Cast the First Stone (36 page)

Greg put down his beaker. ‘Yes, I'll be twenty-two in July. When I left school – Manchester Grammar school – I spent three years at university in Durham, reading Law. It was during that time that my father died, and I found out . . . all this. I'm a junior partner with a firm of solicitors in Manchester now. I was fortunate to find a position near home. I'm still at home with Mum, although I hope to have my own place before too long.'

‘You've done well,' said Simon. ‘I'm sure your mum is very proud of you, isn't she?'

‘I think so,' said Greg, modestly. ‘We've all done quite well. My younger brother and sister are both at college now; Graham's at Leeds Uni, and Wendy's at a teacher training college in Bingley.'

‘And you're in Manchester? Yes, I remember Yvonne saying that she came from there. I can't remember exactly where.'

‘Mum was brought up in Moston, but my father's practice was in Didsbury; that's where we still live.'

There was a moment's silence as the two men regarded one another. Simon spoke first. ‘So how did you find out about me; where I live and . . . everything?'

‘It wasn't so difficult,' replied Greg, ‘with you being a clergyman.' He smiled. ‘You were rather easier to trace than if you'd been one of the hoi polloi.'

Simon laughed. ‘Wearing our collars the wrong way round doesn't make us any different from what you think of as ordinary people.'

‘No, I can see that,' said Greg. ‘You were a curate in Hull, weren't you, before you moved here?'

‘Yes, that's right,' agreed Simon.

‘Well, my mother had a friend who had been in the WAAF with her. She was called Eileen, and she lived in Hull.'

‘Eileen . . . Yes, I think I remember her,' said Simon. ‘There were a few of them who went around together. I asked them about Yvonne, but they didn't know where she had disappeared to.'

‘Eileen was the one that Mum knew best, and after a while she contacted her and told her what had happened. Mum said she'd felt guilty at just vanishing the way she did. So they kept in touch after that. Then Eileen saw a photo of you in the
Hull Gazette
. . .'

‘Notorious, eh?' smiled Simon. ‘No, it was most likely a report of a church function.'

‘Something of the sort. Anyway, Eileen recognized you, and she told Mum. I don't know why; perhaps she just couldn't keep it to herself.'

‘She'd be surprised, no doubt, to find out I'd become a “man of the cloth”,' said Simon, smiling. ‘I dare say Yvonne was surprised, wasn't she?'

‘I don't know,' said Greg. ‘As I've told you, I didn't know anything about all this until fairly recently. I don't think she was all that surprised. She said you were a very nice young man; very respectable and . . . honourable.'

‘I might have been, if I'd known about it,' said Simon, ruefully. ‘But I didn't know. It was wartime, and what happened with your mother was . . . well, it was just one of those things. I know it's easy to say that, but I did think a great deal about her.'

‘She understood all that,' said Greg, ‘and it was her decision to do what she did. Anyhow, as I say, you were not difficult to trace. My mum's friend, Eileen, she's a great one for ferreting things out. So . . . here I am.'

‘Yes, here you are,' echoed Simon. ‘I can't pretend it's not been a shock, but it's been a very pleasant one. It's not every day that you discover a long-lost son! You must call me Simon, though; I wouldn't expect anything else. I'm so pleased you were all happy together as a family. Your father . . . I'm sure he must have been a remarkable man.'

‘Yes, so he was,' agreed Greg. ‘We all miss him very much, but time moves on and we must do the same.'

‘Are you staying in Aberthwaite, then?' asked Simon.

‘Yes, I've got a week's leave. I came on Saturday, and booked into a bed and breakfast place near the station. They do evening meals as well, and it's very comfortable. I intend to do some walking. I've not been to this neck of the woods before, and I've got my hiking gear with me; I do a little from time to time.'

‘I expect you know quite a lot about me then, don't you?' asked Simon.

‘A little,' Greg admitted. ‘I know you got married last year.'

‘Fiona's my second wife,' said Simon. ‘My first wife died several years ago. Fiona and I are expecting our first child.' In reality, the second child, for both of us, he thought, in what was turning out to be a remarkably ironic coincidence.

‘That's great,' said Greg. ‘Congratulations!'

‘You must meet Fiona,' said Simon, eagerly. But Greg looked a trifle fazed at the idea.

‘What's the matter?' asked Simon. ‘Now we've found one another, you're not going to disappear again, are you?'

‘Well, no . . .' said Greg. ‘But I don't want to be an embarrassment to you. To your wife, I mean, and . . . with you being a vicar. I'm sure you won't want stories going round. People gossip so much, don't they?'

Simon laughed. ‘Oh yes; we're well used to gossip here. But I can tell you, without any hesitation, that my wife will be delighted to meet you. And as for the folk in my congregation . . . I might as well give them something really worthwhile to gossip about!'

Fiona came home at midday for a snack lunch that Simon had prepared, as he always did when she was working for the whole day. It was whilst they were eating their sandwiches of roast beef – cut cold from the joint they had had the previous day – that he broke the news to her.

‘I've had a visitor this morning, darling,' he began.

‘Oh, a welcome one, I hope? I know you don't like being disturbed when you're working.'

‘Very welcome, as it turned out,' he answered, just a little hesitantly. He wasn't quite sure how Fiona would react to the news, despite his telling Greg that all would be well. ‘It was the young man that I noticed in church yesterday; he was there for both services.'

‘Yes, I think you mentioned it,' said Fiona, concentrating more on her beef sandwich than on what her husband was saying. She was finding she was always hungry these days. ‘What did he want?'

‘Well, he came to tell me he has discovered that . . . that I am his father.' Simon felt it was better to come to the crux of the matter straight away, rather than hedge around it. There was a moment's silence whilst Fiona looked at him in amazement.

Then, ‘What!' she said. ‘Who is he, then? Some sort of prankster, trying to cause trouble?'

‘Oh no, not at all,' replied Simon. ‘It's true, although I had no idea about it, of course. There's no disputing it. He is . . . my son.'

‘But when . . . who? I don't understand.' Fiona shook her head in a bewildered manner. ‘You never said anything about it.'

‘Because I didn't know,' said Simon. ‘When I was in the RAF I met a girl called Yvonne; she was a WAAF. We had a brief relationship. We didn't intend to; we started off as good friends, neither of us really wanted to get too involved, but . . . it was inevitable, I suppose.'

‘Yes, I can understand that,' said Fiona. ‘I didn't imagine you were completely without experience when you got married – to Millicent, I mean. You told me that you'd . . . well, that you hadn't always been a clergyman, and I knew what you meant.' She smiled. ‘Tit for tat, I suppose. What a coincidence, though, to find out about it just now. Are you going to tell me all about it?'

‘Of course I am, darling. I didn't mention Yvonne before because it was all so long ago, and I had no idea that there had been any outcome. If I had known that I had a son I would have told you.'

‘Would you? I wonder . . .' said Fiona. ‘I didn't tell you, did I, about my daughter?'

‘That's true,' Simon agreed. ‘No, to be honest, who knows what I would have done? If I'd known in the first place that Yvonne was expecting a child, things might have turned out very differently. I hope I was the sort of young man who would have faced up to his responsibilities. As it happened, Yvonne got married, and they were very happy. She's a widow now, but her husband was a very good father to Greg. He believed Keith was his real father until recently, when Yvonne decided she should tell him the truth.'

‘If . . .' said Fiona. ‘Such a little word. The smallest in the English language – apart from “I” – but it's one of the most significant. “If this, if that, if only.” We all say it, but it's futile, isn't it? We can't go back, not for all the “ifs” in the world.'

Simon was thoughtful. ‘What would I have done, I wonder? And why didn't she tell me? I suppose I can understand why she didn't . . . As I told you, we didn't intend to get involved, but I was growing very fond of Yvonne. She was a really nice, decent sort of young woman. You told me the same about your boyfriend, Dave, didn't you?'

Fiona nodded. ‘Yes; he was a decent well-brought-up lad. But we
can't
go into the ifs and the what might have beens.'

‘It was 1943,' Simon went on. ‘It seemed as though the war would never end. The bombing raids over Germany . . . I've told you a little about them, haven't I? Wondering how long I could go on with the meaningless destruction, or so it seemed to me, but we could never say so. It would have been called defeatist talk. Then we lost our skipper, our chief pilot. I saw the plane burst into flames with him inside it. That was when it happened, the next night, with Yvonne and me. I suppose it was inevitable. We comforted one another. It only happened a couple of times . . .'

‘That's all it takes,' said Fiona, quietly. ‘I found that out, to my cost.'

‘Then I was injured myself,' Simon continued. ‘I told you, didn't I, how I could hardly believe my good fortune when I was told I was to be taken off operational duties to become an instructor. It seemed like an answer to my prayers, although I hadn't dared to pray for such a selfish request. I went home on leave . . . and when I went back to the camp I found that Yvonne had left, very suddenly. I never saw her again. Now, of course, I know why.'

‘Things worked out well for her, though, didn't they?' said Fiona. ‘Just as they did for me, in the end.'

‘Yes; “all things work together for good,”' said Simon. ‘A favourite text of mine. It's sometimes hard to see, though, how things will work out.'

‘So . . . what about Greg?' asked Fiona. ‘You'll be seeing him again, won't you?'

‘Yes; he's staying till next weekend. He's taken a week's leave from his work – he's a junior solicitor in Manchester – and he intends to do some walking whilst he's here.'

‘Why don't you take a day off and go with him?' suggested Fiona. ‘Get to know him. It sounds as though you got on quite well together?'

‘Yes, so we did. It's all very strange . . . I asked him if he'd like to meet you, darling, and he said he would. He was worried it might cause trouble, though; not so much with you but with the folk in the congregation. I told him not to worry; I'm well able to cope with the gossip. And I don't intend to keep it a secret.'

‘You mean . . . you're going to tell them about Greg?' asked Fiona. ‘Surely there's no need to do that. What business is it of anybody's, except for you and me, and Greg and his mother? And you know how they gossiped about me and tried to make trouble. Some of them are probably still talking, although it does seem to have died down.'

‘That's precisely why I'm going to tell them about my son,' said Simon. ‘You know how gossip starts. Someone may see us together this week, and put two and two together. Greg does, actually, look very much like me. I'm surprised I didn't realize straight away when I saw him; I just though he reminded me of someone.'

‘Yourself,' smiled Fiona.

‘Yes; myself when younger. He's a good-looking lad, though I say it myself.' He laughed. ‘Anyway, I shall tell them the truth, straight from the horse's mouth, as they say. And let them make of it whatever they will.'

‘Hmm . . . if you're sure,' said Fiona, doubtfully.

‘Perfectly sure,' replied Simon. ‘Come on now; you're going to be late back for work. We'll have a chat tonight about when to invite Greg to come here. He's calling again in the morning, because I asked him if he'd like me to show him around the area – go walking, maybe, as you suggested – and he seemed very keen. Anyway . . . off you go now, darling. I'll do the washing up!'

Simon and his new-found son spent a couple of pleasant days together that week. Simon dug out his hiking gear – he had not done much of late – and they walked in the foothills of Wensleydale and Swaledale. Another day they drove to Richmond in Simon's car and walked the pathway around the eleventh-century castle, from where there was a magnificent view across the dales as far as the Vale of York.

They agreed that Greg should call Simon by his Christian name. He was really more of a newly discovered friend than a father. They found that they had much in common and conversation between them was easy and companionable. Simon learnt that his son loved books, theatre going and football; he supported Manchester City. He loved sports cars as well, which he could not yet afford, but hoped to do so before very long. Simon was also pleased to learn that Greg attended the local Church of England, having been encouraged to do so by his parents. He had a girlfriend whom he had known only for a few weeks. He assured Simon that he wanted to be sure of his feelings before he committed himself, but he felt that this might well be the right girl for him.

Fiona cooked an evening meal for them after they had spent the day walking. She was very impressed by the young man, and he seemed to be captivated by Fiona. Simon felt it all boded well for the future.

They met him at the station on Saturday morning to see him off on his journey back to Manchester.