Old Friends, New Friends

by Margaret Thornton

  ‘I’ll save you some lunch,’ said Fiona. ‘There’s some of the chicken left from the sandwiches I’ve made for Debbie.’ Fiona had insisted that she should take a packed lunch to eat when she arrived at her new home.

  ‘Don’t worry; I’ll see to myself when I get back,’ said Simon. ‘Now don’t forget what I said, darling. You must ring the doctor this afternoon and make another appointment … Now, you get in the front seat, Debbie.’

  ‘Can I come?’ asked Stella, who was clinging to Debbie’s hand.

  ‘No, sweetheart,’ said Fiona. ‘You stay and help Mummy with the little ones. Daddy won’t be all that long, and you’ll see Debbie again quite soon. She’s going to college, like I told you; a school for grown-up people. But she’ll come and spend a weekend with us before very long.’

  Fiona and Stella waved as Simon backed the car out of the drive and turned into the lane that led to Aberthwaite town centre. The little market town was not very busy at ten o’clock on the Monday morning. They drove along the high street and around the cobbled market square with its stone cross, then took the road which led over the Yorkshire moors to the more industrial part of Yorkshire in the West Riding.

  ‘Fiona’s feeling a little low again this morning,’ Simon commented. ‘That’s why she’s so upset at you leaving. She’s trying to put on a brave face, but I can tell. I’ve insisted she must go to the doctor again, though she seems to think it’s something shameful to feel depressed. I hope she’ll improve when we get her some permanent help with the babies. We have to make sure that we get the right person; somebody competent and with a nice manner with the children. And somebody that Fiona likes and can work with, although she gets on with most people, almost everybody I would say. There were a few who disapproved of her when we first got married. I suppose it was because she was so pretty and modern in her outlook; not how they thought the rector’s wife should be. But they all love her now. Paula was ideal with the children, and she’s made the right decision, to train as a nanny.’

  ‘I’m sure someone will turn up,’ said Debbie. ‘But she’s got friends to help in the meantime, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, Fiona’s not short of friends. As I said, she’s very popular in the parish. It was a very lucky day for me, Debbie, when I met Fiona. Although I prefer to think of it as Fate, not luck. I really believe that we were meant to be together.’

  ‘It certainly seems so to me,’ agreed Debbie.

  Simon smiled. ‘Sorry if I go on about Fiona. It’s because she means so very much to me, and I can’t bear to see her so tired and dispirited.’

  ‘She’ll get over it, I’m sure,’ said Debbie. ‘She’s not the sort of person to give in and feel sorry for herself. And you are there to help, aren’t you?’

  Simon nodded, then concentrated on the road ahead of them. The scenery was gradually changing from the rural setting to a more industrial landscape. They passed lonely outlying farms where sheep grazed, as they had done for centuries, on the Yorkshire moors. Debbie remembered learning at school about the growth of the woollen industry. At one time the wool carding and weaving had been a cottage industry, moving with the invention of machinery to the mills which drew their power from the fast flowing Pennine streams. The soft lime-free water was necessary, too, for the washing, combing and carding of the wool. With the advent of stream power the main woollen centres moved closer to the coalfields, crowding the valleys of the Rivers Colne, Calder and Aire with a myriad of tall mill chimneys.

  Many of the woollen mills had closed in recent years with the coming of synthetic fibres and fabrics. But there were still a sizeable number of mill chimneys on the horizon as they drew near to the city of Leeds.

  They drove past the railway station, around City Square with the statue of the Black Prince on his horse, then up the road which led out of the city centre towards the university buildings. Many students had lodgings in that area, and this was the district in which Debbie’s digs were to be found. She had the address, of course, but that didn’t mean a great deal to her, nor to Simon. Accommodation for the students who required it was arranged by the college authorities, and this would be the first time she had seen it.

  There was a maze of streets with old Victorian houses in the hinterland near the university. They found it after asking for directions a couple of times; number fourteen, Blenheim Street, one of a terrace of three-storied houses with a small patch of ground in front of them that could not by any stretch of the imagination be called a garden. Debbie had been informed by letter that the keys for the apartment could be collected on arrival at the house next door, number twelve. This property was identical in structure to its neighbour, but there was a little more sign of life. There were net curtains at these windows – which were cleaner windows than the ones next door – and the paint on the front door was glossy. The paintwork on the neighbouring house was cracked and blistering.

  ‘I’ll go and find out,’ said Debbie, a little apprehensively.

  ‘Do you want me to go?’ said Simon. ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘No, it’s alright, thanks. I shall have to get used to doing things for myself.’ She opened the creaking iron gate of number twelve, walked up the short path and rang the bell.

  A woman opened the door almost at once. Debbie guessed she was in her forties. She had frizzy ginger hair of a shade that was assuredly not her own, piercing blue eyes in a heavily made up face, and was dressed in a short skirt and a tight fitting red sweater. Her feet were clad in carpet slippers. She did, however, smile in quite a pleasant manner.

  ‘Hello, luv. You must be one of the students from the garden place. You’re the first to arrive; I’m expecting four of you. What’s your name, luv?’

  ‘I’m Debbie Hargreaves,’ she replied. ‘I’m from Whitesands Bay.’

  ‘In Northumberland,’ she added, as the woman looked curiously at her. ‘But I’ve been staying with friends, so I’ve not travelled very far today. Shall I … shall we bring my luggage in?’

  ‘Aye, we’ll get you sorted out, luv. Step in a minute, and I’ll get t’ keys.’

  Debbie stepped into the hallway of number twelve, turning to give a thumbs-up sign to Simon, although she could feel her stomach turning somersaults. She was dazzled by the multicoloured carpet, the boldly patterned wallpaper and the doors leading off the hallway, each painted a different colour. It all looked clean, though, which was a good sign if this person was the landlady of the property next door.

  The woman disappeared into the room with the blue door. She didn’t invite Debbie inside, but appeared a few moments later with a brown envelope.

  ‘Here’s yer keys,’ she said. ‘Two of ’em, one for t’ front door, and t’other for yer flat. I’ve put you in t’ first floor flat next door. Alf – that’s me husband – and me, we own both properties. We’ve had it all converted, like. There’s two bedrooms, so you’ll have to sort out who you’re going to share with when t’others come. An’ a bathroom and lav, living room and kitchen, so you should have all you need. If you need owt else, give us a shout. I’m Rhoda, by the way, Rhoda Perkins. And there’s directions in here, from t’ college, telling you how to get there, what number buses an’ all that. You start tomorrow, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ answered Debbie, feeling bemused by the woman’s chatter.

  ‘There’s three young fellers in t’ downstairs flat. They came yesterday, but they’ve gone out today. They’re at Stanborough College an’ all, same as you. Now, d’you want a hand with yer cases?’

  ‘It’s OK; my friend will help,’ said Debbie. But Rhoda Perkins followed her out to the car.

  She smiled a little fatuously when she set eyes on Simon. ‘Hello there …’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Rhoda; pleased to meet you.’ There was a slight emphasis on the ‘you’.

  Debbie smiled to herself. Simon was a handsome man, and he was not wearing his dog collar that day; he usually left it off when he was not on church business.

&
nbsp; ‘How do you do?’ he replied. ‘I’m Simon Norwood. My wife and I are family friends, and Debbie’s been staying with us, I wanted to make sure she arrived safely.’ He lifted the luggage out of the boot, then he carried one case and Rhoda the other, whilst Debbie carried one of the large boxes.

  Rhoda opened the door of number fourteen and they went inside. The interior, as well as the outside, was vastly different from number twelve. The wallpaper was a dull fawn colour, the paintwork dark brown, and the carpet a cheap rubber-backed fabric. Drab-looking but clean, at least, was Debbie’s first reaction.

  ‘Here we are then,’ said Rhoda when they had mounted the steep stairs. She opened the door to the apartment. It led into the main room, the living room. It was a fair size but again the impression was one of drabness. There was a settee and an easy chair in tan-coloured moquette, which had seen better days, a drop-leaf table, and four fold-up chairs stacked against the wall, a set of empty bookshelves, dark green curtains at the windows, and a carpet of an indiscriminate pattern, worn in places, on the floor.

  There was a cubbyhole of a kitchen in a recess opening off the room. ‘There’s yer cooker,’ said Rhoda. ‘It’s a gas oven, a bit temperamental, like, but you’ll get used to it, an’ a fridge an’ all. You’re lucky; it’s not every flat that has a fridge included.’ It was a minuscule one, but better than none at all, a small wall cupboard, and a porcelain sink and draining board.

  ‘You’ve not got a washing machine,’ Rhoda told Debbie as Simon went down to get the rest of the luggage. ‘You can do yer undies in t’ sink and take the rest to t’ launderette. That’s what t’other students have done. We provide you with sheets and towels, but you’re responsible for changing ’em and washing ’em. That OK?’

  ‘Er … yes, of course,’ said Debbie, who really had no idea about what was usual. She had noticed a radiator beneath the window, so if there was central heating that was certainly a plus factor.

  ‘And we’re centrally heated an’ all,’ added Rhoda, as if she had read her mind, ‘so you don’t have to mess with fires and cleaning out grates and suchlike. Alf and me, we had it put in our house at the same time. It’s t’ best thing ever invented in my book. I remember when I were a nipper, waking up to ice all over t’ window. Jack Frost has been, they used to tell us, but it were murder getting washed and dressed in t’ freezing cold.

  ‘Course we knew no different then. You’ll not remember that, lass?’

  ‘Yes, I do, before my parents had the heating installed,’ said Debbie. She was bewildered by the woman’s chatter, jumping from one thing to another, but at least she was a friendly soul.

  ‘And here’s the bedrooms.’ She flung open a door that opened off the room. ‘There’s nowt much to choose between ’em. One looks over t’ front and the other over t’ back. You take yer pick, seeding as you’re t’ first to arrive.’

  ‘I’ll have this one then,’ said Debbie, ‘the front one.’

  ‘OK …’ Rhoda plonked a suitcase down on one of the single beds, and Simon, who had reappeared, brought in the other one and the rest of the luggage. There were twin beds with light oak headboards, covered with candlewick bedspreads in a dusky pink shade, and pink curtains of a thin fabric at the window. The large wardrobe, dressing table and chest of drawers were of a cheap utility design, considered suitable for rooms to let, such as this.

  ‘And the bathroom and lav are along the passage at the top o’ t’ stairs,’ said Rhoda. ‘We had to leave ’em there; it were easier wi’ all this messing about. There’ll be plenty of hot water, well, twice a day anyroad. My hubby sees to the heating and all that … So I’ll leave you to sort yerself out. Come and give us a knock next door if you want owt. Bye for now then. Goodbye, Mr … er … Simon. Nice to meet you.’ She flashed a beaming smile at him as she went out of the room.

  Simon grinned at Debbie. ‘She’s quite a character, isn’t she? Good-hearted, though. I’m sure you’ll be fine here, Debbie; you could have done a lot worse with digs on spec. Now, do you want me to stay a while and help you to unpack?’

  She knew he would be anxious to get back to Fiona and the children; and she must get used to looking after herself. ‘No, thanks all the same, Simon,’ she said. ‘You’ve got me here safely, and I’ll be alright now.’

  ‘OK, if you’re sure … I’d better pay a visit to your bathroom, though, before I set off.’

  ‘We’ll go and find it together, shall we?’ said Debbie.

  It was, as Rhoda said, along the passage at the top of the stairs; a room that had obviously not been brought up to date. There was a huge bath with brass taps and claw feet, an oversized wash basin and a toilet with a high cistern and the sort of chain that you had to pull and hold on to. The china knob at the end of the chain said ‘Pull’, as if you could do anything else! There was a hand towel on the side of the bath, but Debbie had noticed a pile of towels on the bed as well.

  ‘All mod cons!’ laughed Simon as Debbie left him.

  He came back to the flat a few moments later. He gave her a brotherly hug and kissed her cheek. ‘Take care of yourself, and let us know how you go on.’

  ‘Thanks for everything, Simon. Bye for now. Love to Fiona and the children …’ She could feel tears starting to prick at her eyelids and was glad he didn’t prolong the goodbye. She didn’t go down to the car, but stood at the bedroom window, watching and waving as he drove away.

  Five

  Debbie sat on the bed feeling, suddenly, very lost and alone. The tears that had been threatening began to seep out of her eyes and run down her cheeks. She blinked and gave a loud sniff. ‘Don’t start crying, you idiot!’ she chided herself, taking a tissue from the pocket of her jeans and drying her eyes.

  She realized, though, that she did have an incipient headache; this often happened when she found herself in a stressful situation. She was also quite hungry. What would her mum do? Make a cup of tea, of course. Would there be any tea bags, though, or milk?

  This was not the sort of lodgings where the landlady provided meals. Debbie knew they would have to make their own breakfasts – which should not be too much of a problem – and a meal at the end of the day. She hoped that her flatmates might prove to be rather more skilled in the kitchen than she was. There was a canteen at the college where they could have lunch: a snack or something more substantial.

  Fiona had made a packed lunch for her. She took the plastic bag containing the film-wrapped sandwiches out of her holdall. Chicken on wholemeal bread with lettuce and a touch of mayonnaise; they looked delicious. There was a packet of crisps, a Kit-Kat, and an apple and a banana. And – thank goodness – there was also a small bottle of milk. Fiona was such a thoughtful person.

  Debbie carried the items into the kitchen and opened the wall cupboard, hoping to find some crockery. Yes; there were four mugs, heavy ones – certainly not bone china – with pictures of comical animals on them, a selection of plates and dishes, and some assorted cutlery in a tin box. She opened a tin which depicted the Queen’s coronation of 1953, and was pleased to find that it held tea bags; only a few, possibly left by the previous occupants. And there was a jar containing an inch or so of Nescafé coffee granules. There didn’t seem to be any sugar, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. She would have to drink it without sugar for once. They would need to go shopping for necessities, another thing she was not accustomed to doing. All household chores had been left to her mum. Debbie liked to think she had helped but she was realizing now that she had been rather spoilt.

  There was – wonder of wonders! – an electric kettle; an old one, but functional, she hoped. She took off the lid to find that the element was covered in a sort of fur. She knew it wasn’t harmful but it had to be removed every so often to make it work efficiently. She knew her dad used some sort of powder, but she didn’t know what it was. Anyway, it might work in its present state. She half filled it and switched it on. The red light indicated that it was working.

  She popped a tea bag in a
beaker with a picture of a grinning pig, and waited for the kettle to boil. Whilst she was putting the sandwiches on a plate, ready for her solitary picnic lunch, she heard a shout.

  ‘Hello, Debbie; I’m here again …’ She recognized Rhoda’s voice. And here’s one of yer flatmates. Two down, two to go.’

  Rhoda entered the room carrying a large suitcase, followed by a middle-aged man carrying another one, and a girl with a large box in her arms. She was pale with wispy fairish hair, and Debbie thought she looked frightened to death.

  ‘Hello …’ Debbie stepped out from kitchen alcove. ‘I’m Debbie,’ she announced cheerfully. ‘I’m just making some tea. Would you like a cup? Well, it’s a mug actually, and there’s no sugar, but it won’t be too bad.’

  ‘There you are you see, Lisa,’ said the man who was most probably her father. ‘You’ve made a friend already. Didn’t I say you’d be alright? Now cheer up, there’s a good girl, and this nice lass’ll look after you, won’t you, Debbie?’

  ‘Yes, of course I will. I’ve not been here long myself though, only half an hour or so.’ She turned to Lisa. ‘I was feeling a bit down in the dumps, so we can cheer one another up, can’t we?’

  The girl smiled, looking a little happier. ‘Yes … thank you. That’ll be nice.’

  Debbie spoke to the man. ‘Would you like some tea, Mr … er, sorry I don’t know your name?’

  ‘I’m Mr Dobson … Sam, and I’m Lisa’s dad as you probably guessed. No, I won’t have any tea, thanks, luv. I’ll be getting back now I’ve seen Lisa’s OK. I’ve left my chief assistant in charge so everything’ll be alright, but I said I’d get back as soon as poss. We’ve a market garden on t’ wolds, near to Beverley. Lisa’ll tell you about it. Now lass, I’ll be on my way.’ He hugged his daughter and she clung to him for moment.

  ‘Ring us when you can, and yer mam’ll write to you. Take care of yerself now, luv, and you an’ all, Debbie. Keep yer pecker up …’ He departed with a cheery wave. Rhoda had already gone.