Blood Ties: Part 2 of 3: Family is not always a place of safety. Julie Shaw

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СКАЧАТЬ was also because he seemed to feel the same way as she did, which could only fan the already blazing flames. She tried her hardest not to but she couldn’t help the frisson she felt whenever she thought of him kissing her, or her pulse from racing whenever a shadow walked past the pub window that might be his. In that sense it had been something of a respite, him being in Holland. Out of sight, he was very much in rather than out of mind, but at least it gave her a chance to come up for air.

      She’d taken great pains, however, not to let the depth of her feelings show – not to Monica (who’d taunt her mercilessly), and especially not to Irene, who’d already made it more than clear what her feelings were about them; that there shouldn’t be a ‘them’ in the first place.

      And, on that score, things were even more complicated than she’d thought. There had seemed to be a bit of a sea-change in that regard since Darren had died – a very unexpected one, as well. Had she not known it to be ridiculous, and even making allowances for Irene’s drinking, Kathleen wouldn’t have considered it outside the bounds of possibility that Irene was even making a play for Terry herself.

      At first, she’d dismissed that; even been cautiously optimistic. Irene being nice to them? Coming over to chat to them? Had her dad said something? Had he pointed out to Irene that they were doing nothing wrong? And had Irene, understandably preoccupied with losing Darren, finally decided that her perspective needed changing? That life was short, and there was nothing wrong with her going out with Terry after all?

      But she was soon disabused of her now naïve-seeming optimism. Terry had been in the pub just the night before he’d gone away, having a drink with a couple of his mates. And Kathleen, who’d been working, had stood and watched, open-mouthed, from behind the bar, as Irene had gone over to collect some empties from their table, and, while leaning across Terry to pick up some glasses, had actually pressed her satin-clad bosom hard against his shoulder.

      It had been an action so obvious that it left no room for doubt, and as Irene had returned with the glasses, to the far end of the bar, Terry’s bemused glance at Kathleen had said it all.

      But tonight they’d be free of her – free of the pub, free of the gloom there – and as she wriggled into her slip she felt a thrill of excitement that it would be her body pressed against his later on, huddling close, as they’d need to, to keep the bitter cold out, as the fireworks leapt and danced in the sky.

      ‘Jesus Christ, girl – what the hell do you think you look like?’

      Since Irene and her dad had been busy eating their dinner – which she had cooked for them, as per usual – Kathleen had hoped she’d be able to finish getting ready for her date unmolested. No such luck, clearly, as she emerged from the bathroom to find Irene, fist aloft, ready to rat-a-tat-tat it against the door.

      Kathleen had changed her outfit several times. Which was quite a feat, given her meagre wardrobe, and the need to wrap up to keep warm. But her eventual choice – a roll-neck sweater and her navy knee-length kilt – seemed about as unlikely to incur her stepmother’s wrath as would a head-to-toe boiler suit.

      But it wasn’t the fact that her knees were on show that seemed to attract Irene’s ire. ‘What do you think you look like?’ she sneered. ‘You’re actually going out like that? You look like a twelve-year-old, off to see the bleeding vicar!’

      Darren’s dead, Kathleen intoned to herself. She’s deranged. Make allowances. You’ll be gone in half an hour. It doesn’t matter what she says. Don’t rise to it. Just DO NOT rise to it!

      And you look like a whore, she answered, even if only in her head. An old one, as well. With your old-lady bosoms bursting out of your nasty satin blouse, and that ridiculous short skirt, and that horrible red lipstick …

      ‘It’s cold out,’ she said, sidestepping Irene. ‘I’m dressing sensibly.’ Then she half ran, half skipped down the stairs.

      Unusually, given how eagle eyed she was these days, she heard Terry’s voice before she saw him. ‘Now there’s a sight for sore eyes!’ he said, picking up his pint and slipping off the stool he’d been sitting on at the far end of the bar.

      Her father, who’d been chatting to him, smiled his agreement.

      She slipped through the hatch, wishing blushes could be turned on and off like radios, to stop the static crackling between them as their eyes met. ‘You look nice too,’ she told Terry brightly. ‘I like your jumper.’

      ‘This old thing?’ he said, pulling at the front of it and frowning. It was a big chunky jumper, like a fisherman might wear. Sort of stone-coloured, flecked, with a big floppy roll-neck. It suited him. It also looked home-knitted. She wondered by who. His mam and dad lived hundreds of miles away. He’d come to Bradford with Iris. Had his mam sent it up for him? She hoped so. ‘About a million years old, this is,’ he told her. ‘I’m lucky the moths haven’t had it. Like a drink before we go, love? While I finish this up?’

      ‘Half of lager, please,’ she said, but her dad had beaten her to it. One had appeared by her arm even before she answered. Terry handed it to her, grinning. ‘How’s that for service, eh?’

      She sipped the head off it. ‘How was Holland, then?’

      ‘Flat and full of cheese.’

      ‘When did you get back?’

      ‘Three quarters of an hour ago. Traffic’s been murder.’

      ‘Only three quarters of an hour back?’ Kathleen said, shocked. She remembered him saying he’d be driving overnight to catch a dawn ferry, too. ‘God, Terry,’ she said, ‘have you slept at all? You must be shattered!’

      He raised his glass to her. ‘Got an hour’s kip on the boat, but you know what I always say? Plenty of chance to sleep when I’m dead.’ Then his expression became thoughtful. He glanced at John, who’d moved off down the bar, and he grimaced. The weight of it was everywhere. The sense of life being so fragile was always in everyone’s minds. ‘Anyway,’ he said, dipping his head closer to her, ‘more to the point, Kathy. How are you?’

      Kathy. She loved how he always called her Kathy. ‘Oh, okay,’ she said. ‘So-so. Ups and downs. You know how it goes. But all the better for …’

      ‘Seeing me?’ he said, his eyes meeting her gaze and making her blush again. ‘If so, I have to say the feeling’s mutual.’

      She batted him lightly on the arm. ‘I was going to say all the better for having a Friday night off, for a change. But, since you mention it …’ She buried her face back in her glass, all too aware that the colour in her cheeks had probably already finished the sentence for her.

      ‘Ooh, look at you!’

      They both looked up. Irene had evidently come down, then. She was now standing, hands on hips, behind the bar. She was also smiling idiotically at Terry.

      ‘Alright, Irene?’ he said, before finishing the last inch in his own glass.

      ‘Look at you,’ she said again, extending an arm and then a finger, which almost reached but didn’t quite connect with Terry’s chest. ‘Hmm,’ she said, her eyes running past Kathleen in a point-making fashion. ‘Who’s dressed you tonight, eh?’

      Now it was Terry’s СКАЧАТЬ