The Grace Girls

by Geraldine O'Neill

  A bell rang to let the audience know that the second part of the show would recommence in five minutes, and Heather decided that she would rush to the Ladies before everyone started moving back into the theatre.

  She came out of a cubicle to wash her hands, and a few seconds later Barbara emerged from one of the other cubicles. She walked over to stand by Heather at the sink, and then, in complete silence, washed her hands and then walked past Heather to dry her hands on the towel.

  A feeling of embarrassment and anger began to build up inside Heather. She looked around the toilet now, checking there wasn’t anyone else there who could hear. ‘Barbara,’ she said in a low, tight voice, ‘I’m very sorry if I’ve offended you about the drink, I certainly didn’t mean to . . .’

  Barbara finished drying her hands, saying nothing for a few moments. ‘It’s OK,’ she finally said. ‘I suppose you can’t help that you’re different – that you’re obviously not used to our Glasgow ways.’

  Heather could feel the anger increasing inside her, and she knew without a doubt that if it had been Kirsty she would have given her a slap. ‘What do you mean? What ways?’

  Barbara looked directly at her, her green eyes narrowed into little slits. ‘The ways that close friends behave with each other when they’re out,’ she said in a calm, even tone. She gave a quick glance in the mirror behind Heather, checking her hair was in place, as though they were having an ordinary, friendly conversation instead of this tension-filled exchange.

  ‘You see, Sarah and me have been best friends since we were eleven – since we started secondary school – so we know each other inside out.’ She gave a smug little smile. ‘A thing like that drink business would never cause any problem with me and her. We know each other too well.’

  Heather nodded, swallowing hard to relieve the tight feeling in her throat. ‘That’s lovely,’ she said, trying to sound casual, as though Barbara’s words and nasty attitude hadn’t attacked her like little knives. She glanced in the mirror herself, affecting a relaxed and easy manner. ‘I know what it’s like, I’ve a best friend back home, Liz, that I’ve been going around with since I was five, and I’ve a sister only a year younger than me . . .’

  Heather suddenly felt a sham as soon as the words left her lips, and she was shocked at the pangs of sadness she felt just mentioning Liz’s name. Liz wasn’t her best friend any more. She had totally forgotten Heather. She had thrown aside their special friendship as soon as someone else had come along. Liz Mullen only had time for one person now: Jim Murray, her husband to be.

  Barbara lifted her handbag. ‘So you and Sarah are only working pals then?’ She give a funny little smile that was almost a sneer. ‘A bit like that Marie lassie from her office?’ she said, making towards the door. ‘You’re not likely to be coming into Glasgow on a regular basis, are you?’

  The penny finally dropped. Barbara was making it very plain that there was no room for any close friendships in Sarah’s life apart from their own long-standing one. Heather took a deep breath, determined not to let this girl get the better of her. ‘I’ve plenty of things to do back home,’ she said, raising her eyebrows, ‘but I’m always game for a change if something more exciting comes up.’

  The two girls walked back into the bar to join the others as though nothing had happened. The atmosphere lifted a bit, and by the time they went back in for the second half of the show, Heather felt that things had been smoothed over and the incident about the gin and tonic forgotten. But she noticed when they were all back in their seats that Sarah seemed to have angled herself so that she was leaning more towards Barbara and away from Heather. As the show went on, they leaned closer together, whispering and giggling, and not bothering to talk to either Heather or Patsy. Heather told herself not to let it upset her, but after a while she couldn’t help it, and she realised that she felt very left out.

  The same situation continued after the show when Sarah and Barbara linked arms to walk up to the nearest chip shop with Heather and Patsy trailing behind them, Patsy once again on her favourite subject of the intricate new phone system. They all walked to a bus stop together eating their chips, and then eventually Barbara separated from Sarah and she and Patsy went off to get the Govanhill bus.

  ‘The show was great, wasn’t it?’ Heather commented as she threw over half of her bag of lukewarm chips into the litter bin at the bus stop. She had no appetite and had forced herself to eat as much of them as she could manage so as not to draw attention to herself.

  ‘Aye it was,’ Sarah agreed. ‘Lex McLean is always brilliant.’ She paused, finishing off her own chips then scrunching up the bag and throwing it into the bin. ‘It was a pity a good night was spoiled by a bad atmosphere.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Heather said, dreading what was coming next.

  Sarah turned towards her now, her arms folded defensively over her chest. ‘Well, you didn’t exactly like Barbara, did you? You made it obvious to everybody.’

  Heather tried to keep her breathing steady and even. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, Sarah, I think the opposite was true. Barbara most certainly didn’t like me.’

  ‘Well, I’ve never had anybody havin’ a problem wi’ Barbara before . . . and she said you were dead off-hand to her in the toilet when you were on your own.’ Sarah’s voice was rattling out the list of accusations now and her face was red and angry. ‘She said that you were even talkin’ about me – sayin’ that you only came out to Glasgow because you’d nothing more exciting to do back home.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that’s not true,’ Heather said in a stunned, quiet voice. What had she done to this Barbara that could have caused such a terrible situation to arise in just one evening? ‘I really enjoyed being out at your house, meeting your mother and father, and I was grateful for the lovely dinner I was given.’ She halted, desperate for her workmate to see what was plainly obvious. ‘Can you not see, Sarah, Barbara’s twisted everything around?’

  ‘For your information,’ Sarah suddenly snapped, her eyes full of rage, ‘that’s my best friend you’re talkin’ about.’

  Then they stood together in silence waiting for their bus.

  Heather lay in the strange room hunched up in the right-hand corner of the bed, well away from her workmate, wishing that the dark winter night would end and that morning would come quickly. She had often gone to sleep after an argument with Kirsty, knowing full well that they would make it up in the morning. But this was different. This wasn’t Kirsty, the sister she knew inside out.

  The girl in the bed beside her she now was a cold stranger.

  They had made polite conversation on the bus going home and then during the short walk back to Sarah’s house. They had sat chatting to Mr and Mrs Fox over a cup of tea and toast, telling them all the jokes they could remember from the show, but studiously avoiding each other’s eyes.

  Then, the girls had finally gone to bed and the frosty tension that had built up between them over the evening had grown into a solid, frozen silence.

  In the morning, Heather made the excuse that she wanted to get off early to do a bit of shopping in Glasgow before catching the train back to Rowanhill.

  ‘But won’t you have a bit of ham and eggs?’ Mrs Fox asked, a worried frown on her face. ‘You can’t travel all that way home in the winter without a decent breakfast inside of you.’

  ‘The toast and tea was fine, thanks,’ Heather said, gathering up her handbag and her mother’s overnight case. ‘And thanks again for having me.’ Then she and the pale-faced and silent Sarah left to walk to the bus stop.

  As they walked along, the unspoken accusations rumbling between them, Heather suddenly remembered the knitting pattern that Sarah’s mother had left out for her. For a few moments she considered running back for it, but something held her back.

  She didn’t want a jumper the same as Sarah Fox any more.

  She didn’t want anything to do with Sarah Fox any more.

  Chapter 41
/>   Larry Delaney was true to his word. He did not show any hint of awkwardness about what had happened that night in the Trocadero and he did not in any way refer to it. They met up in the empty function room that they used for rehearsals, and Larry greeted Kirsty as normal, with a big friendly smile. Then, after a few words, he went off to the bar at the front to get his usual Irish whiskey, a glass of lemonade for Kirsty and a pint of beer each for the band members who would be playing in Lanark on New Year’s Eve.

  Kirsty wasn’t used to this. If she had an argument with any of her friends or with Heather, there would always be a very cool atmosphere between them afterwards. It was usually the same when she fell out with her mother and father. There would be a period afterwards where everyone was distant, and then some­one would make a move, the issue would be aired and someone would apologise or laugh and eventually it would all be forgotten.

  But instinctively, Kirsty knew this was not the way things would be between her and Larry. The embarrassing incident where she had almost thrown herself at him would not be mentioned again. It was a strange way to deal with things, she thought, but as the evening wore on, Kirsty had almost forgotten the incident herself. And she was more than grateful that Larry Delaney had given her the chance to forget it.

  By the time the end of the evening came, both the band and Larry agreed that there was no need for any more rehearsals.

  ‘It’s as good as it can be,’ Larry said, as they picked up their coats and headed out of the function room. ‘And I think you could do with giving your voice a rest, Kirsty. We don’t want to strain it before the big night.’

  ‘My voice feels fine. If you think another rehearsal might help, I’m happy to do it.’ Kirsty said, but Larry cut her off.

  ‘Do you really think another session going through all the songs is necessary?’ he asked her, his brow furrowed. ‘Are you saying that you don’t feel confident enough to go on stage without another rehearsal? Surely you must feel OK about your performance by now?’

  Alarm bells suddenly rang in Kirsty’s head. Larry Delaney seemed to be losing confidence in her. Just because she was offering to keep practising to get it perfect, he thought it meant that she was saying her voice still wasn’t up to standard.

  Or maybe, she suddenly thought, he was suggesting that she was only using it as an excuse to see him. The thought made her feel all hot and flustered and she knew that the red flush would appear on her chest and neck at any minute. Her mind worked quickly as she lifted her scarf from the table, wondering how someone on a level with Larry might reply, wondering how someone like that dark-haired, sophisticated Fiona McCluskey might reply.

  ‘Actually, I do feel OK about going on stage,’ she said briskly, tying her scarf in such a way that it would cover her betraying red neck. ‘I suppose I’m becoming too much of a perfectionist . . . but if you want to get on in life, you have to do things right.’

  Larry’s face instantly lightened. ‘No harm in that, Kirsty,’ he said, smiling warmly at her.

  ‘No harm at all.’

  Kirsty smiled back at him, realising that she’d found the right way to communicate with her manager. Larry Delaney was a shrewd businessman, and he admired that trait in others. From now on she would make sure that every exchange with him would be carefully weighed up.

  The young, impulsive Kirsty Grace had grown up.

  That night in the dance hall she had learned a lesson – a very hard but very valuable lesson. It was a lesson she would never need to learn again.

  Chapter 42

  New Year’s Eve 1955

  ‘Well, we’re a right sad oul’ pair with not a man between us,’ Kirsty said, as the two sisters made their way up to Liz’s house. ‘Let’s just hope that 1956 is luckier for us than this year has been.’ She did up the toggles on her duffel coat as she walked along. ‘I’m out working tonight in a right posh place where nobody will give me a second glance, and you’re sittin’ in with my mammy and daddy. That’ll be a right bundle of laughs for you.’

  ‘I’d much rather be on my own,’ Heather told her, taking her fine black leather gloves out of her pocket, ‘than be stuck with the wrong man. Anyway, Liz asked me to go with her and Jim to a New Year party in Motherwell, but I can’t be bothered. You have all the carry-on with trying to get a taxi home, and if you do get one they charge double fare.’

  ‘I wouldn’t let that put you off,’ Kirsty stated. ‘There will be a few of you and you can all chip in together.’ She stopped. ‘D’you need a loan? Are you skint after Glasgow?’

  ‘No,’ Heather laughed, ‘I’m fine for money, but thanks for the offer.’ She smoothed one of the leather gloves between both hands as she walked along and then she started the same smoothing procedure with the other. ‘Och, there’s a good chance that Gerry Stewart will be there if Jim Murray’s there – they always spend the New Year together. I really, really don’t want to meet up with him on New Year’s Eve.’ She gave a big sigh. ‘God knows what he might say and do. I just don’t feel I could handle it if he started. I’ve had enough arguments recently to last me a lifetime. I’d far rather sit in with my mammy and daddy. Anyway, I think they’re all going over to Mona’s to watch the television because they’ve got some special Hogmanay shows on. Lily’s being allowed to stay up late as well, so I’ll be quite happy sitting yapping away to her or playing games with her.’ Lily was on her second visit home and Mona had reported this morning that she was a lot more cheerful and amenable than she’d been over Christmas.

  ‘I feel bad that I’m working or I would have gone out with you,’ Kirsty said, tutting to herself.

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t feel like that,’ Heather told her. ‘This is your big chance. You’re not saying you’d rather be at a New Year’s party in Motherwell instead of singing in a nice posh hotel?’

  Kirsty pulled a face. ‘There’s one half of me dead excited because it’s the biggest thing that’s happened in my singing, but there’s another half of me dreadin’ it.’

  Heather looked at her sister. ‘Are you over all that stuff with that Larry Delaney fella?’

  They hadn’t really discussed what had happened in any great depth since that night.

  ‘Oh, definitely!’ Kirsty said quickly, colouring up at the mention of his name. ‘God, I’ll never know what came over me that night to make me act so daft. I often think about it, trying to work it all out. I wonder if it was the couple of drinks? Surely it couldn’t have been that?’ Her brow wrinkled and she shook her head. ‘If I thought that was the cause of it, I’d never let strong drink past my lips again.’

  ‘Well, you weren’t drunk or anything when you came in,’ Heather said kindly, ‘so I don’t think it was that . . .’

  ‘You didn’t tell anybody else, did you?’ Kirsty asked in a soft, fearful voice.

  ‘Who would I tell?’ her sister replied. ‘Liz is interested in talking about nothing else apart from Jim Murray and the flaming wedding.’ They were heading up to Liz’s house now to give her the dates of the two Saturdays that Kirsty was available to sing with The Hi-Tones for Liz’s wedding. Since it was now out in the open, and Liz had got over the awkwardness of telling people, she was full of plans for the smallish wedding she was planning.

  ‘Would you normally have told Liz things like that? If she wasn’t so busy with her own plans?’

  Heather shook her head. ‘No . . . not when it’s something serious about you. I’d only tell her daft things like when we’d had an argument or if you bought something new, or I might tell her about your singing – that kind of thing. I’d never tell anybody about anything that was really personal.’

  ‘Good,’ Kirsty said, a smile spreading across her pretty face. ‘I used to think you told her everything – especially all the bad things about me.’

  Heather looked at her sister now, irritation etched on her face. ‘You’ve got a lot of faith in me if you thought that.’ She halted. ‘Do you talk to all your pals about me? I know you talked
about me and Gerry at times.’

  Kirsty looked vaguely injured, but knew she couldn’t deny it as she’d been caught out on several occasions. ‘Only the same daft stuff you’ve just mentioned. I’d never tell a soul about anything that was really serious.’

  ‘Well, that’s OK then, isn’t it?’ Heather said, feeling very heartened.

  Things were looking up when she and Kirsty could talk in such a mature, grown-up manner. It made Heather feel better about not having Liz around so much, especially after the horrible episode in Glasgow with Sarah. She’d told Kirsty all about it, and Kirsty had said that Barbara was obviously jealous and there was no point in getting dragged into an argument that could affect her work situation. She’d told her to go back to work after the New Year and just pretend that nothing had happened.

  ‘Has Liz said anything to you about a bridesmaid’s dress yet?’ Kirsty asked as they turned onto the main road in Rowanhill.

  ‘No,’ Heather said. ‘I suppose she’ll mention it when we’re in the house now.’

  ‘D’you think she’ll have the nerve to get married in white?’ Kirsty giggled. ‘Or d’you think she’ll go for a suit? I think her mother’s the ould-fashioned kind that will make her go for a suit.’

  Heather shrugged. ‘I haven’t the faintest . . . she used to talk about wanting to have a big white wedding when we were younger, but things have obviously changed.’

  They sat in the Mullens’ kitchen eating home-made shortbread and drinking cups of sweet Camp coffee, which Liz had painstakingly made with boiled frothy milk – telling the two Grace girls that it was just the way Jim loved it.