Page 63 of Lessons in Life

‘Knowledge is power,’ Fabian amended. ‘It might be that no one else in your mum’s family has suffered from the condition.’

‘That doesn’t mean to say Jess, Sorrel and I aren’t going to have the gene. I suppose it has to start somewhere and, like Sorrel said the other night, why go round opening a particularly wormy can of worms?’

‘IfIknew there was a possible defective gene in my family?—’

‘I’ve already seen that your brother Julius is pretty defective in pleasantness.’ I thought that was rather clever and chortled at my own witticism, startling Boris, who looked up as I continued to giggle.

‘Will you let me finish?’ Fabian tutted. ‘All I’m saying is, I’d go for genetic counselling: be prepared; know thine enemy.’

‘Sounds a bit biblical that.’ I smiled and then frowned. ‘Look, I wouldn’t know where to start looking for Mum’s birth family. As far as she knows, her mother was from India and she was born in Surrey. How on earth do you start looking? And how can we do that if Mum doesn’t want to know?’

‘Pretty obvious, I reckon.’

‘Oh?’

‘Get Lisa to tell you more about these Foleys who adopted her and then go and see them. They’ll have answers.’

‘Mum’s kept the Foleys from us all these years, Fabian. I don’t see why she’d start divulging information now.’

‘She started opening up to me, Robyn, in the café the other day. Someone not in the family, I suppose. She’s seen how anxious Sorrel has become about the thought of carrying the gene…’

‘Fabian, Sorrel’s carryinga baby.’ Oh, God, out on these glorious ancient moors, Fabian by my side, I’d managed to push the huge worry about Sorrel to the back of my mind. Now it all came rising to the surface once more.

‘Genetic counselling, Robyn. Goes on all the time.’

‘OK, OK.’ I looked at my watch, not wanting to face these problems any longer. ‘Hot chocolate and a big fat bun down in Holmfirth before heading off to Leeds and John Lewis? I’ve made a list.’

* * *

The following morning, despite it being a Sunday, I was out of bed by 8a.m.

‘Now where are you going?’ Fabian, eyes closed, snaked a hand in my direction. ‘Our first Sunday morning in our new bed in our new cottage. Get yourself back in.’ He opened one eye and yawned.

‘If I’m to impress your family, I need to look good.’

‘You don’t have to impress them, Robyn.’ Fabian opened the other eye and, sighing, hauled himself up onto the pillows. ‘And you’d look good in a sack.’

‘Course I need to,’ I said, already feeling extremely nervous at the thought of running the gauntlet of the Carrington family in a posh restaurant. I’d been awake since 6a.m., trying to work out what to wear for lunch, and knew the only dress I wanted – a soft pink woollen L K Bennett – was still hanging up in the wardrobe in the box room back at Mum’s.

‘I want my dress and Mum’s lovely new suede boots. And I want to see what Sorrel’s decided. If she’s not going to London, we need to cancel the appointment.’ I sighed heavily. ‘She’ll never get another opportunity like this one. I won’t be long. What time do we need to set off?’

I drove the two miles from the centre of Beddingfield – St Bede’s church bells already ringing out a welcome from the over-enthusiastic parish campanologists – back to Mum’s cottage, making a mental list of any other things I needed to pick up as I went. The kitchen door was locked when I got there, but I had my key and let myself in, shouting ‘Hellooo?’ so as not to alarm Mum and – particularly – Sorrel, who I assumed, like any fifteen-year-old on a Sunday morning, would still be fast asleep in bed.

I called again. ‘Hello? Only me! Just come to collect a few things as I’m off to some posh…’ but didn’t finish my sentence as Mum appeared in front of me at the top of the stairs, holding a finger to her lips.

‘It’s OK,’ Mum whispered, but her face was pale.

‘What is?’ I whispered back, climbing the stairs.

‘Shh, she’s asleep.’

‘Sorrel?’

Mum nodded. ‘She’s lost the… you know… the pregnancy.’

‘Oh goodness! She’s had a miscarriage?’

Mum nodded again.

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