Page 49 of Lessons in Life

‘Oofff! Hell!’ I exhaled, coming to a standstill while watching Sorrel’s final steps of the dance I’d choreographed for her audition. ‘We’ve just got time to go through your main Sandy pieces; my class will be in soon.’ Then, seeing Sorrel’s pale face, despite the exertions she’d just put herself through, I frowned. ‘You OK, Sorrel?’

‘You see,’ Sorrel said, tutting and holding onto the barre. ‘I feel woozy again. Robyn, what’s the matter with me? I’ve got what Mum’s got, haven’t I?I’mthe one that’s inherited it.’

‘Can youinherita condition? Isn’t it just money or a house from a rich uncle?’ I tried to make light of Sorrel’s worries, which, I could see, were threatening to overwhelm her. I walked over to her. She was breathing heavily, beads of sweat on her pale face. ‘You’re far too young, Sorrel. Mum was in her thirties when she was diagnosed. You’re just doing too much: your mocks, this audition in London, the lead part inGrease, trying to sort Joel…’

‘He’s been bailed,’ Sorrel said, some colour returning to her pretty face.

‘Well, that’s good, then, isn’t it…?’ I turned as my first class of the afternoon started gathering at the door, noses and big bags pressed against the glass to see what was going on with their teacher and her sister.

Sorrel shook her head. ‘Bailed to the local authority.’

‘What does that mean? Oy…’ I turned crossly to the kids now pushing at the slightly open door ‘…you lot know the rules. One line. Outside. And I’ll be with you.’ I turned back to Sorrel. ‘What does bail mean?’

‘He says he’s being taken to Castleford.’

‘Castleford?’ I stared.

‘Out of the area. It’s not safe for him here. He’s got to stay with his mum’s sister. It was what his solicitor and the YJS officer came up with. The alternative, which Joel said the CPS were pushing for, was Wetherby and youth detention.’

‘OK,’ I soothed. ‘Get him away from what he’s got himself involved in round here.’

‘What about his mocks? He’s clever.Youknow that…’ Sorrel trailed off as a collective 8TR finally fell through the door.

‘I’ll have a word with Mr Donoghue. Are you OK now?’ Sorrel’s colour was back and she was breathing normally once more. ‘You’ve just overdone it.’

‘You know as well as I do, Robyn, I’m going to have to do a lot more than the ten minutes I’ve just done when I’m in London. It’s no good. I’m not up to it.’

Upset at knowing Sorrel spoke the truth, I rounded irritably on the Year 8 kids who were now swinging bags at each other.

‘What do you lot think you’re doing?’ I glared, torn between sorting out the class and listening to what Sorrel was telling me.

‘Just establishing the rivalry between the Montagues and the Capulets, miss,’ Tyler Jacobs shouted back. ‘You know, like you said last lesson.’

‘Right, OK, then.’ Slightly mollified, I turned back to Sorrel. ‘Well, at least they’ve remembered.’

Sorrel tutted but smiled.

‘Look, meet me after rehearsal this afternoon. I’ve got the T Birds until five fifteen. Come and see the cottage we’re going to rent.’

‘Is Fabian going to be there?’

‘Yes. He’s got the key. He’s been here, there and everywhere yesterday and all day today doing a ton of stuff. I’m going to meet him there about 6p.m. when he’s back.’ I thrust a paper plate of remaining picnic items towards Sorrel, covering them with a white paper napkin. ‘Make sure you’re eating enough and spend the time in the library revising, Sorrel. I’ll come and get you when I’ve finished and drive us down there.’

‘Jobsworth Ken will throw me out. He’ll want to lock up.’

‘I’ll have a word. Right, you look much better,’ I soothed. ‘Off you go. And don’t worry. Panic and worry are making you ill – I think you’ve been having slight panic attacks. There’s nothingphysically wrong with you!’

I turned to the class. ‘OK, you Montagues and Capulets – “Draw if you be men. Remember thy swashing blow.”’

* * *

‘Oh, it’s lovely.’ Sorrel, for once, was speechless. ‘Really lovely. How on earth have you managed to rent this place? Mum and I always thought it was the most beautiful cottage in the village. Right next to the duck pond and the cricket pitch. Isn’t it called the Dower House or something like that?’

Fabian’s Porsche was already parked up outside the cottage, the light from the one central naked bulb inside projecting ghostly rays onto the frosty garden path as Sorrel and I walked towards the front door.

‘We’ll need some lamps,’ I said, feeling excited at the prospect of furnishing the place. ‘Lots of lovely lamps.’

‘Oh, wow, it’s so much bigger than it looks from the outside.’ Sorrel stood in the hallway staring.

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