Families and Friendships

by Margaret Thornton

  ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘But it’s smarting and tingling. Oh dear! I’m a silly fool, aren’t I? I don’t know what happened. I just filled the jug up from the boiler, then perhaps I turned round too quickly and slipped … I don’t know.’

  ‘Accidents just happen, don’t they?’ said Josh, carrying on with the bathing, ‘in a split second. You’ll be fine, Mrs Bayliss, I’m sure, but it might be as well to let a doctor take a look at you. I’m only a novice … But maybe I’m capable of doing a bit more than clowning around, do you think?’ He grinned at her roguishly.

  Ethel smiled back, a shade diffidently. ‘Oh, I think so … Joshua,’ she replied. ‘I’m getting older, you know; rather more set in my ways. Although I’ve never taken readily to change … But I reckon you’ll do very well.’

  ‘Thank you for that,’ said the curate, humbly. ‘It means a lot to me.’ He sounded as though he really meant it. ‘Not so much of the getting old, though,’ he whispered. ‘You’re just a spring chicken compared with some of ’em, isn’t she, Fiona?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll second that,’ agreed Fiona. ‘You have far more energy than I have at the moment, Mrs Bayliss.’

  ‘But then I’m not expecting twins, am I?’ smiled the lady. ‘Arthur and I were so pleased to hear about it.’

  ‘News travels fast, doesn’t it?’ said Fiona. She turned to Josh. ‘What do you think we should do next, for Mrs Bayliss?’

  ‘No bandaging,’ said Josh. ‘What about some polythene bags wrapped loosely round the area? Would you see if you can find some, please, Fiona?’

  ‘I’ll be trussed up like a turkey,’ said Ethel. ‘I tell you what, Fiona. It’s a good job I don’t wear these newfangled tights that all you lasses are wearing. It must be quite a pantomime getting them on and off.’

  ‘You get used to them,’ smiled Fiona, ‘and they’re very comfortable. This is women’s talk,’ she said, at an enquiring look from Josh. ‘Not for your ears, Joshua!’

  ‘Now, what have you been doing to yerself, lass?’ said a familiar voice. Arthur Bayliss appeared in the kitchen, hurrying over to his wife. ‘My goodness! That looks a bit of a mess, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It would have been worse if these kind people hadn’t taken care of me,’ said Ethel. ‘They’ve been wonderful. What are you doing here anyway, Arthur?’

  ‘Simon rang me up, and I came straight away,’ he said. ‘Now, I reckon we’d best let a doctor have a look at you. Come on, lass, we’ll get up to the hospital. I’ve got the car outside. See, I’ve brought your slippers, both of ’em. I didn’t know which leg it was.’

  Ethel managed to slip her foot into the slipper. ‘Now, can you manage to walk? Hold on to my arm.’

  With her husband and Josh on either side of her she managed to hobble out of the kitchen and through the hall. She was greeted by calls from the visitors.

  ‘Good luck, Mrs Bayliss …’

  ‘Hope you go on all right …’

  ‘Thank you ever so much for a lovely tea …’

  ‘Take care now, dear …’

  Fiona and Simon, with Stella holding on to his hand, walked with them to Arthur’s car and settled her in the front seat. Ethel seemed very touched by the good wishes from the folk from Bradford.

  ‘What a nice lot of people,’ she said. ‘They seem a jolly crowd. And everybody’s been very kind. Thanks again … Joshua, and all of you, of course.’ Fiona thought she could see an incipient tear in the corner of one eye, something she had never thought would be possible.

  ‘Come on then, let’s be having you,’ said Arthur. He started up the engine. ‘Thanks from me an’ all. I’ll let you know how Ethel goes on.’

  ‘Poor old Ethel!’ said Simon, although he would never dream of using her Christian name to her face. ‘She seems … almost subdued, doesn’t she? And that’s something I never thought we’d see.’

  ‘And she’s made a new friend as well,’ said Fiona, smiling mischievously at the curate. ‘Hasn’t she, Josh?’

  ‘Wonders never cease!’ said Simon. ‘Thank you, Josh, for performing a miracle.’

  The curate laughed. ‘Let’s hope she’s OK. It was rather a nasty scald. She won’t be able to dash around quite as much. She’ll be forced to take a back seat for a while, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  Fiona laughed. ‘Then let’s be thankful for small mercies! No … I don’t suppose I really mean that. Joking apart, the ladies will feel lost without Ethel at the helm.’

  Nineteen

  There was one more church visit booked by a group from the Durham area for mid-October. Mrs Bayliss hoped, by then, to be fit enough to take some part in the event. It had been a pretty bad scald, but the good lady was always quick to say that it might have been much worse if Joshua – she usually gave him his full name – had not given her first aid treatment so speedily. The use of his Christian name did, indeed, show that he was now regarded much more favourably. She had formerly referred to him as ‘that curate’.

  Everyone had to admit that she was a plucky old girl. She was clearly in a good deal of pain, but she limped into church each Sunday with the aid of a stick. And, to everyone’s surprise, as the day for the next high tea drew near, she suggested that she would be willing to let Mrs Catchpole take charge of the proceedings on that day.

  ‘But you must he there to help,’ Florence Catchpole told her most diplomatically. ‘I shall feel happier if you are there, Ethel, to see that we are doing things properly.’ Did she have her tongue in her cheek? some of the women asked one another on the quiet. But whatever their true feelings were, Florence and Ethel now appeared to be the best of friends, which made for a much more congenial atmosphere among the ladies of the catering committee.

  All went well on that occasion. The group from Durham spent some time in Richmond, viewing the castle and visiting the market, then, after a tour around the picturesque dales, ended up at St Peter’s for tea. At the suggestion of Henry Tweedale, the organist and choir leader, the choir gave a short recital of popular songs, mainly songs from shows, and some ‘golden oldies’ with which the audience could join in.

  ‘And that’s the end of the visits for this year,’ Simon told the members at the next church council meeting. ‘I’m pleased to say they have been most successful, thanks to our team of willing workers. I’m sure that we now have a good reputation, and the word will spread that you can get a jolly good meal at St Peter’s, with entertainment thrown in as well! Thanks to Henry and the choir for their contribution. So we’ll start again with the adverts in the church newspapers, shall we, Graham?’ he asked Graham Heap, the treasurer.

  ‘Yes, and the advert has already gone in the local paper about the concert in November,’ said Graham.

  The suggestion that guest artistes should be invited to perform at St Peter’s had been approved and acted upon. After a good deal of discussion it had been decided that the first such concert should be by a brass band. Yorkshire was renowned for its brass bands; such famous ones as the Grimethorpe Colliery band, the Brighouse and Raistrick, and the Black Dyke Mills were household names. There was, however, a brass band in their area, in the neighbouring village of Abercombe. It was not as large or as famous as some of the others, but those who had heard it declared that it was equally as good.

  The conductor of the band had been approached and had said that they would be pleased to come; moreover, he had offered their services at a much reduced rate as it was for such a worthy cause as the rebuilding of the church roof, and because Aberthwaite and Abercombe were near neighbours.

  There was also discussion as to how much the members of the audience should be charged for tickets. The charge for church concerts with their own choir and members of the congregation taking part was in the region of half a crown. It was decided, therefore, that five shillings would be an appropriate price to listen to a brass band. And that, of course, always included a cup of tea and a biscuit at the interval.

  ‘It might be a good idea to invite Greg to come
for that weekend,’ Simon suggested to Fiona. ‘He’s due for a visit, isn’t he? That is if you feel you can cope with him, darling? D’you think he’d be interested in a brass band?’

  ‘I should imagine so,’ replied Fiona. ‘Most people like to listen to a good brass band, no matter what their musical taste is. He may be more of a Rolling Stones fan, though. You should know better than me about that. Yes, let’s invite him; it’ll be good to see him again. And don’t worry about me; of course I can cope. Greg’s no trouble at all, and just because I’m expecting twins it doesn’t mean that I’m not able to have visitors.’

  ‘That’s OK then,’ said Simon. ‘I shall make sure you don’t overdo things … I’m not doing too badly with my efforts in the kitchen, am I, darling?’

  ‘You’re doing splendidly,’ she told him. Simon was, indeed, pulling his weight in every way that he could, and had even managed to cook some very tasty meals. That evening they had enjoyed sausage and mash with onion gravy, and Fiona had declared that she couldn’t have done any better herself.

  It had been his idea that he should help more around the house, and she had agreed, knowing how much he was concerned about her well-being. She was, in fact, keeping very well; watching her weight and having her blood pressure checked. The doctor assured her that she was doing fine and that, so far, there were no complications.

  Fiona had kept in touch with Debbie, as she had promised she would do. They had exchanged a couple of letters, and it was hoped that Debbie would be able to visit Aberthwaite for a weekend quite soon.

  One evening in early October the rectory phone rang, and because Simon was out at a meeting, Fiona answered it. She heard Debbie’s excited voice.

  ‘Hi, Fiona. It’s me, Debbie. And guess what? We’re on the phone! They came yesterday and put it in, so I had to let you know. I’ll be able to ring you now, instead of writing.’

  Debbie heard Fiona laugh. ‘Just spare a thought for your parent’s phone bill, won’t you, love? It’s so easy to use the phone, but not so pleasant when a massive bill arrives. Anyway, that’s lovely, Debbie. It’ll be useful for all of you.’

  ‘Yes, my mum said that I haven’t to keep ringing up all my friends. But she said it was all right to phone you. How are you, Fiona, and … the baby?’

  ‘Very well, thank you.’ She heard Fiona’s merry chuckle again. ‘And I have some news for you, too. Guess what? No, I know you’ll never guess. I’m expecting twins!’

  ‘Oh! Oh, how lovely! That’s great news … Are you pleased?’

  ‘Yes, and so is Simon. We haven’t told Stella yet, not even about one baby, so two will be an even bigger surprise. Now, what about your visit to Aberthwaite? We’d be very pleased to see you, and so would Stella. She hasn’t forgotten you, you know. Only the other day she said, ‘Where’s Debbie?’

  ‘Aah … did she? How nice! I’m dying to see her again.’

  ‘Well, let’s not leave it too long then. The twins are due early December, then I should imagine that life will be very hectic for all of us.’

  ‘I could come at half-term. I’m not sure when it is, but I’ll let you know. I should be able to find my way this time.’ Debbie laughed. ‘I’ll make sure I don’t miss the bus!’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. If you get as far as Northallerton, then Simon can meet you there with the car. Is that OK?’

  ‘Ooh yes, thanks! That’d be great. I’ll let you know when I’ll be coming as soon as I can. I’m really looking forward to it …’

  ‘We’d better say cheerio now, Debbie. Time just slips away when you’re on the phone, as I know to my cost. Bye for now, love. Nice to hear from you. Love to your mum and dad.’

  ‘Yes, bye, Fiona … Love to Simon and Stella. And take care, won’t you, Fiona? Bye for now …’

  ‘Guess what?’ Debbie dashed into the living room where her parents were sitting. ‘Fiona’s expecting twins!’

  ‘Good gracious!’ exclaimed Vera. ‘That’s exciting news, isn’t it, pet? So long as she’s keeping well … Is she?’

  ‘Yes, as far as I know. She sounds OK, and she says they’re very pleased about it, her and Simon. Stella doesn’t know yet.’

  ‘Happen she’ll have two little lads then this time,’ said Stanley, putting his newspaper down to join in the conversation. ‘That’d be a change for her, and it would be nice for Simon to have a lad.’

  ‘There’s no telling what the good Lord in his wisdom decides to send,’ said Vera, ‘and you have to be thankful whichever it is. We were able to choose, though, weren’t we? We so badly wanted a little girl … and we’ve never regretted it, have we?’

  Debbie was not sure to whom her mother was addressing the remark, to her or to her father. Probably to both of them. She was glad to hear them say again that they had no regrets.

  ‘No, I don’t suppose we have,’ Stanley answered, grinning at Debbie. ‘She’s turned out all right, has our lass … But Simon’s already got a son, hasn’t he? I dunno! Talk about complicated families! Did you ever hear the like?’

  ‘I think it’s rather nice,’ said Vera quietly. She turned back to her knitting with a satisfied smile.

  Things had settled down well in the Hargreaves home following Debbie’s quest to trace her birth mother. Far better than she deserved; Debbie knew that only too well. It could have all gone so badly wrong and caused a lot of trouble, if it hadn’t been for the understanding of everyone concerned.

  Debbie was happy at home now in Whitesands Bay, more contented than she had been for a long time. Her little adventure had led, in fact, to a better relationship with her parents, most especially with her mother.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve found out about Fiona,’ Vera had said to her the day after her return. ‘If you hadn’t done it would have been niggling away at you for now and evermore, knowing you, Debbie, and your enquiring mind. I must admit that we were upset, though, your daddy and me, when we knew what you had done. And frantic when you were missing, you naughty girl!’

  ‘I know, Mum. I’m sorry …’

  ‘But it’s all ended happily, thank God. Fiona’s a lovely young woman, isn’t she? I’ve wondered about her too, you know, over the years. All I knew was that she was a young lass who had got into trouble, as they say, and had to part with her lovely baby. I knew how sad she must have been – you were such a beautiful baby – and I used to pray that she’d be happy again one day. I don’t mean all the time; just when it came into my mind. And she is happy, isn’t she, with Simon? She has a lovely little girl of her own, and now another baby on the way. And such a good husband as well.’

  ‘Yes … She told me all about the little teddy bear, Mum. Her boyfriend gave it to her; he won it at a stall at the fairground. They’d gone to London – on a church trip, it was – to see the Festival of Britain. And that’s when … it happened. Her parents were furious and so ashamed of her, and they sent her away. And she never saw the boy again. He doesn’t even know about it. So … well, he doesn’t come into it at all. Except that I’ve got dark hair, like he had, I suppose … She was only seventeen, Mum. And she did love him …’

  ‘Yes, times and attitudes are changing, Debbie. When we were courting, your dad and me, that sort of thing just didn’t go on. Well, there were always girls who ‘had to get married’ as they say, but it was frowned upon, that sort of carry-on. Most couples waited until they were married before they … well, you know what I mean.’ Vera looked somewhat ill at ease. She very rarely talked about such intimate matters.

  ‘When you were born it was looked upon as being something shameful,’ she went on. ‘I suppose I can understand Fiona’s parents being so shocked. It was always a question of “Whatever will people think?”, and trying to hide it away.’ She smiled at her daughter. ‘I hope, though, that I might have shown a little more Christian charity than Fiona’s parents did. Poor lass! I’m sure she was a very nice girl – she still is, isn’t she? – and that they just got carried away because they were on holiday: more
freedom, being away from home and all that.’

  ‘Yes, that’s how she said it happened.’

  ‘Things are different now,’ said Vera, ‘but whether it’s for better or for worse, I’m not sure. They’re calling it the “swinging sixties”, aren’t they? And young folk are behaving … well, very differently than they did in our young days. And I guess it’ll get even worse as time goes on. That’s why I worried about you, pet, when you started going out with Kevin. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you, but mothers can’t help worrying about what might happen.’

  ‘You didn’t need to worry about me,’ said Debbie. ‘There was never anything like that with Kevin and me. Well, he was my boyfriend for a while, but we didn’t … and I don’t think any of my friends do, either.’

  ‘He’s a nice lad,’ said Vera. ‘I know you must have been upset when it came to an end. I can understand why you didn’t want to tell us. Is that why you don’t want to go back to work at Sunnyhill?’

  ‘Yes I suppose it is, really,’ Debbie admitted. ‘But I think I’m going to change my mind. Mr Hill asked me if I’d carry on working the weekends, and I think I will, if they still want me. It’ll be a bit of extra money, and it’ll help with all the stuff I need for the sixth form.’

  ‘I think it’s a very good idea,’ smiled Vera. ‘You must keep your hand in with the gardening, if that’s what you’re planning to do … for a career, like you said.’

  Debbie knew that her mother still thought that her choice of a career was an unusual one. She had said very little about it, though, seeming content that Debbie was back home after her little escapade, and that the outcome had been a happy one.

  She had returned to work at Sunnyhill, just for the weekends. She went there a little shamefacedly at first, wondering how Mr Hill would react to her asking if she could have her job back. She guessed, too, that news of her little adventure would have reached the ears of those at the garden centre.

  To her relief Mr Hill had taken her back unreservedly. ‘Of course you can come back, Debbie,’ he assured her. ‘We’ve missed you. We’ve been busy at the weekends, and Muriel will be glad of an extra pair of hands to help with the floral arrangements. She’s doing autumn ones at the moment, and then before we have time to turn round it’ll be Christmas. Muriel has all sorts of ideas for the festive season. She’ll tell you about them …’