Page 36 of Lessons in Life

‘OK, Mr Carrington, Ms Allen, that appears to be that, then. Nine months, initially, and then you can make any further decisions about extending the rental on the property after that.’ Geoffrey Brampton of Brampton and Hornville, the oldest, and generally thought to be the most prestigious, of the two main estate agencies in Beddingfield, proffered a hand. ‘The owner, I’m sure you understand, would have much preferred a longer let – twelve months minimum, really – but your reputation goes before you, Mr Carrington. Good to have someone famous in the village at last.’ He smirked knowingly.

‘My reputation? Famous?’ Fabian frowned and, seeing his discomfort, I quickly jumped in.

‘Sorry, I’m going to have to get back to school. Bell for afternoon school will be going in…’

‘Oh yes, it’s not every day we get a world-famous legal eagle in one of our properties. I followed the case of the Soho Slasher from the start. Such a shame you gave up on it, Fabian.’ Geoffrey patted Fabian’s arm chummily, but his tone was ingratiating and I saw irritation cross Fabian’s face. ‘Tell me,’ Geoffrey went on, lowering his voice, ‘are you moving into the village – and just for nine months – because there’s some big local case you’re taking on? Hmm? Leeds? Bradford? York, maybe?Localinterest?’

‘Localinterest?’ Fabian repeated the words. He eyeballed the estate agent, taking in the greying comb-over doing little to disguise the man’s shiny pate, and his inquisitive, pale, porcine eyes. ‘You could say that, Mr Brampton.’ Fabian lowered his own voice conspiratorially. ‘It’s because I’m shagging the most beautifullocalwoman in your village.’

‘Was that really necessary?’ I snapped crossly once we’d walked down the cottage path. Glancing at my watch, I saw I’d exactly ten minutes before I was in front of 8TR taking them for PSHE.

‘Probably not.’ Fabian sniffed irritably. ‘But for heaven’s sake…’

‘What are you going to do now?’ I asked, still feeling embarrassed.

‘I’m going to check out what basics we need in the cottage, then I’m going to try and get in touch with the Richardsons. And then I’m going to have to get back to Harrogate for clean pants and the like. There’s stuff I need to do over there.’

‘We need furniture! A bed. Sheets. Pots and pans.’ Hell, where to begin? ‘And the Richardsons?’ I was already unlocking my car door.

‘Who own Hudson House. I want to see if it’s a done deal with these Sattar people.’

I smiled. ‘You do that.’

‘Now you’re being condescending, Robyn.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be. I need to go.’ I moved to kiss him. ‘And, Fabian, I’m so glad we’re doing this. Even if it’s just for a few months until we both know where we really want to be. Give us a bit of breathing space?’

‘I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.’ Fabian gathered me up in his arms, bending to kiss every bit of me until I was helpless with giggles and heads were turning in our direction. ‘I really don’t see why we can’t move in straight away.’

* * *

Lisa

‘Mum?’ Jess, showing round a couple intent on finding the best possible care for an elderly relative, excused herself as Bex opened the front door and she caught sight of Lisa’s anguished face on the doorstep. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I’m fine.’ Lisa attempted a smile. ‘I’m going to tidy up that garden of yours if that’s OK?’

‘Why?’ Jess frowned, obviously unsure whether to hand over the visitors to one of the carers so she could see to Lisa. She looked at her watch, making a quick decision. ‘I’m just going to show Mr and Mrs Connor round. Why don’t I make you a coffee, Mum, and I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes? Something’s happened, hasn’t it?’

‘There’s no need, Jess,’ Lisa said irritably. She needed to tell Jess and Robyn about Sorrel’s – and now her own – fear that history might be repeating itself with the porphyria. But now, when Jess was so busy, wasn’t the right moment. ‘Iwillget a coffee, if that’s OK,’ she said, ‘but I’m perfectly capable of getting it myself, darling. And then I’m going to take it out to the garden. I’ve got my gloves and I’ve brought my tools.’ She held up a sturdy pair of gardening gloves and indicated the heavy bag at her feet. ‘Your roses need deadheading.’

‘They’re notmyroses…’ Jess broke off seeing Lisa’s determination to do the job she’d come for. She knew if there was one thing that would help her mother when she was anxious or upset – which she appeared to be right now – it was gardening. ‘OK, you do that and I’ll come and join you as soon as I can. Mind you,’ she added in an undertone, ‘not sure why I’m still bothering to show people round when the place is probably going under.’ She turned encouragingly towards the couple. ‘D’you want to follow me?’ Jess looked back at Lisa. ‘And for God’s sake, Mum, don’t overdo it. Just remember how ill you were back in September.’

Lisa beamed at a couple of residents who were holding hands as they made their way to the lounge area. She must ask Jess whether Neil and Pat had come into Hudson House together. Were they married? And, if so, how lovely to be still wanting to hold hands after years of marriage. Or had they lost original partners and had now found new love here? Never too late to find love, Lisa smiled to herself, even though, after Sorrel’s little bombshell, smiling was the last thing her face felt able to do.

Lisa made herself a coffee and went straight out into the cold early afternoon air carrying her mug in one hand and her bulging bag of gardening tools in the other.

Oh, these fabulous roses. Someone in the past had adored this rose garden; had known exactly what they were doing. She supposed, in the heyday of Hudson House, there’d have been a whole gang of full-time gardeners on the payroll. Maybe even a head gardener who ruled the roost, terrifying the local boy who came in after school and in the holidays to help for a few pence? Before, Lisa assumed, his going into Hudson’s Textile Mill like the rest of his family once he left school at fourteen.

How could anyone who knew the first thing about floribundas and these fabulous climbing roses have allowed this decline? There, against the far wall, soaking up as much of the weak winter sunshine as was possible, were a Danse du Feu and an Alchymistif she wasn’t mistaken. But, like prisoners in an exercise yard, they were intent on fighting off their restraint, bidding for freedom by going over the top. The prisoner analogy brought a smile at last and, aware that worrying about Sorrel wasn’t going to help her own health, she determined she’d speak to Matt as soon as she could, leaving her to concentrate on what she was doing here. Maybe Sorrel just had a bug? She’d been lucky, bringing up the girls – they’d rarely been ill, rarely having time off school like some other kids.

‘Lucky?’ Lisa realised she was actually saying the words out loud. ‘Having Jayden who was there, but neverreallythere? Why the hell was thatlucky? And why the fuck…’ Lisa, unused to using such language, actually whispered the expletive ‘…didn’t I ditch him years and years ago?’

She threw the remains of her coffee onto the grass but, try as she might to stop worrying, continued to carry the thoughts in her head as she surveyed the rose garden in front of her.

She pulled on her thick gardening gloves and set to with her pruning tool, clipping carefully at first and then, realising much of the woody stems and overgrown roots needed to be cut back, bent to her bag for the cordless pruning shears, going for it big time.

Oh, but this was so cathartic: snipping, slashing, stabbing, cleaving, dissecting. She was sweating now and, despite it being a particularly cold January, she took off first her gilet and then her jacket, continuing to slash and prune, getting rid of all the anger she should have directed at Jayden himself. Or was it the bloody Foleys? Mother and Father. Ha! Slash, stab, slash!

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