Closer than Blood: Friendship Helps You Survive. Julie Shaw

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СКАЧАТЬ at least mean she’d get some brothers and sisters, and Shirley wanted brothers and sisters more than anything in the world.

      So she could only hope than her mam had been telling her the truth. He definitely wasn’t worth having on his own.

Chapter 1

      June 1958

      Shirley and Anita burst through the front doors of St George’s Hall into the warmth of the early evening air. Shirley couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so ecstatic. It was almost as if there was electricity running through her. She could certainly still feel the music throbbing away in her chest. But what she mostly couldn’t believe was that she’d actually seen Cliff Richard in the flesh. She knew she’d never forget it ever – not as long as she lived.

      ‘Oh, my good God, Shirl,’ Anita cried, linking arms with her as they spilled out onto the pavement. ‘I love him so much. Did you see how he danced? Did you see? God, them hips!’

      ‘Trust you to be looking at his bloody hips, Anita!’ Shirley scolded. ‘What about his voice?’ She sighed happily as they began to walk. ‘I was far too busy singing along with him.’

      He was sexy though. She had to admit that, even if it was only to herself.

      ‘You bloody liar!’ Anita huffed, reading her mind the way she always did. ‘Far too busy, my eye!’ She stopped on the pavement, then, allowing the throng of girls to stream around them. ‘You know,’ she said, freeing her arm and grabbing Shirley by both her shoulders suddenly. ‘It’s still really early, Shirl. It won’t be dark for hours yet. Please say we don’t have to go home just yet, eh? The Lister’s is only a ten-minute walk away, after all. Let’s go have a drink, eh? You’re a single girl again now, don’t forget.’

      Yes, she was that, and she was determined to enjoy the freedom. Well, as much as she could; no, she didn’t have a boyfriend stopping her from going out and having fun, but there was still her dad constantly on about her every frigging move – where she went, who she went with, when she was home.

      It was all right for Anita. Her mam and dad were different. With two older brothers and a younger sister, she could get away with so much more, not least of which was the freedom to go out with who she wanted. And she did, too – she seemed to have a different boyfriend every week. But mostly Shirley envied her the freedom to stay out till she wanted, or at least a lot later than ten frigging p.m. How lovely it would be not to have your every move scrutinised. To be free.

      Well, she was free in one way, at least. Free to daydream again. About marrying Cliff Richard and having a big house and lots of babies with him, even. She smiled to herself. You never knew, did you? And she was sure he’d caught her eye once or twice. No, she definitely wasn’t ready to go home. She felt much more like dancing. Like Anita said, it wasn’t even dark yet. The night, as they always said, was young.

      She nodded. ‘You’re right. Why not? After all, I am single, aren’t I?’

      ‘Exactly. So you can do what you like,’ Anita said, grabbing her hand and almost tugging her along the street.

      ‘Well, sort of,’ Shirley cautioned. ‘Though we can’t stay too long, Neet. You know what my bloody dad’s like. He’ll be on that doorstep, winding the clock up and threatening to bloody strangle me if I’m so much as a minute late.’

      ‘Don’t worry. I promise,’ Anita said. ‘We’ll have you home on time, Cinderella. Can’t have your dad turning into a pumpkin, can we?’

      Shirley wasn’t so sure that wouldn’t be the best thing for him. He could certainly do with softening up.

      For all that she railed against him being so ridiculously over-protective, Shirley had never really been one to disobey her father. Disgruntled as she’d been when he’d suddenly appeared in her young life, with all his funny ways and his rules and regulations, she’d soon realised home was a much more agreeable place if she came round to his way of thinking. She’d done this at first simply because she didn’t want to get in his bad books but as time went on and she’d matured a bit, it was because she’d grown to love him. Yes, he was strict and orderly, and yes, he did have this idealistic image of her that she was always going to struggle to live up to, but he adored her and would go to the ends of the earth for her if she asked him to, and she loved that. In fact, sometimes, though she’d never have confessed it to anyone, she thought she loved him even more than her mam.

      Not that Shirley didn’t love her mam too, but Mary could be scary. She had a temper on her that was legendary both with the family and the neighbours. And once the family had been reunited, it soon became clear that, whatever went on before Shirley’s dad went off to war, theirs was not the happiest of marriages. Her dad, it turned out, though always strong and determined, really wanted nothing more than a quiet life. But he didn’t often get one, because Mary was not only very fiery, she was also insanely jealous. Shirley had never really understood why (and still didn’t – particularly now she was older, and understood more about all those ‘uncles’) but it was as if her mam was constantly on guard against her dad being lured away by another woman.

      Raymond wasn’t even safe at work, it seemed. Once demobbed he’d got a job as a boiler firer at a big factory in Listerhills, but it seemed there was no peace for him there either. A regular occurrence in Shirley’s childhood had been her mam constantly spying on him – she’d often turn up at the factory unannounced (Shirley herself sometimes in tow) to check if there were any women anywhere near making eyes at him. And if she got it into her head that he might have set his sights on someone, she’d think nothing of setting about him physically – either with her fists or anything else she could lay her hands on.

      Shirley had spent much of her childhood not really understanding how it worked being a grown-up. As far as she’d been able to tell, her dad only loved two girls in the world: her and her mam. And her mam, in return, was always so horrible to him. How did that work? How could you love someone and be so horrible to them at the same time? Perhaps you couldn’t, she’d come to realise, because, as the years went by, there were never any of the brothers and sisters they’d promised her when she was smaller – the one thing she’d always wanted more than anything in the world.

      Yes, she’d had her dollies, who she’d loved and cared for with a passion, pushing them along in their shiny pram and dressing them in clothes she’d stitched for them herself. She also had her friends – and she’d make clothes for their dollies too – but at the end of every day no dolly could make up for going home alone; for being an only child in an unhappy home.

      That was all she wanted as a child – a special friend, someone to play with, someone to go with on adventures, but mostly someone to be with when she was at home, who was in the same boat and could take her mind off the endless, endless arguing.

      As it was, she’d spent her childhood stuck in the middle of a war that seemed almost as long and horrible as the one her dad had returned from. Every weekend, almost without fail, her parents, having gone out for a few drinks in the local, would come home and have the same old arguments: her mam accusing her dad of looking in the direction of another woman, and her dad telling her she needed her eyes testing. On and on it would go, usually till Raymond passed out drunk on the kitchen floor, at which point Mary would then yell for her from the bottom of the stairs.

      ‘Shirley,’ she’d screech up to her, loud enough to wake the dead, ‘come down and help me get his head in the gas oven!’

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