Table of Contents
A Selection of Recent Titles by Margaret Thornton
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
A Selection of Recent Titles by
Margaret Thornton
ABOVE THE BRIGHT BLUE SKY
DOWN AN ENGLISH LANE
A TRUE LOVE OF MINE
REMEMBER ME
UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN
TIME GOES BY
CAST THE FIRST STONE *
FAMILIES AND FRIENDSHIPS *
* available from Severn House
FAMILIES AND FRIENDSHIPS
Margaret Thornton
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
First published in Great Britain and the USA 2013 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.
eBook edition first published in 2013 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 2013 by Margaret Thornton.
The right of Margaret Thornton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Thornton, Margaret, 1934-
Families and friendships.
1. Adoption–Fiction. 2. Families–England–Yorkshire–
Fiction.
I. Title
823.9'14-dc23
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8267-7 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-421-8 (epub)
ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-478-3 (trade paper)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.
One
Nearly all the pews were occupied on that Sunday morning in late February. All the members of the usual congregation were there, plus others who came less regularly, all of them eager to see the christening of baby Stella; Stella Jane Norwood, now nine weeks old, the daughter of the Reverend Simon Norwood, the rector of St Peter’s, Aberthwaite, and his wife, Fiona.
As Simon had reminded them all, the more correct name of the service was Holy Baptism, which involved more than the giving of a name to the child. It was a way of welcoming the baby into the family of the church, to become a member of the Christian community. Some families preferred a private ceremony, just a few friends and family members on a Sunday afternoon, and Simon was always ready to go along with their wishes. It was becoming more usual now, though, for the baptism to be an integral part of the morning worship. And that, of course, was what Simon and Fiona wanted for their own baby girl.
Simon had asked his friend from college days, the Reverend Timothy Marsden, to officiate at the baptism; he had also conducted their marriage service in the summer of 1965, almost two years ago. Simon wanted to share in the promises to care for the child’s spiritual welfare along with his wife and the godparents and, indeed, all the members of the congregation who were invited to take part in the responses.
Simon turned his head to smile at his wife during the singing of the first hymn, ‘Praise My Soul the King of Heaven’. She was not in her usual place in the choir stalls this morning – she was a soprano in the church choir – but there at his side. Just as he was not in his rector’s stall but a part of the congregation along with his family and friends. His heart swelled with love for Fiona as it always did when he looked at her, more so than ever now as his eyes travelled to their precious baby girl in her arms.
His wife was smartly and fashionably dressed – as always – in a cherry red coat with a black velvet collar. The length of women’s skirts was short, and getting shorter, as the sixties went on, but Fiona had kept within the bounds of propriety with her knee length coat. She knew she was constantly watched by the eagle eyes of some of the more elderly, faintly disapproving, members of the congregation; the women of course, certainly not the men. A black pillbox hat was perched on top of her golden hair, cut short now in an elfin style, and black knee-high boots in patent leather completed her ensemble.
She smiled back at Simon as their eyes, simultaneously, lighted on their baby girl, now sleeping peacefully. Fiona would soon hand the baby over to Joan, one of the friends she had chosen to be a godmother. Joan would be the one to say the child’s name, Stella Jane, as she handed her to the minister for the blessing. Her friend, Diane, would have the honour of carrying the baby out of the church at the end of the service. So that it would all be fair, Fiona thought to herself.
Diane was one of her oldest friends, from as long ago as their schooldays, although they had lost touch for a while. Joan Tweedale was a much newer friend, a woman who had been very kind to her when she had married Simon and become a very inexperienced wife to the rector. It was Joan who had made the beautiful shawl that was wrapped around baby Stella. It was fitting, therefore, that she should be the first of the godmothers to hold the child. It was an exquisite shawl, crocheted in fine white wool in an intricate design of cobwebby lace. Fiona guessed her friend must have started working on it as soon as she had heard the news, last spring, of the forthcoming baby. Fiona had long admired Joan’s talent for knitting, sewing, crocheting – all kinds of handiwork – and she had spent many happy times in Joan’s handicraft shop on the High Street, choosing wool for her own, far more humble, attempts at knitting.
It was a lovely, memorable service. Stella only whimpered a little as the vicar made the sign of the cross on her forehead, opening her eyes in surprise at the sudden wetness on her head. She stared uncertainly at the strange person she had not seen before, then focused more surely at her mother standing by his side. Fiona was convinced that Stella, now two months old, was beginning to recognize both her and Simon, and she was sure that the baby gave a half smile now as she looked at her.
When the godparents and parents and all the people present there had made the relevant promises to care for the spiritual well-being of the child, Timothy walked down the central aisle with the baby in his arms, with Fiona at the side of him. He was introducing baby Stella to the church folk – as Simon always did when he conducted a baptism – and making her a part of the congregation.
Fiona saw only happy faces smiling at both her and the baby. There were whispers of, ‘Oh, isn’t she lovely?’, ‘What a beautiful baby!’, and ‘God bless her!’, and a few of the
older ladies were wiping away a stray tear. She noticed that even Mrs Bayliss and Miss Thorpe, the two women who had been the most critical of her not that long ago, were now smiling along with the others.
When the service ended the little family, along with the Reverend Timothy, stood at the door bidding farewell to everyone. It seemed to Fiona that the criticism surrounding her several months ago was now a thing of the past. Even Ethel Bayliss, the wife of the church warden and a bigwig of the Mothers’ Union, who had been her severest critic, smiled at the baby. ‘She’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘You must both be very proud of her.’
Ethel’s henchman – or woman – Mabel Thorpe, a spinster of the parish, smiled and cooed at the child, adding, ‘Yes, really beautiful, just like her mother.’ Well, that was a turn up for the book! thought Fiona, smiling at the woman who had once tried to cause trouble for her. Babies, of course, usually brought out the best in people.
It was quite a small gathering at the rectory for the obligatory christening party. Fiona had wondered whether they should make more of an occasion of it by holding a get-together in the church hall for everyone who wished to attend, as the church folk had done to welcome her and Simon back from their honeymoon. But Simon had demurred, saying that it was just a family occasion. His parents were there, having stayed the night at the rectory after travelling from their home near Bradford the previous day. Simon’s sister, Christine, and her husband, Tom, had set off from their farm in the far north of Yorkshire very early that morning, as had Diane and Andy and their children, whose home was in Leeds. Simon’s friend, Timothy, and his wife, Susan, also lived in Leeds where Timothy was a vicar at a church in the suburbs. They would need to travel back soon after the luncheon party so that he could take the evening service at his own church.
Joan Tweedale and her husband, Henry, completed the company. Henry, who was the organist and choir master, and who, like his wife, had been a good friend to Simon and Fiona, had been asked to be the godfather to Stella.
Fiona, with the help of her mother-in-law, had prepared the buffet lunch – sandwiches, sausage rolls, cakes and trifle – early that morning, leaving the food covered in cling film to be all ready on their return from church. It was a happy gathering, and baby Stella slept peacefully after she had been fed and duly handed round from one person to another to be fussed and told time and again that she was a lovely little girl.
‘And so good, isn’t she?’ said Diane in some surprise. ‘Does she never cry?’
Simon laughed. ‘You should hear her at six o’clock in the morning! We don’t need an alarm clock, that’s for sure.’
‘At least she’s sleeping through the night now,’ said Fiona. ‘And that’s good, I believe, at only two months. I must admit I didn’t like that two o’clock feed, and Simon couldn’t help. He used to roll over and go back to sleep.’
‘Never mind; he’ll be able to help when she’s on a bottle,’ said Simon’s mother. ‘You must make sure he does his share, Fiona.’
‘I’ve no complaints on that score,’ replied Fiona. ‘He’s a dab hand at changing a nappy, aren’t you, darling?’
‘I am now,’ Simon said, laughing, ‘but it took me a while to get the hang of it.’
He was proving to be a wonderful father, and baby Stella had brought them even closer together as a couple, if that were possible. The previous year had been a traumatic one, but they had weathered the surprises and the storms which, looking back on them, had turned out to be minor ones.
Fiona would never have believed how much difference a tiny baby could make to the running of a household. Everything seemed to revolve around feeding times – every four hours at first – but Stella was sleeping through the night now, though waking early. Fiona knew she would not be able to carry on feeding her for much longer because her milk supply was dwindling, but that was not a topic for general discussion. As Simon’s mother, Freda, had said, he would soon be able to help with the bottle feeds. She knew he would do that willingly, and she, Fiona, would be able to return to the tasks she had undertaken in the parish, to relieve Simon. She had, of course – although rather regrettably – resigned from her post at the local library. She was now a full-time mother and housewife and, at the age of thirty-two, she knew that it was time for her to enjoy the new experience.
Henry Tweedale lifted his glass of golden sherry to toast the baby’s health and happiness and God’s richest blessings, and then three of the womenfolk – Joan, Freda and Christine – offered to tackle the washing up.
Fiona had been looking forward to a chat with her old friend, Diane. She saw her only every few months and there was always a lot of catching up to do.
‘Goodness me! Seeing your little one has made me feel quite broody again,’ said Diane as they settled down together on the window seat overlooking the rectory garden.
It was a dismal outlook on a cold February afternoon, but clumps of snowdrops were braving the winter and early shoots of daffodils and crocuses were already peeping through the soil between the bare branches of the rose bushes. Over the privet hedge the fourteenth century church of St Peter, with its squat grey tower, was visible. Tall elm trees formed a background, and in the distance were the snow-capped hills rising from the north Yorkshire dale.
‘Do you mean it?’ asked Fiona in reply to her friend’s remark. ‘What does Andy say about that?’
‘Oh, I haven’t said anything to him,’ smiled Diane. ‘Actually, I’ve only just thought of it. Stella’s such a cutey, isn’t she? To be honest I think it’s too late for us to start again. I’ve settled down to my teaching job, now that our two are almost secondary school age. I just felt myself reminiscing, that’s all. I must remind myself that babies are jolly hard work. I seem to remember being relieved when they had both started school.’
‘Stella is a good baby,’ said Fiona. ‘I know I’m very lucky, and Simon is such a devoted daddy. Sometimes I find it hard to believe that it’s all turned out so well for me. I’m so happy Diane.’ The joy shone in her eyes as she smiled at her friend.
‘And it’s no more than you deserve,’ said Diane, taking hold of her hand for a moment. ‘After all that you went through …’ Fiona’s face turned thoughtful for a moment, and she nodded a trifle sadly as she remembered the awful time that Diane was referring to.
‘I still think about her, sometimes, you know,’ she said quietly. ‘Not so often now, not since I married Simon. But when Stella was born it brought it all back, just for a little while. But I knew it was all for the best at the time, though it nearly broke my heart, parting with her.’
Fiona was thinking of the baby girl she had given birth to in 1952 when she was seventeen years old, the baby she had been forced to give up for adoption. Diane had not known about it at the time because Fiona had been sent away to a home for unmarried mothers in Northumberland as soon as her parents had learnt of her pregnancy. They had then moved to another part of Leeds so that Fiona would not be near her former friends when she returned home. Consequently Fiona and Diane had lost touch for a few years, until Fiona’s parents had been killed in a coach crash and Diane had sought her out again. Finding one another, though, they had discovered that their friendship was as firm as ever, and so it had continued. It was not until 1965, however, that Fiona had met and married Simon.
‘You never knew what had happened to the baby?’ asked Diane gently.
‘No … it all happened very quickly after she was born. She was whisked away after I had held her for a little while … She was beautiful; dark-haired, not fair like me and like Stella is.’
‘Yes … of course she would be,’ replied Diane quietly.
‘Do you know, Simon asked me, soon after Stella was born, if I’d like to try and find her again, that first baby? But I said no. I must admit that I’ve thought about it sometimes, over the years, but I know I can’t do it. She may not even know she was adopted. Parents don’t always tell them, although I think they’re advised to do so nowadays. Even if she
does know it could prove very unsettling. She is probably very happy with her adoptive parents. I’ve hoped and prayed so much that she is. I think Simon suggested it because of Greg arriving so suddenly on the scene.’
‘Yes, that must have been a tremendous shock,’ said Diane, ‘for all of you. How did Simon’s family take it?’
‘Very well,’ said Fiona. ‘Greg’s a lovely young man, he really is. You can’t help but like him. He comes to see us every few weeks.’
‘I wondered if he might be here today,’ said Diane. ‘I’d like to meet him sometime.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ said Fiona. ‘But Greg said himself that it wouldn’t be fitting for him to be here today. He bought a lovely silver bracelet for Stella, though. Of course, he’s her half-brother, isn’t he?’
It had certainly been a shock when Gregory Challinor, aged twenty-two, had arrived in Aberthwaite the previous spring, looking for his real father, the Reverend Simon Norwood. Whilst Simon had been in the RAF during the Second World War, serving as a navigator in an aircrew, he had become friendly with a young woman called Yvonne who was in the WAAF. Gregory had been the result of that relationship, although Simon had been unaware of his existence, even of his conception, until the young man had appeared, firstly at the church – to get a first look at his father – and then on the doorstep of the rectory.
‘There was never any doubt then in Simon’s mind that he might be an impostor?’ asked Diane.
‘Oh no, not at all. Greg’s the image of Simon. He has a look of his mother as well, of course.’
‘Yes, you’ve actually met her now, haven’t you?’
‘Yes; Greg brought her here for a day, just before Christmas.’
‘Wasn’t it all rather embarrassing?’ asked Diane.
‘No, not really. I think Yvonne felt a bit uneasy at first, meeting Simon again after so long. And so did I, to be honest, meeting her. But Yvonne’s a very likeable person, and she’s so sensible and matter-of-fact. I should imagine she was always a very practical young woman. She disappeared off the scene, you know, when she discovered she was pregnant. It wasn’t a “one night stand” sort of thing. She and Simon were getting very fond of one another, but she must have thought it was best to do what she did. The war was at its height, and, from what I gather, she thought it wouldn’t be fair on Simon. She knew he was a decent young man and he would have stood by her. But he didn’t get the chance.’
Families and Friendships Page 1
