Families and Friendships (10 page)

Ryan laughed. ‘You make it sound like being in prison, Mum.'

‘It wasn't too bad,' Ginny smiled. ‘It was better for me, of course, when I knew I would be able to keep you. But I like to think I made it a bit more bearable for Fiona, and I knew that Claire did her best to cheer us up. It's unusual, you know, for babies to be placed with adoptive parents who live so near. Does Debbie live in Whitesands Bay, same as Shirley?'

‘Yes, quite near to where Shirley lives. Debbie's father works for the council there; he's a gardener.'

‘I wouldn't be surprised if Claire had something to do with that adoption.' Ginny said thoughtfully. ‘Like I said, she seemed a little bit ill at ease when we were talking about it. I thought at the time that she knew more than she was letting on. Oh dear, Ryan! You've certainly given me a shock! We must be very careful not to open a whole can of worms …'

Ginny and Arthur were looking forward to their weekend in Aberthwaite. They set off early on the Saturday morning in their ten-year-old Hillman. It was all that Arthur could afford at the moment, but he kept it in good repair and spent many hours washing and polishing it until it gleamed. It had proved invaluable with three children to be ferried around to various events; but it was good now to have the car, and two whole days, to themselves.

Their home was in South Shields. After their marriage they had lived with Arthur's parents for a while in a street of terraced houses near to the docks. Following that they had rented a house in the same district, then, when Arthur was promoted they had managed to scrape enough money together to secure a mortgage on a house some distance away from the quays and warehouses of the industrial part of the town. They were only five minutes' walk away from the promenade and the – somewhat limited – holiday attractions that the town had to offer; and Ginny, never afraid of hard work, had taken a job as a barmaid in a local pub a few nights a week, to make ends meet. It was sometimes a struggle with three children, although they managed a week's holiday each year to Scarborough, Whitby or Filey.

It was heaven, though, to have these two days on their own, and Ginny felt an air of excitement as soon as they set off. The area from the River Tees to the Tyne estuary was an almost continual built-up stretch of houses and factories which had expanded from the time of the Industrial Revolution. At the heart of the region was the city of Durham. As they bypassed it they had a superb view of the castle and the majestic cathedral on a hill overlooking the steep banks of the River Wear. Very soon they were heading through the northern Yorkshire dales where the limestone hills were criss-crossed with drystone walls. Sheep grazed on the upper slopes, and in the villages and hamlets, greystone houses clustered around a village green or beside a rippling stream.

Ginny gazed from the window, pondering for a while about how blissful it would be to live in such a place, but she did not voice her thoughts to her husband. She knew that at heart she was a town girl, and she and Arthur had a good marriage that many might envy. She had not looked back since the time he had rescued her from Burnside House, insisting that he loved her and that he was not going to let their baby be given away to strangers. The thought of what had so nearly happened had been on her mind since Ryan's recent revelation earlier that week. She had shared the confidence with Arthur – they never kept secrets from one another – and he had agreed that they must leave well alone.

‘Ryan was bewildered, too,' she had told him, ‘when he realized what might have happened to him. I was quite touched when he said what a dreadful thought it was, that he might have been brought up with someone else.'

‘Perish the thought!' Arthur had said. ‘He's a good lad; they're all good kids. We've been real lucky, pet, haven't we? So far, at least; you never can tell how they're going to turn out.'

‘I've a feeling they'll all do alright,' Ginny assured him. ‘I've been lucky, too, Arthur. I'm so glad you decided to marry me! And managed to change my parents' minds.'

‘I'm the one that's lucky,' Arthur said, as they shared an intimate moment.

‘Adoptions can work out well, though,' he said, in a later conversation. ‘If – God forbid! – it had happened to Ryan, he might have been OK. This girl Debbie, she's got a good home, hasn't she?'

‘Oh, I should imagine so,' said Ginny. ‘I don't know, of course, not for sure, but I have a feeling that Claire might have had a hand in the adoption. I hope the girl's happy … but we've decided, haven't we, that it's none of our business? We don't breathe a word to Fiona.'

Arthur broke into her reverie then as they drove along. ‘We'll stop at Richmond, shall we, pet, and stretch our legs for a while. Then it won't take us long afterwards to get to Aberthwaite.'

‘It'll be busy in Richmond; it's market day,' Ginny remarked, ‘but I'd love to stop for half an hour or so if we've got time.'

They parked in a side street near to the market square. ‘Come on, Ginny; no time to go shopping!' he told her, nudging her away from the market stalls where she was wanting to linger.

‘All right, then,' she said, a trifle reluctantly. ‘Actually, I think there's a market in Aberthwaite as well, so maybe I could have a browse there with Fiona. I love markets.'

Arthur smiled indulgently at her as they climbed the hill to the castle high above the River Swale. There was a magnificent view from the road that surrounded the castle keep. Just below them were the colourful awnings of the market stalls and the cobbled streets of the town, and in the distance the green and brown stretch of the dales, sweeping across to the Vale of York.

They sat on a seat thoughtfully provided by the council and enjoyed the coffee that Ginny had brought in a Thermos flask, with her home-made shortbread biscuits. ‘Fiona's expecting us for lunch,' she told her husband, ‘so don't scoff all those biscuits!'

‘Is she a good cook?' asked Arthur. ‘As good as you?'

‘I don't know,' she replied. ‘But I should think she is. She looked after her gran in Leeds for quite a while, and she's probably learnt all sorts of skills as the rector's wife. I'm dying to see her again, Arthur.'

‘Come on then,' he said, depositing their rubbish in a nearby litter bin. ‘Let's be on our way. Another half hour or so, and we'll be there.'

They received a joyful welcome at the rectory. ‘It's been far too long,' exclaimed Ginny as she threw her arms around her friend in a tight hug. ‘I can't believe it's been so long since we saw you.'

‘Yes, nearly three years!' said Fiona, a trifle reproachfully, but she was smiling and Ginny knew that she understood. ‘It's almost three years since Simon and I got married, isn't it, darling?' Ginny noticed that the two of them exchanged a loving glance.

‘Yes, time flies, doesn't it?' replied Ginny. ‘I'm sorry, Fiona; we kept meaning to come, but you know how it is. One thing after another, and it's not always easy to leave the children. Anyway, we're here now … Let me look at you …' She stood back smiling at her friend. ‘You don't look any different, younger if anything! I can see that marriage suits you.'

‘It certainly does,' agreed Fiona, laughing. She did, indeed, look radiant. ‘And you haven't changed either, Ginny. If either of them thought that the other looked a little plumper – although Ginny had never been what you might call slim – they did not say so.

‘Just a few grey hairs,' said Ginny, patting her glossy auburn hair, cut short, as was Fiona's, in an up-to-the-minute style, ‘but I do my best to disguise them …' She turned to look at the little girl at Fiona's side. ‘So this must be Stella. Oh, isn't she a little love?' She crouched down to talk to the little blonde-haired girl who was holding her mummy's hand. ‘Hello, pet. I'm Ginny, your mummy's friend. I've been looking forward so much to seeing you.'

The child nodded, smiling a little shyly. ‘Hello,' she said, then she looked up at her mother for reassurance. She could be a bit wary of strangers at first, although she was continually meeting new people, one of the pleasant – or occasionally less pleasant – necessities of her daddy's occupation.

Simon and Arthur's greeting to one another was less effusive, although they shook hands with a smile, Simon's warm and welcoming, Arthur's rather more diffident. Ginny knew that her husband had felt a little apprehensive at meeting and, what was more, staying as a guest of the Reverend Simon Norwood. They had met only once, at the wedding, when there had been little time for any meaningful conversation. Ginny, too, had only met Simon the once, but she could tell from Fiona's letters that he was a pretty normal sort of bloke who would not preach at Arthur or behave in a pious or overzealous manner.

Ginny and Arthur, like many folk, went to church only on special occasions. They had been married in church, and had had their three children christened, because it was the right thing to do, and had made sure they all went to Sunday school. Fortunately the children had kept up their links with the church through the Scout, Cub and Brownie packs, but their parents were well aware that their own attendance was spasmodic.

‘Anyway, come on in,' said Fiona, leading the way into the rectory. ‘I expect you're ready for a rest after your journey, although it isn't really all that far, is it? Simon'll take your cases up and show you where you're sleeping; and the bathroom's at the end of the landing. Come down when you're ready. I've made just a cold lunch, salad and cold meat and stuff, and we'll dine in style tonight! Not too much style, mind; I don't mean dressing for dinner! We're just ordinary folk. Oh, it is good to see you again!' Fiona impulsively kissed her friend's cheek.

‘She's just the same as she always was,' Ginny remarked to Arthur, when their hosts had gone back downstairs. ‘Being the rector's wife hasn't made any difference. There were never any airs and graces with Fiona, although she went to a grammar school.'

‘He seems OK, too,' said Arthur. ‘Nice friendly chap, isn't he? He's not wearing his dog collar, either.'

‘Oh, I expect it's his day off,' said Ginny, ‘That is if clergymen ever get a day off. He probably thought it would make us feel more at ease if he wasn't dressed as a vicar. I think they will be expecting us to go to church in the morning. Is that OK with you? I'm sure they wouldn't insist on it, but I think it would only be polite to go along with Fiona and listen to Simon preaching. I'm looking forward to that actually.'

‘Yes, that's OK with me,' said Arthur. ‘Will Fiona be able to go, though? What about little Stella?'

‘Fiona said something about a crèche in one of her letters. The young mothers take it in turns to look after the toddlers so that the parents can attend the service if they want to.'

Arthur nodded. ‘I see … Well, let's enjoy today, shall we, and let tomorrow take care of itself? It's grand, isn't it, pet, to have some time on our own?' He went over to where Ginny was standing and put his arm round her. She was gazing out of the window.

‘Just look at that view, Arthur! Quite something, isn't it?'

‘It is that,' he agreed. ‘It's a bit different from our view of folks' backyards and washing lines, to say nothing of cranes and factory chimneys.'

‘Oh, come on, Arthur!' said Ginny. ‘It's not that bad, where we live. At least we've got a garden, of sorts, and nice friendly neighbours. And the factory chimneys are only in the distance. Five minutes' walk and we're by the sea … well, the estuary at least.'

‘Eeh, I'm not complaining,' he said, giving her a hug. ‘We're real lucky, you and me, and we've got three grand kids. I know how to count my blessings. I'll have a chance to do that when we go to church tomorrow, eh, pet? And happen it'd be a bit quiet for us here, don't you think?'

‘Maybe so,' said Ginny pensively. ‘Yes … I'm sure you're right.'

The room they had been given was at the back of the rectory overlooking the garden where late daffodils and tulips were flowering around the stretch of grass. It couldn't really be termed a lawn because it was rather uneven with clumps of daisies and clover amongst the longish grass. At the bottom of the garden there was a swing and a sand pit, beneath a cherry tree which was shedding its pinkish white petals like snow on the ground. The rectory was adjacent to the church, and over the hedge there was a view of the greystone building with its square tower, and the centuries-old graveyard. The old lichen-covered graves were dotted here and there in a haphazard way, some leaning at a crazy angle. Tall elm trees where rooks nested stood sentinel at the rear of the church. In the distance were the limestone hills, shading from deep brown in the shadows to emerald and pale green where a ray of sunlight streamed from behind a cloud. In the near distance were the ruins of an ancient castle, and there was just a glimpse between the trees of a rippling stream wending its way through the valley.

‘It's a canny view all right,' remarked Ginny. ‘An' I'm real glad that Fiona's had the good fortune to end up here. She deserves it if anybody does. Eeh! I used to feel real sorry for her when we were in that place, and she had to go home to those miserable parents of hers.'

‘Well, she's got a lovely little lass now, hasn't she?' said Arthur. ‘I'm sure Stella must have made up for the little girl she had to give up.'

‘I'm sure she has,' replied Ginny. ‘I feel better about it all now that I can see how happy she is … I'll just nip along to the bathroom, then we'd better go downstairs. I won't be a minute, Arthur, then you can have your turn …'

The rectory was a mid-Victorian house, but not as large or as rambling as some of those places tended to be. It was centrally heated too, which was a bonus; Ginny could imagine how chilly it must have been in those high-ceilinged rooms in the days of open fires, which many people still had. Only recently had Ginny and Arthur had central heating installed themselves, and she was still revelling in the luxury of it.