They decided, provisionally, that Debbie would visit Aberthwaite sometime in February. ‘Give my love to Simon and the children,’ she said as she rang off. ‘And I’m so pleased that all is well with you both again.’
Fiona reflected on Debbie’s words when they had said goodbye. Yes, everything was good again, thank the Lord, at least between herself and Simon. Whilst they were in Scarborough they had recaptured all the tender feelings and the deep love for one another that they had known previously.
It had been a cold week but only what they could expect in early December. It was frosty rather than rainy and they wrapped up well against the chilly east wind blowing from the sea. They loved the long walk around the headland, from the north to the south bay: the ruined castle perched on the hilltop, the seagulls wheeling and screeching around the cliffs, and the waves dashing against the sea wall. At night they stood for a while on the spa bridge as they made their way back to the hotel, looking at the vista of the Grand Hotel, the now famous landmark on the promontory; the twinkling lights, like a string of jewels shining out round the harbour and the sweep of the bay; and the vast stretch of the midnight blue ocean.
‘Are you happy, darling?’ Simon had asked her several times. And she had answered that she was, immeasurably so.
They were pleased to get back home to the children, though, at the end of the five days, no matter how much they had appreciated their time alone together. Joan was there, in charge of the four of them, when they arrived back on the Friday afternoon. There were hugs and kisses all round, all the children shouting excitedly about what they had been doing with the ladies who had looked after them. They had been to the park, and the playground, had some nice things to eat, watched the telly – inevitably, and Stella had spent an afternoon ‘helping’ at Aunty Joan’s shop.
Fiona noticed that Matthew seemed a little subdued, not chattering as much as the others. Mark could not say very much, but he joined in with the laughter and the general excitement and appeared to understand all that was going on. It was unusual, though, for Matthew to be so quiet.
It was Simon who remarked on it. ‘Are you OK, Matty?’ he asked, using a little pet name as he did sometimes, referring to the boys as Matty and Marky, although Fiona preferred to use their proper names. ‘Is that tongue of yours still there? Let me have a look. It’s not wagging as much as usual.’
Matthew put out his tongue, grinning a little sheepishly.
‘Oh, there it is! I’m glad about that,’ said Simon. ‘It’s a bit bewildering, isn’t it? You’ll soon get used to Mummy and Daddy being here again.’
Stella pulled at Fiona’s skirt. ‘Mummy,’ she said, whispering confidingly, ‘Matthew’s been a bit naughty this week.’
‘Oh dear!’ said Fiona. ‘Has he really? That must be why he’s quiet. But we won’t talk about it any more just now. I expect Aunty Joan will tell me all about it.’
Joan had been shopping to get the necessary items to make a quick sandwich meal and was staying for tea to help Fiona to get back into the routine. When they were preparing the makeshift meal in the kitchen, and Simon was looking after the children, she told Fiona about Matthew’s behaviour.
‘He’s been playing up a little bit in your absence, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘He loves to tease Mark and really tries to wind him up about … oh, you know … spilling his food, and wearing a nappy, and so on. The poor little lad hasn’t got the words to retaliate, and he gets so frustrated and cross. It’s ended in a fight – well a scuffle, you know – a couple of times; once when I was in charge, but I managed to separate them. And Hilary has had a bit of trouble with the two of them as well. I don’t like telling tales, but I thought you ought to know.’
‘Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry,’ said Fiona, ‘but you were quite right to tell me. Simon and I could tell there was something wrong by the look on Matthew’s face, the little rascal! If we’d known they’d be so much trouble we wouldn’t have gone and left them. We’ll have to have words with Matthew; we can’t have him behaving like that. And you can’t really blame Mark for trying to stick up for himself, though I don’t like them fighting.’
‘All brothers do,’ answered Joan. ‘Don’t be too cross with him. I had a talk to him, and he did seem a little ashamed of himself. But they’re only babies yet, aren’t they, all of them? Apart from Stella, of course. She’s been a grand little help. You’ve got a little treasure there, Fiona.’
‘Yes, I know,’ smiled Fiona. ‘The triplets have to learn how to behave, though, young as they are. We worry quite a lot about Mark being rather slow, at least I do. Simon seems to be more complacent about it.’
She and Simon discussed the problem later that evening when the children had gone to bed.
‘I really am concerned about Mark,’ said Fiona. ‘He doesn’t appear to be making much progress at all. Do you think he’s going to be backward, Simon? Really backward, I mean? Unable to learn like other children? Sometimes they have to go to a special school.’
‘No; I don’t really think so,’ replied Simon. ‘He’s just slower than the other two. But they’re only two years old when all’s said and done. And as long as Stella is there to speak for Mark, and Michelle tries as well, in her own way, maybe he thinks he doesn’t need to talk. Some children can be rather lazy. I don’t really know though, do I, darling? I can’t see into his little mind. Nor Matthew’s … but we must try to stop him from teasing his brother. He does have rather a cruel streak – well, naughty and wilful really, rather than downright cruel – and we must teach him that it’s wrong to upset his brother. But … just supposing that Mark did turn out to be slow to learn, would we love him any the less? Of course we wouldn’t!’
‘No, of course not,’ echoed Fiona. ‘I realize all that, Simon. I just want the very best for all of them.’
‘They call it “learning difficulties” now, I believe,’ said Simon. ‘Children are not talked about as being backward. They have special classes, and all sorts of ways of helping them. Anyway, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, shall we? The next thing we must do is to make arrangements for the young lady who’s coming to help out in January. Until then you’ve got a team of willing helpers, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, indeed I have. But I’m feeling so much better and stronger since our holiday, Simon. It’s done me a world of good, and I’m much more able to cope with things now.’
‘That’s good to hear, darling. And with Christmas approaching we’ll both need to be on top of things, won’t we? Only three weeks to go …’
Seventeen
Debbie was happy to be going home. She hadn’t realized just how happy she was until the train was approaching Whitesands Bay on the last lap of the journey from Leeds. She had smiled contentedly as she watched the landscape unfolding, the green hills and dales of North Yorkshire changing gradually to the chimneys and slag heaps, the dockyards and tenement buildings of the industrial north-east. It was when she caught her first glimpse of the sea that she felt the tears welling up in her eyes. Yes, it was good to be home. But she hastily brushed any trace of tears away, even though they were tears of joy. She knew that any sign of emotion would set her mother off, and she wanted it to be a joyful reunion.
Both her parents were there to meet her, waving from the barrier as she made her way along the platform with her large suitcase and a couple of bulging carrier bags. They looked just the same, which was hardly surprising as it was only three months since she had seen them, although in some ways it seemed much longer. Mum was wearing her best coat, the tweed one with the fur collar; Debbie remembered her buying it from C&A on a shopping trip to Newcastle, more than two years ago. Dad was dressed in his ‘Sunday best’ – he must have taken an hour or two off work – namely his overcoat and the trilby hat he wore when he was going anywhere special.
Mum opened her arms wide as she rushed towards Debbie. They hugged and kissed and there was no sign of tears on her beaming face.
‘Eeh, it’s
been a long time, pet,’ she said in the familiar Geordie accent that Debbie realized she had missed hearing so much.
‘Aye, it’s real champion to see you again, lass,’ said her father, kissing her cheek and giving her a less demonstrative hug. As she looked at him more closely Debbie thought he looked a little older, his face rather drawn with dark shadows under his eyes. She didn’t say so, of course. She just said how lovely it was to be home again, for almost three weeks.
‘Come on then, pet,’ said Stanley, picking up her suitcase and marching off towards the station exit. He was managing the heavy case quite easily; he had a wiry strength that belied his somewhat small stature. ‘We’re going home in style, aren’t we, Vera? There’s a taxi waiting outside.’
They all piled into the black cab. Debbie looked out at the familiar streets as though she was seeing them for the first time. They were familiar, but appeared smaller, somehow, than she had remembered them. It was already dusk at four o’ clock in the afternoon, and the shops were ablaze with lights illuminating their Christmassy windows, several of them displaying Santas and reindeer and snowy scenes. In the small town square a Christmas tree – a real one, but not overlarge – shone out bravely, its twinkling lights changing from blue to red to yellow.
‘That’s new this year,’ said Vera, with a touch of pride. ‘It’s a canny sight, isn’t it, pet?’
Debbie agreed that it was. The one outside the Leeds town hall was massive by comparison, but this one thrilled her far more. Eeh! It was grand to be home!
The house felt warm and welcoming as they entered, and there was a lovely smell of cooking. ‘I’ve left a casserole in the oven on a low light,’ said Vera. ‘I guessed you’d be hungry, pet.’
‘So I am,’ said Debbie. ‘It smells delicious.’
She was glad her parents had had central heating installed; she would have missed it after being so warm in the ‘digs’ and in the college rooms. Her parents had taken the plunge just before she had started her college course. It was still something of a luxury to ordinary folk, especially to those like Vera and Stanley who were usually cautious about spending their ‘brass’. It was Debbie who had persuaded them that they would never regret it. Nor had they, although Vera had lit a small coal fire in the living room as she often did, to make it look more cheerful.
Debbie unpacked, then went to chat to her mother in the kitchen whilst she prepared their tea. ‘I made the casserole and got it in the oven earlier,’ said Vera. ‘It’s braised lamb chops, with the potatoes browned on the top, the way you like them. It’ll be ready soon, then there’ s a custard tart to follow.’
‘Lovely!’ said Debbie. ‘It seems ages since I had a proper home-cooked meal.’ She remembered, fleetingly, the chicken dinner that Graham had prepared for her, but decided not to mention it. ‘None of us are great shakes at cooking. I would say that Karen’s probably the best.’
‘Karen; that’s the lass from Doncaster, isn’t it?’ said her mother. ‘The one from a large family?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘You’re lucky that you’ve made such nice friends, aren’t you, pet? It’s grand that you all get on so well … That reminds me; I saw Kevin the other day. I just happened to bump into him in town; he was doing a bit of Christmas shopping, he said. Anyway, he asked about you, and of course I said you were coming home on Friday, today, I mean. He said he’d phone you. It’ll be nice for you to see him again, won’t it?’
‘Yes …’ said Debbie. ‘Yes, it will.’ Actually she was feeling a little guilty. She had hardly given Kevin a thought recently. She had said she would write to him, and she had done so, a time or two, and he had replied, although he wasn’t the best letter writer in the world. The correspondence had lapsed, then she had been seeing Graham, and Kevin had taken rather a back seat in her mind. Now, though, she realized it would be good to see him again.
‘I always liked Kevin,’ said her mother. ‘I thought you were too young at the time, mind, to have a steady boyfriend. You’re old enough now, but I know you’re concentrating on your studies at the moment, aren’t you, pet?’
‘Yes, that’s right, Mum,’ she replied.
It would have been a good opportunity then to tell her mother about going back a little earlier to visit Graham’s home, but she did not do so. To get away from talking about boyfriends she offered to set the table.
The braised lamb with the browned potatoes, carrots and onions tasted just as good as it smelled, and the custard tart, too, was enjoyed by them all, although her mother apologized because it was not home-made.They had their usual cup of tea to end the meal.
‘We’ve a little job to do tonight,’ said Vera as she and Debbie cleared the table. ‘I said to Daddy that we’d wait into you came home because I know it’s something you enjoy doing.’ She beamed at Debbie. ‘We’re going to decorate the tree!’ she said excitedly. ‘Daddy got it down from the loft, and all the trimmings and the lights – I hope they still work.’
‘Oh yes, I’ll enjoy that,’ said Debbie, It was the seasonal ritual, but when she had been going through her awkward phase, a couple of years ago, she had affected to show contempt for it. Now, though, she felt quite nostalgic, and the thought of it did bring back happy childhood memories.
They washed the pots, Debbie helping more willingly than she had used to do, whilst Stanley read the paper and smoked his pipe.
‘Now, Daddy … er, Stanley,’ said Vera, when they had finished, ‘are you going to fetch the tree?’
It was the one they had had since Debbie was a little girl; not a bad tree compared with some artificial ones, although it had lost some of its needles now and a couple of the branches were rather wonky. It would stand on a table in the window of the front room, as Vera called it: the lounge that was only used on ‘high days and holidays’. It was used more now, though, than it had used to be. Debbie remembered its cold clamminess and the musty smell from disuse, but the central heating, thankfully, had put an end to that.
Stanley fixed the lights – fortunately they were all still working – then Debbie and Vera started to take the decorations out of their cardboard box. They were fragile baubles of shiny coloured glass, and every year they found that another one or two had shattered. There was still a goodly number left, though, with some silver and gold tinsel and the fairy for the top. One of her wings and her wand were bent, but they didn’t look too bad when they were straightened. She had lost a little of her blonde hair and her white dress was a shade off-white. But they wouldn’t dream of replacing her.
‘There!’ said Vera with satisfaction when Debbie placed the fairy on the topmost branch. ‘Doesn’t it look grand? Switch on the lights, Stanley. We’ll draw the curtains back then we can see what it looks like from outside.’
They all trooped out to view their handiwork from the garden path, and pronounced it a job well done.
Christmas Day fell on a Friday that year. On the previous Monday Debbie had a phone call from Kevin.
‘Hi there, Debbie,’ he began. ‘How are things with you?’
‘Fine, thanks, Kevin. It’s good to be home.’
‘Yes; your mum said you’d be home for three weeks. I thought we could meet up again. What do you think about it?’
‘I’d like that very much,’ she replied. ‘It’d be great to see you again.’ How nice it was to hear his voice again, the familiar sound of the north-east – though his accent was nowhere near as broad as that of his father, nor of her own dad – and his husky way of speaking.
He suggested that he could call for her the following evening. ‘What time?’ she asked, wondering what he had in mind; a meal out, or the pictures, or maybe just a drink and a chat.
‘Oh, about half past seven,’ he replied. ‘After tea.’ So that settled that problem. ‘We could drive out into the country and have a quiet drink. I’ve got my own car now, you know.’
‘Yes, you told me in one of your letters.’
‘So I did. Sorry I’ve been
so lax about writing.’
‘It doesn’t matter … I’ll look forward to seeing you, Kevin.’
It was good to see him on the doorstep on Tuesday evening, his strong-featured face beaming with pleasure at seeing her again. His wide grin revealed rather uneven teeth with a small gap between the front ones. Not that it spoiled Kevin’s rugged good looks; it was, on the contrary, a very attractive feature. His dark blonde hair, usually tousled, appeared a little more under control. He was wearing a country-style tweed jacket and a bright blue shirt that enhanced the colour of his eyes. Debbie felt her heart skip a beat as she greeted him; she hadn’t realized just how much she had missed him.
‘Hello, Debbie.’ He leaned forward to kiss her cheek. ‘You haven’t changed, but then why should you?’ He laughed, then he greeted Vera who was not far behind her daughter. ‘Hello, Mrs Hargreaves. Nice to see you again, too. You’re looking well,’ he remarked as he kissed her cheek.
‘Yes, I’m not so bad, Kevin. All the better for having our Debbie home, of course.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ he answered. ‘Don’t worry; I’ll take good care of her. We’ll just have a run out into the country; we won’t be late back.’
‘Oh, she’s a big girl now,’ said Vera, ‘and I can’t be worrying all the time about what she’s doing while she’s away, can I? I know she’ll be safe with you.’
‘I’m ready, Kevin,’ said Debbie, a little impatiently. ‘Let’s go, shall we?’
‘Certainly; your carriage awaits, ma’am. Bye, Mrs Hargreaves …’
Kevin’s new car – well, a new one to him but actually four years old – was a shiny green Morris Minor.
‘Very posh,’ said Debbie approvingly as he started it up and zoomed off down the road. ‘You’re pleased with it, are you?’
‘For the moment,’ he replied, ‘until I can afford something else. At least I’m independent now; I don’t need to borrow my father’s car.’
Old Friends, New Friends Page 20
