Page 75 of Lessons in Life

‘Does it mean working alongside your ex?’

‘Of course. That’s what happens when solicitors appoint a barrister.’

I was silent for a while, mulling over the information Fabian had laid out in front of me. Then I said, ‘When you came up to live with Jemima in Harrogate?’

‘Yes?’

‘And I didn’t know you were living in Yorkshire?’

‘Yes?’

‘Did you start seeing Alex again then?’

Fabian sighed. ‘Robyn, when you ran away back north, running back up here…’

‘I wasn’t exactly running – I’d badly injured my ACL, for heaven’s sake.’ I glared at him.

‘…ran away back up here…’ Fabian repeated calmly.

‘Stop speaking to me like I’m in the dock,’ I interrupted, knowing exactly where Fabian was heading.

‘…blocking my calls, refusing to have anything to do with me? How long, Robyn? How long before you were in your headteacher’s bed? Hmm? Hmm?’

When I didn’t answer, Fabian smiled sadly. ‘I rest my case, Robyn.’

24

LISA

It was a mistake coming down to the gym in the town centre thinking she’d be able to do what all these Lycra-clad bodies in front of her were putting themselves through. As a little girl she’d been pretty good at gymnastics, cartwheeling around the garden of the schoolhouse and doing handstands up against the wall, school uniform tucked into her knickers. Until Mother had told her to stop creating such an exhibition of herself; she was the headmaster’s daughter, for heaven’s sake, and she was to remember that. Did she really want the school porters to be viewing her underwear? It was pretty obvious, Mother said on more than one occasion, just from where she’d inherited this lewd behaviour. Herrealmother – the dirty tramp – had obviously passed on her predilection for showing her knickers to all and sundry.

Lisa had gone into Father’s study, from which she was barred, on pain of a slap, to look up bothlewdandpredilection, in the huge dictionary Adrian Foley kept in there. She had learned from the dictionary that her real mother was crude and offensive in a sexual way but then had to also look up both ‘crude’ and ‘sexual’. Not very nice words to describe her real mother. But then, as the seven-year-old Lisa conceded, she must have been a pretty awful woman not only to have given birth to her when she didn’t have a husband, but to throw her away as well. Unwanted,a half-casteas Karen Foley so often reminded her (usually when she’d done something to disappoint – and that list was endless), she had been thrown out by the real mother. For years, Lisa thought she must have been thrown into a dustbin by the real mother, mingling amongst potato peelings, apple cores, scrapings from Sunday lunch plates, until she was rescued by Mother and Father and given the comfortable and Christian home and excellent education other unwanted little bastards could only dream of…

‘Lisa?’ A powerfully built young man stood in front of her, smiling. ‘Shall we have a chat about what you want from the gym?’

‘Oh, I’m not convinced I can do any of this.’ Lisa looked longingly towards the main entrance, but the man – Ari, from his lanyard – just laughed.

‘You look to be in pretty good shape already.’

‘I do a lot of gardening,’ Lisa said, following him into an office where he took an iPad and began punching in some details. ‘I want to swim again, maybe do some classes?’

Ari nodded. ‘Absolutely. If you’ve not done any gym work for a while…’

‘Never, actually,’ Lisa broke in. ‘And, you need to know, I do have a medical condition.’

* * *

An hour later, not only had she been given a tour of the gym, she’d also tried out some of the machines, had a swim and a sauna and was now about to shower in really quite upmarket surroundings. Jayden had said, months ago, he’d pay for Lisa to join the gym, but she wanted some independence, wanted not to be beholden to Jayden Allen any longer, and had raided her savings to pay for the membership.

Gosh, this was fabulous, Lisa thought as she peeled off her wet swimsuit. She was actually here, had done a bit of a workout and was feeling good. More than good. Shy at first of stripping off in front of the other women in the communal changing room, she took a surreptitious look around. OK, there were the ubiquitous beautiful yummy mummies, highlighted hair swishing as they hoisted designer bags over shoulders, shouting loudly to Camilla, to Tia and to Darcy that they’d see them at school pick-up, and whose turn was it to book tennis? To host Supper Club next? But over in the corner were some of her own tribe: women in their late forties and fifties hiding middle-aged spread and stretch marks behind large fluffy white towels. Lisa rubbed at her long dark hair before moving over to the mirror to finish the job with a fancy blow-drier, which left her locks in soft tendrils round her elfin face. She gazed at her reflection before reaching for blusher and lipstick and the new mascara she’d read a review on inThe Sunday Timesand which, for once, totally lived up to the hype.

‘Wow, you’ve long eyelashes.’ One of the women from the oldies corner of the changing room was at her side, reaching for the styling wand Lisa had just replaced in its holder on the mirror.

‘Thank you.’ Lisa smiled. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve treated myself to a new mascara.’

‘Well, you look fabulous!’ The woman smiled back.

‘That’s so kind, thank you. I’ve suddenly realised I’m over fifty and need to sort myself.’ Why on earth was she telling a stranger this?

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