The Grace Girls Read Free

and could quite easily demolish the two rounds of sandwiches, crisps and chocolate biscuits she took to work every day for her lunch. Some days she did exactly that, and other days she made do with a bun or a hot sausage roll when the tea-trolley came around, and kept the sandwiches until one o’clock.
    ‘Och, that’s very unusual,’ Kirsty said for her mother’s benefit, but she pulled a face at her sister as soon as Sophie’s back was turned. ‘Most days I usually eat a lot more. But sometimes I could easily go all day without eating and it wouldn’t bother me. If we get busy or if I’m doing my nails during my lunch break I often forget to eat – it’s only when I come in the door at home and I smell the cooking that it suddenly hits me.’
    ‘I hope you’re not being silly, and making yourself ill,’ Sophie called as she went down the stairs. ‘Maybe you should start coming back home again for your lunch break eve ry day where I could make sure you’re havin’ somethi ng decent to eat.’
    Kirsty passed by Heather now, giving her a poke in the back. ‘Stop getting me into trouble, you!’ she said in a low, joking hiss.
    ‘I don’t need to,’ Heather retorted. ‘You’re well able to get into trouble without my help.’ Kirsty went out to the airing cupboard with her coat, and then returned to lean against the doorjamb. ‘Are you getting fed up with Gerry?’ she asked, her eyes narrowed.
    ‘What makes you ask that?’ Heather said, frowning.
    ‘Oh, I can tell,’ her younger sister said airily. ‘I always know the signs. You’re not bringing him back to the house as often . . . and I can see he’s starting to get on your nerves already. All the little habits that you liked in the beginning are starting to irritate you . . .’
    A broad smile suddenly broke out over Heather’s face, and then she reached into the plastic basket. ‘I’ll tell you what’s starting to really irritate me, Kirsty Grace –’ A small pink roller came flying across the room. ‘You!’

    ‘So it’s all decided then?’ Fintan Grace said in his Irish lilt, beaming across the table at his elder daughter. He had come in from his work as the local school janitor and quickly washed and changed into his evening clothes.
    ‘Aye, more or less . . .’ Heather said, nodding her head. ‘I’m handing my notice in tomorrow.’ She moved back in her kitchen chair now, as her mother went around the table with the hot plates.
    ‘They’ll be sorry to lose you,’ Fintan said, lifting up his knife and fork, ‘but people have to move on.’
    ‘I wish I could move on,’ Kirsty said, attacking her potatoes and stew with an eager fork. ‘That Sheila is driving me mad. She’s got an eye on her like a hawk, and if you have a couple of minutes without a customer she finds you a cloth and tells you to wipe down the shelves or polish the glass doors.’ She shook her head then lifted the fork to her mouth.
    ‘Ah, Kirsty, don’t be complaining now,’ Fintan told his younger daughter in a light, teasing manner. ‘You have a grand set-up there, with your half-days Wednesday and Saturday, and only a five-minute walk away from the house.’
    Kirsty finished chewing her piece of stew, conscious of the table manners that had been drilled into her years ago. ‘There’s times it’s dead boring, Daddy,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘You get fed up with moanin’ old wives coming in for prescriptions who think you’re only too delighted to stand there listenin’ while they tell you all about their varicose veins or their husband’s piles.’
    Fintan shook his head, his eyes twinkling in amusement. ‘You should take it as a compliment; they must think you’re a real expert on all their complaints to be confiding in you.’
    The conversation suddenly halted as the latch on the back gate sounded. ‘Lily, I’d say,’ Sophie said with a wry smile, ‘and no doubt Whiskey.’ Lily was the elfin, curly-blonde, ten-year-old