Page 83 of A Class Act

‘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,verypretty.

‘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.

‘Ididn’tsay 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 onMasterChef,’ 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 onMasterChef,’ Jess said firmly, utterly embarrassed as four pairs of eyes turned once more from Mum back to her.

‘Aw, Jess.’

‘I am not going onMasterChef,’ 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’snothing.’

‘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 reallyisgood, 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.’

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