Robyn winced at that: she knew she’d been burying her head, at first not really caring that the school was seemingly breathing its last, that each school bell was daily ringing its death knell ever nearer to its demise. She’d refused to acknowledge the probability of the end of St Mede’s; refused to accept that she was going to be out of a job by the end of the summer term. Surely the staff would all have been told by now if this were the case?
‘Jess is about to start a brand-new venture at The White House, Sorrel. She’s already stressed to high heaven aboutthat.’
‘All right then, let him stay withyou! He really wants to come back to Beddingfield.’
‘What! Are you mad? No way!’ Robyn’s arms, as well as her hands, were now shooting skywards. So, this was what they meant by ‘up in arms’!
‘If it means you can still put on your performance ofGrease?’
‘Nope! Forget it. We’ve already had to let Boris go back down south because we can’t look after him.’
‘Joel wouldn’t need much looking after. He’s housetrained and he’d be out all day, and here at school doing his GCSEs and learning his lines.’
‘Sorrel, no! Absolutely no way!’ She needed to nip this ridiculous idea in the bud before her little sister got totally carried away.
* * *
Jess
‘Oh, hello, what’s up?’ Busy at my kitchen worktop, I afforded Robyn only a peremptory glance over my shoulder before turning back to my task.
‘Ooh, that looks good.’ Robyn squeezed into the tiny space between me and the stove. ‘What is it?’
‘A saffron rice pudding with roasted forced rhubarb and a pistachio praline.’
‘Oh, yum. God, you’re clever.’
‘Nicked, I’m afraid, from Ravneet Gill in theGuardian. I’ve come up with four other puds, and they’re totally original, but I’ve made this one before and loved it. Suppose I’ll have to acknowledge ownership or I could be done for copyright?’
‘Pudding plagiarism?’ Robyn laughed, then sighed. ‘Fabian’s not stopped for the last couple of days either, coming up with ideas for his five starters for The White House. He’s gone about it in typical Fabian style: out of bed at 5a.m.; Post-it Notes everywhere, doing mathematical ratio sums and costings. He’s like a bear with a sore head… Actually, you ought to go down to our place, Jess, and be there with him. Even with two of you in the kitchen, there’d be more room than here.’
‘It’s fine. I’m used to working in here by myself,’ I said. ‘If you remember, I did all my outside catering from this kitchen. I’ve got my Level 2 Certificate in Food Hygiene for food handlers as well as Level 3 for managers and food business registration…’ I broke off. ‘Sorry, I’m rambling. Always go on a bit when I’m nervous.’
‘What are you nervous about?’ Robyn paused, not looking at me. ‘Actually, feeling a bit nervous myself.’
‘Oh?’ I glanced across at her.
‘You first,’ she said, moving to look at what was in my pan.
‘I’ve done something stupid,’ I said.
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, but I won’t take it any further. It really was stupid…’
‘What was?’
I started laughing, interspersed with spooning out and licking from the bowl where I’d made the praline. ‘Hell, no wonder I’m fat.’
‘Fat is a feminist issue…’ Robyn broke off to think. ‘Who said that?’
‘No idea! Some stick-thin know-all presumably. Fat is a big-bum issue as far as I’m concerned.’
‘So, what have you done that’s stupid?’ Robyn asked.
‘You’ll think I’m mad.’
‘No, I won’t.’
