Blood Sisters: Can a pledge made for life endure beyond death?

Paddy had his back to her, but turned around when he heard her and smiled.

‘Where’s Lucy?’ Vicky asked, looking past him into the street and not seeing her.

‘Stomped off, as she does,’ he said mildly. His hair had the same inky gloss as next door’s black cat. He ran a hand over it now, smoothing it down, feigning innocence.

‘Christ, Paddy! What did you say to her?’

‘Me?’ he looked astonished. ‘That one could start a fight with a fucking plant pot. Stomped off in a huff because I even fucking exist. Seriously, babes,’ he said, hooking the letter-box knocker to close the door behind them. ‘You don’t get it, do you? She doesn’t like me. And there’s fuck all we can do about that, is there? Seriously,’ he began again.

‘Pad, I feel awful. Where’d she go?’

‘I have no idea. She obviously didn’t feel like enlightening me.’

Vicky felt dreadful now. Dreadful and, all too belatedly, so bloody wrong. ‘Well, which direction did she go, then?’

‘This way,’ he said, as they fell into step. ‘She’ll be propping up the bar by the time we get there, you wait and see. But you know, babe, you’ve left school now and you’ve got to face facts. She’s got some high falutin’ job now, not to mention seeing a fucking copper’s son.’

‘So what? What difference does that make?’

Paddy slipped his arm around her shoulder and squeezed it. ‘Babe, you really need to ask me that? It makes all the difference. Sometimes,’ he squeezed her shoulder again, ‘you’ve just got to let friendships go. Hey!’ he added, as she raised a hand to belt him, albeit lightly. ‘I’m just saying. That’s all, babes. Just saying.’

Chapter 2 (#u1a2f521b-e60a-56ad-917a-bd729a4a0eb5)

It was going to be such a lovely night. That was the thing that really pissed Lucy off, as she stomped disconsolately round the corner into Terrington Crescent. It was just getting dark now, the sky coral at the horizon, and the air was warm and fragrant. Almost tropical in fact. One of those nights when everyone spilled out onto the streets, and you could half-believe you were in somewhere like Spain. A rare night, in fact. And it had all gone to pot. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

She shouldn’t have stormed off, and she cursed herself for it. Because that was exactly what he wanted her to do. So he’d called her a prick-tease. Putting it out when there was nothing on sale, and taking a none-too-subtle look up and down her. So what? She’d been called a lot worse in her time. And what the hell did he know about it, anyway? And the satisfaction of telling him to go and stick it where the sun didn’t shine, for all that she’d felt it, had been all too fleeting. And now what? All dressed up and nowhere to bloody go. Not unless she bit the bullet and went to Caverns anyway. Let Vicky persuade her to ignore her horrible boyfriend and get on with their evening as planned.

But would she? There was no sound from behind, so it didn’t look like her friend was rushing to catch up with her, did it? But then who knew? Paddy could have told her anything, couldn’t he?

So, home then? She dismissed the idea as soon as she thought it. All she’d get would be a tedious interrogation from her mother and that told-you-so look from her dad. And she definitely couldn’t stomach going to the phone box and ringing Jimmy. She might cry if he felt sorry for her. Which he obviously would, because he’d known how excited she’d been about her night out with Vicky. Unlike Paddy bloody Allen, who was a shit and a lech of the first order, her boyfriend was kind and considerate and decent. And, besides, it would only add fuel to the fire if she told Jimmy. And there was quite enough heat between the two lads already. Oil and water, best never mixed.

No, she was done up for an evening out, and she was having an evening out. She’d have a walk down to Lidget Green and see if she could find Gurdy, and if not, she might get lucky and bump into some mates who might fancy a few drinks in the Second West or the Oddfellows. Half the school would be out celebrating tonight, after all. And she didn’t need town anyway. Not if they were going to be there. She stuck her chin in the air, fluffed her hair up a bit, and teetered off in determined mood down Bradford Road.

Gurdy had obviously seen Lucy before she saw him. Because the first thing that alerted her to his probable whereabouts was an ear-splitting and familiar wolf whistle, coming from the bench outside the cricket field at Lidget Green. It had taken him a while to get the hang of it, but since he’d mastered the art, Gurdy now wolf whistled at any opportunity, much to the disgust of his prissy mother.

It hadn’t taken very long to track him down, and Lucy was glad she’d chosen to walk there. Had she braved the bus into town on her own she’d have missed him. And now she had an evening in prospect again, her relief was huge. Her spirits lifting finally, she even found herself smiling as his familiar scrawny figure resolved itself from in front of the backdrop of trees and he waved an arm wildly in greeting. Such an odd choice of friend – lots of people seemed to think that – a scrappy Pakistani, and a boy, as well, of course. But she and Vic’s friendship with Gurdy went back a long way; back to the day when they’d come across him being beaten up by a trio of scuzzy third-formers from Scholemoor, and, in a fit of righteous fury that neither fully understood, they had bravely waded in and seen the astonished bullies off.

They’d not known at that point that he was actually a year older than they were; he’d been a second year then, same as Lucy’s Jimmy. Just a very, very small one. And the sort of kid who had absolutely nothing going for him. Insubstantial, Indian (so not even a ‘Paki’, as it turned out), funny accent, class clown and, a greater crime than all of them – and half the reason for the bullying – invariably dressed for school as if off to see the Queen – something the girls decided, once they’d finally met Mr and Mrs Banerjee, was actually on their wish list for both of their sons. They even had a picture of the royal family on their mantelpiece.

And Gurdy’s dreams were only slightly less ambitious. Now seventeen, he’d worked in his dad’s grocery shop on White Abbey Road since he’d left school, but his ambition was to eventually own his own curry shop, no less.

So, yes, an odd friendship, but also a dear one.

‘Wow, Luce!’ he said, pinging away a cigarette as she neared him. ‘You going on the game later, or what?’

He’d scored an unwitting bullseye. It was now a doubly sore point. Not just because of Paddy, but because her dad had said pretty much the same thing earlier – the heels, the ra-ra skirt and off-the-shoulder crop-top designed not for traipsing about Bradford before it was even properly dark, but for the far less disapproving light of a nightclub. It certainly wasn’t the right kind of clothing for sitting on a bench by the bloody cricket pavilion. ‘Shut up, Gurdip,’ she said, aiming a friendly punch at his shoulder, before sitting down. ‘Anyway, what you doing here? I thought we were supposed to be meeting up at the pub?’

‘Meeting a mate for a bit,’ Gurdy told her and she didn’t ask him to elaborate. ‘Meeting a mate’ could mean stuff she didn’t want to know about. ‘Anyway, what are you doing here, for that matter?’

Lucy pulled her cigarettes from her handbag and handed one to Gurdy. ‘Don’t ask.’

He sat down again. ‘Come on, what’s up, duck?’ he asked as she held out her lighter. ‘What gives, divs?’

‘Bloody Paddy Allen! That’s what’s up,’ she said once she’d lit her own cigarette. ‘Honest to God, Gurdy, if I were a bloke, I’d kill him. I hate that horrible bastard. Hate him.’

She turned to him then, recognising his silence for what it was. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I know you’re okay with him and that but, oh, he gets me so mad!’

Gurdy got on with most people. It was kind of a thing with him. Not so much religious, or because that was how his mam and dad had brought him up, but because the years of bullying had taken their toll. Gurdy was a bit of a people pleaser and if there was one thing Lucy wished she could better drum into him it was that you didn’t have to try and make everyone like you.

But his friendship with Paddy, irritatingly, seemed genuine. Yes, he was better friends with her Jimmy – they’d been in the same class at school, and at one point it looked like Gurdy might do a plumbing apprenticeship with him too – but he spent increasing amounts of time with Paddy, helping him out in his garage (which wasn’t actually Paddy’s garage) and doing God knew what else. She could see nothing good coming from it, but Gurdy actively wanted to work all hours, so he could add to his curry-house-buying stash.

But he was always happy to listen to her rants. ‘Go on,’ he said, nudging her. ‘What’s he done now, then?’

‘Well, as you well know,’ Lucy started, ‘me and Vicky were meant to be going out tonight, weren’t we? And before you say anything, he had no business turning up in the first place. This was planned weeks ago – months ago. And it’s supposed to be a girls’ night, you get me?’ She nudged him back. ‘Present company excepted, of course. But it’s like he thinks he bloody owns her! Like she’s his property or something. Like Emmeline Pankhurst never bloody existed!’

‘Emme-what?’

‘Never mind. You won’t have heard of her. Not off your mam, at any rate. And, of course, Vicky—’

‘—sides with Paddy because that’s what she always does, and you go off on one and have a row with him and off you trot.’

‘God, I know! I know I shouldn’t rise to it, but what else am I supposed to do? Just trot along behind, playing gooseberry while he gropes her? It’s the principle. My Jimmy doesn’t give me any of that sort of nonsense, does he? I tell you, Gurdy, I swear it’s like he really does think he owns her. Doesn’t want her going out on her own having fun in case another bloke so much as looks at her. And she might just look back. You know what I mean? Where’s the trust in that? And, of course, she can’t even see it.’ Lucy crushed her fag out beneath the sole of her shoe. ‘Sorry for ranting on. Anyway, I couldn’t go home, could I? I’m out now and I’m flipping staying out. So I’m glad I found you. You up for some fun?’

‘Bad news, kiddo, I’m skint. My dad’s being a prick – said he’s putting my wages away this week so I can buy some bloody auntie that I don’t hardly know a wedding present.’

‘That’s alright,’ Lucy said, patting her glossy black handbag. ‘I thought I was hitting the town, nightclubs and all, didn’t I? So I’ve got a whole fifteen quid on me. I think that’s enough to get us both pissed, don’t you? Pernods on me, mate,’ she added grimly.

Gurdy had mixed feelings about being out with Lucy when she was in this sort of mood. Though he hesitated to use the word ‘classy’, because that wouldn’t be the right one – particularly given tonight’s tiny, frilly skirt – Lucy was definitely the more posh of his two friends. Where Vicky was starting a hairdressing apprenticeship, Lucy was going up in the world – she was starting next week as a telephonist at a swanky firm of solicitors in central Bradford. But the combination of her annoyance and the fact that she was determined to get smashed made it odds-on that she’d soon leave her posh telephone voice well behind her. He wondered aloud if she should call Jimmy, and let him know her plans had changed now. ‘Don’t you think,’ he suggested, ‘he might want to come down and join us, after all?’

‘No way!’ Lucy said, as he held the door of the Second West open for her. ‘You think he needs any more reasons to hate that cocky bastard? Nah, we’re fine on our own, and the night is still young. And who knows who’ll be in later?’

Hopefully not Vicky and Paddy, Gurdy thought. Still, Luce was buying and, as she said, the night was still young. Then he noticed something that made him grin. ‘Oh, my God, Luce – have you been stuffing your bra again?’ He pointed at her chest, unable to stop himself laughing as she frantically stuffed the toe of a grey-looking sock back down her top.

‘Piss off, Gurdy,’ she whispered as they entered the busy pub. ‘Here, take this,’ she added, handing him a tenner from her handbag. ‘You get the drinks in while I go to the bogs and take them out. I only put them in there because we were supposed to be going to Caverns later, weren’t we? The bouncers there don’t care how old you look so long as you have tits.’

Gurdy took the money and joined the crush at the bar, while Lucy went to the toilets to sort her chest out. It always amazed Gurdy that Western women went to such extraordinary lengths to make themselves look attractive to men. He’d watch the girls doing their make-up and look on in wonder as they transformed their faces sometimes almost out of recognition. His brother, Vikram, who was only a year older than him (but often seemed a world away when it came to such matters) had gone to great effort to try and educate him in these various practices, which he could never imagine his mother having indulged in ever.

‘Women are wily, Gurdip,’ Vikram had explained to him a couple of years back. ‘They wear these things called Wonderbras,’ he’d explained. ‘I swear they make their tits look massive, man! But then when you cop a feel, it’s all padding,’ he’d added, disgusted. ‘All a terrible con – there’s nothing there! I swear, man, don’t be taken in. If they can’t show you their tits up front, in the flesh, chances are they are as flat as chapatis!’

Gurdy had no desire to see anyone’s chest, large or not. Padded or otherwise. In fact, just the thought of it made him wince. Relationships, especially that kind, confused him greatly. His parents, though always polite, barely spoke to each other, and his brother seemed to use girls like toys – endlessly bragging on about how he would shag them and leave them while he waited for the right – as in unsullied – woman to come along. It was a world away from Gurdy’s friendship with his two warrior girlfriends, whose intervention when he was being spat on and hit and humiliated all those years back still ranked in his mind as one of the wonders of the world – he’d never known girls could, or would, ever do such a thing.

But now, with them both seemingly coupled up with their boyfriends, everything was getting more and more complicated. Lucy and Jimmy seemed solid enough, but to Gurdy they seemed far too young to be so committed. It was all messed up, really, in his untutored opinion – as, increasingly, he listened to one or the other of them ranting, expecting him – like he knew anything! – to make all the right noises, so they believed he was as invested in their fucked-up relationships as they were, when in truth everything about them was completely alien.

Lucy returned from the toilets and Gurdy inspected her breasts – if only analytically – to observe the extent of the difference.

‘One day,’ she said obscurely, as she followed his gaze and then joined him in the queue, ‘or maybe never. What the heck? Jimmy loves me as I am. So, doubles, you reckon? Might as well crack on, mightn’t we?’

And crack on they had. And even more so when a couple of her other mates had showed, and Gurdy, who they’d seemed to adopt as some kind of mascot, had long since lost count of the drinks that were bought for him.