The Grace Girls (41 page)

The dressing-room door opened and Larry Delaney w
a
lked in. He halted when he saw Kirsty’s visitors, obviously
ta
ken aback to find them in chatting to her.

‘Fiona . . . Helen . . .’ he said, coming towards them. He stopped a few feet away from the sisters, not wishing them a happy new year as Kirsty had expected him to do. ‘Is there something I can do for you?’

‘Oh, I think you’ve done enough for us already,’ Fiona told him with a throaty laugh and eyebrows raised in a knowing manner. She put her arm through her sister’s. ‘We must get back – we have important people waiting for us.’

‘Helen?’ Larry asked as they swept past him. ‘How is David?’

‘Marvellous!’ Helen said in an airy, light way.

‘It’s been quite a while,’ he said, following them tow
ards the door. ‘I’d really like to see him again soon . . .’

Fiona opened the door and let her sister out first. Then, without a backward glance, she closed the door tightly behind her.

The noise of the door closing was still an echo in the silence of the large dressing-room as Larry came back towards Kirsty, distractedly running a hand through his perfect hair.

‘What exactly did they want?’ he asked her, his eyes narrowed in thought.

Kirsty was silent for a moment, debating what to say. ‘They said they came in to tell me how much they enjoyed my performance . . .’

‘And?’ He looked at her now, waiting. He obviously knew they had said far more than that.

Kirsty shrugged, hating the thought of saying somethi
ng that would insult or anger him, something that might hurt him. Then, she suddenly decided that he had had no difficulty whatsoever in telling her how things were last week. When it had come to telling the truth Larry Delaney had not held back one single inch. He had not considered how hurt she had felt.

Why should she care about him?

Kirsty looked up at him now, her eyes steely blue. ‘Fiona McCluskey’s sister said that the dress I’m wearing belongs to her. She said all the dresses you gave me were h
ers.’ Then for good measure she added, ‘She could descr
ibe every one of them.’

The hand came down now to cover his mouth. He moved his head from side to side and gave a weary sigh. ‘Not again,’ he said quietly, more to himself than Kirsty. ‘You’d think they’d have better things to concentrate on than muck-raking about me. And this is neither the time nor the place for them to be doing it.’

‘What do you mean?’ Kirsty asked, curious now.

‘Helen and I had business dealings a few years ago. It didn’t work out for a variety of reasons and she’s never forgotten about it – or forgiven me.’ He looked at Kirsty now. ‘There were other people involved and it was a lot more complicated than a few dresses she left behind.’ He pressed his forefinger in the middle of his chest. ‘A few very expensive dresses that I paid for.’

‘So you don’t get on with them?’ Kirsty stated, rather unnecessarily.

‘Well,’ he said, smiling wryly, ‘I suppose that’s one way of describing it.’ He turned towards the door. ‘I’ll just have a last word with the hotel manager about these other bookings and then we’ll head off.’

‘Larry . . .’ Kirsty said, suddenly realising that she didn’t want this personal conversation to end quite so abruptly. There was so little about him that she really knew, and she wanted to get every bit of information out of him while he was in this more open, communicative mood. She told herself she was no longer interested in him from a romantic point of view, but she just wanted to know the kind of man she was dealing with on a business level. ‘Were you just acquainted with Helen McClus­key on a business basis?’ She took a chance now. ‘Both her and her sister gave the impression that there was more to it . . .’

‘They would,’ he said in a flat voice, his fingers clasping the door handle.

She hesitated before asking one final question – then she went for it. He could only tell her to mind her own business. ‘Who’s David? You mentioned him the last time we met Fiona McCluskey as well.’

There was a silence. Kirsty held her breath, thinking that this was the sort of silence that people often described as deafening. She wondered if she had gone too far.

Eventually, Larry Delaney turned back round to face her. ‘David,’ he said in a quiet, grim voice, ‘is my son.’ There was another smaller silence. ‘Helen McCluskey and I have a son together.’

When Jim came rushing in to say the minibus was waiting ou
tside for them, Heather heaved a sigh of relief. It was quarter past one, which wasn’t bad for New Year. She pulled her coat on now, which she had been holding beside her for the last ten minutes, and then she lifted her bag.

It was a pity the way the evening had turned from being so pleasant to suddenly being so awkward. It was a pity Gerry Stewart had ruined it by turning up. Thankfully, he seemed to have totally quietened down after the bells signalling New Year. He had come over to give her a kiss and wish her all the best for the next year, but he hadn’t made the fuss she had been dreading. He had gone back to chat to Jim and a few fellows in the hall, and a while later when she went through to dance with some boy from Hamilton, she saw him sitting in a chair. It dawned on her then that he was now very drunk and sleepy, and hopefully incapable of causing any more trouble. Several times already she had witnessed Jim trying to wake him up, and presumably he’d have to do that now to get him in the minibus home.

‘You ready?’ Liz said, smiling but looking a little tired around the eyes. The party hadn’t turned out as well as she had hoped for either. Not for a last New Year as a single girl. Jim had been back and forward between her an
d Gerry – his loyalties totally divided between best frien
d and fiancée.

‘I want to say goodnight to Mark . . .’ Heather said as th
ey walked out into the hall. It would have been much easier to just sneak out while he was occupied with anoth
er group, and hope she never saw him again. But Heather knew it would also have been cowardly and rude. She wanted to be able to speak to him if she bumped into him unexpectedly, without feeling awkward and embarrassed about the episode earlier. It had also dawned on her that he might be asked to Liz and Jim’s wedding next month, and she didn’t want the thought of meeting him again hanging over her.

It was best to make a polite, quick exit now and end on a pleasant note.

She popped her head quickly into the dining-room but c
ouldn’t see him anywhere, then she went down the hallway towards the kitchen, and there he was, leaning against the jamb of the door, chatting to another fellow in a bow-tie.

‘I just wanted a wee word with you,’ she said, smiling apologetically for interrupting them.

‘You’re not going now, are you?’ Mark said, looking very disappointed. He left his beer glass on a small table in the hall. ‘I was just going to come back in to see you . . . I thought we might have another dance.’

‘The minibus is outside, so I’ve got to go,’ Heather explained, trying to look as though she was disappointed herself.

He reached a hand out to her shoulder. ‘Can I see you again?’ he said, looking directly into her eyes.

Heather’s stomach tightened. ‘I’m not sure, Mark . . . after all this business with Gerry.’ She was telling the truth now. Even if she had been attracted to Mark, she wasn’t ready to start courting another lad. ‘I’m not sure if I’m ready to go start seeing anyone else . . . not just yet.’

‘OK,’ he said quietly, his head moving up and down. ‘Maybe in a few weeks?’

‘We’ll see,’ Heather said, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

He reached forward now and took her face gently in his hands and then he kissed her gently on the lips. ‘It’s a pity,’ he said. ‘I think we would have hit it off really well. I’ve never met anyone like you before – you’re clever and funny and beautiful. You’re a really special girl, Heather.’

For some reason she couldn’t understand, tears sudden
ly rushed into Heather’s eyes. Tears about what, she didn’t know. Maybe it was because he was being kind to her after what had happened. ‘Thanks, Mark – your party was lovely . . .’ Then she turned away and rushed down the hallway.

The minibus was freezing and it was a smaller one than the one that had brought them. It should only have held eight, but eleven of them – including Gerry Stewart – had to squeeze in. Heather sat on the edge of Liz and Jim’s seat, steadying herself by holding onto the seat in front. Gerry was up at the back of the bus, slumped in a single seat and looking fast asleep again.

Larry’s car pulled up outside the Graces’ darkened house, which signalled that Sophie and Fintan had already retired for the night. If they had still been at Mona and Pat’s they would have left the living-room light on.

‘Thanks for the lift, Larry,’ Kirsty said as she gathered her things around her to get out of the car. She hadn’t chatted much on the journey home as she felt sleepy, but a number of things had been flitting around in her mind. M
ost of them were questions that she couldn’t ask. Questio
ns about Helen McClus­key and Larry’s son. Questions like whether they’d been married or whether it had been an affair. And lots and lots of questions about what had gone wrong between them, and why he wasn’t seeing much of his little son. At least Kirsty supposed he was young – he could be at school for all she knew.

She didn’t ask him any of the questions that were rattling around inside her head.

‘I was just thinking that you having to drive me places is a bit of a bind for you,’ she said, her hand on the handle of the car door. ‘It’s not like being in the band, when everyone was going to the same places anyway. You’re having to drive to Rowanhill to pick me up and then go on to wherever we’re going, and then bring me back again. It’s a lot of driving around for you.’

‘I don’t mind,’ he told her in a surprisingly cheerful vo
ice. ‘It suits me fine at the minute. If and when it changes
, we can sort out some other arrangement.’

‘You never know,’ she told him, thinking of the envelope of money that he’d given her tonight. ‘Maybe I’ll save up enough to buy a car . . . I was thinking of asking my daddy to take me out for a few lessons.’

‘Good girl!’ he said, obviously impressed with the idea. ‘It’s something you’ll definitely have to consider when your career takes off – and by the way things went tonight, it looks as if it’s going in the right direction.’

‘I’m really glad,’ Kirsty said quietly.

She looked up at him now and caught him staring straight at her in a deep, very thoughtful way. She wondered what he was thinking. Probably about those two McCluskeys, or maybe he was thinking about the little son he didn’t seem to see much of. Whatever it was, it had dampened down his usual confidence and ability to give the impression that he could handle everything. ‘Thanks again, Larry,’ she said, turning to fiddle with the car handle in the dim light of the orange street lamp.

‘Kirsty,’ he said in a low, almost hesitant voice, ‘I’m sorry about last week . . . I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings too much. Sometimes I can be a bit brisk . . .’

Kirsty’s heart sank like a stone at the mere mention of it. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, in as chirpy a voice as she could muster, hoping to cover her embarrassment. ‘I was just being stupid . . . I don’t know what got into me that night. I think those Babychams must have gone to my head . . .’

‘So, it wasn’t serious?’ he checked.

‘No,’ she said quickly, opening the car door. ‘And you don’t need to worry – there’s no fear of it ever happening again.’

The minibus stopped in the main street in Rowanhill and the tired, very quiet group started to get off. Heather moved first so that she wasn’t left near the end when Gerry was getting off. She’d also given her share of the minibus fare to Liz, so that she wasn’t standing there with the rest of the crowd sorting out money when it stopped.

A few minutes before turning into Rowanhill, Jim had moved to the back of the bus to rouse his drunk, almost comatose friend, and was still coaxing him to waken up as the others filed off.

‘You’re not walking home on your own, are you?’ Liz checked as they got off. ‘Is there anybody else who lives down your street?’

This would never have been an issue before, as the two lads had always made sure the girls were seen right home to their doors.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Heather said, glancing back anxiously at the bus. She wrapped the satin stole around her neck seve
ral times now, like a big scarf, and then she buttoned her coat up to the neck. ‘Sure, it’s only a few minutes walk.’

‘But you never know who could be around with it being New Year – there could be any drunken eedjits around.’

‘I’ll be absolutely fine,’ Heather reassured her friend. She went over now and gave Liz a hug. ‘I hope it’s a good New
Year for you and Jim, and I can’t wait until your wedding.’

A big smile spread on Liz’s face. ‘Thanks . . . although I’m gettin’ a wee bit nervous about it all as the time gets nearer. You’re a great pal and I can always rely on you.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And I hope the right man comes along for
you
this year as well.’

Heather laughed and raised her eyebrows. ‘I won’t be holding my breath.’ Then, hearing Gerry’s slurred voice coming from the front of the minibus, she moved. ‘I’ve got to go. Why don’t you drop down to see me tomorrow afternoon?’