Families and Friendships Page 10

  Simon looked handsome in his regulation white surplice and royal blue stole. Ginny could quite understand how her friend had fallen for him. She guessed that there might have been other young women who had felt the same, but who had been doomed to disappointment. He did not stick rigidly to the set service for morning worship, only using the more necessary prayers and responses. The readings for the day – the collect, epistle and gospel – were read, very ably, by three of the older Sunday school children, which was clearly a break from tradition.

  The anthem sung by the choir was far from traditional as well: ‘When Morning Gilds the Skies’, sung to a very jazzy tune. Ginny watched Fiona singing away joyously and pondered again how contented she was in her new life.

  The newly formed guitar group played and sang two rousing numbers: ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’ and, ‘Go Tell It on the Mountain’. And the singing of the hymns, chosen for a younger congregation, almost raised the roof, especially ‘Give Me Oil in My Lamp’ with the chorus of ‘Sing Hosanna’, to which the congregation was asked to clap in time to the rhythm. There were many, though, who kept their hands still, and quite a few far from joyful faces. Ginny was comparing it all with the somewhat feeble singing that she remembered from their own parish church. She guessed that it was not always the norm here, but was being done in order to cater for today’s more youthful congregation.

  Neither was there a sermon as such. Simon’s address was geared to the children, with visual aids – cards and objects held up by eager participants – telling of God’s care for all his people, not only here but in all parts of the world.

  Simon stood at the door after the service, shaking hands with everyone as they left. Ginny and Arthur waited at the back of the church for Fiona to disrobe from her choir regalia in the vestry. No one, except Joan, knew who they were, and they could not help hearing the comments of the people as they passed by.

  ‘Well, it was different; I’ll say that …’

  ‘The children enjoyed it anyway …’

  ‘That was lively, wasn’t it? Of course, Simon’s services are never really dull, are they …?’

  ‘Well then, what did you make of that? More like a pop concert than a service if you ask me!’ This comment came from a corpulent, self-important looking woman wearing a large brimmed hat. She and her companion were standing by the table where pamphlets and church magazines were displayed, not seeming to care if their remarks were heard by others. ‘And it won’t be only us who disapprove, you mark my words!’

  ‘Yes, it was very noisy, wasn’t it?’ said the other woman, though rather more diffidently. She was a thin, grey-haired woman, of indeterminate age, with wire-rimmed spectacles and a hat like a pudding basin. ‘And those children running wild! Children should be taught how to behave in church.’

  ‘I quite agree; it was disgraceful!’ said the larger woman.

  Fiona appeared at that moment, and the women stopped their backbiting to murmur, ‘Good morning, Mrs Norwood.’

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Bayliss … Miss Thorpe.’ Fiona smiled brightly, inclining her head at them. ‘Did you enjoy the service?’

  ‘I’d rather not comment,’ answered the larger lady, and her friend nodded subserviently.

  ‘Oh well, I suppose we can’t please all the people all the time.’ Fiona smiled again, turning her attention to Ginny and Arthur. ‘Hello there. Let’s go and collect Stella, then we’ll see about some lunch.’ The two women had the grace to look a little subdued.

  They had a brief word with Simon, who was still busy with several of the parishioners, collected Stella from the crèche in the church hall, then set off back to the rectory, just a couple of minutes’ walk away.

  ‘Who are those two women?’ asked Ginny. ‘They had quite a lot to say!’

  ‘The larger one is Mrs Ethel Bayliss, a long time adversary of mine,’ replied Fiona, ‘although she has seemed a lot better recently, I must admit. And the little one is Miss Mabel Thorpe, one of her minions; too much of`a “yes woman” for my liking. At least you know where you are with Mrs Bayliss. What were they saying? Maybe I shouldn’t ask, but I think I can guess, anyway.’

  ‘Well, they didn’t approve of the service,’ said Ginny. ‘That’s it, really, in a nutshell. But we enjoyed it, didn’t we, Arthur?’

  ‘Yes, I must admit I enjoyed it very much,’ said Arthur, obviously meaning what he said. He laughed. ‘I’ve changed my mind about vicars since getting to know your Simon. But don’t tell him I said so!’

  Fiona smiled. ‘Not all clergyman are like Simon. He’s quite unique, though I would say that, wouldn’t I? I’m very lucky, and the people at St Peter’s are lucky, too. I think most of them realize it.’

  The rest of their time in Aberthwaite passed by all too quickly for Ginny and Arthur. After lunch – a simple casserole dish that cooked itself in the oven whilst they were at church – they walked by the riverside along to the ruined castle. Then, after a sandwich tea they set off back to Tyneside, leaving Simon to prepare for the evening service, and Fiona to get her little girl to bed. As they said goodbye, Fiona and Ginny rather tearfully, they promised it would not be so long this time before they met up again.

  ‘It’s been a grand couple of days, hasn’t it?’ said Arthur, as they drove away. ‘And Simon’s a smashing fellow. D’you know pet, I almost feel like giving church a go again?’

  ‘We’ve nothing to lose,’ agreed Ginny. ‘It might not be anything like St Peter’s, but we won’t know till we try.’

  ‘I like Fiona too,’ said Arthur. ‘They’re just right together, those two, and that cute little girl. I don’t suppose you’re too bothered now, are you, about what happened before?’

  ‘No … She’s very happy,’ said Ginny. ‘She probably never thinks about that first baby now … Well, maybe now and again. But I’m convinced, now, that it would be wrong to rake it all up again. She’s secure in her own little world, and she doesn’t need any complications.’

  She said as much to Ryan the next day.

  ‘Well, how was your friend, Fiona?’ he asked. ‘And the vicar?’

  ‘Very well and very happy,’ she answered. ‘Now, I want you to promise me, Ryan, that you won’t breathe a word about what you know to your friend – well, Shirley’s friend – Debbie. It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie, as they say.’

  ‘I promise, Mum,’ he replied. ‘Honestly; cross my heart and hope to die!’ He put his hand to his chest in a dramatic gesture.

  ‘No need to go so far, just so long as you understand.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Ryan assured her. ‘I won’t breathe a word.’

  Ten

  The O level results were published in mid-August. Debbie was there at the school at ten thirty in the morning of the big day with her friend, Shirley. There was no school bus provided so Shirley’s father had run them there in his car and agreed to wait for them outside.

  There was a good deal of pushing and jostling – mainly good-tempered – around the board where the results were listed in alphabetical order. And shouts of,

  ‘Oh my God!! I’ve got all nine! I don’t believe it …’

  ‘Two As, three Bs, three Cs; not bad, I suppose …’

  ‘Oh crikey! Four Cs, four Ds; God knows what my mam’ll say …’

  Debbie and Shirley grinned at one another as they waited to get near the notice board. Debbie was trying to put on a show of nonchalance. Secretly she wanted to do well. Who didn’t? But she liked to give the impression that she didn’t care all that much. She was determined not to go along with the plans that her parents had in mind for her. Sixth form, college or university, then a good steady job … According to her mother the pinnacle of achievement was for her to become a teacher. Debbie couldn’t think of anything she wanted less.

  ‘We’d be so proud of you, Debbie love …’ How many times had she heard the same old tale? ‘It’s something I would have loved to do but we didn’t get the chances, your daddy and me, like you’ve got. We h
ad to leave school when we were fourteen …’ And so on and so on … ‘Besides, you’re a clever girl, Debbie. It’s such a shame to throw it all away … to water plants in a garden centre, of all things!’

  Debbie had retorted that if gardening was good enough for her dad then it was good enough for her. Her father had smiled, sort of sadly and understandingly, when she said that. He wasn’t as adamant as was her mother about what she ought to do. He didn’t seem to be so fixed on the idea of teaching. Her dad’s thoughts were running more along the lines of an agricultural college or something of the sort, after she had spent two years in the sixth form. Debbie admitted to herself that that might not be too bad an idea eventually; but she certainly didn’t intend to say so – not yet. She had had enough of school despite Shirley’s odd notion that it would be fun in the sixth form.

  Debbie had been working each and every day at Sunnyhill since the term had ended in July; and she wanted to go on doing so on a permanent basis. OK, she would agree to go to night school. It might not be a bad idea to learn more about horticulture. The more she knew the better she would be able to do her job. Even she could see that she wasn’t likely to stay at Sunnyhill for ever. She might want to branch out, even have a place of her own in time. Of course, it all depended on Kevin.

  Things were going very well with him at the moment. Since finishing school she had been seeing him more regularly, almost every night, in fact. He had even been invited to the house for tea – Sunday tea at that – and he had made a good impression on her parents. Of course her mother remarked, the following day, that Kevin was a very nice lad. ‘But you’ll meet lots of other boys, Debbie. Don’t start getting all serious about him and thinking he’s the one for you. You’re far too young to know your own mind yet.’

  But Debbie was sure that she did know her own mind; and she hoped that Kevin was of the same mind as she was. He seemed to be happy going out with her; and he hadn’t said any more recently about her being cleverer than him and how she could do something much better than working in a garden centre. He knew that it annoyed her when he talked like that; and so he had kept off the subject of her career, and he had said no more either about what she had told him of her adoption.

  When they managed to squeeze their way in to look at the results Debbie discovered that she had passed in all nine subjects; not that she had expected to fail in any – that would be unheard of – but she had done extremely well; seven As and two Bs, those in her least favourite subjects, French and History.

  ‘Well done you!’ said Shirley. She had got two As, in English Literature and English Language, and the rest were Bs and Cs. ‘I knew you’d do well, Debs. I suppose I’ve not done too badly; it’s as good as I expected anyway. At least I’ll be able to go into the sixth … I do wish you’d decide to stay on as well.’

  ‘What’s the point?’ replied Debbie. ‘And what’s the point of you going when you don’t know what job you want to do? You don’t, do you?’

  ‘No, not really. I might decide to go in for teaching. Or I might be a librarian … I’m keeping my options open.’ It was the sort of thing Shirley’s mother might have said.

  You mean you’ve no idea what you want to do, thought Debbie, but she didn’t say that. ‘You could go and work in a library now,’ she said. ‘You don’t need A levels to do that.’

  ‘No, but education’s never wasted,’ answered Shirley, another old-fashioned phrase that sounded as though she was quoting her mother. Her next words proved it. ‘Anyway, that’s what Mum and Dad want me to do … Your parents will be pleased, won’t they, Debbie?’

  ‘Oh yes; they’ll be over the moon!’ Debbie rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘I’ll never hear the last of it. About how they never had the chances I’ve had, and I mustn’t throw it all away. I must settle down and be a good obedient little girl …’

  ‘You’re barmy, you are!’ said Shirley, giving her a playful push. ‘Suppose you’d done badly. Suppose you’d got all Ds, or even lower grades, like some of ’em have?’ There were, indeed, some miserable faces and a few tears being shed. ‘You are pleased, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course I am, you idiot!’ said Debbie laughing. She pushed her back. ‘I’m just sorry that I didn’t get all As. I thought I might … but I suppose you don’t get everything you want. Look, there’s your Ryan just coming in. I’ll go and have a chat with Jean and Marjorie. See you later …’

  Shirley came to find her about ten minutes later. Ryan was with her, of course. ‘Come on, Debbie,’ she said. ‘We’d better not keep my dad waiting any longer.’

  ‘No … sorry,’ said Debbie. ‘I’m ready now.’ She was feeling a little disgruntled because Jean and Marjorie had not gone overboard with their congratulations on her good results. Sour grapes! she thought to herself. Their results, as expected, had been only mediocre. In spite of that they were two more sixth form aspirants. Was there no one, apart from herself, who wanted a life outside of school?

  ‘How have you done, Ryan?’ she asked, trying to be nice to him for Shirley’s sake.

  ‘Oh, so-so, you know,’ he replied.

  ‘He’s done very well,’ Shirley butted in. ‘You know you’re pleased, Ryan. He’s got three As!’

  ‘Jolly good,’ said Debbie.

  Ryan shrugged. ‘Not bad, I suppose. Not as good as you, though, clever clogs!’ He grinned affably at Debbie, and she decided that he was perhaps not too bad after all.

  ‘See you tomorrow, Ryan,’ said Shirley, leaving him to talk with his friends. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Yeh … See you Shirl … Bye, Debbie; see you around.’

  Mr Crompton seemed pleased at his daughter’s results. ‘You’re done well, love,’ he said. ‘You too, Debbie. Your parents will be pleased.’ But he didn’t enthuse, nor did she expect him to.

  ‘Thank you for taking me, Mr Crompton,’ said Debbie as she got out of the car. She was always polite, as she had been brought up to be. ‘See you, Shirley …’ she added, the usual farewell words between friends.

  ‘Yes … see you, Debbie …’

  She steeled herself then to face the rapturous reception from her mother who was, predictably, ecstatic at her results. She flung her arms round her daughter. ‘Oh, you clever girl! Your daddy will be so pleased. I can’t wait to tell him tonight. But it’s only what we expected, Debbie love. We know how hard you’ve worked.’ Actually, Debbie knew that she hadn’t exactly flogged herself to death with her revision. She had a retentive memory, and recalling facts came easily to her. ‘Now, sit down and tell me all about it,’ said her mother.

  ‘Actually, there isn’t anything else to tell you, Mum,’ said Debbie, a little edgily. ‘I’ve told you the results, and that’s all there is; end of story. I haven’t much time now, anyway, because I’ve promised Mr Hill I’ll go in this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ Her mother’s face fell. ‘I didn’t realize you’d be going in to work today. I thought he might have let you have the whole day off.’

  ‘I offered, Mum. It’s no big deal!’

  ‘All right then, love. I’ll make you a sandwich, shall I? Will that do?’

  ‘Yes, anything, so long as it’s quick. I said I’d be back by two.’

  ‘I’ll have a sandwich with you,’ said her mother. It’s all we’ll need really, because …’ Her eyes lit up excitedly as she went on. ‘We’ve got a surprise for you, your daddy and me. We’re going out for a meal tonight! What do you think about that, eh? And then we’ve booked seats at the Palace theatre – second house – to see the variety show. To celebrate!’

  Debbie’s heart sank to the soles of her shoes. Oh no! She’d been hoping to see Kevin tonight, although he hadn’t actually said so. And a variety show of all things! Yuck! She knew, though, that she must try to look pleased, if she could manage it. She gave a little laugh. ‘But how did you know that we’d have something to celebrate?’

  ‘Because we know you, pet,’ said her mother. ‘We knew you’d do well. Anyway, your dad
’s finishing work early, and we’ve booked a table at that new restaurant on the prom. We’ve heard it’s very good.’

  A myriad of thoughts were going through Debbie’s mind as she listened to her mother’s animated chatter. It was certainly a special occasion if her parents – especially her father – were willing to spend an evening away from their home. ‘Eating out’ was fashionable now, but Stanley Hargreaves was of the opinion that there was no point in going out for a meal when you could eat just as well – probably better – at home, and at a fraction of the cost. And very rarely could the two of them be tempted to leave their fireside and the ‘telly’ to watch entertainment elsewhere. So long as they could watch Coronation Street and Dad’s Army, and the weekend quiz shows and variety shows they wished for nothing more. So for them to be dining out and going to a theatre both in the same evening was really a red letter occasion.

  There was a nicer side to Debbie. The bolshie attitude she adopted, and of which she knew she had been guilty of recently, was partly an act of bravado. She did know, deep down, that her parents loved her and only wanted what was best for her – in their view. She knew, too, that she loved them, and she realized now how proud they must be of her achievements. And so she decided not to be difficult but to go along with their plans for the evening with the best grace that she could muster. There would be other times she could spend with Kevin. And on Saturday evening there was Carol’s party at the seafront hotel owned by her parents, to which several of the girl’s form mates had been invited. Debbie had managed to persuade Kevin to go with her, so there was a lot to look forward to. If she went along with them now, then maybe her mum and dad would try to see things more from her point of view. It so happened that she was beginning to waver with regard to school and college and all that, but for the sake of her pride she was determined not to give in too easily.

  So she smiled now and said, ‘Yes, great! That sounds nice, Mum. I was a bit surprised, that’s all. You and dad, you don’t often want to go out, do you?’