Families and Friendships (11 page)

The rectory dining room was furnished in a modern style with a contemporary table, chairs and sideboard in light oak that Ginny guessed – correctly – had come from the newish store, ‘Habitat'. They enjoyed the simple meal of home cooked ham served cold with salad and small potatoes, followed by apple crumble and custard. Stella, in her high chair, coped very well with her own meal, only needing a little assistance now and again with her spoon and fork.

‘She's good, isn't she?' remarked Ginny. ‘Our Sharon was unbelievably messy when she was that age. She's still untidy though; I'm forever on at her about the state of her bedroom. But that's girls for you, I suppose. You'd think it might be the other way round, wouldn't you, but our Ryan and Carl are real neat and tidy compared with her, aren't they, Arthur?'

But Arthur was listening to Simon who was talking about taking a walk on the moors that afternoon. ‘Whoops, sorry!' said Ginny. ‘I'm interrupting, aren't I? She's a little treasure, though, isn't she, your Stella?'

‘Yes, she's very good,' agreed Fiona. ‘We've been very lucky. Of course we may not be so lucky the next time.'

Ginny's eyes opened wide. ‘Why? D'you mean that you're …?'

Fiona put a finger to her lips. ‘Shush … That just slipped out. I'll tell you later …'

Ginny, of course, was dying to hear more, but she had to wait until later that afternoon to hear what she guessed Fiona had been hinting at. Over lunch the two men had been discussing a proposed walk in the foothills of the dales that afternoon.

‘I've no climbing gear, or walking gear for that matter,' said Arthur. ‘I did a spot of walking years ago, with my mates, in the Cheviot Hills and the Hadrian's Wall area; but I've not been since Ginny and me were married. Never time, is there, pet?'

‘Now you know you could go if you really wanted to, Arthur,' she chided him. ‘You know I'd never stop you. Anyway, off you go this afternoon with Simon. You'll enjoy it.'

Her husband looked a little dubious, whether it was at the idea of unaccustomed exercise, or the prospect of spending so much time alone with a vicar she wasn't sure. But she nodded her head and winked at him, and he grinned back at her.

‘That's great then,' said Simon. ‘I'll lend you a pair of hiking boots. I reckon we're about the same size, eh, Arthur? I take nines.'

Arthur nodded. ‘Aye, that's my size too.'

‘I promise there'll be no climbing,' said Simon. ‘I've never been into rock climbing. We'll just have a walk on the gentler slopes, maybe along to Aysgarth Falls; they're well worth a visit.'

‘Be careful you don't get your feet wet,' laughed Fiona. ‘You've done that more than once.'

Simon smiled. ‘Perhaps you two girls would like to come along with us?'

‘No fear!' said Ginny. ‘I fancy a visit to the market meself … that is if Fiona agrees,' she added, thinking she might have been a little presumptuous. Maybe Fiona had other plans for them.

‘Yes, that's fine by me,' said Fiona. ‘There's one on a Wednesday as well that I usually go to, but I'm always ready to visit the market. And Stella enjoys it too; we'll take her in her push chair.'

The market was one of the best that Ginny had ever seen. ‘Eeh, it's a real old-fashioned country market, isn't it?' she remarked as they walked between the stalls of fruit and vegetables and home-made produce. She breathed in the mixed aroma of ripe apples and oranges, cabbage and spring onions, and the faint odour of cheese on the air, from a stall a little way distant.

Fiona did a little shopping; a cauliflower and carrots fresh from the earth, apples and pears, then a chunk of cheese and a pat of butter from a stall of farm produce. There were several such stalls, manned by farmers' wives from the nearby area. They sold cheese, mainly of the local Wensleydale variety; pats of butter; newly laid eggs – deep brown, or white if preferred; and jars of home-made jams, marmalade and lemon curd, along with pickled onions and cauliflower and chutneys.

Fiona clearly knew the farmer's wife quite well; in fact she seemed to know most people, and they all stopped to have a word with little Stella who smiled happily at them. They greeted Ginny in a friendly way, too.

‘They're OK once you get to know them,' Fiona told her. ‘These Yorkshire country folk tend to be rather insular. Anybody who wasn't born here or has lived here for ages is regarded as a foreigner. Incomers, they call us. But they seem to accept me now; Stella has helped, of course. It's amazing what a difference a child makes.'

‘Especially one as cute as Stella,' added Ginny.

‘Yes, she's a winsome little lady, isn't she?' smiled Fiona. ‘Quite a heart stealer. Like I said, I found it a bit hard going with some of the folk, mainly the older women of the parish, but they seem to have come to terms with me – and everything – now.'

‘And you're happy, aren't you?' said Ginny. It was more of a statement than a question. ‘I can see that you are. I'm so glad about that, Fiona. Now, what was it you were going to tell me earlier, eh?' she asked with a twinkle on her eye.

‘Let's go and have a look round the other half of the market,' said Fiona, ‘then we'll go and have a cup of tea in my favourite cafe, and I'll tell you!'

On the opposite side of the market cross were stalls selling crockery, kitchenware, clothing for women and children, and what were known as fent stalls, selling materials and dress making requisites, and at the end, the chocolate and sweet stalls.

Ginny bought a box of assorted fudge for her children and a jar of Yorkshire mixture – a selection of humbugs, aniseed, pear drops, fruit rocks of strawberry, lemon and orange, and boiled sweets shaped like little fishes. She was captivated by the array of materials on the fent stalls: floral, spotted, striped and self-coloured in every imaginable shade. She bought enough for two dresses for her daughter, Sharon; a candy-striped pink and a design of daisies and poppies on a blue background. She was tempted by the knitting wools on the next stall, but Fiona nudged her away.

‘I have a friend who has a shop on the High Street,' she told her. Joan Tweedale; she was at our wedding, but you might not remember her. She has a wonderful handicraft shop. I'll take you there when we've had our cup of tea. I expect you're ready for one by now, aren't you. I know I am.'

The little cafe, ‘The Merry Kettle' was situated in the market square. There was a swinging sign outside depicting a large copper kettle, and inside there were a dozen or so round tables covered with lace cloths, with wheel back chairs round them. The delft rack held an array of small kettles, and teapots in varying styles and designs; shaped like cottages, story book characters, engines and cars, and pretty ones with flowers, country scenes and crinoline ladies. On the wall were framed advertisements from times past: for Typhoo tea, Camp coffee, Huntley and Palmer's biscuits and Cadbury's chocolates.

‘Eeh! Isn't that lovely?' exclaimed Ginny. ‘It's like something out of another time.'

‘Yes, I always come here when I've been to the market,' said Fiona. ‘Let's see of we can find a table … Yes, there's one, right at the back, and there's room for Stella's pushchair in the corner. ‘They know us here; Mabel will find some cushions so that she can sit on a proper chair.'

‘Hello there.' The said waitress, Mabel, was soon with them, dressed in the blue uniform dress with a frilled apron and mob cap in a paler shade. ‘Now, what would you like today, Mrs Norwood? The usual, is it, tea and fruit scones?'

‘Er, no. I think we'll push the boat out today and have cream cakes as it's a special occasion. This is my friend from Tyneside; I haven't seen her for ages.'

‘How d'you do?' said Mabel, smiling cheerfully. ‘What do you think of our little town then?'

‘It's real quaint,' Ginny replied. ‘A far cry from South Shields! Still, home's home, isn't it?' she added loyally. ‘It's nice to visit other places though, now and again. But we've come to see Fiona, not the town … Only a small cream cake, Fiona.' She patted her stomach.

‘I don't think any of them are all that small,' laughed Fiona, ‘but we'll restrict ourselves to one each.'

Ginny chose a chocolate eclair and Fiona a cream horn from the selection that Mabel brought. The tea was in a silver pot, with rose patterned china cups and saucers, and Stella had a drink of orange juice and a chocolate biscuit.

‘Now, spill the beans,' said Ginny when the waitress had gone. ‘I'm dying to know. Did you mean what I think you mean?'

Fiona smiled. ‘Actually I'm not quite sure yet. I'm … well, I'm late, you see,' she whispered. ‘Only a few days, and I never am, not normally. I knew straightaway with Stella, and with … the other one, of course. And I feel a bit different, somehow.' She nodded. ‘I'm pretty certain I'm expecting again, but you're the very first to know. Apart from Simon; I tell him everything.'

‘That's wonderful news,' said Ginny. ‘I do hope you're right. It'll be a nice age gap, won't it, about two years between Stella and her little brother … or sister.'

‘Yes, I can't really afford to wait any longer, can I? I'm nearly thirty-four now, and Simon's in his late forties, not that it matters to either of us.'

‘I think my child rearing days are over,' said Ginny. ‘At least I jolly well hope so! They're not all as easy as your little Stella.'

‘Oh, she has her moments,' replied Fiona. ‘But on the whole, yes, she's a remarkably good little girl. You never know what's in the future, though, do you? How they will turn out?'

‘She's not likely to go far wrong with you and Simon as parents,' said Ginny.

‘Oh, don't be too sure,' replied Fiona. ‘I've heard of clergymen's children who've rebelled and kicked over the traces. She may seem to be a little angel now, but only time will tell.'

Ginny knew that she had to bring up what was on her mind, but she also had to be careful to keep mum. ‘Do you ever think …' she began carefully, ‘you know, about your first little girl? Does it bring it all back, seeing me again?'

‘No, not very much; not now,' answered Fiona. ‘When Stella was born Simon actually asked me then if I would like to trace her. It was after Greg had turned up. But I said no, and I meant it. And that's how I still feel about it. I just hope she's happy, wherever she is. She may not even have been told about me. She's almost the same age as your Ryan …' She smiled reminiscently. ‘It all turned out right for you as well, didn't it, Ginny? I can see how happy you and Arthur are.'

‘Yes, and our Ryan's a good lad,' said Ginny. ‘I'm real thankful we were able to keep him. I admit I don't go to church all that often, Fiona, but I do thank God for that, and for our other two children.'

‘Do you ever see any of the girls who were in the home with us?' asked Fiona.

‘No, I've never set eyes on any of 'em,' said Ginny. ‘It's strange, that, because they were mostly from the Tyneside area.' She was just about to say that she had seen Claire Wagstaff, but changed her mind. It might lead to more awkward questions.

‘Do you remember Hazel Doherty?' asked Fiona.

‘Could we ever forget her? Nasty piece of work, she was. I don't think anybody liked her. Why?'

‘Because I saw her, just once,' said Fiona. ‘At the clinic when I was expecting Stella. I just caught a glimpse of her – you know, how you do sometimes, and you're not quite sure who it is? Anyway, it was after that, that the folk in the parish found out about my first baby, and I guessed it must have been Hazel who told somebody who knew me. And then the gossip started.'

‘It sounds just like Hazel,' said Ginny. ‘She always was a vindictive bitch. Sorry, Fiona! Must watch my language!'

Fiona smiled. ‘No, you're right. She was … not very nice. Anyway, it was a nine days' wonder in the parish. Simon soon put a stop to the gossip, and so did Joan; that's the friend we're going to see now. And I've never seen her again; Hazel, I mean. Odd, isn't it?'

‘Maybe she's moved on elsewhere,' said Ginny. ‘She didn't seem the type to stay in one place for long. Good riddance to her … That cream cake was delicious. I hope I'll have room for my tea!'

Fiona laughed. ‘I think we'd better be posh and call it dinner tonight. I'm cooking something special in your honour, at least I'm trying! I don't think I do too badly in the kitchen. Simon never complains anyway, bless him! Now, if you're ready we'll go and see Joan.'

Joan Tweedale's handicraft shop on the High Street had always been a source of delight to Fiona. Joan was the wife of Henry, the organist and choirmaster. She was in her early fifties and her husband a few years older. Fiona had felt drawn to both of them on their first acquaintance. Henry had invited Fiona to join the choir, which she had been pleased to do. She had a pleasant mezzo-soprano voice; not a solo sort of voice but she blended in well with a choir.

And Joan had proved to be a real friend in need. It was Joan who had taken Fiona, the rector's new wife, under her wing and had told her not to be intimidated by the diehards of the congregation, mainly the older women of the Mothers' Union, under the leadership of a certain Mrs Ethel Bayliss, who did not take kindly to change. But Fiona, with Joan's advice, had proved her worth in the parish, and now the rector's wife was well known, and becoming very popular in the town of Aberthwaite.

There was no one else in the little shop when they entered. Joan appeared from the back room at the sound of the bell's old-fashioned tinkle. She was an attractive woman with auburn hair, now greying at the temples. Her brown eyes lit up with pleasure when she saw Fiona and her friend and her little granddaughter, Stella.