Families and Friendships

by Margaret Thornton

  ‘You don’t mind me going to see Fiona again, do you, Mum?’ she had asked Vera.

  ‘No, of course not, pet,’ Vera had answered. ‘I think it’s rather exciting, all these folk that we never knew about, popping up out of the blue. I knew you were rather restless before … before you found out. You feel much more settled in your mind now, don’t you, love?’

  ‘Yes … yes, I do. And it doesn’t alter the way that I feel about you and Dad, honestly, it doesn’t.’

  ‘I know that, love,’ said Vera. They had smiled at one another with a quiet understanding. They were not inclined, as a family, to be over demonstrative. There had been rather more hugging and shows of affection than usual when Debbie had returned from her little escapade, but they had settled down now to a tacit acceptance of the situation.

  Stanley had asked his wife how she felt about it all. ‘Don’t you feel a bit … well, jealous, like, of this Fiona? Nobody could blame you, lass, if you did.’

  ‘No, funnily enough, I don’t,’ she answered. ‘If I’d known what our Debbie was up to I’d have been upset. She’d started asking questions … oh, ages ago, and I remember being a bit crabby with her then. I thought she’d decided to let it drop, but obviously it had still been worrying her. No, it’s best it’s all out in the open, Stanley. And she’s changed, hasn’t she? We’re all getting along much better now, don’t you think?’

  ‘Aye; I have to admit she’s not as nowty as she used to be. And you got your own way about her staying on at school, didn’t you, Vera?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I did. But I still don’t understand what it is she wants to do. Sorting out folks’ gardens for ’em? Doesn’t sound like much of a job to me. You’ve always sorted ours out without any help, haven’t you, Stanley?’

  ‘Well, it’s what I do for a living, isn’t it? So I do have a bit more idea than some folk have,’ said Stanley, feeling a little peeved. ‘There’s more to gardening than meets the eye. And our Debbie wants to do it on a much larger scale. She’ll surprise us one day, this lass of ours, you mark my words.’

  Debbie set out on her journey this time with a much lighter heart. She knew where she was going; it was no longer a step into the unknown. She started off a little earlier than before to make sure that she caught the connection from Darlington, the one that she had missed the previous time.

  She had dressed with care, in the cherry red coat she had chosen from C and A on the shopping expedition with her mother. With it she wore knee-high black patent leather boots, and carried a matching shoulder bag, a recent purchase that she had saved up to buy with the money she earned at the garden centre.

  The journey was uneventful and she coped with the change of trains at Newcastle and Darlington without any problems. She knew where she was bound this time, and the landmarks and the change of scenery from industrial to a more rural vista was pleasantly familiar.

  She had told Fiona that she would be wearing a red coat, but it wasn’t likely that she and the brothers would fail to find one another. The lads would be in a red mini car. ‘Two very nice young men,’ Fiona had told her. ‘Aren’t you a lucky girl?’

  Debbie, in fact, felt very apprehensive when she alighted from the train at Northallerton. Her stomach was tied up in knots, although she wasn’t sure why she should feel so anxious. She picked up her travel bag and made her way to the adjacent car park. She spotted them at once: two dark-haired young men leaning against the bonnet of a red mini. The shorter of the two, whom she guessed was Greg, gave a cheery wave and hurried towards her.

  ‘Hello there. You must be Debbie?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right; I am. And you are … Greg?’

  ‘That’s me!’ he grinned. ‘Here, let me take your bag.’ He opened the boot and put her travel bag inside, whilst she looked at him more closely without him being aware of it. He was so much like Simon, apart from his colouring.

  ‘You look like Simon,’ she told him a little shyly, as he turned round.

  ‘Guilty as charged!’ he laughed. ‘And you look like Fiona, apart from the hair. “Aye, it’s a rum do!”, to quote my grandad … And this is my little brother, Graham.’

  The other young man stepped forward, holding out his hand. ‘Hi, pleased to meet you, Debbie,’ he said. He was a few inches taller than Greg although three or four years younger. He seemed, at least on a first acquaintance, to be rather more reserved than his brother. He, also, was a good-looking young man, but in a different way; leaner in features and with a more prominent nose, which didn’t alter the fact that he was a pleasantly handsome lad. Debbie did a quick calculation in her head. She knew he was at Leeds uni, just into his second year. So he must be … nineteen, going on twenty?

  ‘Hello,’ she said, taking his outstretched hand. ‘I’m pleased to meet you as well, Graham.’

  ‘OK then, let’s get on our way,’ said Greg. ‘Where do you want to sit, you two? Would you like to sit in the front with me, Debbie?’

  ‘No, we’ll both sit in the back,’ said Graham, ‘then you can concentrate on your driving, Greg. I’ll keep Debbie amused.’ He smiled, rather shyly, at her, and his brown eyes lit up with warmth and a sort of unspoken question.

  ‘OK by me,’ she said, climbing into the back seat. ‘Smashing little car you’ve got, Greg. Just the sort I would like … some day. I’m not old enough to drive though yet, not till next May.’

  ‘I’m old enough, but I can’t afford it,’ said Graham, sitting at the side of her. ‘Greg’s let me take the wheel now and again, well away from the town, of course; but I shall need some proper lessons, from an expert, I mean.’

  ‘Are you casting aspersions on my driving?’ joked Greg as he started up the engine.

  ‘Not at all, but you know what I mean. Come on, put your foot down. But remember what you promised Fiona. No whizzing round the corners on two wheels!’

  ‘That sounds exciting,’ said Debbie. ‘He doesn’t really, does he?’

  ‘No, rest assured. I’m as safe as houses,’ said Greg. ‘I’ll drive like Grandad does, when they’re out for a Sunday afternoon jaunt. I’ve got precious cargo on board.’

  Debbie’s anxiety had flown away as she had been put at her ease by these two nice young men. As Fiona had said, she was a lucky girl! She found herself looking forward immensely to the weekend ahead, with all its new experiences. Graham was a newcomer to Aberthwaite and to St Peter’s church, just as she was. She guessed that he might be feeling apprehensive as well, but they would be able to face it together.

  She learnt more about him as they travelled along the country roads to Aberthwaite. He was, as she had thought, in his second year at Leeds uni, studying for a degree in architecture with the aim of becoming a draughtsman.

  ‘Clever stuff!’ she commented. ‘I’m impressed. Do you mean you want to design houses for people? Or offices and places of work, that sort of thing?’

  ‘I’m not absolutely sure yet. I shall wait and see where it leads to when I’m getting near the end of my course.’ He was, as she had thought, a quiet and modest sort of young man, not bumptious in any way. ‘What about you, Debbie?’ he asked. ‘Which A level subjects are you taking?’

  ‘Well, funnily enough, I’m into design as well,’ she told him. ‘But I want to design gardens; you know – landscaping, water features, rockeries and all that. My parents think it’s a funny sort of thing to want to do. At least my mum does, although I think Dad understands a bit more. He works as a gardener for the council – that’s how I got interested – and I work part-time at a garden centre. So I’m doing an art course, and biology and chemistry as well. An odd mixture, but I suppose it covers all the aspects of gardening. I don’t know what I’ll take a degree in … if I get that far.’

  ‘They keep coming up with more and more new courses,’ said Graham. ‘You’ll have to wait and see which is most relevant. Anyway, that’s enough about studying. Are you looking forward to the brass band concert? That was why I wanted to come, actually, apart fr
om meeting … everybody.’

  He told her that his love of that type of music had started when he was in the fifth form, and he had been persuaded to learn to play the French horn and join the school band. He still played, and was now a member of a college band. ‘So my taste in music is pretty wide,’ he said. ‘We play all sorts in a brass band: classical, pop, marches, opera, ballet, Gilbert and Sullivan … you name it, we play it.’

  Debbie said that she wasn’t knowledgeable about music, but she knew what she liked and that, above all, was something tuneful. And she still had a fondness for the Beatles.

  ‘We play that as well,’ said Graham.

  It seemed that in no time at all they were there, pulling up at the rectory door. Debbie was surprised when she saw Fiona, and tried not to look too closely at her. She was, of course, expecting twins, but she had never seen anyone look so large as Fiona did. Poor thing! she thought. However was she coping? But Fiona seemed very cheerful and agile, too, in the very best of spirits as she welcomed everyone. She kissed Debbie on the cheek and said how lovely it was to see her again.

  ‘Debbie, Debbie!’ called a little voice at her side, and there was Stella tugging at her coat. To Debbie’s delight the child had remembered her.

  She stooped down to hug her. ‘Hello, Stella. Haven’t you grown? What a big girl you are! Not a baby any more.’ She seemed to be a few inches taller, more of a little girl now, than a baby.

  ‘I be two soon,’ she said. ‘And we’re going to have two babies!’

  ‘We thought it was better to tell her before someone else did,’ said Fiona. ‘It’s been quite a talking point in the parish, as you can imagine! Anyway, come on in, all of you. I can see you’ve got acquainted, and I’m sure we’re going to have an exciting weekend.’

  Twenty-One

  Giovanni’s was a surprisingly upmarket place for a little town like Aberthwaite. It had been opened about a year ago, and was now a popular venue for eating out, a pastime that more and more people were enjoying. The owners, Giovanni and Maria Verdi, were genuine Italians.

  Giovanni admitted, unashamedly, that he had been a prisoner of war, working at a farm not far from Aberthwaite. He had fallen in love with the Yorkshire countryside, and the people, too, and had had no desire to return to Milan, the city of his birth, as both his parents had died. He had persuaded his sweetheart, back home, to join him, and they had both found employment in cafes and restaurants in Leeds. They worked hard. Giovanni rose from a lowly position in the kitchens to become a first-class chef. They saved hard, too, and eventually realized their dream, a restaurant of their own in the town that Giovanni had always loved. Maria did the bookkeeping, their pretty daughter, Tessa, waited at the tables, and their son, Marco, was the second-in-command to his father.

  Debbie was thrilled to be dining out as it was something that she and her parents – and most of their acquaintances – did very rarely. She was wearing for the occasion a new dress that she had bought from Marks and Spencer in Newcastle. A mini dress – but not so mini as to ‘show yer next week’s washing!’ as her father put it – in woollen rayon with horizontal stripes of red and black running across the bodice, and vertical stripes below the dropped waistline. Her black patent leather boots and her shoulder bag went very well with it, and the finishing touch was her pair of large black earrings – Woolworth’s best – in the shape of a daisy.

  Debbie and the two young men walked to the restaurant as it was only a short distance away, whilst Simon and Fiona drove there in the car. Fiona had told Debbie that she was very self-conscious about her size. ‘Only another month to go now, and I can’t wait, believe me!’

  ‘You look fine,’ Debbie had assured her, and it was true. She looked radiant and happy, despite her obvious discomfort. Her blue eyes were as bright as ever and her hair shone like a feathery golden halo. She wore a loose pinafore dress in her favourite blue, with a floral blouse beneath it. She could not disguise her pregnancy, nor did she want to, but she managed to look elegant.

  Tessa, in a black dress and a red frilly apron handed them the giant-sized menus.

  ‘Remember, it’s my treat,’ said Greg. ‘Choose whatever you like.’

  The choice was vast, ranging from pizzas and pasta dishes to fish, pork, beef steak; even sausage and mash or ham and eggs for the less adventurous diners. They all decided to forgo the starters, apart from a large platter of garlic bread with a cheesy topping which they ate whilst they waited for the main course.

  They all decided to ‘go Italian’, the younger ones choosing giant-sized pizzas, and Simon and Fiona opting for lasagne and the chef’s speciality, spaghetti bolognese. Simon insisted that he must pay for the wine, a rich red Cabernet Sauvignon which, he was assured, would be the perfect accompaniment to the meals. And what could they finish with but ice cream in a myriad of flavours, made as only the Italians could do.

  Debbie looked round at the stylish surroundings; an Italian setting, inevitably, but not overdone. Wrought iron candle holders and wall brackets, colourful jugs and plates in the chunky Majolica style, lamps fashioned from Chianti bottles, and sepia photos of old Milan, Rome and Verona on the walls. She felt as though she was in another world, a dream from which she would soon awake. But it was all real enough. She sat between the two brothers, wishing that her friends from school could see her now. She gave a contented smile, one that Simon noticed.

  ‘Enjoying yourself, are you, Debbie?’ he asked, grinning at her in a friendly way.

  ‘Ooh yes! Ever so much,’ she replied. ‘It’s been a lovely evening. Thank you, Greg, and Simon … and everybody.’ She knew that the wine had affected her just a little bit, making her feel even happier than she was already. But Fiona had made sure that she drank only one glass. Debbie knew why; she remembered how Fiona had told her about what happened to her at Battersea Park. Fiona, too, had drunk very little that night, no doubt because of the babies.

  ‘Well, unwilling as I am to break up the party, we’d better get back to our babysitter,’ said Simon. He helped Fiona and Debbie with their coats whilst Greg paid the bill.

  ‘Ciao!’ Greg said to Maria. ‘We’ve had a great time. You can be sure we’ll come again.’

  Maria, and Giovanni, too, portly in his black suit, and with a well-groomed moustache, both stood at the door to say goodbye, as they all stepped out into the cold evening air. The three young ones linked arms, Debbie in the middle, as they strode along the High Street and then up the lane that led to the rectory. She felt at ease with both of them; she hoped she would see them again … sometime.

  Debbie insisted on helping Fiona as much as she could the next day. Simon and the two lads had gone hiking, taking sandwiches for their lunch.

  ‘We’ll have a sandwich lunch, too,’ said Fiona, ‘then this afternoon we’ll go to the market.’

  It was good helping Fiona in the kitchen, preparing the vegetables and potatoes for the casserole she would be making for their early evening meal, then keeping Stella amused, playing with her building bricks and her large family of dolls and animals. She felt that Fiona was like a friend or a big sister, and she didn’t feel awkward now at using her first name.

  Debbie loved the market, as Fiona had said she would. They had only a market hall at home, not an outdoor country market. It seemed so much more exciting out of doors. She loved the smell of the fruit and vegetable stalls, and the stalls with farmers’ produce – cheese, eggs, butter, and home-made jams and pickles. And on the other side of the market cross, the stall with knitting wool and material, the ironmongery, and the china and crockery. Fiona did some shopping, storing it in the bag attached to Stella’s pushchair, and Debbie bought a box of assorted fudge for her parents.

  ‘Now, there’s someone I want you to meet,’ said Fiona when they had seen all that the market had to offer.

  They walked a little way along the High Street to a shop with a colourful window display. Knitting wool, material, ribbons, lace … everything that one might need for s
ewing and handicrafts.

  The door bell pinged as Fiona entered, followed by Debbie who was now pushing the pram. There were no customers in the shop, only a ginger-haired lady with a pleasant face and a friendly smile behind the counter. Debbie thought she looked familiar, then she gave a little gasp of surprise. It was the kind lady who had given her a lift when she missed the bus.

  ‘I think you two have met before,’ said Fiona. ‘Debbie, this is my good friend, Joan.’

  The woman stepped from behind the counter and gave her a quick hug. ‘Good to see you again, Debbie,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’

  ‘Oh …’ Debbie was taken aback for a moment. ‘Hello … yes, nice to see you again … I’m sorry I told you a fib; Fiona’s not my aunty. But thank you for rescuing me.’

  ‘No, I guessed that at the time,’ said Joan, with a twinkle in her eye. ‘I already knew Fiona’s story. And I’m really pleased it’s turned out so well for all of you. You’ve come to listen to the band, have you?’

  ‘Yes, but I was coming anyway to see Fiona and Simon, and Stella of course. The concert’s an extra treat, and meeting Greg and Graham as well.’

  ‘Goodness! You’re having a busy weekend, Fiona,’ said Joan. ‘Mind you don’t overdo it.’

  ‘Debbie is being a great help, and the lads as well,’ replied Fiona. ‘So don’t worry about me, I’m fine.’

  They chatted for a while whilst Stella had a nap as she usually did after a ride in her pushchair. ‘Cheerio for now,’ said Joan as they departed. ‘See you tonight. We shall go nice and early; we’re expecting a good crowd.’

  The church hall was already more than half full when Simon and his family arrived at just turned seven o’clock. Simon had left the organization and the catering to the team of helpers. He would be in charge of the proceedings, as the rector, but apart from that he had little to do but socialize and make everyone welcome.