Julie Shaw - Blood Sisters - Can a pledge made for life endure beyond death?

Certain details in this book, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.

HarperElement

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First published by HarperElement 2017

FIRST EDITION

© Julie Shaw and Lynne Barrett-Lee 2017

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2017

Cover photographs © Alexander Vinogradov/Trevillion Images (posed by model); Paul Gooney/Arcangel (street scene)

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Julie Shaw and Lynne Barrett-Lee assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780008142797

Ebook Edition © April 2017 ISBN: 9780008142759

Version: 2018-09-13

As well as dedicating this book to my wonderful family, my parents, husband, kids and grandkids, and of course my huge extended family of Hudsons and Jaggers, I want to make special mention this time to the best friends of my younger days. Sharon Thornton and Bridget Hone were my true blood sisters, and yes, we did the whole cut and touching blood thing! Memories of our escapades certainly played a part when writing this book.

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Part Two

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

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About the Publisher

Clayton Village Hall Youth Club, Bradford, 1983

It’s late on a summer Friday, the sky just turning peachy, and two twelve-year-old girls who’ve been best friends since nursery are hiding behind the stage curtains in the village hall.

They’re making a solemn oath. It’s the most important kind of oath. Which is why they’ve taken the trouble (which has been both a risk and a challenge) of ‘borrowing’ the craft knife from the art drawer in the hall kitchen, which they are now using, in turn, to slit the skin on their right thumbs.

The blood forms beads, dark and glossy behind the drapes, as they squeeze, and in perfect synchrony, despite neither of them consciously timing it, they touch their thumbs together, allowing the blood to mix.

‘I solemnly swear,’ whispers Vicky Robinson, who is the taller of the two, ‘that no boyfriend will split us up, or anyone else come between us. I swear we will be sisters for the rest of our lives … Your turn,’ she then finishes, smiling at her friend.

‘I solemnly swear,’ agrees Lucy Briggs, her voice equally low, ‘that no boyfriend will split us up, or anyone else come between us. I swear we’ll be sisters for the rest of our lives …’

‘Blood sisters forever !’ they both whisper, in unison.

Then they put the knife back in the drawer, roll up the waistbands of their skirts, and, giggling as they both re-apply a sheen of lip gloss, feel their way round the edge of the musty stage curtains and go back to join the boys in the smoking shed.

Life was good in the summer of 1983.

Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up! Again, if two lie together, they keep warm, but how can one keep warm alone? And though a man might prevail against one who is alone, two will withstand him – a threefold cord is not quickly broken.

Ecclesiastes 4:9–12

Clayton, Bradford, July 1987

The world always seemed to melt away when Vicky was doing her make-up. Particularly her eyeliner, which, being a posh liquid one, required total concentration: lips slightly parted, brows raised, good light and a steady, steady hand. Even Rick Astley, who had up to now held at least half her concentration, seemed to oblige by taking a breath so she could get the line exactly right.

‘Victoriaaaaa! Door !’

Vicky swore under her breath as she lowered the eyeliner brush. Her bloody mother. And, judging by the way she was bellowing her name, this wasn’t the first time she’d yelled it up the stairs either.

She slipped the brush back into the tube and reached for a cotton-wool ball. One day, perhaps one day, her mam would stop yelling, get up off her fat backside and actually answer the front door herself. But she doubted that would be happening anytime soon.

‘Mam, it’ll be Luce!’ Vicky yelled down through the open bedroom door. ‘Let her in, can’t you? Please? I’m not dressed yet!’

Though she ought to get her skates on, she realised. She’d been getting ready for over an hour now, and she still wasn’t done. Though, in her defence, she decided, as she spat on the cotton wool and carefully wiped the outer edge of her left eye, this was their first night out as working girls – no more school, ever – and she was determined to look old enough to get into every pub and club in town. She just hoped Lucy had done a decent enough job of stuffing her bra with socks. She hadn’t yet been blessed with Vicky’s natural assets, and they were always so bloody strict down at the Caverns.

‘I’m not your bleeding slave!’ Vicky’s mum yelled back up the stairs, predictably. And she had a point, Vicky conceded, as she redid the final flick of eyeliner. Most of the time, these days, it felt like the other way round. But she also felt the tell-tale breeze that meant the front door was open, so she got up from her dressing table and danced across to her bed, humming along with Rick, in her bra and knickers.

‘Whoah,’ came a deep voice, moments later. ‘Now that’s what I call a welcome.’

Vicky whirled around, astonished, then grabbed the bath towel from the back of the dressing-table chair. ‘Oh my God – Paddy!’ she exclaimed, colouring. ‘What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were off out with the lads!’