‘I just thought how grand it would be, Stanley, to say that our daughter was a teacher. You and me, we never had the chances, did we?’
‘No, happen we didn’t. But we’ve done alright, haven’t we? I suppose it’s only natural for parents to want their children to do better than they did themselves. But I don’t think we’ve lost out much, Vera. If you remember, my da wanted a lot better for me that what he had. He was determined I wasn’t going down the mine like he did.’
Stanley’s father had been a coal miner, like most of the men in the village where he had grown up. He had suffered badly with bronchitis and had died of emphysema in his early sixties. But Stanley had always had a feeling for the land, and he had been fortunate to find work on a farm on leaving school at fourteen. Then, after his service in the Second World War he had been employed as a municipal gardener.
Vera had not worked in a woollen mill, as had many of her contemporaries, but had always been employed as a shop assistant. She had worked in the general store in the village where they lived. And later, when Debbie was at school she had gone to work in a fancy goods store in Whitesands Bay, where she still worked on a part-time basis.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve any lasses working with you, though, have you?’ asked Vera. ‘Like I say, it’s not a job that girls usually want to do.’
‘As a matter of fact we have,’ Stanley replied. ‘A young girl started a few weeks ago; a school leaver. Not from a grammar school, though, like the one our Debbie went to. No, she was at the local secondary modern school. She’s a grand lass, very willing and eager to please; Sadie, she’s called. A darned sight more capable than some of the lazy louts of lads we’ve had in the past. I had a chat with her; told her my daughter was going to college to study gardening; she was quite impressed. She says she’s going to night school herself to get a bit more “know how”.’
‘Well, so long as Debbie’s happy and doing what she wants to do, then I’ll have to be content,’ said Vera.
‘You can’t push your kids into summat they don’t want to do,’ said Stanley. ‘It’s asking for trouble. Anyway, it wouldn’t have worked with Debbie, would it? She’s always had a mind of her own.’
‘You can say that again!’ smiled Vera.
‘Now then, what’s for pudding?’ asked Stanley. ‘It were fair champion, that braising steak. Just the way I like it.’
‘I’ve done a rhubarb crumble, another of your favourites,’ said Vera, as she went into the kitchen. She had never wanted more than to be a good wife to Stanley, and then loving mother to Debbie. Now there was just Stanley to look after. Life would certainly be a good deal more peaceful now, but she knew she would be counting the days until Debbie came home again.
Two
Simon was in the car park waiting for Debbie when she alighted from the train at Northallerton station. He got out of the car and gave her a hug. ‘Good to see you again, Debbie. All set for college, are you?’
‘I hope so, Simon,’ she replied. ‘I must admit I’ve got a few collywobbles. I didn’t say so to Mum, though. She thinks I’m quite cool about it all. I’ll be OK – I hope – when I’ve seen where I’m going to be living and I’ve met the other girls. That’s what I’m mostly worried about. I’m looking forward to getting started on the course …
‘I like the car, Simon,’ she added, looking at the much larger vehicle than the one he had previously owned. It was a Triumph 2000 in dark blue; it had a spacious boot and there was plenty of room at the back. She had seen it only briefly when he had come to collect her luggage a few days before. ‘Is it new?’ she asked.
‘Well, new to me,’ he replied. ‘It’s a few years old. Clergymen like me can’t afford a new one!’ He smiled. ‘It’s a question of needs must, though, with such a large family. Four children all under four years of age! How about that, eh?’
‘You wouldn’t be without them though, would you?’ said Debbie. But she thought Simon looked a little tired, as well he might,
‘Of course not,’ he replied, ‘but it was rather more than we bargained for. We thought it would be just Stella, and one more. We weren’t really prepared for the multiple birth … Anyway, come along.’ He opened the passenger door. ‘Let’s get moving, shall we?’
‘How is Fiona?’ asked Debbie, when Simon had manoeuvred out of the car park and was driving along the straight road. ‘Busy, no doubt. I don’t know how she copes.’
‘She was coping very well until recently,’ replied Simon. ‘I’d like to say that she’s fine but I’m afraid that she’s not. I rather think she’s suffering from a form of depression. She was OK after the babies were born; she had none of the post-natal depression that some women suffer from. But now … maybe it’s happening belatedly.’
‘Oh no!’ exclaimed Debbie. ‘Poor Fiona. I’m so sorry, Simon. You should have told me. I feel awful now, descending on you this weekend.’
‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘It was Fiona’s idea that you should break your journey here. It will do her good to see you again. You know she always looks forward to your visits. We’ve always had some help with the babies, as you know. Fiona had a nurse looking after her and the triplets for the first few weeks. And then … you met Paula, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, is she still with you?’ asked Debbie. She had been impressed with the competent sixteen-year-old girl whom they had employed to help with the children.
‘No, unfortunately not,’ said Simon. ‘She’s just gone off to college to train to be a nanny. She’ll be a jolly good one. We’re looking out for someone else now. Some of Fiona’s friends from the Young Wives group come and help her, but we need somebody more permanent. Stella’s at nursery school now, each morning, so that makes things a bit easier. Not that Stella’s ever been any trouble; she’s always been as good as gold, bless her! And she tries to help with the little ones.’
Debbie stole a sideways look at Simon. He would be very concerned about Fiona; he thought the world of his wife. They were a devoted couple and still so much in love. She knew from what Fiona had told her that Simon would be fifty next year, thirteen years older than his wife. They had been married for five years, and Fiona was his second wife. His first wife had died, and they had had no children. Debbie had guessed that it had not been a happy marriage, and that meeting Fiona had been a great joy to both of them. Simon was still a good-looking fellow. His light brown hair showed little sign of greying. He was fit and agile, and his smile had been as welcoming as ever. She was aware, though, that he was more troubled than he usually appeared to be.
It was about an hour’s journey to the little market town of Aberthwaite, travelling through the delightful scenery of the North Yorkshire Dales. They passed by greystone cottages, their gardens gay with the bright flowers of early autumn, and hump-backed bridges, with now and then a glimpse of a rippling stream. Eventually Debbie saw again the ruined castle on the hill, a few miles distant, and she knew they were nearly there.
The Church of St Peter and the rectory were at the northern end of the town. From there a leafy lane led into the market square and the town centre. As it was Saturday the twice weekly market would be in full swing. Debbie had enjoyed her trips there whilst on her visits to see Fiona and Simon, but it was already mid-afternoon and the market would be drawing to a close quite soon.
‘Here we are, safely home again,’ said Simon as he swung the car in between the open gates, stopping beneath the spreading branches of the rowan tree, bright with red berries. He jumped out of the car and courteously opened the passenger seat for Debbie. She walked up to the door of the old Victorian rectory. Every time she did so she remembered the first time she had made the journey there, feeling lost and insecure, wondering whether she had done the right thing and what sort of a reception she would get.
There was no doubt about her welcome now. Fiona must have heard them arrive because the door opened before Simon could get out his key. There was Fiona on the threshold with Stella at her side.
&n
bsp; ‘Debbie!’ cried the little girl, a beaming smile lighting up her little face.
‘Hello, darling,’ said Debbie, stooping to hug and kiss her before greeting Fiona.
‘Hello, Debbie love,’ said Fiona quietly. ‘It’s so good to see you again.’
‘And you too,’ replied Debbie, responding to her embrace.
Her immediate reaction was that Fiona looked worn out. She smiled fondly at Debbie as she always did. It was a sincere smile that reached her eyes. It did so now, but her lovely blue eyes had lost a little of their sparkle and the grey shadows beneath them indicated how tired she was. Debbie didn’t say that she looked tired. She knew that was a very tactless thing to say to any woman. It was tantamount to saying that she looked unattractive, especially to such a lovely looking lady as Fiona was. She was still lovely, of course, but she looked pale and strained and her golden blonde hair was not as lustrous as usual. She had lost a little weight as well, which was something that Debbie could safely remark upon. Fiona had complained about being a little plumper than she liked to be, but that was before she had burgeoned to elephantine proportions whilst she was pregnant with the triplets.
‘You’ve lost a bit of weight, haven’t you, Fiona?’ said Debbie. ‘It’s hardly surprising, though, with all you have to do. You’re keeping well, though, are you? And the babies; are they all OK?’
‘Fighting fit,’ smiled Fiona. ‘But hardly babies any more. I thought it might be easier when they were walking and getting a bit more independent. But I was wrong! I just wish sometimes that they would keep still! Yes, I’m OK myself … Well, I’ve felt a bit under the weather lately, to be honest, but I’ll be all the better for seeing you. Anyway, come on in. We’ll go and put the kettle on, shall we, Stella, and make a nice pot of tea.’
‘That sounds like a splendid idea,’ said Simon. ‘Your luggage is upstairs, Debbie, in the bedroom you usually have. You go and sort yourself out, although you won’t need to unpack very much, will you, until you get to your digs in Leeds.’
‘No, just my nightdress for tonight, and a few things I’ll need for tomorrow. I imagine my clothes will be all crumpled and creased by the time I arrive, but there’ll probably be an iron there.’ The thought passed through her mind that her mum would not be there to see to her washing and ironing, but no doubt she would cope. She would have to learn to do so!
‘Thanks for coming to collect my luggage, Simon,’ she said. ‘It’s a great help. And for offering to take me to Leeds on Monday. I really appreciate it, and so do my mum and dad.’
‘Don’t mention it; we’re glad to help,’ said Simon. ‘It’ll be just me, though, taking you to Leeds. Fiona will have her hands full here.’
‘She looks very tired,’ whispered Debbie. Fiona was in the kitchen, and she and Simon were talking at the bottom of the stairs. ‘You must be worried about her, Simon.’
‘So I am,’ he said, ‘although she’s trying to make light of it. She went to see the doctor, because I insisted, but the tablets he gave her don’t seem to have done much good. I shall make sure she goes again after this weekend. As I said, though, it will buck her up no end, having you here.’
‘I’ll try to help as much as I can,’ said Debbie, ‘even though it’s only for a couple of days. I’m dying to see the triplets again. Where are they?’
‘Can’t you hear?’ smiled Simon. ‘Come along; I’ll show you.’
There were sounds coming from the room at the back of the house which was the dining cum living room; sounds of bumps and of childish laughter.
‘Here they are, our three little terrors!’ said Simon, pushing open the door. The children were in two large-sized playpens, two of them in one, and the third child in the other. ‘We don’t really like doing this,’ he admitted. ‘Fiona says they’re like animals at the zoo, but really we had no choice. We only leave them in here for short periods, but it does mean that Fiona can get a bit of peace now and again.’
The three children stared at the newcomer, not quite sure who she was. They hadn’t seen her for several weeks. Then, ‘Deb!’ shouted one of the boys, a smile creasing his face as he recognized her. ‘Deb, Deb, Deb …’
‘Hello, Matthew,’ she replied. He was the biggest and sturdiest of the three children. The boys were identical, but there was, in fact, a slight difference between them. Matthew, the first one to be born, had hair of a slightly darker shade of brown than that of his brother, and he had a small birthmark, like an oversized freckle, on his forehead. Both of the boys, Matthew and Mark, resembled their father rather than their mother, whereas the little girl, Michelle, was the image of Fiona, and of her sister, Stella. They all had the same golden blonde hair and delicate features. Debbie knew that she, too, resembled her birth mother. Her features were rather bolder, though, and her hair was dark brown in colour.
‘’Ello, Deb,’ said Matthew, still staring at her. ‘Look … I made a tower.’ He had been playing with his building bricks, bright wooden blocks – red, blue, green and yellow – in various shapes and sizes.
‘Very good; you’re a clever boy,’ she responded.
He smiled at her, a roguish grin, then kicked at the tower. It fell down with a great clatter, and he clapped his hands and screamed with laughter.
Simon laughed too. ‘He’s better on his own sometimes,’ he said. ‘He’s far more boisterous than the other two. He threw a block at Mark and it hit his head. Of course he screamed blue murder – Mark, I mean – and I think it gave Matthew quite a shock. We had to be quite stern with him, but I think he got the message. He needs more watching – and more discipline – than the other two.’
Mark and Michelle were quietly occupied in the other playpen with sorting boxes into which blocks of different shapes had to be inserted into the correct holes.
‘Michelle mastered it almost straight away,’ said Simon, ‘but Mark still hasn’t quite got the hang of it. He didn’t start to walk as quickly as the other two, either. They’re all quite different in all sorts of ways.’
Michelle looked up and smiled shyly at Debbie. ‘’Ello,’ she said, then returned to her task. Mark continued to look at her in puzzlement.
Debbie laughed. ‘They’re delightful, aren’t they?’
‘In moderation!’ said Simon. ‘We’ll leave them to it for a little while. There’ll be a cup of tea for you in the sitting room when you’re ready.’
Debbie looked out of the bedroom window at the familiar view of the back garden of the rectory. Her keen eye for precision and detail told her, not for the first time, that it was not a well-planned nor, indeed, a very tidy garden. Just a family plot – quite a large one – where the children could play and their parents relax, if they ever had the time.
Simon admitted he was not much of a gardener. There were bedding plants, now nearing the end of their summer flowering, several rose bushes, and a lawn where daisies and dandelions sprouted. At the bottom end there was a sand pit and a swing, and the most recent acquisition, a slide, which Debbie hadn’t seen before.
She feasted her eyes on the further view, as she had done the first time she had come there. Far distant hills where a few sheep were grazing and, in the nearer distance, trees just beginning to change to their autumn colours, and a glimpse of the stream that ran through the outskirts of Aberthwaite. Near to the rectory was the fifteenth-century Church of St Peter with its squat grey tower, surrounded by ancient lopsided gravestones in the somewhat unkempt graveyard. The verger did his best, but he was fighting a losing battle with the long grass and the weeds. At the front of the church, though, not visible from the window, there was a well-tended lawn and flower beds.
Debbie’s two large suitcases were on the floor, along with her cassette recorder and her box of tapes. The recorder had been a present from her parents on her eighteenth birthday last May, replacing her now rather old-fashioned Dansette record player. She doubted that there would be a television in the digs unless one of the other girls brought one along.
She opened the larger case and took out her nightdress and sponge bag, also the clothes she wanted to wear the next day, so that they wouldn’t be too creased: a shift dress that was not too short and the only smartish jacket that she possessed. She knew that she would be going to church with Fiona on Sunday morning, most likely to hear Simon preach. She hung up the clothes at the side of the wardrobe, and after a quick visit to the bathroom she went downstairs.
Fiona, Simon and Stella were in the large sitting room at the front of the house. She could hear that the triplets were still amusing themselves in the back room. Fiona smiled at her and patted the settee next to her. ‘Come and sit down and tell me all your news. Looking forward to starting college, are you?’
‘Yes … I think so,’ replied Debbie. ‘Like I said to Simon, though, I’m a bit nervous about where I’ll be living and who I’ll be with. But I’m looking forward to starting the course.’
‘Don’t you know where you’ll be staying?’ asked Fiona.
‘Well, I’ve got the address, of course. It’s quite near to the city centre. A large flat – an apartment, they call it – that I’ll be sharing with three other girls. The college arrange the accommodation because they haven’t any halls of residence on the site. And there’ll be somebody in the house next door to let us have the keys.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ said Fiona. ‘Simon will get you there safely, and see to your luggage and everything.’
‘Yes, I’m really grateful,’ said Debbie. ‘Mum says thank you, too, and she sends her love.’
Simon poured out the tea and handed the mugs to Debbie and Fiona and a beaker of orange juice to Stella. ‘We’re saving on washing up these days,’ he grinned. ‘Anything to make life a bit easier.’
‘Yes, and we’re having a bit of peace for half an hour or so,’ said Fiona. ‘Simon’s shown you the playpens, hasn’t he? I was very much against it at first, shutting them in like zoo animals, but it’s been a real boon to me, I can tell you. It’ll be teatime soon for the children, then it’s baths and early bedtime before we have our evening meal. I’m on my own at the moment since Paula went off to college, but Simon helps me a lot.’
Old Friends, New Friends Page 2
