‘I want to say goodnight to Mark . . .’ Heather said as they walked out into the hall. It would have been much easier to just sneak out while he was occupied with another group, and hope she never saw him again. But Heather knew it would also have been cowardly and rude. She wanted to be able to speak to him if she bumped into him unexpectedly, without feeling awkward and embarrassed about the episode earlier. It had also dawned on her that he might be asked to Liz and Jim’s wedding next month, and she didn’t want the thought of meeting him again hanging over her.
It was best to make a polite, quick exit now and end on a pleasant note.
She popped her head quickly into the dining-room but couldn’t see him anywhere, then she went down the hallway towards the kitchen, and there he was, leaning against the jamb of the door, chatting to another fellow in a bow-tie.
‘I just wanted a wee word with you,’ she said, smiling apologetically for interrupting them.
‘You’re not going now, are you?’ Mark said, looking very disappointed. He left his beer glass on a small table in the hall. ‘I was just going to come back in to see you . . . I thought we might have another dance.’
‘The minibus is outside, so I’ve got to go,’ Heather explained, trying to look as though she was disappointed herself.
He reached a hand out to her shoulder. ‘Can I see you again?’ he said, looking directly into her eyes.
Heather’s stomach tightened. ‘I’m not sure, Mark . . . after all this business with Gerry.’ She was telling the truth now. Even if she had been attracted to Mark, she wasn’t ready to start courting another lad. ‘I’m not sure if I’m ready to go start seeing anyone else . . . not just yet.’
‘OK,’ he said quietly, his head moving up and down. ‘Maybe in a few weeks?’
‘We’ll see,’ Heather said, not wanting to hurt his feelings.
He reached forward now and took her face gently in his hands and then he kissed her gently on the lips. ‘It’s a pity,’ he said. ‘I think we would have hit it off really well. I’ve never met anyone like you before – you’re clever and funny and beautiful. You’re a really special girl, Heather.’
For some reason she couldn’t understand, tears suddenly rushed into Heather’s eyes. Tears about what, she didn’t know. Maybe it was because he was being kind to her after what had happened. ‘Thanks, Mark – your party was lovely . . .’ Then she turned away and rushed down the hallway.
The minibus was freezing and it was a smaller one than the one that had brought them. It should only have held eight, but eleven of them – including Gerry Stewart – had to squeeze in. Heather sat on the edge of Liz and Jim’s seat, steadying herself by holding onto the seat in front. Gerry was up at the back of the bus, slumped in a single seat and looking fast asleep again.
Larry’s car pulled up outside the Graces’ darkened house, which signalled that Sophie and Fintan had already retired for the night. If they had still been at Mona and Pat’s they would have left the living-room light on.
‘Thanks for the lift, Larry,’ Kirsty said as she gathered her things around her to get out of the car. She hadn’t chatted much on the journey home as she felt sleepy, but a number of things had been flitting around in her mind. Most of them were questions that she couldn’t ask. Questions about Helen McCluskey and Larry’s son. Questions like whether they’d been married or whether it had been an affair. And lots and lots of questions about what had gone wrong between them, and why he wasn’t seeing much of his little son. At least Kirsty supposed he was young – he could be at school for all she knew.
She didn’t ask him any of the questions that were rattling around inside her head.
‘I was just thinking that you having to drive me places is a bit of a bind for you,’ she said, her hand on the handle of the car door. ‘It’s not like being in the band, when everyone was going to the same places anyway. You’re having to drive to Rowanhill to pick me up and then go on to wherever we’re going, and then bring me back again. It’s a lot of driving around for you.’
‘I don’t mind,’ he told her in a surprisingly cheerful voice. ‘It suits me fine at the minute. If and when it changes, we can sort out some other arrangement.’
‘You never know,’ she told him, thinking of the envelope of money that he’d given her tonight. ‘Maybe I’ll save up enough to buy a car . . . I was thinking of asking my daddy to take me out for a few lessons.’
‘Good girl!’ he said, obviously impressed with the idea. ‘It’s something you’ll definitely have to consider when your career takes off – and by the way things went tonight, it looks as if it’s going in the right direction.’
‘I’m really glad,’ Kirsty said quietly.
She looked up at him now and caught him staring straight at her in a deep, very thoughtful way. She wondered what he was thinking. Probably about those two McCluskeys, or maybe he was thinking about the little son he didn’t seem to see much of. Whatever it was, it had dampened down his usual confidence and ability to give the impression that he could handle everything. ‘Thanks again, Larry,’ she said, turning to fiddle with the car handle in the dim light of the orange street lamp.
‘Kirsty,’ he said in a low, almost hesitant voice, ‘I’m sorry about last week . . . I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings too much. Sometimes I can be a bit brisk . . .’
Kirsty’s heart sank like a stone at the mere mention of it. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, in as chirpy a voice as she could muster, hoping to cover her embarrassment. ‘I was just being stupid . . . I don’t know what got into me that night. I think those Babychams must have gone to my head . . .’
‘So, it wasn’t serious?’ he checked.
‘No,’ she said quickly, opening the car door. ‘And you don’t need to worry – there’s no fear of it ever happening again.’
The minibus stopped in the main street in Rowanhill and the tired, very quiet group started to get off. Heather moved first so that she wasn’t left near the end when Gerry was getting off. She’d also given her share of the minibus fare to Liz, so that she wasn’t standing there with the rest of the crowd sorting out money when it stopped.
A few minutes before turning into Rowanhill, Jim had moved to the back of the bus to rouse his drunk, almost comatose friend, and was still coaxing him to waken up as the others filed off.
‘You’re not walking home on your own, are you?’ Liz checked as they got off. ‘Is there anybody else who lives down your street?’
This would never have been an issue before, as the two lads had always made sure the girls were seen right home to their doors.
‘I’ll be fine,’ Heather said, glancing back anxiously at the bus. She wrapped the satin stole around her neck several times now, like a big scarf, and then she buttoned her coat up to the neck. ‘Sure, it’s only a few minutes walk.’
‘But you never know who could be around with it being New Year – there could be any drunken eedjits around.’
‘I’ll be absolutely fine,’ Heather reassured her friend. She went over now and gave Liz a hug. ‘I hope it’s a good New Year for you and Jim, and I can’t wait until your wedding.’
A big smile spread on Liz’s face. ‘Thanks . . . although I’m gettin’ a wee bit nervous about it all as the time gets nearer. You’re a great pal and I can always rely on you.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And I hope the right man comes along for you this year as well.’
Heather laughed and raised her eyebrows. ‘I won’t be holding my breath.’ Then, hearing Gerry’s slurred voice coming from the front of the minibus, she moved. ‘I’ve got to go. Why don’t you drop down to see me tomorrow afternoon?’
‘Fine,’ Liz agreed, ‘I’ll see you then.’
Heather walked away briskly, almost running as she crossed the main road to be out of sight by the time the last two had dismounted from the minibus. A short while later she turned off the main road, then went quickly down the silent streets that led to her home.
Kirsty had just arri
ved home, and had thrown a handful of kindling sticks and some small bits of coal on the living-room fire to liven it up. She knew she and Heather would sit up for a while discussing their evenings and thought they might as well be warm and comfortable while they were chatting.
She took her shoes off downstairs and then padded upstairs to change out of Helen McCluskey’s dress into her fleecy pyjamas, dressing-gown and slippers. She was back downstairs with the grill on for toast and waiting for the kettle to boil when Heather’s key sounded in the door. She moved out to greet her.
‘How did it go?’ Heather asked as she came along the hallway, stopping to take off her coat and hang it up.
‘Brilliant,’ Kirsty said, her eyes sparkling with the memory. ‘I went down really well. We’ve got more bookings at that hotel, and a few other people came to Larry to ask about me as well.’
‘That’s great,’ Heather said, truly delighted for her sister.
‘Here,’ Kirsty said, coming towards her with outstretched arms, ‘I think we should at least say “Happy New Year” to each other! Especially since there’s not another skull around to say it!’
They hugged each other, laughing, then Kirsty stood back to admire Heather’s black lace dress again. ‘You look fantastic in that,’ she said. ‘A million dollars.’ Then she gave a little laugh. ‘And it probably cost that if the real owner is anything to go by . . .’
‘What d’you mean?’ Heather asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.
‘Listen,’ Kirsty whispered, pointing upstairs, ‘you run up and get into your pyjamas an’ I’ll have tea and toast ready for you when you come down, then we can sit and have a good oul’ chat about our nights. You’re not going to believe half the things I found out about that Larry Delaney tonight.’
Heather nodded and took off her shoes – exactly as her sister had done – draped the black stole over one arm and tiptoed upstairs in her stocking feet.
The girls were sitting on either side of the fireplace in their night-clothes, their feet tucked under them, drinking their second cup of tea, when the loud, desperate rapping came on the front door.
‘Heather!’ a voice was calling. ‘Heather! You’ll need to come quick.’
The girls looked at each other with shocked, frightened eyes. It was half past two in the morning and they’d been home for nearly an hour. What on earth could it be? The last, and only, time anything like this had happened was when Lily was taken into the hospital. They both got to their feet at the same time and rushed out into the hall.
They could see two figures silhouetted through the glass in the door as they approached it. Then the loud banging came again, startling them as they were so close to it.
‘My God,’ Kirsty said, ‘I think that’s Jim Murray.’ ‘Don’t open it!’ Heather suddenly said, flattening her back against the coats hanging in the hallway. Her eyes were wide with fear. ‘That must be Gerry Stewart with him and I don’t want him coming in – he’s dead drunk!’ She halted, now hearing a noise upstairs. ‘Oh, God! That’s my daddy up – he’ll go stone mad if he sees any of them drunk outside.’
‘Heather!’ a distraught voice called from outside the door. ‘It’s Liz – open the door!’
Kirsty pushed forward now, bending down to lift the flap on the brass letter box. She’d soon sort out this blidey business, she thought. And if it was that Gerry Stewart carrying on again, he would take what he got from her – no doubt about it.
‘Who’s there and whiddye want?’ she called in an unusually aggressive voice.
Heather stood statue-still watching her younger sister, with her hands clasped over her mouth. Her father’s slow and steady footsteps were approaching the bottom of the stairs.
‘It’s Liz an’ Jim!’ Liz called back in a screechy voice, crying now.
‘And who else is with you?’ Kirsty demanded.
‘Nobody,’ Liz said, ‘just us.’
‘That Gerry Stewart better not be with you!’ she warned. ‘Or I’ll brain him over the head with a poker.’
‘For God’s sake, open the door,’ Jim said in a strangled voice. ‘We’ve got some terrible news to tell you.’
Chapter 44
New Year’s Day 1956
Gerry Stewart was pronounced dead at four o’clock in the morning on New Year’s Day. Waking up to the news, Rowanhill was in a state of shock.
Heather Grace had been awake all night since Jim and Liz had come banging on the door to tell her he was in hospital fighting for his life.
She had gone to bed ages after they left, but not slept, instead running the scene over and over in her mind like a film. She could picture everything that had happened – minute by minute – right up until Liz had come back to the Graces’ house at eight o’clock that morning to tell her that Gerry had died. He had never regained consciousness after the accident. He had gone into some kind of coma and never come out of it.
After Kirsty had let them in in the early hours of New Year’s Day, Jim Murray had sat on the sofa, holding his head in his hands and breaking his heart crying. ‘I can’t believe it,’ he sobbed. ‘One minute he was standing beside me . . . and the next minute he was lying in the middle of the road covered in blood.’
Heather was seated, white-faced and shivering, in one armchair with Kirsty perched on the arm of it, while Liz was sitting on the other armchair at the opposite side of the fire. Fintan and Sophie hovered behind the sofa in their dressing-gowns, not quite sure what to say or do, but feeling they had better stay downstairs until they’d heard the worst.
Heather looked at Liz with wide, startled eyes, afraid to ask what had happened.
‘It was a taxi,’ Liz explained at last in a horrified whisper.
‘It was my fault!’ Jim cut in, punching a fist onto his knee. He hadn’t drunk as much as Gerry had, but it was obvious that he’d had a good few drinks. ‘If I hadn’t argued with him, he would be all right instead of lyin’ in the hospital in intensive care . . .’ He shook his head vigorously, as if trying to shake the horrible images away, the images that had haunted him since he saw Gerry being taken away in the ambulance.
Jim had wanted to go with Gerry, but the police who had arrived on the scene and the ambulance men said he’d had too much to drink, and anyway, his family were following straight behind the ambulance. He advised them to give it an hour or so then phone the Law Hospital to see if there was any news.
‘So what happened then?’ Kirsty asked. ‘What had the taxi to do with it?’
Liz glanced anxiously at Fintan and Sophie, then back to Heather. It was too terrible not to tell the truth, no matter how shocked the older people were. ‘Well, you see . . .’ she said to Heather, then stopped for a moment to clear her voice, ‘after you left, Jim got Gerry off the bus, then he started to insist that he was going to catch up with you. He said he wanted to walk you home the way he always did. He said he was worried about you goin’ home on your own.’
Heather looked over at her friend with tortured eyes, feeling desperately guilty. She knew that everyone was thinking that it was all her fault for finishing with him in the first place. If they’d still been going out, Gerry would not have been so drunk and upset to carry on in such a way.
Liz looked over at Jim now, anxious in case he reacted badly to the events being discussed – but he was now sitting quite still. ‘Jim gave me his and Gerry’s money for the minibus, and I went over to give it to the others, so I didn’t know what was going on. Anyway,’ she continued, rubbing a tear away, ‘Jim told him that you didn’t want to see him . . . and that you’d probably be in bed by the time he reached your house – but he wouldn’t listen.’ She glanced again at Jim, then she went on. ‘They had a bit of a fight – an argument – it was all at the back of the minibus and the rest of us didn’t see it because we were at the front with the driver.’
Jim got to his feet now, and went to stand in front of the dying fire. ‘That’s the mistake I made – I should have left him alone
and he’d still be alive. The worst he would have done was come down here annoying you . . . but you’d have got over that.’
Heather’s head drooped and she covered her face with her hand. Kirsty rubbed her back, trying to comfort her.
‘He would’ve just made one last eedjit of himself with you,’ Jim continued, ‘and then he would finally have accepted that you didn’t want him. He would have eventually got used to it . . .’
‘So what happened after the argument?’ Kirsty prompted, confident that her parents would say nothing about the drunken row given the circumstances. Anyway, she thought to herself, they might as well get all the gory details out tonight in one go. It would be hard enough over the next few days without trying to second-guess the missing parts of the jigsaw puzzle.
‘I was tryin’ to hold him back,’ Jim went on, his voice wavery and strained. ‘I didn’t want him to make a complete fool of himself. He was the cleverest fella I know – but he could be dead pig-headed at times.’ He halted, gathering himself together again. ‘And then we fell against the minibus, and I tripped and landed on the pavement.’ There was a weary sigh from Fintan as he pictured the drunken brawl, which everyone either didn’t hear or ignored.
‘It all happened really fast after that,’ Jim said, shrugging his shoulders and scraping his fingers through his tousled fair hair. ‘By the time I got myself up off the ground, he was out in the middle of the road . . . he wasn’t fit to walk, he was staggering all over the place. And then this taxi must have come flyin’ around the corner – none of us even saw it comin’ – and the next thing there’s this terrible bang . . .’ He turned away now, unable to finish. Liz got up and went over to stand beside him, her arms wrapped around his right arm.
‘It was his head,’ Liz said gravely, taking up the story where her fiancé had left off. ‘The ambulance men said his head had got the worst of it. It wasn’t just the car hitting him. He got thrown up in the air and then he landed at the kerb on his head.’ She gave a long sad sigh, but struggled on with the story. ‘There was a lamp-post inches away from where he was lying, so we’re not sure if he was thrown against that.’
The Grace Girls Page 31