Jessie Gray

by Emma Blair

Genres: General Fiction; Sagas

Synopsis

The first time Jessie laid her eyes on Tommy McBride was in July 1947, when they were still at school - and long before she knew anything about heartbreak or pain. Then she was the sheltered, dreamy minister's daughter, determined to take a bite out of life. And he was the fighter from the wrong side of the tracks, hell-bent on proving himself in the world. They had nothing in common, separate destinies. But in 1947 the world was about to move into new decades of turbulence and change - and it was only the fighters and the dreamers who would make it theirs . . . Praise for Emma Blair: 'An engaging novel and the characters are endearing - a good holiday read' Historical Novels Review 'All the tragedy and passion you could hope for . . . Brilliant' The Bookseller 'Romantic fiction pure and simple and the best sort - direct, warm and hugely readable. Women's fiction at an excellent level' Publishing News 'Emma Blair explores the complex and difficult nature of human emotions in this passionately written novel' Edinburgh Evening News 'Entertaining romantic fiction' Historical Novels Review '[Emma Blair] is well worth recommending' The Bookseller

Release date: October 13, 2016

Publisher: Piatkus

Print pages: 352

Sample

The first time she laid eyes on Tommy McBride was in mid-November, 1947. Miss Parrot was in charge of the assembly where classes 2A, hers, and 3B, Tommy’s, were to practise their dancing for the forthcoming Christmas ‘do’.

‘Gentlemen, take your partners please,’ Miss Parrot instructed, and the boys who’d been lining one wall moved towards the girls lining the wall opposite, a few of whom were sniggering and giggling.

Suddenly he was there in front of her, mumbling the appropriate words while looking at some spot in the cleft of her neck. His own neck was flushed. He clearly found asking a lassie up on to the floor acutely embarrassing, which amused her.

‘Thank you,’ she replied demurely, thinking to herself that she’d never noticed him before.

‘A waltz,’ Miss Parrot announced, and bent to the old phonograph on which a record had already been placed.

She went into his arms, and then they were off to the somewhat scratchy music. He was a terrible dancer, stumbling over his own feet and hers. Halfway through the dance it felt as though a ton weight had been dropped on her left big toe.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered.

‘Don’t worry about it, I’ve nine others,’ she answered testily, but immediately wished she hadn’t when she saw how her reply had hurt him. ‘We all have to learn, and polish up our techniques, that’s the purpose of these assemblies,’ she added, giving him a smile.

For a brief second their eyes met, then he quickly glanced away, his entire face colouring.

This one really is shy, she thought, which she didn’t find at all unattractive. Many of the boys at Queen’s Park Senior Secondary had far too big a tip for themselves, some cocky in the extreme. A shy lad made a pleasant change.

When the waltz was over Miss Parrot told them all to separate into their lines again, then proceeded to give a demonstration of the fox trot, Miss Parrot doing this with John Drumsheil who was almost as good a dancer as she was.

When the fox trot had been demonstrated to Miss Parrot’s satisfaction, Miss Parrot instructed the boys to take new partners.

She wondered if the shy one would ask her up again, but he didn’t, he asked Marcie Allen instead. It was Rog Hastie who presented himself in front of her, Rog who always smelled as if he never changed his vest or underpants. Reluctantly, she accepted.

She didn’t see the shy lad again till the end of the week when their two classes had another dancing assembly under Miss Parrot.

‘Gentlemen, take your partners for a polka, please,’ Miss Parrot announced.

He materialized out of the milling boys to mutter his request in such a low voice she had to strain to hear.

‘I’d be delighted,’ she replied, and followed him further out on to the floor.

He didn’t speak, just stood there looking everywhere but directly into her face. She noticed his neck wasn’t flushed this time round, and thought that an improvement.

What hadn’t improved was his dancing which was even worse than before. Within seconds he’d managed to kick her shin so hard she knew it would be black and blue before the day was out.

‘Try to relax, it’ll come easier to you if you do,’ she said kindly.

He did his best to relax, but that was no help. She exclaimed in pain when his heel came scything down on two of her toes. Muttering his apologies, he returned to being rigid again.

‘Sorry for being so clumsy,’ he mumbled at the end of the polka, then reluctantly left her.

She saw his reluctance, and was touched by it. When later on he asked her up again she was pleased, though apprehensive. Miraculously, she escaped this encounter unscathed.

The following Monday morning she was coming out of Latin class when she found herself beside him in the corridor. ‘Hello,’ she said.

He gave her a startled look, not having been aware of her. ‘Oh hello.’

She said she was on her way to South Building, and he said he was too. They continued on their way together.

As they walked, and talked, she discovered he’d only been at Queen’s Park a few weeks. He and his family had just recently moved into the district.

‘Where from?’ she asked, curious.

He hesitated fractionally before replying, ‘Govanhill.’

She knew Govanhill was a rough area, quite different to Battlefield where they were now. Govanhill was lower working class; Battlefield was upper working to middle class. Or, as some folks might have put it, in Battlefield the toilets were inside the houses, not outside on the stairhead.

‘How are you settling into Queen’s Park then? Are you making pals?’ she inquired.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s not that easy. I suppose it takes time.’

Lizzie Dunnachie called out to her and she waved over. Lizzie made a gesture that told her Lizzie had been round behind the bicycle shed having a fly smoke.

She brought her attention back to the shy one, and suddenly realized that she didn’t know his name yet. ‘I’m Star Gray, what are you called?’ she said.

He gawped at her. ‘You’re what?’

‘Star Gray.’ Then, seeing his disbelief, explained, ‘I was christened Jessie but I haven’t been able to abide that since I was wee. I’m Star to my friends.’

Star! He’d never heard the like. ‘I’m Tommy McBride,’ he grinned.

They reached South Building and went inside. She was about to say goodbye when the idea came to her. ‘When you lived in Govanhill were you in the Boys’ Brigade?’ she asked.

He shook his head.

‘There’s a church only a couple of minutes away from here called Battlefield Central. I know for a fact they’ve a grand B.B. Company there who meet every Friday night at a quarter to seven. Why don’t you go along? They’re a right friendly bunch.’

Tommy didn’t fancy the B.B., or the Scouts, at all. In Govanhill they’d laughed at both lots. And those daft pillbox hats the B.B. wore! Proper nanas they looked. ‘No thanks, the B.B.’s not for me.’

‘Pity that. I certainly enjoy my nights there.’

She had to be taking the mickey out of him. ‘They don’t have girls in the B.B.,’ he said.

‘True enough,’ she replied, eyes twinkling mischievously.

‘So how can you enjoy your nights there?’

‘Come along and find out,’ she retorted, and, turning abruptly, strode off leaving him staring perplexedly after her.

As she went into class she wondered briefly if he would come down to the Hall, but decided he wouldn’t. As it turned out, she was wrong.

Friday night at eight thirty on the dot she went through the door connecting the manse to the church, and along the narrow passageway at the rear behind the pulpit. This took her into the musty corridor that led down to the Church Hall where the B.B. meetings were held.

Up until the moment she entered, Tommy had considered the evening a waste of time. Well, not a complete waste, several of the lads had made friendly overtures.

Then Star walked in, and his evening was made. But what was she doing here? That was the mystery. A mystery that was soon resolved when she seated herself at the piano in the corner and started to pick out a tune.

Star had been playing piano for the B.B. since the previous year, when Mrs Lang’s arthritis had got so bad she’d had to pack in playing for them.

When it was discovered that no one else in the congregation wanted the job, Star had volunteered. Although she was no older than many of the boys, her father had been delighted, declaring it a good Christian act.

The Maze Marching, for which Star played the accompanying music, was always the last item on the evening’s agenda, and lasted through till nine o’clock. After that the entire Company came together to be dismissed.

Captain Bell (inevitably called Ding A Ling by the lads) strode into the Hall and barked out the command for those taking part in the Maze Marching to get, as he put it, fell into line.

‘Shortest to the left, tallest to the right, single rank, size!’ Ding A Ling shrieked in his best parade-ground manner, his voice so loud it made Tommy jump right up off his chair.

Seeing Tommy looking uncertain, Ding A Ling came over and told him Maze Marching wasn’t compulsory. Tommy immediately replied that he’d love to take part.

Actually, he couldn’t have cared less about Maze Marching, or any other sort of marching come to that. What did interest him was that Star would be playing the music for it and he didn’t want to risk being sent to any of the rooms adjoining the Hall to do some other activity.

Star suddenly saw him grinning at her, and grinned in return. She was delighted he’d come, but it didn’t occur to her to ask herself why.

Ding A Ling told Tommy just to follow the chap in front and he couldn’t go wrong. Convoluted and complicated as Maze Marching was, only a handful of the marchers and the Staff Sergeant at the front had to memorize the various movements and patterns. Everyone else followed like sheep. But sheep who followed smartly, Ding A Ling emphasized, very very smartly, with bags of swank.

‘By the left quick march!’ Ding A Ling screamed, and Star struck up as the line moved off.

The first ten minutes were easy, and quite enjoyable, going over what had already been plotted and learned. After that, though, new moves were given and it became excruciatingly slow and tedious for everyone except the Staff Sergeant, who had to do this new piece of memorizing.

Finally the Maze Marching finished. To Tommy’s disconcertment, Star immediately slipped from the Hall. He was about to follow her when the entire Company was called to order for the final proceedings which consisted of a short speech by Ding A Ling, followed by an even shorter prayer.

Then it was all over, and time to go. Picking up his things, Tommy made a beeline for the door through which Star had vanished, convinced that she’d be well gone by now and that he’d lost her.

But she hadn’t gone, she was in the kitchen adjoining the Hall, washing up the officers’ tea cups.

Suddenly he was shy again, completely lost for words. He made a sort of strangulated coughing sound to attract her attention. She turned, and immediately her face lit up with a smile.

‘I was pleased to see you out there. Are you glad you came along?’

He looked down at his shoes. ‘Oh aye. But I must say I was surprised when you actually did show up. I was certain you were having me on.’

‘And I was surprised to see you. I didn’t think you’d come.’

Silence fell between them as she dried the cups and saucers, then began putting them away.

Tommy couldn’t think of anything to say. He’d never been so taken with a lassie before. There was something different about Star. All he wanted was to be with her.

He shyly gazed at the small oval face, and the deep brown eyes and dark brown hair. She was slim, skinny some might have said, but although only fourteen, she already had a womanly body. Aye, very womanly, he thought to himself.

‘Stare any harder and you’ll stare holes through me,’ Star said as she dried her hands on the tea cloth.

Embarrassment flooded him. Thankfully, she had no idea what had been going through his mind. He made a gesture that encompassed the entire building. ‘What’s your connection with this place?’ he asked abruptly. ‘You must have one.’

‘My father’s the minister here.’ Her eyes twinkled as she went on with mock solemnity, ‘The Reverend Kenneth Gray.’

He was momentarily stunned. That was the last thing he’d expected to hear. Her father a minister! Bloody hell!

Star couldn’t help smiling at his stricken expression. It was one she was used to seeing when she announced what her father did. ‘The manse is attached to the other side of the church. That’s where I live.’

There were voices in the corridor as a contingent of the boys went through the door that led to the outside. Their voices were replaced by others which Tommy recognized as belonging to several of the officers.

‘Everyone’s leaving. I suppose I’d better get on my way, too,’ he said, reluctance in his voice.

She was about to make a crack about his marching being an awful lot better than his dancing, then decided against it. She already understood that he could be easily hurt. As her mother would have said, he was a sensitive lad.

‘Listen,’ she said, suddenly inspired. ‘I usually go round to the Fives Cafe in Battlefield Road after this. A few of us get together for a cup of coffee and a bit of a natter. Would you care to come?’

‘Sounds smashing,’ he instantly replied, leaping at the opportunity to be with her longer.

‘Whereabouts round here is it you live?’ Star asked as they headed for the Fives.

‘Millbrae Crescent. Do you know it?’

Star nodded, slightly puzzled. Millbrae Crescent was one of the poshest streets in the district. It surprised her that Tommy’s family should have a house there. Govanhill to Millbrae Crescent – a big jump indeed, she thought. It was the difference between fish and chips and fillet steak. Not that she had any first hand knowledge of fillet steak, with the war only two years over and the country still heavily rationed.

On arriving at the Fives, Tommy saw why it had been given that name. Its address was 555 Battlefield Road. On entering the cosy cafe, they were immediately hailed by Lizzie Dunnachie, who was sitting at a table with another girl Tommy recognized from Queen’s Park, and a lad from the B.B. There were about a dozen members of the B.B. in all scattered round the various tables.

Star introduced Tommy to Lizzie and Catherine, while James Ledingham said that he and Tommy had already met at the B.B. meeting.

Tommy ordered coffee for Star and himself from the short, fat man who came to take their order.

‘Talking about dead boring places,’ sighed Lizzie. ‘Isn’t that just Glasgow on a Friday night?’

‘There’s the cafes and that’s about it,’ agreed Catherine.

Lizzie lit a cigarette, blowing out a long thin stream of smoke, in a way she thought was très sophisticated, and certainly better than Glasgow deserved.

Catherine asked Tommy where he’d moved from. As soon as she heard he was from Govanhill, Catherine lost interest in him. As far as she was concerned only neds came from there; neds, hooligans and roughs. It was clear from her expression that anyone from Govanhill was unsavoury and inferior.

Noticing Catherine’s disdainful attitude, Star became angry. She could tell from the veil that had descended over Tommy’s eyes that he’d caught it also.

Lizzie prattled on that there was only one really decent entertainment available in Glasgow at the weekend, and that was the dancing in the town. She’d have been there like a shot, she said, if her Dad would allow her. But the old man wouldn’t entertain the idea, not until her seventeenth birthday when he’d told her he’d allow her to go to the wee dance halls over at Shawlands Cross. She’d have to wait till eighteen before being allowed to attend the town dancing.

‘There are always church activities, you could try getting involved in some of those,’ Star said innocently, knowing fine well that Lizzie would be the last person to get involved in such.

Lizzie knew she was being teased. Star was always doing it to her. ‘You do the only activity I’d be interested in, if I could play the piano that is,’ Lizzie retorted.

‘You’ll come to a bad end one day if you’re not careful Lizzie Dunnachie,’ jibed Star.

‘I live in hope,’ said Lizzie, raising her eyes to heaven, and making everyone laugh.

Things were just relaxing when Star glanced at the clock and said she had to get back. Tommy jumped to his feet. ‘I’ll walk you,’ he offered. Adding as the perfect excuse, ‘I have to go that way anyway.’

‘Will you be going back to the B.B. next week?’ Star asked Tommy as they arrived in front of the manse. It was a squat, Gothic building that looked like some cancerous growth on the side of the church.

‘I’ll be there all right,’ Tommy said quickly. Wild horses wouldn’t keep him away.

She touched him lightly on the shoulder, sending a shiver through him. ‘I’m glad. Good night, then.’

‘Good night.’

She flew up the gravel path to the manse’s medieval-style wood and metal door, opening it with her own key. She waved to Tommy, then the heavy door thudded closed and she was gone.

As Tommy continued towards Millbrae Crescent his walking became a march, and he began whistling one of the tunes she’d played earlier.

The next Friday night Tommy bolted his tea, then polished his shoes for the B.B. meeting. Jeannie, his mother, remarked drily that if the B.B. could get him to polish his shoes with such enthusiasm after only one attendance then the age of miracles was indeed not past.

Tommy duly presented himself at the Church Hall wearing his highly polished shoes, gleaming brass and leather belt, and daft wee pillbox hat. From that point onwards, the evening went interminably slowly as he waited for the Maze Marching – and Star.

When she finally arrived he caught her eyes as soon as he could, and smiled. Her smile back made his stomach turn over.

Later, at the end of the prayer, he hurried from the Hall to the kitchen where he found her washing the officers’ tea cups and saucers just like before.

He entered the kitchen as nonchalantly as he was able. ‘I thought we might go to the Fives again, what do you say?’ he asked.

‘I was on my way there anyway, so we might as well go together,’ she agreed.

He wasn’t exactly chuffed with the phrasing of her acceptance. But she was going with him, that was the main thing.

On arriving at the Fives they were again hailed by Lizzie Dunnachie. Catherine was sitting beside Lizzie, and beside Catherine was a chap whose face Tommy had seen around school. Star introduced him as Alec Muir.

‘How was the Scripture Union class?’ Star asked Alec as soon as she’d sat down.

Glancing at the lapel of Alec’s jacket Tommy saw a green and gold S.U. badge there. He listened while Alec eagerly expounded to Star all that had taken place in that evening’s class.

After a while Star glanced over at Tommy. She could see he was clearly bored by this conversation, but he was also wearing a peculiar, intense expression whose meaning she couldn’t fathom. Then Alec claimed her attention once more, and Tommy’s strange expression evaporated from her mind.

Eventually Tommy started to chat to Lizzie. When he tried to speak to Catherine she only replied in monosyllables; it didn’t take a genius to realize he wasn’t quoted there.

Alec waxed long and passionately about the S. U. class. Religion intrigued him, and he was seriously considering the idea of becoming a minister himself. He was almost convinced that he had ‘the calling’.

Alex bent down under the table to lift four fat tomes off the floor which he placed beside his now empty coffee cup. ‘These are the books I borrowed from your father the other week,’ he said to Star. ‘I thought I might return them tonight.’

Tommy’s ears immediately pricked up. It would spoil everything if this Alec tagged along when he took Star home.

Lizzie Dunnachie leaned across to glance at the title of the top book. She pulled a face. ‘Yuch!’ she said.

Tommy reached over and picked it up: The Life of St. Paul.

‘He had a fascinating life. Quite fascinating,’ Alec said to Tommy, mistaking his curiosity for interest.

Tommy could see that Alec was in deadly earnest. ‘I prefer Edgar Rice Burroughs myself,’ he replied in a friendly tone.

Lizzie made a gargling noise at the back of her throat. ‘Naked men cavorting about the jungle. Lovely!’ she hissed, eyes agleam.

Alec was the first to laugh. He might be religious, but he wasn’t without a sense of humour.

‘You’d better come on then if you want to give those to Dad,’ Star said to Alec, starting to rise. To Tommy, starting to rise also, she added. ‘I’ll see you next week at school, no doubt.’

Tommy had already risen several inches off his hard wooden chair, he now slowly sank back into it again. He managed a weak grin. ‘No doubt,’ he echoed, pleased that the words didn’t come out strangulated as he’d feared they would.

He watched jealously as they headed for the door, Alec bowed under the weight of the books.

‘God Squad,’ Lizzie said to Tommy after Star and Alec had left, and winked.

The Reverend Kenneth Gray was most distinguished in appearance, every inch a right and proper minister. His face was finely boned, his hair a glossy silver which he wore extremely short and parted at the side. He was a little more than average height for a Glaswegian, and walked with a stiff and upright carriage as though at one time he’d been in the Army, which he hadn’t.

The Reverend was sitting in his favourite leather armchair in front of the small fire burning in the grate. He’d just sat down again, after going to the bookcase to get some more books for Alec to borrow and replacing the ones Alec had returned.

Jessie was seeing Alec to the front door. The Reverend Kenneth Gray liked Alec. He was such a nice lad that. And he came from a terribly good background, even though his parents had no money. The family were minor Scottish gentry who’d been fairly wealthy up until the late twenties, when Alec’s grandfather had lost nearly everything speculating on commodities.

He glanced over at the settee on which Alec and Jessie had been sitting, and wondered for the hundredth time if anything was ever going to come of that relationship. They would certainly have his approval if it did. He considered Alec a fine catch for his lass. A union between the Muirs and Grays would be a step up for the Grays, no doubt about it.

‘You’re looking gey pensive dear,’ Alison Gray broke into her husband’s reverie. She was knitting herself a new winter cardy from some excellent unpicked wool she’d managed to buy at the church’s last jumble sale.

Before the Reverend could answer, Star came bursting back into the room. She went directly to the fire, squatting and holding out her hands to the flames. ‘It’s bitter outside, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we had snow before morning,’ she said.

‘I was just about to say to your mother what a grand couple you and Alec Muir make,’ the Reverend said.

Star smiled into the fire. She was only too well aware that her father had hopes for her and Alec. Snob that he was, she knew why he fostered that hope.

‘Aye, Alec’s a fine lad, there’s no disputing that,’ said Alison. ‘And what about that new boy from the school? Did he turn up at the B.B. again tonight? The one you were trying to help make friends?’

Star turned to look at her mother. ‘He did. I think he’s taken to the B.B.’

This was the first the Reverend had heard about Tommy McBride. A question to Star revealed that Tommy had only recently moved into the neighbourhood, which meant the McBrides might not have joined a local congregation yet. The Reverend Gray was always on the lookout for new members. He fingered the briar in his lap. He would have loved another pipe, but had already smoked his quota for the day. ‘What’s the boy’s address? I’ll send his parents a letter inviting them to morning service the Sunday after next.’

Star once more faced the flames. ‘They live in Millbrae Crescent, but I don’t know the number. I’ll find out for you if you want.’

The Reverend’s hand tightened over his briar. Millbrae Crescent! Only top-drawer and monied families lived there. A few new members from Millbrae Crescent would be a most welcome addition to his congregation. Most of the ‘better’ families preferred the bigger kirk over at Langside, which had several titles, including a Knight of the Thistle and an ex-Lord Provost, amongst its numbers.

‘What does Mr McBride do?’ he asked casually, thinking about future donations to the church fund.

Star shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea. Tommy’s never mentioned.’

‘On second thoughts, rather than write I think it would be better, as you’re already friendly with the lad, to call on them personally. And you can accompany me. Speak to this Tommy as soon as you can and ask him to ask his parents when it would be convenient for the pair of us to visit.’

‘As you wish.’

The Reverend nodded his satisfaction, and hoped that Stanley Carrell over at Langside hadn’t beaten him to it.

Star looked up at the McBrides’ beautiful house. She guessed there were four or five bedrooms, which made it almost as big as the manse.

A glance at her watch told her it was one minute to eight; they were due at eight. Her father was a stickler for being punctual.

The Reverend was noting the thick velvet curtains hanging inside the window nearest to him. Those must have cost a fair packet when they’d been bought before the war, he told himself.

‘Pull the bell handle dear,’ he instructed Star, and hoisted a smile on to his face.

Tommy was on his feet the moment the first clang reverberated through the house. He almost ran to the front door in his eagerness. He’d been excited about Star’s coming since she’d broached the subject two days earlier.

In what they called the parlour Jim McBride glanced at his wife Jeannie and whispered for her not to be nervous. He rose from his chair and she did likewise.

As soon as she stepped into the hallway Star knew she liked this house, it had a warm and welcoming family feeling about it. As she walked behind Tommy and her father her eyes were darting all around, taking everything in.

There had been a lot of fresh painting done, which surprised her. Paint was still hard to come by even two years after the war. And the carpet underfoot was new, another surprise for the same reason.

‘How do you do. It’s kind of you to have myself and daughter into your home,’ the Reverend said on entering the parlour, and extended his hand to Jim to be shaken.

The Reverend’s practised smile wavered fractionally when he saw that instead of a right hand Jim had a hook.

Jim was well used to this situation. In a twisting motion he took the Reverend’s outstretched hand with his left one, and shook heartily. ‘Pleased to meet you, Reverend Gray.’

By the time the introductions had been completed Star had already decided she liked the McBrides. As she’d taken to their house, she took to them right away.

‘A cup of tea?’ asked Jeannie McBride.

‘Or how about something stronger? Whisky, or a drop of Amontillado perhaps?’ Jim added.

The Reverend beamed with pleasure. ‘I haven’t tasted Amontillado since 1942,’ he declared. ‘I’d be delighted to have a glass. It’s always been my favourite.’

Jim produced a bottle of finest Amontillado from a well-stocked drinks cabinet and poured three schooners for the adults. For Star and Tommy he poured out fresh orange juice.

‘Welcome to Battlefield!’ said the Reverend to the McBrides, raising his glass in a toast. His expression was one of deepest appreciation as he tasted the contents of his glass.

‘Perhaps Star would like to see over the house,’ Jeannie suggested to Tommy.

The Reverend Gray blanched. His daughter’s chosen name always embarrassed him. ‘Silly name that, but she flatly refuses the good Christian one given her by her mother land me,’ he said to Jeannie and Jim. He’d done everything in his power to get her to stop using such a ludicrous name, but in the end he’d had to admit defeat.

Jim McBride stared at Star across the rim of his schooner. She had all the signs of a real looker. Give her a couple of more years, he thought, and she’d be a cracker. It seemed she was also a determined young lady, a quality he admired. He could well understand why Tommy seemed so attracted to her.

The minister sipped his sherry and tried to gain his usual composure. It had been a shock for him to hear how the McBrides spoke. Star hadn’t told him they’d come from Govanhill. Why, their accent was so common! Broad Glasgow. He certainly hadn’t expected that, not in Millbrae Crescent. Nouveaux riches, he thought, and inwardly sneered.

Jim switched his attention back to the minister. A right sanctimonious fart was how he summed him up. He knew, however, that being accepted by a local church would make settling into the area all that much easier, and so was prepared to play his own game with Gray.

Jeannie gave the impression of being totally relaxed, but in reality she was churning inside with anxiety. It had been against her wishes that they’d come to Millbrae Crescent in the first place, where she’d said they’d stick out like a sore thumb. But Jim had been insistent. He’d always fancied living with the toffs, and now that they could afford to they damn well would. Anyway, he’d argued, it was to Tommy’s advantage that they do so, as it would give him the opportunity to meet some decent youngsters and make some good connections for the future. She didn’t want him to turn out a lout like the other lads in Govanhill, did she?

Star was hesitating, unsure whether or not her father wanted her to remain by his side. When he still gave her no indication either way she said to Jeannie, ‘Oh I’d adore to see round the house.’

There were five bedrooms, as it turned out. Star admired each one in turn. They were all newly decorated. Tommy’s, where they ended up, was done in an exceptionally nice, tasteful wallpaper.

Star stared out Tommy’s bedroom window at the falling snow. ‘How did your father lose his hand?’ she asked in a quiet voice.

He came up behind her. ‘In the war. He was