Chapter 12
12
‘Oh? Oh?’ Jess, opening the front door of her cottage in Beddingfield the following evening, appeared able to utter only the monosyllabic word, her head moving comically from myself to Jayden as we stood on the doorstep. Finally she opened the door fully against the early September evening chill and we trooped past her in silence, walking along the narrow carpeted hallway and into the kitchen where Jayden put down my hastily packed suitcase. It might have been packed hastily with the help of Jayden once I’d been released from A you doing well, it’s right up his street. When there’s his wife – sorry, his woman, you never did get round to marrying Mum, did you? – and his fifteen-year-old daughter needing his support, it’s a different story.’ She turned to look me in the eye. ‘And where was your barrister in all this, Robyn? Why didn’t he come galloping to the rescue on his white charger?’
‘You know I’m away, touring most of the time,’ Jayden started to protest, but quailed under Jess’s continued hard stare. ‘I called in last month, Jess. Has Sorrel come back? We don’t have to worry about her any more?’
‘Not worry about her? Jayden, Mum’s in hospital again and just a week after starting back at school for the autumn term, Sorrel’s actually been excluded again.’
‘Where is she now?’ I asked. ‘Next door?’
‘Out somewhere again.’
‘Can’t you keep her in?’ I snapped, looking at my phone. ‘It’s going up to nine, Jess. Sunday night and school tomorrow.’
‘Have you ever tried keeping a bolshy fifteen-year-old in when she’s just as determined to stay out?’ Jess snapped back. ‘And I should be at work doing the night shift I do a couple of times a month – no choice. I’ve had to ring in to say I’ve got Covid – the one thing guaranteed to let me off the hook.’
‘You haven’t, have you?’ Jayden stepped away from the table in alarm. ‘Got Covid, I mean. Plays havoc with the vocal cords, I believe.’
‘No, of course I haven’t,’ Jess said, sitting down as all the fight seemed to go out of her. ‘Look, I need some help here.’
‘Where’s Lola?’ I asked.
‘In bed, of course.’
‘No, she’s not.’ Jayden grinned. ‘Hello, darling. Come to see your grandpa?’ He scooped my pyjama-clad niece up into his arms and, delighted at seeing him, Lola snuggled into his embrace before glancing shyly in my direction. I realised I might be calling out Jayden for his lack of interest in his family, but I’d not been doing much better. I hadn’t been back home since Easter – since meeting Fabian, in fact.
My heart lurched.
I wanted him so badly.
‘So, you’re back for a while, then, Robyn?’ Jess’s voice softened as she turned Lola from Jayden’s embrace, directing her back towards the stairs and bed. ‘I’m so sorry about your knee; what rotten luck. But I’m really not sorry you’re here: I’m getting to the stage where I just can’t cope with work, with…’ she put two hands over Lola’s ears ‘…with Dean buggering off again, with finding childcare for this one while I do my night shifts now Mum’s back in hospital.’ She sighed. ‘And trying to look after Mum and Sorrel as well.’
‘Look, you get yourself off to bed, Jess.’ Jayden smiled winningly in her direction. ‘Get a good night’s sleep. Robyn and I will go next door, wait for Sorrel to come back and I’ll stay the night…’ He trailed off. ‘But I’ve a gig up in Aberdeen tomorrow evening…’
‘The Scots are into reggae?’ I pulled a face.
Ignoring me, Jayden went on, ‘We’ll make sure Sorrel gets to school in the morning and then go and see Lisa at the hospital. Where is she? The usual?’
The three of us knew ‘the usual’ was the Green Lea wing of the town’s main hospital, a dismal Victorian building a twenty-minute drive or so away from the village.
‘Come on,’ he said, leaning in to chuck Lola under the chin before picking up my case. ‘You got the key for next door, Jess?’
Nothing from Fabian. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t hoped he’d get in touch.
But there was nothing.
I knew, for my peace of mind, I should remove all means of contact, but I was hoping against hope he’d find out about my accident and whisk me back down to London and his apartment to recuperate now that I’d told Hasad, my landlord in Soho, I wouldn’t be back. Part of me, clutching at straws, had been about to pay Hasad two months’ rent – the net total of my savings from my work at the theatre – to keep my room at the flat, but then my sensible head had locked on. How was I going to live? I could just see Wallbanger Muffler offering me my old job back at Graphite: she’d never liked me much when I was fit, healthy and could do her bidding. No chance now with the black functional knee brace A accept his family were an unpleasant shower but that it was Fabian I wanted, not his bloody relatives. And I should have been up front from the very start with Fabian about my grandfather.
Anything, anything at all, to not be where I was now, back in Beddingfield, my life in tatters…
I broke off my if only thoughts as I heard the front door open and bang. I struggled off the narrow bed, limping painfully down the steep cottage staircase.
‘Ah, you got my text, then?’
‘What are you doing here?’ Sorrel looked me up and down as only a disgruntled fifteen-year-old can. ‘I was looking forward to having the place to myself.’
‘There’s no way you can stay here by yourself,’ I snapped. ‘You’re fifteen, for God’s sake.’ I relented slightly. ‘Now Jayden and I are here, you obviously don’t need to go round to stay with Jess.’
‘Don’t tell me Jayden’s staying for more than one night. He never has before.’
‘I know, I know, he’s always been the same, Sorrel. But he does care. I care.’
She snorted derisively, making her way to the fridge, leaving the scent of cheap hair product, fags and booze in her wake. Or was it dope?
‘I’m starving.’ She hacked at the loaf I’d just put back in the breadbin, cutting a huge doorstep, which she slathered generously with Philadelphia before shoving it unceremoniously into her mouth.
What would Gillian Carrington think of that?
Sorrel stopped chewing for a second as she noticed the brace on my knee. ‘What’ve you done?’ Not overly interested in my response, she continued to make her way through the huge slice of bread and cream cheese.
‘Well, I won’t be doing any dancing for twelve months.’ I tried to smile, realising I was playing the sympathy card. I didn’t know much about fifteen-year-olds apart from obviously having been one myself once. And, latterly, having taught – without a great deal of success – whole bunches of the species. I shuddered, remembering.
‘Oh, dearie me.’ Sorrel almost sneered. ‘And you were going to be such a big West End star as well. Mum and Jess said you were, anyhow. Oh, God. You’re not back for good, are you? Thought you were just here to see Mum.’ She tutted, though the realisation obviously wasn’t putting her off her food.
‘So, we’ll get Mum sorted, get her back home as soon as we can. But, more importantly, get you back on track. School, for instance.’
‘What about it?’ Sorrel chewed up to the crusts, leaving them on the kitchen worktop before wiping her T-shirt sleeve across her mouth.
‘You have to go, Sorrel.’
‘I don’t think so . I can leave when I’m sixteen.’
‘No, you can’t. And anyway, you’re fifteen. You have to be in some sort of work or education until you’re eighteen.’ I’d learnt that , if nothing else, from my PGCE course. ‘Jayden and I are going to come with you in the morning; speak to your…? Head? Head of year?’
‘They’re all tossers,’ she said calmly. ‘And there’s no way you’re taking me into school like a five-year-old.’
‘Absolutely we are. So, get that into your head right now. And—’ I looked at my phone ‘—it’s well after ten. Go up and get a shower, get that make-up off and sort your school uniform for tomorrow. Have you got clean stuff?’
‘I doubt it. Mum wasn’t overly interested in making sure my shoes were polished and my shirt ironed.’
‘Don’t blame Mum,’ I snapped. ‘Mum’s not well, you know that. You’re big enough to sort yourself.’ I relented. ‘Right, I’ll come up with you. Put a wash on, if necessary. Jess tells me you’ve a new head who’s a bit of a stickler.’
‘A stickler?’ Sorrel laughed shortly. ‘You might have sticklers down in London schools; up here they’re pillocks and tossers, not interested in anything but league tables and the correct footwear.’
She set off up the stairs and I limped up after her. ‘Jesus, Sorrel, you have to be joking?’ I stood in the door of her bedroom, my eyes acclimatising to the gloom of the room, which, lit only from the one red bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, not only gave the impression of entering a Soho brothel, but emphasised the utter chaos in there. How on earth could one girl create such a mess? Mugs, some half full, some sporting the beginnings of a green mould, littered any surfaces not bearing the weight of crumb-filled plates, hardened-cereal-coated bowls and discarded takeaway containers. Dirty thongs, cheap plunging and padded bras, scarves and school uniform came together in a kaleidoscopic nightmare of colour and texture.
I took several deep breaths. ‘OK, first job, get every bit of uniform you’re going to need in the morning. Every bit, Sorrel, including clean knickers and tights. I’ll wash and iron them. Then, you get your school bag ready.’
‘School bag?’ She gazed around the room as if I’d asked her to find her last will and testament. Which, if she was intent on carrying on in this manner, she might need sooner than later.
‘Mould is lethal,’ I snapped, picking up the worst of the dirty dishes and mugs and uneaten food. ‘School bag?’ I repeated. ‘Any homework done.’
‘What world do you live in?’ she asked tartly.
‘One a lot different from yours, obviously. Sorrel, you’ve got GCSEs at the end of this year.’
‘Oh, I don’t need those,’ she said airily before yawning widely and loudly. ‘I’m going to be a dancer like you.’
‘You don’t think I did all my exams first? Did years at uni?’
‘You did it the hard way,’ she scoffed. ‘I’ll just turn up at auditions and show them how good I am?—’
She broke off as Jayden stuck his head round the door.
‘Jesus.’ He whistled.
‘My sentiment exactly,’ I said, shaking my head.
‘Hello… Dad .’ Sorrel threw him a look of disdain. ‘Seems Mum has to be ill for you to get in touch with me. See that I’m OK. It was my birthday last week, you know.’
‘Was it?’ Panic appeared on Jayden’s face and he automatically reached for his wallet.
‘Your birthday is in February, Sorrel.’ I tutted.
‘Yes, well, he obviously has no idea.’ She tutted in return. I wanted to move across the room and take her in my arms, gain some comfort for myself as well as for my little sister, but knew her response from old. What an utter waste of space Jayden had turned out to be, particularly over the past few years and particularly as Mum’s health had deteriorated. Mum herself had always tried her very best, bringing us up as a single parent most of the time.
‘Uniform?’ I said again. ‘Come on, Sorrel, Jayden and I are here for you now. School tomorrow.’
It was nearly one in the morning before I was able to go to bed myself. Sorrel’s full uniform was washed, ironed and neatly folded on a chair outside her bedroom door, the polished black brogues the school insisted on underneath. The uniform for Beddingfield High – Beddingfield Comprehensive when Jess and I had been pupils there – had changed dramatically since the two of us were kids. Then it had been a disgusting light green polo shirt, darker green sweatshirt and the ubiquitous black polyester trousers or skirt. Trainers on our feet – the laces threaded rather than tied – were de rigueur, and those not conforming to the required fashion of the month were laughed off the school bus. Jayden, having fought his own demons the only way he knew how, with his fists, had always insisted Jess and I have the best possible trainers and, looking now at Sorrel’s footwear, idly tossed into one corner of her room, I assumed he’d continued in the same vein with her.
Sorting, at least for the moment, this one tiny aspect of Sorrel’s dysfunctional life, as well as giving the kitchen a jolly good clean before I went back upstairs for the final time that evening, went some way to shelving my own bomb-shelled previous two days. But once under the thin polyester duvet and accompanying floral cover, I lay, eyes wide open in the dark, and knew my life was over.