The Grace Girls (6 page)

The little fellow fought back, kicking out viciously and mouthing obscenities, but when Martin put his big hand on the back of his neck he knew it was pointless.

‘Now, look,’ Martin told him, ‘I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m going to give you one more chance to get o
ut of here before I break your blidey neck.’ He paused.

‘D’you hear me?’

There was no answer. Martin’s grip kept tightening until eventually the fellow gave a nod of his head.

‘Aw, just get somebody to phone the polis!’ Kirsty suggested in a scornful tone. ‘They’ll soon lock him up for the night when they see that stupid-looking fork he was carrying in his jacket.’

‘Well? Have you decided which way you’re going to go?’ Joe Hanlon said, pushing down hard on the small fellow’s arms. ‘Are we going to do this the smart way and forget all about it, or are we going to have to give you a good beltin’ and then let the polis take you?’

‘Aye,’ Martin hissed, ‘apart from assault they might just do you for stealin’ yer granny’s toasting fork!’

The taunt caused another short but vigorous struggle accom­panied by the customary string of obscenities, but both men could feel it was only token and that he had more or less given in. A few minutes later, they had him up on his feet with Joe and Martin on either side, pinning his arms behind his back. In a stiff, halting way, as if they were all moulded together, the three of them moved out of the door and into the main hall.

The little fellow made yet another token gesture of s
truggling as they moved across the floor, but he quietene
d down when the hefty Martin hissed in his ear. ‘If you don’t go quietly, I’ll go back and get that blidey fork and stick it in your chest and eat you for ma breakfast in the morning!’ Martin gave him a shove. ‘You’re nothin’ but a belligerent wee nyaff, so ye are!’

The threat seemed to work this time and he calmed d
own again, allowing himself to be led out of an emerge
ncy exit door at the side of the hall.

Thankfully, Kirsty thought as the group disappeared, the other band members had gone out to the van to have a fly drink, and a lot of the young fellows at the dance had gone across to the working-men’s club at the break.

All they would have needed was a crowd from the fellow’s local village to decide to back him up against all the ones in the band, as a way to liven up the evening. She tutted to herself and went back into the ante-room to check her bouffant hair style was still in place, and to finish off her tea and cake.

Fellows like that were part and parcel of these places, and she had grown used to it. Most of them were just like lads she’d gone to school with – they acted the eedjit when they had too much to drink. She swallowed the last bit of her cake and then, catching sight of the offending toasting-fork, went over to examine it.

As she lifted it up, she sucked in her breath at the state of the thin, sharp prongs which looked as though they had been filed to an even sharper point. There was no doubt about it – it was a dangerous-looking thing.

She looked around the dilapidated room now, full of stacked chairs and crooked cabinets and chests of drawers, wondering if there was a safe place to hide the fork in case the little red-haired nuisance decided to come back in looking for it. She eventually decided on Martin’s guitar case, and after draining her cup of lukewarm tea went back up onto the stage to put it in the case and safely out of sight.

The second part of the night disappeared without any further incidents and all in all the band were happy enough with their performance of the new songs, one of which they planned to play in the talent competition in Hamilton the following night.

‘I see there weren’t too many booking agents there tonight,’ Joe said, winking across to the other musicians as the engine roared into life and they set off for home at the end of the night.

Kirsty was curled up in the back corner of the minibus, cocooned in her mother’s fur coat again, the lacey scarf wrapped several times around her throat, taking no chances until the van heated up properly.

‘Pity there wasn’t,’ Martin Kerr said in a droll voice, ‘because there was plenty of lively talent going on there, especially in the ante-room at the break. There’s many a man couldn’t have held his own the way that wee Kirsty tackled that fella.’

‘Well, boys, let that be a lesson to you all,’ Kirsty piped up from the corner.

Chapter 7

Sophie stepped out of the back door, a pink plastic baby’s bath piled up with newly washed towels, her eyes scanning the morning sky for signs of the rain that was forecast. Then, deciding that it was worth getting them out into the fresh air even for half an hour, she went down the three steps and into the square drying green edged all around with a neat privet hedge.

She dropped the heavy load onto the grass that Fintan diligently kept short, and reached for the small plastic peg basket that was hooked onto one of the rusty clothes poles. Then she set about the bending and stretching that was involved in pegging out the towels. The latch on the back gate went and in came the small familiar figure of Lily.

‘Are Heather and Kirsty up yet?’ she asked, closing the gate behind her.

Sophie took a peg out of her mouth, delighted to see that there was no sign of the yappy Whiskey along with her niece. ‘No,’ she said, ‘they’re still in bed.’

Lily slid in past her, although the fact she was still in her slippers did not go unnoticed by her aunt. ‘I’m just goin’ upstairs to see them for a wee minute,’ she said, before her aunt had a chance to protest.

‘They’re asleep! Don’t bother your head going up to see th
em,’ Sophie called, but it was too late. ‘
You fly little bugger!
’ Sophie said to herself, and went back to pegging out her washing.

Lily stood at the girls’ open door now, her hands shaped like a megaphone. ‘Wakey, wakey!’ she bellowed, her voice
pi
ercing the sleepy silence. ‘It’s nearly ten o’clock on a
Saturday mornin’ and youse two lazy bizzims should be up!’

Both girls moved to cover their heads with the blankets, leaving trails of dark and blonde hair visible on top of their pillows.

‘Wakey! Wakey!’ the shrill voice repeated.

‘Gerrout!’ Kirsty called from the bed at the far side of the room.

Lily took the response as encouragement, and took herself over to sit at the bottom of her cousin’s bed. ‘Are you not workin’ the day?’ she enquired in a chatty tone. ‘You usually work the half-day on a Saturday.’ Lily kept track of both her older cousins’ whereabouts with great interest, and popped into Kirsty’s chemist’s shop at least once a day for a chat. Her other favourite place was the library, which she frequented regularly.

‘Gerrout!’ Kirsty repeated, her voice muffled with the covers. ‘I was stock-taking late last week, so I’ve the whole day off. I wasn’t home until late last night, so I need my sleep.’

‘All right! All right!’ Lily said, pulling an impish face. She skipped across the floor now to sit on Heather’s bed. ‘Heather . . .’ she whispered, ‘are you awake?’

Heather moved her head under the pillow. ‘Go home,’ she grunted.

‘But I came to see you about the country dancing,’ Lily expla
ined, totally undeterred by the unwelcoming reception she had received. ‘I came to see whether you were c
ollectin’ me later, or whether I was collectin’ you.’

‘Neither,’ Heather snapped, emerging from under the pillow. ‘I’ve to go into Wishaw, so I probably won’t be going.’

‘What?’ Lily gasped, her hands coming to rest on her hips. ‘But you promised!’ Her face was now a picture of wounded shock. ‘You know fine well that Mrs McGinty’s dependin’ on you for this dancin’ display . . . and she was hopin’ that Kirsty would be coming as well.’

‘Away you go and stop annoying us!’ Heather hissed. ‘We need our sleep.’

Then, the sound of Sophie coming back into the kitchen below made Lily move towards the door. ‘I’ll let you sleep for a wee while longer, girls,’ she said affecting a sweet, grown-up tone, ‘and I’ll call back later.’

‘Don’t bother!’ both girls shouted back.

Sophie stood at the bottom of the stairs with a severe look on her face. ‘You had no business goin’ up them stairs without me telling you.’

Lily came down towards her, all wide-eyed and innocent
. ‘I was only deliverin’ a message from Mrs McGinty
. . . an’ I didn’t hear you callin’ me back.’

‘You must think I’m daft,’ Sophie said, her gaze sliding down to Lily’s feet, ‘and your mother will definitely go daft when she sees you came out of the house in those good slippers.’

Lily folded her arms and looked down at the pink slippers with the white pom-poms.

‘They’re not
that
good,’ she argued. ‘I’ve had them for a few weeks now.’

Hearing a noise, Sophie looked out through the open kitchen door to see the bustling figure of Mona coming in. ‘You’re for it now, my girl – here comes your mother.’

‘I might have guessed!’ Mona said as she caught sight of her daughter. ‘She was warned not to set foot out of the house until she’d finished her work this morning.’

Lily stood, arms folded defensively and big blue eyes cast guiltily downwards.

‘Well, Miss?’ Mona said, rapping a knuckle lightly on the side of her head. ‘What did I tell you?’

Lily stepped out of her mother’s reach, arms still folded. ‘You only said I wasn’t to take the dog for a walk –’

‘I said you weren’t allowed out of the house until you finished cleaning the bathroom out,’ Mona corrected, her finger wagging. ‘Isn’t that right?’

Lily shrugged. ‘I was nearly finished . . .’

Mona pointed back in the direction she had just come. ‘Home!’ she said. ‘Go home and finish off what you started.’

Lily opened her mouth to protest.

‘Home!’ Mona repeated. Her eyes suddenly dropped to her daughter’s feet, and she sucked her breath in angrily. ‘Ahhh . . . don’t tell me you’ve come outside wearin’ the good slippers . . .’

A short while later the two women were sitting in Sophie’s kitchen drinking a cup of tea, and sharing a small plate of plain biscuits since it was too early for cake or chocolate biscuits.

‘It’s been one hell of a mornin’ so far, I can tell you,’ Mona stated.

‘What’s happened?’ Sophie said, hoping that her sister-in-law wouldn’t start on about the skirt for the wedding again, as she still hadn’t got around to fixing it.

‘The men,’ Mona said, ‘and the Ballygrace business rearin’ its head again.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘You know they’re already plannin’ another visit to Ireland? Pat mentioned that he wouldn’t mind a wee trip over this summer.’

‘Summer?’ Sophie said vaguely.

‘Summer, no less.’ Mona confirmed. ‘And here’s me workin’ my knuckles to the bone to pay for Christmas, and the good lad’s already plannin’ ahead for another trip over the water.’

‘Are you sure?’ Sophie said. ‘I can’t remember Fintan mentioning anything about the summer.’

‘Sophie,’ Mona said impatiently, ‘would I be tellin’ you if I wasn’t sure? D’you think I imagined it all or made it all up?’ She paused, her eyes ominiously wide. ‘Take it from me, there’s plans afoot for another trip on their own, and as sure as hell that will put paid to any plans I had for Butlins or a caravan holiday – just like the summer that’s gone.’

‘They’ve asked us to go with them before,’ Sophie reminded her. ‘Last summer they said you and me could go if we wanted, and we said we didn’t fancy another wet summer in Ireland with four to a room and no inside toilets and everything. They also suggested me and you could go to Galway, Pat says it’s about time you had a trip back home. You haven’t been for a few years.’

‘That’s not the point . . .’ Mona blustered.

‘That was when we actually told them to go on their own without us – in fact
you
were the one that insisted,’ Sophie added for good measure.

Mona took a drink of her tea and a small bite of the Rich Tea biscuit. ‘I know . . . I know,’ she said, clearly irritated by Sophie’s easy-ozey attitude and too-good memory at the wrong times. ‘But I thought they were only goin’ back to help the old couple and Joe out on the farm . . . I didn’t expect them
to start buyin’ new clothes and go out gallivantin’ at night.’

Sophie laughed now. ‘Gallivanting?’ she said. ‘I don’t think there’s much fear of them going gallivanting in Ballygrace! Sure, it’s only a one-horse town . . .’

‘Ah, but there’s plenty of dances and that kind of thing in all the surrounding
places,’ Mona informed her, her eyes now gazing out of the window. ‘Don’t be so easily fooled, Sophie . . . you have to keep a close eye on the men, especially when they’re getting haircuts and buyin’ themselves casual shirts and every­thing.’ She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. ‘They don’t get all dickeyed up in new casual shirts for shovelling dung on the farm.’

Lily made a loud slurping noise with her stripey straw in the lemonade, her eyes darting from her aunt frying at the cooker back to both girls seated opposite her at the table. ‘I’m sorry for waking youse both up . . . I didn’t realise you were out so late. Were you awful tired?’ she asked now in on overly concerned tone. There was only three hours left now until the country dancing, and she was desperate to get one or both of the girls on board.