by Kitty Wilson
But what on earth would she say? How does one tell one’s secret crush that they are not harbouring any intention of sleeping with them because a) he has a girlfriend, and b) Rosy herself had a whole baggage-trolley-full of seemingly unresolvable issues? She could hear Lynne’s voice saying, ‘Yup, just like that’, but there was no way in the world Rosy was going to say that. She was all for speaking the truth, but there were degrees.
Maybe she’d just sit here and let the conversation arise organically. Yes, organically, and then the right words would find themselves at the time. That was probably the spiritually awakened way of doing things. Harmony would be proud. She hadn’t realized that she was spiritually awakened but obviously that’s exactly what she was. That was good. That would help.
‘Close your eyes, one… two… three,’ came Matt’s command from behind the pantry door. She loved this sort of thing so she did exactly that, clapped her hands excitedly, spun around at speed on her chair, and promptly fell off. Bloody typical.
Matt had been holding two glasses of a beautiful-looking cocktail, inviting and layered with colour. However these were abandoned on the counter as he raced over in two big steps to extend his hand and pull her back up from the floor.
‘Oh my goodness, are you OK? You’re such a fool!’
‘Such a fool!’ she retorted, holding firm to his hand and allowing herself to be pulled up.
‘Yes! You were swinging on that chair like a child.’
‘I like it. I do it at work too.’ Rosy was standing as close as close could be now she had regained her balance. They were still holding hands and she couldn’t resist the urge to stick her tongue out, just very quickly, at him.
‘I like that you like it.’
The mood suddenly changed. It was as sudden as a clap of thunder. Rosy stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do with her hand, apart from praying that it didn’t become too clammy, staring at Matt with big eyes. There was no way to mistake this. The sexual chemistry here was even more charged than her first kiss with Ben James in the upper fourth by the bins. And that was a kiss that changed her from girl to woman. Even more intense than her first meeting with Josh at uni, and she hadn’t thought that was possible. Good God, she couldn’t move. She gulped and wondered what the hell was going on in Matt’s head right now.
His eyes hadn’t left her face. He didn’t seem to be having doubts about sweaty palms or teenage passion. He was just smiling that smile and coming closer and, oh my, she had to stop this, but oh my God, his lips were so close and—
Music blasted out, making Scramble, who was curled in his basket, jerk awake. Rosy used it, and buckets of self will, to take a step back and put some distance between her and Matt. Phew. That was close. The music stopped and then started again. Matt pushed his hand through his hair and looked a little flustered. Or embarrassed. Rosy couldn’t tell which but it was definitely one or the other. Maybe a mix of the two.
‘I’d better get that.’ He turned and picked up his phone from the top of the bread bin where it was singing and vibrating with the energy and determination of a toddler.
‘What? Yes, I know… right, calm down, I can hardly hear you… hang on a minute…’
He turned and shrugged at Rosy, no less attractive than he was thirty seconds ago but a little more hassled-looking. ‘I’m sorry, let me just deal with this, don’t forget your drink…’ He nodded at the cocktail on the side, which seemed somehow to have lost its charm, and then wandered into the next room.
Despite the distance between the two rooms, more symbolic than actual, Rosy could clearly hear the gist of the conversation. Even though she couldn’t hear Angelina’s words, the muffled female screeching on the other end indicated one very upset woman.
‘Ange, yes, I can tell how upset you are… yes I know it’s Valentine’s Day next week, of course I do… I don’t really see… right, OK! OK, I’ll get the train up as soon as I can…’
Rosy didn’t need to hear any more. What the hell was she doing here? How could she? For all her faux morality, all her so-called rules, she knew how badly she had wanted to kiss him just then. Would she have done so had his phone not rung? Had his girlfriend – distressed girlfriend – not rung?
She knocked back the cocktail on the side. After all, she wasn’t a complete idiot; she was going to need that to get her through the rest of the day. Cutting blooming hearts out. And possibly ignoring the front door and developing a stronger moral backbone. Oh hell, maybe they’d move soon. Drink drunk, she sneaked out of the front door, ever so quietly but not quite tippy-toes, and headed back to her spinster-like home, leaving Matt trying to calm down the (maybe rightfully) overwrought Angelina.
Chapter Twelve
Matt heard the door creak shut and let out a sigh before continuing to talk to his sister. He couldn’t blame Rosy for leaving. Angelina’s voice could sometimes make him want to do the same, and she certainly wouldn’t be the first woman his sister had scared off. But he thought Rosy had more to her than to take fright over a phone call. Unless it was him. That might make more sense. He had assumed she felt as he did – all the vibes had been pointing that way – but what if he had read the situation wrong? What if she was being neighbourly and he had come on too strong? Oh God, in that case he owed her an apology. But if she had felt so strongly she had to flee, maybe chasing after her would only make things worse.
‘Matt!’ His sister barked down the phone at him with that innate skill she had for knowing when he wasn’t giving her his full attention. Right. He’d deal with one thing at a time.
‘Look, Ange, I’ve said I understand that you’re upset and that it’s Valentine’s Day soon and that you feel your life is in pieces, and I’ve said I’ll come and visit as soon as I can but I’m in the middle of something and, quite frankly, what more do you want from me?’
‘I want you to come and look after me. What do you mean in the middle of something? Well, you just get back to something and leave me here all alone, broken and alone. I don’t think’ – sob – ‘you appreciate’ – sob, hiccup – ‘quite how much I loved this one.’
Matt resisted all temptation to ask if it was as much as the last one, who also had been her soulmate, love of her life and spiritual twin. He went for a non-committal noise instead. He wished Rosy hadn’t left.
‘What’s that supposed to mean? I need some support here, Mattie.’
‘Look, Ange, have you tried ringing that friend of yours, you know, the one you met in group counselling last time?’
‘She’s not here, is she. She’s never here, she’s in Thailand or some place having a lovely time. She’s not had her heart twisted out of her chest and stomped on…’ Angelina changed her tone from desperate hyperventilating and sobbing and went for wheedling instead. ‘Please, Matt, you’re all I’ve got and I’m scared. Please…’ She paused. Angelina had always known how to get him and it would seem today was no exception.
‘OK, OK, I’ll get the train up.’
‘Now?’
‘Now! Are you cr—’ Matt managed to stop himself just in time. His sister had always struggled to regulate her emotions, their intensity was often overwhelming and it was he who she had always reached for as she felt things begin to spiral.
He felt that familiar tightening in his chest, a feeling of being trapped, wishing that she would reach out to a professional but knowing she never would. And without professional support who else did she have? He didn’t have a choice; he knew it was unlikely but what if the one time he refused to help was the time she took things a step too far? It was a risk that didn’t bear thinking about – not considering their family history, not considering their mum.
He wouldn’t need to stay for long, a few days at most. His sister’s emotions were as fast-moving as they were fierce and once she felt supported would change again in a flash, and then Angelina would be back to her usual self, popping on her shortest skirt and heading out looking for her next celebrity match and his-and-hers Lamborgh
inis. It seemed an empty, shallow existence to him, and exactly the sort of nonsense he was trying to escape – status-obsessed women driven by dreams of alimony payments and sex with the gardener. However, until she recovered, he didn’t like to think of her feeling alone, rejected, desperate. If he could help her, show her she wasn’t friendless, that she was loved, then yup, that was exactly what he had to do.
‘OK, not right now, but today?’ Her voice was plaintive and suddenly drained of all emotion, which was almost scarier than the screaming, shouting Class A bitch behaviour.
‘Yep, I’ll check the trains and I promise I’ll be there by tonight. But, Ange, you have to promise me if I’m catching the train up today you won’t do… um… you know… don’t do… um… anything stupid, huh?’
Sniffle… sniffle… ‘Well, I have already eaten three yum-yums – oh my God, corn syrup and carbs! What was I thinking? I’ll throw the rest in the bin. Thank you, Matt, I’ll do that now.’
‘OK.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘And then, hang on…’ He switched to speakerphone and scrolled down the train times. ‘I should be there by eight. Why don’t you have a long bath, and then pop on Gone with the Wind. I’ll be there by the time Rhett gets out his hanky.’
‘Yes, that’s a good idea, OK, OK.’
‘Right, let me just sort some stuff out here and I’ll see you in a bit.’
‘All right, and, um… thanks, Matt.’
Matt hung up the phone and a bittersweet smile came across his face. Gone with the Wind had always been their film. Not particularly masculine, and not something anyone outside his family knew, but it had been their mother’s favourite and Matt and Angelina had watched it time and time again as kids. First of all with Mum and then afterwards, using the film to trigger memories of her.
His mum’s favourite scene had been the making of the green dress, and she had always hidden behind a cushion from the minute Bonnie got on the horse. Angelina, from the age of four, used to wrap herself in their own curtains and shout, ‘Well, I do declare’ in a southern accent (they should have known then Angelina was predestined for fame), and Matt had been cushion holder and passer. The film was a comfort blanket now for the two of them, as much in adulthood as after her death.
They knew all the words and would huddle under the blanket mouthing along to all the big scenes. Angelina had, obviously, adored Scarlett and Ashley, whereas Matt had not been so keen, much preferring Melanie, who could always be relied upon to do the right thing, unlike Scarlett and Ashley, who appeared to have no moral compass at all. Watching the film now should calm her down, reassure her and, as a bonus, it was nearly as long as the entire train journey.
He ran up the stairs, slinging things into a bag, Scramble yapping with excitement. He wouldn’t be gone for long but before he went, he needed to just whisk around and say goodbye to Rosy, explain why he was racing off. He didn’t blame her for leaving, but they had had such a nice afternoon, again. He really could see a lifetime of such afternoons with her. Yikes! That was not part of the original plan for his time in Cornwall. He’d best shelve that thought for now. However, he suspected he’d revisit it later, probably again and again (and with a smile each time) on the train.
He assumed from last weekend that Rosy was dating. He had hoped it wasn’t serious, of course he did. Then today, when he had gone around in that daft cap to invite her back to his, she had been cutting out all those little hearts. His own had dipped. No one did that unless they were pretty caught up over someone. That was a lot of effort – it had looked like there were hundreds of the things. But still she had come to his house, and they’d had a great afternoon. Everything about them had just gelled. They had so much in common; it was as if they had known each other a lifetime, and the chemistry building up to that almost-kiss, that had been undeniable, inevitable even. As if it were not just a natural progression of the bond they shared but the only conclusion. Surely she didn’t have that sort of a bond with someone else? He knew from experience how hard that was to find.
To be lucky enough to find it with one person was huge. Could she be so lucky that she had found it with two? Woah, there were a lot of assumptions there. Namely that she also felt they had the bond. Hmmm, maybe that’s where the flaw lay? She would, of course, produce this reaction in any man – she was perfect. What was lacking, clearly, was her feeling the same about others as she inspired in them. Stupid arrogant man.
But there was mad chemistry between them. When he had leant in and gone for the kiss, he could have sworn that she was about to kiss him too. It hadn’t been one-sided, had it? Had he overstepped, is that why she’d left? He didn’t think of himself as predatory, but then who did? No, he was pretty sure he wasn’t – he was experienced with women and he knew, he did, when attraction was returned and there was no way, just before that kiss, that she wasn’t feeling the same way as him. He had seen it in her eyes, her whole face. So if he hadn’t offended her with his intention, if she was as keen as he was, then why had she left just because his sister had called?
The obvious answer, staring him in the face, was that she was seeing someone else, and would not allow herself to kiss him. She was attracted to him, he was sure of it, but she was not going to mess around with him. She may at the moment prefer this other mystery man, but he still had a shot. He knew he did. He was going to have to develop a slowly-slowly plan, stop trying to bloody kiss her and let time and charm win her around.
His bag packed, Matt scrawled her a note, explaining that he just needed to go to London to help Angelina out, but perhaps they could catch up when he was back. There, perfect plan, open and clear that he was looking forward to seeing her again but applying no pressure and not forcing her to face him if indeed he had misread the signs and she had felt the need to escape. Smile on his face, he headed down the path to her house, bag swinging from his shoulder, note in hand and Scramble by his heels.
Chapter Thirteen
As Matt let himself into his sister’s flat, the silence reverberated off the walls. Where the hell was she? With no sound of Gone with the Wind or snuffling into tissues, he closed his eyes and threw the door to the living room open.
Nothing.
Bloody hell!
He marched from room to room – still no sign – only pausing as he reached the bathroom door. The most fearful of them all. Aware speed could be important, admonishing himself for cowardice, heart beating like a drum and breath coming fast, he threw that door open as well. Empty, all as it should be.
Flat checked, he began to list the facts, hoping to quiet his thundering heart, slow his breathing and bring the sick feeling that was coursing through his body under control. She wasn’t in any of the rooms, not spread out in some kind of suicide attempt. She was not their mother. She wouldn’t do that to him. Surely?
He hadn’t spotted her mobile in any of the rooms, or an abandoned handbag. This had to be good. Unless…
Racing to the window, anxiety far from dimmed, he looked to see if she were splayed on the pavement below, bag over shoulder and phone in hand. As adrenalin pumped through his body he could feel himself shaking, his feet restless with energy, panic making him pace up and down in short steps as he figured out what his next step was going to be. Think!
Ring someone. She wasn’t in the flat so she must be somewhere else. Well done, brains of the nation. Who to ring? Still pacing, he realized he knew none of her circle; they drifted in and then away again. Skimming surfaces, not getting caught in the depths.
Matt stopped pacing and gently smacked his brow – it was Angelina he should ring, not some stranger. If she didn’t answer he would be no further forward… more worried, but that was virtually a default setting when it came to dealing with his sister. But if she did, then problem solved. Although, if she had gone out and was somewhere doing whatever it was she did (it seemed to centre around champagne and paparazzi) then he was going to be livid. Absolutely livid.
He sighed heavily, and again, anxiety quickly replaced
by a growing anger as he accepted this possibility. She was the most selfish creature he had ever, ever met!
Then an image of her at nine years old popped into his head, her freckles, the curl of her hair on her shoulder and her utter glee when he had brought her home a rabbit, Hollywood, who soon became her most treasured possession. Dear God, he was veering here from fear, to anger, to maudlin nostalgia. Where was Matt the Man?
Matt the Man took control, squared his shoulders and rang his sister. Much more like it.
‘Darling!’ came her peppy tones as he answered, although they were hard to make out against the boom boom of the background noise, ‘Oh fuck! You’re in London, aren’t you? I completely forgot. You really are too good to me, Mattie.’
You’re not kidding. Suddenly he pictured those freckles, that curl and his hands around her bloody neck. When would he learn?
‘Oh dear, I’m not there. Well, um… you’ll just have to come here… oh… hang on…’ There was an even longer pause that coincided with Matt’s temper building and building. Was she joking? He was going to do more than kill her.
‘OK, that’s a great idea… I’m at a club at the moment but I can send a car. Oh, darling, I can’t wait to see you, you really are a sweetie. Now it shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes max, get yourself a drink as a primer and you’ll be here in a flash. We’re going to have such a great night, it’s been years since we partied together, I’m so excited! I can’t wait to see you! Oh… you can’t turn up here looking like a gardener, um… there are some of Andrei’s clothes in the spare room, I was going to cut them up, good job I didn’t. You can pop those on. See you in a minute. Ooh!’ – squeal – ‘Mwah mwah!’
