Page 16 of A Class Act

‘Jess, throw him out. You don’t need him. He’s a bunion.’

‘A bunion?’ She actually chortled at that.

‘A useless lump of flesh,’ I snapped. ‘Cut him out.’

‘I will, I will. One of these days. Right, enough about me,’ she finally said, and I could almost hear her smiling. Jess just got on with what life threw at her, as did Mum on the whole. My mother had been utterly stunning in her time, apparently catching the eye of every red-blooded male in the area. Now she was in her early fifties, a rare and possibly inherited complaint called acute porphyria – as well as Jayden – appeared to have got the better of her. I really should ring her more, visit her more. ‘What areyouup to?’ Jess was saying. ‘How did the audition for the female barrister go?’

‘It didn’t.’ (At the mention ofbarristermy heart did a little lurch.) ‘And, to be honest, I just want to sing and dance and have a steady job in musicals. I’m hoping Dorcas, my agent, will be in touch this week with something.’

‘How on earth are you living? Paying the rent? In the middle of London?’

‘Oh,’ I said, more cheerfully than I felt, ‘the shifts at Graphite keep my head above water. Just. And Jayden, when he’s in the money, always hands over a wad. I’m assuming he does the same with you and Mum?’

‘Very erratic, very sporadic, but yes, every now and again – when he remembers he has three daughters and a wife in Yorkshire.’

‘Jess, Jayden never married Mum.’

‘She likes to think he did: wears a wedding ring and calls herself Mrs Allen. Sorrel won’t have anything to do with him at the moment.’

‘Can’t say I blame her… Oh, Jess… Jess…’ I just had to talk to her about Fabian.

‘What? What is it? Robyn?’ There was concern in Jess’s voice and I felt immediately sorry I’d said anything.

‘I’ve fallen in love.’

‘Oh, thank God for that. I thought you’d murdered someone.’

I closed my eyes, wincing at her choice of words, and knew, on the other end of the phone, sitting at the kitchen table in her little terraced cottage in Beddingfield, Jess would be doing the same.

‘And?’ she probed. ‘Is that a bad thing? He’s not married, is he?’

‘No.’

‘Gay and unavailable?’

‘No.’

‘Famousand unavailable? Is it James Norton?’

‘What?’

‘He was brilliant inHappy Valley. You know they filmed it just down the road from here?’

‘I do know. He’s inA Little Lifeat the Harold Pinter Theatre,’ I said vaguely, not overly interested in any production that didn’t involve singing and dancing. ‘He’s a barrister.’

‘No, no, he plays the part of a New York lawyer, I think, not a barrister.’

I tutted, dying to get back to Fabian Mansfield Carrington. ‘No, Jess, I’ve fallen in love – in lust, if you like – with a barrister at the Old Bailey.’

‘Well,’ she finally said, after a long silence, ‘there’s a novelty.’

‘Yep.’

‘And with our family history?’

‘Yep.’

‘And has he, you know, fallen in love with you as well? Or is he someone you’ve just seen from afar?’

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