Page 48 of Lessons in Life

‘I wondered why we hadn’t seen him for a while. Is he upset?’

Jess nodded. ‘The thing is, Mum, I see how Robyn is with Fabian, how you used to be with Jayden, howIused to be with Dean…’

‘Oh, please don’t tell me you’re having Dean back? I just wouldn’t be able to be civil to him over the dinner table.’ Lisa felt her heart plummet.

‘Now you know why my relationship with Jayden is shot. I’ve hated seeing the way he messed you around all these years. Why I find it difficult to be friendly, and, yes, civil, to my own father.’

‘I know, I know.’ Lisa suddenly felt thoroughly depressed at the wasted years.

‘But I can see you’ve got the hots for Kamran Sattar.’ Jess was laughing at her.

Lisa perked up. ‘Is he married, do you know?’

‘I’ve really no idea. Talking to him face to face, he’s totally different from what I expected. And, he couldn’t stop looking at you, Mum.’

‘Don’t be daft… really?’ Lisa felt a flicker of excitement and then, remembering Sorrel, said, ‘OK, I’ll speak to Matt. Ask his advice on how we can reassure Sorrel. I think it’s just stress. She’s worried about whether Joel is to be remanded as well as stressed at her mock GCSEs when she’s got herself so behind not going to school. And, of course, the audition next week. Right, I’m going home and I’ll ring Matt.’

Lisa turned at the door. ‘Oh, did Mr Sattar let on who was after Hudson House?’

Jess shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t say and, to be honest, I don’t think he knew. I had to say I’d absolutely no idea. But I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you three guesses, Mum.’

‘Fabian? With this mad idea of a restaurant in the white house?’

Jess nodded. ‘Must be him. Fabian seems absolutely obsessed with the idea.’

16

ROBYN

The next day I spent my lunch break with the Pink Ladies. I’d persuaded Maggie, the formidable cook, to prepare and have ready in the drama studio a picnic lunch the girls could tuck into after being put through their paces. A sort of carrot on a stick to keep them going when they were ‘absolutely starving, miss’.

‘Only ’cos it’s you, Robyn,’ Maggie, who regularly donned her Lycra and joined in with my after-school Zumba class, had said tartly. ‘Pushing me over my budget, you know, doing this sort of thing. The PE staff’ll all be after the same for footie practice, if they get wind of it. And, mind, I want the best seats in the house.’ Maggie’s usually strident voice had turned dreamy. ‘God, I loved John Travolta when I was younger.’

The girls were shaping up nicely. Isla Boothroyd was absolutely superb as Betty Rizzo, the tough, sarcastic and outspoken leader of the Pink Ladies. Great casting, I smiled to myself, shouting praise in the girl’s direction.

‘Got to go, miss,’ Isla shouted back at me, reaching for her bag before stuffing a tuna sandwich into her mouth and a Scotch egg into her one free hand. ‘Got my mock physics exam in fifteen minutes. Miss Hussain’ll have a fit if I’m late.’

‘Still determined to be a vet, Isla?’ I called to the girl’s retreating back.

Isla turned, flushed with the success of a good rehearsal. ‘Yep. Or on the stage in London like you were,’ she managed to get out through a mouth full of sandwich. ‘Haven’t quite decided yet.’

‘You go for it, Isla,’ I called. ‘You’re quite capable of doing either. You follow your dreams…’ But Isla had gone, banging the door of the drama studio behind her.

I then spent the next half an hour with Frenchy, Marty and Jan, the other main female character leads who made up the Pink Ladies, putting them through their paces. They might lack the natural talent of both Sorrel, and Isla Boothroyd, but they were shaping up nicely and once they’d done what I wanted, I let them have free rein on Maggie’s picnic lunch. Glancing at my phone, I realised that, with ten minutes to go before drama with 8TR, I’d better avail myself of a somewhat flabby-looking Scotch egg if I was to survive the afternoon sessions.

‘Any left for me?’ Sorrel had let herself into the drama studio, apparently changed and ready for some action.

‘Help yourself.’ I indicated the remains of the picnic. ‘You feeling better? I can’t believe you got an Uber home yesterday and the day before. Why didn’t you just go and sit it out in the sick bay?’ When Sorrel didn’t reply, her mouth too full of the remaining piece of quiche, I laughed. ‘You’re obviously feeling better today.’

Sorrel nodded. ‘Right,’ she said, once the Pink Ladies had left for their afternoon classes, ‘have you got five minutes to help me with that tour jeté you’re so good at?’

‘You sure?’ I frowned. ‘If you were actually sick yesterday, I don’t think flying through the air is the best thing to be doing. Why didn’t you just stay at home for a couple of days until you felt better?’

‘Need to revise for my maths mock exam. Mrs Gledhill’s giving a few of us some extra tuition on quadratic equations… they’re still beyond me.’ Sorrel looked at her watch and then at the studio wall clock. ‘Come on, Robyn, I’ve only got ten minutes.’

Goodness, Sorrel was so accomplished: an absolute natural; a latent talent that would, I was sure, take her to huge success in the West End. The world was her oyster and, for a fleeting moment, I felt nothing but a bolt of pure envy. At almost sixteen, Sorrel had all her musical career in front of her while here was I, pushing thirty and stuck in this backwater.

Oh, but I had Fabian and the excitement of the new cottage in the village. Suddenly much happier, and mentally kicking myself for feeling jealous of my little sister, I launched myself forwards, shadowing Sorrel’s movements across the wooden floor until we were both dancing in perfect harmony.

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