Rules for a Perfect Life

by Niamh Greene

  Why is he keeping up this pretence of not knowing anything about it? Maybe he’s worried that I’ll leave the cottage and he’ll have no help in the stables until Claire gets back. After all, this piece of information could be grounds for discounting the lease agreement. He’s probably covering up the truth because he doesn’t want to be left in the lurch. But isn’t that dishonest? The more I think about it, the more convinced I am. Maybe Edward didn’t exactly have a legal obligation to tell me about the break-ins, but didn’t he have some sort of moral responsibility?

  Wait till I tell Claire about this – she’ll die. Being attacked in the middle of the night wasn’t part of the bargain when I agreed to move here and take her place.

  ‘You think that there’s a mad man camping out in the woods,’ he repeats.

  ‘Yes, Edward, Matilda told me. He had a stash of knives – I know all about it. And I also know that he was spotted again recently, so you can stop pretending.’

  ‘Right.’ He clears his throat. ‘Well, let’s not jump to any conclusions. Maybe we should just wait and see, OK? Here, let me turn on the heater – your teeth are chattering. You’ve had a shock.’

  A blast of hot air hits me and I rub my arms to warm myself. He’s right – I have had a shock. A very major one. I knew coming here was a bad idea – I just didn’t realize how bad. I should have stayed in the city – where it’s safe.

  Less than a minute later, Edward pulls up outside the cottage and my stomach churns. God knows where the weirdo is now or what he’s doing. Maybe he’s inside going through my underwear. He could be a predator. A pervert. It doesn’t bear thinking about.

  ‘Well, it seems quiet,’ Edward says calmly.

  ‘You don’t expect him to advertise that he’s here, do you?’ I snap. ‘He’s hardly going to have the lights on and a welcome mat at the door! He’s a dangerous criminal.’ I can feel tears pricking the backs of my eyes again. Edward isn’t taking this situation seriously. It’s obvious he doesn’t believe me. He thinks I’m some overreacting female, petrified of my own shadow.

  ‘Aren’t you going to call the police?’ I demand now.

  ‘Yes.’ Edward thinks about this. ‘I’m sure Jimmy would come if I called him, but I don’t want to wake him up at this time of night – he goes to bed by eleven. Let’s just take a look first.’

  ‘Jimmy? Who’s Jimmy?’

  ‘The local guard.’

  ‘The local guard goes to bed by eleven?’

  ‘He likes to, yes. He’s an early riser, you see. He walks his greyhounds at six every morning – he’s like clockwork. Didn’t you meet him that evening in the village hall?’

  ‘I don’t remember being introduced to a guard. Then again, I met quite a few people. It was pretty crowded.’

  ‘He was definitely there. He can seem a bit gruff sometimes, but he’s a nice fella underneath. He rescued those dogs from a shelter – they were about to be put down.’

  ‘Hang on a second.’ I start to put two and two together. ‘Are you telling me that everyone round here knows that this Jimmy goes to bed at eleven every night?’

  Edward considers this. ‘I suppose they do, yes. He doesn’t make a secret of it.’

  ‘So, if you were a criminal, all you’d have to do is wait until after eleven to commit a crime and you’d get away with it?’

  ‘Well, now, like I said, there wouldn’t be much of that round here. Most folk are tucked up in bed pretty early.’

  ‘But this Jimmy – he’s the only guard in the village?’

  ‘Yes, the one and only,’ Edward agrees.

  ‘And you don’t like to disturb him in the middle of the night?’ I’ve never heard anything so ludicrous. Isn’t that why we pay our taxes, for goodness’ sake?

  ‘Well, I’d call him if there was some sort of emergency. But not unless it was absolutely necessary. It wouldn’t be fair. Like I said, he’s an early riser.’

  ‘And you don’t think that me almost being killed by an intruder is an absolute emergency?’ I can’t believe this – I’m starting to fume.

  ‘I think that may be a slight exaggeration, Maggie,’ Edward says, pulling on his waxed hat, ‘don’t you?’

  ‘Not really, no.’ I’m at boiling point. ‘If it wasn’t for my very quick response in getting out of the cottage, you could have been looking at a homicide. Jimmy would have been dealing with a murder inquiry – would he have got out of bed for that, do you think?’

  ‘Now, that would have been a first for Glacken,’ Edward says. ‘The locals would definitely be talking about you then, even more than they are now.’

  ‘The locals are talking about me?’

  ‘Of course.’ He opens his door. ‘The beautiful stranger in Rose Cottage is all anyone is talking about.’

  Beautiful stranger? His face is in the shadows, but I can tell by his voice that he’s teasing me again.

  ‘Well, you go ahead and have a look, if you want,’ I say, as he gets out, ‘but don’t expect me to come with you.’

  ‘You’d better lock the door behind me, then,’ he says. ‘You know – to be on the safe side.’

  I’m out in a nanosecond. If that thug knows I’m on my own he’s bound to come and get me. For all I know, he could be watching us right now, from the safety of the cottage. God only knows what could happen if I was left alone.

  ‘So, you’re coming, then?’ Edward says, switching on a torch he’s pulled from his pocket.

  ‘Yes,’ I mutter. ‘I’m coming.’

  ‘Here, take this so.’ He shrugs off his fleece and hands it to me. ‘It’s pretty cold and that T-shirt of yours is pretty short. Maybe you should think about borrowing Polly’s Pooh Bear pyjamas.’

  I can hear the smile in his voice, even if it’s so dark I can’t fully see his face. Either way I’m offended. The cheek of him! I have a good mind to throw his grubby old fleece back in his face. Then, again, he’s right – it is freezing and now I’ve cooled down after my sprint to the big house I’m shivering with the cold and the shock. Refusing it would be biting off my nose to spite my face. I slip my arms into the sleeves and zip it up. It’s still warm from his body and almost immediately I feel better, I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the lovely musky smell – but the feeling of it wrapped snugly round me is actually quite nice …

  ‘Now we’re ready to face these terrorists,’ he says.

  ‘Are you trying to be funny?’ I shake myself out of my reverie. ‘There was someone there – I heard them.’

  ‘I’m sure there was,’ he says again, and I’m not sure if he’s being patronizing or reassuring – it’s so hard to see anything in the pitch blackness. ‘Now, stay behind me – OK?’

  I grip Edward’s fleece tightly round me, my hands trembling with nerves. Who knows what might be going on inside the cottage?

  Holding his finger to his lips, a sign that I should keep quiet, he creeps forward and I stick close behind him. We tiptoe together through the open front door, left swinging after I sprinted from the place. Before my eyes adjust to the interior gloom of the cottage I can hear a rustling sound and I’m terrified. He’s still here – I can’t see him but I can hear him. I stumble forward and grab Edward’s back to balance myself. What will we do if he really is violent? Suddenly I wish I’d done those martial-arts classes I always threatened to take up. I try to remember what you’re supposed to do if you’re attacked – go for the eyes, I think, or is it the groin? Maybe both, although that could be tricky to do at the same time.

  My head is spinning with the possibilities when I hear the switch click and I blink to adjust my eyes to the bright light. What’s Edward doing? Now we’re going to come face to face with the intruder! Surely it would be better to get out of here and call Jimmy – this is a legitimate emergency and we won’t stand a chance against a hardened criminal, not unless Edward has a black belt he hasn’t told me about. He doesn’t look the type to be able to throw a mean karate chop, but you never can tell. People have hidden depths
– like, who could have thought that Claire would up and go to India? If she doesn’t get brainwashed and decide to stay, I’ll kill her when she gets back for forcing me to come here – it’s been the worst mistake of my life. All the years I’ve lived in the city, I’ve never been broken into. Not even when I was next door to that crack den during college – the dealers were quite decent once you looked past the criminal activity. They even loaned me sugar once when I ran out.

  Blinking in the bright light, I look wildly round the room, trying to figure out where the burglar might be. I can still hear the rustling, but I can’t see anyone. He must have heard us coming – he’s probably hiding somewhere clever, ready to jump out and murder us. This isn’t the way I want to die, draped in a smelly fleece in the middle of nowhere. I’m too young to meet my Maker – there’s so much I still want to do. I want a Chanel 2.55 clutch, I want a pair of limited-edition Jimmy Choos. But most of all … I want to paint. I can’t believe it’s taken me until now to realize this. But it’s too late – I’m going to die tonight before I have a chance to pursue my real passion. I really am a tragic heroine.

  ‘I think I know who did this,’ Edward says gravely, as my life flashes before my eyes.

  ‘You do?’

  I have a death grip on his back and I’m not letting go. Funnily enough, even though I’m scared witless, I can’t help noticing that his back is very lean, yet muscly too. A nice combination.

  ‘Yes.’ He stalks over to the bedroom door, me shuffling behind, and flings it open. The rustling gets even louder. ‘Mabel – is that you?’

  Mabel? Who’s Mabel? That’s not a name a hardened criminal would use. What’s going on?

  ‘Come here and look at this,’ Edward says, his face solemn.

  I peep over his shoulder, still uncertain whether it’s safe, and there, in the middle of the room, stands what looks like a sheep, munching happily on my best La Perla bra and knickers. She turns to gaze at us, an expression of mild surprise on her black face. As she does, I catch a glimpse of my prized turquoise lace and silk G-string disappearing down her gullet. An underwear-eating sheep called Mabel is my burglar.

  Rule Seventeen: Keep calm and carry on

  ‘I’m really sorry, Maggie,’ Edward says, as Mabel trots past us and back outside, a look of smug satisfaction on her face. ‘Mabel is infamous for doing things like that. She broke into the linen cupboard in the big house once and ate my mother-in-law’s best tablecloth – the girls thought it was hilarious, but June was furious.’

  A picture of the charming June flashes into my mind. I can imagine her flipping her lid if a sheep chewed her best linen – that woman would take no prisoners. It’s a wonder Mabel lived to tell the tale and didn’t end up on the Sunday dinner table.

  ‘It must have been Mabel you heard rustling outside your bedroom window in the bushes. She obviously came through the front door when you ran out.’ He’s trying his best not to laugh – he thinks this is hilarious.

  ‘What wonderful detective work.’ I scowl, furious that a dumb animal has made me look like a prize idiot.

  Even though I’m relieved that a lunatic isn’t stalking me, I also feel stupid that it wasn’t a real intruder after all the fuss I made. I’m sure June will have a good old laugh when she hears what really happened. She’ll probably tell everyone in the village what a fool I am – my cheeks burn at the idea that everyone will be talking about the city girl who thought a harmless sheep was a burglar.

  ‘She’s more of a pet than anything else,’ Edward goes on. ‘The children weaned her from when she was a lamb. She thinks she’s human, really – that’s why she’s always trying to get indoors.’

  ‘That sheep thinks she’s human?’ The sarcasm drips from my voice, but Edward seems to miss it. Or else he’s deliberately ignoring it, I can’t be sure.

  ‘Yes. Her mother rejected her, you see, so we hand-fed her. She loved her bottles of warm milk. See – almost human.’

  ‘Well, I can understand why her mother rejected her,’ I say now, surveying the chaos before me. Mabel has rampaged through the cottage, knocking over almost everything in her path. It’s going to take for ever to clear up the mess.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Edward says.

  ‘She’s so badly behaved. No wonder her mother didn’t want to know her – she’s out of control.’

  ‘She’s not exactly out of control.’ He smiles.

  ‘You think?’ I raise an eyebrow. Is he blind? The stupid sheep has made mincemeat of my underwear drawer. ‘How would you describe her behaviour then?’

  ‘Well,’ he says, smiling again, ‘she’s … feisty. Let’s put it like that.’

  ‘You can put it any way you want,’ I sniff, annoyed. ‘As far as I’m concerned she should be for sale on a supermarket shelf somewhere. Beside a jar of mint sauce preferably.’

  ‘Oh, no, we couldn’t do that! She’s almost like one of the family. Besides … I like feisty.’

  I pick up some remnants of underwear from the floor and glare at him. It looks like Mabel had a proper feast – most of it is ruined.

  ‘It could have been worse,’ he suggests.

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Well, I know Mabel has done a lot of damage, but at least it wasn’t the Mad Man of the Woods like you thought, right?’

  Something in his face registers with me and suddenly it all clicks into place. ‘There never was a Mad Man of the Woods, was there?’ I say.

  ‘Not that I’ve heard of, no …’

  ‘So … your lovely daughter made up that story to scare me. She told me that a dangerous criminal was on the loose, just to make me feel frightened.’

  ‘It might have been her idea of a joke,’ he offers.

  ‘It wasn’t very funny,’ I say. ‘I was absolutely terrified. I thought I was going to be killed.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Maggie.’ Edward is serious now. ‘She shouldn’t have done that. I’ll be grounding her as punishment.’

  ‘I certainly hope so,’ I fume. ‘Do you have any idea how much good underwear costs? Do you realize how much damage that sheep has actually done?’

  He looks momentarily embarrassed, but I’m too annoyed to care. It’s his daughter’s fault that at least a few hundred euros’ worth of my best lingerie is now fit for the bin.

  ‘I wouldn’t … I don’t have any idea,’ he mumbles, his cheeks flushing.

  ‘One set alone can cost a couple of hundred euro,’ I announce. ‘That kind of money doesn’t grow on trees, you know. Or maybe it does for you – but it certainly doesn’t for me.’ A wave of self-pity washes over me. I’m unemployed and practically homeless. I’ll probably never be able to afford nice undies again. I’ll be wearing grey baggy knickers for years to come, possibly for the rest of my life.

  ‘I really am sorry, Maggie.’ He bows his head. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Humph,’ I grunt. He does look sorry, to be fair. And I suppose this isn’t his fault. Not that I’ll tell him so.

  ‘Let me help you to clear up,’ he says, stooping to pick up some of my precious collection of magazines that fell to the floor when Mabel barged through the living room. I guess I should be grateful she didn’t chew her way through those too.

  ‘You like fashion, I see,’ he comments, as he rearranges my Vogue back issues into a neat pile.

  ‘I used to,’ I sigh, ‘when I had a life.’

  My city wardrobe seems like a million years ago now that I’m living in my oldest, tattiest gear and my stinky trainers. I’ve even abandoned full makeup. Making that sort of effort seems a bit pointless when everything just gets covered in yard dirt all the time. And it’s not like there’s anywhere exciting to go, even at night.

  ‘I guess Glacken isn’t very cool, is it?’ he says. ‘It’s probably a very big change for you, compared to all the glamour of the city.’

  ‘You could say that.’ I nudge the coffee-table back into place.

  ‘Still, it’s good for your art.�
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  ‘I suppose so,’ I mumble. I don’t want to talk about my fake art career – not now.

  ‘Where do you keep it?’

  ‘What’s that?’ I pretend not to hear him properly.

  ‘Your artwork. Where do you keep it all?’

  He looks curiously round the room. There’s not a single piece of my so-called art anywhere to be seen, of course.

  I frantically try to think of something to say. Should I just come clean? Tell him that this has been a stupid misunderstanding? I never meant everyone to believe I was an artist – this whole thing has just developed a life of its own. Then again, it mightn’t be the right time to reveal my double identity – after all, I’ve already dragged him from his bed because of a sheep burglar. Breaking the news that I’ve been lying all this time would only make this mess even worse.

  ‘It’s in the boot of the car,’ I say.

  ‘The boot of the car? Really?’

  ‘Yes,’ I bluff. ‘Once I’ve completed a work I need to remove it from the house – to let the creative juices continue to flow.’ God, that is such bullshit. How do I come up with this stuff?

  ‘I see.’ He nods, as if this makes perfect sense. ‘So what are you working on next?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I reply. ‘The muse hasn’t struck yet.’ Muse? This is terrible.

  ‘Will you let me see some one day? If I promise to keep Mabel under lock and key?’

  I roll my eyes at him. I guess it is a little funny, even if I want to make kebabs of that Mabel.

  ‘Maybe you can do my portrait?’ a gruff voice says.

  I spin to see a fat man in a blue jumper in the doorway. It’s that man from the meeting – the aggressive one with the shifty eyes. What’s he doing here? And why does he have a notebook in his hand?

  ‘Jimmy, why are you here?’ Edward’s face falls.

  Jimmy? The fat man in the blue jumper is the local guard? The one who doesn’t like to be disturbed after eleven?

  ‘I’m here because I got a call to say that there’d been some sort of emergency,’ Jimmy says. He doesn’t look too happy. ‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on?’