Families and Friendships

by Margaret Thornton

  Fiona sat in the back of the car this time with Stella on her knee. The little girl was soon asleep. ‘That went off very well,’ she remarked to Simon. ‘They’re lovely people. I couldn’t have wished for anyone better.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re happy, darling,’ he replied. ‘It must have been a tremendous shock for you.’

  ‘No more than it was for you with Greg,’ she answered. ‘In fact, that must have been much worse, because you had no idea.’

  Simon laughed. ‘Another revelation for the folk at church, eh? All in good time, of course. But I don’t think anything we do can surprise them any more!’

  Eighteen

  Fiona had a phone call that evening. She recognized Joan Tweedale’s voice straight away.

  ‘Hello there, Fiona,’ said Joan. ‘I rang before, but …’

  ‘Yes; we’ve been out all day,’ said Fiona.

  ‘Please forgive me for being nosy,’ said Joan, ‘but I’ve been wondering … how did you get on with your little visitor?’

  Fiona laughed. ‘Oh, it was you, was it? I rather thought from Debbie’s description that it might have been you. Thank you for coming to her rescue. I dare say you might have guessed who she is?’

  ‘She told me you were her aunty,’ said Joan. ‘Then I looked at her more closely and I thought it could be …?’

  ‘Yes, she is … my daughter. She’s called Debbie, Deborah Hargreaves. And she lives in Whitesands Bay, up in Northumberland.’

  ‘I guessed from the way she spoke that she was from somewhere up there. She said she’d missed the bus. Poor little lass! She looked so sad and sorry for herself, sitting there on the bench. I take it you weren’t expecting her?’

  ‘Good heavens, no! I had the shock of my life when I opened the door. I guessed who she was almost at once.’

  ‘And how was it? Did you find that you were able to bond with her? I should imagine she’s quite a lively lass normally. She was really down in the dumps, though, when I found her.’

  ‘Thank heavens you did,’ said Fiona. ‘Yes, we all got on well together after the initial shock. We both agree that she’s a grand girl, though she’s probably been a bit of a handful to bring up. Her … mother says so. That’s where we’ve been today, taking her back to Whitesands Bay. Her parents are a lovely couple – Vera and Stanley, they’re called – very homely and down-to-earth. She couldn’t have had better parents … Anyway, I’ll pop into the shop and see you, Joan, maybe tomorrow. Then I can tell you more. Thanks so much for looking after her. What were you doing up in Northallerton, anyway?’

  ‘I had a sudden phone call. My aunt Phyllis has had to go into a residential home. She can’t look after herself any longer, and I’m her closest relative. So I closed the shop for the day and went to see her.’

  ‘And how did you find her? Is she happy enough there?’

  ‘Yes, she’s a sensible person and she realizes it’s the best thing to do. She has quite a few friends from the church, so she won’t be short of visitors. And Harold and I will go up when we can.’

  ‘Very fortuitous as it happened, that you should be there,’ said Fiona. ‘And now my mind’s at rest knowing that Debbie’s got a good home, and that I’ll be able to keep in touch with her. She was quite a hit with our little Stella; they took to one another right away.’

  ‘Another shock in store for the congregation,’ said Joan, laughing.

  ‘Quite so, but I think we’ll leave it a little while. We’ve enough on our plate at the moment. Cheerio for now, Joan. Thanks again, and see you soon …’

  The fundraising for the rebuilding of the church roof was progressing satisfactorily. Notices in the church newspapers advertising ‘High teas served in pleasant surroundings’ had resulted in three bookings so far from other churches within comfortable travelling distances.

  The catering committee consisted of the usual coterie of women, and it was decided that Mrs Bayliss should be the one in overall charge. Florence Catchpole, the newcomer, had agreed graciously with this – in fact it had been her suggestion – so what could have been rivalry between the two women had developed into a wary sort of friendship.

  The first visit was from a church in Malton. They were to spend some time in York first of all, where there was much to see and do, and then travel on to Aberthwaite for high tea. This took place in mid-September and turned out to be a great success. Mrs Bayliss had purchased succulent home-baked hand and tongue – at a discount for a large amount – from a local butcher. Served with salad and new potatoes, and home-produced pickles, beetroot and chutney, it was a sumptuous spread. It was followed, inevitably, by the trifles for which Ethel Bayliss and Blanche Fowler were renowned.

  Both Simon and the curate were there to welcome the group, and to wish them God speed and a safe journey home.

  ‘Well done, ladies,’ said Simon. ‘An excellent start to our catering idea. I must admit I had my doubts at first, but you have proved me wrong. When is the next booking?’

  ‘In a fortnight’s time,’ Ethel told him, with a touch of pride. A church from the Bradford area. Then there’s another one from up north, somewhere near Durham, a couple of weeks later. And we think that will be the last, for this year at any rate.’

  ‘Probably so,’ agreed Simon. ‘It’s doubtful that folks will want to travel in the late autumn and winter; Aberthwaite’s a summer sort of place. But there’s always next spring and summer to look forward to. So keep up the good work, ladies.’

  ‘Yes, hear, hear! And may I say that it was a really scrumptious meal,’ added Joshua Bellamy, the curate. ‘That trifle …’ He licked his lips. ‘It was quite something!’

  ‘We’re glad you enjoyed it,’ replied Ethel, a little frostily. She still had not taken to the new curate, as most people seemed to have done. He had appeared again in his clown outfit that he had worn at the garden party for the next children’s address.

  There had been a good deal of talk about what he might appear as next. The children in particular looked forward to his entertaining talks, and most people had to admit that they were relevant and meaningful, with a message for both the young and the older folk. They were not disappointed at the next family service when he appeared as a spaceman. There was a good deal of speculation as to when – or if ever – a man would land on the moon. A lot of nonsense, according to Ethel Bayliss; and his latest ‘Walter Mitty’ appearance did nothing to change her opinion of the Reverend Joshua Bellamy.

  The next church tea, for the party from Bradford, was to take place on the last Saturday in September.

  Fiona had an appointment at the antenatal clinic a few days previous to this; a routine check that she had every month. It was no secret now in the parish that the rector’s wife was expecting their second child, and everyone, bar none, was delighted about it. It had become obvious, though, even before she broke the news officially; one needed only to look at her normally slim figure to know that it was so.

  Fiona herself was becoming quite concerned about her size. ‘Two and a half months to go yet,’ she exclaimed to Simon. ‘At this rate I’ll be as big as an elephant by December. I’ve tried to be careful, as they told me to be. I’ve cut down on salt, and I don’t overeat; “eat for two”, as they say. I’m far bigger than I was with Stella.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s a boy,’ suggested Simon. ‘Would that make any difference?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Fiona, ‘Stella weighed seven pounds, and that was quite enough to part with! Anyway, we’ll see what the doctor says when I go to the clinic.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Simon. He usually drove her to the hospital and picked her up again later, but this time he decided to wait, and Fiona, somehow, felt that she needed him to be there.

  She was in the consulting room rather longer than usual, and when she came out she was accompanied by a doctor. Simon could see by the startled look on her face that there was something unusual, but she smiled at him so he didn’t think there was anything wrong.
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br />   ‘We have some news for you, Mr Norwood,’ said the doctor. ‘Your wife is expecting twins!’

  ‘Oh! Oh, my goodness!’ exclaimed Simon. He hurried over to Fiona and put an arm round her. ‘Are you alright, darling?’

  ‘She’s fine,’ the doctor answered for her. ‘We detected two heartbeats, so there’s no doubt about it. It’s twins! Everything seems to be progressing normally and there shouldn’t be any complications. Just take extra care Mrs Norwood. Keep an eye on your blood pressure – you can do that with your family GP – and try not to put on too much weight. Congratulations to you both! We’ll see you in another month’s time.’

  When the doctor had gone Fiona had to sit down for a moment. ‘I’m amazed!’ she said. ‘I can’t quite take it in. Perhaps I should have realized with me getting so big, but I never thought about twins.’

  ‘Are you pleased, though?’ asked Simon.

  ‘Yes … I think I am,’ she answered. ‘Very pleased.’ She smiled. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’m delighted!’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s get back and pick up Stella.’ The little girl was being looked after by a member of the Young Wives group who had a daughter the same age.

  They hadn’t told Stella, yet, as some parents liked to do, that she would soon be having a baby brother or sister. ‘Soon’ didn’t mean much to a child of her age, so they had decided to wait until the birth was a little nearer. Then, what could they tell her to look forward to? Simon and Fiona talked about it, inevitably, and wondered. What would they be? Two boys? Two girls? Or one of each? Identical … or not? It was useless to speculate, and they agreed that it didn’t matter at all. The only thing that concerned them was that the babies should arrive safely, and that Fiona would come through it with the least possible trouble.

  The first person that Fiona told was her friend, Joan. She went to visit the shop the next morning, with Stella in her pushchair. She sat down on the chair provided for customers whilst Joan dealt with a lady buying knitting wool. She was finding that she needed to sit down now when she had walked a fair distance, something that rather annoyed her. She had always been so active, hardly ever feeling tired, even during the last stages of her two previous pregnancies. Of course she knew the reason for her lassitude now – two babies for the price of one! – so she must try not to worry about it but to think that it would be worth it in the end.

  ‘Hello there, Fiona, and hello to you, Stella,’ said Joan when the customer had gone.

  ‘Hello, Aunty Joan,’ said the little girl.

  Fiona didn’t stand up immediately, causing Joan to say, ‘Feeling a bit jaded today, are you, love? Social visit is it, or do you want to buy something?’

  ‘Just a bit jaded,’ smiled Fiona, getting to her feet. ‘What do I want? Well, double the amount of knitting wool might not be a bad idea!’

  Joan looked puzzled for a moment, then her eyes opened wide. ‘What do you mean? You’re not having twins, are you?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ Fiona laughed. ‘What a fool I was not to realize. Yes, I found out at the clinic yesterday.’

  ‘Well, that’s wonderful news,’ said Joan. ‘At least it is … if you think so?’

  ‘Yes, we do,’ replied Fiona. ‘We’re very pleased. Simon’s thrilled to bits, more so than I am, I think. But men don’t have to give birth, do they?’

  ‘No, that’s true,’ agreed Joan. ‘You’ve not had much trouble before, though, have you?’

  ‘No, they were quite normal births … both of them. It might be different this time, though. I’m not unduly worried, except about the amount of weight I’ve put on. I’m really trying to be careful about what I eat, and everything else.’

  ‘Yes, you must take care, and rest when you can,’ said Joan. ‘There are plenty of other folk to cope with the parish duties. You’re not part of this new catering committee, are you?’

  ‘No … Simon advised me not to get involved this time. Mrs Bayliss is in her element, being in charge, and Mrs Catchpole’s a great asset to the group. They did a splendid job with the first tea party, and no doubt the one on Saturday will go off just as well. I shall pop in and see how they’re going on.’

  Yes, make an appearance as the rector’s wife, and chat to the visitors,’ said Joan. ‘They’ll like that. But keep out of the kitchen! There’s enough of them to cope with it all. I wouldn’t bother doing any knitting this time, if I were you. When this news breaks all the women will be getting busy. You’ll have matinee coats and bootees by the dozen!’

  ‘Everyone was so kind when Stella was born,’ said Fiona. ‘The garments were mostly blue or yellow, or white, hardly any pink.’

  ‘Yes, people choose what they call safe colours, that’ll do for either sex. Doubly difficult this time, isn’t it?’ She laughed. ‘Quite a few permutations, aren’t there?’

  ‘That’s what Simon and I were saying. We haven’t said anything to Stella yet.’

  ‘Very wise, or you’d be pestered to death! “When’s the baby coming, Mummy?” Bless her!’ Joan smiled lovingly at Stella, who had nodded off for a catnap as she tended to do after a ride in her pushchair; she was always up with the lark, raring to start the day.

  ‘I’ll take your advice and not make any more baby clothes,’ said Fiona, ‘but I thought I’d try my hand at a cot blanket. In thick wool, so that it’ll grow faster,’ she laughed. ‘I’m not the most patient person when I’m knitting. I like to see quick results. What do you suggest?’

  ‘Bright colours for a start,’ said Joan, ‘as a change from the baby pastel shades. What about this?’ She showed Fiona some chunky wool in variegated colours, changing from bright blue, to mauve, to yellow, to green as you knitted, and a lacy pattern that was quite easy to follow.

  Stella woke up as they were ready to go. ‘Hello, Aunty Joan,’ she said sleepily.

  ‘It’s goodbye now, darling,’ said Joan, kissing her cheek. Then she hugged Fiona. ‘Take care, love. I’m so thrilled at your news.’

  The tea party for the church group from Bradford on the following Saturday was just as successful as the previous one had been. Fiona took Stella round to the church hall towards the end of the proceedings. She didn’t want to partake of the tea as she and Simon would be dining later, but she liked to be there for part of the time, as the rector’s wife, to chat with the ladies – they were mostly ladies, with just a few men – from the visiting church and make them feel welcome.

  They were coming to the end of their meal. Once again it had been a salad meal, with cold chicken this time, and potato salad, followed by luscious cream cakes from the local bakery instead of trifle. In the centre of each table there was a small arrangement of autumn flowers – miniature chrysanthemums, dahlias, late flowering roses and Michaelmas daisies – which added a festive touch.

  Fiona popped into the kitchen to say hello to the band of willing helpers there. Possibly rather too many? she wondered, milling about and getting into one another’s way; but presumably they knew what they were doing. Josh, the curate, was there too. For some reason he liked to help out in the kitchen, especially when it was time to clear away and wash up. At the moment they seemed to be making extra tea for those who wanted a second cup.

  She went back to join Stella, who was in Simon’s charge, and being fussed over by ladies she hadn’t met before. ‘What a delightful child, Mrs Norwood,’ said one of the women. ‘My goodness, you’ll have your hands full soon, though, won’t you?’ Simon hadn’t been able to keep their news to himself for even a day.

  Fiona didn’t have time to answer. There was a shout and a shriek from the kitchen, and she dashed back there as quickly as she could. Mrs Bayliss was doubled up, clearly in some pain, and at the side of her was an upturned metal jug in which there must have been boiling water.

  It was Josh who took control of everything. He ran out and grabbed a chair from the hall and, between them, he and Fiona helped Mrs Bayliss to sit down. Simon appeared in the kitchen, but Fiona told him that everything was
under control, so he must keep the party going in the hall, and look after Stella.

  ‘Now, Mrs Bayliss,’ said Josh, putting a comforting arm round her shoulders, ‘first of all you’d better get your stocking off before it starts to stick to your leg. It’s all right,’ he smiled, at her look of horror. ‘I won’t watch. Fiona will help you, but I do know a bit about first aid. I used to be a scout; “Be Prepared” and all that.’

  ‘Where’s the first aid box?’ asked one of the ladies. ‘Oh dear! We don’t often need it, do we? I think it’s in this cupboard.’

  ‘What about some vaseline, or some TCP?’ said another person. ‘And there’s some bandages in the box.’

  ‘No, nothing like that.’ Josh shook his head. ‘We need to pour lukewarm water over the scald, no ointment. Obviously you can’t hold your leg under the tap, can you, Mrs Bayliss?’ He smiled a little mischievously at her.

  ‘No, I doubt it, young man,’ she said with a touch of her usual asperity. ‘I’m not quite as agile as I used to be.’

  ‘So we’ll get a bowl of water and bathe it. Come along, ladies; a washing up bowl, please, and a jug and a clean cloth.’

  Mrs Fowler filled a bowl and Josh tested it with his hand. ‘Yes; that seems OK. Now, Mrs Bayliss, you pop your foot in there.’

  ‘And take these aspirin tablets, Ethel,’ said Blanche Fowler, handing her two tablets and a glass of water. ‘They’ll help take the pain away, and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’

  Ethel looked very shaken and embarrassed, too, with her skirt held high above her plump knee and calf. The skin was red and blistering, and she was obviously in pain. She took hold of Fiona’s hand. ‘Thank you, dear,’ she said, ‘and you too … Mr Bellamy. You’re very kind.’

  Josh started to pour the water on the affected area, over and over again. ‘Is that easing it?’ he asked gently. ‘Feeling a bit better now, Mrs Bayliss?’