The Grace Girls

by Geraldine O'Neill

  ‘Oh my God!’ Heather groaned, sobbing and rocking back­wards and forwards in the chair. ‘Poor, poor Gerry! What a terrible thing to happen to a young fella . . . I can’t believe it.’

  ‘I still can’t believe it!’ Jim said, his eyes red-rimmed and looking as if they had sunk in his head. ‘I feel as if it’s all just a bad dream . . . I feel as if I’ll wake up in the mornin’ and me and Gerry will be laughing at this when I tell him.’ He looked around at all the people in the room now. ‘He’s my best pal . . . and I might never see him alive again.’

  ‘It mightn’t be as bad as you think,’ Fintan said in a comforting, reassuring voice. ‘When they get him into hospital now and check him over – he might not be as bad. A bit of spilt blood can look far worse than it is.’

  Jim closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘I know he’s not goin’ to make it . . . I could tell the minute I looked at him lyin’ there on the road . . .’

  When he phoned the hospital at half past four on New Year’s morning, Jim Murray’s worst fears were confirmed.

  Gerry Stewart had died at exactly four o’clock with his mother and father by his bedside.

  Chapter 45

  ‘I’ve never seen Jim in such a state,’ Liz said when she came around to tell Heather the terrible news later that morning. After leaving the Graces’ house, she and Jim had gone back to Liz’s to wait for a while, then Jim had phoned the hospital from the phone box in the main street at half past four to be told that Gerry had died.

  Neither of them had slept. Jim had sat in a daze on Liz’s mother’s couch until around six o’clock and then he decided he would walk on up to Gerry’s house before going home.

  ‘It was only starting to hit him by the time he left me,’ Liz said, taking a cup of tea from her friend. She poured a good bit of milk in from a chunky blue jug, and added two spoonfuls of sugar. ‘I suppose the few drinks were wearing off him, and he could see what had happened.’ Her voice dropped. ‘He keeps blamin’ himself . . . saying that Gerry would still be alive if it wasn’t for him.’

  ‘I keep thinking the very same thing myself,’ Heather confessed, her face chalk-white and with faint dark circles now forming around her tired brown eyes.

  ‘It was nobody’s fault,’ Liz said, taking a sip of hot sweet tea. ‘Not yours and not Jim’s. Something in Gerry just snapped and he wasn’t thinking straight. Drink, I suppose.’ She tutted at the thought. ‘And who would have expected another taxi to be around Rowanhill at that hour? You hardly see a taxi around the place from one week to the next.’ Liz shrugged. ‘Still, it was the new year, and I suppose there’s more traffic on the roads then than at any other time of the year.’

  ‘It was the most terrible, terrible coincidence,’ Heather whispered, both hands clasped around the mug of black tea that sat untouched in front of her. ‘An unbelievable coincidence that Gerry was in the middle of the road when a car came flying around the corner. There probably hadn’t been anything on the road for the half-hour before or the half-hour after. I know I never saw one single car when I was walking home.’ She reached for the milk jug and poured a small drop into her mug, and then she put the jug back down on the table, almost spilling it in the process. She could hardly see the jug she was so tired, and yet when she’d tried to sleep for a couple of hours, her brain wouldn’t stop going over and over the images of Gerry Stewart lying in the road.

  Liz was tired too, after staying up all night and then walking through the dark New Year streets to tell Heather what had happened. She knew she would be waiting anxiously – and she didn’t want Heather to hear the bad news from anyone else.

  ‘I didn’t want to come bangin’ on the door just in case I woke the whole house up again,’ she explained. ‘But I knew that folk like Mona would maybe be up early for eight o’clock Mass . . . and I didn’t want you to hear it from anybody else. They’re bound to have called his name off the altar, and everybody in the place will be talkin’ about it, especially with it being New Year.’ She raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘This is when I wish we were all rich and could afford phones – it would make life an awful lot easier, wouldn’t it? Instead of having to trail up and down streets and stand in freezing phone boxes that don’t work half the time or that won’t take the blidey pennies that they should.’

  Heather nodded her head. She’d never had to use a phone box for anything terrible like that, and certainly not in the middle of the night. But then Liz and Jim had probably never had anything like this happen to them before either.

  Maybe that’s what happened in life as you got older, she thought. Unimaginable things started to collect around you – like Lily getting polio.

  And Gerry Stewart getting killed because of her.

  ‘I’ll go now before the whole house wakes,’ Liz said, as the kitchen clock showed that it was coming on for half past eight. ‘My mammy was going to the early Mass, so I’ll go home and see her before going to bed for a few hours.’

  ‘You must be exhausted,’ Heather said. She halted, wary of saying anything that might just allude to her friend’s unspoken condition. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Tired,’ Liz said, giving a lopsided, weary smile. ‘And a bit sickish . . .’

  Heather looked up at her and unconsciously bit her lip, stopping herself from saying anything that Liz might take the wrong way.

  ‘There’s no point in me kiddin’ on about this, after what’s happened,’ Liz said in a low whisper. ‘You know I’m expectin’, don’t you?’

  Heather took a deep breath. ‘Well . . . I wasn’t really sure. I didn’t know what to think.’

  ‘I didn’t know what to think either . . . I got the shock of my life.’

  But still, she’d had the guts to come right out with it, which said a lot about her. A lot of girls would have said nothing until the baby was born, and then just made out it was a couple of months premature.

  ‘But you’re happy about it,’ Heather said, feeling relieved that her friend had decided to confide in her. It made her feel better somehow about everything. ‘You are happy, aren’t you?’

  Liz’s head drooped a little; it was obvious she was embar­rassed. ‘I am – and I’m not, if you get what I mean,’ Liz said. ‘I love babies, and I always wanted me and Jim to get married . . . but in some ways I’m terrified.’

  Heather nodded. She knew she would feel exactly the same.

  They walked to the front door together, just as they had done a few hours ago. Only tiredness and sadness made them walk a little bit slower.

  ‘Heather,’ Liz said, as she stood on the doorstep, the cold morning air sweeping in past them and down through the hall, ‘there’s something you need to know about Gerry.’

  Heather felt as though something had just wrapped itself around her throat, wrapped itself around her throat very tightly. Her legs felt weak and shaky.

  ‘What is it?’ she whispered.

  Liz shook her head very slowly from side to side. ‘He never told his mammy and daddy that you’d split up . . . they thought you were getting engaged soon. He’d showed them the ring and everything.’

  Heather pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. ‘Oh, dear God . . .’ she whispered. Lots of things came into her mind, but she couldn’t seem to get them out. How could they have thought she was still seeing him when she wasn’t around at Christmas? And what about the other girl he’d been seeing from Wishaw?

  ‘He said you were just concentrating on your new job,’ Liz said, as though reading her thoughts, ‘and he never brought that lassie to the house.’

  ‘But she was at Mass at Rowanhill on Christmas Eve,’ Heather finally said. ‘They must have seen her then, surely?’

  ‘No,’ Liz said, pulling a face. ‘I knew that even at the time, but I didn’t want it to put you off him. He’d told Jim that the girl came out with two pals in a car. They went straight back to Wishaw after Mass, they never went near Jim’s house.’ She put her hand on Heather’s arm. ‘He t
old Jim he only brought her there to give you a shock. He wanted to make you jealous . . . he had no interest in the girl at all.’

  ‘And what about the New Year party he went to in Wishaw with her?’

  ‘Same again,’ Liz said. ‘Everything was to make you jeal­ous.’

  Heather shivered, suddenly aware of the early morning chill.

  Chapter 46

  Mona wasted no time. It was as quick as her surprisingly shapely legs would carry her without breaking into a run that she came down from the church and straight to her brother-in-law’s house. Who would have thought it? Heather’s old boyfriend killed in an accident last night.

  She’d no idea who would have the latest news – whether it would be herself telling them, or whether they would have heard already. Either way, she would enjoy a bit of a chat with them over a cup of tea, finding out every detail that she possibly could.

  Mona had seen Liz Mullen’s mother at the other side of the church, but decided that Mrs Mullen was too tight-mouthed about things, and it would probably take ages trying to get anything worthwhile out of her. Liz would have been a better bet herself, but like all the young ones, she’d likely be in her lazy bed this morning, and not shifting until it was time for the half-eleven Mass.

  Sophie was at her disorganised best, lighting the gas under the kettle and then the grill while trying to give Mona attention at the same time. ‘We’ve had very little sleep,’ she explained to Mona, ‘and I don’t think our Heather’s had any at all. She’s in a state of shock with it all. Thank God she wasn’t around when it happened . . . Thank God she didn’t see him after he’d been knocked down.’

  ‘Dear, dear, dear,’ Mona said, her mouth grim. She was thinking that it was a pity in a way that Heather or Kirsty hadn’t been around when the accident happened, because they might have had more details. You could never rely on Sophie, she always got a story back to front. For some reason she never seemed to listen properly, she never got all the tiny wee details that made a story worth telling.

  ‘I’ve made her go back to bed for a few hours,’ Sophie said, ‘and if she goes into a deep sleep I won’t even waken her for Mass.’

  ‘But she’s not sick, is she?’ Mona asked, her voice high with disapproval. ‘Surely she can go back to sleep when she’s been to Mass? It’s a double commitment today with it bein’ New Year’s day on a Sunday. If you miss Mass the day it’s like missing two ordinary Masses.’ She shook her head in exasperation, watching Sophie now as she placed four slices of bread on the toasting pan, and then slid it under the lit grill.

  ‘I’ll see how she is when it’s time for Mass,’ Sophie said in a quiet, firm voice, indicating that she and not Mona would decide. She went into the cupboard for the tea caddy.

  ‘That’s a dangerous game to start,’ Mona told her. ‘You’ll build up trouble for yourself if you start gettin’ lax about Mass wi’ young ones.’ She pursed her lips together. ‘It could lead to the Claire business happenin’ all over again in your own house.’

  ‘How’s Lily?’ Sophie asked. ‘Did she enjoy herself last night?’

  ‘Grand,’ Mona said, knowing that she had been deliberately blocked. ‘We couldn’t get the wee devil to bed after you and Fintan left. She kept saying that she wanted to stay up to see Kirsty and Heather coming home, but Pat lifted her up the stairs at one o’clock.’ She smiled now in spite of herself. ‘Isn’t it great to see her taking a few steps on her own now?’

  ‘Oh, it is, Mona,’ Sophie said, her eyes glistening with tears. ‘It’s nearly a miracle, when you think how she was only a short time ago.’

  ‘I’ve a feeling they’ll let her out for good soon,’ Mona said. ‘Another couple of weeks at the most.’ She halted. ‘And did Heather say how Gerry Stewart was at the party? I wonder was he drunk or what? It seems awful strange that a bright young fella like that would get knocked down in Rowanhill . . . I mean, who would believe it? There surely must be more to it?’

  ‘I don’t know how it happened myself,’ Sophie replied, ‘but no doubt all the facts will come out. People love to know all the gory details.’ She set about buttering the hot toast and putting it on a plate in the middle of the table.

  ‘Oh, don’t be talking,’ Mona sighed, ‘people would sicken you with their talking about others.’ She sighed. ‘Of course, it’s different when it’s a member of your own family. I’m only interested in what’s happened because of Heather . . . otherwise I wouldn’t bother. How is Heather in herself? Is she takin’ it bad?’

  ‘I’d say she’s numb with shock,’ Sophie told her. ‘She used to be very fond of him, and he was good to her. I always found him a nice young fella, myself.’ She got the mugs out for the tea.

  ‘I expect she had her own reasons for finishing with him,’ Mona mused now. ‘Reasons you’ll know nothing about . . . there could have been a side to him only Heather saw.’

  She sat on for another while, going over and over the same information, hoping that one of the girls might come down with a morsel more news than she’d managed to get out of Sophie.

  Eventually – tea drunk and toast eaten – Mona gave up and went home to get her own crew up, fed, washed and out to Mass.

  Chapter 47

  ‘Come in, hen. It’s awful good of you to call up to see us,’ Gerry Stewart’s mother said in a thin little voice, when Heather was shown into the living-room by the auntie who had answered the front door. There were a few women in the kitchen already, and the auntie went back to join them, leaving the bereaved mother alone with her visitor.

  Heather went across the room to where Mrs Stewart was sitting in a high armchair by the fire. Her grey hair was in the tight little permed curls she’d had done for Christmas, and she was dressed in her Sunday-best clothes – a navy skirt and cardigan with a neat string of pearls that her dead son had bought her for Christmas.

  Heather had finally got to sleep around nine o’clock on New Year’s Day. She had gone up to bed after seeing Liz off, and lain awake for a while across the room from the lightly snoring Kirsty. She had heard Mona’s quick steps coming in the front gate, and moments later her voice had echoed up from the kitchen.

  Eventually, Heather had drifted off into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

  She didn’t wake when Kirsty got up and dressed and went out with her parents to Mass. In fact, she had slept until Sophie came up to call her at two o’clock in the afternoon.

  ‘I hate waking you . . . but you might not be able to sleep again tonight, hen,’ her mother had explained. ‘And I thought you might want to take a wee walk up to see Mrs and Mrs Stewart . . .’

  Heather had turned her head towards the window, dreading the thought of all the difficult things that she must face.

  After much discussion with her parents and Kirsty, and another hour’s serious talking up at Liz’s house, Heather had decided to go and see Gerry’s family on her own. The family would expect her to be there, and would be upset if she wasn’t. For six months she had been in and out of the house on a weekly basis. She had never stayed long, just popping in and out, but the Stewarts had made her welcome, and she owed Gerry’s family the greatest of respect under these horrendous circumstances.

  She decided she should go this afternoon, before the body was brought back to the house, before the crowds of people from Rowanhill and beyond descended upon the house. Heather had put on her plain black coat and hat. As she lifted it out of the wardrobe, she glanced at the lace dress and the satin stole that she’d worn to Mark McFarlane’s party the night before.

  From Kirsty’s story of the dress she’d worn the previous night, it would seem that the dresses were jinxed. In one short night they had brought nothing but aggravation and bad memories to both girls. She would tell Kirsty to pack them up and give them back to Larry Delaney the very next time she saw him.

  Looking at the dress now, she felt the party was a lifetime ago instead of only hours. Things would never be the same again. Heather Grace would never be
the same again.

  Mrs Stewart was a good bit older than Sophie, a matronly looking woman, probably into her sixties. Gerry – named after St Gerard Majella, the patron saint of childbirth – had been a surprise after his two older sisters, and arrived when his mother thought she had finished with all that. And she certainly hadn’t expected the rush of delight and love she suddenly felt when this afterthought was thrust in her arms by a big rough midwife from Shotts. She’d found herself cuddling him into her, instinctively protecting the tiny little bundle from the loud nurse.

  From that day on, she had protected her youngest child and only son. The son who had brought her so much pleasure in life. And she had been successful up until four o’clock this morning.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Heather said, tears streaming down her face. ‘I can’t believe it’s happened.’ She put her arms around the older woman’s neck and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘And I never will, hen,’ Mrs Stewart said, patting Heather’s arm as she embraced her. ‘They might as well put me into my own grave now . . . I’ll never be the same after this.’ Her voice faltered. ‘I can’t believe God would do this to us . . . do this to poor Gerry.’ She shook her head. ‘What did he ever do to deserve that terrible accident? What did he ever do to deserve such a terrible death?’

  A pain came into Heather’s chest, making it hard to get a deep breath. She moved back now to sit on the couch opposite the stricken woman. ‘I don’t know what to say . . .’ she whispered, searching for the fresh hanky Sophie had tucked in her coat pocket.

  ‘I know you’re upset, hen,’ Mrs Stewart said, nodding her head. ‘I know you were both fond of each other. I know what you thought of him. Jim Murray was the very same, they’ve been pals since they were wee boys.’ She shook her head. ‘We used to call them Mutt and Jeff. You never saw one without the other.’ She made a small sighing noise. ‘Aye, poor Jim is in an awful state . . . he broke his heart cryin’ here not two hours ago. He says he doesn’t know what happened, one minute Gerry was standing talking to him and the next minute he was lying in the road. That taxi must have been going at an awful speed not to see him.’