Families and Friendships Page 5

  ‘Mum’ll be OK,’ said Greg, smiling. ‘I’ve told you before; she’s a survivor. Actually, we rather think she’ll be getting married soon. We’re just waiting for her to tell us. And we all like Brian very much so we’ll be very pleased for her.’

  ‘What about your flat then, Greg?’ asked Simon. ‘Are you buying it, dare I ask? Or renting?’

  ‘I’m buying it!’ said Greg, with a beaming smile. ‘Well, with a mortgage, of course. But Dad left us all quite a tidy sum, so I’ve been able to put down a good deposit. And I’ve had a rise as well. The firm’s on the up and up, I’m pleased to say.’ Greg was a junior partner in a firm of solicitors in Manchester, where he had worked since leaving university three years previously.

  ‘I shall look forward to entertaining you all when I’ve settled in,’ he told them. ‘Sorry I can’t put you up, but I’ve got to start small, then maybe I’ll progress to buying a house, some day.’

  ‘You’ve done very well as it is,’ Fiona told him. ‘And what about … she’s called Helen, isn’t she?’

  ‘Oh, I’m afraid Helen’s history now,’ said Greg, a trifle regretfully. ‘It was good while it lasted, but we decided to call it a day. It was mutual and we parted on good terms. So … I’m footloose and fancy free at the moment.’

  Fiona thought to herself that he would probably not stay that way for long. He was a personable young man with his father’s – his real father’s – winning ways; the same warm smile and thoughtful grey eyes. He was pleasantly handsome, too, which, coupled with his friendliness – albeit with a touch of modesty – would be bound to attract many a young woman.

  ‘Simon and I are really pleased you came and found us,’ she told him later, whilst Simon was having a long telephone conversation with a member of the church council, which often happened of an evening. ‘Of course I’ve told you this before, haven’t I?’

  ‘The same goes for me,’ replied Greg. ‘You’ve become my second family. And I’m really pleased about your news, Fiona … You’ll be wanting a boy this time, maybe?’

  ‘Perhaps; I might …’ she replied. ‘One of each, it would be nice. But I don’t really mind. You do know, don’t you,’ she added, ‘that Stella was not my first child? I’m sure Simon will have mentioned it. I did say to him that he should tell you.’

  ‘Yes, and so he did,’ said Greg. ‘A strange coincidence, wasn’t it, the same thing happening to both you and Simon? It must have been a very traumatic time for you, having your baby, then losing her?’

  ‘Yes, it was. It took a while for me to forget. Well, I’ve never really forgotten, of course, but it doesn’t hurt any more.’

  ‘And have you never been tempted to find out what happened to your little girl?’ he asked.

  ‘I was tempted at first, but not now. I still think about her sometimes. I’m sure to, I suppose, but not as much as I used to do.’

  ‘There’s always the chance that she might want to find out, like I did,’ said Greg. ‘That is if she knows she was adopted. She might decide to look for you. Have you thought about that?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ replied Fiona. ‘It’s a possibility. At the moment, though, I’m very contented. Amazingly happy, in fact …’ She didn’t really want anything to come along and disturb her comfortable and settled way of life.

  Five

  ‘Of course you can’t leave school, Debbie,’ said Vera, for the umpteenth time. ‘Your teachers all say how well you’re doing. You’ve taken – how many O levels is it? Eight? – and you’ll no doubt pass them all …’

  ‘It’s nine, actually,’ said Debbie, in the offhand manner that was starting to irritate her mother so much.

  ‘Well, nine then,’ snapped Vera. ‘That’s even better, isn’t it? And it makes what you want to do even sillier. Leave school, indeed! Now, I don’t want to hear any more about it. Neither does your dad … do you, Stanley?’

  Stanley Hargreaves, from behind his newspaper, gave an audible sigh. ‘No, Debbie. Your mum’s right. We think you should make the most of the chance you’ve got to go into the sixth form. You’re a clever lass, and we don’t want you to waste all this … well, all this book learning and so on.’

  ‘Yes, your daddy and me, we never had the chances you’ve got, to do all this schooling. We had to leave school when we were fourteen and get a job, like it or not.’

  ‘Tell me the old, old story …’ muttered Debbie under her breath, but Vera heard her.

  ‘And don’t be so cheeky, young lady! I don’t know what’s happening to you just lately. You never used to be like this.’

  ‘Yes, just you watch what you’re saying, pet,’ said Stanley, a little more tolerantly. In a way he could understand how his daughter felt. All this sixth form business, then college or university was very strange to him. After all, Debbie was sixteen, and, as Vera said, they had been working for two years when they were that age. But things were different now, he supposed, and he was doing his best to support his wife in what she wanted for their precious daughter.

  ‘And don’t forget,’ he added, ‘your mum’s going out to work now, so that we can have a few extras, and you never go short of anything.’

  ‘Nobody asked her to,’ retorted Debbie. ‘She’s doing it because she wants to, aren’t you, Mum? And that’s what I want to do; go out to work instead of going into the boring old sixth form. I’ve already got a job, and Mr Hill says I can work there full time in September if I want to. And I do want to. You know how good I am with plants, Dad. You’ve been telling me ever since I was a little girl that I’ve got green fingers – like you have. I thought you would understand. It’s what I enjoy doing, more than anything.’

  ‘And we don’t want to stop you from doing it, Debbie,’ said her mother. ‘You could still carry on working at Sunnyhill, like you’re doing now, at weekends and in the holidays, if you went back to school.’

  Debbie had been helping out at the Sunnyhill garden centre on the outskirts of Whitesands Bay for almost a year now. Vera and Stanley had once called in to see her there, much to Debbie’s annoyance. But Mr Hill, the owner, had made them very welcome and had given them glowing reports of how keen and helpful she was, and how she had an aptitude for the work in the garden and in the greenhouses. She would willingly do the more menial tasks, too, such as making the tea and running errands, which, as the junior member of staff, she was expected to do. Vera could have told him that it was more than she did at home, but she kept quiet.

  Debbie, however, had not been pleased. ‘Don’t come in again,’ she said to her parents. ‘You made me feel a fool, checking up on me like that, as though I’m a little girl. It wasn’t as if you really wanted to buy anything.’

  ‘Yes, we did,’ said Stanley. ‘I bought some fertilizer for the tomatoes, and a new pair of shears. And I had a real good chat with Charlie Hill, all about greenfly and pest control. He’s a real nice chap, and very knowledgeable. He gave me a good discount, too.’

  ‘Yes, he is very nice,’ agreed Debbie. ‘But you know just as much as he does, Dad, about gardening and everything. You’ve been working in gardens longer than he has.’

  ‘Aye, well; he’s had the brass to set himself up in business, hasn’t he? And jolly good luck to him. Your mum and me, we just wanted to see how you were getting on, that’s all. But we won’t come again if you don’t want us to.’

  ‘OK, then,’ said Debbie, feeling relieved. ‘Actually, Mr Hill says you can have a discount anytime you want to buy anything. If you tell me what you want I can bring it home for you.’

  Vera had guessed that it might not be entirely the work that was the attraction at the garden centre. When she and Stanley had called there Debbie had been in one of the greenhouses, watering the tomato plants whilst deep in conversation with a blonde, tousle-haired lad. He looked a little older than Debbie, but Vera had summed him up straightaway as a nice respectable sort of young man. That they liked one another was obvious from their smiling glances and laughter.

&nb
sp; When Debbie had seen her parents she had almost dropped the watering can and the look on her face spoke volumes. ‘Mum! Dad! What are you doing here?’ she cried out.

  The lad walked away with a smile saying, ‘I’ll leave you to your visitors, Debbie. See you later.’

  ‘Mr Hill told us where to find you,’ said her father. ‘Sorry, love. We didn’t think you’d mind us coming to have a look at you.’

  ‘Yes, sorry if we’re interrupting your work,’ added her mother with a sly smile.

  ‘It’s not that …’ Debbie shrugged. ‘You just gave me a shock, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting you.’

  ‘Yes, we can see that,’ said Vera. ‘He seems a nice lad,’ she added nonchalantly, nodding towards the retreating figure at the end of the greenhouse. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘That’s Kevin,’ replied Debbie, a trifle grumpily. ‘Kevin Hill. He’s Mr Hill’s son, actually.’

  ‘Oh well, that’s good,’ said Vera. ‘I’m glad you’ve got some friends here.’

  That had been back in April. Now it was July, and Vera and Stanley had not gone to see Debbie again at her work, feeling it was better not to vex her unnecessarily. She was difficult to cope with as it was. They had, however, learnt a little more about Kevin Hill.

  It was soon after their visit to the garden centre that Debbie had asked – she had, in fact, asked, rather than just telling them – if it was alright if she went to the pictures that night with Kevin. It was Saturday and she had been working all day. Because she had been polite and asked them nicely, they had agreed, and had not quizzed her overmuch. After all, she was sixteen; quite old enough to have a first boyfriend, they supposed. And he was the owner’s son …

  The two of them had gone out together a few times since then. Kevin had called at their house to pick her up and bring her home, and they found him to be a very courteous and pleasant sort of lad. Debbie had moaned a bit when Vera had said she must concentrate on her school work, with her O levels coming up very soon, and must always be in by half past ten.

  But now the O levels were over, and they were all anxiously awaiting the results. School would finish in a week’s time for the summer holiday. Debbie was getting more obstreperous with every day that passed, being more insolent than ever and defying the ten thirty deadline now that the exams had ended. Moreover she was adamant about this business of leaving school, and Vera and Stanley were wondering if it was all because of Kevin Hill. He seemed a nice enough lad, but was he, in fact, encouraging Debbie in her bid for freedom?

  Debbie had been happy at Kelder Bank for the first four years, at least as happy as you could ever be at school. It was common practice to pretend that you disliked school, even though you might consider it to be really not too bad. She was able to cope quite easily with the work in most subjects. She did not find it hard to study or to do her homework. She did well in the end of term exams, although she was not ‘top dog’ as she had been at the junior school.

  It was during her time in the fifth form, when they were studying like mad for their O levels that Debbie began to feel restless. She had started working at the weekends at Sunnyhill the two days in the week to which she looked forward immensely. Her school work had started to take second place, which worried her parents very much, especially her mother. Mum seemed to be continually on her back these days.

  ‘Have you finished your homework, Debbie? You have? Well, you’ve been very quick about it, I must say!’

  Or, ‘When are you going to tidy your bedroom, Debbie? It’s a disgrace! And you used to be so tidy. I could write my name in the dust on your mirror. And please remember to put your dirty clothes in the linen basket. Don’t leave them all over the floor …’

  Or, ‘Half past ten, and not a minute later. You’ve got school tomorrow, and you know what you’re like at getting up in a morning …’

  That was after she had started going out with Kevin Hill. Seeing Kevin at weekends was, of course, one of the main reasons that she looked forward so much to Saturdays and Sundays. She had liked Kevin as soon as she met him, and dared to believe that he liked her as well. When he had first asked her to go to the pictures with him she had been over the moon with excitement. Nor had it been just an isolated occasion.

  After their first visit to the cinema to see Georgie Girl they went on to see rather more daring films such as Alfie and The Graduate. Films that Debbie was not sure her mother would approve of; Mum was getting very stuffy and critical these days.

  At least her parents seemed to like Kevin. The fact that he was the son of the boss was a point in his favour. Kevin called for her and took her home again when they had been out for the evening, kissing her goodnight at the gate. Discreetly at first, but then, as they grew friendlier, they lingered a little while longer in a secluded shop doorway or alleyway.

  Whitesands Bay was not exactly a swinging sort of town, compared with many in what was being called the ‘Swinging Sixties’. Liverpool seemed to be the place to be now. How Debbie would have loved to visit the Cavern where the famous Beatles had played. But it was out of the question up there in the wilds of Northumberland. There were not only the Beatles, but Cilla Black, the Searchers, and Gerry and the Pacemakers. Elsewhere there were the Rolling Stones, the Who, the Kinks, and the very amusing Herman’s Hermits.

  Debbie and her friends had to be content with listening to their records. She had a Dansette record player and saved up for the records of her favourite bands, the Beatles being the one she liked best of all.

  No, Whitesands Bay could not compare with Liverpool or London, but a few discos had sprung up in the town, where records were played by disc jockeys, as opposed to the music of live bands. Debbie would have loved to dance the night away, like many of the local teenagers were able to do, those who did not have to get up for school the next morning. For work, maybe, where they would, no doubt, turn up bleary-eyed, which would be frowned on at school.

  Kevin was a sensible lad, conscious that Debbie was two years younger than he was; and so he steered her away from pubs, or from the pills that could be bought – within the law – for not very much money at some discos and clubs.

  Sometimes, during the summer, they just walked on the promenade or along the pier, stopping for a coffee or a milk shake at a coffee bar. Kevin also lived in Whitesands Bay, and he made sure that she stuck to her parents’ deadline of ten thirty. When she told him that it had been extended to eleven thirty he believed her, not knowing anything about the rumpus it had caused at home. However, once her exams had finished Vera and Stanley, somewhat reluctantly, gave in to her demands. They liked Kevin and trusted him with their daughter.

  He had not yet been invited to their home for ‘Sunday tea’ or some such occasion, which was a sign that the lad was the accepted boyfriend. Kevin, however, was quite content with the status quo. He liked Debbie as much as any girl he had known so far and was happy for things to carry on just as they were.

  As for Debbie, she believed she was in love with Kevin. She knew he was her first boyfriend and all that, as her mother kept reminding her. ‘You’re only sixteen, Debbie, too young to be getting serious with a boy, especially while you’re still at school …’ and so on and so on. She didn’t really know how seriously Kevin felt about her. He had not said he loved her or anything like that, but she had her hopes and dreams.

  He was so different from the lads she knew at school. Older, of course, and more knowledgeable about all sorts of things. He, too, had attended Kelder Bank School, although Debbie had not known him then with him being a couple of years ahead of her. He had left when he was sixteen to work with his father and, as he was the only son, the business would no doubt be his one day. But that was a long time ahead, of course.

  He had more money to splash around than the lads at school. He didn’t own a car of his own, not yet, but he was saving up for one. On occasions he borrowed his father’s Morris Oxford. On rare occasions that was; Mr Hill guarded his car like the crown jewels, but Debbie felt
like a princess when they drove along the promenade of Whitesands Bay.

  He was good looking, in a funny sort of way with blondish hair that always looked untidy no matter what he did to it. He had strong features, with a rather longish nose, and a merry smile that showed a little gap in his front teeth. Debbie couldn’t help boasting about him at school, because he was older and took her to places that the lads at school couldn’t afford.

  Some of the girls had boyfriends, mainly lads in the same form at Kelder Bank. Her best friend, Shirley Crompton, had been ‘going out’ with Ryan Gregson, a lad in their form, for a few months. At least that was what Shirley called it, although Debbie guessed that they didn’t often go out anywhere. They just hung about together at school, at break times and dinner time. One problem was that he didn’t live in Whitesands Bay as Shirley did, but in South Shields, several miles away, so they didn’t meet all that often away from school. Shirley sometimes went to watch him play football on a Saturday. He was the goalie in the school team, being a tall, well-built lad, far more muscular than many of his peer group, and he had bright ginger hair.

  Debbie had the feeling that he didn’t like her very much, and so she decided that she wasn’t too keen on him either.

  ‘Your friend Debbie, she’s a real little bossy boots, isn’t she?’ he had remarked to Shirley. ‘And always showing off about something or other. I can’t understand why you’re so friendly with her. I must say, you hold your own with her though, don’t you? She needs taking down a peg or two.’

  ‘She’s alright,’ Shirley would reply. ‘I like her. I’ve been friends with her ever since we were in the infant school, and we went to Brownies and Sunday school together as well. And our mums are friends. Yes, I know she shows off a bit. I must admit I’m sick of hearing about this marvellous Kevin. I’ve met him and he’s quite nice and friendly; but I think she’s doing most of the running, to be honest. I hope she doesn’t get hurt.’