by Kitty Wilson
Chapter Seventeen
Rosy had had a successful few days at school since she’d broken the news to her colleagues, and was gratified to find that the staff were determined to support her in the mission to save the school. It was a rare moment of unity and one she hadn’t really experienced before. Following the meeting on Friday, everyone had come into school at the start of the week and put their apathy and their agendas to one side and resolved to work together. She knew that it was going to take more than staff unity and the awesome powers of Marion; they were going to need one grand gesture, something that would really hammer their message home – the value of a village school over a geographically distant mega-beast. She just didn’t know what that gesture was going to be yet.
Valentine’s Day was looming and parents were teeming all over the school, pulling bunting out of cupboards, dripping glitter hearts and stealing all the wall-staplers. The PTA was akin to a military unit. A unit with an extremely capable leader. A leader who had been canvassing the ranks since the news of potential school closure had been made official in the school newsletter at the start of this week. A leader, Rosy realized, that she hadn’t actually seen, or even heard, all day – which was most unusual considering the level of activity. Hmm. However, Rosy had been besieged by parents either popping their heads around her door or stroking her arm as she walked past, their eyes wide with hope, heads nodding and sympathy flowing. All saying things like ‘we believe in you’ and ‘if anyone can save us…’ No pressure then!
Plans were all in place to promote the school and all the great things they did. Rosy had reinjected some fire into their social media pages, and had planned to have traditional media, the local newspaper, present at the dance tomorrow. If she could get the message out there that the school was a vibrant hub of community and excellence, that would be an easy start in turning things around, whilst she tackled any areas of the school that needed strengthening a little more discreetly. She knew where the weaknesses were – everyone always did in a school – it was now her job to gently encourage those members of staff who needed to raise their game, a lot, and quickly. Not easy but compared to keeping Matt out of her head, a doddle.
She literally felt her heart dip into her tummy. If she could succeed at school where things were topsy-turvy, then she could cope with one inappropriate crush at home. The house next door had been quiet since their Sunday lunch there but last night she had heard the cottage whirr and buzz as they did when they were occupied. Knowing Matt and Angelina were both home again made it easier, in theory, to shut down any improper thoughts she may be having about her neighbour. It reinforced his relationship status and how he was morally out of bounds. But, at the same time, she couldn’t escape the awareness that he was there, just there, a wall away.
Rosy gathered some resources together for the maths assessment she was doing this afternoon, ordering brightly coloured plastic counting bears, blocks and fruit onto a table in front of her. That was it! She could manage Matt and Angelina’s presence by having a lesson plan for her evenings, even carry out a risk assessment for potential trouble spots. If she did this every night, just for a short while, then she could train her brain not to respond to their presence, not to think about him coming home from work and jumping into the shower and… oh, for goodness’ sake!
Her lesson plan for tonight would be simple: she would cook dinner, with extra left over for tomorrow – disco night! She would be kept busy for some time in the kitchen, cutting, scraping, steaming, frying, which she could do whilst juggling some of Marion’s more extreme suggestions in her head. After supper she could have a long bath and make a start on that book Lynne had lent her. In fact, if she had a glass of wine at supper and another in the bath, she was almost guaranteed to fall asleep nice and early, lesson plan complete and next door avoided. Perfect.
She looked up as the children began to pile into the classroom from their lunch playtime. Billy was bowling in with a silly walk and daft expression on his face, lips pulled back and teeth bared comically. Chloe came in squabbling with her friends about the best way to hold a kitten – because she had a kitten and knew everything in the world, ever, that there was to know about kittens and other people who had cats didn’t know about kittens at all! Bradley followed in last of all, accompanied by Jack, with whom he was very slowly beginning to develop a quiet friendship. Rosy couldn’t help but grin a welcome at them; there was nothing better to take her mind off a man than trying to corral this lot into order and teach them some maths.
* * *
That evening she arrived home and immediately noticed that all the lights in next door’s cottage were out. She felt her shoulders relax a little as she headed into the kitchen, popped the kettle on and sat in her favourite chair. She kicked her shoes off and allowed herself to close her eyes and loll her head as she waited for the water to boil. Lovely.
But Rosy’s ears kept pricking up with every car that passed, every clatter on the street. Even with a cup of tea made, a slice of lemon drizzle and a quick episode of her favourite show, the knots in her shoulders were still hovering. Instead of fully loosening up, she felt as if she were waiting for the door to burst open and an accusation from Angelina or a demand from Matt to be hurled at her, probably in tandem.
As she pottered around the kitchen the relief at having her evening mapped out turned into irritation. What was wrong with her? Why on earth did she do this to herself? Why was this teenage version of her taking control? She hadn’t done anything wrong; yes, she may have a bit of a crush on Matt but she hadn’t actually done anything about it. There were no accusations for Angelina to hurl. And why would Matt turn up and make demands? Was it really time to say it again?
Matt.
Was.
Not.
Josh.
She needed to boot insecure, anxiety-prone teenage Rosy back into her box and let adult, controlled Rosy back out. And preferably before dinner.
A door slammed next door and a frisson shot up her back. She gave the sauce another stir and a glimmer of a smile played at the edges of her mouth. There was a flush of pleasure at the thought of the two of them standing side by side preparing their suppers and settling down for a relaxing night in with only that wall between them. She remembered the roast and his silly sense of humour and allowed her smile to fully develop. He was lovely. Oh, and that daft hat and instrument, and the way he had lent her his jacket on the walk home that very first Sunday. Oh, and how he loved Lou Reed as much as she did. And the way his shirts were rumpled, as if someone had tried to iron them but didn’t have a clue how. And that daft dog!
He wasn’t a threat. Yes, he was flirtatious but he wasn’t a threat. He hadn’t tried to take over her whole life, to control her, to hide her away, to ruin her. How had she let herself get so riled up over this just because he was her neighbour? She pictured him tilting his head and looking at her with that quizzical amused look he’d had the day they met.
‘That doesn’t give you permission to now jump in there and have occupancy,’ she said out loud to the image in her mind. Not that she was mad or anything. It was just that speaking out loud when she needed to tell herself off made it more real somehow. Gave it a bit of welly. She couldn’t help but giggle as the image of him raised both his eyebrows and nodded slowly, as perhaps you would with someone a little slower than yourself.
‘Ange! Angelina!’ she heard him calling through the wall, and as she did so the twinkling image popped out of her mind. ‘Ange!’
And that was why he wasn’t allowed in her head. There was a timely reminder!
The lesson plan clearly hadn’t worked; she needed to approach this differently. Glad that her one sharp talk to herself had taken the edge off the fear, now she just needed to concentrate on the lust. Perhaps if she made herself a star chart? What could her reward be? No! She reprimanded herself as her brain quickly flashed an idea at her – that was not appropriate for the problem in hand. Not at all!
* * *
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She heard him enter the garden, which was a coincidence because although she was trying to get him out of her mind she was just about to go and feed the birds. Honestly, she was! She rifled through a couple of drawers before she found the peanuts, and smugly opened her own back door only to hear him mutter a couple of her own favourite words under his breath.
‘Hey, good evening,’ she called through the fence. There was no harm being neighbourly.
‘Oh hey, Rosy. Is that you?’ came the upbeat tone back.
‘Yep, just topping up the birds.’
‘Oh, that’s good. More people should do that. You are good.’
She smiled. She was. Should she invite him over for a slice of cake? Oh, for goodness’ sake, that had taken all of two seconds. Have some self-control, girl!
‘Hmm, not always.’ Oh, and bloody hell, that was meant to be truthful self-deprecating judgement, not flirty! Maybe she should just jump over the fence in nothing but a G-string and make a complete fool of herself, just get it all over and done with and out of the way quick.
‘Really?’ It was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or interested. Doesn’t matter, she told herself, just be grateful he didn’t respond with some icky comment about promises or some such nonsense. Lucky escape.
Rosy spotted a little mound of mud near the fence. That was odd. Could she have moles? She remembered them from her mother’s garden, neat, sifted piles of earth appearing overnight on the lawn. Perhaps she had a beginner mole who had made a wrong turn and banged his head on her fence.
Smiling, she headed towards the fence to investigate and started the conversation afresh.
‘Hmmm. How are you, anyway?’ She wasn’t sure she’d ever had a conversation through a fence before, it felt a little bizarre. Very Pyramus and Thisbe. Well, maybe not quite, but still.
‘Yeah, good. No, actually a bit stressed. I’ve come home and bloody Angelina has disappeared, not a sign of her.’
What? Was she not supposed to leave or something? This was an interesting insight into his psyche. Dear God, had her subconscious been right all along? Clearly not a lovely twinkly-eyed gardener after all, but some kind of girlfriend-imprisoning control freak. Had she recognized this on some deep level despite his exquisite surface game? She had been through this. And yet again it needed repeating. Matt was not Josh. Hear him out, then examine the evidence and draw a conclusion. Stop always leaping to the worst-case scenario. But despite her inner rationalizing, Rosy remained rooted to the ground, frozen, as something began moving by the fence. Her concern didn’t seem to reach Matt; indeed her silence seemed to encourage him.
‘Seriously, she was told not to go out and now I come home and poof, nothing! She never does what she’s bloody told! Never. You’d think I would have learnt by now!’
Woah! OK. Imprint this on your brain and remember. Imprint now!
‘And what’s really weird, I mean really weird, Rosy…’
Really? This wasn’t enough for him? ‘Go on.’
‘Someone’s been here, I know it’s a bit Columbo but there are two empty glasses here, both covered with lipstick, and she doesn’t have any friends here, not that I know… oh bloody hell…’
Rosy’s concerns about Matt and Angelina vanished, spiralling into the night sky as the confused baby ‘mole’ emerged from the pile of mud by the fence and bowled straight into her arms, licking her face and wagging his naughty Scramble tail.
Chapter Eighteen
Despite her overwhelming workload, her strict intent not to engage and the recent discovery that Matt didn’t like letting Angelina out of the house, Rosy found herself with his dog in her arms, knocking on his door.
As she waited for him to answer, Scramble squirming against her, she considered whether she needed to reconsider her judgements. Maybe instead of disliking Perfect Hair she should feel a bit sorry for her. Was Matt that type of man that liked a vacuous celebrity girlfriend for the prestige, the power it gave him? Did he like his women scantily clad and stripped of control? That just didn’t make sense, it didn’t sit right, regardless of this new evidence.
Matt answered the door with a grin as wide as the Nile, reaching for Scramble and shaking his head. As usual, the sheer physicality of his presence made Rosy breathe deep. When had she become so shallow? Was she really thinking of throwing out The Rule for a pretty face and tummy flips? No, pretty was the wrong word, but those jeans, all muddy and really quite tight! His arms, patterned by dark unruly hair and the definition that physical work brought them. She would do anything to run a finger down them and then they, in turn, they led to his hands…
‘Rosy, hello in person. I thought you were still in the garden. I’ve been chattering away to you and instead you were on the doorstep. You’d better come in. Although you’ – he pointed at Scramble, already pulling out of his arms – ‘you are a disgrace!’
Thank God for that, he hadn’t picked up on her silent lust-filled staring as he opened the door. She stared a little longer. This was all such a puzzle – he really didn’t emanate menace in any form. The only vibe he chucked out in buckets was irresistible all-round good guy.
‘Thanks, I was in the garden, and then before I knew it your pickle of a dog was in my arms! I did toy with kidnapping him but decided even I couldn’t handle his level of naughty.’
Matt’s face crinkled as he gave up the fight and placed Scramble on the hallway floor where he scampered kitchen-wards. ‘We used to say that about Ange when she was little – that any kidnapper would kick her out the car after three minutes.’ He laughed at the memory.
‘When Angelina was little?’ Rosy queried. ‘Have you known her forever then?’ That would certainly explain the bond that led to their relationship. Of course he wasn’t into inane celebrity. She was an idiot.
Matt looked directly at her, eyebrow raised. ‘Rosy, she’s my sister! Why else would I put up with her nonsense?’ He laughed again. ‘Now you’re here, though, do you fancy playing detective?’
His sister? His sister. He wasn’t in a relationship – she was his sister!
‘Rosy?’ He wasn’t giving her any time to process this, and she was not prepared to make more of a fool of herself than she already had.
‘Yes, detective, let’s do that. Show me these lipstick-covered glasses, you can be my Watson.’ She tried to keep her voice as close to normal as possible.
‘Oh, well, I always rather fancied Moriarty myself. Not fancied, um… wanted to be.’
Oh, cute! See, he stumbled just like me.
Her other voice kicked in. Cute! He wants to model himself on an arch villain who has killed countless people! A third, louder, triumphant voice piped up – she’s his sister!
Oh, shut up, head!
‘You wanted to be the baddy?’
‘He’s super clever, super cool and baddies have so much fun. Anyway, you told me only a minute ago in the garden that you weren’t such a good girl.’
Great, trust him to remember that. Rosy tried not to look at him, but the frisson between the two of them standing so close in the narrow hallway was palpable. More than palpable – loud and booming. Bordering on sonic.
‘Let’s see these glasses then, Columbo-Moriarty-whoever you are.’ Rosy smiled up at him. It felt fake but she needed to get out of this hallway; another room may be less suffocating. And movement would break the mood.
‘Come on then.’ He smiled and she relaxed. There, just friendly; she was imagining all this sexual chemistry nonsense. Clearly she was just a bit desperate. The revelation that Angelina was his sister had knocked her – combine that with the fact that it had been a bit too long meant that she was picturing what wasn’t here. She needed to get a grip of herself. Maybe log back into her dating account when she got home.
She followed him through into the kitchen where he produced the two glasses with a flourish. And indicated the two empty bottles of champagne next to them. She looked closely and took one from him. The shade was reminiscent of someone
, she just couldn’t think who. Come on, brain.
‘It might be nothing…’ Matt had come and stood right by her elbow, examining the glass as she twirled it in the air, her brow furrowed. ‘But it did occur to me that there was a woman who looked like she might be coming to the house this morning. Blonde hair, lots of make-up, some kind of birds on her dress. But what she’d want with Ange baffles me.’
‘Birds on her dress? That’s impressive detail.’
‘They were lime green.’
‘Oh my God! Blonde? Looked a bit like she could snap at any moment?’
‘Ha, yes I guess so. Why, do you know who it could be? Sherlock, have you surpassed yourself?’
‘I may well have done, Watson, I may well have done. I think Angelina is with Marion. She wasn’t in school today and I’m sure I saw her boys being hustled out of school by one of her minions. I knew I recognized that shade of lipstick. Yes, it all makes sense. Angelina must be with Marion.’
‘Well, do I need to worry? Who is this Marion? What does she want with my sister?’
His sister! Rosy shook her head. That was insane, and yet so obvious now.
‘Oh my God, why are you shaking your head? I’m serious. Ange is really vulnerable at the moment. Who is this Marion?’
‘Hey, it’s all good. She’s not going to come to any harm with her. Marion is the head of the PTA and my rather unlikely ally in the Save Our School fight. By the looks of it they’ve got super pissed, hatched up some evil plan – sorry, not that Angeli— not evil, um, fun plan that involves more drinking and securing world domination. They’ll be together and having a lovely time. Trust me. I think we can both stop worrying. Maybe treat ourselves to a drink as well and put our feet up until Marion brings her home?’
‘Do you reckon?’ Matt’s shoulders relaxed. ‘Do you think this is what having kids is like?’
‘I really hope not. Tell you what, why don’t we both give them a ring if you’re still worried and see what they’re up to.’ Rosy felt saintly. The last thing she wanted to do was engage with Marion this evening – her bath and book were deeply preferable – but that was clearly what Matt wanted to do. And she didn’t like seeing him worried, although that little furrow on his brow was kind of endearing.
