Families and Friendships (19 page)

Apart from feeling smothered by her possessive parents, she was still smarting from Kevin's rejection. She would never admit to anyone that he had ended their friendship – in other words that he had dumped her – but that was, in truth, what had happened, and Debbie's self-esteem was damaged. She could pretend to herself that she didn't care, but deep down she knew that she did.

She was determined, however, to put on a happy face at work. She greeted Mr Hill with a smile, and she had a cheerful grin, too, for the new girl, Julie, to whom she was introduced.

‘Hello, Debbie,' said Julie, sounding very nervous and unsure of herself. ‘Mr Hill says you're going to help me. I'm really glad, because I find it hard to talk to strangers, like the customers, I mean, and I'm scared of getting it wrong.' She was a small, thin-featured girl with fairish hair tied back in two bunches. She was a year younger than Debbie having left school at fifteen, but she seemed even younger than that. Debbie found herself feeling sorry for the kid – for that was how she thought of her – although she herself had never suffered from such lack of confidence.

‘Now stop worrying,' she told her. ‘You'll be fine; really, you will. You won't be dealing with the customers all the time, and they're usually very nice. They wouldn't come if they weren't interested in gardening. Most of them know exactly what they want, but sometimes they need a bit of advice; they like to have a chat about what sort of plants would be best.' She could see a look of apprehension – fright, almost – on Julie's face so she went on hurriedly. ‘Mr Hill won't want you to deal with the customers just yet. Anyway, there's far more to the job than that. We spend a lot of the time in the gardens and the greenhouses. There's a lot to learn but I'm sure you'll soon pick it up. It's the job you wanted to do isn't it?'

‘Oh yes, I do!' The girl sounded quite eager now. ‘I love helping my dad in the garden. But neither of us really know much about gardening, about the different plants and soil and all that.'

‘Well, you'll soon learn,' said Debbie cheerfully, ‘then you'll be able to show off to your dad, won't you? That's how I got interested, with helping my dad, but he knows a lot about it because he works as a gardener as well … Come on, now, and we'll make a start in the far greenhouse. The tomato plants need pruning, and there'll be some more ripe ones ready to take off.'

Far from feeling resentment at having to look after the new girl, Debbie thought that she might enjoy it. Julie was looking at her with eyes that shone with admiration and she felt that she had already helped to make the girl feel less anxious. They worked closely together all day. Debbie made sure that she kept herself and Julie busy. She saw Kevin briefly, once or twice. She managed to speak civilly to him, without showing any hint of bitterness or regret.

There was something else, though, on Debbie's mind; something that she had been thinking about, on and off, for a while, and now it was looming large again. Ever since she had found out that Claire Wagstaff had known the person who had given birth to her, and had probably had a hand in the adoption as well, she had wanted to know more. The mother must have been quite a young girl at the time – an unmarried mother – and Debbie found herself wanting to know, quite badly, what she was like. Not all the time; there were times when she almost managed to put it out of her mind, but at other times it became very important to her that she should know. It was one of those times now.

Debbie knew that her adoptive parents – her real parents now, by law – loved her very much. She knew, also, that she loved them. But as well as loving them she was often annoyed and angered by them. It was at those times that she wondered about her real mother, what she would have been like with her, Debbie, if things had worked out differently. Mum had always told her that the girl had loved her but had been unable to keep her. And there was that little pink teddy bear which proved – didn't it? – that she had wanted there to be some sort of contact with the child she had been forced to give up.

Debbie knew there was no way she could get any more information from her mother; besides, Mum would be very hurt. Debbie knew that only too well, but it didn't stop her from wanting to find out more. And so she had worked out a plan. Tomorrow, Tuesday, was her half day off from the garden centre. She intended, after lunch, to cycle to Burnside House in order to see Claire Wagstaff. She would need to find out, though, if Claire would be there that afternoon; if, in fact, she was still working there. If she wasn't, then Debbie knew that her search would come to an end; she didn't know of any other way of finding out. A phone call from Sunnyhill on Tuesday morning, however, told her that Claire would be on duty that afternoon.

It was only a couple of miles through the winding country lanes from Debbie's place of work. She had butterflies doing a wild dance in her tummy as she stood at the door of Burnside House, ready to ring the bell. This, then, was the place where she had been born. It was a large greystone house set in its own grounds, with a lawn in front surrounded by colourful flower beds. She had imagined something more like a prison, but this seemed to be quite a pleasant place. She pressed the bell and waited.

To her surprise – what a stroke of luck! – it was Claire who opened the door. They hadn't seen one another for quite a while, and they looked at one another a trifle unsurely. Claire didn't really look much different, possibly a shade plumper and her hair was greying a little; but she still had the same friendly smile as she recognized Debbie.

‘It's Debbie, isn't it?' she said. ‘You've grown up quite a lot since I last saw you, and your hair's shorter. It took me a minute to place you. Anyway, come along in, and you can tell me why you're here.' She looked at her rather more closely. ‘I take it there is a reason? Your mum and dad are both all right, I hope?'

‘Er … yes; it's nothing like that,' said Debbie. ‘They're both very well.' She followed Claire into a smallish room at the back of the house, furnished with easy chairs, a bookcase and a television set. ‘It's … well, it's something I wanted to ask you,' she went on. ‘Something that I want to know.'

‘Well, sit down then,' said Claire. ‘This is the staff sitting room. We won't be disturbed, and I can spare you a few minutes. I expect I can guess why you want to see me, Debbie. I can't think of any other reason; but I can't help hoping I'm wrong.' Her smile was replaced by a look of concern, although she didn't seem annoyed.

Debbie gave a sigh and shook her head. ‘No, I don't suppose you're wrong … unless …' A sudden thought struck her. ‘You don't think I'm pregnant, do you? Because it isn't that!'

‘No …' Claire gave a wry smile. ‘I didn't think it was that; and I suppose that's something to be thankful for!'

‘I've come to ask you about my mother; I mean … the person who gave birth to me,' said Debbie.

Claire nodded. ‘Yes; that's what I guessed.'

‘I've always known I was adopted,' Debbie went on, ‘and from what Mum told me once I guessed that you might have had something to do with it. So … I just wanted to know about her. I feel I have a right to know,' she added, a little more assertively, now that she was gaining in confidence. ‘Mum told me that she – the girl, I mean – didn't really want to part with me.'

‘I'm afraid, Debbie, that you don't really have a right to know, as you put it,' said Claire, rather sternly. ‘It was Vera's choice to tell you about your adoption, but as for your birth mother, I don't know of her whereabouts, and even if I did I wouldn't tell you. The adoption was confidential. Your parents – Vera and Stanley – never knew whose child you were, just as your birth mother never knew who was adopting you. She had to let you go because it was the right thing – the only thing – for her to do. I dare say she has made a new life for herself now. I'm sure she won't have forgotten you, but I also believe that it wouldn't do any good for you to try to find her now … I presume that is what you want to do?'

‘I don't know,' said Debbie. ‘I'm not really sure. But I so desperately want to know what she was like …'

‘What has brought this about?' asked Claire. She gave a half smile. ‘Have you had a row at home and decided the grass might have been greener elsewhere? It isn't always, you know. And I'm sure you've had a good home and loving parents; well, I know you have.'

‘We haven't had a row,' said Debbie. ‘Well, more of a difference of opinion about me going back to school. I don't always see eye to eye with them; they're older than most of my friends' parents, aren't they? Anyway, I'm going back to school, so that's all sorted out … But I've still got this longing to find out. There was that little teddy bear, you see. Mum told me where it had come from, and I knew that she – the girl – really must have loved me.'

‘Ah, yes, the little pink bear. I remember that Fi … your mother gave it to Sister Travers at the last minute. I wasn't there, but Sister told me about it. She tucked it into your shawl; she said she was very touched by it, although Travers was usually a ‘no nonsense' sort of woman. It's a moving little incident, but that doesn't mean … Look, Debbie, I really can't tell you any more.'

‘You must have known her quite well though,' Debbie persisted. ‘Was she a nice sort of girl? I'm sure she must have been.'

‘Yes, she was a lovely girl,' Claire answered. ‘Not very understanding parents, though, from what I gathered. They were adamant about having the baby – you – adopted. Yes, I admit I had a soft spot for … her, and for her friend, Ginny. We're not supposed to get too friendly with any of the girls, but you can't help taking to some more than others.'

‘Ginny?' said Debbie. ‘She had a friend called Ginny?' The name had rung a bell with her, and it didn't take her long to remember where she had heard it. Ryan Gregson; his mother was called Ginny. She knew because Shirley was always going on about how nice Ryan's mum was, and how she had asked her to call her Ginny instead of Mrs Gregson. But it couldn't be the same one, could it? Why would Ryan's mother have been in Burnside House? She decided to enquire a little further, but sort of … casually.

‘Yes, Ginny … I can't remember her other name,' said Claire evasively, but looking rather ill at ease.

‘And did they all live near here,' Debbie asked, ‘the girls who were having babies?'

‘Most of them did; they still do,' replied Claire. ‘But the babies are not usually placed anywhere near to the birth mother. All I will tell you is that with you it was the other way round. Your … birth mother was from much further away, and your parents, Vera and Stanley, were from this area, as you know. As you've gathered, I had a hand in the adoption because I knew how much they wanted a little girl and I knew what splendid parents they would be. And my advice to you, Debbie, is to try to put it all to the back of your mind. I'm sorry, pet, but you'll not get any more information from me. I can promise you, though, that what you've asked me will go no further. I do see your mother from time to time, but I won't say anything. I just hope that you'll try to put it all behind you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must carry on with my work. I can't say give my love to your mum, but it's what I would say, if I could. Your mother and father think the world of you, you know …'

Claire had a few anxious moments when she had said goodbye to Debbie. She realized she had almost given away Fiona's name by a slip of the tongue, Debbie might not have noticed, and even if she had it wasn't likely to be of much help. And maybe she shouldn't have mentioned Ginny – the name had slipped out unintentionally – but it was unlikely that Debbie would know her. She recalled then that Ginny had told her that her son, Ryan, was at Kelder Bank School. And so was Debbie; in the same year, maybe in the same form. She hoped against hope that Debbie would not make the connection. She felt sure, though, that she might well be a determined little madam once she got an idea into her head. The only real lie that she, Claire, had told was in saying that she did not know the whereabouts of Debbie's birth mother. Ginny had told her about Fiona's new life and about how happy she was. Claire trusted that nothing would happen to mar her happiness.

Debbie was not entirely disillusioned as she cycled home. She had known, if she were honest with herself, that she was not likely to find out very much from Claire Wagstaff. There was so much secrecy attached to adoption. They were honour bound, she supposed, not to divulge private information; and Claire, also, would not want to do anything that might hurt her friends, Vera and Stanley. And Debbie knew, at the heart of her, that her parents would be deeply distressed if they knew what she was doing. At the same time, she so badly wanted to know; it was becoming an obsession with her.

Claire, however, had let a few little things slip out. The name of the girl; she had started to say something that began with the letter F … or Ph … then she had pulled herself up sharply. Phyllis, Phoebe, Fiona, maybe? It didn't mean much on its own, but coupled with the name Ginny – there was no doubt about that name – she might have something to go on. The person to see was Ryan Gregson, but before that she would have to see Shirley.

There was no one in when she arrived home as it was one of the afternoons when her mother was working. She didn't know what they would be having for tea, but to show willing she set the table for the three of them. Then, when Vera came home she helped her to prepare the meal; cold chicken with salad and new potatoes as it was a warm day, followed by strawberries and ice cream.

‘I think I'll go and see Shirley tonight,' she said casually.

‘You're not seeing Kevin then?' asked her mother, in quite a normal manner.