Families and Friendships (32 page)

Greg and his brother arrived at mid-morning on the Friday. It was Fiona, holding Stella by the hand, who greeted them; she had heard the car pull up and stop on the driveway. Simon was in his study, preparing for the afternoon with a period of calm reflection, as she knew he did before a funeral.

Greg jumped from the driving seat and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. By no means a tight hug because of her size. She was well aware of that, although Greg made no comment. She knew, though, that she was much larger than the last time he had seen her. He stooped down then to give Stella a hug. She said, ‘Hello, Greg,' in a quiet voice, appearing shy at the sight of a stranger with him.

‘And this is my little brother, Graham,' he joked. Graham was not little at all, being taller than Greg by a few inches. He had a look of his brother, but not all that much. He couldn't, of course, look anything like Simon, as Greg did. Greg resembled his birth father with regard to features, but he had brown eyes and dark hair, whereas Simon was fairish. Graham, too, had brown eyes and dark hair with no hint of a wave, but his face was less rounded than his brother's, with a more pronounced nose. He was, though, a good- looking lad, in a different way.

Fiona realized at once that he was quieter, however, than his somewhat extrovert brother, unless he was just overawed by the situation. He shook hands with Fiona, smiling pleasantly; a smile that lit up his eyes and quite transformed his face. He said he was pleased to meet her and how kind she was to let him come with Greg.

Simon appeared then and greeted them both, helping to take their travel bags out of the small boot.

‘Gosh!' said Graham, though a little diffidently. ‘I can see the resemblance. So that's where you get your handsome looks from, bro!'

‘You're not so bad yourself,' Greg told him, giving him a playful shove. ‘Fiona has told Debbie to look out for two handsome young men, haven't you, Fiona? She won't be able to believe her luck!'

‘I might have said something of the sort,' laughed Fiona. ‘Come along in, and you can help Graham to make himself at home, like you always do.'

Greg had, indeed, become very much part of the family since the day he had first arrived on their doorstep. And, of course, he and Stella had become firm friends.

They had an early lunch, an easily prepared meal of cottage pie, so that the two young men would have ample time to drive north to meet another member of the family. Debbie was due to arrive at the station at half past two. They set off soon after one o' clock to give them time to spare.

‘And so that you don't need to drive like Stirling Moss!' Graham told his brother.

‘No, I won't, I promise,' Greg assured Fiona. ‘I'll drive very steadily, and I'll take great care of my stepsister!'

Debbie was excited about her forthcoming visit to Aberthwaite, especially so, since she had been told she would meet Greg. And not only Greg but his brother Graham as well. She felt rather nervous, though. It had started by her wanting to find out about her birth mother, and then going to find her. Now, though, it was leading to a whole new wealth of experiences. She had a delightful little half-sister, and there were two more babies on the way. Now she was to meet a young man who was … a stepbrother? And another young man who was linked to this family whose tentacles seemed to be spreading even wider.

‘You don't mind me going to see Fiona again, do you, Mum?' she had asked Vera.

‘No, of course not, pet,' Vera had answered. ‘I think it's rather exciting, all these folk that we never knew about, popping up out of the blue. I knew you were rather restless before … before you found out. You feel much more settled in your mind now, don't you, love?'

‘Yes … yes, I do. And it doesn't alter the way that I feel about you and Dad, honestly, it doesn't.'

‘I know that, love,' said Vera. They had smiled at one another with a quiet understanding. They were not inclined, as a family, to be over demonstrative. There had been rather more hugging and shows of affection than usual when Debbie had returned from her little escapade, but they had settled down now to a tacit acceptance of the situation.

Stanley had asked his wife how she felt about it all. ‘Don't you feel a bit … well, jealous, like, of this Fiona? Nobody could blame you, lass, if you did.'

‘No, funnily enough, I don't,' she answered. ‘If I'd known what our Debbie was up to I'd have been upset. She'd started asking questions … oh, ages ago, and I remember being a bit crabby with her then. I thought she'd decided to let it drop, but obviously it had still been worrying her. No, it's best it's all out in the open, Stanley. And she's changed, hasn't she? We're all getting along much better now, don't you think?'

‘Aye; I have to admit she's not as nowty as she used to be. And you got your own way about her staying on at school, didn't you, Vera?'

‘Yes, I suppose I did. But I still don't understand what it is she wants to do. Sorting out folks' gardens for 'em? Doesn't sound like much of a job to me. You've always sorted ours out without any help, haven't you, Stanley?'

‘Well, it's what I do for a living, isn't it? So I do have a bit more idea than some folk have,' said Stanley, feeling a little peeved. ‘There's more to gardening than meets the eye. And our Debbie wants to do it on a much larger scale. She'll surprise us one day, this lass of ours, you mark my words.'

Debbie set out on her journey this time with a much lighter heart. She knew where she was going; it was no longer a step into the unknown. She started off a little earlier than before to make sure that she caught the connection from Darlington, the one that she had missed the previous time.

She had dressed with care, in the cherry red coat she had chosen from C and A on the shopping expedition with her mother. With it she wore knee-high black patent leather boots, and carried a matching shoulder bag, a recent purchase that she had saved up to buy with the money she earned at the garden centre.

The journey was uneventful and she coped with the change of trains at Newcastle and Darlington without any problems. She knew where she was bound this time, and the landmarks and the change of scenery from industrial to a more rural vista was pleasantly familiar.

She had told Fiona that she would be wearing a red coat, but it wasn't likely that she and the brothers would fail to find one another. The lads would be in a red mini car. ‘Two very nice young men,' Fiona had told her. ‘Aren't you a lucky girl?'

Debbie, in fact, felt very apprehensive when she alighted from the train at Northallerton. Her stomach was tied up in knots, although she wasn't sure why she should feel so anxious. She picked up her travel bag and made her way to the adjacent car park. She spotted them at once: two dark-haired young men leaning against the bonnet of a red mini. The shorter of the two, whom she guessed was Greg, gave a cheery wave and hurried towards her.

‘Hello there. You must be Debbie?'

‘Yes, that's right; I am. And you are … Greg?'

‘That's me!' he grinned. ‘Here, let me take your bag.' He opened the boot and put her travel bag inside, whilst she looked at him more closely without him being aware of it. He was so much like Simon, apart from his colouring.

‘You look like Simon,' she told him a little shyly, as he turned round.

‘Guilty as charged!' he laughed. ‘And you look like Fiona, apart from the hair. “Aye, it's a rum do!”, to quote my grandad … And this is my little brother, Graham.'

The other young man stepped forward, holding out his hand. ‘Hi, pleased to meet you, Debbie,' he said. He was a few inches taller than Greg although three or four years younger. He seemed, at least on a first acquaintance, to be rather more reserved than his brother. He, also, was a good-looking young man, but in a different way; leaner in features and with a more prominent nose, which didn't alter the fact that he was a pleasantly handsome lad. Debbie did a quick calculation in her head. She knew he was at Leeds uni, just into his second year. So he must be … nineteen, going on twenty?

‘Hello,' she said, taking his outstretched hand. ‘I'm pleased to meet you as well, Graham.'

‘OK then, let's get on our way,' said Greg. ‘Where do you want to sit, you two? Would you like to sit in the front with me, Debbie?'

‘No, we'll both sit in the back,' said Graham, ‘then you can concentrate on your driving, Greg. I'll keep Debbie amused.' He smiled, rather shyly, at her, and his brown eyes lit up with warmth and a sort of unspoken question.

‘OK by me,' she said, climbing into the back seat. ‘Smashing little car you've got, Greg. Just the sort I would like … some day. I'm not old enough to drive though yet, not till next May.'

‘I'm old enough, but I can't afford it,' said Graham, sitting at the side of her. ‘Greg's let me take the wheel now and again, well away from the town, of course; but I shall need some proper lessons, from an expert, I mean.'

‘Are you casting aspersions on my driving?' joked Greg as he started up the engine.

‘Not at all, but you know what I mean. Come on, put your foot down. But remember what you promised Fiona. No whizzing round the corners on two wheels!'

‘That sounds exciting,' said Debbie. ‘He doesn't really, does he?'

‘No, rest assured. I'm as safe as houses,' said Greg. ‘I'll drive like Grandad does, when they're out for a Sunday afternoon jaunt. I've got precious cargo on board.'

Debbie's anxiety had flown away as she had been put at her ease by these two nice young men. As Fiona had said, she was a lucky girl! She found herself looking forward immensely to the weekend ahead, with all its new experiences. Graham was a newcomer to Aberthwaite and to St Peter's church, just as she was. She guessed that he might be feeling apprehensive as well, but they would be able to face it together.

She learnt more about him as they travelled along the country roads to Aberthwaite. He was, as she had thought, in his second year at Leeds uni, studying for a degree in architecture with the aim of becoming a draughtsman.

‘Clever stuff!' she commented. ‘I'm impressed. Do you mean you want to design houses for people? Or offices and places of work, that sort of thing?'

‘I'm not absolutely sure yet. I shall wait and see where it leads to when I'm getting near the end of my course.' He was, as she had thought, a quiet and modest sort of young man, not bumptious in any way. ‘What about you, Debbie?' he asked. ‘Which A level subjects are you taking?'

‘Well, funnily enough, I'm into design as well,' she told him. ‘But I want to design gardens; you know – landscaping, water features, rockeries and all that. My parents think it's a funny sort of thing to want to do. At least my mum does, although I think Dad understands a bit more. He works as a gardener for the council – that's how I got interested – and I work part-time at a garden centre. So I'm doing an art course, and biology and chemistry as well. An odd mixture, but I suppose it covers all the aspects of gardening. I don't know what I'll take a degree in … if I get that far.'

‘They keep coming up with more and more new courses,' said Graham. ‘You'll have to wait and see which is most relevant. Anyway, that's enough about studying. Are you looking forward to the brass band concert? That was why I wanted to come, actually, apart from meeting … everybody.'

He told her that his love of that type of music had started when he was in the fifth form, and he had been persuaded to learn to play the French horn and join the school band. He still played, and was now a member of a college band. ‘So my taste in music is pretty wide,' he said. ‘We play all sorts in a brass band: classical, pop, marches, opera, ballet, Gilbert and Sullivan … you name it, we play it.'

Debbie said that she wasn't knowledgeable about music, but she knew what she liked and that, above all, was something tuneful. And she still had a fondness for the Beatles.

‘We play that as well,' said Graham.

It seemed that in no time at all they were there, pulling up at the rectory door. Debbie was surprised when she saw Fiona, and tried not to look too closely at her. She was, of course, expecting twins, but she had never seen anyone look so large as Fiona did. Poor thing! she thought. However was she coping? But Fiona seemed very cheerful and agile, too, in the very best of spirits as she welcomed everyone. She kissed Debbie on the cheek and said how lovely it was to see her again.

‘Debbie, Debbie!' called a little voice at her side, and there was Stella tugging at her coat. To Debbie's delight the child had remembered her.

She stooped down to hug her. ‘Hello, Stella. Haven't you grown? What a big girl you are! Not a baby any more.' She seemed to be a few inches taller, more of a little girl now, than a baby.

‘I be two soon,' she said. ‘And we're going to have two babies!'

‘We thought it was better to tell her before someone else did,' said Fiona. ‘It's been quite a talking point in the parish, as you can imagine! Anyway, come on in, all of you. I can see you've got acquainted, and I'm sure we're going to have an exciting weekend.'

Giovanni's was a surprisingly upmarket place for a little town like Aberthwaite. It had been opened about a year ago, and was now a popular venue for eating out, a pastime that more and more people were enjoying. The owners, Giovanni and Maria Verdi, were genuine Italians.

Giovanni admitted, unashamedly, that he had been a prisoner of war, working at a farm not far from Aberthwaite. He had fallen in love with the Yorkshire countryside, and the people, too, and had had no desire to return to Milan, the city of his birth, as both his parents had died. He had persuaded his sweetheart, back home, to join him, and they had both found employment in cafes and restaurants in Leeds. They worked hard. Giovanni rose from a lowly position in the kitchens to become a first-class chef. They saved hard, too, and eventually realized their dream, a restaurant of their own in the town that Giovanni had always loved. Maria did the bookkeeping, their pretty daughter, Tessa, waited at the tables, and their son, Marco, was the second-in-command to his father.