Old Friends, New Friends

by Margaret Thornton

  ‘And why not?’ said Debbie. ‘They’re usually made from a packet anyway, and this is just as good as any home-made one.’ Lemon meringue pie was another very popular dish of the time, but most housewives relied on the easy packet variety.

  Graham did accept her offer to help to clear the pots, but not to wash up. ‘I’ll leave them till morning,’ he said, stacking them all neatly at the side of the sink and putting the casserole dish to soak. Debbie reflected again that he was a very tidy-minded young man. ‘Mark and I usually have a lazy Sunday morning with the papers, after we’ve had our bacon and eggs, our weekly treat.’

  ‘You’ll have a mountain of washing up,’ Debbie observed, but he was determined to leave it.

  ‘All the more time to spend with you,’ he said, smiling at her. Debbie wondered what he had in mind. ‘Coffee?’ he asked. ‘It’s only instant, but I’ll make some if you like?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ she replied. ‘I really couldn’t manage another thing to eat or drink. Perhaps … later.’

  ‘Later then,’ he agreed. ‘Come and sit down, Debbie, and make yourself at home.’

  They sat side by side on the settee as before. Graham drummed his fingers on his knee as if unsure what to do next. Then, ‘Shall we listen to some music?’ he asked.

  She had noticed there was some up-to-date stereo equipment at the side of the fireplace. ‘Yes, I’d like that,’ she replied. ‘Is that yours?’ She pointed to the box and the twin speakers, far more complicated than anything she had seen before; a far cry from her old Dansette gramophone or even her more modern cassette player.

  ‘Yes, it’s mine,’ he answered with some pride. ‘It was the first thing I bought after I’d started earning. It plays records and tapes as well. Er … shall we listen to some band music first?’

  She laughed. ‘Of course! What else?’

  He put in a cassette of the famous Brighouse and Raistrick band playing a selection of well-known favourites: traditional marches, opera, ballet and Gilbert and Sullivan. Graham hummed and tapped his foot in time to the music, to the catchy rhythms of ‘Blaze Away’ and ‘Marching Through Georgia’. After a few moments he glanced sideways at Debbie and put his arm round her. She, daringly, snuggled closer towards him, resting her head on his shoulder. He turned to look at her for a moment, then he kissed her, gently at first, then more eagerly as she responded to him. They exchanged a few ardent kisses and embraces, then he drew away from her, sitting back and listening intently to the music.

  ‘This is one of my favourites,’ he remarked as they listened to Sullivan’s overture to Iolanthe.

  ‘Yes, that’s my favourite of all their operas,’ she agreed. They sat hand in hand enjoying the melodies. In a few moments he put his arm around her, holding her closely. They began to kiss as the band played on … Debbie recognized some ballet music – Dance of the Hours, she thought – then a couple of operatic arias, just the melodies, of course.

  It was the first time that he had kissed her like this. She felt herself warming to his embraces, feeling roused in a way she had not experienced before with Graham. Then, once again, he drew apart from her. The band was playing a melody that sounded familiar, although she couldn’t put a name to it. She glanced at Graham. He was smiling beatifically, but she realized that it was at the music, and not at her.

  ‘This is the duet from The Pearl Fishers by Bizet,’ he told her. ‘A haunting melody, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes … so it is,’ she agreed. ‘Very … very lovely music. I’ve heard it before but I didn’t know what it was.’ She was bemused, not knowing what to make of Graham, or of his feelings towards her. She had thought that the music might have been intended as a background to … what? To their relationship taking a step further, to Graham making more intimate moves? She had been starting to feel that she was ready, even willing for this, but he seemed to have other things on his mind as well. She could not help but feel a little amused, but somewhat affronted as well.

  ‘I’m learning to play this piece on my French horn,’ he told her, the enthusiasm showing in his voice. ‘It lends itself well to the rich tones of the French horn.’

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘I can imagine that … it would.’ It seemed that his cautious lovemaking, if that was what you could call it, had come to an end for the moment.

  She remembered about his intention to join a newly formed brass band in the area, and she asked him about it. He was only too eager to tell her how he had gone along on Thursday evening to the meeting in a church hall in Leeds; how he had been warmly welcomed as they had only one more French horn player so far. He was well into his stride now …

  ‘The French horn is the link, you see, between the woodwind and the brass instruments. It has a mellow tone and it can blend with all kinds of instruments. It’s good as a backing for the rhythm sections as well. Yes … I enjoyed my first session with them, very much indeed.’

  ‘So you’ll be going again next week?’

  ‘Rather! I’m looking forward to it. They seem like a good crowd of blokes, very friendly, and it’s so nice to meet other people with the same interest.’

  ‘All men, are they?’ asked Debbie.

  ‘Well, there are a couple of girls, actually. One of them plays the French horn, like me, and the other plays the clarinet. It used to be an all-male province, you know, the brass band; but nowadays they’re starting to include women.’

  Debbie smiled. ‘Women’s rights!’

  ‘Yes, of course. And the bands are no longer attached solely to collieries and mills as they used to be. That’s good, because they’re attracting people from all walks of life.’

  ‘And has your band got a name?’ asked Debbie.

  ‘Not yet; we’re trying to think of something suitable. Have you any ideas?’

  ‘Me? No! It’s not really down to me, is it?’ She found the idea of him consulting her rather amusing.

  ‘No, maybe not. But I thought you might be interested, Debbie. You’ll come to our first concert, won’t you?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ she answered. ‘I shall look forward to hearing you play.’

  ‘I could play for you now,’ he suggested. ‘Would you like to hear me, Debbie?’ He sounded like a little boy, dying to play his party piece. ‘Like I said, I’m just learning The Pearl Fishers’ duet. I could do with some practice.’

  Debbie tried to keep a straight face. ‘That would be lovely, Graham,’ she told him, smiling at him, but trying to stem the laughter bubbling up inside her.

  He opened his instrument case and took out the French horn. He put up a music stand and placed a copy of music on it. Then he gave the instrument a quick polish, and blew one or two experimental notes. When he began to play she realized that he was quite proficient, at least as far as she could tell. It was a lilting melody, and sounded well suited to the mellow tones of the French horn. He fluffed one or two notes, but on the whole it sounded good. When he stopped playing he looked at her expectantly.

  She applauded. ‘Well done!’ she said. ‘You don’t sound like a learner to me.’

  ‘The trill was a bit wobbly,’ he replied, ‘but I’ll get it right in time. Now … shall I put on another tape, or a record. Your choice this time. What would you like?’

  ‘Oh … have you got Simon and Garfunkel?’ she asked. She had heard enough of brass bands for the moment.

  ‘Indeed I have.’ He put on a long-playing record, then sat down beside her again.

  He put his arm round her and kissed her several times whilst the duo sang about the bridge over troubled waters. He got up and turned the volume lower. When he sat down again he took hold of her hand. ‘Debbie,’ he began, ‘I would like to go on seeing you, and I hope you want to continue with our friendship?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do,’ she replied, feeling a little bewildered.

  ‘What I mean is … I don’t want to rush things,’ he said. ‘I like you very much; I’m growing very fond of you, but I want us to take things slowly. I
want to be very sure, you see … and I want you to feel sure as well.’

  ‘Yes, I understand, Graham,’ she replied, not altogether sure whether she did or not. She had realized that he was a very serious young man, certainly not one to throw caution to the winds. That suited her fine, for the moment; at least she thought it did. She didn’t want to rush into a mad frenzy of lovemaking; but was Graham being altogether too circumspect? She liked him, though, and enjoyed his company. ‘Yes, that’s OK,’ she said. ‘I enjoy being with you, and we seem to get on quite well, don’t we? Let’s just see how things go, shall we?’

  ‘That suits me.’ He smiled at her, then kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll go and make us some coffee, then I’ll see you safely home.’

  She told him there was no need. It was not too late and she could easily get a bus back. But when they had drunk their coffee he insisted on going with her. It was a fine, clear night so they walked the mile or so back to Debbie’s flat.

  ‘It’s been a lovely evening, Graham,’ she said when they reached her gate. ‘Thank you very much for inviting me; for the meal … and everything.’

  ‘The pleasure is all mine,’ he replied. ‘Thank you for coming, Debbie. It’s been great.’ He kissed her on the lips, holding her close for a moment. ‘Goodnight, Debbie. See you soon,’ he whispered. Then he turned and walked away quickly.

  Karen was still up watching the television. ‘Hello,’ she said, sounding surprised. ‘You’re back early. It’s only just turned eleven. The others aren’t back yet.’

  ‘Oh, I think it’s quite late enough for Graham,’ said Debbie with a wry smile.

  Karen got up and turned off the TV. ‘I’ve seen enough of that,’ she said, putting an end to the late-night chat show. ‘It’s a load of waffle. Now –’ she patted the seat next to her – ‘how did to go? Tell me all …’

  Debbie took off her coat and flung it over a chair back. She sat down, then she started to laugh. ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she said, shaking her head. She wiped tears from her eyes, but they were tears of merriment, not of sorrow.

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Karen was all agog. ‘He didn’t … try anything? You’re just the same as you were when you went out?’ Trust Karen to get to the nitty gritty!

  ‘Absolutely,’ replied Debbie. ‘You might say that I played second fiddle to the French horn, if you forgive the pun!’

  ‘What?’ Karen frowned. ‘What the heck are you talking about?’

  ‘He played the French horn for me,’ said Debbie, collapsing into another fit of giggles. ‘Honestly! That’s what we did all the evening. Listened to music, than he played his bloody French horn!’ Debbie very rarely swore, but it just came out. It seemed so funny now when she looked back on it.

  They were still laughing a few moments later when Fran and Lisa returned, both of them coming in at the same time.

  ‘What are you two laughing at?’ enquired Fran.

  ‘Oh … nothing much,’ replied Debbie. She glanced at Karen, frowning a little and shaking her head to warn her not to say anything. She didn’t feel like telling the other two – not at the moment at any rate – about her evening with Graham. It seemed unkind, somehow, to be laughing so much at his expense. He was, after all, a very nice young man, kind and considerate, if a little staid and overcautious. ‘We were just having a giddy five minutes, weren’t we, Karen?’ she added in explanation.

  ‘That’s right,’ Karen said nodding. ‘What about you two? Have you had a good time?’

  ‘Oh yes; it was lovely,’ answered Lisa, starry-eyed as she always was after an evening with Neil.

  ‘Enjoyed your bag of chips, did you?’ asked Debbie, smiling at her friend. Lisa was such a love that you felt you wanted to mother her. She did hope that things would work out all right for her and Neil despite her father’s opposition.

  ‘Oh yes. We decided we were both feeling hungry, so we went and had haddock and chips – and mushy peas as well! – at that big chip shop near to City Square.’

  ‘Wow! Talk about living it up!’ remarked Karen. ‘What about you, Fran?’

  Fran was smiling a little complacently. Debbie guessed that she and Alistair would not have partaken of such a plebeian meal.

  ‘We went to that new Italian place on the Headrow,’ said Fran. ‘They have a wide-ranging menu there, not just Italian food, but when in Rome, you know … It’s quite expensive, of course, but Alistair is something of a gourmet; he likes to try new places.’

  ‘It all met with your approval then?’ asked Debbie, trying not to smile.

  ‘Very much so. He’s good company as well,’ replied Fran.

  ‘You’ll be seeing him again then?’ asked Karen. ‘Apart from at college, I mean?’

  ‘I hope so … Yes I expect I will,’ said Fran, guardedly. ‘Well, I’m off to bed now; I don’t know about the rest of you …’

  The others followed suit, each of them wrapped up in their own thoughts.

  Twelve

  ‘I did warn you that you might be asking for trouble,’ Gilbert Henderson, the curate of St Peter’s, remarked to his wife, ‘when you suggested that Glenda should come and look after the children at the rectory. And it looks as though I was quite right to be concerned.’

  ‘But I thought she’d learnt her lesson, really I did,’ replied Norma. ‘It’s ages since that unfortunate episode. How long is it now? It must be seven or eight years ago.’

  ‘You did a good job of trying to convince me that your sister had changed her ways. But it seems that a leopard doesn’t change its spots, as the saying goes.’ Gilbert had raised his voice and he sounded quite cross. ‘I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt – I agree that she’s good at her job – but she’s getting herself talked about. You must know that as well as I do, Norma.’

  This conversation was taking place on a Sunday in late November, following the morning service, whilst the Hendersons were having their lunch. Norma knew that her husband was right. She was sorry now that she had been so insistent that Glenda would be the ideal person to help Fiona Norwood with her children. She had done an excellent job at the nursery where she had been employed for several years, and her references when the place closed down had been impeccable. No one there, of course, had known anything of her reputation with the opposite sex. It would have had no bearing on her ability to do her job anyway. And Norma had really believed that her sister had changed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Gilbert,’ she said now. He was usually so even-tempered, and she hated him to be upset, especially if her actions had been the cause of it. ‘Maybe I should have thought more about what I was suggesting. I do realize, of course, that Simon is a very charismatic sort of man. I dare say he’s already had a few female hearts fluttering in the parish if we knew it all. But he’s got a lovely wife. Fiona’s not only lovely to look at; she’s such a nice person as well. And it’s obvious that she and Simon think the world of one another.’

  ‘I’ve noticed a bit of tension between them lately,’ remarked Gilbert. ‘And Fiona looks very tired and fed up sometimes.’

  ‘It’s not to be wondered at with those triplets,’ replied Norma. ‘They’re more than one body’s work. Glenda says they’re quite a handful, especially Matthew. He’s a little tearaway! And Mark, bless him, he’s not coming on quite as well as he might. I don’t wonder that Fiona looks exhausted.’

  ‘But she shouldn’t, should she?’ retorted Gilbert. ‘Not now she’s got Glenda helping her. But it seems that my dear sister-in-law has done more harm than good in that family. It’s noticeable that the two of them – Fiona and Glenda – don’t hit it off all that well, and it’s not surprising if Glenda’s trying to pinch her husband!’

  ‘Oh, surely not, Gilbert! She wouldn’t go so far, would she? I know she can be flirtatious. She likes the company of men – although I really did think she’d calmed down – but she’d draw the line at the rector, surely?’

  ‘You should have seen her today, fussing around him after the serv
ice. She came into the vestry when he was disrobing – taking off his surplice, I mean, nothing else!’ He did manage a grin. ‘Although I bet she wouldn’t mind if it was more than his surplice!’

  ‘He wouldn’t! Not Simon. He should tell her if he thinks she’s getting too friendly. He must have noticed if other people have.’

  ‘So you are admitting it, Norma? You are aware of it, aren’t you? Has anybody said anything to you?’

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact they have,’ said Norma. She had not wanted to admit that she might have made a big mistake in inviting her sister to come to Aberthwaite. ‘Joan Tweedale – she’s a very good friend to Fiona – she mentioned that Fiona was getting worried about the friendship between her husband and Glenda. But Joan has tried to tell her that Simon is just being nice and friendly – as he always is with everyone – and that there’s no need to worry. And apparently Fiona had confided in Debbie when she came a few weeks ago. It seems that Fiona and her daughter are very close; more like sisters or friends. Anyway, Joan says that Debbie told her that Fiona was worried and very unhappy about it all.’

  ‘Then it has to be nipped in the bud before it goes any further,’ said Gilbert, banging his hand on the table so that the cutlery and plates jingled. ‘Think of the scandal if it got into the papers! The rector and his children’s nanny!’

  ‘You’re overreacting, Gilbert,’ said his wife. ‘Simon’s got his head screwed on the right way. He’s not going to jeopardize his career, or his marriage. But I have to agree that people are starting to talk about it. What do you intend to do?’

  ‘It’s down to you, isn’t it, Norma? She’s your sister … and it was your idea to ask her to come here. Can’t you have a quiet word with her?’

  ‘I suppose I could … but I don’t want to. You remember what happened the last time? She was furious with me; told me to mind my own business, and we were at loggerheads for ages afterwards.’