The Grace Girls (42 page)

‘Fine,’ Liz agreed, ‘I’ll see you then.’

Heather walked away briskly, almost running as she crossed the main road to be out of sight by the time the last two had dismounted from the minibus. A short while later she turned off the main road, then went quickly down the silent streets that led to her home.

Kirsty had just arrived home, and had thrown a handful of kindling sticks and some small bits of coal on the living-room fire to liven it up. She knew she and Heather would sit up for a while discussing their evenings and thought they might as well be warm and comfortable while they were chatting.

She took her shoes off downstairs and then padded upstairs to change out of Helen McCluskey’s dress into her fleecy pyjamas, dressing-gown and slippers. She was back downstairs with the grill on for toast and waiting for the kettle to boil when Heather’s key sounded in the door. She moved out to greet her.

‘How did it go?’ Heather asked as she came along the hallway, stopping to take off her coat and hang it up.

‘Brilliant,’ Kirsty said, her eyes sparkling with the memor
y. ‘I went down really well. We’ve got more book
ings at that hotel, and a few other people came to Larry to ask about me as well.’

‘That’s great,’ Heather said, truly delighted for her sister.

‘Here,’ Kirsty said, coming towards her with outstretche
d arms, ‘I think we should at least say “Happy New Year” to ea
ch other! Especially since there’s not another skull aroun
d to say it!’

They hugged each other, laughing, then Kirsty stood back to admire Heather’s black lace dress again. ‘You look fantastic in that,’ she said. ‘A million dollars.’ Then she gave a little laugh. ‘And it probably cost that if the real owner is anything to go by . . .’

‘What d’you mean?’ Heather asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

‘Listen,’ Kirsty whispered, pointing upstairs, ‘you run up and get into your pyjamas an’ I’ll have tea and toast ready for you when you come down, then we can sit and have a good
oul’ chat about our nights. You’re not going to believe half the things I found out about that Larry Delaney tonight.’

Heather nodded and took off her shoes – exactly as her sister had done – draped the black stole over one arm and tiptoed upstairs in her stocking feet.

The girls were sitting on either side of the fireplace in their night-clothes, their feet tucked under them, drinking their second cup of tea, when the loud, desperate rapping came on the front door.

‘Heather!’ a voice was calling. ‘Heather! You’ll need to come quick.’

The girls looked at each other with shocked, frightened
eyes. It was half past two in the morning and they’d been home for nearly an hour. What on earth could it be? The last, and only, time anything like this had happened was when Lily was taken into the hospital. They both got to their feet at the same time and rushed out into the hall.

They could see two figures silhouetted through the glass in the door as they approached it. Then the loud banging came again, startling them as they were so close to it.

‘My God,’ Kirsty said, ‘I think that’s Jim Murray.’ ‘Don’t open it!’ Heather suddenly said, flattening her back against the coats hanging in the hallway. Her eyes were wide with fear. ‘That must be Gerry Stewart with him and I don’t want him coming in – he’s dead drunk!’ She halted, now hearing a noise upstairs. ‘Oh, God! That’s my daddy up – he’ll go stone mad if he sees any of them drunk outside.’

‘Heather!’ a distraught voice called from outside the door. ‘It’s Liz – open the door!’

Kirsty pushed forward now, bending down to lift the flap on the brass letter box. She’d soon sort out this blidey business, she thought. And if it was that Gerry Stewart carrying on again, he would take what he got from her – no doubt about it.

‘Who’s there and whiddye want?’ she called in an unusually aggressive voice.

Heather stood statue-still watching her younger sister, with her hands clasped over her mouth. Her father’s slow and steady footsteps were approaching the bottom of the stairs.

‘It’s Liz an’ Jim!’ Liz called back in a screechy voice, crying now.

‘And who else is with you?’ Kirsty demanded.

‘Nobody,’ Liz said, ‘just us.’

‘That Gerry Stewart better not be with you!’ she warned. ‘Or I’ll brain him over the head with a poker.’

‘For God’s sake, open the door,’ Jim said in a strangled voice. ‘We’ve got some terrible news to tell you.’

Chapter 44

New Year’s Day 1956

Gerry Stewart was pronounced dead at four o’clock in the morning on New Year’s Day. Waking up to the news, Rowanhill was in a state of shock.

Heather Grace had been awake all night since Jim and Liz had come banging on the door to tell her he was in hospital fighting for his life.

She had gone to bed ages after they left, but not slept, instead running the scene over and over in her mind like a film. She could picture everything that had happened – minute by minute – right up until Liz had come back to the Graces’ house at eight o’clock that morning to tell her that Gerry had died. He had never regained consciousness after the accident. He had gone into some kind of coma and never come out of it.

After Kirsty had let them in in the early hours of New Year’s Day, Jim Murray had sat on the sofa, holding his head in his hands and breaking his heart crying. ‘I can’t believe it,’ he sobbed. ‘One minute he was standing beside me . . . and the next minute he was lying in the middle of the road covered in blood.’

Heather was seated, white-faced and shivering, in one arm­chair with Kirsty perched on the arm of it, while Liz was sitting on the other armchair at the opposite side of the fire. Fintan and Sophie hovered behind the sofa in their dressing-gowns, not quite sure what to say or do, but feeling they had better stay downstairs until they’d heard the worst.

Heather looked at Liz with wide, startled eyes, afraid to ask what had happened.

‘It was a taxi,’ Liz explained at last in a horrified whisper.

‘It was my fault!’ Jim cut in, punching a fist onto his knee. He hadn’t drunk as much as Gerry had, but it was obvious that he’d had a good few drinks. ‘If I hadn’t argued with him, he would be all right instead of lyin’ in the hospital in intensive care . . .’ He shook his head vigorously, as if trying to shake the horrible images away, the images that had haunted him since he saw Gerry being taken away in the ambulance.

Jim had wanted to go with Gerry, but the police who had arrived on the scene and the ambulance men said he’d had too much to drink, and anyway, his family were following straight behind the ambulance. He advised them to give it an hour or so then phone the Law Hospital to see if there was any news.

‘So what happened then?’ Kirsty asked. ‘What had the taxi to do with it?’

Liz glanced anxiously at Fintan and Sophie, then back t
o Heather. It was too terrible not to tell the truth, no matter how shocked the older people were. ‘Well, you see . . .’
she said to Heather, then stopped for a moment to clear her voice, ‘after you left, Jim got Gerry off the bus, then he started to insist that he was going to catch up with you. He said he wanted to walk you home the way he always did. He said he was worried about you goin’ home on your own.’

Heather looked over at her friend with tortured eyes, feeling desperately guilty. She knew that everyone was thinking that it was all her fault for finishing with him in the first place. If they’d still been going out, Gerry would not have been so drunk and upset to carry on in such a way.

Liz looked over at Jim now, anxious in case he reacted badly to the events being discussed – but he was now sitting quite still. ‘Jim gave me his and Gerry’s money for the minibus, and I went over to give it to the others, so I didn’t know what was going on. Anyway,’ she continued, rubbing a tear away, ‘Jim told him that you didn’t want to see him . . . and that you’d probably be in bed by the time he reached your house – but he wouldn’t listen.’ She glanced again at Jim, then she went on. ‘They had a bit of a fight – an argument – it was all at the back of the minibus and the rest of us didn’t see it because we were at the front with the driver.’

Jim got to his feet now, and went to stand in front of the dying fire. ‘That’s the mistake I made – I should have left him alone and he’d still be alive. The worst he would have done was come down here annoying you . . . but you’d have got over that.’

Heather’s head drooped and she covered her face with her hand. Kirsty rubbed her back, trying to comfort her.

‘He would’ve just made one last eedjit of himself with you,’ Jim continued, ‘and then he would finally have accepted that you didn’t want him. He would have eventually got used to it . . .’

‘So what happened after the argument?’ Kirsty prompted, confident that her parents would say nothing about the drunken row given the circumstances. Anyway, she thought to herself, they might as well get all the gory details out tonight in one go. It would be hard enough over the next few days without trying to second-guess the missing parts of the jigsaw puzzle.

‘I was tryin’ to hold him back,’ Jim went on, his voice wavery and strained. ‘I didn’t want him to make a complete fool of himself. He was the cleverest fella I know – but he could be
dead pig-headed at times.’ He halted, gathering himself together again. ‘And then we fell against the minibus, and I tripped and landed on the pavement.’ There was a weary sigh from Fintan as he pictured the drunken brawl, which everyone either didn’t hear or ignored.

‘It all happened really fast after that,’ Jim said, shrugg
ing his shoulders and scraping his fingers through his tousled fair hair. ‘By the time I got myself up off the ground, he wa
s out in the middle of the road . . . he wasn’t fit to walk, he was staggering all over the place. And then this taxi must have come flyin’ around the corner – none of us even saw it comin’ – and the next thing there’s this terrible bang . . .’
He turned away now, unable to finish. Liz got up and went over to stand beside him, her arms wrapped around his right arm.

‘It was his head,’ Liz said gravely, taking up the story where her fiancé had left off. ‘The ambulance men said his head had got the worst of it. It wasn’t just the car hitting him. He got thrown up in the air and then he landed at the kerb on his head.’ She gave a long sad sigh, but struggled on with the story. ‘There was a lamp-post inches away from where he was lying, so we’re not sure if he was thrown against that.’

‘Oh my God!’ Heather groaned, sobbing and rocking back­wards and forwards in the chair. ‘Poor, poor Gerry! What a terrible thing to happen to a young fella . . . I can’t believe it.’

‘I still can’t believe it!’ Jim said, his eyes red-rimmed and looking as if they had sunk in his head. ‘I feel as if it’s a
ll just a bad dream . . . I feel as if I’ll wake up in the mornin’ and me and Gerry will be laughing at this when I tell hi
m.’ He looked around at all the people in the room now. ‘He’s my best pal . . . and I might never see him alive again.’

‘It mightn’t be as bad as you think,’ Fintan said in a comforting, reassuring voice. ‘When they get him into hospital now and check him over – he might not be as bad. A bit of spilt blood can look far worse than it is.’

Jim closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘I know he’s not goin’ to make it . . . I could tell the minute I looked at him lyin’ there on the road . . .’

When he phoned the hospital at half past four on New Year’s morning, Jim Murray’s worst fears were confirmed.

Gerry Stewart had died at exactly four o’clock with his mother and father by his bedside.

Chapter 45

‘
I’ve never seen Jim in such a state,’ Liz said when she came around to tell Heather the terrible news later that morning. After leaving the Graces’ house, she and Jim had gone back to Liz’s to wait for a while, then Jim had phoned the hospital from the phone box in the main street at half past four to be told that Gerry had died.

Neither of them had slept. Jim had sat in a daze on Liz’s mother’s couch until around six o’clock and then he decided he would walk on up to Gerry’s house before going home.

‘It was only starting to hit him by the time he left me,’ Liz said, taking a cup of tea from her friend. She poured a good bit of milk in from a chunky blue jug, and added two spoonfuls of sugar. ‘I suppose the few drinks were wearing off him, and he could see what had happened.’ Her voice dropped. ‘He keeps blamin’ himself . . . saying that Gerry would still be alive if it wasn’t for him.’

‘I keep thinking the very same thing myself,’ Heather confessed, her face chalk-white and with faint dark circles now forming around her tired brown eyes.

‘It was nobody’s fault,’ Liz said, taking a sip of hot sweet tea. ‘Not yours and not Jim’s. Something in Gerry just snapped and he wasn’t thinking straight. Drink, I suppose.’ She tutted at the thought. ‘And who would have expected another taxi to be around Rowanhill at that hour? You hardly see a taxi around the place from one week to the next.’ Liz shrugged. ‘Still, it was the new year, and I suppose there’s more traffic on the roads then than at any other time of the year.’

‘It was the most terrible, terrible coincidence,’ Heather whispered, both hands clasped around the mug of black tea that sat untouched in front of her. ‘An unbelievable coincidence that Gerry was in the middle of the road when a car came flying around the corner. There probably hadn’t been anything on the road for the half-hour before or the half-hour after. I know I never saw one single car when I was walking home.’ She reached for the milk jug and poured a small drop into her mug, and then she put the jug back down on the table, almost spilling it in the process. She could hardly see the jug she was so tired, and yet when she’d tried to sleep for a couple of hours, her brain wouldn’t stop going over and over the images of Gerry Stewart lying in the road.