Families and Friendships Page 16

  ‘He’s called a rector, though,’ Ryan went on, ‘because it’s a country parish. They live in Aberthwaite in north Yorkshire. He’s the rector of St Peter’s church … Wait a minute … The Reverend Simon Norwood, that’s his name. So that’s it, Debbie. End of story.’ He almost smiled at her. ‘I suppose I can understand how you feel. I got a shock, I can tell you, when Mum said how close I’d come to being adopted. But your parents are OK, aren’t they? I know you’ve got a good home and … everything.’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ she admitted. ‘I get annoyed with my parents sometimes, but I suppose everybody does. It’s just nagging at me, though, this … wanting to know.’

  ‘My mum says that the vicar – rector or whatever – Simon, he’s a jolly nice chap, good fun, not like you’d imagine a clergyman might be. And Fiona’s real pretty with blonde hair. They’ve only been married about three years, and the little girl’s called Stella. So now you know as much as I do.’

  Shirley had come back now and had heard the last few remarks. She gave Ryan an odd look. ‘You’ve told her, then?’

  ‘I had no choice, had I?’ he replied ambiguously, with a meaningful look at Debbie. ‘It’s not fair that we should know all about it, when Debbie doesn’t.’

  ‘Fair enough, I suppose,’ said Shirley, uncertainly. ‘We’re going to get into awful trouble, though, Ryan, when your mum finds out that we’ve told her.’

  ‘If she finds out,’ said Ryan. ‘It depends on what Debbie’s going to do about it. I’ve told her to leave well alone, haven’t I, Debbie?’ He smiled at her in a more friendly way than he had ever done before; and she found herself quite liking him. She wouldn’t have told Shirley about Wendy, despite what she had threatened.

  ‘On the other hand, I know how Debbie feels,’ he went on, ‘because I was nearly in the same position myself.’

  ‘But you’re not are you? It didn’t happen to you. Anyway, I’m having nothing more to do with it.’ Shirley turned away crossly and took a long drink of her milkshake. Debbie could tell she was disgruntled, maybe because she and Ryan, for the very first time, had formed a bond.

  ‘But I think you’d be making a big mistake, Debbie… .’ Shirley was still harping on about it. ‘I’d forget about it if I were you.’

  ‘But you’re not me, are you?’ snapped Debbie. ‘You’ve no idea how you’d feel. Anyway, you’ve just said you don’t want any more to do with it.’

  ‘I don’t … but I’m just saying what I think. I shan’t say any more. But I think you should start counting your blessings.’

  Debbie burst out laughing. ‘You sound like my mother! She’s always saying things like that.’ And so was Shirley, she pondered; she was a great one for trite little remarks.

  ‘Then maybe you should listen to her,’ countered Shirley, ‘instead of chasing after something you can’t have.’

  ‘Girls, please!’ said Ryan. ‘Calm down. We’re not going to fall out about it, are we? We’ve told Debbie what we know, whether we should have done or not. Now it’s down to her.’

  ‘Sorry, Debbie,’ muttered Shirley. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all. Or anybody else …’ she added.

  ‘I know,’ said Debbie. ‘I do, really. Anyway, thank you, both of you. I’m sorry if I’ve made you break a promise.’

  Shirley and Ryan exchanged glances. She really did look sorry, and a contrite Debbie was something they had never expected to see.

  Fourteen

  Debbie had a good deal of information now, enough for her to continue her quest, if she decided to do so. She hadn’t imagined it would be so easy to find out as much as she had. Her birth mother was a lady called Fiona Norwood, married to the rector of St Peter’s church in the market town of Aberthwaite, in the north Yorkshire dales.

  She looked up Aberthwaite in the map book her parents owned. It was not far from Richmond, which seemed to be the largest town in that area. She didn’t know if there was a railway station there. Most probably there wouldn’t be. She remembered that a few years ago, in 1963, there had been something called the Beeching Report – she had heard her parents talking about it – and a lot of the smaller branch lines had been axed, and the railway stations closed, to make way for improved road travel, or so they had said.

  Whitesands Bay still had their railway station. She and her mother sometimes caught the train there to Newcastle, some twelve miles away. There might be a train from there to Richmond, or maybe it would involve another change at Durham. These were places she had heard of but never visited. She remembered seeing Durham castle and the cathedral perched on a hilltop when they had been travelling on the train to Whitby, or was it Scarborough? Her knowledge of Yorkshire was limited to those seaside resorts, and once they had gone to Butlin’s holiday camp at Filey. They had even visited Blackpool on a rare occasion when her father had had a pay rise.

  On the whole, though, her parents were quiet stay-at-home people, content with what they had and with little desire to travel and see the world or even their own country. Shirley’s dad had a car – Shirley had gone to Scotland with them earlier that year – and so had Ryan’s dad, and Kevin’s, of course. And Kevin was saving up for one of his own. She was determined, though, not to think about Kevin and what he was or wasn’t doing. She had other more important things on her mind. If she intended to go ahead with her plan to find her birth mother she would need to do it very soon, before she got cold feet.

  She was trying to behave normally at home, to keep out of bother with her parents and not to get into any arguments. Ironically, though, they might well regard that as unusual behaviour, considering how she sometimes carried on.

  She went to work each day, helping Julie, the new girl, to find her feet, and treating Kevin in a casual manner whenever she saw him. Which was not often, as he seemed to be avoiding her.

  ‘You’re very quiet, pet,’ her mother said to her on the Wednesday evening. ‘There’s nothing wrong, is there? With … Kevin, perhaps?’ she asked tentatively.

  ‘No, not at all,’ Debbie replied evenly, although it would have been more normal for her to have answered rudely as her mother had already asked her if they had fallen out. ‘At least, not how you mean,’ she amended. ‘Kevin’s got a bad cold and he’s not at work. That’s why I’ve not been seeing him.’ She crossed her fingers, as she did when she told a lie, hoping she would not be found out.

  ‘Oh dear! I’m sorry about that,’ said Vera. ‘Never mind, we’ve got our trip to Newcastle tomorrow. Are you looking forward to it?’

  ‘Yes, Mum, I am,’ Debbie answered truthfully. She always enjoyed looking at the big shops, the ones that they didn’t have in Whitesands Bay, and it would take her mind off other pressing issues. She enjoyed travelling by train, too. It always gave her the feeling that something exciting was happening, even if they were only going a short distance to the nearest big town.

  She stared at the hustle and bustle around her when they got off the train at Newcastle on Thursday morning. She wondered which platform it would be for the trains going further south. There were destination boards giving instructions, and stairs and lifts and walkways leading hither and thither. Most people seemed to know where they were going, although a few were looking puzzled. There were railway officials and porters there, however, who would deal with enquiries. Debbie had a moment of near panic as she remembered what she would be embarking on … if she had the courage to go through with it. A journey into the unknown, in all sorts of ways …

  ‘Come on, love, we’d best get moving,’ said her mother. ‘What’s the matter? What are you looking at?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she answered. ‘Well … all these people, I suppose, wondering what they’re all doing, where they’re going.’

  Vera laughed. ‘You’re a funny lass and no mistake! That enquiring mind of yours, always wanting to know the ins and outs of everything. Well, we know where we’re going, don’t we?’ She tucked her arm companionably through her daughter’s as they walked out o
f the station.

  Their first stop was the leather shop, not far from the station; the sort of shop where you usually looked in the window but didn’t go inside. But today was different. Vera marched in confidently and Debbie followed.

  ‘We’d like to purchase a briefcase,’ Vera said to the woman assistant who approached them. ‘For my daughter …’ She turned to smile at Debbie. ‘She’s going into the sixth form, and she’ll be able to use it later when she goes to university.’ Debbie was tempted to say, ‘Oh, do shut up, Mum!’ But of course she didn’t. She just smiled, trying not to look too embarrassed.

  They looked at a selection, many of which were too big and clumsy, very ostentatious, for city business men. Eventually they chose one in a light tan leather that was not too heavy or too outrageously expensive. Debbie was feeling guilty about all sorts of things, and had decided she must keep the cost down as much as possible.

  Then Vera, after a lot of ‘iffing and butting’, was persuaded to buy a bag for herself. Debbie coaxed her away from the old-fashioned style of black or dark brown leather with a clasp, and urged her to buy one in soft fawn suede, with a zip and a fancy large button fastening.

  Vera parted with a sheaf of pound notes that were tucked away in her capacious purse. ‘May we leave these parcels and call back for them later?’ she asked. ‘On our way back to the train. We’ve come from Whitesands Bay. We’re here for the day, and we’ve some more shopping to do; new clothes for Debbie for when she goes back to the sixth form.’

  Debbie felt herself go pink. Shut up, Mum! she thought again. She doesn’t want to know our life story.

  But the assistant just smiled and said, ‘Certainly, madam; I hope you enjoy your day,’ in a very friendly manner.

  They had lunch at Woolworth’s cafeteria; salmon sandwiches and large cups of coffee, followed by vanilla slices with lots of custardy filling and sticky icing.

  ‘Lovely!’ said Vera, wiping her mouth and fingers with a paper serviette. ‘We’re having a grand time, aren’t we, pet?’ Debbie agreed they were. ‘And now we’ll go to C and A,’ she went on, ‘and get you a nice new coat, and you need a new skirt for school, don’t you, love?’

  ‘I might,’ said Debbie. ‘But I don’t want you spending all this money on me, Mum. I’ve got plenty of clothes, really I have. I’d rather you bought something for yourself.’

  ‘I probably will,’ said Vera. ‘Your daddy gave me quite a lot of money. “Go and treat yerself,” he said; and I’ve got some money saved up myself out of my wages. It isn’t as if we often go on a spending spree, and we want you to have everything you need for your schooling, your daddy and me.’

  Debbie chose a cherry red coat, ‘for best’, insisting that her other one was more than adequate for school. The red one was ‘just above the knee’ length rather than a mini, mainly to appease her mother. It was quite trendy though, with a stand-away collar and large black buttons. Vera opted for a ‘just below the knee’ length, in russet tweed with a mock fur collar. She looked smart in it, and Debbie told her it made her look ten years younger. Vera smiled contentedly, and Debbie couldn’t remember when she had seen her mother look so happy.

  They went to Marks and Spencer to buy Debbie’s school skirt, and she insisted on paying for a jumper herself; a skinny rib sweater in emerald green with a turtle neck. She also treated her mother to a nylon scarf with a pattern of bright green leaves and orange flowers; it would go well at the neckline of the russet brown coat. Vera was so touched that tears came into her eyes.

  ‘Now, stop it, Mum,’ said Debbie. ‘It’s just a little thank you, that’s all … for everything you do for me.’

  ‘We’ve had a lovely day. I can’t tell you how nice it’s been,’ Vera said to Stanley as they ate their evening meal. ‘We’ve each got a new coat, haven’t we, Debbie? And she’s got her briefcase, and I treated myself to a handbag. The assistant was ever so nice and friendly. And we had a lovely lunch in Woolies.’

  ‘Good,’ said Stanley, tucking into his steak and kidney pie. ‘And what did you buy for me, eh?’ He winked at Debbie to show he was only joking.

  ‘Oh dear!’ said Vera. ‘Poor old Daddy! It was just a girls’ day out; we never thought, did we, Debbie? But you know how fussy you are, Stanley. Anything I chose would be wrong. Happen we could go to Newcastle again, just you and me, when Debbie’s gone back to school. You’re about due for a new suit, aren’t you, Stanley?’

  He chuckled. ‘I never have much cause to dress up, do I? I was only joking, lass. So long as you and our Debbie are pleased, then so am I.’

  ‘She’s been grand today,’ Vera said to her husband later that night. ‘I could hardly believe it was the same girl. Whatever was wrong with her, I think she’s got over it. All that business about leaving school, and all that carry-on at the party. I think that taught her a lesson, Stanley. I really do believe she’s turned over a new leaf.’

  Debbie had, truly, enjoyed the day with her mother. They had been so much more at ease with one another. How then, she asked herself, could she even consider carrying on with the plan she had in mind?

  It wasn’t as if there was a particular bone of contention between herself and her parents at the moment, although there had been in the past; and they still tended to annoy her with their old-fashioned way of looking at things and their tendency to treat her like a child, their precious little girl. But maybe no more so than other parents did. And she supposed she was precious to them, having waited so long for a child and then given up hope. She remembered her mother telling her how they had chosen her specially, and had been so thrilled that they had got their own little girl at last.

  She knew that she was the most important person, the most important part of their lives, she guessed, apart from their love for one another. She knew that her parents got on very well together; it was not romantic or passionate love, she imagined, not now – had it ever been? – but she had never known them to have a serious quarrel or to bicker at one another. Their lives revolved around the family unit, just the three of them, and other issues – work, friends, holidays, leisure activities, churchgoing – were of lesser importance than their happy family. And now, was she bent on destroying it?

  There were times when Debbie wished she didn’t know quite so much about her background and the circumstances of her birth. Might it have been better if she had never known about her adoption, if her parents had kept the true facts from her? She had accepted the story when she was a little girl; she had thought it was a lovely story. It was only later that she had wanted to know more. Her mother had commented on her enquiring mind only the other day, as she had done many times in the past. Debbie was never content until she had got to the root of the matter, had found out the answer to every question. Having discovered where she had been born had not been enough. She had ferreted away until she knew, now, much more than she had ever expected to discover. So how could she leave it alone, when she had this desire to find out everything niggling away at her.

  It wasn’t as if she was storming out after a family row, she told herself; she had heard about girls leaving home in such circumstances. She obviously couldn’t say where she was going, though. Her parents would be terribly upset – angry, maybe – if she let them know of her intentions. They would no doubt be upset, anyway, when they found out. But if she went about it in the way she intended, in secret, then they would be so relieved at finding her again that they would forgive her. It would be all right … wouldn’t it? She wasn’t intending to leave home; she just wanted to find the person who had given birth to her. Should she leave a note? she wondered. No; she decided it was best not to. She didn’t want them hot on her trail before she had achieved her object …

  She set off on Monday morning as usual, supposedly for work, on her bicycle. In her saddle bag she had the sandwiches that her mother always made for her – chicken leftover from their Sunday dinner – and a piece of home-made gingerbread. Debbie had also included an apple, a banana and a pa
cket of crisps, a chocolate biscuit, and a screw-top bottle of orange juice.

  She didn’t know how long it would take her to get to Aberthwaite; it would all depend on the times of trains and the connections. She hadn’t had a chance to find out in advance, but she trusted that it would be quite simple. It wasn’t all that far – only the next but one county. It wouldn’t be like travelling abroad, or even as far as London. All the same, it was a massive step for her to be taking, because she had never before travelled away from her home town on her own.

  She couldn’t take any luggage, nor would she need very much. She didn’t even know if she would be invited to stay for the night, or if they would turn her away, not wanting to know. Surely not … Fiona – which was how she was now thinking of her – was married to a vicar. Surely they would listen to her.

  She pushed a few items of underwear into a small bag, then, on the spur of the moment, she put in the little pink teddy bear. That would give credence to her story.

  She kissed her mother on the cheek, as she always did, not making any more fuss than usual.

  ‘Have a nice day,’ said Vera. ‘Your last week, isn’t it? I hope Kevin’s feeling better. He should be back at work today, shouldn’t he?’

  ‘Er … yes; I think so, Mum. See you later then …’ She could have said that she was going on somewhere after work, to see Shirley or one of the other girls from school, but she decided not to. Better not to drag Shirley into it.

  She turned the opposite way at the end of the street, heading towards the railway station on the outskirts of the town. What about her bicycle? It would be too much of a bother to take it with her, on and off trains and into the luggage vans. She had a lock and key for it, although common sense told her it would still be easy enough to steal if anyone wanted to. She had to take some chances, though. She locked it and left it propped up against a wall in the car park.