Families and Friendships (2 page)

Henry Tweedale lifted his glass of golden sherry to toast the baby's health and happiness and God's richest blessings, and then three of the womenfolk – Joan, Freda and Christine – offered to tackle the washing up.

Fiona had been looking forward to a chat with her old friend, Diane. She saw her only every few months and there was always a lot of catching up to do.

‘Goodness me! Seeing your little one has made me feel quite broody again,' said Diane as they settled down together on the window seat overlooking the rectory garden.

It was a dismal outlook on a cold February afternoon, but clumps of snowdrops were braving the winter and early shoots of daffodils and crocuses were already peeping through the soil between the bare branches of the rose bushes. Over the privet hedge the fourteenth century church of St Peter, with its squat grey tower, was visible. Tall elm trees formed a background, and in the distance were the snow-capped hills rising from the north Yorkshire dale.

‘Do you mean it?' asked Fiona in reply to her friend's remark. ‘What does Andy say about that?'

‘Oh, I haven't said anything to him,' smiled Diane. ‘Actually, I've only just thought of it. Stella's such a cutey, isn't she? To be honest I think it's too late for us to start again. I've settled down to my teaching job, now that our two are almost secondary school age. I just felt myself reminiscing, that's all. I must remind myself that babies are jolly hard work. I seem to remember being relieved when they had both started school.'

‘Stella is a good baby,' said Fiona. ‘I know I'm very lucky, and Simon is such a devoted daddy. Sometimes I find it hard to believe that it's all turned out so well for me. I'm so happy Diane.' The joy shone in her eyes as she smiled at her friend.

‘And it's no more than you deserve,' said Diane, taking hold of her hand for a moment. ‘After all that you went through …' Fiona's face turned thoughtful for a moment, and she nodded a trifle sadly as she remembered the awful time that Diane was referring to.

‘I still think about her, sometimes, you know,' she said quietly. ‘Not so often now, not since I married Simon. But when Stella was born it brought it all back, just for a little while. But I knew it was all for the best at the time, though it nearly broke my heart, parting with her.'

Fiona was thinking of the baby girl she had given birth to in 1952 when she was seventeen years old, the baby she had been forced to give up for adoption. Diane had not known about it at the time because Fiona had been sent away to a home for unmarried mothers in Northumberland as soon as her parents had learnt of her pregnancy. They had then moved to another part of Leeds so that Fiona would not be near her former friends when she returned home. Consequently Fiona and Diane had lost touch for a few years, until Fiona's parents had been killed in a coach crash and Diane had sought her out again. Finding one another, though, they had discovered that their friendship was as firm as ever, and so it had continued. It was not until 1965, however, that Fiona had met and married Simon.

‘You never knew what had happened to the baby?' asked Diane gently.

‘No … it all happened very quickly after she was born. She was whisked away after I had held her for a little while … She was beautiful; dark-haired, not fair like me and like Stella is.'

‘Yes … of course she would be,' replied Diane quietly.

‘Do you know, Simon asked me, soon after Stella was born, if I'd like to try and find her again, that first baby? But I said no. I must admit that I've thought about it sometimes, over the years, but I know I can't do it. She may not even know she was adopted. Parents don't always tell them, although I think they're advised to do so nowadays. Even if she does know it could prove very unsettling. She is probably very happy with her adoptive parents. I've hoped and prayed so much that she is. I think Simon suggested it because of Greg arriving so suddenly on the scene.'

‘Yes, that must have been a tremendous shock,' said Diane, ‘for all of you. How did Simon's family take it?'

‘Very well,' said Fiona. ‘Greg's a lovely young man, he really is. You can't help but like him. He comes to see us every few weeks.'

‘I wondered if he might be here today,' said Diane. ‘I'd like to meet him sometime.'

‘I'm sure you will,' said Fiona. ‘But Greg said himself that it wouldn't be fitting for him to be here today. He bought a lovely silver bracelet for Stella, though. Of course, he's her half-brother, isn't he?'

It had certainly been a shock when Gregory Challinor, aged twenty-two, had arrived in Aberthwaite the previous spring, looking for his real father, the Reverend Simon Norwood. Whilst Simon had been in the RAF during the Second World War, serving as a navigator in an aircrew, he had become friendly with a young woman called Yvonne who was in the WAAF. Gregory had been the result of that relationship, although Simon had been unaware of his existence, even of his conception, until the young man had appeared, firstly at the church – to get a first look at his father – and then on the doorstep of the rectory.

‘There was never any doubt then in Simon's mind that he might be an impostor?' asked Diane.

‘Oh no, not at all. Greg's the image of Simon. He has a look of his mother as well, of course.'

‘Yes, you've actually met her now, haven't you?'

‘Yes; Greg brought her here for a day, just before Christmas.'

‘Wasn't it all rather embarrassing?' asked Diane.

‘No, not really. I think Yvonne felt a bit uneasy at first, meeting Simon again after so long. And so did I, to be honest, meeting her. But Yvonne's a very likeable person, and she's so sensible and matter-of-fact. I should imagine she was always a very practical young woman. She disappeared off the scene, you know, when she discovered she was pregnant. It wasn't a “one night stand” sort of thing. She and Simon were getting very fond of one another, but she must have thought it was best to do what she did. The war was at its height, and, from what I gather, she thought it wouldn't be fair on Simon. She knew he was a decent young man and he would have stood by her. But he didn't get the chance.'

‘It all worked out well for her, though, didn't it?'

‘Yes; she married a man who was a doctor, rather older than herself. They had two more children, but he always regarded Gregory as his son, and Greg still refers to him as his father, which is only right. He died a few years ago, and that was when Greg found out the truth and decided to find Simon. Fortunately they get on like a house on fire, Simon and Greg. They're more like brothers or friends, really, rather than father and son. And Yvonne's friendly with a man she works with now … so all has ended happily.'

‘It's strange, isn't it, that the same thing should have happened to you and to Simon? That Stella is … well, she's really the second child for both of you, isn't she?'

‘Yes … and you could say that Greg turning up when he did was very fortunate for me. Excellent timing as it happened, because Simon's story took the heat off me for a while. Well, for good, I should say. The folk in the congregation seem to have accepted me as I am now, warts and all! Simon told them all about Greg turning up and who he was, which I thought was very brave of him. But he wanted them to know the truth before the gossip-mongers started up again, like they did with me.'

‘They all seem to be very supportive of you and Simon, from what I could see of them this morning,' said Diane. ‘I'm sure you have lots of friends in the congregation as well as Joan, don't you? She's rather older than us, I gather?'

‘Yes, Joan and Henry are in their late forties. Joan has been a real friend to me. She was the one who stepped in and read the riot act, so to speak, when the gossip started about me. It soon stopped, I'm glad to say. And as I've told you, Greg arriving when he did gave them something else to talk about!'

Certain members of the church, mainly the older women, who should have known better, had tried to start a smear campaign, ostracizing Fiona for a while when it was discovered that the baby she was expecting was not her first child. But Simon's revelation, coming hard on the heels of the first one, had rather taken the wind out of their sails. Simon was very quickly forgiven for his misdemeanour. He had always been a popular rector ever since he had come to the parish some seven or eight years previously.

‘You're happy here, in Aberthwaite, aren't you?' said Diane. ‘You must have found it a great change from the grime and smoke of Leeds. We've noticed the difference in the air. It's so fresh and clean, and the people all seem very friendly.'

‘Yes, so they are, on the whole. It's mainly a farming community, and a market town, of course, that has developed over the years. There's a market twice a week in the town square, and it's a real gathering of the clans. I enjoy going there to do most of my shopping. But you're always regarded as an outsider if you weren't born and bred here. I got to know a lot of people, though, when I worked in the library.'

‘And now you're the rector's wife!' said Diane. ‘Goodness! Who'd have thought it? D'you remember the Reverend Cruikshank? Your Simon's a far cry from him, isn't he?'

‘I should certainly hope so!' Fiona gave a mock shudder, remembering the strait-laced and judgemental vicar at the church they had attended in Leeds. ‘Don't remind me! … D'you still go to St Luke's?' she asked.

‘Yes, but it's very different now. Old Cruikshank left years ago, and the new vicar is much easier to get on with. He's more like your Simon. He really tries to understand everyone. There are none of those ‘holier than thou' cliques like we used to have. We had some good times, though, didn't we, despite old Cruikshank?'

‘Yes … so we did.' Fiona was thoughtful for a moment before saying, a trifle hesitantly, ‘Do you still hear from Dave?'

‘We still get a Christmas card from them every year,' replied Diane. ‘And Andy gets an occasional letter. Very occasional! Blokes aren't much good at letter writing, are they? But yes … we keep in touch. That doesn't worry you, does it?'

‘No, why should it? Dave and Andy were good friends, weren't they? Just like you and me. And he's far enough away. Philadelphia, isn't it?'

‘Yes, that's right. They came over here two years ago, Dave and Patsy and the two children, and they called to see us. Patsy's a very nice girl – well, woman, I suppose I should say now. She's a real Yankee Doodle, of course; very friendly and bubbly. Dave said he still misses Yorkshire. I don't suppose he would have gone over there except for his parents emigrating. And he managed to get a job there when he left university; he's an industrial chemist. But I think you know all that, don't you?'

‘Yes, I remember. I'm glad he's happy. Does he … did he ever ask about me?'

‘Yes … He was very concerned when you disappeared off the scene; we all were. So I let him know when you and I met up again. I thought it was only right. He doesn't know about … well, about the baby. There would be no point. As far as he knows you were ill, and then you had a sort of breakdown and went to relatives up north to recuperate.'

‘And that's more or less the truth of it,' said Fiona, ‘apart from one small detail! But as you say, it's best if he never knows about it.' She sighed. ‘He was a nice lad, though, wasn't he?'

And somewhere, possibly not too far away, there was a girl of fourteen – nearly fifteen – with the same dark hair and, maybe, the same winning smile.

Debbie Hargreaves had known from an early age that she was adopted. The word Vera had used, however, was ‘chosen'. When the little girl was four years old, just before she started school, Vera decided she should tell her the truth in case she might hear about it from someone else. It was more or less common knowledge in their neighbourhood that Vera and Stanley Hargreaves had been married for several years, longing for a child that never appeared, before they decided to adopt a baby girl. Not that Vera really thought any of her friends would be so indiscreet as to say anything to Debbie, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Vera told her one night after she had read her a bedtime story – the one about the gingerbread man was the current favourite – that she had a true story to tell her. The child listened attentively, her brown eyes wide with curiosity, as Vera told her how she and Daddy had gone to a big house in the country to choose a baby girl.

‘We had waited a long time, you see, Debbie,' she said, ‘and we'd asked God to send us a baby of our own but … well, it didn't happen.'

‘Why not?' asked the little girl. ‘Why didn't God do what you wanted? Our teacher told us at Sunday school that if you want something very badly, and you asked God about it, then he'll answer you.'

‘But God sometimes says no,' replied Vera. ‘He doesn't always say yes, because he knows what's best for us, you see. And I think he wanted us to be your mummy and daddy.' It was a very simplistic way of putting it. Vera wasn't altogether sure that she believed it, but it seemed to satisfy the child. Debbie nodded seriously as though she understood. Vera thought at times that she was wise beyond her years.

‘Anyway, Daddy and I went to this big house,' she continued. ‘Your grandad took us in his car because it was quite a long way. And we went into a room where there were some cots with babies in them, very tiny babies.'

‘And one of them was me!' said Debbie excitedly. ‘Was it, Mummy?'

‘Yes, it was. The other two babies were boys. But Daddy and I thought we'd like a little girl. And there you were, fast asleep. And on the pillow at the side of you was a little pink teddy bear.'

‘Rosie!' cried Debbie. ‘It was Rosie, wasn't it?' She pointed to the teddy bear that sat on a shelf with her collection of toys: a floppy-eared rabbit, a panda, and a baby doll. Her constant companion, a rather shabby bear called Joey was in the bed beside her where he always was at night. But Debbie had always seemed to understand that the little pink bear was a bit special, not really to be played with but given her own place on the shelf where she wouldn't get too dirty. Vera had told her that the little bear had been given to her when she was born, a sort of christening present, and that she must take great care of it.