Families and Friendships

by Margaret Thornton

  Ginny gazed from the window, pondering for a while about how blissful it would be to live in such a place, but she did not voice her thoughts to her husband. She knew that at heart she was a town girl, and she and Arthur had a good marriage that many might envy. She had not looked back since the time he had rescued her from Burnside House, insisting that he loved her and that he was not going to let their baby be given away to strangers. The thought of what had so nearly happened had been on her mind since Ryan’s recent revelation earlier that week. She had shared the confidence with Arthur – they never kept secrets from one another – and he had agreed that they must leave well alone.

  ‘Ryan was bewildered, too,’ she had told him, ‘when he realized what might have happened to him. I was quite touched when he said what a dreadful thought it was, that he might have been brought up with someone else.’

  ‘Perish the thought!’ Arthur had said. ‘He’s a good lad; they’re all good kids. We’ve been real lucky, pet, haven’t we? So far, at least; you never can tell how they’re going to turn out.’

  ‘I’ve a feeling they’ll all do alright,’ Ginny assured him. ‘I’ve been lucky, too, Arthur. I’m so glad you decided to marry me! And managed to change my parents’ minds.’

  ‘I’m the one that’s lucky,’ Arthur said, as they shared an intimate moment.

  ‘Adoptions can work out well, though,’ he said, in a later conversation. ‘If – God forbid! – it had happened to Ryan, he might have been OK. This girl Debbie, she’s got a good home, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Oh, I should imagine so,’ said Ginny. ‘I don’t know, of course, not for sure, but I have a feeling that Claire might have had a hand in the adoption. I hope the girl’s happy … but we’ve decided, haven’t we, that it’s none of our business? We don’t breathe a word to Fiona.’

  Arthur broke into her reverie then as they drove along. ‘We’ll stop at Richmond, shall we, pet, and stretch our legs for a while. Then it won’t take us long afterwards to get to Aberthwaite.’

  ‘It’ll be busy in Richmond; it’s market day,’ Ginny remarked, ‘but I’d love to stop for half an hour or so if we’ve got time.’

  They parked in a side street near to the market square. ‘Come on, Ginny; no time to go shopping!’ he told her, nudging her away from the market stalls where she was wanting to linger.

  ‘All right, then,’ she said, a trifle reluctantly. ‘Actually, I think there’s a market in Aberthwaite as well, so maybe I could have a browse there with Fiona. I love markets.’

  Arthur smiled indulgently at her as they climbed the hill to the castle high above the River Swale. There was a magnificent view from the road that surrounded the castle keep. Just below them were the colourful awnings of the market stalls and the cobbled streets of the town, and in the distance the green and brown stretch of the dales, sweeping across to the Vale of York.

  They sat on a seat thoughtfully provided by the council and enjoyed the coffee that Ginny had brought in a Thermos flask, with her home-made shortbread biscuits. ‘Fiona’s expecting us for lunch,’ she told her husband, ‘so don’t scoff all those biscuits!’

  ‘Is she a good cook?’ asked Arthur. ‘As good as you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘But I should think she is. She looked after her gran in Leeds for quite a while, and she’s probably learnt all sorts of skills as the rector’s wife. I’m dying to see her again, Arthur.’

  ‘Come on then,’ he said, depositing their rubbish in a nearby litter bin. ‘Let’s be on our way. Another half hour or so, and we’ll be there.’

  They received a joyful welcome at the rectory. ‘It’s been far too long,’ exclaimed Ginny as she threw her arms around her friend in a tight hug. ‘I can’t believe it’s been so long since we saw you.’

  ‘Yes, nearly three years!’ said Fiona, a trifle reproachfully, but she was smiling and Ginny knew that she understood. ‘It’s almost three years since Simon and I got married, isn’t it, darling?’ Ginny noticed that the two of them exchanged a loving glance.

  ‘Yes, time flies, doesn’t it?’ replied Ginny. ‘I’m sorry, Fiona; we kept meaning to come, but you know how it is. One thing after another, and it’s not always easy to leave the children. Anyway, we’re here now … Let me look at you …’ She stood back smiling at her friend. ‘You don’t look any different, younger if anything! I can see that marriage suits you.’

  ‘It certainly does,’ agreed Fiona, laughing. She did, indeed, look radiant. ‘And you haven’t changed either, Ginny. If either of them thought that the other looked a little plumper – although Ginny had never been what you might call slim – they did not say so.

  ‘Just a few grey hairs,’ said Ginny, patting her glossy auburn hair, cut short, as was Fiona’s, in an up-to-the-minute style, ‘but I do my best to disguise them …’ She turned to look at the little girl at Fiona’s side. ‘So this must be Stella. Oh, isn’t she a little love?’ She crouched down to talk to the little blonde-haired girl who was holding her mummy’s hand. ‘Hello, pet. I’m Ginny, your mummy’s friend. I’ve been looking forward so much to seeing you.’

  The child nodded, smiling a little shyly. ‘Hello,’ she said, then she looked up at her mother for reassurance. She could be a bit wary of strangers at first, although she was continually meeting new people, one of the pleasant – or occasionally less pleasant – necessities of her daddy’s occupation.

  Simon and Arthur’s greeting to one another was less effusive, although they shook hands with a smile, Simon’s warm and welcoming, Arthur’s rather more diffident. Ginny knew that her husband had felt a little apprehensive at meeting and, what was more, staying as a guest of the Reverend Simon Norwood. They had met only once, at the wedding, when there had been little time for any meaningful conversation. Ginny, too, had only met Simon the once, but she could tell from Fiona’s letters that he was a pretty normal sort of bloke who would not preach at Arthur or behave in a pious or overzealous manner.

  Ginny and Arthur, like many folk, went to church only on special occasions. They had been married in church, and had had their three children christened, because it was the right thing to do, and had made sure they all went to Sunday school. Fortunately the children had kept up their links with the church through the Scout, Cub and Brownie packs, but their parents were well aware that their own attendance was spasmodic.

  ‘Anyway, come on in,’ said Fiona, leading the way into the rectory. ‘I expect you’re ready for a rest after your journey, although it isn’t really all that far, is it? Simon’ll take your cases up and show you where you’re sleeping; and the bathroom’s at the end of the landing. Come down when you’re ready. I’ve made just a cold lunch, salad and cold meat and stuff, and we’ll dine in style tonight! Not too much style, mind; I don’t mean dressing for dinner! We’re just ordinary folk. Oh, it is good to see you again!’ Fiona impulsively kissed her friend’s cheek.

  ‘She’s just the same as she always was,’ Ginny remarked to Arthur, when their hosts had gone back downstairs. ‘Being the rector’s wife hasn’t made any difference. There were never any airs and graces with Fiona, although she went to a grammar school.’

  ‘He seems OK, too,’ said Arthur. ‘Nice friendly chap, isn’t he? He’s not wearing his dog collar, either.’

  ‘Oh, I expect it’s his day off,’ said Ginny, ‘That is if clergymen ever get a day off. He probably thought it would make us feel more at ease if he wasn’t dressed as a vicar. I think they will be expecting us to go to church in the morning. Is that OK with you? I’m sure they wouldn’t insist on it, but I think it would only be polite to go along with Fiona and listen to Simon preaching. I’m looking forward to that actually.’

  ‘Yes, that’s OK with me,’ said Arthur. ‘Will Fiona be able to go, though? What about little Stella?’

  ‘Fiona said something about a crèche in one of her letters. The young mothers take it in turns to look after the toddlers so that the parents can attend the service if they want to.’ />
  Arthur nodded. ‘I see … Well, let’s enjoy today, shall we, and let tomorrow take care of itself? It’s grand, isn’t it, pet, to have some time on our own?’ He went over to where Ginny was standing and put his arm round her. She was gazing out of the window.

  ‘Just look at that view, Arthur! Quite something, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is that,’ he agreed. ‘It’s a bit different from our view of folks’ backyards and washing lines, to say nothing of cranes and factory chimneys.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Arthur!’ said Ginny. ‘It’s not that bad, where we live. At least we’ve got a garden, of sorts, and nice friendly neighbours. And the factory chimneys are only in the distance. Five minutes’ walk and we’re by the sea … well, the estuary at least.’

  ‘Eeh, I’m not complaining,’ he said, giving her a hug. ‘We’re real lucky, you and me, and we’ve got three grand kids. I know how to count my blessings. I’ll have a chance to do that when we go to church tomorrow, eh, pet? And happen it’d be a bit quiet for us here, don’t you think?’

  ‘Maybe so,’ said Ginny pensively. ‘Yes … I’m sure you’re right.’

  The room they had been given was at the back of the rectory overlooking the garden where late daffodils and tulips were flowering around the stretch of grass. It couldn’t really be termed a lawn because it was rather uneven with clumps of daisies and clover amongst the longish grass. At the bottom of the garden there was a swing and a sand pit, beneath a cherry tree which was shedding its pinkish white petals like snow on the ground. The rectory was adjacent to the church, and over the hedge there was a view of the greystone building with its square tower, and the centuries-old graveyard. The old lichen-covered graves were dotted here and there in a haphazard way, some leaning at a crazy angle. Tall elm trees where rooks nested stood sentinel at the rear of the church. In the distance were the limestone hills, shading from deep brown in the shadows to emerald and pale green where a ray of sunlight streamed from behind a cloud. In the near distance were the ruins of an ancient castle, and there was just a glimpse between the trees of a rippling stream wending its way through the valley.

  ‘It’s a canny view all right,’ remarked Ginny. ‘An’ I’m real glad that Fiona’s had the good fortune to end up here. She deserves it if anybody does. Eeh! I used to feel real sorry for her when we were in that place, and she had to go home to those miserable parents of hers.’

  ‘Well, she’s got a lovely little lass now, hasn’t she?’ said Arthur. ‘I’m sure Stella must have made up for the little girl she had to give up.’

  ‘I’m sure she has,’ replied Ginny. ‘I feel better about it all now that I can see how happy she is … I’ll just nip along to the bathroom, then we’d better go downstairs. I won’t be a minute, Arthur, then you can have your turn …’

  The rectory was a mid-Victorian house, but not as large or as rambling as some of those places tended to be. It was centrally heated too, which was a bonus; Ginny could imagine how chilly it must have been in those high-ceilinged rooms in the days of open fires, which many people still had. Only recently had Ginny and Arthur had central heating installed themselves, and she was still revelling in the luxury of it.

  The rectory dining room was furnished in a modern style with a contemporary table, chairs and sideboard in light oak that Ginny guessed – correctly – had come from the newish store, ‘Habitat’. They enjoyed the simple meal of home cooked ham served cold with salad and small potatoes, followed by apple crumble and custard. Stella, in her high chair, coped very well with her own meal, only needing a little assistance now and again with her spoon and fork.

  ‘She’s good, isn’t she?’ remarked Ginny. ‘Our Sharon was unbelievably messy when she was that age. She’s still untidy though; I’m forever on at her about the state of her bedroom. But that’s girls for you, I suppose. You’d think it might be the other way round, wouldn’t you, but our Ryan and Carl are real neat and tidy compared with her, aren’t they, Arthur?’

  But Arthur was listening to Simon who was talking about taking a walk on the moors that afternoon. ‘Whoops, sorry!’ said Ginny. ‘I’m interrupting, aren’t I? She’s a little treasure, though, isn’t she, your Stella?’

  ‘Yes, she’s very good,’ agreed Fiona. ‘We’ve been very lucky. Of course we may not be so lucky the next time.’

  Ginny’s eyes opened wide. ‘Why? D’you mean that you’re …?’

  Fiona put a finger to her lips. ‘Shush … That just slipped out. I’ll tell you later …’

  Ginny, of course, was dying to hear more, but she had to wait until later that afternoon to hear what she guessed Fiona had been hinting at. Over lunch the two men had been discussing a proposed walk in the foothills of the dales that afternoon.

  ‘I’ve no climbing gear, or walking gear for that matter,’ said Arthur. ‘I did a spot of walking years ago, with my mates, in the Cheviot Hills and the Hadrian’s Wall area; but I’ve not been since Ginny and me were married. Never time, is there, pet?’

  ‘Now you know you could go if you really wanted to, Arthur,’ she chided him. ‘You know I’d never stop you. Anyway, off you go this afternoon with Simon. You’ll enjoy it.’

  Her husband looked a little dubious, whether it was at the idea of unaccustomed exercise, or the prospect of spending so much time alone with a vicar she wasn’t sure. But she nodded her head and winked at him, and he grinned back at her.

  ‘That’s great then,’ said Simon. ‘I’ll lend you a pair of hiking boots. I reckon we’re about the same size, eh, Arthur? I take nines.’

  Arthur nodded. ‘Aye, that’s my size too.’

  ‘I promise there’ll be no climbing,’ said Simon. ‘I’ve never been into rock climbing. We’ll just have a walk on the gentler slopes, maybe along to Aysgarth Falls; they’re well worth a visit.’

  ‘Be careful you don’t get your feet wet,’ laughed Fiona. ‘You’ve done that more than once.’

  Simon smiled. ‘Perhaps you two girls would like to come along with us?’

  ‘No fear!’ said Ginny. ‘I fancy a visit to the market meself … that is if Fiona agrees,’ she added, thinking she might have been a little presumptuous. Maybe Fiona had other plans for them.

  ‘Yes, that’s fine by me,’ said Fiona. ‘There’s one on a Wednesday as well that I usually go to, but I’m always ready to visit the market. And Stella enjoys it too; we’ll take her in her push chair.’

  The market was one of the best that Ginny had ever seen. ‘Eeh, it’s a real old-fashioned country market, isn’t it?’ she remarked as they walked between the stalls of fruit and vegetables and home-made produce. She breathed in the mixed aroma of ripe apples and oranges, cabbage and spring onions, and the faint odour of cheese on the air, from a stall a little way distant.

  Fiona did a little shopping; a cauliflower and carrots fresh from the earth, apples and pears, then a chunk of cheese and a pat of butter from a stall of farm produce. There were several such stalls, manned by farmers’ wives from the nearby area. They sold cheese, mainly of the local Wensleydale variety; pats of butter; newly laid eggs – deep brown, or white if preferred; and jars of home-made jams, marmalade and lemon curd, along with pickled onions and cauliflower and chutneys.

  Fiona clearly knew the farmer’s wife quite well; in fact she seemed to know most people, and they all stopped to have a word with little Stella who smiled happily at them. They greeted Ginny in a friendly way, too.

  ‘They’re OK once you get to know them,’ Fiona told her. ‘These Yorkshire country folk tend to be rather insular. Anybody who wasn’t born here or has lived here for ages is regarded as a foreigner. Incomers, they call us. But they seem to accept me now; Stella has helped, of course. It’s amazing what a difference a child makes.’

  ‘Especially one as cute as Stella,’ added Ginny.

  ‘Yes, she’s a winsome little lady, isn’t she?’ smiled Fiona. ‘Quite a heart stealer. Like I said, I found it a bit hard going with some of the folk, mainly the older women
of the parish, but they seem to have come to terms with me – and everything – now.’

  ‘And you’re happy, aren’t you?’ said Ginny. It was more of a statement than a question. ‘I can see that you are. I’m so glad about that, Fiona. Now, what was it you were going to tell me earlier, eh?’ she asked with a twinkle on her eye.

  ‘Let’s go and have a look round the other half of the market,’ said Fiona, ‘then we’ll go and have a cup of tea in my favourite cafe, and I’ll tell you!’

  On the opposite side of the market cross were stalls selling crockery, kitchenware, clothing for women and children, and what were known as fent stalls, selling materials and dress making requisites, and at the end, the chocolate and sweet stalls.

  Ginny bought a box of assorted fudge for her children and a jar of Yorkshire mixture – a selection of humbugs, aniseed, pear drops, fruit rocks of strawberry, lemon and orange, and boiled sweets shaped like little fishes. She was captivated by the array of materials on the fent stalls: floral, spotted, striped and self-coloured in every imaginable shade. She bought enough for two dresses for her daughter, Sharon; a candy-striped pink and a design of daisies and poppies on a blue background. She was tempted by the knitting wools on the next stall, but Fiona nudged her away.

  ‘I have a friend who has a shop on the High Street,’ she told her. Joan Tweedale; she was at our wedding, but you might not remember her. She has a wonderful handicraft shop. I’ll take you there when we’ve had our cup of tea. I expect you’re ready for one by now, aren’t you. I know I am.’

  The little cafe, ‘The Merry Kettle’ was situated in the market square. There was a swinging sign outside depicting a large copper kettle, and inside there were a dozen or so round tables covered with lace cloths, with wheel back chairs round them. The delft rack held an array of small kettles, and teapots in varying styles and designs; shaped like cottages, story book characters, engines and cars, and pretty ones with flowers, country scenes and crinoline ladies. On the wall were framed advertisements from times past: for Typhoo tea, Camp coffee, Huntley and Palmer’s biscuits and Cadbury’s chocolates.