Lisa looked at Debbie and smiled shyly. ‘I would like some tea,’ she said. ‘I think my mum’s packed some sugar lumps, and there’s a packet of tea bags. She tried to think of everything I’d need.’
‘Yes, so did my mum,’ said Debbie, ‘but we seemed to overlook tea bags. Do you want it now, or shall we unpack first? I haven’t even done that yet.’
‘Tea first, I think,’ said Lisa, ‘if that’s OK with you? My mum’s packed some sandwiches, so we can share them if you like.’
Debbie laughed. ‘I’ve got some as well. My … friend made them for me. I’ve been staying there for the weekend, ’cause I live quite a long way away.’
‘Yes … I think you’re a Geordie, aren’t you?’ said Lisa. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so? I recognized the accent.’
‘Yes; unmistakable, isn’t it,’ laughed Debbie. ‘But I don’t mind; why should I? You should hear my dad! He’s a real “Why aye, man!” So you’re from the south of Yorkshire?’
‘Yes, like my dad said; we have a market garden between Beverley and Hornsea. That’s why I’ve come here, to learn about the more technical side of things, you know? He wants me to be in charge of the greenhouses eventually … Anyway, we’d better get on with our lunch, hadn’t we?’
Lisa looked much more relaxed now. ‘I’m so glad you were here when we arrived,’ she said as they tucked into their impromptu meal of Debbie’s chicken and Lisa’s roast ham sandwiches. ‘I was feeling really scared and ready to burst into tears. I’ve never been away from home before; well, to live away, I mean.’
‘Neither have I,’ said Debbie. ‘But I think we’ll all be in the same boat. There are two more to come yet. I told Mrs Perkins – Rhoda – that I’d have the front bedroom. D’you want to share with me, seeing that we’ve already met one another?’
‘Yes, thank you; I’d like that,’ said Lisa. ‘That lady, Mrs Perkins, she seems a good sort, doesn’t she?’
‘Yes, and it all looks quite clean; we’ll have to look after ourselves, cooking and cleaning and everything.’
The view from the front bedroom was not a very inspiring one; a row of similar houses across the road. It was just as uninteresting from the back bedroom – they had a peep – consisting of back yards and the backs of the houses in the next street. The room was furnished in much the same way, but the bedspreads were blue instead of pink.
They had dined with their plates on their knees, sitting on the settee. No doubt when there were four of them they would use the table. They rinsed the plates and mugs under the tap, then found some rather worn pot towels in a corner cupboard near to the kitchen alcove. There were some wooden table mats there, too, and an iron. But where was the ironing board? They located it in the back bedroom propped up against the wardrobe.
‘Which bed do you want?’ asked Debbie.
‘I don’t mind,’ said Lisa. ‘You choose; you were here first.’ She seemed almost too eager to please, and not to assert herself. She would need to change, thought Debbie, or she might get put upon.
‘You have the one near the window then,’ said Debbie, ‘although there’s not much of a view.’
There were, however, two bedside cupboards in the same utility design as the other furniture, and lamps with parchment shades. They were, in fact, very well provided for. Debbie guessed it was the lap of luxury compared with some grotty bedsits she’d heard about. The wardrobe, though, was not likely to be adequate for two of them. They unpacked more or less in silence, taking out their skirts and jumpers, tee shirts and trousers and putting them on the wire hangers.
‘Gosh! We’ve nearly filled it,’ said Debbie. ‘We’d best shove them up a bit.’ There was a peg on the back of the door, though, for coats, and another row of pegs over the chest of drawers. There were four large drawers, so Lisa had the two top ones and Debbie the bottom two for their underwear and tights and odds and ends.
After they had emptied the cases they started on the boxes.
‘Oh, you’ve got one of those new cassette players,’ Lisa exclaimed. ‘How super!’
‘Yes; it was my special present when I was eighteen,’ said Debbie. ‘I’ve not got many tapes, though, yet. But we’ll all be able to listen to it, won’t we? It doesn’t look as though there’s a telly.’
‘I don’t watch the TV very much,’ replied Lisa. ‘My parents are rather fussy about what they watch. It was ages before they got one at all. They said it was a modern craze and that they weren’t going along with it just because everyone else did. But in the end they had to give in. My dad said they wanted it for the news and the current affairs programmes, and the nature films; he likes David Attenborough. They watch Dad’s Army though, and Morecambe and Wise. They try to pretend it’s not really their thing, but I’ve seen them laughing at it.’
‘Yes, my parents watch those as well,’ said Debbie, ‘and Steptoe and Son.’
‘Oh, they won’t watch that at any price!’ said Lisa. ‘“We draw the line at vulgarity,” my dad says.’
Debbie was quickly forming an opinion about her new friend’s upbringing, and the influence of her parents. She had noticed that the clothes that Lisa took out of her case were rather old-fashioned: home-made jumpers and cardigans, and skirts that looked to be knee-length, certainly not minis. She was wearing trousers, though, and a turtleneck sweater, which were the standard gear of most teenagers.
‘My parents are Methodists, you see,’ she told Debbie, ‘No drinking or gambling and all that. My dad’s a local preacher, quite well known in our area. He’s a good sort though … well, you’ve met him, haven’t you? Always very friendly and ready to help anybody. It was Dad who encouraged me to come here, though Mum wasn’t all that keen at first. I haven’t mixed very much with other people, only those at the chapel that we attend, and he thought it was time that I did. And he wants me to get this diploma. It’ll be a good advert for the business, you see.’
‘But you’ll be able to find a position anywhere you like, won’t you? In the future, I mean.’
‘Oh, they’ll expect me to stick around for a while … but who can tell what the future holds? D’you know, I was really dreading coming here.’ Lisa’s face broke into a broad smile as she looked at Debbie. ‘I nearly cried off at the last minute, but I feel much better now. I’m so glad I’ve met you, Debbie.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ replied Debbie. ‘So am I.’ She was looking forward to meeting the other two girls, though, whoever they might be. She was pleased to have helped Lisa to settle in, but she wanted to make other friends as well. She was relieved, really, that it would not be just the two of them sharing the flat.
‘Let’s have a look at your tapes then,’ said Lisa. ‘Oh, Cliff Richard; yes, I like him. My parents approve of him, too, because he’s a Christian! Adam Faith, Cilla Black … yes, I’ve seen them on Juke Box Jury occasionally. I watch it when my dad’s not there. The Beatles … yes, I like them as well.’
‘I’m not all that way out in my tastes,’ said Debbie. ‘I’ve never cared for the Rolling Stones. I like Herman’s Hermits, and Simon and Garfunkel; they’re my favourites. D’you mind if I put this poster of them up?’
‘No, I don’t mind; it’ll brighten the place up. I haven’t any posters, but I could bring a few ornaments back when I go home … Oh, you’ve got some brass band tapes, too. That’s all my dad ever listens to on our gramophone, with him being a Yorkshireman, you see; and Handel’s Messiah.’
Their conversation came to an end as the door to the flat was flung open, and there was Rhoda again. ‘Here they are, yer last two flatmates,’ she called. ‘I met ’em on t’ doorstep with all their luggage. You can come and give us a hand if you like.’
Two young women followed Rhoda into the room, one tall and one much shorter. The taller of the two put down her case and held out her hand.
‘How do you do?’ she said, in a voice that Debbie immediately labelled ‘posh’. ‘I’m Francesca, but I’m usually called Fran; Fran Rutherford.’
‘How do you do?’ replied Debbie, a little overawed. The young woman seemed so very self-assured. ‘I’m Debbie Hargreaves, and this is Lisa Dobson. We’ve only just met, about an hour ago. We were wondering when you’d turn up.’
‘How do you do?’ mumbled Lisa, as she shook the newcomer’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you …’
‘And I’m Karen,’ said the other girl smiling broadly. ‘Karen Stubbs. Hi there, you two.’ She had short ginger hair and a freckled face. She didn’t bother to shake hands. She looked jolly and friendly; just as self-confident as the other girl but in a different way. Debbie thought that Francesca’s name suited her; she looked very much a Francesca rather than a Fran. She was what Debbie thought of as statuesque, with long blonde hair swept back in a chignon.
‘We’ve just met on t’ doorstep,’ said Karen. ‘I got a taxi from t’ station. I’ve had a right carry-on, I can tell you, with all that luggage. Anyroad, we’re here now. But we could do with a hand with the luggage, like Rhoda said, if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course we’ll help,’ said Debbie. ‘We’re just about sorted out now, aren’t we, Lisa?’
‘Yes, we’ll come and help you,’ replied Lisa, looking rather in awe at the two newcomers.
Debbie smiled to herself. Chalk and cheese, those two new arrivals. All four of them, in fact, seemed to be very different sorts of personalities, no doubt from widely diverse backgrounds. It should all make for an interesting year.
‘My fiancé brought me,’ said Fran, ‘but he couldn’t stay. He had another appointment in Leeds. We’ve driven up from Cheshire; we had lunch before we set off.’
‘And I came on t’ train from Doncaster,’ said Karen. ‘I ate me sandwiches, so I’m OK for a while. I’m always hungry, though! P’raps we could have a cup of tea and a biscuit when we’re sorted out? Anyway, come on girls; let’s get cracking.’
‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ said Rhoda. ‘Give us a call if you need to know owt. Cheerio for now …’
Between them they carried up the remainder of the cases, bags and boxes, and a television set that Francesca had brought along. ‘Just a small black and white one,’ she said. ‘I expect you’re used to colour now, as I am, but it will suffice.’
The others didn’t reply to that. Debbie guessed that colour television was still pretty well unknown to them.
‘Will you two be OK in the back bedroom?’ asked Debbie. ‘There’s very little difference and … well … we chose the other one.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Karen. ‘First come, first served.’
‘Yes, that suits me, too,’ said Fran. ‘One can’t expect home comforts, but it all seems quite adequate. But where’s the bathroom?’
‘A trek along the corridor outside the flat,’ Debbie told her. ‘Hot water twice a day, so Rhoda told us. I think we’ll have to make a rota for our morning wash, and for baths, or else we’ll be queuing up.’
‘I usually have a shower,’ said Fran. ‘But I don’t suppose there’s one here? That would be too much to ask for.’
‘No, I didn’t notice one,’ replied Debbie. They didn’t have such a thing as a shower at home. She had been brought up as a child with the ‘Friday night is bath night’ routine, until she had convinced her mother that it was not unusual to have a bath more often than that: every day, in fact.
‘Depends on who’s up with the lark,’ said Karen. ‘I don’t mind having an early turn ’cause I’m used to it. There are five of us at home, as well as me mam and dad, at least there was until me sister moved out a month ago. I reckon we’ll manage OK.’
‘You two unpack, and I’ll make some more tea,’ said Debbie. ‘Then maybe we could find a shop and get some bread and milk, and whatever else we need.’
‘Do you want to be our housekeeper, then?’ suggested Karen. ‘You know, in charge of food supplies an’ all that?’
‘No, not really,’ laughed Debbie. ‘I’m not used to running a house any more than anyone else; probably not as much.’ She guessed that Karen, from a large family, would have had to do her share. And Fran; did she have her own place?
They learnt more about each other later when the packing was done and they sat nursing mugs of tea and munching chocolate digestive biscuits that Fran had brought.
Fran lived with her parents near Macclesfield. They had converted the upstairs rooms so that she had her own self-contained flat. She implied, however, that she spent a good deal of time at her fiancé’s flat. He was part-owner of a firm of landscape gardeners. She would be working for them as a designer when she had completed her landscaping course. Until recently she had worked in a florist’s shop. She was twenty years of age, some two years older than the rest of the girls.
Karen had been working at a garden centre for the past two years, since she left school at the age of sixteen. Unlike Debbie’s though, hers had been a full-time job. She had shown such promise that her employer had suggested she should go on a course to learn more about horticulture in general. The government grants were quite generous, but there were additional expenses which some parents could not afford. Karen admitted, unashamedly, that her parents could not do so, and that her boss was giving her a generous allowance.
‘He must think a lot of you,’ said Debbie.
‘Oh, he does that!’ said Karen. ‘Charlie’s a grand bloke …’ She smiled, as though he meant a lot to her. ‘And I’ve a job to go back to an’ all. I shall be in charge of all the greenhouses. We grow plants and flowers all through the year, in and out of season, and send ’em all over the country.’
At present she lived at home on a large housing estate near Doncaster. The garden centre was a couple of miles away – just a bike ride – but she intended to find a place to live nearer to her work when she returned. And Debbie knew that Lisa had a job to return to in her father’s market garden. So she, Debbie, was the only one who would need to find employment when she had finished her course. She knew that Mr Hill, her previous employer, would be pleased to have her back, although he had been the one who had advised her to use her talent for design, and consider a career in landscape gardening. Who could tell, though, what the future might bring? As yet she hadn’t even started her course.
Between them they had brought enough provisions to see them easily through the next few weeks. The kitchen cupboard was now filled with tinned goods; salmon, fruit, corned beef, spam, baked beans and spaghetti, as well as biscuits, tea bags and instant coffee. It was the perishable, day to day items, that were missing.
They decided, as Debbie had suggested, to go shopping. They found that the nearest supermarket was a Tesco, not all that far away. Debbie and Lisa carried the wire baskets, and they browsed around the shelves stocking up with long-life milk, butter, low fat spread – requested by Fran – eggs, bacon, cornflakes, and bread, both sliced and unsliced.
‘I’ll pay,’ offered Fran, ‘then you can settle up with me later.’
Armed with a plastic carrier bag each, they walked back to their new home. They divided the bill into four, and decided they should do that every time they went shopping.
‘Now, who’s going to volunteer to cook a meal?’ said Fran. The others stared at her as though it hadn’t occurred to them.
‘Well, we do need to eat, don’t we?’ she went on. ‘I’m starving! I’m supposed to be slimming, but I’m going to forget that for today. Come along, girls; don’t all speak at once!’
‘Couldn’t we all do it?’ suggested Debbie, not wanting to admit that she was no great shakes in the kitchen.
‘There’s not enough room in that cubbyhole,’ said Karen. ‘I don’t mind; I’m used to taking my turn at home. You won’t get owt fancy, though. How about bacon and eggs? And we’ve got some baked beans. Are there any pans, though?’
‘Oh crumbs! We never thought about that,’ said Debbie. ‘There must be some, somewhere.’
They found them right at the back of the cupboard behind the iron and the plates and dishes; a rather wobbly
frying pan and two saucepans which looked as thought they might be non-stick.
‘Let’s be civilized and set the table, shall we?’ said Fran. ‘Start as we mean to go on.’ She was the one who would be least likely to want to rough it, although Debbie was deciding that she liked her. Maybe she was not as posh and self-important as she had seemed to be at first.
They had found a checked tablecloth and some table mats, so whilst Karen and Fran started to prepare their first meal, Debbie and Lisa set the table.
‘There’s no salt or pepper,’ said Debbie, ‘at least I can’t see any. Oh dear! We’ll have to make a list of things we need and get them next time we go shopping.’
In the kitchen the two cooks had discovered that there was no lard or cooking fat, but why should there be? They were supposed to be catering for themselves. They made do with margarine to fry the eggs, and they grilled the bacon.
‘We must remember the more pans we use, the more there are to wash up,’ said Fran, looking aghast at the mountain of pans already piled up in the small sink. ‘We’ll have to choose something simpler in future.’
‘Bread and jam,’ laughed Karen. ‘That’s a standby in our house.’
‘We might manage cheese on toast, or sardines, or spaghetti,’ said Fran. ‘Oh damn! We’ve forgotten to warm the plates. One thing I can’t stand is cold plates.’
‘Ne’er mind; we’ll do better next time,’ said Karen. ‘Grub up, you two!’ she called to the others. ‘Come and get it.’
Despite the inadequacies of the meal they all tucked in and thoroughly enjoyed it. They had found a large brown earthenware teapot, so there was plenty of tea, and bread and butter. They finished off the meal with slices of the fruitcake that Fiona had packed for Debbie.
They found out more about each other as they dined. Fran, as they already knew, was engaged – she was wearing a diamond and sapphire ring – and she said that she would most likely spend some of her weekends in Cheshire, if her fiancé, Ralph, was able to come and collect her.
Debbie told them that she had a boyfriend – of sorts – but that it wasn’t anything serious. Karen was rather coy about her love life. Yes, she said; there was someone, but it was complicated. Debbie wondered, reading between the lines, if it was her boss, Charlie, whom she had said was so good to her, paying for her expenses on the course and promising her a promotion when she returned. Why, though, was it complicated? Could he possibly be married? If so she was courting disaster, but Debbie decided it wasn’t any of her business.
Old Friends, New Friends Page 6
