She opened the door. There was a girl standing here. Fiona didn’t know her, at least she didn’t think she did, though she looked, somehow, familiar. The girl stared at her for a moment, then she said, ‘Excuse me, but are you … Fiona?’
‘Yes, that’s me,’ she answered brightly. ‘And you are …?’
‘My name’s Debbie,’ answered the girl. Then she burst into tears. ‘I think you might be … my mother.’
Sixteen
Fiona gasped, feeling her heart miss a beat. She reached out a hand and touched the girl’s arm. ‘Come along, dear. Come inside, and tell me about it.’ The girl looked at her unsurely, her brown eyes brimming with tears.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have come …’
‘Well, you’re here now, aren’t you?’ said Fiona, putting an arm round her and leading her over the threshold. ‘Come along in. Try not to cry, dear … We’ll sort it all out.’
She led her into the room they called the living room; the family room at the back of the house, as opposed to the more spacious lounge where they entertained guests and groups from church. The living room was a more intimate place, and Fiona felt that she needed the support of her husband.
‘This is Debbie,’ she said. Simon looked up from his paper, and Fiona nodded at him in a meaningful way. She could tell from the look on his face – of surprise, bewilderment, then of gradually dawning realization – that he knew what she was trying to convey to him, and that he had guessed who this girl might be. ‘She’s come to tell us something. Debbie, love – this is my husband, Simon, and our little girl, Stella.’
‘Hello,’ said Debbie timidly, trying to smile through her tears.
Simon sprung to his feet. ‘Take your coat off, dear, it looks rather damp. Now, sit here …’ He coaxed her into a small armchair. ‘Just relax and calm down, there’s a good girl. You don’t need to worry about anything at all. Just … take your time.’ He patted her shoulder consolingly.
Stella got up from the hearthrug where she was playing with her dolls. She looked curiously at the visitor, then she went across and put her little hand on Debbie’s knee. ‘Don’t cry, lady,’ she said. ‘Why you crying?’
It made Debbie give a loud sob, although she had been trying to stem her tears. But she smiled as well. ‘Aren’t you a little darling?’ she said, stroking the child’s hair. ‘Don’t worry, pet. I’m just being silly.’
‘I’m Stella,’ said the little girl, ‘and this is Betsy.’ She placed a soft-bodied doll, rather grimy with much loving on Debbie’s knee. ‘And this is Growly Bear.’ An equally loved teddy bear, rather bald in places.
‘Now leave Debbie alone,’ said Fiona. ‘I expect she’s rather tired. I think we’d better all have a nice cup of tea.’
Debbie looked up and smiled. ‘That sounds like my mum; she always says that … Oh dear!’ She put a hand to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry … but you know what I mean.’
Fiona smiled. ‘Of course I do, my dear.’ The words had certainly slipped out unintentionally, and it proved to Fiona that the girl had a loving mother, despite the fact that she had landed on their doorstep. ‘That’s what mums always say, isn’t it?’ She laughed. ‘A nice cup of tea’s an answer to everything.’
‘I’ll make the tea,’ said Simon. ‘Come on, Stella; you can help me. We’ll let Mummy have a talk to Debbie.’
Fiona sat down opposite the girl. ‘Now, my dear,’ she said. ‘Why do you think that I might be … No …’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I’ll rephrase that, because I’ve no reason to doubt you. What I mean is … how did you find out? How did you know where to find me? To start with, where do you live, Debbie?’
‘In Whitesands Bay,’ Debbie replied. ‘You know, up in Northumberland. I’m called Debbie – well, Deborah Mary really – Debbie Hargreaves.’
It was no surprise to Fiona to hear that she was from up north. She had that sing-song way of speaking, common to the people known as Geordies. She still remembered it from her time in Burnside House, and it was the way that Ginny and Arthur spoke.
‘And … I’ve got this.’ Debbie reached for the bag at the side of her chair and rummaged about in it. Then she drew out a little pink teddy bear and held it out to Fiona. ‘My mum gave me this when I was a little girl. She said that you … I mean, the lady whose baby I was – she didn’t know it was you, did she? – that she had left it with me, and that it showed that she – that you – had loved me …’
Fiona took hold of the little bear. ‘Oh … yes!’ she breathed. ‘I remember …’ Her eyes filled with tears, too, as she looked at the pink bear, recalling how she had tucked it into the baby’s shawl when she handed the child over to the nurse; recalling, too, how she had first been given the teddy bear. ‘I’m so pleased you’ve kept him. I’m glad your mother gave him to you.’
Debbie smiled. ‘Actually, I always thought it was a girl bear, with it being pink. I called it Rosie. I didn’t play with it very much, though, because Mum said it was special.’
‘It was special to me as well, Debbie,’ said Fiona. ‘I’ll tell you, later, how I came to have it. Now tell me … how did you find out?’
‘Well …’ Debbie frowned. ‘It’s complicated. My parents told me – at least Mum did – when I was only a very little girl, that I was adopted. So I always knew, and I didn’t mind, because they said I was special, you see, because they’d chosen me.’
‘Yes, I see …’ Fiona nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘Do you remember Claire Wagstaff?’ asked Debbie.
‘Claire? Yes, of course I do,’ said Fiona. ‘She was one of the helpers at the home. She was very kind to me. Do you mean … Claire told you?’
‘No, she didn’t,’ answered Debbie. ‘She wouldn’t tell me anything, really, ’cause she knew she wasn’t supposed to. But I went to see her because Mum had told me I was born in that place, Burnside House.’
‘I see …’ Fiona was beginning to realize now what must have happened way back in 1952. ‘So Claire … she had something to do with your adoption?’ She had thought it strange that the girl lived in Northumberland, so near to the place of her birth. She had imagined that the child would have been taken much further away.
‘Yes, it was Claire who told them, the adoption people, whoever they were, that my mum and dad – Vera and Stanley, they’re called – that they wanted to adopt a baby girl. And that they’d be good parents. Claire knew them, you see.’
‘And they are, aren’t they?’ asked Fiona. ‘They’re good parents? You’ve not come here because you’re unhappy at home, have you, Debbie?’
‘No,’ said Debbie. ‘I’m not unhappy. But I had this urge to find out; it was driving me mad. And I couldn’t ask Mum anything else.’
‘They don’t know you’re here, I take it?’
‘No … I just got on a train and came here, well, I managed to get part of the way. I didn’t know where Aberthwaite was, really. There’s not a station here, so I was going to get a bus. But the bus had gone, and then a nice lady – she says she knows you – gave me a lift here. She saw me when I was waiting at the bus stop in … where was it? Oh yes, in Northallerton.’
‘Oh deary me! It sounds as though you’ve had quite an eventful journey. Look, here’s Simon with the tea.’ She poured it into three cups. ‘Sugar, Debbie?’
‘Yes, one and a bit, please.’
‘Now, drink it while it’s hot; it’ll make you feel better. You must be worn out after that journey. And you’d better have something to eat with us, too. Then we must let your parents know where you are. They’ll be frantic, Debbie, when they find out you’re missing. Didn’t you think about that, dear?’
‘Yes … yes, I did, sort of,’ said Debbie, looking a bit shamefaced. ‘But like I told you, I wanted to know … about you. And I knew that if I didn’t do it now, I never would.’
Simon pulled up a chair and sat next to her. ‘What is it, Debbie?’ he asked kindly. ‘Have you had a bit of an upset a
t home? Is that why you’re here?’
‘No … not really,’ she began.
‘No, she says not,’ added Fiona. ‘She’s just been telling me how she found out … about me.’ She turned to smile at Debbie. ‘So Claire wouldn’t tell you what you wanted to know?’
‘No; she said she didn’t know where you lived, and even if she did she couldn’t tell me. But she mentioned somebody called Ginny, a friend of yours. She is, isn’t she?’
‘Ginny … yes, she was with me in the home. And we saw her – she and her husband came here – not long ago. Do you know Ginny? Did she tell you?’
‘No, I don’t know her,’ said Debbie, ‘but I know her son, Ryan. He’s in my form at school, and he’s the boyfriend of my friend Shirley.’
Fiona shook her head in bewilderment. This was getting very complicated. ‘Ryan … yes, I remember Ryan. He was only a little boy when I last saw him. So it was Ryan, was it, who let the cat out of the bag?’
‘Yes, but only because I made him. He didn’t want to. He said his mum would kill him if she found out. Well, she wouldn’t really have done; we always say that, don’t we? She’d have been mad at him, though, ’cause she’d told him not to say anything. He showed his mum a photo, you see, of our form, and she said that I looked just like you, except for the colour of my hair.’
‘Yes, of course …’ Fiona leaned back on her chair, sighing deeply. ‘It’s just beginning to sink in. You are … my daughter! It’s like a miracle, after all this time.’
Simon chuckled. ‘The second miracle, eh, darling? Who said that lightning doesn’t strike twice!’
‘That’s another story,’ said Fiona, in answer to Debbie’s questioning look. ‘For another time. I’m so pleased you’ve come, my dear. It must have taken some courage. I can see that you’re quite a determined young lady, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, and inquisitive, too,’ said Debbie, ‘I always want to find out. My mum says I’m too nosy for my own good.’
‘Yes, and we must let your parents know you’re here,’ said Simon, a little sternly. ‘We’d better ring up and tell them. I hope you won’t get into too much trouble?’
‘I don’t think I will,’ said Debbie. ‘I know I shouldn’t have done it, really, but I just … had to. We’re not on the phone, though,’ she added.
‘Then perhaps there’s a neighbour who could take a message?’ suggested Simon.
‘There’s my friend, Shirley Crompton. They live nearby, but I don’t know the number.’
‘That’s easily found out. But first things first.’ Simon rubbed his hands together. ‘A meal, then you’ll be staying the night with us, won’t you?’
‘Oh … I don’t know.’ Debbie looked confused. ‘I hadn’t thought about it.’
‘You didn’t think we’d turn you out, did you?’ laughed Simon. ‘We’ve got a spare room, and Fiona can find you a nightdress.’
‘Yes, come along, my dear.’ Fiona put an arm round Debbie as she stood up. Let’s get you sorted out. I dare say you’ll want the bathroom as well, won’t you?’
‘Yes, I do actually,’ Debbie said with a grin.
She seems a nice sort of girl, thought Fiona, obviously well brought up. Rather wilful, though, and she was probably something of a handful. But not lacking in courage, nor in character. Whatever she was like, though, she was here. It was almost too much to comprehend just now; but Fiona was glad, so very glad, that she had found her baby girl at last.
When Debbie came out of the bathroom Fiona showed her into a bedroom at the back of the house, overlooking the garden. ‘I’m sure you’ll be comfortable in here, Debbie,’ she said. ‘It’s where Ginny and Arthur slept when they came to see us …’ She hesitated. ‘I wonder if Ginny knew about it then?’ she said, almost as if talking to herself. ‘I’ve a feeling she might have done, but maybe she thought things were better left as they were. I’m really pleased about it, though, Debbie, love. It’s strange isn’t it … but come here and give me a hug.’
Debbie felt herself enveloped in loving arms, and as she returned the embrace, a little diffidently, she breathed in the scent of a flowery perfume; gardenia, perhaps? Her mum liked Coty’s L’aimant, but it wasn’t that. It was a lighter, younger fragrance. Fiona kissed her cheek, then stood back, looking at her.
‘You must call me Fiona,’ she said. ‘Let’s get that settled straight away. Because you’ve got a mum, haven’t you, who loves you very much? And I can tell by the way you talk about her that you think a lot of her, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Debbie. ‘And my dad as well. We hadn’t had a row – like I said, that’s not why I came – but I sometimes get annoyed with them.’
Fiona smiled. ‘All girls get annoyed with their parents sometimes; I know I did.’
‘They’re a bit old-fashioned, you see,’ Debbie went on. ‘Of course they’re older aren’t they, older than you? They’re turned fifty, both of them. They wanted a baby; they’d been married for ages and nothing happened. So they adopted me.’
‘And it’s all turned out very well, hasn’t it?’ said Fiona. ‘Look, Debbie; I’m going to leave you to sort yourself out. I’ll get you a nightie, and a towel and flannel. You won’t have brought a toothbrush, will you?’
Debbie shook her head. ‘No, I just shoved in some … underwear, that’s all. And something to eat, and the little bear … to show I wasn’t making it up. Would you like it back? You said it was special.’
‘No, you keep it,’ Fiona looked sad for a moment, ‘but I’ll tell you the story about it … later.’
She left the room and came back a few minutes later with a pretty blue nylon nightdress, a towel and flannel, and a toothbrush and toothpaste. ‘There you are, dear. Come down when you’re ready. I must go and see to our meal. We’re having a chicken casserole, so there’s plenty to go round. See you in a little while …’
Debbie looked out of the window at the garden. Her keen eye told her that Simon and Fiona were probably not expert gardeners, as her father was and as she hoped to be, one day. The lawn needed cutting, and the flowerbeds surrounding it held summer bedding plants – begonias, marigolds, asters – nearing the end of their flowering, and a few rose bushes. There was a stunning view, though, of trees and a stream and distant hills, and nearby was the church where Simon was the rector. She noticed the sand pit and the swing at the end of the garden …
Stella was a lovely little girl. Debbie had taken to her at once, although she had never had much to do with children. She was her … half sister, wasn’t she?
One of the first things that Debbie had noticed about Fiona was that she was pregnant; a few months so, she guessed. Debbie already liked her very much. She was young looking and very pretty, with golden hair in an elfin style. Debbie could see the resemblance to herself, but Fiona’s features were more delicate than her own rather stronger ones. She thought that Fiona looked tired. It couldn’t be easy, being the wife of a rector … but Simon seemed very nice as well; kind and helpful, but strong, too, she guessed, and determined.
It had all gone very well so far, after the stressful journey. It was then that she remembered her parents. Would they have found out by now that she was missing? She suddenly felt dreadful; there was a sick feeling in her stomach as she thought of Mum worrying about her. It came to her then, like a flash of lightning, that Vera was her mother. She always had been, ever since she had taken charge of her as a tiny baby, and she always would be. Fiona was … well, she was just Fiona. Debbie would no doubt get to know her better and grow fond of her. But Vera was … Mum. And Debbie realized now that she loved her very much.
Debbie was usually home by six o’clock. The staff who worked at the garden centre stopped work at five thirty although Mr Hill sometimes stayed open later to accommodate people who might want to call on their way home.
When she hadn’t arrived home at six fifteen Vera started to feel anxious.
‘Now don’t start worrying,’ Stanley told her. ‘She’s
not all that late. Perhaps she’s got held up with a last-minute customer, or maybe she’s chatting to Kevin.’
‘Or she might have had a puncture,’ said Vera. ‘Oh dear! I do worry, Stanley, when she’s out on her bike. I don’t think she’s any idea how to mend a puncture …’ Or she could have had an accident, Vera thought to herself, but didn’t say. The country lanes were pretty quiet, but the cars sometimes went too fast round the bends. There had been a report in the paper recently about such an occurrence: a cyclist knocked off her bicycle and badly injured.
‘Our meal’s ready now,’ said Vera, ‘but I don’t want to start without her.’
‘What are we having?’ asked Stanley.
‘Braised steak with carrots and onions, and there’s mashed potato.’
‘Put our Debbie’s on a plate, then, and leave it in the oven. She won’t be long, and I’m starving!’
They started their meal, in fact they finished the first course and started eating their rhubarb crumble, and still she hadn’t arrived. Vera pushed her dish to one side. ‘I can’t eat any more, Stanley; I’m that worried. Wherever can she be?’
‘For heaven’s sake, Vera, calm down!’ said Stanley. ‘Don’t start thinking the worst. I’ll just finish my pud, then I’ll nip along to the phone box and ring Mr Hill at the garden centre. She might be working late.’
‘Then she should have let us know …’
‘How could she?’ said Stanley. ‘I keep telling you that we ought to get a phone put in. We can well afford it now.’
‘But we hardly ever use the phone.’ Vera had never seen the need to go to the unnecessary expense.
‘Well, we need it now, don’t we?’
‘I’ll go,’ said Vera, feeling she couldn’t wait any longer. She was all churned up inside, and she had to do something – anything – to stop her thoughts running out of control. ‘You finish your pudding.’
‘Have you got the number?’
‘Yes; it’s in my diary. Debbie gave it me, but I’ve never used it.’ She grabbed her bag and ran to the phone box at the end of the road. She put in the money and dialled the number, all fingers and thumbs as she hardly ever used a phone. She could tell by his voice that it was Kevin who answered.
Families and Friendships Page 19
