happened?’

Heather hesitated for a few moments, then looked towards the slightly ajar door and motioned her sister to close it over fully.

‘Come on!’ Kirsty insisted, clicking the door shut with her foot.

‘I’m still in a state of shock,’ Heather said. ‘Gerry asked me if I wanted to get engaged at Christmas –’

‘
Engaged?
’ Kirsty repeated in an astonished tone. She looked down into her teacup and then back up to her sister’s face. This was the last thing she had expected. The enormity of all the changes that might lie ahead – weddings, Heather moving out of the house, out of the bedroom they had shared all their lives – had suddenly struck her. ‘What did you say?’

Heather shrugged then ran both hands through her thick dark hair, which was drying into soft waves around her shoulders. ‘I said I’d have to think about it . . . that I wasn’t sure if I was ready for anything that serious yet. I said it might be better if we had a
couple of nights apart from each other – have a break over the weekend just to give ourselves time to think everything over properly.’ She bit her lip. ‘I don’t want to be out dancing with him tomorrow night with this hanging between us. Even though he says he understands . . . I know he wants an answer soon.’