Page 48 of A Class Act

‘Really?’ Sorrel sneered before replacing her fork on her half-eaten food and making to leave the table.

‘We’ve not finished eating, Sorrel,’ I said as calmly as possible. Constantly berating her would get us nowhere.

‘Well,Ihave,’ she said, standing. ‘I’m off out.’

‘No, you’re not.’ Both Jess and I spoke as one while Lola’s head, moving in turn from her mother to her scowling fifteen-year-old aunt, followed the action like a crowd at Wimbledon.

‘I’m really not sure how you’re going to stop me,’ Sorrel replied, her face flushed. And, screwing up the piece of kitchen roll I’d laid at each place in lieu of napkins, she stood and left the kitchen.

Later that evening, much later, I woke from an exhausted sleep full of dreams of the whole of the cast ofDance Onlaughing uproariously as I fell again and again off the stage while Mason Donoghue stood, arms folded in incredulous contempt, at the back of some windowless classroom watching as I attempted to teach a sex education lesson, using a video of Fabian making love to Fish Face as a visual aid.

I shot up in bed, covered in perspiration, my knee throbbing and stiff and, reaching for my phone, saw it was only 11p.m. I’d been asleep for just an hour. From down below came the sound of a car door slamming and the murmur of voices. Manoeuvring myself and my knee out of bed, I moved over to the bedroomwindow. Sorrel, laughing at something that had obviously been said by whoever was in the back seat of the black BMW, made her way up the garden path. A few seconds later the front door banged and I heard her move to the kitchen before opening and closing the fridge door.

Well, at least she was home. I turned over in the box room’s uncomfortable single bed, resolving that in the morning I’d move my things into Mum’s room, and tried to sleep once more. But I was now wide awake, panic and pain threatening to engulf me in equal measure as I went over the events of the last few days.

Pulse racing, I made another decision: no way was I taking this teaching job I’d been bulldozed into accepting at Mason Donoghue’s bloody awful school. No way, Pedro. I’d rather get a job down at Aldi or delivering parcels for Amazon.

No way on this planet was Ievergoing back into a classroom.

Not now. Not on Wednesday. Not ever.

17

‘Look, Robyn, I don’t know what to suggest,’ Jess said in some exasperation the following morning when, after walking Lola down to the village school, she was back in her kitchen, emptying the dishwasher and tidying up before setting off for yet another session at Hudson House, the care home she’d worked in for years. I’d left Sorrel asleep in bed and gone round wanting advice and company. If I was expecting sympathy, Jess was obviously not about to give it. ‘If you now say you’re not prepared to take up this teaching job, then you’ll have to go and sign on or something. Sickness benefits? Unemployment benefits? Universal Credit?Idon’t know,I’vealways worked.’

‘As have I,’ I retorted, stung at her sharp words. ‘There’s never been a time when I’ve not earned a living.’

‘Well, if you’re really not prepared to take up Mason’s offer – although, you know, you did agree you would, and now you appear to be going back on your word – there’s always work on offer at Hudson House. No one ever wants to be a carer.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ I said. ‘I can’t think of anything worse.’

‘Not even teaching?’ she shot back. ‘You want jam on it, Robyn. I suggest you come with me and see if you’d preferwiping old ladies’ bottoms and holding their hands when they’re frightened, and upset that none of their family is visiting them…’

‘OK.’

‘OK what?’

‘I’ll come with you now.’

‘You just want to be out of the way when Sorrel surfaces,’ Jess said, pulling a face of exasperation. ‘I thought the idea of your being next door was to keep an eye on her.’

‘I can’t be her minder. She’s nearly sixteen.’

‘Oh, I think you can.’ Jess wasn’t letting it go. ‘Mum and I have been trying to do just that while you were in London.’

Ignoring this, I offered, ‘No, really, I’ll come with you. Is there a vacancy?’

‘There arealwaysvacancies ineverycare home.’ Jess rinsed and wrung out the yellow dishcloth she’d used to wipe down the kitchen worktops before hanging it on the taps. ‘Come on, then; I’ll show you what hard work is. You’ll soon be running scared and begging Mason for that teaching job.’

‘Can I have a word, love?’

‘Of course.’ Jess put down the loaded tray she was carrying and moved to talk to the woman who I guessed to be in her late sixties, and who was now standing nervously in the reception hall of Hudson House. ‘It’s Mavis’s daughter, isn’t it?’ Jess asked, smiling. ‘Mrs Hattersley? How are you? I did go along to Mavis’s funeral, sat at the back in the church, but didn’t manage to catch you afterwards. I’m sorry – I had to get back here to help with the lunches. Come on in and sit down. Oh, this is my sister Robyn.’ Jess indicated with a wave of her hand as I followed in her wake, limping behind her like some unwanted shadow.‘She’s making up her mind whether she’s going to come and work with us or not.’

‘Rather you than me, love.’ The woman raised an eyebrow in my direction. ‘Absolute saints, these carers; I don’t know how they do it. Jess and the others here are marvellous – absolute saints,’ she said again.

Three hours into my sister’s shift, and amazed at just how much Jess was fitting in, I was beginning to see what Mrs Hattersley meant.

‘I won’t keep you, love.’ Mrs Hattersley addressed Jess once more. ‘I just wanted to ask you a favour.’ The woman, now running a nervous hand through her short greying hair, had obviously rehearsed her opening gambit.

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