Families and Friendships

by Margaret Thornton

  ‘But you must have … loved him?’ Debbie was sure that Fiona had not been a flirtatious girl, the sort who would go with anyone.

  ‘I thought I did,’ Fiona smiled sadly. ‘He was my first boyfriend. We were both in the sixth form at our schools … in Leeds, it was. Anyway, there was this visit to London, run by the church, and my parents allowed me to go. We, Dave and I … got carried away; the first time away from home and all that. And so … it happened. We didn’t mean it to, but it does, Debbie, you know.’ Fiona looked at her seriously. ‘And it only needs to happen once. I was frantic when I found out I was pregnant, absolutely scared to death.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell him … Dave?’

  ‘No. You see, I was taken ill while we were away in London, and when we got home the doctor discovered I had glandular fever. So I was in isolation and couldn’t see any of my friends. Then … well … I realized I was having a baby. The doctor was marvellous, so very kind to me. He helped me to tell my mother. She was furious, of course, and my father; they were so ashamed of me.’

  ‘So they made you have … the baby … adopted?’

  Fiona nodded. ‘They told everyone at church – they were great churchgoers, you see – that I’d had a breakdown. They sent me to an aunt and uncle up north, as far away as possible. They were kind to me, though, so understanding and forgiving, so much more so than my parents. Then I went to Burnside House, as you know, to wait for the birth. That’s where I met Ginny, and we’ve stayed friends ever since. She was allowed to keep Ryan, of course, at the last minute. Then she married Arthur, and they’re still very happy.’

  They looked at one another, Fiona and Debbie, mother and daughter, for several moments, both of them lost for words.

  Then Fiona said, ‘I was only allowed to hold you for a few minutes. But when I looked at you I knew – somehow – that it couldn’t have been wrong, what I did, when I had given birth to such a beautiful baby. I wanted to keep you, really I did, but of course I couldn’t. Then I remembered the little bear, and I tucked it into your shawl, hoping that … some day … you might understand.’

  ‘Yes, I do understand,’ said Debbie. ‘Thank you for telling me about it.’

  ‘Simon has a favourite text from scripture,’ said Fiona, ‘about all things working together for good. And they have done, haven’t they, in the end?’

  ‘What about your parents?’ asked Debbie. ‘Did they forgive you?’

  ‘I don’t think they ever did, not entirely,’ said Fiona. ‘I went back to Leeds, and it was never mentioned again. It was as though it had never happened. Then they were both killed in a coach crash a few years later. I went to live with my gran. I’d always been very close to her, and I lived with her until she died. She lived until she was ninety. I came to Aberthwaite soon afterwards and got a job in the library here. And the rest you know. I married Simon, we had Stella … and now we’re expecting another one!’

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Debbie, ‘to have two so close together, so they can be friends. I sometimes used to wish I had a little brother or sister. It can be lonely, being the only one.’

  ‘Well, now you have,’ said Fiona. ‘I could see that Stella had taken to you, and you took rather a fancy to her, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, she’s lovely,’ said Debbie. ‘But I didn’t mean that. I was thinking about when I was growing up, at home. I thought how nice it would be, but my parents were older and … oh dear! I’m getting myself in a muddle aren’t I?’

  Fiona laughed. ‘Yes, it is all rather strange, isn’t it? We hope you’ll keep in touch with us, Debbie. We know that you will be living with Vera and Stanley, that’s where you belong … but now that we’ve found one another again, I’d like to see you from time to time. It was probably meant to happen, eventually.’

  ‘You mean … like fate?’

  ‘Well, perhaps. Simon might say it was God’s hand in it all; I don’t know. But whatever it is, I’m very glad about it.’

  Simon appeared with a laden tray. ‘I was just saying, darling, that Debbie must keep in touch with us,’ said Fiona.

  ‘I’ve already told her that,’ said Simon. ‘Now, here we are; coffee and Fiona’s home-made gingerbread. Now, are you going to tell us a little about yourself?’ he asked, when they were all supplied with a cup of coffee and a biscuit. ‘You’re still at school, are you? Let’s see; it would be your O level year?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I did quite well, actually,’ she said, not wanting to sound boastful. ‘Mostly As and Bs. And I’m going into the sixth form. Gosh! It’s next week. I’d almost forgotten.’

  ‘And then … what do you plan to do after you leave school?’ asked Fiona.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she replied. ‘What I’m most interested in is gardening …’ She told them about her father’s occupation and her part-time job. ‘I’d like to do landscape gardening. I’d need to take a course at college, or get a degree in … I’m not sure what. I really wanted to go on working at Sunnyhill, and leave school now. But my parents wanted me to go into the sixth form.’

  ‘Very wise,’ said Simon. ‘So did mine, but I took no notice. I thought I knew best, of course. I went out to work – office work – when I was sixteen, then when the war started I joined the RAF.’

  ‘Then you became a vicar,’ said Debbie.

  ‘A curate first, then a vicar, or rector, in my case … God moves in mysterious ways,’ he added with a wry grin. ‘But that’s another story.’

  ‘So it’s the sixth form next week,’ said Fiona. ‘I think you’ll enjoy it, Debbie. It’s not the same as ordinary school. I had a year in the sixth, then … well, you know what happened. I would most probably have gone on to teacher training college, but it wasn’t to be.’

  ‘That’s what my mum really wants me to do,’ said Debbie. ‘But I don’t want to be a teacher. I can’t think of anything worse!’

  Fiona chuckled. ‘That’s strange. It seems to be what mothers always want. I think it was my mother’s idea, really, that I should be a teacher. It’s something to do with having the chances that they never had.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what Mum says,’ replied Debbie. ‘But I think she’s satisfied now that I’ve decided to go back to school. My friend, Shirley, will be there, so I expect we’ll enjoy it.’

  ‘And Ryan?’ asked Fiona.

  ‘Yes, Ryan as well. We’ve all been in the same form all through our time at Kelder Bank. I didn’t get on very well with Ryan at first, but I quite like him now. You know him, don’t you … Fiona?’ She used the name a little warily.

  ‘Yes, but I haven’t seen him for ages. He’s got his mother’s ginger hair, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but I’ve never met his mum, nor his dad. They live in South Shields, but you know that, of course …’

  After they had chatted a little about Northumberland, Simon told Debbie how, after more than twenty years, he had discovered that he had a son. ‘I’m afraid he was the result of a wartime romance,’ he said. ‘No … that’s not what I mean at all,’ he corrected himself hurriedly. ‘That sounds as though I’m regretful, and I can assure you I’m not. Greg’s a grand young man, and we’re pleased to have him as a member of our family. It’s becoming quite an extended family, isn’t it? I had no idea at the time; Yvonne had disappeared from the scene … and I just carried on with my life – quite an eventful one as it turned out – until Greg came to find me.’

  ‘How old is he now?’ asked Debbie.

  ‘Greg’s twenty-three. He works as a solicitor in Manchester.’ He turned to Fiona. ‘I think we’re about due for a visit from him, aren’t we, darling?’

  Debbie pondered that if Greg was anything like his father, then he would be a good-looking young man. Simon was handsome, and very … personable; she thought that was the right word. Quite old, though; he must be not far off fifty. Younger than her parents but quite a bit older than Fiona. They seemed very happy together, she mused, calling one another darling as though they were te
enagers … and still having babies.

  ‘Now Debbie, I’m sure you must be tired,’ said Fiona, at half past ten. Conversation had flowed easily, interrupted twice by telephone calls for Simon about parish matters. ‘We’ll have an early start in the morning, so we’d better get our beauty sleep. Would you like a cup of hot chocolate, dear? That’s what we usually have.’

  Debbie said that would be lovely, and it was even nicer when Fiona brought it up to her bedroom. ‘Goodnight, my dear,’ she said, kissing her cheek. ‘God bless …’

  She’s nice, thought Debbie. I like her. Even though her mind was full of the events of the day, she soon dropped off to sleep.

  Fiona felt a little apprehensive as they set off the following morning. She felt sure that Debbie must be feeling anxious, too, at the thought of seeing her parents again. But Simon was great in difficult situations; he always knew how to act and what to say.

  Debbie had been delighted to hear that Stella was coming with them. She and the little girl were sitting together in the back of the car. Fiona could hear them reciting the nursery rhymes that Stella knew. It was lovely the way that they had bonded, and the child would help to distract Debbie from the thought of meeting Vera and Stanley again. Stella wasn’t used to long car journeys, and Fiona had insisted that she should wear a nappy today, ‘just in case’.

  ‘Big girl now,’ Stella had argued. She had been remarkably quick with her toilet training, but it was better to be safe than sorry. They had a ‘comfort stop’ halfway, when they refreshed themselves with a biscuit and coffee from the flask that Fiona had prepared.

  The scenery was gradually changing as they drove north. The first sight of the slag heaps and winding gear, and the factory chimneys, brought back memories to Fiona. She had not travelled this way since the time, sixteen years ago, when her uncle had brought her back from the home – in the other direction, of course – after the birth of her baby. And now … here in the car with her was the same baby, now grown into an attractive and lively young woman.

  Fiona had visited Whitesands Bay only once, when the girls had been taken out on a trip, a treat away from the strictures – though never unduly harsh ones – of the home. They drove along the pleasant promenade with its bright flowerbeds. She remembered the sandy beach, and the lighthouse on the rocks. Then they turned off the promenade, and Debbie directed Simon through the streets of the town, until they stopped at a terraced house with a small paved area at the front. There were two large planters filled with geraniums, begonias and blue lobelia; the paintwork on the house was a glossy green, and the brass letterbox and door knocker gleamed as though they had been recently polished. A very welcoming sort of house.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Debbie in a small voice. ‘I’ll go and knock, shall I?’

  Simon smiled at her. ‘Go on, Debbie. We’re here with you; it’ll be all right, you’ll see.’

  The door opened and Fiona saw a smallish woman – Debbie was a few inches taller – with a pleasant smiling face, dark hair that was greying slightly, and warm brown eyes behind tortoiseshell-framed glasses. Her eyes filled up with tears as she saw Debbie, and she enveloped her in a tight hug.

  ‘Oh, Debbie, pet!’ she cried. ‘It’s so good to see you. You’ve had quite an adventure, haven’t you?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ Debbie began. ‘Really I am. I didn’t mean …’

  Vera cut her off quickly. ‘Now, now, we don’t want to hear any more sorrys, and don’t start getting upset. We’re just so glad, your daddy and me, that you’re alright … And how nice to see our visitors as well.’ Her glance took in all of them.

  Fiona stepped forward. ‘Hello, Mrs Hargreaves. I’m Fiona, and this is my husband, Simon.’

  ‘Oh, call me Vera,’ she said, shaking hands with both of them. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you. And who is this little sweetheart?’

  ‘This is Stella,’ said Fiona. ‘Our little girl; she’s nearly two.’

  Vera stooped down to her. ‘Hello, pet. You’re a little poppet, aren’t you?’

  ‘Hello … lady,’ Stella said, rather shyly. She was staring round, overawed by the strangeness of her surroundings.

  ‘I think we’d better pay a little visit, Vera, if you know what I mean,’ said Fiona. ‘It’s been a long time to sit in the car.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Vera. ‘Come on in, everyone … The bathroom’s at the top of the stairs … Fiona.’

  When Fiona came down again they were all sitting in the room at the front of the house, the one, she guessed, that was not used all the time but just for special occasions. The man, whom she knew must be Stanley, stood up as she entered. He was small, like his wife, a wiry man who looked – but probably wasn’t – quite a lot older than Vera. His face was lined and ruddy with outdoor work and his grey eyes were serious. He smiled in a friendly way, though, as he shook hands with Fiona.

  ‘And you must be Fiona. How d’you do, pet? Pleased to meet you, though I must say it’s all been a bit of a shock. Thanks to Miss Nosy Parker here!’ He turned to look sternly at Debbie. Then he chuckled. ‘She’s always been the same, never happy till she knows the whys and wherefores of everything. So I reckon we shouldn’t have been all that surprised.’

  ‘I’ve said I’m sorry, Dad,’ Debbie repeated, a little edgily this time. ‘I keep saying it.’

  ‘Aye, and that’s the end of it now, pet,’ he said. ‘We won’t mention it again.’

  ‘And we’ve made some new friends, too,’ said Vera. We met Ginny and Arthur; such a nice couple. And now … Simon and Fiona.’ She beamed with pleasure. ‘And little Stella … and another one on the way. Am I right?’

  ‘You are indeed,’ smiled Fiona. ‘Early December, not all that long now.’

  ‘I’m not going to ask you whether you want a boy or a girl,’ said Vera, ‘because I know it won’t matter, with loving parents like the two of you … Now, I reckon it’s time we had our dinner. It’s all ready in the oven. I’ll just go and see to things. Won’t be long.’

  ‘I’ll come with you, if I may?’ said Fiona, following her into the kitchen. ‘This is a strange situation, Vera,’ she began. ‘It could have been awkward, but you’ve taken it all so well.’

  ‘I can’t pretend I wasn’t upset at first, when I found out what she’d done,’ replied Vera, ‘and worried to death when she didn’t come home. But I suppose I should’ve known what she’d do, some day. We’d made no secret of it, you see, her being adopted. And she was such a pretty little girl, she still is … And now I know why. You’re a bonny lass, Fiona.’

  She smiled. ‘We’re the way God made us, I suppose. It’s more important to be nice on the inside, though, isn’t it? Debbie’s turned out to be a grand girl, and it’s thanks to the upbringing she’s had … A bit of a handful, though, at times, I should imagine?’ she added.

  ‘You can say that again!’ replied Vera with feeling. ‘No, she wasn’t always an easy child, but it’s been worth it. And we love her as though she was our own, Stanley and me.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that you do,’ said Fiona. ‘Thank you … for everything.’

  ‘Well, I’d best get this lot served out,’ said Vera. ‘I’ve already set the table for five of us, and Stanley found the highchair we had when Debbie was small. He won’t throw anything away.’

  They sat round the table in the living room, a smallish room, as was the kitchen; but the drop-leaf table would allow more room when the meal was finished. The shepherd’s pie with the crusty potato topping was declared delicious, as was the rice pudding, nicely browned with nutmeg on the top.

  Fiona noticed that Debbie was quiet and seemed preoccupied during the meal. She guessed the girl was overwhelmed by it all, but no doubt relieved that her reckless behaviour – although it had taken some courage – had turned out all right in the end. More than all right. Fiona was satisfied now that the child she had given up so reluctantly had had the very best of homes. And she, Fiona, need worry and wonder no longer.

&nbs
p; Debbie showed an interest, though, when Vera said to her, ‘Guess what, Debbie? Your daddy has said that we must have a phone put in. Isn’t that splendid?’

  Debbie nodded. ‘Yes, it’s a smashing idea, Mum.’

  ‘Just in case you decide to go walkabout again,’ said Stanley, laughing. ‘No, I don’t mean it, pet. It’s about time we moved into the twentieth century. It’ll be useful for us. And we’ll be able to keep in touch with our new friends.’

  There was time to spare afterwards for the inevitable cup of tea, which followed every northern meal. Then Stanley proudly showed them around his garden; the vegetable plot, the herb-aceous border, and the greenhouse where he grew tomatoes and cucumbers and, this year, even courgettes and aubergines. ‘Not that I’m right keen on them meself,’ he said, ‘but apparently they’re popular now, according to our Debbie; they grow ’em at the garden centre, so I thought I’d give ’em a try.’

  ‘It’s a splendid show,’ said Simon. ‘I’m very impressed. And it looks as though Debbie’s going to follow in your footsteps.’

  ‘Aye, she’s not doing so badly,’ said Stanley, smiling at her fondly. ‘We’re proud of her, you know. She’s worked hard at school, but she was always a clever lass.’

  ‘Give over, Dad!’ said Debbie, looking a little embarrassed.

  Fiona put an arm round her shoulders. ‘We’re all very pleased with you, Debbie love. And you must come and see us … quite soon, if that’s OK with your parents? And I know one little girl who’ll be delighted to see you again.’ Stella was quiet, and had her thumb in her mouth, indicating that she was ready for a nap.

  ‘We’d better be on our way,’ said Fiona. ‘Thank you, Vera, for a lovely meal … and both of you for making us so welcome.’

  She didn’t make too much fuss of Debbie as they all said goodbye, just a quick hug and a kiss on her cheek; and Simon shook her hand and winked at her in a matey sort of way. Fiona kissed Vera’s cheek, too, as they shook hands, just saying, ‘Goodbye … and thanks for everything.’ She felt that they had reached a very good understanding of one another.