Old Friends, New Friends

by Margaret Thornton

  Karen was excited about the thought of going home to Doncaster and seeing Charlie again. She seemed to be very hopeful about the outcome of this weekend. And Lisa had confided to Debbie that she had mixed feelings about going home to Beverley to see her parents again.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ she said to Debbie, one evening when the two of them were alone in the flat. ‘Of course I’m looking forward to seeing them again. Mum says it seems like ages since she saw me. We’ve never been apart for so long before, and I have missed them both … But not as much as I thought I would,’ she added, with a shy smile.

  ‘Do you mean because of Neil?’ asked Debbie, smiling at her understandingly.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lisa softly. ‘I really do like him a lot, Debbie.’ Her pale cheeks turned pink, and her blue eyes glowed with happiness. ‘And I think I’ll have to tell Mum and Dad about him. They know me so well you see, and if I don’t say anything they’ll know I’m hiding something from them. I’m not very good at – what’s the word? – dissembling. I’m afraid I’m an open book, and I know they’ll start quizzing me. “What’s the matter, Lisa? There’s something you’re not telling us, isn’t there?” I can just imagine it …’

  ‘Do you mean because Neil’s a Catholic?’ asked Debbie. ‘I don’t see that it matters. He does go to church, doesn’t he? And that’s what your parents think is important. It’s more than a lot of young men do. And we’re all … well, we all worship the same God, don’t we, no matter which church we go to?’

  Debbie, in fact, had not been to church since coming to Leeds, although she had attended the local church at home, when she had not been working at the garden centre. She still believed in God. How could she not do so when she was continually surrounded by the works of His creation? Each day she learnt more and more, in her studies, about nature and God’s wonderful world, although God, of course, was never mentioned at the college lectures. She didn’t see, though, why there had to be such an issue made about it all. What did it matter which church you attended, or whether you went to one at all?

  Lisa was such a good girl. She, of the four of them, was the only one who had kept up the Sunday tradition. She had sought out the nearest Methodist church and had gone there for either the morning or the evening service: not every Sunday but often enough, Debbie imagined, to appease her parents.

  ‘Try telling my parents that,’ said Lisa, in answer to Debbie’s remark. ‘They worship the Methodist God, and they believe that’s the only one! They tolerate the Church of England, provided it’s not too “high”, and other nonconformist churches. But Roman Catholics – I’m afraid they’re taboo!’

  ‘Yes … I suppose I see your problem,’ said Debbie, although she didn’t, not really. Simon was a perfect example of a tolerant vicar. She knew he had friends and acquaintances amongst both the Methodist and the Roman Catholic clergy, and was open-minded about the beliefs of others whilst defending the line of churchmanship that he followed.

  That first evening, when the girls had gone to the pub with the young men from downstairs, Lisa had met Neil O’Brien. They were both inclined to be shy and not very talkative. That was why, when they did begin talking together, they found they had a lot in common. Thy discovered that they would be attending several of the same lectures on such subjects as greenhouse maintenance, fruit and vegetable growing, and flower and bulb production. Neil, like Lisa, had worked in a market garden and had come on the course to further his knowledge. Their friendship had started slowly; it was not until a few weeks had passed and they knew one another better, that Neil had asked Lisa to go out with him.

  It was clear to the other girls, seeing the new sparkle in her eyes and the radiance on her face – she looked so much prettier now – that Lisa was captivated by Neil. Debbie knew that Lisa had confided in her, more than the other two, about her budding relationship with him. Debbie was flattered that it was so, although she was no great expert on affairs of the heart.

  ‘I’ve never had a boyfriend before,’ Lisa told her. ‘I hardly knew any boys at all. I used to hear the girls at school talking about all the boys they’d been out with. I felt a bit silly because I didn’t have one. My best friend in the sixth form, Lindsay – she’s gone away to training college now – she was just the same as me. She hadn’t been out with any boys either. We used to hear them talking, and we felt they were showing off sometimes about … well, about how far they’d gone; you know what I mean?’ Lisa had gone pink and was almost whispering.

  ‘Yes, I do know,’ said Debbie, nodding. She laughed. ‘They were just the same at my school; it was a co-ed school, so there might have been some truth in it; I don’t know. I had a boyfriend – I told you about Kevin – but there was nothing like that with him and me. My friend Shirley and me, we thought they were just showing off, trying to go one better than one another.’

  She was surprised that Lisa had mentioned the subject. She had wondered whether her new friend might be naive about such matters, but apparently she did know a thing or two.

  ‘I do know a bit about … sex.’ Lisa spoke the word in a hushed tone. ‘About what goes on and all that. But not from my mother! I think she’d run a mile rather than mention it. She told me about periods and everything, but I could tell she was embarrassed. I just found out the rest for myself; talking about it with Lindsay, and then there were the things that they show on the telly … although my mum turns it off if there’s anything too suggestive.’

  ‘It seems as though mothers are all the same,’ said Debbie. ‘My mother didn’t tell me much either; although she’s been more outspoken since I met Fiona.’ Debbie had told the girls about her birth mother – her other family – when she had felt she knew them well enough. ‘I know Mum worries about me, though – Vera, I mean; she’s the one I call Mum. I suppose all mothers worry about that. But Fiona told me what happened to her, how I was conceived and how easily it happened; and I shall try to be aware of that. I haven’t – you know – done … that. Some girls seem to think it’s a sign of being grown-up, an achievement, a milestone … you know what I mean, but I’m sure I’d be too scared.’

  ‘I didn’t even know what it was like to kiss somebody; kiss them properly, I mean, till I met Neil.’ She blushed hotly as she said it. ‘But … well, it’s nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘Very nice, yes!’ Debbie laughed. Lisa was such a sweet and innocent girl. ‘I’m glad you’re getting on so well with Neil. You two are very well suited.’

  Neil O’Brien was the quiet one of the three young men; not tall or handsome, but pleasant-looking with fairish floppy hair and serious grey eyes behind tortoiseshell rimmed glasses that he wore a lot of the time,

  ‘Yes, we do get on well together,’ agreed Lisa. ‘He doesn’t seem to think it matters about the religious thing. His father’s Irish, as you can tell from the name. The family moved to England ages ago – at the time of the potato famine, I think – and settled near York. They were farming people, and Neil’s dad has carried on the tradition. He has his own market garden near to Malton. Strange, isn’t it? Just like my dad. Neil’s the only son, so he’ll follow his father into the business. His mother wasn’t a Catholic. She “turned”, as they say, when they got married, but from what Neil says, she doesn’t go along with it all. He was brought up as a Catholic because they have to promise they’ll bring the children up that way. So I suppose she’ll understand what it’s like and be more tolerant than my parents … Neil’s invited me to go and meet them sometime; but I’ll have to see how it goes with my mum and dad.’

  Lisa loved talking about him. She was never so vociferous as when she was talking about Neil; but it was Debbie she talked with, more than the other two. Debbie hoped that all would go well for her. He was her first boyfriend, but it did seem to be a ‘match made in heaven’, as the saying went. Depending on which heaven, of course. She hoped that all the people concerned would come to realize that there was only one.

  ‘I think you should pluck up courage to tel
l your parents about Neil,’ Debbie advised her, just before they were due to go home for the long weekend. ‘You never know; they might be perfectly all right about it. Anyone can see how much happier you are now. You’re quite a different girl from the one you were when you came here. Surely they’ll be pleased that you’ve met a nice young man?’

  ‘Pigs might fly!’ replied Lisa.

  Seven

  Debbie’s lectures finished by mid-afternoon on the Thursday, so she was able to catch a service bus at the bus station in Leeds for the comparatively short journey to Aberthwaite; it took less than two hours.

  She had been invited to stay for four nights with Fiona and Simon and their family. She had tried to argue that it was too long; not that she didn’t wish to stay so long, but she was afraid to overstay her welcome. She got the impression, though, that Fiona wanted her there.

  Her parents had made no objection to her spending the long weekend in Aberthwaite rather than Whitesands Bay. She would have had to spend the best part of two days travelling, and lectures started again early on the Tuesday morning. Besides, her mother had said that she and ‘Daddy’ were going on a coach tour to the Scottish Highlands at the end of October and would be arriving back just as Debbie started her mid-term break. Debbie was pleased that her parents had started to make a life of their own since she went away. It would be the first time they had spent a holiday without her. They had always insisted on her accompanying them on their visits to other seaside resorts, such as Scarborough, Whitby or Filey. So this would be a real change of scenery for them. It was good that they were not centring their lives around her as they had done in the past. And she, too, was relieved to have broken away from the apron strings.

  It was Simon, on his own, who met her at the bus station at the far end of Aberthwaite. Dusk was falling rapidly by that time. He was waiting when she alighted from the bus, and it was good to see his smiling face. She hoped it meant that he was not as anxious as he had seemed the last time she had spoken to him on the phone.

  ‘Hello, Debbie; great to see you again.’ He gave her a friendly hug and kissed her cheek. ‘Here, let me take your bag.’ She didn’t have much luggage; only underwear and a change of clothing, and presents for all the family, including birthday presents for the triplets.

  Simon hadn’t brought the car as it was only about ten minutes’ walk to the rectory, through the town centre and the market square, all closed down now as it was six thirty in the evening.

  ‘How is Fiona?’ asked Debbie, her very first question. ‘I hope she’s feeling better now. I couldn’t tell when I spoke to her on the phone. She said she had someone to help her with the children now, so that will be better for her, won’t it?’ Actually, Debbie had thought that Fiona had not sounded too happy about the arrangement, but she didn’t say so now to Simon.

  It was a few moments before he replied. ‘Yes … indeed it should be better for her. Glenda’s a great help, from what I can see, although I’m not there all the time, of course. But … Fiona doesn’t seem to have taken to her, for some reason.’

  ‘Is she young, like Paula was?’ asked Debbie. ‘She and Fiona got on so well together, didn’t they?’

  ‘Yes, so they did, and I know that Fiona misses her a lot … No; Glenda’s an older woman. Well, not really old,’ he added with a smile. ‘A year or two younger than me. We’ve got a new curate now,’ he went on. ‘He’s an older man – mid-forties – but new to the ministry. This is his first placement, and he seems to be settling in very well. So does his wife. Gilbert and Norma Henderson; that’s what they’re called. They have two children, both away at university. And Glenda is Norma’s sister.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Debbie, sensing some sort of mystery. ‘So, is she a full-time helper, living with you? Or is she with her sister?’

  ‘Oh no; she doesn’t live in with us. She’s living with Gilbert and Norma at the moment, but she’s looking out for a flat of her own. They’re not supposed to have lodgers at the curate’s house, although she is family, of course. We’ll have to see how things work out.’

  Debbie realized that it might be as well to let this subject drop. It did seem to be a pretty emotive one. Fiona would be able to put her more clearly in the picture, that was if she felt like talking about it. She decided to change the subject.

  ‘And how are the triplets?’ she asked. ‘Are they looking forward to their birthday? Although I suppose they’re rather too young to understand much about it, aren’t they?’

  Simon laughed. ‘I think Stella is the one who’s the most excited. She keeps telling them, “You’ll be two years old on Tuesday; it’s your birthday!” Matthew and Michelle … well, I don’t suppose they really understand, but they’ve got hold of the word “birthday” and they keep saying it. Mark just smiles. He’s not as forward as the other two; he never has been. I know Fiona worries about it a lot, but I keep telling her that children don’t all progress at the same rate, even though they’re born at the same time. Mark’s a happy little boy, though, and he’s certainly not as much trouble as Matthew. He’s a little terror, that one! He’s certainly more than one body’s work.’ He made no further comment, however, about the new helper.

  After a moment he went on to say, ‘We’re having the children’s party on Saturday instead of Tuesday, so that you can be there with us, Debbie.’

  ‘Oh, how lovely!’ she said. ‘I’m glad about that.’ It was the same weekend, of course, the one that was usually the half-term break, as it had been two years ago when she had been in the sixth form. The three babies had been born on the Sunday.

  ‘Not a big party,’ he explained. ‘Just one or two friends of ours, and a special friend of Stella’s from her nursery school. Saturday’s a good day; Sunday would be too hectic, and Tuesday’s an ordinary working day for most folk. We were pleased when we realized your break would coincide again. It’s a pity the other two can’t be with us; Greg and Graham, I mean.’

  ‘I’ve seen Graham a couple of times,’ said Debbie, not wanting to make too much of their budding friendship. ‘He looked me up at the flat; he said you’d given him my address.’

  ‘Yes, so we did. It’s nice to see a familiar face when you move to somewhere new. I expect you’ve settled down nicely, though, by now, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, we’re having a great time, the four of us. We’re all different but we get along really well together. It’s much better than I thought it would be, and I’m enjoying the course. I feel I’ve made the right decision, although I don’t know yet what I’ll be doing when I finish. Some of the others already have jobs to go to.’

  ‘I’m sure something will turn up,’ said Simon. ‘I’m glad it’s working out well for you. So … here we are.’

  They turned in at the gate of the rectory. The rowan tree still held clusters of red berries; the leaves had turned golden brown, raining down on to the path. A few late roses, the last roses of summer, bloomed on the bushes that bordered the path. Debbie experienced again the feeling that she was coming home. And there was Fiona opening the door to greet them with Stella, as usual, at her side.

  ‘Hello, Debbie,’ said Stella. ‘Mummy says I can stay up late tonight ’cause you’re here. An’ I’m going to have my tea with you ‘stead of with the little ones.’

  ‘Well, that’s lovely,’ said Debbie, bending down to kiss the little girl. Then she put an arm round Fiona and kissed her cheek. ‘Good to see you again, Fiona.’ she said. She decided not to ask her how she was feeling. Fiona looked well enough; she had not lost any weight and she was smiling as though she was pleased to see her visitor.

  ‘Good see you too,’ she replied. ‘I’ve been looking forward to you coming – you don’t know how much!’ she added in an undertone. ‘Anyway, come and sit down and talk to Stella for a few minutes, while I finish off the meal. Simon, would you take Debbie’s coat and bag upstairs, please?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Make yourself at home, Debbie.’

  Th
ere was an appetizing smell coming from the kitchen. Debbie thought it would be best not to say that she had eaten before she set off. She had just made a quick sandwich, not knowing whether or not her hosts would already have eaten. But it smelled so good she was feeling hungry again.

  ‘It’s chicken,’ said Stella, as they went into the sitting room. ‘Mummy says it’s one of your favourite things, and I like it, too. And there’s apple pie and cream for after. Mummy bought that, though, from the baker’s in town. I went with her this afternoon.’

  Debbie laughed. ‘You’re giving away secrets, young lady! Mummy doesn’t have as much time to bake as she used to, with looking after the babies. Well, they’re not really babies any more, are they?’

  ‘No, they’ll be two on Tuesday, and we’re having a party on Saturday. My friend, Susan is coming.’

  ‘Yes, your daddy was telling me about it. Are they in bed now, your little brothers and sister?’

  ‘Yes; you’ll be able to see them in the morning. Aunty Glenda helped Mummy to bath them, then she went home.’

  ‘That’s the lady who comes to help Mummy, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, she comes in the morning, then she goes home when she’s helped Mummy to bath the little ones and put them to bed. She comes to see to the little ones, really, but she sometimes takes me to nursery school and picks me up at dinner time, ’pending on what Mummy wants her to do.’

  ‘Oh, I see. And do you like her, your … Aunty Glenda?’ Debbie asked tentatively.

  Stella wrinkled her nose. ‘Yes, she’s alright. I liked Paula best though. She’s gone to college to learn to be a proper nanny. I know Mummy wishes she was still here.’

  ‘Yes, I expect she does,’ said Debbie, sensing again that something was not quite right. ‘That chicken smells good, doesn’t it, Stella? I’m just popping up to the bathroom to have a wash before we have our tea.’