Chapter 28
28
It had been one hell of an interesting week’s break from school.
‘You know, Jess,’ I said on the Sunday morning before the start of the new half-term, ‘I’ve been googling, and I don’t see why Sorrel can’t apply to the Susan Yates Theatre School herself.’
‘Are you sure?’ Jess, buttering toast, looked up. ‘Don’t you have to go through a dance school? And is she any good? She’s not had an actual lesson for the last year or so.’
‘Apart from with Peter Collinson… Look, I’ve no idea if she’s any good or not. I feel a bit guilty that I’ve never been to watch her in any of the concerts she used to be in. She’s been classically trained like I was, but, like me, much prefers the contemporary stuff: musical theatre and the like.’
‘But the cost, Robyn? Don’t go getting her hopes up, will you? We just can’t afford it.’
‘There’s bursaries available apparently, and she wouldn’t have to wait until next September – they take new kids on at Christmas and Easter. The big problem, as far as I can see, is that they only take academically sound kids: you have to be up to scratch with schoolwork as well as absolutely brilliant at dancing, singing and acting.’
‘Well, forget that, then, Robyn. Sorrel’s been bunking off school for the last six months. She must be way behind with her GCSE work.’ Jess drained her coffee cup. ‘And do they take these older kids, who’re already in Year11? I thought they’d only be interested in much younger ones they can train up. Right, are you off to fetch Mum while I make us a lovely roast as a welcome-home dinner? We’re going to eat about fiveish if that’s OK?’
‘I thought you might want to go?’ I said, straight-faced.
‘Me? Why? I’m the cook round here. Your job is to chauffeur.’
‘One last look at a certain consultant?’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Jess turned away, slightly flushed.
‘I knew it.’ I smiled in delight. ‘You’ve not stopped talking about Dr Spencer ever since I got home from London.’
‘He’s Mr Spencer. Give him his correct title, Robyn. He’s lovely though, isn’t he?’ Jess grinned, reaching for a pack of butter. ‘I have real fantasies about him, you know.’
‘Involving his stethoscope on your chest?’
‘’Fraid so.’
We both chortled conspiratorially.
‘Shall I invite him back to eat with us?’ I asked, determined to do just that.
‘Don’t you dare,’ she warned. ‘No.’
‘Are you daring me?’
‘No, just don’t.’
‘I’m going to.’
‘You do that and I’ll ring Mason and ask him as well.’
‘You don’t have his number.’
‘’Course I do. For if I need to get in touch with him about his granny.’ Jess indicated her phone with a floury hand, pushed her tongue out at me and began to chop the butter before thrusting her hands into the bowl once more.
‘Lovely. Do it.’
‘What?’
‘Invite Mason. And I’ll invite Matt Spencer.’
‘Oh, God, really?’ Sorrel, on the scrounge for peanut butter, had come round from Mum’s cottage. ‘Please, not the head teacher.’
‘Robyn fancies him,’ Jess whooped.
‘I do not.’ I found myself flushing.
‘Just listen to the pair of you,’ Sorrel said, shaking her head. ‘You’re like a couple of adolescents. Grow up, would you, and act your age?’
That really set Jess and me laughing, relief that Sorrel appeared, almost overnight, to have had a bit of a reality check. I think she knew the situation she’d got herself into and, seeing this, Jess suddenly turned from her mixing bowl and demanded, ‘Sorrel, why in God’s name did you keep on going to his apartment? You’re not daft, you must have known he had ulterior motives – apart from to make you “a star”?’ She air-quoted the words irritably.
‘He said if I didn’t keep on coming, I’d never be any good,’ Sorrel replied. She hesitated and then went on, ‘But I was worried about Joel too.’
‘Joel?’ I asked, frowning. ‘Joel Sinclair’s big enough and daft enough to take care of himself.’
‘He’s not actually. He’s a very sensitive person under all that Mr Big bravado.’
I wanted to smile at that: Sorrel being aware of how another kid was actually feeling under all the hard exterior he had to portray to keep at the top of his game was heart-warming. ‘And?’ I now asked gently.
‘And what?’
‘Why were you worried?’
‘Peter said I had to do as he instructed or he’d tell school and the police about Joel being a drug dealer and a gang member. He’s already on a referral order from court.’
‘Well, that’s utter rubbish for a start.’ Jess tutted. ‘Peter Collinson would be in just the same shit as Joel. More so actually. Joel’s selling, probably been groomed and at the hands of whoever’s gang he’s got himself involved in. He’s a minor, he’s vulnerable, the courts would take a view?—’
‘Yes, and the gang would take another view ,’ Sorrel snapped. ‘You live in a cosy world, Jess, where the police and authorities will protect you from your dad’s druggy mates…’
‘OK, OK!’ Jess put up her hands. ‘You obviously know more about it all than Robyn and me. But, as far as I can see, that slimy Peter Pervert was buying drugs, using drugs and having kids in his apartment for ulterior motives. When are you going to the police about him, Robyn?’
I glanced across at Sorrel. We’d already discussed this, and she’d been quite adamant she didn’t want me to even though earlier she’d agreed we should. I’d argued that he needed stopping, he’d just move on to groom and hurt other children, some, as I’d been, too young, scared and without the understanding of what was really happening to do anything about it. I determined I was going to discuss what to do with Mason. ‘It’s in hand,’ I said and then, changing the subject, asked, ‘And do you like Joel, Sorrel?’
‘He’s my mate,’ she replied.
‘Mr Donoghue will be able to help him…’ I started.
Sorrel pulled a face as she spooned peanut butter straight from the jar into her mouth. ‘Really?’ Her voice and face held nothing but cynicism. ‘He’s a head teacher! Ms Liversedge at Beddingfield High did nothing to help me when I was being bullied. Anyway, he’s old.’
‘Oy, use a knife and spread it on some bread.’ I passed a loaf of Jess’s home-made sourdough in her direction. ‘Old? What’s that got to do with it? Anyway, he’s only mid-thirties,’ I protested. ‘I asked him – wanted to know how he’d made head teacher at his age. And he told me how old he was then.’
‘Put the head teacher down, Robyn.’ Sorrel grinned through a mouthful of bread. ‘Stand away from the head teacher.’
That made me laugh.
‘D’you really fancy him?’ Sorrel went on. ‘Half the teachers at St Mede’s do. Even the men: I see how they look at him in assembly. Like he’s a god or something.’
‘Since when have you ever made it to assembly?’ Jess asked.
‘I have, haven’t I, Robyn?’ Sorrel was indignant. ‘I’ve only bunked off a couple. I like his assemblies.’ She swallowed and made to cut another slice of bread and then stopped. ‘D’you think Mum’ll be OK?’ she suddenly blurted out. ‘It makes me really nervous, watching her, just waiting to see if she’s about to have another attack. I feel panicky. I don’t know what to do if she has one and has a fit or passes out.’
‘Have a chat with Mr Spencer about it, Sorrel. Come with me now to pick her up.’
‘OK.’
‘Really?’ Jess and I both turned in her direction.
‘Stop looking at me,’ she ordered, ‘like I’m some strange specimen.’
‘There’s no way Matt Spencer will come to eat with us,’ Jess said, almost sadly. ‘He’s probably got a wife and four kids at home.’
‘All the more reason to come here then.’ Sorrel smiled. ‘Get away from the kids.’ Goodness, I’d forgotten what an utterly bonny girl she was when she smiled. Of the three of us, Sorrel was the most like Mum to look at: slim, petite and very, very pretty.
‘He’s single,’ I said. ‘I asked him.’
‘You didn’t!’ Both Jess and Sorrel looked aghast.
‘Well, not in so many words,’ I said seriously. ‘I didn’t say: “Are you single? Are you up for a bit with my sister?”’
‘Up for a bit? God, Robyn.’ Jess closed her eyes.
‘I didn’t say that.’ I grinned. ‘It just came up in conversation that he moved up to Yorkshire from Nottingham three months ago and he doesn’t really know anyone here. OK, I’m going to ask both Mason and Matt Spencer. If they come, great, if not it’ll just be the four of us Allen girls – five now with Lola. As it’s always been.’
‘Wow,’ Matt Spencer said as he wiped his mouth on his napkin – an origami swan attempted by Lola with much muttering and concentrated hanging-out of tongue – smiling across at Jess, who went visibly pink. ‘I’ve had months of hospital canteen food since moving up to Yorkshire from Nottingham. I can’t tell you how wonderful this is, in comparison.’
‘Mum’s going to be on MasterChef ,’ Lola boasted.
‘Really?’ We all turned in Jess’s direction.
‘Oh, Jess, you didn’t say!’ Mum’s eyes were wide with delight. ‘At last. I’ve been telling you for years you should be up there with them on TV. You’re just as good. And you’ve always yelled at the screen telling them not to cook mussels like that… or, or… not to handle filo pastry like that bloke from – where was he from, Jess? Dewsbury? And when there was that skills task and none of them knew how to prepare and cook sea urchins… do you remember? You knew…’
‘I’m not going on MasterChef ,’ Jess said firmly, utterly embarrassed as four pairs of eyes turned once more from Mum back to her.
‘Aw, Jess.’
‘I am not going on MasterChef ,’ Jess repeated, glaring at Lola, who just laughed. She sighed. ‘But I do have an interview and audition for the Yorkshire Christmas TopChef.’
We all cheered and Mum leaned over to take hold of Jess’s hand.
‘Which is just a little, local competition for those living in Yorkshire,’ Jess went on. ‘It’s nothing .’
‘It certainly isn’t nothing,’ I argued, remembering the big banners across the street in Ilkley, while reaching for my iPad and googling. ‘Look, hundreds of people go in for it and don’t get past the application-form stage.’
‘They just wanted to fill their diversity requirements,’ Jess snapped. ‘Mixed-race, female, single mother, care worker.’
‘Oh, you cynic, Jess.’ Matt laughed. ‘Believe in yourself.’ From the way this lovely, shy consultant was looking across at Jess, not taking his eyes off her, I could see he’d been believing in Jess for a long time. ‘You are an absolutely superb cook. What can we do to help you get there? To win?’
While Jess, Mum, Lola and Matt cleared the dishes and spread the TopChef information on the table to go through all the steps and instructions for Jess’s first audition, Mason and I moved to the kitchen, stacking plates and cutlery in the dishwasher, scrubbing the plethora of pans Jess had used to create the amazing meal we’d just eaten.
‘She really is good, you know,’ Mason said. ‘She’ll do OK.’
‘Depends on the competition.’
‘Only regional.’ He smiled. ‘Only from Yorkshire.’
‘Big county, Yorkshire.’ I laughed. ‘Hang on, where’s Sorrel sloping off to…?’ I made my way to the front door. ‘Where’re you going, Sorrel?’
‘Stop panicking,’ she said, looking slightly flustered. ‘I’m just going to make sure Mum’s bed is all ready for her; she’s already gone back next door with Lola to help her.’
‘Oh?’ I looked at her suspiciously. ‘It is ready. Jess and I made sure of that a couple of days ago. What have you got behind your back? What are you up to? You’re not going out, are you? It’s school tomorrow.’ I realised, with sudden insight, my heart hadn’t plummeted at the horror of going back to school after the week’s break. My lessons were all planned and there were some new dance classes I was going to be taking. My knee, I also realised, wasn’t hurting as much, didn’t need half the painkillers I’d been on seven weeks or so earlier.
‘What are you hiding? What have you got there?’
‘Nothing!’ She tutted crossly.
I turned her around. ‘GCSE Maths?’
‘It was Jess’s, so probably out of date now.’ She was embarrassed. ‘I heard you and Jess talking. I might be able to apply for Susan Yates’ myself. Without Peter Collinson’s recommendation. I need to look at this maths.’
‘Jess will help you. I’m hopeless at maths.’
‘I know,’ she said, heading for the door. ‘That’s why I never asked you.’
‘So, what do you think?’ Mason asked as he folded tea towels and hung the dishcloth over the taps. Obviously house-trained.
‘About Jess? And her cooking?’
‘No, I meant about Sorrel.’ Mason raised an eyebrow.
‘I don’t know. It would be far too simplistic to think we’d rescued her from what was making her unhappy, and that everything is going to be wonderful from now on. She may have appeared fairly pliable today, but she’s no angel.’
‘She’s fifteen, Robyn. I’ve never yet come across an angelic fifteen-year-old.’ Mason laughed, holding up the kettle. ‘Can I make coffee?’
‘Sorry, of course, yes.’ I found mugs and the cafetière while Mason moved to the sink.
‘What I was also asking was what you thought about putting on a performance of Grease .’
‘I think you’re absolutely mad.’ Any enthusiasm I might have garnered after the theatre visit last week was now beginning to wane when I thought of the hard work involved.
‘Very probably, but: “there is a pleasure sure, in being mad, which none but madmen know…”’
‘Samuel Johnson?’
‘John Dryden.’
‘Right.’
‘So?’
‘You’d never pull it off, Mason, not with the kids we have to work with at St Mede’s.’
‘You can’t see Sorrel as Sandy?’
‘Sorrel?’ I stared.
‘And you tell me Joel Sinclair can dance. Would he be up for Danny?’
‘Mason, I’ve no idea if Joel can dance. Or sing? Or act? Don’t forget, this isn’t just about dancing; you have to be able to stand up there and speak, remember lines, hold a tune. Yes, sure he can do fabulous jetés out of a room to impress Year 9, but that could be mere gymnastics. Mind you, if Peter Collinson was taking him in hand…’ I trailed off.
‘Not just for the cocaine the bastard’s addicted to, then?’
‘From what I remember of Peter Collinson, he was so arrogant he wouldn’t lower himself to teach anyone who didn’t have a great deal of talent…’ I trailed off once more, flushing slightly. ‘Sorry, that makes me sound like a total bighead, doesn’t it?’
‘You’ve answered your own question, Robyn.’ Mason grinned. ‘I reckon we’ve got our Sandy and Danny.’
‘Actually, I can just see Chardonnay Booth’s Year 9 gang as the Pink Ladies. They’re already halfway there.’ I laughed at the very thought. ‘And the T-Birds? And all the students at Rydell High…’ My eyes widened with excitement at the thought of how I’d somehow get these kids to take part.
‘There you go, then. Is that a modicum of enthusiasm?’ Mason came to join me at the ancient battered Aga where I was standing for warmth and, as he passed me a mug of coffee, I saw him hesitate. I looked across at him, taking in his height and incredibly toned arms underneath the cream cashmere sweater, before moving my eyes up to his face. Yep, this was one very handsome man, and I knew there was some connection between us other than the bloody Year 9s and this mad idea to put on a full-scale production of Grease by Easter.
‘Robyn?’ He put out a hand to my arm, and I felt a traitorous stirring of lust. OK, OK, I might be utterly heartbroken over Fabian, but, at the end of the day, I was a woman and here was this man – my boss – an exceptionally bloody gorgeous man about to make a pass… A pass? Oh, for heaven’s sake, Robyn…
‘Could we…? D’you think…?’
This was the first time I’d seen Mason anything but totally sure of himself. In front of his staff, his kids in assembly, he was supremely confident. And yet, here, in Jess’s kitchen, I was seeing another side to him.
‘Could we…?’ Mason moved closer, but not in a creepy way. In a warm, friendly, loving way and I realised just how much I’d missed having a pair of strong male arms around me.
‘The thing is, Mason?—’
‘I know, I know.’
‘You know?’
‘Jess gave me the low-down on why you’re back. I know it wasn’t just your knee…’
‘No.’
‘And, as your boss, your superior …’
‘My superior ?’
‘Superior in a professional capacity.’ Mason started to laugh and that was enough to counter any hesitation and embarrassment we were both obviously feeling.
‘And as I’m your boss, anything other than a professional relationship between the two of us really shouldn’t be happening.’
‘Is something happening?’ I continued to hold his eye.
‘I don’t know what’s happening, Robyn.’ Mason rubbed a hand across his forehead. ‘But from the minute you walked into the school with Sorrel and your dad?—’
‘I thought it was Jayden you were after.’ I grinned, relaxing and finding myself moving tantalisingly closer to the enticing warmth of his sweater, but not yet touching.
‘Him as well, of course.’ Mason laughed. ‘So… Robyn…’ Mason moved a hand to my arm.
‘I’m not, you know…?’
‘Me neither…’
‘Your wife?’ I asked. ‘Does it still… you know…?’
‘A little less every day.’ Mason smiled.
‘What happened?’
‘We’re very, very different people: different politics, different backgrounds, different ideas on just about everything.’
‘Sounds like me and Fabian.’
‘The guy who’s defending the serial killer?’
‘Jess told you?’
‘Yep.’
‘She’d no right.’
‘I asked, Robyn. I wanted to know. Goodness, that must have been so hard for you, being with someone prepared to be on the side of that bastard Henderson-Smith.’
‘Different politics, different backgrounds, different ideas, different tribe ,’ I said sadly. ‘We learn and we move on.’
‘We have to.’ Mason put out a warm hand and stroked my face.
Could I do this? Was I ready to kiss another man?
I obviously was. I leaned into Mason and he bent his head, kissing me hesitantly at first and then, as I reacted, pressing me gently back against the warm stove so that all my senses were warm and on fire… and this was fine… more than fine… and although it wasn’t Fabian, this was a man who was exceptionally hot, exceptionally kind and of my tribe . I found myself kissing him back.
‘Bloody quadratic equations,’ Sorrel muttered as she returned from Mum’s, coming back through the kitchen door. ‘Jess…? Oh, gross,’ she added, hiding her face from where we stood before hurrying into the sitting room. ‘Oh, not you as well, Jess? What the hell’s the matter with the pair of you?’ Sorrel backed out of the sitting room, laughter following in her wake, Mason and I joining in as she turned to us in the kitchen. ‘I’m off back to Mum and Lola where it’s safe. And, it’s school, you do realise, tomorrow?’ She sniffed. ‘Time you were all in bed… Oh, no, I didn’t mean that.’ She started laughing and, once she’d started, couldn’t stop.