Families and Friendships (20 page)

‘No, not tonight. Later in the week, maybe.'

‘We must arrange a time for us to go to Newcastle,' said Vera. ‘Thursday would be best for me; I'm working the other days. D'you think you can get the time off?'

‘I don't see why not,' said Debbie. ‘Today was my half-day, but Mr Hill should be easy about it. He knows I'm leaving soon, anyway.'

‘Thursday then,' said her mother, sounding very cheerful and excited. ‘I might even treat myself to a new bag from that leather shop we're going to, and a new coat from C and A.'

‘Yes, why not, Mum?' said Debbie. ‘You deserve it.' Which was the truth and she meant it, although she felt a pang of guilt as she thought of the half-formed plan in her mind.

Shirley was in her bedroom listening to The Beach Boys on her record player when Debbie arrived. They listened to the last track, ‘Barbara Ann', then Shirley turned it off.

‘Have you recovered from Saturday?' she asked, laughing. ‘Did you get into a load of bother?'

‘Don't mention it!' groaned Debbie. ‘I know I was an idiot, though. I won't do it again, I'll tell you! Mum and Dad were OK though, after the first outburst, but they just thought I'd had too much to drink. They didn't know about … the other thing. You haven't said anything, have you?'

‘No, of course I haven't!'

‘And they're real chuffed now that I've said I'm going back to school.'

‘Are you, really?' said Shirley. ‘That's terrific! And have you made it up with Kevin?'

‘Yes,' said Debbie, briefly. ‘But I want to talk about something else. You said that Ryan's mum is called Ginny, didn't you?'

‘Yes, she is,' said Shirley, looking at her friend curiously. ‘Why?'

‘Well, I know this sounds silly, but do you think she could have been in Burnside House – you know, that place for unmarried mothers – at the same time as … well, when I was born there?'

Shirley looked alarmed, so much so that Debbie felt she might well be on to something. ‘Why?' Shirley asked again. ‘I don't know; I mean, how could she have been?' She was going red though, and flustered. ‘Don't ask me, Debbie,' she said. ‘I can't tell you.'

‘You do know though, don't you?' coaxed Debbie. ‘I know you do. Come on, Shirl, tell me. We're supposed to be friends.'

Shirley looked more worried than ever. ‘What are you up to?' she said. ‘You're not trying to find out about … what you told me once before, are you? About you being adopted?'

‘Yes, I am, actually,' said Debbie. ‘I went to see that woman, Claire, who knows all about it. She wouldn't tell me, of course; I never really thought she would. But she mentioned that she – my real mother, I mean – had a friend called Ginny. It was Ryan's mum, wasn't it?'

‘Yes … yes it was,' said Shirley, in a small voice. ‘She – Ginny – wasn't married when she had Ryan; they got married later. But like Ryan says, it's no big deal.'

‘No, I don't suppose it is,' said Debbie, ‘about them getting married later. But why was his mother there, in Burnside House?'

‘Because her parents were annoyed with her,' said Shirley, sounding cross and agitated. ‘They wanted her to have the baby adopted, but Arthur stepped in – that's Ryan's dad – and talked them round. So she was able to keep the baby; Ryan, I mean. But I do wish you hadn't asked me, Debbie. I can't tell you any more. Ryan wasn't supposed to tell me anything about it.'

‘But you do know, don't you? You know more than you're letting on. You've known all along, haven't you? You went all peculiar once before when I mentioned it. Come on, Shirl; you've got to tell me.'

Shirley sighed. ‘OK, I'll tell you a bit of it. Ginny told Ryan that she and his dad were going away for the weekend to see a friend – it was earlier this year – somebody who had been expecting a baby at the same time as she was. So it all came out about Burnside House. Then Ryan said he knew a girl who had been adopted, and that she – you – had been born there as well. And so Ginny realized they were talking about the same person …'

‘My … mother,' said Debbie. ‘You knew all the time, and you never let on.'

‘I couldn't! Ryan said I mustn't. He'd promised his mum. I'm not going to tell you any more.'

‘I shall ask Ryan then …'

‘He won't tell you!'

‘Oh, I think he might,' said Debbie with a little smile. ‘Anyway, you can't stop me asking him.'

After a little persuasion Shirley admitted that she was seeing Ryan the next night at the coffee bar, Katy's Kitchen, in the town centre, a popular meeting place for the teenagers when they didn't want to go to the pub. Debbie knew that her friend wasn't happy about it, and she promised she wouldn't hound him too much if he didn't want to tell her. She rather thought, though, that he might.

They met at eight o'clock as arranged at the cosy little cafe with the brightly coloured Formica topped tables and the psychedelic posters on the walls. It was obvious that Shirley had already warned Ryan about Debbie's desire to find out all she could.

‘I'm having nothing more to do with it,' she said. ‘I think you should leave well alone, Debs. You'll only go and upset your mum and dad, and you might upset … the other lady as well. And Ryan'll get into trouble if his mum finds out. Anyway, I'll order us some drinks, and then I'll go and have a word with Jean over there …' There was a trio of girls from their form in the opposite corner. ‘What d'you want to drink?'

They all decided on strawberry milkshakes, and Ryan pulled a pound note out of his pocket and handed it to Shirley.

‘Ta,' she said briefly. ‘I'll leave you to it.'

‘Shirley's right, you know,' said Ryan, quite reasonably, as she left them. ‘You could cause an awful lot of bother. And my mum's going to be real mad with me if I tell you anything.'

Debbie grinned. ‘Not half as mad as Shirley's going to be if I tell her about you snogging with Wendy Perkins at the party.'

Ryan looked horrified. ‘You wouldn't?!' he gasped.

‘Try me!' laughed Debbie.

‘It was nothing, honest.' He shook his head. ‘Shirley and me had a row, and you know what Wendy's like. It didn't mean anything, and we're OK again now, me and Shirl.'

‘Well, if you want it to stay that way, you'd better tell me what you know, hadn't you?'

Ryan closed his eyes for moment, shaking his head. Then, ‘OK, OK,' he said. ‘My mum had a friend in the home. She was – is – called Fiona. My mum and dad were going to see her … oh, about four months ago, I think it was. I realized who it might be, and I showed Mum that form photo of us all … and she said that you were the image of her friend. Different colour hair, but she didn't seem to be in any doubt about it, that you were the baby who was adopted.'

‘Your mum didn't tell her friend, though, did she? About what she'd found out?'

‘No, of course not. Fiona's married now; she's very happy, and they've got a little girl. So I think you should leave it alone, Debbie. I've told you all I know.'

‘You haven't, though, have you? Where do they live? And what's her name? Fiona … what?'

‘For goodness' sake, Debbie! I don't know! I can't remember.'

‘Then think about it,' retorted Debbie. ‘Shirley told me that you were very nearly adopted yourself. If you had been, then you'd have wanted to know all about it, same as I do.'

‘Well, I wasn't, was I?' He screwed up his face, frowning in concentration. ‘I'm trying to think … I know she's married to a vicar.'

‘A vicar!' Debbie cried out in astonishment. A thought flashed through her mind. What might she be getting into? Mum and Dad were a bit odd and old-fashioned. What would the woman married to a vicar be like, and the vicar himself? It might be a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire … if she went through with it.

‘He's called a rector, though,' Ryan went on, ‘because it's a country parish. They live in Aberthwaite in north Yorkshire. He's the rector of St Peter's church … Wait a minute … The Reverend Simon Norwood, that's his name. So that's it, Debbie. End of story.' He almost smiled at her. ‘I suppose I can understand how you feel. I got a shock, I can tell you, when Mum said how close I'd come to being adopted. But your parents are OK, aren't they? I know you've got a good home and … everything.'

‘Yes, I have,' she admitted. ‘I get annoyed with my parents sometimes, but I suppose everybody does. It's just nagging at me, though, this … wanting to know.'

‘My mum says that the vicar – rector or whatever – Simon, he's a jolly nice chap, good fun, not like you'd imagine a clergyman might be. And Fiona's real pretty with blonde hair. They've only been married about three years, and the little girl's called Stella. So now you know as much as I do.'

Shirley had come back now and had heard the last few remarks. She gave Ryan an odd look. ‘You've told her, then?'

‘I had no choice, had I?' he replied ambiguously, with a meaningful look at Debbie. ‘It's not fair that we should know all about it, when Debbie doesn't.'

‘Fair enough, I suppose,' said Shirley, uncertainly. ‘We're going to get into awful trouble, though, Ryan, when your mum finds out that we've told her.'

‘If she finds out,' said Ryan. ‘It depends on what Debbie's going to do about it. I've told her to leave well alone, haven't I, Debbie?' He smiled at her in a more friendly way than he had ever done before; and she found herself quite liking him. She wouldn't have told Shirley about Wendy, despite what she had threatened.

‘On the other hand, I know how Debbie feels,' he went on, ‘because I was nearly in the same position myself.'

‘But you're not are you? It didn't happen to you. Anyway, I'm having nothing more to do with it.' Shirley turned away crossly and took a long drink of her milkshake. Debbie could tell she was disgruntled, maybe because she and Ryan, for the very first time, had formed a bond.

‘But I think you'd be making a big mistake, Debbie… .' Shirley was still harping on about it. ‘I'd forget about it if I were you.'

‘But you're not me, are you?' snapped Debbie. ‘You've no idea how you'd feel. Anyway, you've just said you don't want any more to do with it.'

‘I don't … but I'm just saying what I think. I shan't say any more. But I think you should start counting your blessings.'

Debbie burst out laughing. ‘You sound like my mother! She's always saying things like that.' And so was Shirley, she pondered; she was a great one for trite little remarks.

‘Then maybe you should listen to her,' countered Shirley, ‘instead of chasing after something you can't have.'

‘Girls, please!' said Ryan. ‘Calm down. We're not going to fall out about it, are we? We've told Debbie what we know, whether we should have done or not. Now it's down to her.'

‘Sorry, Debbie,' muttered Shirley. ‘I don't want you to get hurt, that's all. Or anybody else …' she added.

‘I know,' said Debbie. ‘I do, really. Anyway, thank you, both of you. I'm sorry if I've made you break a promise.'

Shirley and Ryan exchanged glances. She really did look sorry, and a contrite Debbie was something they had never expected to see.

Debbie had a good deal of information now, enough for her to continue her quest, if she decided to do so. She hadn't imagined it would be so easy to find out as much as she had. Her birth mother was a lady called Fiona Norwood, married to the rector of St Peter's church in the market town of Aberthwaite, in the north Yorkshire dales.

She looked up Aberthwaite in the map book her parents owned. It was not far from Richmond, which seemed to be the largest town in that area. She didn't know if there was a railway station there. Most probably there wouldn't be. She remembered that a few years ago, in 1963, there had been something called the Beeching Report – she had heard her parents talking about it – and a lot of the smaller branch lines had been axed, and the railway stations closed, to make way for improved road travel, or so they had said.

Whitesands Bay still had their railway station. She and her mother sometimes caught the train there to Newcastle, some twelve miles away. There might be a train from there to Richmond, or maybe it would involve another change at Durham. These were places she had heard of but never visited. She remembered seeing Durham castle and the cathedral perched on a hilltop when they had been travelling on the train to Whitby, or was it Scarborough? Her knowledge of Yorkshire was limited to those seaside resorts, and once they had gone to Butlin's holiday camp at Filey. They had even visited Blackpool on a rare occasion when her father had had a pay rise.

On the whole, though, her parents were quiet stay-at-home people, content with what they had and with little desire to travel and see the world or even their own country. Shirley's dad had a car – Shirley had gone to Scotland with them earlier that year – and so had Ryan's dad, and Kevin's, of course. And Kevin was saving up for one of his own. She was determined, though, not to think about Kevin and what he was or wasn't doing. She had other more important things on her mind. If she intended to go ahead with her plan to find her birth mother she would need to do it very soon, before she got cold feet.

She was trying to behave normally at home, to keep out of bother with her parents and not to get into any arguments. Ironically, though, they might well regard that as unusual behaviour, considering how she sometimes carried on.

She went to work each day, helping Julie, the new girl, to find her feet, and treating Kevin in a casual manner whenever she saw him. Which was not often, as he seemed to be avoiding her.