not to mention havin’ to wrestle a toastin’ fork off of a wee nyaff that was ready to stab everybody in sight.’
‘What?’ Sophie said, dropping the spatula back into the frying pan. ‘Was he jokin’ or was he seriously trying to attack people?’
‘Very serious,’ Kirsty said. ‘He was a right bad little bugger.’
‘Language! Language!’ Lily laughed, her eyes dancing with delight.
Sophie shot her blonde-headed daughter a warning glance.
‘It’s the only way to describe him,’ Kirsty protested. ‘He was a bad little –’
‘What happened?’ Heather asked, her knife and fork coming to rest on her plate.
‘Och, he was after Martin Kerr over some nonsense to do with the minibus. God knows what would have happened if I hadn’t grabbed the toasting fork out of his hand.’ Her eyes suddenly grew large. ‘I noticed that the fork was really sharp, and later on when I showed it to the lads in the band they said he had the ends of the prongs filed to a sharp point.’
‘Oh, I’m not happy about that carry-on at all,’ Sophie said, shaking her head. She came over to the table, frying pan in hand, to put a fried egg on top of the bacon and sausages on each girl’s plate. ‘It sounds far too dangerous a place for you to be singing in. Does your father know what kind of place it is?’
Kirsty shrugged, thinking now that it wasn’t such a good idea to have mentioned the trouble at the club. ‘Och, it’s not always like that,’ she back-pedalled. ‘Most of the time it’s absolutely fine.’
‘Anyway,’ Lily said, reaching a small hand across the table to Heather, ‘what time d’you think you’ll get back from Wishaw?’
Heather gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘What time is the practice?’
‘Three,’ Lily said, and then held her breath.
Chapter 8
Heather got off the bus at the Household department store in Wishaw, walked briskly down to the lights and then made her way across the busy road and down to Stead and Simpson’s shoe shop. She checked her watch – it was only half past one, and she wasn’t meeting Liz until quarter past two. She had plenty of time to get everything done by then, so they could sit and have a good gab before getting the bus home for the dancing practice.
Kirsty had said she was coming in with her right up until the last minute, when one of the band called at the door to say they were having a final rehearsal for the competition that night. ‘It’ll only be an hour or two,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back as quick as I can and then we can both run into Wishaw together. I need to get new pink shoes to match my stage outfit for tonight.’
‘I can’t wait until after you’ve finished to go shopping,’ Heather had told her, rolling her eyes to the kitchen ceiling. ‘Wee Lily will have a fit if I don’t get back in time for the country dancing practice.’
Kirsty’s face had fallen. ‘Will you get me the shoes? I w ouldn’t ask normally . . . but I really need them for tonight.’
‘You wouldn’t ask normally?’ Heather had repeated in an incredulous voice. ‘Last week it was an underskirt and the week before it was a handbag.’ She had paused, tossing h er wavy dark hair over one shoulder and then giving a loud sigh. ‘What kind of shoes?’
‘I’ll write it down,’ Kirsty had said, swiftly moving over to the kitchen window ledge to rummage in a green, marble-effect vase full of pens, pencils, screwdrivers, knitting needles and odds and ends. She had found a sharp pencil, and then went into the cutlery drawer to find the small notebook that Sophie kept there for taking down people’s instructions for her sewing.
‘First choice is the pink patent stilettos that they had in Stead and Simpson’s window last week, or pink sling-backs with a high heel from the Household. If they’ve sold out in pink I’ll just take black to match the top.’
‘Size four?’ Heather had said, her brows raised in question.
‘Aye,’ Kirsty had said,
‘What?’ Sophie said, dropping the spatula back into the frying pan. ‘Was he jokin’ or was he seriously trying to attack people?’
‘Very serious,’ Kirsty said. ‘He was a right bad little bugger.’
‘Language! Language!’ Lily laughed, her eyes dancing with delight.
Sophie shot her blonde-headed daughter a warning glance.
‘It’s the only way to describe him,’ Kirsty protested. ‘He was a bad little –’
‘What happened?’ Heather asked, her knife and fork coming to rest on her plate.
‘Och, he was after Martin Kerr over some nonsense to do with the minibus. God knows what would have happened if I hadn’t grabbed the toasting fork out of his hand.’ Her eyes suddenly grew large. ‘I noticed that the fork was really sharp, and later on when I showed it to the lads in the band they said he had the ends of the prongs filed to a sharp point.’
‘Oh, I’m not happy about that carry-on at all,’ Sophie said, shaking her head. She came over to the table, frying pan in hand, to put a fried egg on top of the bacon and sausages on each girl’s plate. ‘It sounds far too dangerous a place for you to be singing in. Does your father know what kind of place it is?’
Kirsty shrugged, thinking now that it wasn’t such a good idea to have mentioned the trouble at the club. ‘Och, it’s not always like that,’ she back-pedalled. ‘Most of the time it’s absolutely fine.’
‘Anyway,’ Lily said, reaching a small hand across the table to Heather, ‘what time d’you think you’ll get back from Wishaw?’
Heather gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘What time is the practice?’
‘Three,’ Lily said, and then held her breath.
Chapter 8
Heather got off the bus at the Household department store in Wishaw, walked briskly down to the lights and then made her way across the busy road and down to Stead and Simpson’s shoe shop. She checked her watch – it was only half past one, and she wasn’t meeting Liz until quarter past two. She had plenty of time to get everything done by then, so they could sit and have a good gab before getting the bus home for the dancing practice.
Kirsty had said she was coming in with her right up until the last minute, when one of the band called at the door to say they were having a final rehearsal for the competition that night. ‘It’ll only be an hour or two,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back as quick as I can and then we can both run into Wishaw together. I need to get new pink shoes to match my stage outfit for tonight.’
‘I can’t wait until after you’ve finished to go shopping,’ Heather had told her, rolling her eyes to the kitchen ceiling. ‘Wee Lily will have a fit if I don’t get back in time for the country dancing practice.’
Kirsty’s face had fallen. ‘Will you get me the shoes? I w ouldn’t ask normally . . . but I really need them for tonight.’
‘You wouldn’t ask normally?’ Heather had repeated in an incredulous voice. ‘Last week it was an underskirt and the week before it was a handbag.’ She had paused, tossing h er wavy dark hair over one shoulder and then giving a loud sigh. ‘What kind of shoes?’
‘I’ll write it down,’ Kirsty had said, swiftly moving over to the kitchen window ledge to rummage in a green, marble-effect vase full of pens, pencils, screwdrivers, knitting needles and odds and ends. She had found a sharp pencil, and then went into the cutlery drawer to find the small notebook that Sophie kept there for taking down people’s instructions for her sewing.
‘First choice is the pink patent stilettos that they had in Stead and Simpson’s window last week, or pink sling-backs with a high heel from the Household. If they’ve sold out in pink I’ll just take black to match the top.’
‘Size four?’ Heather had said, her brows raised in question.
‘Aye,’ Kirsty had said,
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