Families and Friendships Page 15

  Debbie knew there was no way she could get any more information from her mother; besides, Mum would be very hurt. Debbie knew that only too well, but it didn’t stop her from wanting to find out more. And so she had worked out a plan. Tomorrow, Tuesday, was her half day off from the garden centre. She intended, after lunch, to cycle to Burnside House in order to see Claire Wagstaff. She would need to find out, though, if Claire would be there that afternoon; if, in fact, she was still working there. If she wasn’t, then Debbie knew that her search would come to an end; she didn’t know of any other way of finding out. A phone call from Sunnyhill on Tuesday morning, however, told her that Claire would be on duty that afternoon.

  It was only a couple of miles through the winding country lanes from Debbie’s place of work. She had butterflies doing a wild dance in her tummy as she stood at the door of Burnside House, ready to ring the bell. This, then, was the place where she had been born. It was a large greystone house set in its own grounds, with a lawn in front surrounded by colourful flower beds. She had imagined something more like a prison, but this seemed to be quite a pleasant place. She pressed the bell and waited.

  To her surprise – what a stroke of luck! – it was Claire who opened the door. They hadn’t seen one another for quite a while, and they looked at one another a trifle unsurely. Claire didn’t really look much different, possibly a shade plumper and her hair was greying a little; but she still had the same friendly smile as she recognized Debbie.

  ‘It’s Debbie, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You’ve grown up quite a lot since I last saw you, and your hair’s shorter. It took me a minute to place you. Anyway, come along in, and you can tell me why you’re here.’ She looked at her rather more closely. ‘I take it there is a reason? Your mum and dad are both all right, I hope?’

  ‘Er … yes; it’s nothing like that,’ said Debbie. ‘They’re both very well.’ She followed Claire into a smallish room at the back of the house, furnished with easy chairs, a bookcase and a television set. ‘It’s … well, it’s something I wanted to ask you,’ she went on. ‘Something that I want to know.’

  ‘Well, sit down then,’ said Claire. ‘This is the staff sitting room. We won’t be disturbed, and I can spare you a few minutes. I expect I can guess why you want to see me, Debbie. I can’t think of any other reason; but I can’t help hoping I’m wrong.’ Her smile was replaced by a look of concern, although she didn’t seem annoyed.

  Debbie gave a sigh and shook her head. ‘No, I don’t suppose you’re wrong … unless …’ A sudden thought struck her. ‘You don’t think I’m pregnant, do you? Because it isn’t that!’

  ‘No …’ Claire gave a wry smile. ‘I didn’t think it was that; and I suppose that’s something to be thankful for!’

  ‘I’ve come to ask you about my mother; I mean … the person who gave birth to me,’ said Debbie.

  Claire nodded. ‘Yes; that’s what I guessed.’

  ‘I’ve always known I was adopted,’ Debbie went on, ‘and from what Mum told me once I guessed that you might have had something to do with it. So … I just wanted to know about her. I feel I have a right to know,’ she added, a little more assertively, now that she was gaining in confidence. ‘Mum told me that she – the girl, I mean – didn’t really want to part with me.’

  ‘I’m afraid, Debbie, that you don’t really have a right to know, as you put it,’ said Claire, rather sternly. ‘It was Vera’s choice to tell you about your adoption, but as for your birth mother, I don’t know of her whereabouts, and even if I did I wouldn’t tell you. The adoption was confidential. Your parents – Vera and Stanley – never knew whose child you were, just as your birth mother never knew who was adopting you. She had to let you go because it was the right thing – the only thing – for her to do. I dare say she has made a new life for herself now. I’m sure she won’t have forgotten you, but I also believe that it wouldn’t do any good for you to try to find her now … I presume that is what you want to do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Debbie. ‘I’m not really sure. But I so desperately want to know what she was like …’

  ‘What has brought this about?’ asked Claire. She gave a half smile. ‘Have you had a row at home and decided the grass might have been greener elsewhere? It isn’t always, you know. And I’m sure you’ve had a good home and loving parents; well, I know you have.’

  ‘We haven’t had a row,’ said Debbie. ‘Well, more of a difference of opinion about me going back to school. I don’t always see eye to eye with them; they’re older than most of my friends’ parents, aren’t they? Anyway, I’m going back to school, so that’s all sorted out … But I’ve still got this longing to find out. There was that little teddy bear, you see. Mum told me where it had come from, and I knew that she – the girl – really must have loved me.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the little pink bear. I remember that Fi … your mother gave it to Sister Travers at the last minute. I wasn’t there, but Sister told me about it. She tucked it into your shawl; she said she was very touched by it, although Travers was usually a ‘no nonsense’ sort of woman. It’s a moving little incident, but that doesn’t mean … Look, Debbie, I really can’t tell you any more.’

  ‘You must have known her quite well though,’ Debbie persisted. ‘Was she a nice sort of girl? I’m sure she must have been.’

  ‘Yes, she was a lovely girl,’ Claire answered. ‘Not very understanding parents, though, from what I gathered. They were adamant about having the baby – you – adopted. Yes, I admit I had a soft spot for … her, and for her friend, Ginny. We’re not supposed to get too friendly with any of the girls, but you can’t help taking to some more than others.’

  ‘Ginny?’ said Debbie. ‘She had a friend called Ginny?’ The name had rung a bell with her, and it didn’t take her long to remember where she had heard it. Ryan Gregson; his mother was called Ginny. She knew because Shirley was always going on about how nice Ryan’s mum was, and how she had asked her to call her Ginny instead of Mrs Gregson. But it couldn’t be the same one, could it? Why would Ryan’s mother have been in Burnside House? She decided to enquire a little further, but sort of … casually.

  ‘Yes, Ginny … I can’t remember her other name,’ said Claire evasively, but looking rather ill at ease.

  ‘And did they all live near here,’ Debbie asked, ‘the girls who were having babies?’

  ‘Most of them did; they still do,’ replied Claire. ‘But the babies are not usually placed anywhere near to the birth mother. All I will tell you is that with you it was the other way round. Your … birth mother was from much further away, and your parents, Vera and Stanley, were from this area, as you know. As you’ve gathered, I had a hand in the adoption because I knew how much they wanted a little girl and I knew what splendid parents they would be. And my advice to you, Debbie, is to try to put it all to the back of your mind. I’m sorry, pet, but you’ll not get any more information from me. I can promise you, though, that what you’ve asked me will go no further. I do see your mother from time to time, but I won’t say anything. I just hope that you’ll try to put it all behind you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must carry on with my work. I can’t say give my love to your mum, but it’s what I would say, if I could. Your mother and father think the world of you, you know …’

  Claire had a few anxious moments when she had said goodbye to Debbie. She realized she had almost given away Fiona’s name by a slip of the tongue, Debbie might not have noticed, and even if she had it wasn’t likely to be of much help. And maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned Ginny – the name had slipped out unintentionally – but it was unlikely that Debbie would know her. She recalled then that Ginny had told her that her son, Ryan, was at Kelder Bank School. And so was Debbie; in the same year, maybe in the same form. She hoped against hope that Debbie would not make the connection. She felt sure, though, that she might well be a determined little madam once she got an idea into her head. The only real lie that she, Claire, had told was in saying that she did not know
the whereabouts of Debbie’s birth mother. Ginny had told her about Fiona’s new life and about how happy she was. Claire trusted that nothing would happen to mar her happiness.

  Debbie was not entirely disillusioned as she cycled home. She had known, if she were honest with herself, that she was not likely to find out very much from Claire Wagstaff. There was so much secrecy attached to adoption. They were honour bound, she supposed, not to divulge private information; and Claire, also, would not want to do anything that might hurt her friends, Vera and Stanley. And Debbie knew, at the heart of her, that her parents would be deeply distressed if they knew what she was doing. At the same time, she so badly wanted to know; it was becoming an obsession with her.

  Claire, however, had let a few little things slip out. The name of the girl; she had started to say something that began with the letter F … or Ph … then she had pulled herself up sharply. Phyllis, Phoebe, Fiona, maybe? It didn’t mean much on its own, but coupled with the name Ginny – there was no doubt about that name – she might have something to go on. The person to see was Ryan Gregson, but before that she would have to see Shirley.

  There was no one in when she arrived home as it was one of the afternoons when her mother was working. She didn’t know what they would be having for tea, but to show willing she set the table for the three of them. Then, when Vera came home she helped her to prepare the meal; cold chicken with salad and new potatoes as it was a warm day, followed by strawberries and ice cream.

  ‘I think I’ll go and see Shirley tonight,’ she said casually.

  ‘You’re not seeing Kevin then?’ asked her mother, in quite a normal manner.

  ‘No, not tonight. Later in the week, maybe.’

  ‘We must arrange a time for us to go to Newcastle,’ said Vera. ‘Thursday would be best for me; I’m working the other days. D’you think you can get the time off?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said Debbie. ‘Today was my half-day, but Mr Hill should be easy about it. He knows I’m leaving soon, anyway.’

  ‘Thursday then,’ said her mother, sounding very cheerful and excited. ‘I might even treat myself to a new bag from that leather shop we’re going to, and a new coat from C and A.’

  ‘Yes, why not, Mum?’ said Debbie. ‘You deserve it.’ Which was the truth and she meant it, although she felt a pang of guilt as she thought of the half-formed plan in her mind.

  Shirley was in her bedroom listening to The Beach Boys on her record player when Debbie arrived. They listened to the last track, ‘Barbara Ann’, then Shirley turned it off.

  ‘Have you recovered from Saturday?’ she asked, laughing. ‘Did you get into a load of bother?’

  ‘Don’t mention it!’ groaned Debbie. ‘I know I was an idiot, though. I won’t do it again, I’ll tell you! Mum and Dad were OK though, after the first outburst, but they just thought I’d had too much to drink. They didn’t know about … the other thing. You haven’t said anything, have you?’

  ‘No, of course I haven’t!’

  ‘And they’re real chuffed now that I’ve said I’m going back to school.’

  ‘Are you, really?’ said Shirley. ‘That’s terrific! And have you made it up with Kevin?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Debbie, briefly. ‘But I want to talk about something else. You said that Ryan’s mum is called Ginny, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, she is,’ said Shirley, looking at her friend curiously. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, I know this sounds silly, but do you think she could have been in Burnside House – you know, that place for unmarried mothers – at the same time as … well, when I was born there?’

  Shirley looked alarmed, so much so that Debbie felt she might well be on to something. ‘Why?’ Shirley asked again. ‘I don’t know; I mean, how could she have been?’ She was going red though, and flustered. ‘Don’t ask me, Debbie,’ she said. ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘You do know though, don’t you?’ coaxed Debbie. ‘I know you do. Come on, Shirl, tell me. We’re supposed to be friends.’

  Shirley looked more worried than ever. ‘What are you up to?’ she said. ‘You’re not trying to find out about … what you told me once before, are you? About you being adopted?’

  ‘Yes, I am, actually,’ said Debbie. ‘I went to see that woman, Claire, who knows all about it. She wouldn’t tell me, of course; I never really thought she would. But she mentioned that she – my real mother, I mean – had a friend called Ginny. It was Ryan’s mum, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes … yes it was,’ said Shirley, in a small voice. ‘She – Ginny – wasn’t married when she had Ryan; they got married later. But like Ryan says, it’s no big deal.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose it is,’ said Debbie, ‘about them getting married later. But why was his mother there, in Burnside House?’

  ‘Because her parents were annoyed with her,’ said Shirley, sounding cross and agitated. ‘They wanted her to have the baby adopted, but Arthur stepped in – that’s Ryan’s dad – and talked them round. So she was able to keep the baby; Ryan, I mean. But I do wish you hadn’t asked me, Debbie. I can’t tell you any more. Ryan wasn’t supposed to tell me anything about it.’

  ‘But you do know, don’t you? You know more than you’re letting on. You’ve known all along, haven’t you? You went all peculiar once before when I mentioned it. Come on, Shirl; you’ve got to tell me.’

  Shirley sighed. ‘OK, I’ll tell you a bit of it. Ginny told Ryan that she and his dad were going away for the weekend to see a friend – it was earlier this year – somebody who had been expecting a baby at the same time as she was. So it all came out about Burnside House. Then Ryan said he knew a girl who had been adopted, and that she – you – had been born there as well. And so Ginny realized they were talking about the same person …’

  ‘My … mother,’ said Debbie. ‘You knew all the time, and you never let on.’

  ‘I couldn’t! Ryan said I mustn’t. He’d promised his mum. I’m not going to tell you any more.’

  ‘I shall ask Ryan then …’

  ‘He won’t tell you!’

  ‘Oh, I think he might,’ said Debbie with a little smile. ‘Anyway, you can’t stop me asking him.’

  After a little persuasion Shirley admitted that she was seeing Ryan the next night at the coffee bar, Katy’s Kitchen, in the town centre, a popular meeting place for the teenagers when they didn’t want to go to the pub. Debbie knew that her friend wasn’t happy about it, and she promised she wouldn’t hound him too much if he didn’t want to tell her. She rather thought, though, that he might.

  They met at eight o’clock as arranged at the cosy little cafe with the brightly coloured Formica topped tables and the psychedelic posters on the walls. It was obvious that Shirley had already warned Ryan about Debbie’s desire to find out all she could.

  ‘I’m having nothing more to do with it,’ she said. ‘I think you should leave well alone, Debs. You’ll only go and upset your mum and dad, and you might upset … the other lady as well. And Ryan’ll get into trouble if his mum finds out. Anyway, I’ll order us some drinks, and then I’ll go and have a word with Jean over there …’ There was a trio of girls from their form in the opposite corner. ‘What d’you want to drink?’

  They all decided on strawberry milkshakes, and Ryan pulled a pound note out of his pocket and handed it to Shirley.

  ‘Ta,’ she said briefly. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘Shirley’s right, you know,’ said Ryan, quite reasonably, as she left them. ‘You could cause an awful lot of bother. And my mum’s going to be real mad with me if I tell you anything.’

  Debbie grinned. ‘Not half as mad as Shirley’s going to be if I tell her about you snogging with Wendy Perkins at the party.’

  Ryan looked horrified. ‘You wouldn’t?!’ he gasped.

  ‘Try me!’ laughed Debbie.

  ‘It was nothing, honest.’ He shook his head. ‘Shirley and me had a row, and you know what Wendy’s like. It didn’t mean anything, and we’r
e OK again now, me and Shirl.’

  ‘Well, if you want it to stay that way, you’d better tell me what you know, hadn’t you?’

  Ryan closed his eyes for moment, shaking his head. Then, ‘OK, OK,’ he said. ‘My mum had a friend in the home. She was – is – called Fiona. My mum and dad were going to see her … oh, about four months ago, I think it was. I realized who it might be, and I showed Mum that form photo of us all … and she said that you were the image of her friend. Different colour hair, but she didn’t seem to be in any doubt about it, that you were the baby who was adopted.’

  ‘Your mum didn’t tell her friend, though, did she? About what she’d found out?’

  ‘No, of course not. Fiona’s married now; she’s very happy, and they’ve got a little girl. So I think you should leave it alone, Debbie. I’ve told you all I know.’

  ‘You haven’t, though, have you? Where do they live? And what’s her name? Fiona … what?’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Debbie! I don’t know! I can’t remember.’

  ‘Then think about it,’ retorted Debbie. ‘Shirley told me that you were very nearly adopted yourself. If you had been, then you’d have wanted to know all about it, same as I do.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t, was I?’ He screwed up his face, frowning in concentration. ‘I’m trying to think … I know she’s married to a vicar.’

  ‘A vicar!’ Debbie cried out in astonishment. A thought flashed through her mind. What might she be getting into? Mum and Dad were a bit odd and old-fashioned. What would the woman married to a vicar be like, and the vicar himself? It might be a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire … if she went through with it.