Page 50 of Lessons in Life

‘The new owner has recently put on an extension.’ Fabian was animated, smiling in anticipation, and drawing not just me, but Sorrel as well, into a bear hug of a welcome.

‘Er, ger off,’ Sorrel gasped. ‘I can’t breathe.’ But nonetheless she stayed in Fabian’s embrace. ‘If the owner’s done the place up, why isn’t he living here?’ Sorrel asked, gazing round at the beautiful newly renovated open-plan kitchen whose bank of glass windows and doors led out to the patio and onto a lawn, illuminated with strategically placed garden lights.

‘Unexpectedly sent abroad.’ Fabian smiled. ‘How lucky are we?’

‘You’re going to need some furniture.’ Sorrel pulled a face.

‘Go upstairs.’ Fabian smiled, his excitement palpable.

Sorrel and I galloped upstairs, both determined to arrive first, laughing as we opened the door onto the spacious main bedroom and en suite.

‘They’ve left their bed.’ Sorrel frowned.

‘No, they haven’t.’ Fabian was behind us. ‘I spent all morning looking for one almost exactly like the one in my apartment in London that Robyn loved so much.’

‘Do I really need to know about Robyn’s preferences in the bed department?’ Sorrel pulled a face and I suddenly saw my little sister was feeling left out. A virtually absent father, and a mother who’d suffered badly from post-natal depression and seizures as Sorrel had grown up, hadn’t left her with a great sense of familial security.

I squeezed her hand, wanting to include her in my and Fabian’s excitement. ‘And it was delivered? This afternoon? Even Amazon can’t do that.’

‘Told him it was essential it was in place for this evening. Gave him a backhander.’

‘Money talks, doesn’t it?’ I tutted. ‘Mind you, I’m glad it does. And you’ve got duvets and pillows and everything.’

‘Of course. I brought up a whole load of my stuff when I moved to Harrogate to live with Jemima. These, Robyn, are the actual London bedsheets…’

‘All right, all right.’ Sorrel pulled a face as only a fifteen-nearly-sixteen-year-old could pull. ‘Get a room, the pair of you!’

‘Hey.’ Fabian smiled, taking Sorrel’s arm and heading for the second bedroom. ‘This can beyourroom. Whenever you deign to grace us with your presence from London.’

‘Really?’ Sorrel’s eyes lit up and then her face closed down once more. ‘IfI get there.IfI’m not already dying from some terrible condition.’

‘Bloody hell, Sorrel, you’re more of a hypochondriac than Boris.’ Fabian folded his arms.

‘Boris?’

‘My dog. He’ll be moving in as well.’

‘And he’s a bit of a hypo?’

‘Always checking himself over for ticks, kennel cough, distemper and hair loss and other worrying signs he might peg out at any moment.’

‘Now you’re laughing at me.’

Fabian patted Sorrel’s arm. ‘I’m really not. I was the same when I was your age. Convinced I had bone cancer in my leg, MS, bird flu, kidney failure… The list is endless.’

I stared. I’d never known this about Fabian, although his giving up the case of the Soho Slasher after the trolling he’d suffered at the hands of mainly women’s groups was surely indicative of a sensitive nature?

‘And,’ Fabian went on, glancing back at Sorrel as we returned downstairs, ‘most of it a reaction to stress and worry:Ihated being away at boarding school.You’vea lot going on in your life at the moment. Right, I’m starving – I’ve a picnic here.’

‘We’ve had one picnic already, today,’ I said, immediately wishing I hadn’t.

‘Oh?’ Fabian looked crestfallen.

‘But nothing like this one.’ Sorrel was already at the huge kitchen island, rifling through boxes and bags. ‘Oh, yum.’

‘Nothing much wrong with you.’ Fabian smiled as we all tucked into the Waitrose goodies he’d bought from the Harrogate store. A beautifully soft sourdough with the crispest of crusts was, in turn, slathered with butter, hummus and whipped Feta with beets. Tiny sweet tomatoes, black olives and coleslaw accompanied the feast together with a small glass of pink fizz to toast the new cottage.

‘Woah, that was heaven,’ Sorrel said, lying back on the new cream carpet. ‘This carpet isn’t going to last long with a dog,’ she added. ‘I’m surprised the landlord’s allowing a dog here. Didn’t the estate agent say anything?’

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