‘And I help you too, don’t I, Mummy,’ said Stella.
‘Yes, you do, darling. You’re a great help to Mummy.’ Fiona stroked the blonde hair of the little girl sitting so quietly next to her. ‘I don’t know how I’d manage without you.’
Debbie noticed that Stella had grown, not only in size, but in maturity as well since she last saw her. She was not a baby or a toddler now, but a very sensible and thoughtful little girl. She and Debbie had formed an attachment the first time they met, and this grew stronger every time they saw one another.
‘The little ones are naughty sometimes, aren’t they, Mummy?’ she said now.
‘I’m afraid they are,’ agreed Fiona. ‘Well, it’s Matthew really, and the other two try to copy him. He was the first one to start walking, and talking, too. Mark was the slowest, in fact he still doesn’t talk much, only a few words.’
‘They’re not two yet,’ said Simon. ‘I think maybe you’re expecting rather too much, darling. They’re all different, you know.’
‘Yes, I suppose I’m comparing them with Stella. She was very quick to walk and talk.’
‘I go to school now,’ said Stella. ‘Nursery school, not proper school.’
‘And she’ll be starting there a year from now,’ said Fiona. ‘And by that time the little ones will be nearly three, ready to start at the nursery … I hope!’
Simon smiled at his wife. ‘Don’t worry, darling. We’ll get you some help again before very long. Now … teatime for the toddlers, isn’t it. Let’s get started, shall we?’
‘Oh, let me help,’ offered Debbie.
‘Me too,’ added Stella.
‘I never refuse any offers of help,’ said Fiona. ‘Come along then, Debbie. Are you ready for the fray?’
From then on, until the little ones were tucked up in bed, it was all go. The playpens were dismantled and put to one side, and the three children seated in high chairs, wearing large bibs featuring Disney characters over their clothes.
‘The people at church were very good when they were born,’ Fiona told Debbie. ‘Two of the high chairs were given to us, and one was Stella’s; but she sits up at the table now, don’t you, darling? You couldn’t believe how generous people were. We were inundated with gifts and offers of help. And it was in the local paper, you know, about the triplets at the rectory!’
‘Yes, you sent me the cutting,’ said Debbie. ‘You were the talk of the town, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, for a while. And the Cow and Gate firm kept us supplied with milk for a year; a good advert for them, of course. And the same with the Johnson’s baby products; I’m still using the talc and the cream. And a mountain of nappies! They were a real godsend. Matthew and Michelle are almost dry now, thank goodness, but Mark’s taking a bit longer.’
That little boy was needing a little more help with his meal than his siblings. Fiona had made a large shepherd’s pie and the triplets were having their first share of it. Mark seemed quite content to let Fiona feed him, opening his mouth wide for the next spoonful, although she kept encouraging him to try on his own. Debbie was helping the other two, who were coping much better, and Stella was on hand with a cloth to mop up the spills.
‘How did you manage, wheeling the three of them out in a pram?’ asked Debbie.
‘Well, it was OK when they were babies,’ said Fiona. ‘Stella’s pram was a large one, and I put two at one end and one at the other. And Stella walked and helped to push the pram, didn’t you, sweetheart? Then, when the babies could sit up properly the church people got together and bought them a double push chair for their first birthday.’
‘And one of them had my push chair, ’cause I was a big girl then,’ said Stella. ‘And they took it in turns, didn’t they, Mummy?’
‘Yes, that’s right, love; they did. But we found it was usually better to have Matthew on his own; he used to wriggle and push the other one and cause havoc. Of course I couldn’t push both prams at the same time; but there was usually somebody to come with me. Paula was a great help, and I’ve a few friends from the Young Wives who sometimes take them out for an hour or so. We manage quite well, and no doubt we’ll continue to do so.’
Then it was bath time. Fiona bathed the two boys, one at each end while Debbie helped to undress Michelle. She remarked that they didn’t look dirty, but Fiona said it was a nightly ritual and one that they enjoyed. Matthew started at once slapping the water with his hands and splashing his brother, who joined in a little less exuberantly.
‘We won’t bother with hair tonight,’ said Fiona. ‘They don’t enjoy that quite so much when the water gets in their eyes, though I do try to be careful.’
She lifted Mark out and wrapped him in a large fluffy towel. ‘Here, Debbie, you hold him,’ she said. ‘He’s easier to handle than Matthew. And when you’ve dried him you can have a try at putting on his nappy! You’ve done it before, haven’t you?’
‘He’s a lot bigger now, though,’ said Debbie, struggling with the large terry towelling square and the safety pins, hoping that she didn’t stab him.
‘That’s very good; you’re a dab hand at it!’ Fiona grinned at her. ‘You won’t want to be starting with babies just yet though, will you?’
‘Not flippin’ likely!’ said Debbie. They smiled at one another in perfect understanding.
Fiona had told Debbie about the circumstances of her birth and how she had been forced to give her up for adoption. It was, Debbie knew, partly a cautionary tale which she had tried to take on board. She knew what a traumatic time Fiona had gone through. And now the two of them, mother and daughter, who had been reunited after sixteen years, were the best of friends.
‘There, that’s two done and dusted,’ said Fiona. ‘Now it’s Michelle’s turn.’
‘And then Mummy reads them a story,’ said Stella, ‘or sometimes Daddy does.’
‘I think Debbie could do that tonight, if she would like to?’ Fiona suggested.
‘Yes, I would like to,’ said Debbie. She had read stories to Stella and enjoyed it very much. She had thought, at one time, that she didn’t like small children. She had been horrified at her mother’s idea that she should train to be a teacher. That was until she met Stella, and then the triplets. She thought they were adorable, although she still wouldn’t change her mind about teaching.
‘They like the one about the gingerbread man,’ Stella told her, ‘and they join in with the “Run as fast as you can” bit. Well, Matthew does …’
‘That was one of my favourite stories when I was a little girl,’ said Debbie. And so, when Michelle, too, was bathed and ready for bed, she sat with Stella and the triplets and read the familiar story. Michelle and Mark, who was getting more used to Debbie now, pointed at the pictures, while Matthew shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Run, run, as fast as you can. You can’t catch me! I’m the gingerbread man!’
Fiona had been listening from the next room, and she smiled to herself as she took over, tucking them each in their separate cots, kissing them and saying, ‘Goodnight … God bless.’
‘Now, teatime for us,’ said Fiona. ‘I expect you’re ready for it, Debbie.’
‘Mummy says I can have my tea with all of you tonight,’ said Stella. ‘I usually have it with the little ones, but it’s special tonight, because you’re here, Debbie.’
After she had eaten the shepherd’s pie and the fruit jelly and custard the little girl was nodding with tiredness.
‘Well past your bedtime,’ said Fiona. ‘We won’t bother with a bath tonight; just a lick and a promise!’
Stella insisted, though, that Debbie must read her a story as well. And so her half-sister read to her of the exploits of Milly Molly Mandy until she could scarcely keep her eyes open.
‘Goodnight, darling,’ said Debbie, as the little girl snuggled beneath the bedclothes. ‘Sleep tight … and God bless.’
By the time Fiona went up to say goodnight she was fast asleep.
Three
‘Peace at last!�
�� Fiona collapsed on to the settee, her legs outstretched and her arms hanging limply at her sides, like a floppy rag doll. ‘Whew! I feel as though I’ve been through a wringer when it gets to this time in the evening.’ She laughed. ‘Not that they use them any more; wringers, I mean. It’s an expression I heard my mother use. I remember how she used to put clothes through the mangle to get the water out. You won’t remember that, Debbie.’
‘No … I don’t think so.’ Debbie shook her head. ‘I remember my mum having a twin-tub at one time. She’s got a fully automatic washer now.’
‘Same here,’ said Fiona. ‘We’ve had a Bendix since before Stella was born. It’s been a real godsend with all these nappies, although I sometimes need to soak them first. I’ve read that there are disposable nappies coming on the market. I can’t imagine it at all. What a lot of mess to dispose of! I don’t think they’ll catch on.’
Simon got up from his chair. ‘Well, I’m going to leave you girls to have a natter while I finish my sermon, if you don’t mind?’
‘Of course not, darling,’ said Fiona. ‘But we’re not going to talk about nappies and washing machines all night, I can assure you.’
‘I should hope not!’ Simon said with a laugh. ‘I won’t be long; I’ve just got to add the finishing touches, then I’ll be with you.’
‘You’re preaching tomorrow, are you?’ asked Debbie.
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. There’s only me at the moment, you see. Fiona will tell you … see you in a little while.’
‘We’ve no curate just now,’ said Fiona as he closed the door behind him. ‘Josh – you remember Joshua? – he’s moved on. He was with us for two years. There’s another curate starting at the end of September after his ordination. He’s an older man – well, older than Josh, I mean. Late forties, I believe, with a wife and family. He’s not been in the church long, though; it will be his first placement. So his wife might be able to lend a hand in the parish, if she’s that way inclined.’
‘That will be a help for you, won’t it?’ said Debbie.
‘Yes: I’ve not been able to pull my weight as much as I like to just lately. Although Simon insisted when we first got married that I hadn’t to be regarded as an unpaid curate, like some clergy wives are. His first wife, for instance; she was heart and soul into the church work. I carried on with my job at the library until just before Stella was born. Now, I lead the Young Wives group, and that’s about all. You don’t mind going to church in the morning, do you, Debbie?’
‘No, of course not. I shall look forward to hearing Simon preach. I go on Sunday mornings with Mum and Dad. Not every Sunday, though. I was sometimes working at the garden centre.’
‘Are you still friendly with that young man who works there?’ asked Fiona. ‘Kevin … wasn’t it?’
‘Yes; Kevin Hill. He’s the owner’s son and his father’s right-hand man now, actually. I started going out with him soon after I went to work there. I was only fifteen, and Mum and Dad didn’t approve at the time, as you can imagine! Although he was always a very nice sort of lad; well brought up, of course, and quite steady. We fell out, though. He dumped me, to be honest! I think I was bit of a nuisance in those days – well, I know I was! Very wilful and wanting my own way, and I suppose he got fed up with me. I must have been a real trial to my parents.’
Fiona smiled. ‘Yes … maybe so. I’ve noticed a change in you since we got to know you. You’ve grown up, haven’t you, love?’
‘I think so. I knew I had to find out about you, you see. And then … everything fell into place, and I started to settle down.’
‘And we’re so glad you came,’ said Fiona. ‘But you already know that, don’t you? So – tell me – you made it up with Kevin, did you?’
‘Yes; to my amazement he asked me out again. He said I’d changed, too. It’s not a serious relationship. I don’t want to get involved in that way, not just yet; although I thought I did, at one time. So we’re not “going out” together now, because I’ll be at college. It’s only for a year, though.’
‘A lot can happen in a year,’ said Fiona. ‘It’s sensible not to commit yourself at your age. How old is Kevin?’
‘He’s twenty, two years older than me. As you say, a lot can happen in a year.’
‘Be careful, won’t you, love?’ said Fiona.
‘Yes; I know what you’re saying. Being away from home and all that. But I intend to work hard and see where it leads. Mum still keeps saying it’s a funny job for a girl, but it’s what I want to do.’
‘Well, that’s the answer then, isn’t it?’ Fiona nodded, then Debbie noticed that she closed her eyes for a moment. She really must be dreadfully tired. But then she shook herself and came round again.
‘Would you like to watch the television?’ she asked. ‘Or are you OK just chatting?’
‘I’m enjoying talking and catching up on things,’ replied Debbie. ‘Unless there’s something you want to watch?’
‘No; it’ll be the usual variety show tonight, I suppose. Nothing I don’t mind missing, although there are certain things I like to watch; Simon as well when he has time. We watch the news at least once a day, and Panorama. And I must admit we like Alf Garnett – Till Death Us Do Part. It’s rather irreverent at times, so we don’t let on to the congregation about our dubious tastes! But as Simon says, you can watch things and have a laugh; you don’t have to agree with them or let them influence you. And we never miss Z-Cars or Coronation Street!’
‘Yes; my parents watch some of the soaps, and Steptoe and Son; and Mum loves the variety shows and quiz games. We’ve still got our old black and white set, but Dad says they’re going to get a coloured one soon. They don’t go out very much and I think they deserve it. Television has become such a way of life hasn’t it?’
‘Yes; whether it’s for better or for worse, I’m not sure. It’s the same with us; I think a coloured ‘telly’ might be the next thing on the agenda. Stella watched The Magic Roundabout in colour at her friend’s home and she’s been on about it ever since. But we told her she can’t have everything she wants straight away.’
‘She’s very good, though, isn’t she? I can’t imagine her ever having a tantrum, or being naughty at all.’
‘She has her moments, like they all do. But I must admit she’s been almost the perfect child. That’s why it was such a rude awakening with the other three!’
‘You wouldn’t be without them, though?’
‘No; of course not. But as Simon says, God is sometimes a little overgenerous with the gifts he bestows!’
Debbie laughed. Her eyes wandered round the room as she leaned back in the comfortable armchair. This was a lovely elegant room which Fiona had furnished, and Simon had decorated, according to their individual style. She had told Debbie how she had inherited a mishmash of styles when she first went to live at the rectory.
Simon had given her a free hand, more or less, with the decor, according to what they could afford. She had chosen furniture from the popular shop, Habitat, for the dining room; table and chairs in light wood, Scandinavian in design. The lounge was more traditional; modern furniture but in a style that would not date; a sage green settee and two matching armchairs and a self-coloured carpet in a tweedy oatmeal shade. The subdued effect of the room was relieved by gold crushed-velvet curtains and scatter cushions in gold, orange and lime green. She had, tactfully, disposed of the embroidered cushion covers which she had guessed were the work of Millicent, Simon’s first wife.
‘This is such a comfortable room,’ Debbie told her. ‘I always feel at home here. Stylish – sort of posh, if you know what I mean – but homely as well. We hardly ever use our front room, except at Christmas or when we have visitors.’
‘Yes, it’s the room we try to keep for best,’ said Fiona. ‘The Young Wives meet here, and Simon sometimes has committee meetings, but we use it as well in the evenings. I try to keep it tidy and restrict the clutter to the living room and the kitchen. It’s not as spick and span
as it used to be, though. I can’t stop the children from coming in; it’s there home as much as ours, and I don’t want to be a fussy house-proud sort of mum. The stereogram’s new, though, and they know they haven’t to fiddle with the knobs, nor the ones on the television.’
Debbie looked at the newest acquisition, a light oak radiogram with two speakers. She guessed it would play the more modern cassettes as well as conventional records. There were a few newspapers on the top, a James Bond paperback novel and two toy cars. On an armchair there was a doll, a copy of Woman’s Own, a tartan holdall and what seemed to be Fiona’s latest knitting project; a lacy garment in bright pink, possibly a cardigan for one of the little girls. Fiona seemed to notice it at the same time. She got up and shoved it into the bag.
‘I’m an untidy sort of housewife, aren’t I?’ She smiled. ‘Never mind, though; you’re family, aren’t you? I was trying to do a bit more of this before you came. It’s a jumper for Michelle, and I intended to make one for Stella as well. I started it ages ago, but they’ll be lucky if they get them in time for Christmas!’
‘I’m surprised you find time to knit at all,’ said Debbie. ‘Isn’t it easier to buy the clothes ready-made? More expensive, though, I suppose?’
‘There’s not much in it, when you’ve bought the wool and buttons and everything. I find it relaxing to knit while I’m watching the TV; at least I used to, but I fall asleep now, more often than not.’
Simon appeared at that moment. ‘Have you had a good old chinwag?’ he asked.
‘We have indeed,’ replied Fiona. ‘You haven’t been long.’
‘I think my sermon’s as good as I can get it … Now, are you two girls ready for a drink? Hot chocolate? Is that OK for you, Debbie?’
‘Lovely,’ she answered. ‘You’re spoiling me.’
‘Not at all,’ Simon replied. ‘It’s what we usually have about this time.’
Old Friends, New Friends Page 3
