The Grace Girls (64 page)

Later in the week Sarah had brought her mum’s knitting pattern for Heather to borrow, and had suggested that they might try another weekend together.

‘Some time,’ Heather had agreed. ‘Maybe in the spring when the days are a bit longer – and after the murderer has been caught.’ It had been weeks since it happened, but the story still dominated the newspapers and the radio news.

Although the other difficulties that Heather had experienced were now fading away, she felt very bad about Kirsty, and annoyed that it had all happened at the same time. Heather just hadn’t been in the right frame of mind when Kirsty came home walking on air after spending the night with Larry Delaney. She regretted judging the situation so
quickly and harshly and would do anything she could to repair it. But she knew, as Kirsty had said, that it was all too late. The situation had been taken out of her hands.

Claire was waiting for her at the station as arranged, waving profusely and excited in the way a young girl Heather’s own age would be, with her perfectly bobbed hair bouncing up and down.

‘Oh, you look so much better!’ Claire said, examining her niece closely. ‘Your eyes are much brighter and your
cheeks have a lovely healthy glow.’ She put her arm through Heather’s then and said, ‘We’re going to have a great weekend, I’ve planned lots of nice things for us to do, starting with a meal out tonight at a lovely little local hotel.’

They walked along to Claire’s Morris Minor and as they drove out towards the house, Heather thought how lovely it would be to live in a big city and just catch a train or a bus that would have you in the city centre in much less time than it took her to travel from Rowanhill.

Although she tried to avoid talking about it, later that night as they sat in the restaurant that Claire had booked for them, Heather found herself pouring out the whole story about Kirsty and her father.

‘Oh, no!’ Claire said, pressing the napkin to her mouth. ‘I can’t bear the thought of all this bitterness in the family. We’ve gone through enough bitterness in the Grace family – and it just shouldn’t be happening all over again.’

Chapter 65

Kirsty had forced down as much of her Sunday lunch as she could physically manage, and Sophie had said nothing as she scraped the leftover roast potatoes and chicken into the bin. It had been ten days since she last saw Larry and it felt like a lifetime away. There were times when she was even finding it difficult to remember what his face looked like or how his voice sounded.

She had spent a lot of the time up in her bedroom going over and over what had happened and wondering how she could have handled it better. She had only discovered Larry’s feelings for her the night they were stranded and she couldn’t possibly have told her father that the very next day. He had immediately been suspicious of the situation, and she had felt it best to give it all a bit of time to settle down before confessing that there was indeed a romance between her and Larry.

But of course she hadn’t been patient enough . . . she’d had to jump the gun and phone him and rush things on. Rush things on so quickly that she now couldn’t see him at all. And if they waited to see how things worked out – as Larry was now suggesting – they might never see each other again. He would probably meet somebody else more suitable in the meantime, somebody nearer his own age.

Somebody like those glamorous McCluskey women.

There were always women around like that, desperate to get their clutches into someone like Larry Delaney. And somebody like Kirsty Grace would never be able to compete. As she lay back on her bed, she wondered for the hundredth time if there was any point in going down to speak to her father again. To try to make him understand things. So far she had followed her mother’s advice and just let things lie for a while. But it looked as though it was going to lie for ever.

The doorbell sounded and when it went for the second time, Sophie called along the hallway from her sewing-room for Kirsty to answer it. Fintan had obviously gone out somewhere. She moved from the bed and went downstairs, and as she walked along the hallway she could see, through the glass panel in the door, a figure in a red coat moving from side to side. For a moment she thought it was a child – as it was the kind of hopping, jittery movement that children made – then she realised it was too tall for a child.

When she opened the door she was both surprised and shocked to see Liz Mullen standing there with a letter in her hand and tears streaming unchecked down her face.

‘Is Heather in?’ she asked in a shaky voice, her face red and puffy from crying.

‘No,’ Kirsty said, opening the door wide. ‘She’s gone to Glasgow for the weekend . . . she won’t be back until tomor­row.’

If it was possible, Liz’s face looked even more miser
able at the news.

Kirsty stared at her now, not quite knowing what to say or do. ‘As far as I know, she’s staying at our auntie’s, and then going straight into work tomorrow morning.’ She
wasn’t quite sure as she hadn’t paid any attention to Heathe
r when she’d been telling their mother the arrangements. Kirsty stepped back now. ‘Come on in, Liz,’ she said kindly. ‘You look as though you could do with a cup of tea or something . . .’

Liz glanced back over her shoulder, checking there was no one else around. ‘I’m nearly out of my mind . . .’ she whispered. ‘Jim’s gone – and he’s not coming back.’ She would have by far preferred to divulge all this to Heather, but since she wasn’t there, she decided to take a chance on Kirsty. She couldn’t face going back home straightaway, as she had felt she desperately needed to get out of the house.

‘Gone where?’ Kirsty said in a shocked voice, moving closer to her.

Liz held out the letter. ‘I got it this morning. He must have pushed it through the door when we were all in bed last night.’ She gave a little cough to clear her throat. ‘You can read it for yourself. It says everything in it.’

‘Come into the kitchen, it’s freezing standing here,’ Kirsty said, ushering her in and closing the door behind her.

Dear Liz
, Kirsty read, sitting opposite Liz at the kitchen table.

By the time you read this I’ll be a long way from Rowanhill. I was never sure about getting married, and I was only doing it because you were expecting. But now there’s no baby, I think getting married would definitely be the wrong thing for me to do. Since Gerry died I’ve been thinking a lot, and I realise that we’ve only got one life to live and we don’t know when that will end. It could be today or tomorrow – none of us knows. If Gerry had gone to Australia, I’d always planned on following him later, but now that will never happen. He’s gone and he’s never coming back.

If we’d got married and Gerry had stuck with Heather, things might have worked out here. The idea of getting married didn’t seem as bad when there was the four of us. We could have all gone out together and got houses near each other and still all kept pals. But now Gerry’s gone, it’s all different.

I know getting married to you or any other girl at this time would be a big, big mistake. I’ve decided I’m going to go out to Australia on my own and start a brand-new life. Gerry’s uncle has offered to give me the start he was going to give him.

I’m going to London for a bit until it’s all organised then I’ll go straight out. I won’t be back home in between, as I think it’s the best way.

I’m very sorry for hurting you like this, but better now than in a few years’ time when we have a family.

I hope you find somebody else who is more suited to you,

Jim

Kirsty put the letter down on the table and shook her head. ‘Oh, Liz,’ she said, her own eyes filling up with tears, ‘I’m so, so sorry . . .’

Liz nodded, grateful for Kirsty’s sympathy. ‘My mammy says she’s delighted, she says it would never have worked . . . she said Jim wasn’t dependable, and that I was the one that always did the running.’

‘I don’t know what to say to you,’ Kirsty reached across the table and squeezed Liz’s hand, ‘because I know you really loved him. I’m not going to say the same things that your mother has said because I know it won’t help you. You loved him and that’s the only thing that matters to you.’ And then, because she wanted to make this sad girl feel a bit better and because she needed to talk about it with somebody else, she suddenly blurted out, ‘You’re not going to believe it . . . but I’m in a similar position myself. I’m in love with a man, and I’ve lost him too.’

Liz looked up at Kirsty now, not sure if she was hearing right or whether Kirsty might even be joking. They had a very different sense of humour at times. ‘Are you being serious?’ she checked in a strained voce.

‘Yes I am,’ Kirsty told her. ‘I’m being very serious.’ Then she poured out the whole story about the romance between herself and Larry and all the trouble it had caused. Liz had sat open-mouthed, unable to believe that the ski
ttish Kirsty, who was always teasing her about running after Jim, was sitting there telling her how she was madly in love with an older man.

Later, when they’d drunk two cups of strong tea and sympathised greatly with each other, Kirsty put her coat on and called upstairs to her mother that she was going to walk back up to Liz’s house with her. She was glad that Sophie had stayed upstairs and that her father hadn’t walked in on Liz breaking her heart over Jim. If they had been all understanding and sympa­thetic with Heather’s friend, Kirsty would have had to walk out, because Fintan had certainly shown no sympathy where his own daughter was concerned. In fact, he had never appeared less understanding in the whole of his life.

The girls walked slowly, talking in low whispers all the way, and then they stood outside Liz’s door, talking some more until they were both starting to get stiff from the chilled winter air.

‘You better go,’ Liz said. ‘It’s going to be dark soon, and you can’t take a chance on being out on your own.’

‘Aye, you’re right,’ Kirsty said. ‘I wish they’d catch that blidey nuisance – you can’t walk the streets at night now without bein’ afraid of your life.’

‘They’re supposed to have brought somebody in for ques­­tion­ing,’ Liz paused. ‘You’ll let Heather know,’ she said, ‘won’t you? I’ll need her more now that Jim’s . . .’ She stopped abruptly now, trying not to break down again.

Kirsty nodded. Even though she and Heather weren’t great friends now, she wouldn’t leave Liz in the lurch. ‘I might even give her a quick ring from the phone box on my way home. I think I have my auntie’s number in my purse somewhere.’ She had copied it down on a slip of paper the time she and her father went out to Claire’s when Heather had fainted.

She looked at Liz now, and knew that however bad she was feeling herself, poor Liz’s life was completely shattered. One minute she had a wedding and a baby to look forward to – and the next minute she didn’t even have a boyfriend.

‘Maybe when you’re feeling a wee bit better we might have a night out . . . Maybe just the pictures or something quiet like that?’

Liz gave a deep sigh. ‘The way I’m feelin’ I don’t think I’ll ever want to go out socially again. But thanks, Kirsty, you’ve been a big help.’ She managed a terse little smile. ‘I’ve known you for years – but I didn’t know you could be
so nice.’

The compliment almost took Kirsty’s breath away, because the implication behind it was that she wasn’t always nice to people. But today wasn’t the day to start heaping more problems onto her already troubled mind.

Kirsty went into the phone box with the slip of paper with Claire’s number written on it. She had her four pennies all ready, but when she dialled the number it was engaged. She waited and tried again but it was still engaged. She looked out of the grimy phone-box window at the darkening sky. She’d go home now and tell her mother what had happened and maybe in an hour or two they might both walk up and try phoning Claire’s number again.

Then, just as she had her hand on the phone-box door to push it open, she suddenly halted. She turned back to the phone and before she could stop herself she had dialled Larry Delaney’s number.

After only two rings he picked up the phone and at the sound of his voice Kirsty felt herself shaking so badly that she had difficulty pressing in the coins, fumbling and almost dropping them. Eventually the money went in, the pips stopped and the line became clear.

‘It’s Kirsty,’ she said in a breathless voice. ‘I was in the phone box and I –’

‘Are you all right?’ he cut across. ‘I’ve been worried sick about you.’

‘I’m OK,’ she said, not sounding OK at all. ‘I’ve missed you like mad.’

‘And I’ve missed you, darling,’ he told her. ‘But I’ve been busy sorting things out – trying to make things easier for us to be together when it’s all settled down.’

Her heart lifted at his faith in the fact that they would be together at some point. ‘What do you mean?’

‘About David,’ he said. ‘I’ve been out to see Helen and the fellow she’s with, and they were going to see a lawyer this week to have something official signed to state that he is actually David’s father.’

Kirsty caught her breath. ‘How do you feel about it?’

‘I’ve very mixed feelings,’ he told her, his voice sounding weary now. ‘But it couldn’t go on the way it was . . .
and although I love him, I think I always knew deep down that he wasn’t mine. As I said before, it’s better for him to be part of a real family with both his mother and father. That would never have happened with me and Helen.’ There was a pause on the line. ‘It means that there’s one less thing for us to worry about with your family.’