Chapter 20
20
ROBYN
What should have been a lovely Saturday was marred by Sorrel’s predicament. Was being pregnant a predicament? Hell, yes, if you were fifteen and about to be auditioned for a place at the most prestigious theatre school in the country. An opportunity given to so few, and one that would change a life for ever.
As would being pregnant.
‘Oh, you silly girl, you silly, ridiculous girl.’ I spoke the words out loud as I filled kitchen cupboards and the fridge with my haul from Sainsbury’s, unaware that Fabian had returned from the car with yet another load of stuff both from Jemima’s place in Harrogate and more of my clothes from Mum’s cottage.
‘These things happen, Robyn,’ Fabian said. ‘You, above all others, should know that, dealing with teens as you do.’
‘But the audition, Fabian? All she’s worked for. All she’s ever wanted.’
‘Can she not still go? She’s only a few weeks pregnant, isn’t she?’
‘Probably more, the way she was throwing up.’
‘Not necessarily. I remember one of the young barristers in the London chambers throwing up from day one.’ Fabian placed a paper bag on the kitchen counter. He patted my bum affectionately. ‘Crumpet?’
‘Again?’ I looked up. ‘D’you not think we christened that new bed enough last night? And again, this morning…?’ I trailed off as I saw Fabian reaching for the toaster and butter. ‘Oh? Yum! Actual crumpet. Ooh and coffee? Please.’ I stood from where I was crouching down to fill a low cupboard, rubbing at my knee where the ACL injury still gave me pain. ‘I suppose she can still go to London. Our trains are booked. But I can’t imagine she’ll be on top form. She’s already sleeping for England and says she feels heavy and clumsy. Not the best way to be feeling when you’ve to give the performance of your life.’
‘And she doesn’t want to… you know… not have it?’
‘Oh Fabian, when I left her after school yesterday, she looked absolutely drained. She just doesn’t know what to do.’
‘Well, she had done her maths mock exam in the morning. And history in the afternoon. A couple of two-hour exams are enough to finish anyone off. Never mind doing them in the early weeks of pregnancy.’
‘You seem to know a lot about it?’ I pulled the two plates and mugs I’d filched from Mum’s from the cupboard. ‘D’you want to go shopping this afternoon? We could drive over to John Lewis in Leeds for crockery and the like.’
‘Later on, maybe? They’re open until seven tonight. Then we could go and eat at The Ivy Asia? I’d much rather go and explore those moors above Marsden while the sun’s out.’
‘Really?’ I frowned. ‘I find them a bit desolate.’
‘You’re such a towny,’ Fabian scoffed. ‘It’s after living in Soho – you’ve forgotten to appreciate the beauty of your natural surroundings. And remember, I’m now officially in charge of Boris. I need to walk him. I’ve been desperate to get out on those moors since I viewed them from “The Eyrie”.’
‘That poor dog, he’s been passed from pillar to post. First with your parents, then Jemima and now with you and me. Where is he?’
‘He’s out exploring the garden. Right.’ Fabian expertly caught the two crumpets as they popped up from the toaster. ‘Breakfast, a long walk on the moors and then Leeds.’
* * *
‘So, there’s something I need to tell you.’ Fabian took hold of my hand as we crossed the road leading from Holmfirth, which, as I informed him, stretched out in front of us towards the Isle of Skye. He paused, frowning. ‘The Isle of Skye? We’re not walking all the way to Scotland, are we?’
I laughed at that. ‘We’re heading out to Dovestones. Apparently, so the story goes, an Irish navvy, with a very strong accent, was building this road through the moor. He looked up through the grey mist to see a bit of blue sky and said, “Look, there’s an ’ole in the sky.”’
‘That’s a great Irish accent.’ Fabian grinned down at me. ‘Have you ever thought of going on the stage? Isle of Skye,’ he went on, mulling over the words. ‘That’s what we could call the restaurant.’
‘Not sure about that.’ I pulled at the sleeve of his jacket. ‘So, what did you want to tell me?’
‘My parents are here.’
‘Here?’ I stopped short, turning as if the Lord Chief Justice of England and Wales and his wife were following on behind.
‘Well, not here, obviously. They’re in Harrogate. With Jemima.’
‘Where are they staying?’ Anywhere, I thought, through a rictus of a smile, as long as it’s not with us.
‘Mum and Dad with Jemima. And Julius…’
‘Julius is here as well?’ I hadn’t crossed paths – or swords – with Fabian’s brother since he’d gone through my past life like someone at a jumble sale, rummaging through it until, with a cry of triumph, he’d uncovered, amongst all the detritus of my family history, the juicy little titbit he’d been convinced would end my and Fabian’s relationship.
‘And Claudia, his wife. They’re staying at The Old Swan in Harrogate.’
‘Well, that’s lovely for you. Lovely that they’re coming up north and accepting that both you and Jemima have a life here.’
‘Hmm.’ Fabian’s sigh left me in no doubt there wasn’t any actual acceptance of Fabian leaving Carrington’s, the family’s prestigious law firm that was started eons ago. More felons had been saved from the noose and from incarceration by now long-dead Carringtons at the Central Criminal Courts than I’d eaten bowls of porridge.
‘When are you going over to meet them?’
‘I said we’d drive over to Harrogate for lunch tomorrow.’
‘We? Oh, I don’t think so, Fabian. Sorry, no, really. It’s you they want to see, not me.’ I turned from him, setting off down the moorland road, heading for a footpath I knew, which overlooked Wessenden reservoir.
Fabian, dragging Boris from where he was happily sniffing the grass verge, caught up with me, grabbing at my hand. ‘Hang on. Slow down. Don’t go off on one.’
‘Fabian, really. They don’t want to see me.’ I smiled, trying to show I wasn’t sulking, hadn’t, as they said in these parts, got t’monk on .
‘Dad’s booked a table for us all at The Beech Tree.’
‘Upmarket.’
‘Always wanted to go there.’
‘Of course you have. And you must go.’
‘I’m not going without you. Come on, Robyn, I’ve integrated myself into your family…’
‘Integrated?’ I laughed. ‘Sounds like a new fridge fitted into a kitchen unit. Anyway, my family aren’t scary…’
‘What? Jess and Sorrel not scary? Between them they’re enough to scare the pants off any poor soft southerner with a posh accent.’
I laughed again but accepted that, yes, Fabian had done everything to become a part of my family while I, on the other hand, having had my fingers burnt on both occasions I’d met Julius Carrington on his home territory, wasn’t ready for another round with the racist misogynist. I sighed, calling for Boris, who’d wandered off. Maybe on neutral ground I’d fare better? Actually get on with him this time?
‘Fabian, I want your family to accept me.’
‘Jemima already does. You know that. She loved you from the minute she met you. And Dad thought you were pretty amazing too…’
‘Your dad was able to come to that conclusion after just five minutes with me at a charity barbecue?’ I gave Fabian a look before turning back to the path through the peat bog of the Pennine moorland, slipping slightly on the tussocky mounds of winter grassland.
‘It’s not just you that’ll be under scrutiny,’ Fabian argued, taking my gloved hand once more as I stumbled, placing it with his own in the deep pockets of his navy woollen jacket. ‘They’re going to be meeting Jemima’s Bruce for the first time as well, remember. That’ll take the pressure off you and me.’
‘OK, OK, I’ll come with you, and I promise I’ll be on my very best behaviour.’
‘No parroting the West Indian patois like you did last time you met them?’ Fabian laughed at the memory but then stopped suddenly, taking my hand from his pocket before wrapping both arms around me. ‘Robyn, it will be all right, believe me. I’m not going anywhere for the moment – we’ve rented the cottage for nine months – let’s just take it a day at a time.’ He lowered his head, kissing my eyes, my cheeks, my very cold nose and I knew I didn’t want to be anywhere else on this freezing January afternoon but out on these glorious moors with this heavenly man who seemed only to want to be with me too.
‘You know,’ Fabian said an hour later as we headed back to the car, ‘I think you should persuade your mum to find out more about her birth parents. It might help the three of you girls – especially Sorrel – to come to terms with her condition.’
‘How would it do that?’ I frowned. ‘Mum does some searching and ends up finding out all her blood relatives have suffered from porphyria?’ I shivered slightly. ‘Better not to know what might be in store for us, I reckon.’
‘Knowledge is ammunition.’ Fabian smiled as he unlocked the car door, towelled Boris’s large feet and encouraged him into the small space in the well of the passenger seat.
‘To blow off our heads with?’
‘Knowledge is power,’ Fabian amended. ‘It might be that no one else in your mum’s family has suffered from the condition.’
‘That doesn’t mean to say Jess, Sorrel and I aren’t going to have the gene. I suppose it has to start somewhere and, like Sorrel said the other night, why go round opening a particularly wormy can of worms?’
‘If I knew there was a possible defective gene in my family?—’
‘I’ve already seen that your brother Julius is pretty defective in pleasantness.’ I thought that was rather clever and chortled at my own witticism, startling Boris, who looked up as I continued to giggle.
‘Will you let me finish?’ Fabian tutted. ‘All I’m saying is, I’d go for genetic counselling: be prepared; know thine enemy.’
‘Sounds a bit biblical that.’ I smiled and then frowned. ‘Look, I wouldn’t know where to start looking for Mum’s birth family. As far as she knows, her mother was from India and she was born in Surrey. How on earth do you start looking? And how can we do that if Mum doesn’t want to know?’
‘Pretty obvious, I reckon.’
‘Oh?’
‘Get Lisa to tell you more about these Foleys who adopted her and then go and see them. They’ll have answers.’
‘Mum’s kept the Foleys from us all these years, Fabian. I don’t see why she’d start divulging information now.’
‘She started opening up to me, Robyn, in the café the other day. Someone not in the family, I suppose. She’s seen how anxious Sorrel has become about the thought of carrying the gene…’
‘Fabian, Sorrel’s carrying a baby .’ Oh, God, out on these glorious ancient moors, Fabian by my side, I’d managed to push the huge worry about Sorrel to the back of my mind. Now it all came rising to the surface once more.
‘Genetic counselling, Robyn. Goes on all the time.’
‘OK, OK.’ I looked at my watch, not wanting to face these problems any longer. ‘Hot chocolate and a big fat bun down in Holmfirth before heading off to Leeds and John Lewis? I’ve made a list.’
* * *
The following morning, despite it being a Sunday, I was out of bed by 8a.m.
‘Now where are you going?’ Fabian, eyes closed, snaked a hand in my direction. ‘Our first Sunday morning in our new bed in our new cottage. Get yourself back in.’ He opened one eye and yawned.
‘If I’m to impress your family, I need to look good.’
‘You don’t have to impress them, Robyn.’ Fabian opened the other eye and, sighing, hauled himself up onto the pillows. ‘And you’d look good in a sack.’
‘Course I need to,’ I said, already feeling extremely nervous at the thought of running the gauntlet of the Carrington family in a posh restaurant. I’d been awake since 6a.m., trying to work out what to wear for lunch, and knew the only dress I wanted – a soft pink woollen L K Bennett – was still hanging up in the wardrobe in the box room back at Mum’s.
‘I want my dress and Mum’s lovely new suede boots. And I want to see what Sorrel’s decided. If she’s not going to London, we need to cancel the appointment.’ I sighed heavily. ‘She’ll never get another opportunity like this one. I won’t be long. What time do we need to set off?’
I drove the two miles from the centre of Beddingfield – St Bede’s church bells already ringing out a welcome from the over-enthusiastic parish campanologists – back to Mum’s cottage, making a mental list of any other things I needed to pick up as I went. The kitchen door was locked when I got there, but I had my key and let myself in, shouting ‘Hellooo?’ so as not to alarm Mum and – particularly – Sorrel, who I assumed, like any fifteen-year-old on a Sunday morning, would still be fast asleep in bed.
I called again. ‘Hello? Only me! Just come to collect a few things as I’m off to some posh…’ but didn’t finish my sentence as Mum appeared in front of me at the top of the stairs, holding a finger to her lips.
‘It’s OK,’ Mum whispered, but her face was pale.
‘What is?’ I whispered back, climbing the stairs.
‘Shh, she’s asleep.’
‘Sorrel?’
Mum nodded. ‘She’s lost the… you know… the pregnancy.’
‘Oh goodness! She’s had a miscarriage?’
Mum nodded again.
‘Should we get her to hospital?’ I asked.
‘I don’t think it’s necessary. She woke me up about 1a.m. Said she had tummy ache. I saw she was bleeding. Obviously need to keep an eye on her, but I think it’s like a very heavy period. She wasn’t very far gone.’
‘Mum, how do you know that? Don’t you have to have a D and C or something after you’ve lost a baby?’ I seemed to remember reading something of the sort in a magazine.
‘I rang 111. They said if it’s an early miscarriage, to let nature take its course. If she seems to be bleeding a lot or if she’s in a lot of pain, then I’ll take her up to A&E. But, to be honest, Robyn, sitting for hours with the last of the Saturday-night drunks while we wait to be seen… you know, she’s better here where Jess and I can take care of her.’ Mum held my eye. ‘It’s for the best, Robyn. She’s far too young to be putting her life on hold at fifteen. She’s young and healthy. She can stay in bed all day and we’ll see how she is.’
‘Do you want me to stay?’
‘No, there’s no need. She’ll be feeling very tired and emotional but, as I say, it’s for the best. Don’t cancel those train tickets just yet.’
‘Mum, come on, she can’t be facing the audition of her life if she’s just lost a baby.’
‘It’s a pregnancy at this early stage,’ Mum said.
‘You try telling that to women who find themselves unexpectedly not pregnant any longer. There’s been a baby.’
‘I know, I know. I’m sorry. That was callous of me.’
‘I don’t think I should go out for lunch. Better to stay here with you and be here for her instead.’
‘Will you two stop discussing me?’ Sorrel appeared at her bedroom door, her face white. ‘It just feels like a very heavy period. I’ve a bit of cramping but yes, Robyn, it was early. I know exactly when it happened. It was just the once.’ Sorrel rubbed at her eyes. ‘And yes, it is for the best.’
‘Do you want me to stay?’ I went to hug her. ‘Go back to bed and stay there today.’
‘No, I’ll be fine. But, Robyn, the thought of dancing in London this week when I feel so tired, so heavy…’ Tears welled and rolled down Sorrel’s cheeks.
‘Come on, back to bed,’ I said once more. ‘Take some paracetamol and sleep.’ I turned Sorrel round, leading her back to her single bed while Mum set off downstairs to make tea. I arranged pillows, tucking the duvet around Sorrel’s beautiful elfin face. She looked so much like Mum, and I remembered with a start how Jess and I had often done the same for Mum when she’d had to take to her bed when we were in our early teens. Before Sorrel was even born. ‘You OK? It’s a truly awful and terribly sad thing you’re going through, Sorrel.’
A large tear slid down Sorrel’s face. ‘It really is. And I would have had the baby. I couldn’t have done anything else.’ She sniffed before turning back to me. ‘You know Fabian’s been in touch with Alex Brookfield?’
‘Who?’
‘Alex Brookfield, Joel’s solicitor.’
‘No, I didn’t know. He never said.’ I pulled a face.
‘Probably client confidentiality or something.’
‘Suppose. Right, listen, Sorrel, I’m going out for lunch with Fabian’s family…’
‘With the horrible Julius? And the horrible mother?’
‘They’re up in Harrogate to see Jemima. I’m only going to go out for lunch if you promise me if the bleeding becomes heavy, or if you feel feverish or you have a lot of pain, you let Jess and Mum know. Deal?’
‘OK.’ For once, Sorrel was not in combative mood.
‘Did Joel say what was happening with Fabian? You know, with his court case?’
‘Not really.’
‘And you told him about… you know…’
‘Being pregnant?’
‘Hmm.’
‘No. I didn’t want to add to his worries. His bail conditions have him on an electronic tag and a curfew. I didn’t want him breaking them by coming over to Beddingfield.’
‘That’s very mature of you.’
‘I thought so.’ Sorrel gave a little smile. ‘Now, go, will you? I need to sleep and get better.’