The Grace Girls (60 page)

Kirsty’s heart lifted. She closed her eyes, saying a quick, silent prayer of gratitude to God for listening to her earlier pleas in church. ‘Well,’ she said, trying to sound casual, ‘I was just passing the phone box and I thought I would give you a wee ring.’

‘I’m missing you, Kirsty,’ he said now, in a serious v
oice. ‘I haven’t stopped thinking about you since yest
erday afternoon.’

Kirsty glanced around her now, to make sure there was nobody outside the red public phone box who might be listening to her. It wouldn’t be the first time that people had listened into other people’s private conversations in Rowanhill. ‘And I’m missing you,’ she said in a low voice.
Missing
didn’t even begin to describe what she felt. It was so deep and serious she couldn’t find words for it.

‘Is there any chance of us meeting up?’ he asked. ‘May
be going out for a couple of hours tonight?’

‘I could probably meet you for a while this afternoon,’ Kirsty suggested. ‘I could get the bus to Newarthill, and then if you met me there, maybe we could go for a run somewhere.’

‘That would be brilliant. When?’ he asked.

A knock suddenly came on the glass of the telephone box, and Kirsty turned to see two girls she knew, waiting to use the phone. She motioned to them that she was nearly finished. ‘Would half past four suit you?’ she asked him.

‘Kirsty, darling, any time would suit me,’ Larry laughed. ‘I’ve just been punching in the time until I heard from you, and was dreading that if you didn’t phone I might have to wait until Tuesday night.’

‘Well, you won’t have to wait until Tuesday,’ Kirsty whis­pered. ‘I’ll meet you at Carfin Cross at half past four.’

‘He called in shortly after you and Kirsty left yesterday,’ Liz told Heather as they both sat on the edge of her bed. She was up and dressed today, in dark trousers and a white knitted jumper, but she still looked pale and drawn under her make-up and pink lipstick.

‘And how was he?’ Heather asked, deliberately keeping her voice low as she knew Liz’s parents were in the sitting-room and might hear them.

‘Still not himself,’ Liz said, biting the nail on her thumb. ‘He said he was going to have an early night last night, so he didn’t come round.’

‘Are you seeing him today?’

‘I’m not sure . . .’ Liz said, glancing towards her bedroo
m door. ‘I was going to go up, but my mammy says she doesn’t think I should be out and about for the next week.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I suppose she’s right; I’m still bleeding fairly heavy.’

‘He’ll probably come down later,’ Heather said. ‘He’s maybe giving you time to get back on your feet . . . until you can go out to the pictures or the dancing together.’

‘I just wish we could get a bit of time on our own,’ Liz complained. ‘If he comes down here, there’s always my mother and father around, and it’s the same if I go up to his house. The only way around it is to get married. That’s the only way couples get to spend any time on their own.’

Heather nodded as though she agreed, thinking that she would by far prefer to be on her own from now on. Look where Liz had landed herself because of her boyfriend, and now she and Kirsty weren’t talking all over boyfriends again. It just wasn’t worth it.

Later, as she walked back to her own house, Heather mused over the situation again, unable to understand how a girl could get into such a state over a lad. She’d met a few nice boys over the years, but none who had made her feel she’d want to get married or even engaged to them. Gerry was the closest she’d ever come to anything like that.

None of the feelings she’d ever had came close to what she had imagined real love was like. She’d never felt all excited and romantic about them. A good night’s dancing and a good laugh was the most she’d ever had with any of the boys. And she certainly had never felt like going to bed with any of them.

Not that she ever would – even if real love suddenly struck her down. The thought of even seeing a man naked made her shudder, and she certainly couldn’t imagine letting any man see her without clothes.

Yes, Heather Grace decided, she would stay quite happily on her own. Friends for her nights out and home with her mother and father for the rest of the time would suit her very well, for the foreseeable future.

After all she had seen and experienced recently, she didn’t need or want any man.

Chapter 59

I
t was just as well she and Heather weren’t really talking, Kirsty reasoned to herself. It meant that she didn’t have to explain herself or tell a white lie as she had done to her parents.

Sophie and Fintan had gone off to Wishaw in Pat’s car twenty minutes ago, so Kirsty waited until they were safely out of the way and then she got herself ready to catch the quarter past four bus over to Carfin.

She didn’t have to waste time deciding what to wear, as she had spent the last hour or so thinking about it. Larry usually saw her dressed for rehearsals in casual clothes or in really glamorous dresses for the stage. For this first date together, Kirsty wanted to wear something that would make her look really nice – not anything that would make her look as if she was trying
too
hard, or not hard enough.

She settled on a fine black woollen sweater that had a collar and three pearl buttons, and a pair of fitted black slacks, which slipped nicely into her black suede ankle books with the grey fur trim. A pair of pearl earrings picked up the buttons on her sweater and her charm bracelet finished the outfit off perfectly.

As she examined herself in the mirror, turning this way and that to check herself from every angle, Kirsty decided with some satisfaction that she had achieved exactly the look she had wanted. It was the sort of outfit that she often saw film stars wearing in
Photoplay
or one of the other magazines, when they were photographed out shopping or waving to their fans. They usually wore mink coats draped over their shoulders, but Kirsty decided that her three-quarter-length camel coat and black scarf would look just fine. She left her blonde hair loose and long, the way that Larry liked it. She had brushed it thoroughly first to loosen the curls, then with the help of some setting lotion, she had coaxed it into a more fashionable, wavy style. A few dabs of Chanel No. 5 gave her that special little lift, knowing that he had chosen it especially for her.

Heather was in the sitting-room reading a book when Kirsty looked in.

‘I’ll probably be back before my mammy and daddy,’ she said, pulling on her gloves, ‘but if I’m not back, you can say I won’t be late.’

‘Fine,’ Heather said, not lifting her head from her book. Then, just as Kirsty went out into the hallway, she called in a softer voice. ‘Be careful about coming back in the dark . . . t
hey still haven’t caught whoever murdered all those people.’

Kirsty stopped in her tracks. She had forgotten about th
e murder business. ‘Thanks for reminding me,’ she called
back to her sister. ‘I’ll make sure I keep to the streets that are all lit up.’

As soon as she stepped off the red double-decker bus, Kirsty could see Larry’s car waiting for her just up from the bus stop. She walked smartly towards the car, looking neither right nor left at the bus she had left behind or the other passengers who were still getting off, as she didn’t want to draw any attention to herself.

The door was partly open waiting for her, and the engine of the car was running so they could move off quickly.

‘This is just how I imagined it would be,’ Larry said as s
he slid into the cool leather of the passenger seat. He lean
ed over to take her face in his hands and kiss her gently on the lips. ‘Just seeing you walking along there made me feel the happiest man alive, and having you in the car beside me like this is just indescriba­ble.’

‘Well, that makes us two very happy people,’ she said, k
issing him back, ‘because I feel the very same about seei
ng you.’

He kissed her once again, then he put the car into gear and they pulled away, little knowing that the bus driver had watched Kirsty’s movements with great interest and had taken particular note of Larry Delaney’s expensive car.

‘Where do you want to go?’ Larry asked, as they drove along on the main road that led to Motherwell. ‘We can turn off now in any direction that you want.’

Kirsty shrugged. ‘I don’t mind . . . but there’s not going to be much open on a Sunday evening.’ She halted. ‘You live in Motherwell, don’t you?’

Larry nodded. ‘We could go to a café or we might even catch the pictures if you like.’

‘Why don’t we go to your place?’ Kirsty suggested.

There was a little silence as he got the car into top gear, then he turned his head to look at her. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she told him. ‘I’d really like to see where you live . . . I keep imagining it, and I bet it’s all wrong. I keep wondering if it’s big or small, tidy or untidy . . . that kind of thing.’

Larry laughed now. ‘You never cease to surprise me, Kirsty Grace. You’re so honest and open about even the smallest details, and I think that’s one of the things I first liked about you.’

‘I’ve actually not been very honest this afternoon,’ she admitted in a low voice. She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. ‘I decided to say to my mother that I was going over to visit an old school friend of mine . . . it just seemed easier than explaining about us.’

Larry’s forehead creased in concern. ‘I really don’t like putting you in the position where you’re having to tell lies. It means we’re getting off on the wrong foot with your parents.’

‘It’s no big deal,’ Kirsty said, wishing she hadn’t said anything now. The last few days seemed to have been fraught with misunderstandings and disagreements with everybody, and she didn’t want that interfering with her and Larry.

‘Was there anything said after I left you yesterday? Were there any problems with your mother and father?’ he asked now.

‘No . . . not at all,’ Kirsty said. ‘They thought you were great, and they were delighted with all the things you’d said about my singing. I think it was just the worry about me being stranded up in the Clyde Valley with the snow, and obviously with the dramatic things that have been in the news recently.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘It’s unbelievable really, because nothing ever happens around this area, then suddenly we have a mass-murderer on our hands.’

‘Well, it’s understandable that they should be worried,’ Larry commented. ‘I’ll be worrying now every time I think of you out on your own.’

‘I’ll be perfectly fine,’ she told him. She didn’t want to spoil the precious time they had together now going over her father’s comments about them staying in the hotel, or mulling over Heather’s funny attitude to their romance. Anyway, she thought, there wasn’t anything that serious to tell him, and hopefully it would all sort itself out in good time.

The house that Kirsty had imagined Larry living in wasn’t anything like the house he actually owned. In fact, it wasn’t a house at all. It was an upstairs mansion flat – or spacious apartment if you were using the language of the estate agents in the newspaper adverts. They had driven down through the town centre of Motherwell, past the Town Hall – where Kirsty and Heather and their friends often went dancing – down the long hill that led towards Hamilton.

They passed a mixture of old two-storey houses in grey and red sandstone and similar ones painted in white, then they passed rows of smaller one-storey houses in red sandstone. About halfway down the hill, Larry turned the car off towards the right and they drove along a tree-lined avenue until they came to a stop in front of a tall, well-kept red-stone building that was divided into a number of apartments.

‘This is it,’ Larry said, turning the engine off. ‘This is where I hide away when I’m not working.’

Kirsty stepped out of the car, closed the door and stood staring up at the very smart building for a few moments. It had something of the appearance of the hotel up in Lan
ark with similar bay windows and perfectly maintained stonework, and there was a uniformity to the heavy cu
rtains and pelmets, as though one design had been used throughout.

‘It looks really lovely from the outside,’ Kirsty finally said, as she walked around the car towards him, her blonde waves bobbing on her shoulders. She was relaxed and smiling, and in a funny way she felt proud on his behalf that he owned a flat in this very smart place. And she knew it was all because Larry had told her all about his background, and that he had worked so hard to achieve it.

‘Good,’ he said, smiling brightly at her. ‘I hope you like the inside as much.’

Larry Delaney’s flat had everything that a modern home could need or want: television, fridge, fancy radiogram, vacuum cleaner – all the things that Kirsty had read about in magazines, and the sort of things that she had seen in her Auntie Claire’s house in Glasgow. The sorts of things that she had never imagined herself owning in a million years. And yet here she was now, going out with a successful businessman who owned all these things.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Kirsty breathed, looking around the big, airy sitting-room with the bay window that looked out onto the street. The room was furnished fairly simply, with a dark three-piece suite and a long coffee-table in the centre, and a television, radiogram and a dark wooden table with four chairs pushed against one of the walls. Wine and cream Regency-striped curtains with matching tie-backs and a pelmet decorated the windows. A black-and-white ink sketch was framed above the fireplace, and on close inspection Kirsty recognised it as O’Connell Street in Dublin.