The Grace Girls (44 page)

‘I’m so sorry,’ Heather said, tears streaming down her f
ace. ‘I can’t believe it’s happened.’ She put her arms around
the older woman’s neck and kissed her on the cheek.

‘And I never will, hen,’ Mrs Stewart said, patting Heather’s arm as she embraced her. ‘They might as well put me into my own grave now . . . I’ll never be the same after this.’ Her voice faltered. ‘I can’t believe God would do this to us . . . do this to poor Gerry.’ She shook her head. ‘What did he ever do to deserve that terrible accident? What did he ever do to deserve such a terrible death?’

A pain came into Heather’s chest, making it hard to get a deep breath. She moved back now to sit on the couch
opposite the stricken woman. ‘I don’t know what to say . . .’
she whispered, searching for the fresh hanky Sophie had tucked in her coat pocket.

‘I know you’re upset, hen,’ Mrs Stewart said, nodding h
er head. ‘I know you were both fond of each other. I kno
w what you thought of him. Jim Murray was the very same, they’ve been pals since they were wee boys.’ She shook her head. ‘We used to call them Mutt and Jeff. You never saw one without the other.’ She made a small sighing noise. ‘Aye, poor Jim is in an awful state . . . he broke his heart cryin’ here not two hours ago. He says he doesn’t know what happened, one minute Gerry was standing talking to him and the next minute he was lying in the road. That taxi must have been going at an awful speed not to see him.’

Heather lowered her head and moved the hanky up to her streaming eyes.
Oh, my God
. . . she thought,
this is the most terrible nightmare.

Mrs Stewart told her in a halting fashion all the tragic events that had happened in the hospital last night, and then she went on to relate the details of the funeral that had been arranged so far. Gerry’s father and his two sisters were down with the priest at that very minute and they would know more about the actual day and time of the Mass later. The older woman then went on to say that Heather was welcome to come and sit up beside the female members of the family at the front of the church if she wanted.

‘For all we know, hen, you could have ended up being part of our family.’ She had nodded her head slowly. ‘If Gerry had had his way – you certainly would have been.’

Heather attempted another deep breath that still didn’t go down as far as it should have. She was beginning to feel a little bit light-headed now.

‘Thanks very much for asking me,’ she said in a quiet, respectful tone. ‘But I don’t know if that would be right, Mrs Stewart, you see . . .’ She searched desperately for the right words. She didn’t want to be hypocritical and deceitful just because there was no one around who could expose her. ‘Me and Gerry had had a bit of a falling out . . . We hadn’t really been going out together as a proper couple for a wee while.’

‘Well, hen,’ the older woman said, with the tiniest of smiles at the corner of her sad mouth. ‘He told me about you concentrat­ing on your new job right now, but he was hoping that things would get back to normal in the New Year.’ She halted for a moment. ‘Young folk always have ups and downs . . . but you were the only girl for Gerry. I knew that from the first minute I saw you together. He loved you very much.’

Heather said nothing. There was nothing to be said. And there was
nothing to be gained from saying it.

A short while later she got up to leave. ‘I’ll be back for the rosary,’ she told the heartbroken mother.

‘A wee minute before you go,’ Mrs Stewart said, suddenly getting out of her chair. With great purpose she went down the hallway and into her son’s bedroom. Seconds later she came back into the living-room holding a small blue leather ring box. There was no mistaking it. The tiny cube shape with the rounded top could not have held anything else.

Heather’s whole body stiffened.

‘I wanted to give you this while we were on our own,’ she said, handing the box to the younger woman. ‘Gerry bought it for you – he would have wanted you to have it. It couldn’t go to anybody else.’

Heather took the little box from her and held it between her hands for a few moments. Then, with fumbling hands she pushed the lid back and her eyes looked down at the diamond solitaire ring.

‘He had been planning to give it to you for Christmas . . .
’ His mother’s voice faded away.

It was as though everything seemed to be fading away now, Mrs Stewart’s voice, her strength, her brave smile.

Heather looked at the frail older woman and knew that she could not hurt her by refusing it. ‘I don’t know what to say . . .’ Heather said, choked with tears and regret for the way things had ended up between her and her old boyfriend.

‘Just take it, hen,’ Mrs Stewart said, patting Heather’s hand. ‘It was you it was meant for.’

If only she could have been left with just the pleasant, cheery memories of their courtship. If only Gerry had accepted that her feelings had changed, that she didn’t fancy him any more. They might have ended up as friends, agreeing that it was the right thing to part, where they could both go on and meet someone else more suited to them.

If only Gerry hadn’t spoiled it all at the end by refusing to let go. But he had. He had become ridiculously obsessed with wanting her. And he had died still wanting her.

Nothing Heather could do now could change that end. She knew she would just have to live with it.

But that didn’t mean his mother and family had to live with the pain of knowing how difficult he’d become – not on top of all the other pain they would have to endure. They didn’t need to know it and she wouldn’t be the one to tell them.

Chapter 48

‘
T
his is brilliant!’ Lily Grace said, grinning up at the female
physiotherapist who was rubbing some sort of oil into
her arms and legs and then massaging it into the muscles.

‘D’you like it?’ the physiotherapist – Marjorie Clarke – asked, amused by her chatty patient. Lily had been a pleasure to work with from day one. In all the weeks she had been lifted from her bed and then wheeled down a warren of corridors to the physiotherapy unit, she had never once complained or said she didn’t want to go.

Of course there had been odd days when she was a bit off and quiet, but she always bounced back.

‘Like it?’ Lily said, looking up at the hospital room ceiling with all the metal lights. ‘I absolutely love it.’ She closed her eyes now as Marjorie worked on the muscles at the top of her left arm, gently kneading and massaging in turn. ‘I could lie back and get this done to me every single day.’ She paused. ‘That’s what some posh folk get done to them, isn’t it?’

‘How d’you mean?’ Marjorie asked.

‘Well, when I was tellin’ my big cousin Kirsty about gettin’ the oil massaged into my legs and arms, she said that I’m really lucky because all the posh folk have to pay a fortune to get it done – and I’m gettin’ it for free!’ She halted for a moment, her brow wrinkled. ‘What do posh folk get it done for? They haven’t all got polio, have they?’

The physiotherapist sucked in her breath. Lily sometim
es asked the most difficult, almost unanswerable questions. ‘No, not everybody that gets massages has had polio,’ she explained. ‘People just like getting massaged because it’s good for their muscles and things, and because it makes them feel relaxed.’

‘Is that right?’ Lily mused. ‘I think I’ll have massages for the rest of my life – when the polio is all gone.’ She lay rigid on her back now as her arm was lifted up straight and then gently bent in across her chest. The procedure was then repeated a number of times, and then the physiotherapist moved over to massage the oils into her right arm and repeat the same physical movements.

‘Tell me if I hurt you or if I’m going a wee bit too hard,’ Marjorie offered.

‘You’re not hurting me a bit,’ Lily said. ‘An’ the best thing is it’s helpin’ me to get right back to normal, isn’t it?’

‘Definitely,’ Marjorie Clarke said. ‘Your muscles are getting stronger every day. Oh, we’ll soon have you up and about – there’ll be no stopping you.’

‘Well, I’m walkin’ a lot better for a start,’ Lily told her, ‘and I’m able to hold my books now for a good wee while.’

‘And what else can you do that you couldn’t do a few weeks ago?’

‘Well, I can put on my own pyjamas and dressing-gown,’ Lily said proudly, ‘and yesterday I was able to wash myself in the bath.’

‘Och, you’re a wee star, so you are!’ Marjorie said, sounding very impressed. ‘You’re definitely one in a million.’ The physiotherapists were always gratified to see improvements in all their patients, but Lily Grace had been a very special case. Even at her worst, when she could hardly move, it was obvious from her lively eyes and her voice that she had always been a bundle of energy. An energy that refused to be dampened down by the insidious germ that had done its best to snuff the life-flame from the little girl. A physical energy had transferred itself into a total belief and determination.

During the darkest and most hopeless hours of her illness, Lily knew that one way or another she would get back to what she had been before. Even when the adults felt the odds were insurmountable, Lily had not lost faith in herself. And that had made all the difference.

Twenty minutes later both patient and physiotherapist were exhausted from all their efforts.

‘I’ll ring for Matt to come and fetch you,’ Marjorie said. ‘It’ll be time for your lunch shortly.’

‘I hope it’s not that tapioca again,’ Lily said, shudder
ing at the thought. ‘It’s like frogs’ eyes all done in milk.’

Marjorie shook her head and laughed. ‘I’m just going to the office for a few seconds and then I’ll be back.’

Lily lay back on the exercise table, thinking about school and wondering when exactly she’d be back. She’d hoped it might be Easter, so that she would be back in time for all the nice summer things – especially visits to the swimming baths in Airdrie, the school trip and sports day.

She thought about Mrs McGinty and the country dancing and wondered when her legs would be strong enough to dance again. She could hear the Scottish tunes in her head now, and instinctively her legs and feet started to move to the imagined music. The movement in her skinny but dead-weight legs was minimal, but they could definitely move and so could her arms, as she pretended to conduct the orchestra that was playing the music.

The door of the physiotherapy room opened and Lily attempted to move into a sitting position.

‘And how’s wee cheeky-face the day?’ the porter called as he manoeuvred the trolley through the door.

‘Frankie!’ Lily giggled as he wheeled the trolley over to the side of the exercise bench she was lying on. ‘I thought it was that Matt that was comin’ for me . . .’

‘Och, he had to go out and help the ambulance drivers wi’ somethin’.’ He winked at her. ‘He’s probably off havin’ a wee skive somewhere, chattin’ up the nurses. Did you not know he’s a right Casanova wi’ the ladies? Oh, aye,’ he joked, ‘he’s a right ladies’ man.’

Lily giggled at the thought of the dour-faced, balding Matt having the nerve to approach any girl. Then, as she watched him put the brakes on and sort out the pillow and blankets, her face became serious. ‘Have you got a girlfriend yet, Frankie?’

‘Me?’ he said, his voice high with amusement. He ran a f
inger under the high-buttoned round collar of his starc
hed white tunic.

‘Aye, you,’ Lily said, studying him closely. She was checking his hair, his height and his weight.

‘Not me, hen,’ he laughed. ‘I wouldn’t go near women, they’re far too dangerous.’

‘No, seriously,’ Lily said. ‘You see . . . I’ve got two big cousins, and they’re dead nice-lookin’ and everything . . . but they haven’t got boyfriends at the minute.’

Frankie shook his head, trying not to laugh. ‘If they’re that good-lookin’, you’re not tellin’ me that they haven’t got plenty of boyfriends?’

‘It’s true!’ Lily said, her voice high with indignation. ‘It’s just that they’re a bit fussy . . . but I think you would suit one of them fine.’

‘Which one?’ Frankie said, leaning his elbows on the trolley, his face cupped in his hands.

Lily raised her eyes straight to the white ceiling, giving the matter very serious consideration. It would be just perfect now if she could match up Kirsty or Heather with Frankie, that way she could get to see him every day, like she did in the hospital. It was a pity she was far too young herself for a boyfriend, but her cousins having him would be the next best thing.

‘Kirsty!’ she suddenly decided. Heather was a bit too serious and crabbit at times for somebody as nice as Frankie. Anyway, she remembered, she probably wouldn’t be in the mood for a new boyfriend since that other
one got killed. She’d probably be a bit upset and bad-tempered for a few more weeks. She looked now at the porter, thinking how he would keep Kirsty in stitches laughing all day, the way he did with all the patients in the hospital. He would make a great boyfriend, and every time he came to visit Kirsty he would call in to visit his old patient, and probably bring her sweeties or even a wee present. Lily wondered if hospital porters were well paid.

‘Well,’ Frankie prompted. ‘Whit’s this Kirsty like?’