Page 35 of Lessons in Life

‘Take on some legal work, probably. I can work as an agent for the CPS: they’re always looking for people.’

‘But you’re a defence barrister, not a prosecuting solicitor.’ I wasn’t sure that that was the best way forward for him.

‘Or…’ And here Fabian took my hand, pulling me inside his unbuttoned warm coat. ‘Or Jess and I can look into doing what we really want.’ Fabian was animated.

‘Your restaurant?’

‘Ourrestaurant.’ He smiled, kissing the top of my head.

11

LISA

The following morning, Lisa found herself grinning at her reflection in the hall mirror. She hadn’t felt this positive about herself for a long time. For years she’d woken each morning with a sense of dread that she might be about to have another seizure, that she was going to end up in hospital again, unable to care for her girls. That any anxiety, any pain and nausea she might be feeling, could be the start of another remission into porphyria. Not forgetting she’d had a good nine months or so of Sorrel being bloody hard work, of being constantly called into Beddingfield High before Sorrel’s eventual expulsion. Thank goodness for Mason Donoghue, who’d been prepared to take her youngest daughter on at St Mede’s, despite her awful record of attendance and bad behaviour. She’d miss Sorrel so much if she was accepted at the Susan Yates Theatre School but just a bit of her was looking forward to the prospect of having the house to herself; at having a new independence after years of being at the helm of single motherhood.

She hadn’t even seen Jayden off on his way up to Newcastle after he’d repacked his overnight case and left Jess’s spare room the other day. Had even forgotten he was round there, so excited was she about getting on with her life and all the things she wanted to do with it. She actually laughed out loud at the realisation that finally, finally she appeared to be totally out of love with the man who’d been at the very core of her life from the age of seventeen. She continued to smile to herself as she made her way upstairs to the shower after spending a good hour cleaning and tidying both rooms downstairs and the little box room she’d slept in for the past couple of days after giving up her bed to Robyn and Fabian.

She’d been down to the new gym in the town centre and seen the fabulous 25m pool, the huge studios where she was going to have a go at Pilates and t’ai chi and something called Sh’bam, which, when she’d watched through the window, had appeared a bit energetic. Nevertheless, she’d told herself, she was up for it.

Lisa smiled at her reflection again, piling her long dark hair up on her head and pouting somewhat coquettishly before moving to turn on the shower. Hearing a sudden bang in Sorrel’s bedroom, she stopped dead, straining to hear the sound once more. She’d packed Sorrel off to school with a plate of scrambled eggs inside her, seen her get into Robyn’s little Honda for a lift to St Mede’s, heard the pair of them say their goodbyes to Fabian, who’d been determined to be first on the doorstep of the estate agent when it opened at eight thirty. If it wasn’t Sorrel, who the hell was it? Not burglars? Lisa hesitated, her pulse racing at the thought. Well, let them have what they wanted: the keys to her battered old Fiesta were on the kitchen worktop where they lived in a basket, and they could have the TV if that was what they were after. As long as they didn’t run off with Roger Rabbit.

She stood at the door dithering, uncertain what to do. Whether it wouldn’t be a good idea to actually lock herself in the bathroom. Then Sorrel’s bedroom door flew open and her daughter pushed past her into the bathroom.

‘Sorrel?’ Lisa turned as her daughter stood heaving, making little mewling noises at the lavatory before vomiting into the bowl.

Relieved that she wasn’t about to face an axe murderer, Lisa hurried over to Sorrel, pushing back her hair and holding her head as she had all three of her girls when they’d been ill. ‘What is it? Something you’ve eaten? I do hope there wasn’t salmonella in those eggs. I did get them direct from Joe at the farm down the road.’

‘I’m OK.’ Sorrel stood, turning to the sink to rinse her mouth before wiping her face on a towel. ‘I got an Uber back from school.’

‘But, Sorrel, Robyn said you weren’t well yesterday. That you came home early from school yesterday too?’

When Sorrel didn’t answer, but simply gazed at her own reflection in the mirror, Lisa went on: ‘Is it nerves at the thought of the audition next week? You’ll be fine; Robyn’s going with you. Or are you still worried about Joel? I can understand both…’

‘I feel anxious all the time. And, Mum, I’ve got a pain here…’ Sorrel indicated and rubbed at her abdomen through her school sweater. ‘And now I’ve actually been sick. Mum, I googled it…’

‘What? What did you google, darling?’

‘The AP thing.’

‘But why? My porphyria is somethingI’vebeen landed with. There’s no evidence it’s hereditary.’

‘You don’t know that. You were adopted. You’ve no idea if your real parents or grandparents could have had it. And, anyway, it is!’ Sorrel hissed the final word. ‘Look it up. The first thing it says is acute porphyria is passed down through families.’ Sorrel scrabbled for the phone in her blazer pocket, hitting the keyboard with the speedy deftness of all teens. ‘Look!’ She passed her phone over to Lisa.

Porphyria is usually inherited. One or both parents pass along a changed gene to their child. Although porphyria can’t be cured, medicines and certain lifestyle changes may help you manage it…

Lisa didn’t have to read the words: she’d researched the condition herself many times over the years, always worried for Jess, Robyn and Sorrel.

‘See.’ Sorrel put her hands in her head. ‘Mum, I feel awful.’

‘Right, OK, let’s get some tests done to put your mind at rest. We’ll get Dr Matt onto it…’

‘I don’t want to know. Idon’t, Mum.’ Sorrel glared at Lisa. ‘I’m just going to pretend it’s not happening. And it’s all your fault if you’ve given it to me.’

Lisa felt the balloon of happiness she’d been floating on for weeks begin to deflate. Sorrel was right – itwasher fault if she’d passed on the awful condition to her youngest daughter. Just when everything seemed to be going so well, when she herself was feeling almost reborn, surely this couldn’t be happening now to her little girl?

* * *

Robyn

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