Families and Friendships

by Margaret Thornton

  Who better than Kevin? she had thought. He was the owner’s son, and she loved working at Sunnyhill, and who could tell where it might lead? She knew now that it had been just a ridiculous fantasy on her part. Kevin had never had any such thoughts about her. He had told her himself that he had left school because he did not have the ability to cope with more academic studies, and that she was far brainier than he was. But she had refuted that at the time.

  She was realizing now, rather to her surprise, that she didn’t want to go on working at Sunnyhill. It would be difficult, anyway, working with Kevin despite what he said about them still being friends; he had just been trying to let her down gently. She knew now that she did want to go on to the sixth form. And then what? University, or some sort of agricultural college? She wasn’t sure. Mr Hill had mentioned landscape gardening. She hadn’t thought much about it at the time; she had been annoyed with him for assuming, as everyone else did, that she would return to school. Now, though, the idea was beginning to appeal to her.

  Debbie, however, had a stubborn streak to her nature. She didn’t like admitting that she was wrong. What should she tell her parents about her change of heart? She didn’t want to admit that they had been right all along, or that she was giving in to them because it was what they wanted.

  She finished her allotted jobs for the day, said a quick goodbye to Mr and Mrs Hill – Kevin was nowhere to be seen – then cycled home. She was a good deal calmer now, her first feeling of hatred – well, almost – towards Kevin had receded, to be replaced by a determination to show him what she was made of. ‘See if I care!’ she had yelled at him, and she intended to show him that she was moving on, and quickly too. She didn’t intend to tell her parents, though, not yet, that she was no longer going out with Kevin. She would bide her time, and then act as though it had been her decision to end the friendship.

  Her mother had prepared a nice tea. Boiled ham and salad, which was the usual fare for a Sunday teatime; followed by sliced banana in a fruit jelly – Debbie had loved this when she was a little girl, and Mum still thought that it was a special treat for her – with fresh cream. This was certainly a treat because they usually had Carnation milk. And the inevitable home-made buns and flapjack.

  Debbie was in something of a quandary. She had nothing to gain by being stroppy, which was what often happened when her parents wanted a serious talk with her. No; she would be the opposite, she decided; she would be all sweetness and light, to start with anyway.

  Vera was quite prepared for a battle, or at least a heated argument. Debbie still seemed to be set on the idea of carrying on working at the garden centre, despite her excellent O level results. She hadn’t exactly said so recently as she had been so excited about the party last night; the party that had ended so badly for Debbie. Vera could almost have felt sorry for her if she hadn’t felt so angry. Well, perhaps the silly girl would have learnt her lesson. Vera had been surprised to hear that there had been any alcoholic drinks at the party. Most of the youngsters were only sixteen, but with it being a private party they must have got round the restrictions somehow. She hoped – although it was perhaps not very nice of her – that Debbie had not been the only one to get into that state! On the other hand, she had been pleased to see that Kevin had appeared to be sober, and he had certainly taken good care of Debbie.

  She had decided not to mention the episode again. Debbie had been moody and quiet at first that morning, possibly embarrassed at her bad behaviour; but as the day went on she had come round and now seemed to be in quite an approachable frame of mind, ready, Vera hoped, to listen to advice.

  ‘I’ll help you to wash up, Mum,’ she said after they had finished their tea, which was, indeed, a surprise. Then the three of them settled down together in what Vera called the front room, the ‘best’ room, used on special occasions such as Christmas and when they had visitors for tea. The discussion of Debbie’s future seemed to warrant the use of it today.

  Vera decided the grasp the nettle, so to speak, straight away, no shilly-shallying around. ‘School starts again fairly soon, doesn’t it?’ she began. ‘How long is it, Debbie? About a fortnight?’

  Debbie nodded and opened her mouth to speak, which was what her mother expected, but Vera forestalled her. ‘We were wondering, your daddy and me,’ she went on, ‘if you’ll be needing anything new in the way of clothes? They’re not so strict about uniform, are they, when you go into the sixth form? And what about a nice new briefcase to carry your books in? You’ve had your satchel for ages, and I’m sure you’d like something more grown-up. It will be our little treat for you, because you’ve done so well.’

  Vera had hardly paused for breath, not giving her daughter a chance to speak. She had been quite expecting her to interrupt with a comment such as, ‘Who says I’m going back to school?’ But to Vera’s amazement Debbie just smiled as though she was finding it all very amusing.

  ‘It’s all right, Mum,’ she said. ‘There’s no need to go on about it. I don’t need to be bribed with presents and all that. You don’t need to worry; I’m going back to school.’

  ‘Well, that’s wonderful, love,’ said Vera. ‘We knew you’d see sense eventually. It would be such a waste of it all if you didn’t take the chance to go on with your studying. We never got the chance, did we, Daddy … er, Stanley?’

  ‘No, that’s true,’ he replied. ‘We think it’s the best thing you could do. Like your mum says, we’re proud of you, and we want to buy you a little something because you’ve worked so hard. It’s not a bribe, Deborah, as you seem to think, so try to sound as though you’re pleased, if you can. A bit of appreciation would not go amiss for all that we try to do for you, your mother and me.’

  Vera was surprised to hear Stanley speak so forcefully. He usually took the line of least resistance with Debbie, Now, for once, he seemed to be in agreement with his wife. Debbie looked a little taken aback.

  ‘Of course I’m pleased, Dad,’ she said. ‘It’s very kind of you and Mum. Er … thank you very much. What I wanted to say, though, was that I’d already made up my mind to go back to school. I didn’t need persuading. I was pleased that I’d done so well in the exams; and I’ve got an idea now about what I’d like to do in the future. And I’ve decided that I’m not going to carry on working at Sunnyhill any longer. Well, I shall do the next couple of weeks until school starts again. Actually, Mr Hill has asked me to look after a new girl who’s starting there – to show her how we do things and all that – so I’ve promised him that I will. He was really sorry when I told him I wasn’t going to carry on working there. Like I told you before, he said he’d like to employ me full time, but I told him I’d decided to go back to school. He begged me to go back during the holidays, but I said that I didn’t think I would.’

  ‘You’ve changed your tune,’ said Vera. She didn’t entirely believe what Debbie was saying. ‘What’s gone wrong? Have you fallen out with Kevin?’

  ‘No, of course I haven’t!’ said Debbie, sounding very indignant. ‘I shall go on seeing him, but we won’t be working together any more, not after the next week or two, that’s all.’

  Vera nodded. ‘Yes … I see. Well, we’re certainly pleased that you’re going back to school, whatever the reason is for you changing your mind, aren’t we, Dad … I mean, Stanley?’

  Stanley just nodded in agreement, looking somewhat bemused.

  ‘It seems to be a sudden change of heart, though,’ Vera went on. ‘You were so determined about leaving school and carrying on working at Sunnyhill.’

  ‘I can change my mind if I want to, can’t I?’ snapped Debbie. ‘And it hasn’t been all that sudden anyway. I’ve been thinking about it for … quite a while. I didn’t like being pestered, that’s all. I do have a mind of my own, you know.’

  Stanley gave a wry chuckle. ‘I think we know that only too well, don’t we, Vera? And happen you don’t want to admit that your parents know best; that’s the truth, isn’t it, Debbie?’

  Vera
was still amazed at the way Stanley was speaking to their daughter. She had felt that he had been too lenient with her sometimes, too ambivalent about her changes of mood, and that she, Vera, was not getting the support she wanted. She could see a stubborn look on Debbie’s face now, so she decided to play her husband’s remark down a little.

  ‘Oh, we all like to think we know best when we’re young,’ she said. ‘I expect we were just the same with our parents, weren’t we, Stanley? We thought they were old fuddy-duddies.’

  ‘I don’t know so much about that,’ he replied. ‘We were taught to respect ’em, and not to answer back, I know that.’

  ‘Well, like Debbie says, young people have minds of their own these days. It’s all this schooling. They’re encouraged to give their point of view. That’s right, isn’t it, Debbie?’

  The girl nodded, rather sullenly. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Vera continued, ‘you were just saying that you’d got an idea about what you’d like to do in the future. So … are you going to tell us about it?’

  Debbie shrugged. ‘I suppose I could,’ she said, in an offhand manner. ‘It’s only an idea. It was something Mr Hill said, about there being a good future in landscape gardening these days. You know; designing gardens – rockeries and water features and ornamental flower beds and all that sort of thing. Some people – posh people – are paying the earth now to have their gardens restyled. And just ordinary people are going in for it as well, on a smaller scale. And I’ve got a good eye for colour and design. Mr Hill says so, and Mrs Hill as well, when I did those floral arrangements.’

  Debbie was looking more animated now. She had seemed loath to tell them her ideas at first, but as she warmed to her subject a note of elation had come back into her voice.

  ‘So … what are you saying?’ asked Vera. ‘That you’d like to be some sort of a gardener?’

  ‘Yes … I’ve just said – a landscape gardener. You’ve heard of them, haven’t you? Capability Brown – he was the most famous one. He designed the gardens at Blenheim Palace.’

  ‘By heck! You’re aiming a bit high, aren’t you, lass?’ said Stanley.

  ‘I’m not saying I’d be as good as him! I’m not thinking of anything on that scale, but I’d like to design gardens for people. That’s what I’m saying. And I think I’d be good at it!’ There was a touch of defiance in her tone, as though she had added, ‘So there!’

  Vera had no idea who this Capability Brown was – that couldn’t be his real name, surely? – but it sounded as though Stanley had heard of him, probably with him being a gardener himself. But it all sounded very improbable to her. ‘Isn’t it more of a job for a man, Debbie, love?’ she asked, ‘I mean – all that digging and carting stones and stuff about. And water features? Do you mean ponds for goldfish, and fountains an’ all that? It all sounds very ambitious to me. Not that there’s anything wrong with ambition. But when you said you didn’t want to go on working at the garden centre, I thought you meant you were giving up the idea of gardening altogether. That you’d train to be a teacher … or something of the sort.’ That had long been the apex of Vera’s ambitions for her daughter, as Debbie now reminded her.

  ‘That’s all you ever think of, isn’t it, Mum? How many times do I have to tell you that a teacher is the last thing I want to be? I can’t think of anything worse.’

  ‘No, you don’t want to end up coping with girls like you, do you Debbie?’ chuckled her father.

  ‘I thought you said you were proud of me,’ retorted Debbie. ‘You said how hard I’d worked. And I’m very well behaved at school, not like some of them.’

  ‘You mean you save your nowtiness for us when you get home, eh?’ laughed Stanley.

  ‘That’s enough, Stanley,’ said Vera. She turned to Debbie. ‘He’s only teasing; he doesn’t mean it. Anyway, pet, we’re glad to hear that you’re going back to school. And all this gardening business; we’ll have to see about it, won’t we? Perhaps it seems like a good idea now, but you might change your mind. We’d love to see you go to university, your daddy and me. We’d be so proud of you! There’s one in Durham, isn’t there? That would be near enough for you to get home at weekends. There’s a teacher training college there, too … Yes, I know what you said, love,’ she added, as Debbie tutted and cast an exasperated glance in her direction. ‘But I’m just saying, that’s all …’ No one spoke for a few moments, and Vera decided that maybe enough had been said for the moment.

  ‘Well, I think we’ve had a nice little chat, haven’t we?’ she said in conclusion. ‘We’ve sorted out a few things. And you and me, Debbie, we’ll go into Newcastle next week and choose a nice briefcase for you from that posh leather shop. And how about a new skirt and coat from C and A?’

  Debbie nodded. ‘Yes … thanks, Mum. That’ll be lovely …’

  Thirteen

  Debbie set off early on Monday morning, not because she was eager to get to the garden centre early; it was because she didn’t want to spend any more time than she needed to at home. Her father started his gardening work early, but her mother worked only three afternoons a week at the fancy goods shop, and she had ample time in a morning to chat over the breakfast table.

  Debbie was in a state of confusion. Her parents thought that the all-important discussion last night had gone well; at least her mum seemed to think so. Debbie was still bewildered, though, at her father’s sudden change of attitude towards her. She had always thought she could rely on him to support her, or at least to try to see her point of view, if her mother was too intransigent. Mum still seemed to think that she and dad had got their own way; that it was only because of her parents’ persuasion that Debbie was returning to school. They thought they could wear her down. She was under their roof, and so would be under their control whilst she attended school, like a good little girl, for the next two years. And if she didn’t stick up for herself they would do their utmost to make sure that she went to a university of their choice, near to Whitesands Bay. The main idea of going to college or uni as far as Debbie – and thousands like her – were concerned, was to break free from the apron strings.

  Apart from feeling smothered by her possessive parents, she was still smarting from Kevin’s rejection. She would never admit to anyone that he had ended their friendship – in other words that he had dumped her – but that was, in truth, what had happened, and Debbie’s self-esteem was damaged. She could pretend to herself that she didn’t care, but deep down she knew that she did.

  She was determined, however, to put on a happy face at work. She greeted Mr Hill with a smile, and she had a cheerful grin, too, for the new girl, Julie, to whom she was introduced.

  ‘Hello, Debbie,’ said Julie, sounding very nervous and unsure of herself. ‘Mr Hill says you’re going to help me. I’m really glad, because I find it hard to talk to strangers, like the customers, I mean, and I’m scared of getting it wrong.’ She was a small, thin-featured girl with fairish hair tied back in two bunches. She was a year younger than Debbie having left school at fifteen, but she seemed even younger than that. Debbie found herself feeling sorry for the kid – for that was how she thought of her – although she herself had never suffered from such lack of confidence.

  ‘Now stop worrying,’ she told her. ‘You’ll be fine; really, you will. You won’t be dealing with the customers all the time, and they’re usually very nice. They wouldn’t come if they weren’t interested in gardening. Most of them know exactly what they want, but sometimes they need a bit of advice; they like to have a chat about what sort of plants would be best.’ She could see a look of apprehension – fright, almost – on Julie’s face so she went on hurriedly. ‘Mr Hill won’t want you to deal with the customers just yet. Anyway, there’s far more to the job than that. We spend a lot of the time in the gardens and the greenhouses. There’s a lot to learn but I’m sure you’ll soon pick it up. It’s the job you wanted to do isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh yes, I do!’ The girl sounded quite eager
now. ‘I love helping my dad in the garden. But neither of us really know much about gardening, about the different plants and soil and all that.’

  ‘Well, you’ll soon learn,’ said Debbie cheerfully, ‘then you’ll be able to show off to your dad, won’t you? That’s how I got interested, with helping my dad, but he knows a lot about it because he works as a gardener as well … Come on, now, and we’ll make a start in the far greenhouse. The tomato plants need pruning, and there’ll be some more ripe ones ready to take off.’

  Far from feeling resentment at having to look after the new girl, Debbie thought that she might enjoy it. Julie was looking at her with eyes that shone with admiration and she felt that she had already helped to make the girl feel less anxious. They worked closely together all day. Debbie made sure that she kept herself and Julie busy. She saw Kevin briefly, once or twice. She managed to speak civilly to him, without showing any hint of bitterness or regret.

  There was something else, though, on Debbie’s mind; something that she had been thinking about, on and off, for a while, and now it was looming large again. Ever since she had found out that Claire Wagstaff had known the person who had given birth to her, and had probably had a hand in the adoption as well, she had wanted to know more. The mother must have been quite a young girl at the time – an unmarried mother – and Debbie found herself wanting to know, quite badly, what she was like. Not all the time; there were times when she almost managed to put it out of her mind, but at other times it became very important to her that she should know. It was one of those times now.

  Debbie knew that her adoptive parents – her real parents now, by law – loved her very much. She knew, also, that she loved them. But as well as loving them she was often annoyed and angered by them. It was at those times that she wondered about her real mother, what she would have been like with her, Debbie, if things had worked out differently. Mum had always told her that the girl had loved her but had been unable to keep her. And there was that little pink teddy bear which proved – didn’t it? – that she had wanted there to be some sort of contact with the child she had been forced to give up.