This was so not why she’d qualified as a teacher though. She never wanted to relive her old idyllic life, the nice part before it all imploded. Before her dad had decided they weren’t good enough and discarded them, thrown them onto the rubbish heap. Just like her so called friends had done. Just like David Lawson had done.
She hadn’t deserved it as a kid, and she didn’t deserve it now.
Oh God, she was being ridiculous. Sense of foreboding my foot. She’d been reading far too many scary books, it was no wonder the panic attacks were coming back. She was in a perfectly nice, tranquil village where the worst that could happen was she’d get bored to death.
The loud quack made her jump. Or she might get pecked to death. A very indignant mallard looked up at her. ‘Well, I haven’t got any bread if that’s what you’re after.’
The duck tipped his head on one side, then blinked in disbelief before raising himself as high as he could, on surprisingly long legs, and shook his feathers vigorously. He settled back down onto the grass and for a moment she did feel like that long forgotten happy child again. She was sorely tempted to kick her shoes off and step onto the thick inviting carpet of green grass, to stroll over and sit beneath the soft dappled shade of the weeping willow and watch the ducks. Which was far better than collapsing in a pathetic, bubbling heap. But she couldn’t do that either. Not now.
Instead she let her gaze drift over the haphazard array of cottages, and settle on the large building at the top end of the green. Even at this distance she could tell it was a pub, which meant… she looked to the right and spotted it. An old red-brick building which was instantly recognisable as the picture on the website. Langtry Meadows Primary School.
It was nothing like the old school she vaguely remembered attending. She wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt, ignoring the slight tremble in her fingers, and took a deep breath. She could do this. It was just a job. She belonged here as much as the next person, she was a teacher now, not the child who couldn’t live up to her father’s expectations.
His words echoed in her ears, as though he was there. She couldn’t escape them. ‘It’s not real, Lucy. Nobody cares about you,’ he’d given a small sad smile, ‘they only bother with you because I’m your father. If I wasn’t here you’d see how useless you really are, just like your mother.’
She hadn’t believed him at first. But it turned out he’d been right. Her dad was always right. After they’d moved, not even her best friend Amy had said goodbye, or replied to Lucy’s letters, or come to see them in their new home. But neither had Dad. It was as if she’d never existed.
She closed her eyes and took an involuntary step backwards. Away from the green, the memories.
‘Hey!’
Lucy clasped her hand to her chest and spun round at the harsh male tone. It couldn’t be her father, not here.
‘Move.’
He was bigger than her father. Taller, stronger, and even as her brain was telling her to fight off the hand that was reaching out towards her, he was rugby tackling her, taking her with him. Sending her off balance. She flapped her arms wildly, and was pretty sure from the grunt in her ear and the sharp pain in her wrist that she’d smacked him across the head as they staggered back locked together.
‘What the—?’ There was a loud clang and she shrank back against him as a large horse (how the hell had she not heard that coming?), galloped past so close to her car that the stirrup iron caught the wing mirror of her car. She was dimly aware of the rider grappling with the reins, of a shouted apology, a whoosh of air and brief whiff of sweating horse.
Then nothing.
Lucy clung on to the arm that was wrapped around her. Her knees were trembling, in fact her whole body was shaking in sympathy with the pounding rhythm of her speeding heartbeat. She’d hated horses ever since her father had insisted she should learn to ride. They were so big. So scary. So many feet and big teeth. They could kill you and not notice. This one nearly had.
‘Ouch.’
She suddenly realised she was digging her nails into the strong forearm, gripping on for dear life. And she was leaning against the safety of the firm body behind her as if she knew him. Which was kind of awkward.
Oh God, that warm breath against her neck was doing weird things to her. She closed her eyes, which made things worse as all her senses seemed to home in on his slightly woody scent, on the fact that the well-muscled arm was part of a very firm body. It was obviously delayed shock that was making her this hyper-aware.
‘Christ you’ve got a good left hook.’ She twisted, glanced up. Mistake. Dark, concerned brown eyes were looking down straight into hers as his lips practically brushed against her cheek. Full, dry lips.
He rubbed the side of his head with his free hand, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of his generous, very-kissable, mouth.
They were practically in a clinch, well the closest she’d been to a clinch for quite some time. Oh hell. She swung back to face the front, before he realised just how close she was to actually kissing him.
She was pretty sure she made a kind of squeaky noise, and she was more than sure that she’d shoved her bum into his crotch so they were now spooned in the kind of post-sex intimate position that you just didn’t do with clothes on. Or in broad daylight with a stranger.
He froze, then leapt away from her as though he’d been stung – almost throwing her off balance again.
‘Sorry.’ His tone was nearly as clipped as his action, and when she half-turned he was studying a spot about six inches above the top of her head. ‘You were in its path. Bolting horses can run blind.’
Wow, he was tall, dizzyingly tall, and solid looking.
‘Oh.’ Suddenly light headed she bent over and rested her hands on her knees, and was shocked when he squatted down and peered up at her, studying her intently as he threaded his fingers through his mussed up hair.
‘Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?’
She blinked at the soft tone which was in total contrast to the brusque edge she’d heard seconds before.
‘Fine, I just need to get my breath.’ She tried to smile. ‘I’m not used to being almost run down by galloping horses.’ Or being grabbed by strong, attractive men. There was a bit of a shortage of them in city centre primary schools. Sexy men, and horses. Not that he was responsible for her current light headedness – that had to be the danger, the nearly being killed. The thrill…. No, not thrill. Danger. Adrenaline – that was the word she was looking for.
‘Don’t apologise. I would have a sit down if I were you, shock can have a strange effect.’
Something was having a strange effect, but she had a horrible feeling it was more to do with finding herself pressed against the groin of a man, than the risk of a trail of hoof prints being left across her body.
‘You look pale.’
She felt pale. Avoiding his gaze she glanced downwards. Bloody hell, his blood supply seemed to have redirected round his body again and headed southwards, right into the spot she’d been nestled against. She looked back up guiltily, straight into his eyes. Mistake. Maybe she was better shutting her eyes, concentrating on her own blood flow which seemed to be located solely in her heart which was still hammering away ten to the dozen.
He wasn’t reacting to her, it was a male thing. Danger turned her into a wobbly blancmange, and men into, well into, well it could just turn them on.
‘Hey.’
He was still waiting for a reply, and probably worried she was going to keel over on him. ‘I’m fine. Thank you.’ She studied his feet. Much safer than looking at his groin, or into his eyes.
‘Good.’ He stuck his hands into his pockets. He knew. The earth just had to swallow her up, whisk her away. ‘Great, well if you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll be off.’ He stepped back almost nervously. ‘Work to do.’ He was doing his best to edge past her, squeeze between her and the car. She stepped back, feeling awkward. ‘Sorry about grabbing…’
‘No problem, thanks
for…’
‘Sure.’ And he spun on his heel, and was off before she could say another word.
Lucy sank down against the bonnet of her car and watched as he set off down the road, his long legs swallowing up the ground as though he couldn’t get away quickly enough. Wow. Nobody on Emmerdale looked like that, or on The Yorkshire Vet, or on Countryfile. Not that she really watched programmes like that. Home makeover programmes were more her thing.
She glanced at her watch out of habit. ‘Bloody hell.’ She’d almost forgotten what she was doing here, she was going to be late for her interview. She was never late for anything. Ducking back into her little car she started up the engine and pulled out. Following the left hand fork, she passed the Taverner’s Arms, and then pulled up outside the school that lay just beyond it.
Smoothing her hair down with a slightly shaky hand, she tucked the loose tendrils behind her ears. All she had to do was remember to breathe and be natural, confident. Everything she wasn’t feeling.
But she could do this with her eyes shut. She knew she could. Teaching in a small village school had to be easy after the day-to-day battles she’d fought in a failing city centre one.
It was fine, if she didn’t get this job there would be others.
Lucy had applied for the temporary cover position at Langtry Meadows out of a sense of desperation. She’d actually wondered how the hell she was going to be convincing in an interview. One, she didn’t want to work in a village, two she wanted to work within commuting distance of her home, and three she was over qualified for the post. But as she got out of her car and gazed in awe at the pretty primary school she realised she actually wanted this job. Maybe if she could do this, she could banish her past forever. Not just hide the hurt, but beat it down. Face up to it, and prove it no longer had a hold over her.
Which made it all the more nerve-wracking. She couldn’t ever remember feeling quite this nervous, but that was probably because all of a sudden she knew it mattered. Really mattered.
Colourful stepping stones marked a path across the playground, leading up to a doorway which had ‘Boys’ etched into the arched brickwork above. She stared up at it – wondering if she’d somehow been transported back in time – when a young woman, with cropped trousers, a floaty blouse and paint covered hands appeared on the step.
‘Hi there! You must be Lucy.’ The woman smiled. ‘Come in, come in. Oh, don’t worry about that.’ She’d followed Lucy’s gaze. ‘This school was built back in the days when they thought pre-marital hand-touching was a sin, we’ve got a girl’s entrance over there.’ She pointed to another entrance at the other end of the playground. ‘We use that for open days, and everybody dives in through this one the rest of the time. You’ll have to excuse me, I’ve been helping Reception Class with finger-painting.’ She wriggled red and yellow fingers, and Lucy felt some of the flutters disperse. Just some. ‘Mrs Potts is about somewhere, she’ll show you round while I get myself cleaned up. Good journey?’
She paused for breath and Lucy smiled back.
‘Great thanks.’ Better not to mention the wrong turnings.
‘I’m hopeless, I always get lost even with a satnav. I’m Jill by the way, classroom assistant and chief bottom wiper. I won’t shake hands – not with fingers like this. If you sign in there and grab a visitor’s badge I’ll find Liz, she’s probably gone to buy some biscuits. Best part of an interview day,’ she grinned, ‘candidates have biscuits and we get to finish them off, we usually get bourbons and cream custards, much better than the normal digestive biscuits. Ah, here she is, I’ll leave you in her capable hands, and get back to painting caterpillar pictures. Catch you later.’
Liz Potts was frighteningly capable. After checking that Lucy had signed herself in properly, and had made a note of her car registration correctly, she gathered up her bunch of keys and set off on the introductory tour of the school at a speed totally at odds with her appearance. She reminded Lucy of Mrs Tiggy-Winkle. Which could have been down to her rather rounded appearance, sharp nose, and tiny feet. Or the speed they were scuttling down the corridors at.
Lucy was being whisked through the school with a ruthless efficiency, and a nod to left and right at various classrooms which Mrs Potts seemed to consider superfluous to teaching.
‘Reception and Class 1 here on the right… and the dining room is there… this is our little library… Class 2 here, rather a big intake, it must have been a bad winter.’
‘Sorry?’ Lucy craned her neck, trying to peek inside at the children who seemed remarkably engrossed in their work.
‘Snow, a hard winter always results in a flurry of autumn births don’t you find?’
It had never occurred to Lucy, but there again there was probably less to do here than in the middle of Birmingham, which very rarely saw snow anyway.
The corridors seemed eerily quiet compared to what she’d been used to at her previous school, although that could have been partly down to the fact that it had been a modern build with thin partition walls and echoing areas between them – whereas this was a delightfully solid looking brick built affair that appeared to have been part of the village for years.
‘Er, yes, well.’ Easier to change the subject. ‘Do you have a Wi-Fi connection throughout the school?’
‘Wi-Fi?’ Mrs Potts actually paused, very briefly, so that an unprepared Lucy had to swerve, before they picked up speed again. She was more than used to chasing round after young children, and dashing round a classroom to avoid catastrophe, but it was the sheer determination of the woman as she darted down the corridors that had caught her by surprise.
‘You’ve got wireless throughout the school? An internet connection?’ Flat shoes were obviously going to be a necessity here, if she took the five week cover position.
‘Oh good heavens no, dear.’ Mrs Potts pursed her lips and shook her head dismissively. ‘That isn’t how we do things here.’
Oh hell, she’d been right. They probably wouldn’t even have interactive whiteboards. It would be old-fashioned style teaching, which was about as progressive as old fashioned granny knickers and string vests.
‘We’ve got chickens.’
Lucy came to a stop, then she had to dash after her tour guide who was steaming ahead, had flung a door open and as far as Lucy was concerned might well dive through it and disappear. ‘Chickens?’ God, she was out of breath, this was worse than Sports Day.
‘And a wonderful vegetable patch. Come along dear, I’ll show you.’ Mrs Potts glanced at her watch, her pace never faltering. ‘We are rather pushed for time as the children are waiting to interview you, they’ve been preparing all week.’
Lucy frowned, this all seemed rather over the top for a temporary post, in fact it was exactly what she expected in an interview for a permanent position. It seemed that the school took its staffing very seriously indeed. Mrs Potts had picked up speed, marching across the playground with Lucy running to keep up, to where a small patch of rather worn grass was fenced off, with what had to be a wooden chicken coop inside. ‘We do have computers in the classroom plugged in,’ she gave Lucy a stern look which suggested she didn’t approve, ‘for teaching purposes, but they can’t learn about responsibility by looking at those, can they? Now if the monitors for the day forget to shut the hens up at night, they won’t repeat that mistake again, will they?’
‘Won’t they?’ Lucy stared at the small wooden building, and a rather scraggy chicken gave her a beady once-over then proceeded to peck at the dirt.
‘Of course not.’ Mrs Potts looked at her as though she was a simpleton. ‘The fox will get them, won’t it?’ She made a cut throat gesture that looked slightly sinister, as she headed back across the playground and Lucy scurried after her.
‘It will?’ The sense that she’d entered some kind of tranquil backwater where life was idyllic started to disperse.
The drive up the M6 motorway had left her frustrated and tense (sure that she would be late, and she was never late), and
then she’d lost her way twice which had left her with sweating palms and the start of a headache, but the moment she’d entered the village the stress had started to ebb away and as her shoulders had relaxed she’d eased back on the accelerator and started to appreciate the pretty flower strewn hedgerows.
By the time she’d reached the well-kept village green with its swathes of bright dancing daffodils the pounding in her temples had stopped. Momentarily.
Until she’d taken an unwanted tumble back to her childhood, before being unceremoniously tossed to the curb by a very big man. With a firm grip, tousled hair and gorgeous eyes. Oh hell, now all she needed was for him to be one of the parents and word would soon get round that she was up for a grope with any passing strangers. Not that she’d actually kissed him. Luckily. But she had rubbed herself against him. And wriggled against his crotch.
What the hell was she was letting herself in for?
‘It certainly will. Foxes can be relied on.’ They ground to a halt, and Lucy nearly cannoned into her. ‘Believe me, the children only make that mistake once. And we have the vegetable patch of course.’ Mrs Potts was on the move again. Of course. At Lucy’s previous school they’d settled for egg shell men with cress hair, and a sunflower growing competition. And her sweet peas. Something caught in her throat at the thought of the seeds in their packets waiting to delight her class who had very little colour in their lives – apart from Pokemon and Marvel heroes.
‘Picking their own beans is far more rewarding than a gold star on a chart, and if the slugs or rabbits eat their lettuces well there’s a lesson or two to be learned, isn’t there? Oh now would you look at the time! Come on, chop, chop, we’ve got a lot to fit in today.’
It was no wonder the staff were happy to be treated to an extra portion of biscuits, working here would burn more calories than a double dose of Zumba followed by a Spin class.
Chapter 2
Summer with the Country Village Vet Page 3
