Chapter 6
6
By the time the final bell to end the school day sounded, I realised I’d spent the whole time on a roller coaster of highs and lows. Despite the unwanted promotion to 9CL’s form teacher and the Grease rehearsal that had come to nothing, I’d had a lovely session with the Year 7s introducing them to Michael Morpurgo’s War Horse , which they’d lapped up and which had led to much debate, particularly from Lena Boyd who’d said she’d shoot anyone who tried to take away her horse to make it fight.
‘You’ve a horse?’ I’d asked.
‘Well, he’s a pony. I show him.’
‘Show him what?’ Billy Caldwell had asked, which had made me laugh and kept me going through the rest of the day.
‘Where are you? What are you up to?’ I fished my phone from my bag and was straight onto Fabian before the last of my Year 11 GCSE English group had even left the classroom. ‘I’ve had enough already! I’m bloody freezing, I’m a lousy teacher and the Grease production seems to be falling apart around my ears. After just one day back with these kids, at this school, I need you. Right now!’
‘Come over, then.’ Fabian finally managed to get a word in. ‘Come on! This minute! Shake the chalk dust from your hair and get in your car. If you leave now, you might just miss the rush hour on the M62.’
I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more than spending the evening – the whole night – the rest of my life – with this heavenly man who was, unfortunately, up in Harrogate, a good thirty miles away.
‘It’s snowing here and I’ve no idea what the Honda’s like in snow. If it’s anything like me, it’ll be rubbish.’ I’d kept one wary eye on the weather all afternoon, while the kids – particularly the younger ones – in all my classes had kept both of theirs constantly towards the huge paned windows, instead of on me, itching to get out onto what remained of St Mede’s playing fields. ‘Oh, I can’t , Fabian.’ I closed my eyes, remembering I had a meeting and knowing the impracticality of leaving everything up in the air and driving – skidding – up to North Yorkshire just for the night. ‘I’ve a planning meeting with the English department…’ I looked at my watch ‘…which started five minutes ago. And, I need to sort out what Sorrel’s up to. She’s got this audition in London and I said I’d go through routines with her, but she suddenly doesn’t seem as enthusiastic as she was and, to be honest, I don’t know where she is and?—’
‘Robyn, Robyn, can you just stop talking for two minutes? Can you hear this?’
‘What?’ I stopped gabbling, straining to hear.
‘My car keys jingling. I’m on my way.’
‘Oh, really ? Oh, Fabian .’
‘Yep, there’s no snow here. Do what you have to do there and I’ll be at your mum’s by six thirty.’
‘And stay the night? Stay with me , ’ I sang, belting out the words of Shakespears Sister, almost light-headed with joy that Fabian was on his way to be with me. I closed my eyes, altering the lyrics to fit the moment, while using the whiteboard rubber as microphone, letting the tension of the day out in glorious song.
‘You all right, miss?’ Whippety Snicket, aka Blane Higson, the fourteen-year-old with whom I’d had various run-ins the previous term, had come to find me, as he often did now that we were mates. Of sorts.
‘Never better, Blane. You? You weren’t in registration this morning. You know I’m taking over from Ms Logan as your form tutor for a while?’ I smiled then started laughing at being caught mid-song. I realised I could cope with anything now that Fabian was coming over. ‘Hang on.’ I replaced the board rubber and spoke once more into my phone. ‘Right, see you when you get here.’ I ended the call, giving all my attention to the scrawny kid now slumped onto one of the hard wooden, graffitied chairs. He needed a haircut and, despite it being only the first day back, the collar of his white school shirt was grubby.
‘Did you have a good Christmas?’
Blane shrugged his shoulders.
‘What does that mean?’ I asked gently, moving nearer to him. ‘Did your brothers come home?’
‘I told you, miss, they’ve gone. Can’t cope with me mum and what she gets up to.’
‘So, was it just you and your mum for Christmas Day?’ My heart went out to him, and I instinctively put out a hand to his bent head, withdrawing it before making contact. You couldn’t touch a kid these days without it being misconstrued.
‘Yeah, summat like that.’
‘So, who did the cooking, then?’ Bloody stupid question, that, Robyn, I chastised myself. He’d probably had beans on toast on Christmas Day while his mum saw to her heroin addiction by working the streets down in Midhope town centre.
‘The meeting, Ms Allen?’ Dave Mallinson, Head of English, popped his head round the door. ‘We’re all waiting for you. You should be off home now, Blane.’
‘Coming.’ I hesitated, unwilling to leave Blane when he so obviously needed someone to talk to. Once Dave had set off back down the corridor to the staffroom, I turned back to the kid who was now yawning but making little attempt to move. ‘What’s up, Blane? Tell me.’
‘They’re after me.’ Blane’s head was bent into his frayed shirt collar, his words muffled.
‘Who’s after you?’ Disregarding protocol re no physical contact (unless it was in order to restrain a pupil) I put out a hand to Blane’s arm.
‘It’s nowt, miss.’
‘Blane, it’s obviously something .’
‘Nah, it’s fine. I’m getting off home.’ And with that, he stood, kept his head down and left the classroom.
Hell, something else to worry about. I gathered my bags and laptop and headed for the staffroom.
* * *
‘I’ll cook,’ Jess said. ‘If Fabian’s coming over.’
‘Don’t be silly, you’ve been working all day up at Hudson House.’ I frowned.
‘You don’t get it, do you?’ Jess shook her head in my direction. ‘Cooking, for me, is relaxation. Bring Fabian round about seven.’
I laughed at that. ‘You just want to show off how much better a cook you are than he is.’
‘She does , Aunty Robyn.’ Ten-year-old Lola grinned. ‘She pretends she doesn’t show off about her cooking, but she does, you know. And ever since she beat Fabian in that Christmas cooking competition, she’s been wanting to show off again. You know, show him it wasn’t just a… what’s the word?’ Lola pulled a face. ‘Fluke, that’s it. Wants to show him how good she really is.’
Jess went pink and was about to defend herself when, instead, she tutted as the kitchen door opened. ‘Well, just look what the wind’s blown in.’
‘Grandpa!’ Lola threw herself into Jayden’s arms and he put down his bag, swinging her round.
‘You obviously think you’re staying.’ Jess nodded towards his overnight case.
‘I’ve come to see you all.’ Jayden grinned his usual infectious gap-toothed smile that had beguiled women and broken hearts throughout his life. ‘Should have been flying into Newcastle this afternoon – got a gig up there tomorrow evening – but the plane was diverted – bad weather apparently – so we flew into Manchester. Bit worried about the snow, to be honest, although the rest of the band have carried on straight up to the North East. So, great opportunity to pop in and see my family.’
Jess snorted slightly but turned it into a cough as Lola continued to hug Jayden.
‘And, bonus,’ Jayden continued, ‘I finally get to meet this man of yours, Robyn. I hear he’s coming over. You’ve kept him under wraps long enough.’
‘Mum knows you’re here, does she?’ I asked.
‘Yes, I’ve been round there for the last hour. Had a cup of tea with her. She says I can’t stay there.’ Jayden’s words held an air of surprise. ‘ No room at the inn , she says. Have to say, girls, your mum’s looking fantastic. She looks so much better than when I saw her last month. This consultant of yours, Matt, is it, Jess? Obviously knows what he’s doing.’
‘He does,’ Jess said pointedly.
‘She’s a fine-looking woman is your mum,’ Jayden said, sitting down and making himself comfortable. ‘You know, she could be your big sister rather than your mum. Hmm, a bit strange, that,’ he went on, almost to himself, ‘her saying I can’t stay round there.’
I glanced across at Jess, exchanging looks: this must be the first time ever Mum had turned Jayden away.
‘She’s finally, after all these years, seeing some sense, Jayden,’ Jess said curtly. ‘So, I suppose you’re wanting my box room here, then, for the night?’
‘Well, I can always book into the Premier Inn down in town or The Green Dragon in the village.’
‘Good, do that, then,’ Jess suggested. ‘Means I don’t have to change the sheets in the morning.’
‘No,’ Lola pleaded. ‘Let Grandpa stay. I’ll change the sheets if you’re too busy. So, how many’s that for tea? I’ll go and lay the table and have a go at the poinsettia napkin folding I’ve been practising.’ Lola counted on her fingers: ‘Grandpa and Granny; Aunty Robyn and Fabian; Mum, me, Matt and Sorrel. Shall I get out the best cutlery, Mum?’
‘Matt’s on duty at the hospital, Lola,’ Jess said, ‘so just lay for seven. And, seeing there’s so many of us…’
‘Look, Jess, forget me and Fabian coming round,’ I protested, feeling guilty at putting her to all this work.
‘…I’m giving Jayden a shopping list.’ Jess scribbled a few things on a pad of paper, tearing it off with a flourish. ‘Here you go, Jayden, earn your keep. You know where the Co-op is. And, I hear your latest tour is a sell-out. So, a couple of really good bottles of wine, please?’
* * *
‘I really didn’t want to turf your mum out of her bed.’ Fabian turned with a frown once Mum had put on her coat and gone next door to Jess. ‘Particularly as you said she was so ill with one of her attacks when you had to return from London back in September. Mind you, she’s looking great at the moment. What’s she on?’
‘Well, for the first time since she met him, Mum appears to not want Jayden around. Or at least not in her bed. So, giving up her bed for us means she’s not tempted to fall into it with him again. I know, I know, it’s a very weird relationship they have. Nothing, of course, like your family, all doing things the correct and traditional way. Anyway, Matt Spencer has prescribed her a monthly shot of something called hemin, which limits her body’s production of porphyrins. So, thank goodness for Matt and his team. The medication is really stabilising her condition and letting her get on with life. Even starting again with her life?’ I gave a little laugh. ‘With what she thinks she’s missed. I sat with Mum for a good couple of hours last night and we talked like we’ve never done before. I’ve always been afraid to face up to what Mum’s had to put up with since being diagnosed when she was in her thirties. Been a bit cowardly, I suppose – frightened that it’s an inherited condition and that she could pass it on to Jess, Sorrel and me.’
‘That why you never mentioned it in London?’
I nodded, slightly ashamed. ‘I didn’t want you running for the hills. You know, being landed with someone who might eventually find themselves showing signs of it.’
‘And you think I’d have left you for that reason? You can’t have a very high opinion of me, Robyn.’
‘Fabian, I had a friend at university whose fiancé gave up on her when she went down with long-term ME. And another girl at uni who was in a relationship with someone who was a haemophiliac. She really loved him but, with his having an inherited genetic disorder, her parents went on at her non-stop about the possibility that any children they might have could either be haemophiliacs or carriers of the condition. Until they broke up.’
‘I’d never heard of acute porphyria before,’ Fabian said.
‘No, it’s very, very rare. Apparently, a cousin of Queen Elizabeth had it and, because he was descended from King George III – you know, the mad king? – they’re now hypothesising that his madness may have been due to an undiagnosed family history of porphyria.’
‘Right?’
‘Oh, hell, Fabian, I can see in your eyes you’re suddenly frightened you might end up with someone talking incessantly and foaming at the mouth…’
‘Well, you do talk a lot, Robyn.’ Fabian bent to kiss my mouth. ‘Sometimes, the only way to shut you up is by kissing you.’ He moved his mouth to my neck, licking my collarbone.
‘I can still talk when you’re doing that, you know,’ I muttered, closing my eyes as the wonderful warmth of his soft mouth descended further and a warm hand reached inside my shirt.
‘Jesus.’ Fabian shot back in alarm. ‘Something’s watching us.’
‘Something? Or someone? Is Sorrel back?’ I turned my head. ‘Oh, it’s only Roger.’
‘Forgot about the bloody rabbit.’ Fabian continued to look wary when all I wanted was for him to carry on with those magical hands and mouth of his. ‘You must be the only family with a rabbit instead of a dog or cat. He’s actually glaring at me,’ Fabian went on.
‘He’s very possessive. Probably thinks you shouldn’t have your hands on me.’ I reached for him once more. ‘But I don’t think that at all…’
With Roger, now in obvious protective mode, moving in on Fabian, I went to fetch wine and glasses from the kitchen. ‘The problem is,’ I called from the fridge, ‘with my mum being adopted at birth, there’s no way of knowing if her condition is inherited. It’s a bit weird – Mum’s never really been able to venture far or over-extend herself. But now, with her refusal to let Jayden just swan back in as he always expects to do, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s finally ready to move on. Come on, a glass of wine here for Dutch courage and then I’ll take you round to meet the famous reggae singer himself.’