Page 73 of Lessons in Life

‘Yes, let’s.’ Jess’s excitement was contagious. ‘You know, it’s not just Mum’s history – it’soursas well.’

‘It shouldn’t be difficult seeing as Adrian Foley was headteacher of St Mark’s school in Sheffield. I’m going to start googling this evening.’

‘Me too.’

‘You? Thought you’d be feathering your new luuuurrrve nest with Fabian?’ Jess laughed but stopped when she saw my face. ‘What is it?’

‘I met Alex Brookfield yesterday.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘She.’

‘OK, who’s she/they/her?’

‘A Leeds-based lawyer who’s Joel’s brief.’

‘Oh, well, that’s nice.’ Jess paused. ‘Isn’t it?’

‘Not only is she Joel’s solicitor, she happens to be Gillian Carrington’s best friend’s daughter.’

‘Cosy.’

‘Oh, and yes, I forgot to mention, she’s also Fabian’s ex-girlfriend.’

* * *

Fabian’s car wasn’t parked up outside the cottage and, for once, I felt relief. Although only 6p.m., it was pitch-black and spring seemed a long way off. I shivered, rubbing at my hands in their woollen mittens, and let myself in. With neither of us at home all day, there was an air of sadness to the place, which, only a couple of days previously, I couldn’t have imagined. I filled the kettle and then thought, sod it, and instead took a bottle of white wine from the fridge, pouring myself a large glass. I lay on the cream carpet, propped myself up on cushions and wondered whether the sofa and chairs we’d chosen in John Lewis only two days earlier would still be needed. And why on earth the sudden – and obviously well-orchestrated (what an entrance!) – appearance of the very beautiful Alexandra Brookfield at The Beech Tree restaurant had been enough to make me doubt my relationship with Fabian.

‘Hi.’ Fabian, in dark suit, white shirt and carrying his briefcase, crossed the floor, not stopping to drop a kiss on my head as he normally would, but immediately making for the kitchen and the open bottle of wine.

‘You feeling better? That’s the second time now I’ve seen you almost out of it with a migraine. Good job I’d not drunk much more than one glass of champagne or we’d have been stuck in Ilkley.’

‘I suffered a lot from them when I came back from Dijon after my year out from university.’

‘Because you didn’t want to come back?’

‘Something like that.’

There was a lot about Fabian I still didn’t know. When he didn’t expand further, I said, ‘So, why didn’t you tell me?’ I pushed myself up from the floor, pulled a hand through my mass of curls, which needed a good brush – probably a good cut too – remembered the huge hole I’d arrested with red nail varnish in my black woolly tights, and immediately crossed my legs to hide it. Next to Fabian’s gleaming – if still a little pale – beauty, I felt dowdy, provincial,teacherish. I’d bet anything Alexandra Brookfield dressed for work in expensive little black suits and smart, crisp shirts, her caramel blonde hair shiny and fragrant, her legs clad in unladdered tights. Stockings, even?

‘Tell you what, Robyn?’ Fabian stood in front of me, looking down with raised eyebrows. ‘What is it you want to know?’

‘OK.’ I took a deep breath, numbering off the points on my fingers. ‘One: why didn’t you let on that Alex was actually Alexandra? Two: why didn’t you tell me you knew who Alex Brookfield was when Sorrel first told you she was Joel’s brief? And three: how special – and I quote your dear mother here – how special was your friendship with the woman?’

‘Alex and I were together for two years.’

‘Two years?’ I stared, feeling my heart lurch.

‘Yes.’ Fabian was straightforward, stating the facts very much as I’d seen him do when he was in court. When I couldn’t quite get out the words I wanted to say, he continued. ‘Robyn, I am entitled to a life before I met you.’

‘Of course you are. I would find it very strange if I was your first relationship…’

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘You’ve never told me about Alexandra.’

‘Because I knew what your reaction would be.’ Fabian spoke calmly. ‘You carry an aura of self-possession, of tenacity and independence but deep down, for whatever reason, you lack confidence. The minute an old girlfriend of mine turns up, you’re running for the hills.’

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