by Kitty Wilson
‘Yeah, OK, maybe I should do that. I’m not normally this, well, this wussy but Ange, she needs keeping an eye on.’ He shrugged his shoulders in a helpless gesture and again Rosy couldn’t control her face as it broke into a sympathetic smile. Maybe her judgement wasn’t so off; he wasn’t a nutty control-freak like Josh – he just cared about his sister and wasn’t afraid to express it. That’s how relationships should be.
Matt pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapped it a couple of times and they both stood close, listening to it ring out.
‘Voicemail.’
‘That’s fairly meaningless down here. It could mean her battery is dead, but more than likely means she has no signal, which is pretty common. In terms of phone service we’re still stuck somewhere in the mid-nineties, but it can be a bonus.’ She felt the smile creep onto her face. She had frequently used the no or patchy signal excuse when speaking (or not) to her mother. ‘But obviously not right now. Um, tell you what, I’ll try Marion, just in case. Seriously, sometimes it can be so poor that one person at a table can receive a call but not the person sitting across from them. It happens all the time.’
She managed to compose her features back into concerned mode and pulled her own phone out of her pocket. She didn’t like seeing anyone perturbed, especially when she could do something small to help. Even so, she couldn’t believe she was actually trying to track down Marion and Perfect Hair. She deserved canonization for this!
‘Sorry, voicemail too. Look, they’ll be fine, really. They’ll be having fun. I was cooking supper, just pasta, but instead of staying here fretting why don’t you come share it with me? I do owe you a dinner, and now is as good a time as any. What do you think?’
Matt looked back at her and smiled, although in that smile she could see a hundred emotions flit across his face. One of which was a definite ‘fuck it, why not?’ That was something she could identify with; in fact it was one of her own favourites. Particularly in reference to cake, and clothes shopping.
‘And I’ve got lemon drizzle.’ She sealed the deal. There was no way he was going to resist cake, that much she knew. Within seconds they were on her doorstep.
Chapter Nineteen
The enticing smell of garlic and oregano in the pasta sauce hit Matt the second Rosy opened the door to her cottage. Which was great because he was really hungry, really liked food and was mad keen on spending more time with her. The fact that whenever there was the potential to make some kind of romantic move she spooked and fled was of concern but not a problem that couldn’t be sorted. And in the meantime there was pasta.
Scramble settled on the sofa at once and Matt followed her through to the kitchen, secretly thanking him and his wayward sister, who, albeit entirely unintentionally, had secured yet more time for him with his sexy next-door neighbour. He had been so worried when he’d got home, but with the fact revealed that she hadn’t run off alone and that Rosy had categorically identified her companion meant that harm was unlikely to befall her. It also meant that he had the evening off and that he got to spend some of it here. Bonus!
He needed the evening off. The pressure of the last few days – from jumping on the train, getting thrown out of a nightclub and dragging Angelina back to Cornwall – was immense. It was no surprise that his head felt like exploding and that the large bowl of pasta that was currently being popped before him, and accompanied by that smile, felt like the best thing that had happened in ages. On top of which he had some news of his own to deliver. Although when he had first devised his idea it had seemed genius, now it came time to share it he was suddenly nervous. What if she didn’t throw her arms around him and thank him? What if she felt it was inappropriate and interfering? Perhaps he should just watch for the opportunity to bring it up, quietly and without fanfare and in the meantime switch his mind back to spaghetti and that smile.
They were certainly the best things that had happened since Sunday lunch. There was a theme developing that he was not unaware of. Indeed, was acutely aware of, as she finally came and sat with him, accompanied by Parmesan and grater. How great would this life be every day? Was there anything she wasn’t good at?
Scramble’s snores came from the other room. He was wiped out from a busy day at Penmenna Hall. Normally the smell of food would have him sitting at Matt’s feet, grinning his most winsome doggy grin – but not tonight.
‘This is amazing, thanks, Rosy. I can’t tell you how timely this is or how much I need it.’
‘Rough few days?’ she asked, leaning over him and grating cheese. ‘Tell me when.’
‘When.’ The smell of her reminded him of those penny chews, Fruit Salads, that had always been his favourite. Then his gardener’s nose kicked in and he could identify rose, rhubarb and a hint of something else. It would come to him later, he knew it. She smelt delicious and, like every part of her, this scent appealed to the child and the adult within him.
She plopped back into her chair and smiled broadly at him.
‘So, what’s been happening?’
‘I couldn’t make it up if I told you. But since I saw you on Sunday, I’ve been beaten up by the Russian mafia, and thrown, actually thrown out of a club. I tell you my arse is still sore – pavements are hard! On top of that I was offered cocaine, which I didn’t accept by the way, in a grimy alleyway by a rather frightening woman. Although not in that order. How about you?’
He couldn’t help but grin at the way neither shock nor judgement flashed across her face but instead Rosy erupted in a proper deep belly laugh.
‘Just a regular couple of days then. Mind you, I would have paid to see the throwing out bit. Was it a proper back of the neck and hurl like they do in movies? Did it hurt as much as it looks like it would?’
‘Yes, why are you still laughing? About me being in pain? Humiliated and in pain? You have a bit of a mean streak, don’t you? Clearly I got you all wrong!’
‘Clearly you got it all wrong about a whole host of other things as well. What on earth did you do?’
‘Why do you assume it’s my fault?’ Matt aimed for the air of an aggrieved child who’d been caught out. Any minute now and it’d be hand against forehead à la Victorian heroine. He was enjoying this.
‘You’re an idiot! Your face fools no one,’ sputtered Rosy.
‘The insults just don’t stop coming, do they. Here I was thinking I was coming over for a civilized, neighbourly bowl of pasta, but no, it’s just attack, attack, attack with you, isn’t it?’
She held her hands up and bowed her head in a gesture of apology. ‘OK, straight-faced now. How? Why? To all of it. Was it not your fault?’
‘Well, it’s a long story and I don’t want to be disloyal, but…’
‘Oh my God, it was all about Angelina, wasn’t it?’
Matt smiled one of those what-do-you-expect smiles and spread his hands, and Rosy shook her head.
‘I’m a glutton for punishment?’ He shrugged.
‘Clearly, and that’s not all.’ She leaned forward and completely unexpectedly drew her fingers across his cheek, just in the corner of his face. ‘You’re a glutton for my cooking too – you’ve got pasta sauce everywhere! There, that’s it.’
He didn’t really hear her words; it was almost as if it were one of those bad film moments that make you wince at the obviousness of it, as everything around the main character is suspended in time and slows down to a near halt, whereas the main character himself is highlighted, sharpened, in focus as he moves forward, hyper-sensitized, and in this particular case grabs the wrist near him.
He wasn’t trying to be aggressive and he didn’t grab her roughly; it just kind of happened, and he held lightly onto her wrist as she attempted to move away. He looked into her eyes. Her action, its level of intimacy, had shocked him and he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. It was instinctive, intuitive, not at all thought out and he didn’t want to look away. He wanted to pull her, gently, determined, even closer still.
‘I’m so sorry!’
Rosy spoke and the spell was broken. ‘I didn’t realize what I was doing, I’m sorry. It’s inherent, a work thing, I guess. Forgive me.’
Matt dropped her wrist immediately. What she had been doing? Was she joking? What about what he had done! That was so unlike him.
‘I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to grab you. I don’t know what came over me.’
‘Oh, don’t be daft, you weren’t aggressive in any way. Everyone would raise their hand to protect themselves if some mad woman came at their face as if they were six.’
He didn’t feel particularly like he was six right now.
‘And anyway, I quite liked it.’ Her face looked as surprised as he was as she realized what she had just said. He watched as the flush rose from her neck to the roots of her hair. That didn’t look like it was something she had meant to say out loud. Matt held her eye contact. Something was fizzing all over him, and he found himself pushing his chair out and standing up. Slowly and deliberately he walked around towards her. He took in every last detail as he went: her dark hair as it fell across her shoulders, curtaining the curves of her neck. Her big eyes, wider than usual as she watched him move nearer; her mouth, slightly ajar as if surprised or, as he watched her tongue flick across the lips, as desirous as he was for what was about to happen next. One hand held on to the table, the other awkwardly on her lap as if she weren’t quite sure what to do with it, how to position herself.
Whilst it took a matter of seconds to cross from his chair to her, it felt as if it were all going one slow frame at a time, a compulsion, a black-and-white movie but without the desperate kind of flinging at each other. A more heightened, modern, slow and silent realization of what they had both been working towards since the night they’d recognized a mutual attraction. That first meeting as they’d bickered on the pavement, then the night they had stayed up laughing, drinking, talking, learning. This had always been going to happen and as he looked in her eyes he knew she had known it too.
He reached her and held his hand to hers, pulling her out of her chair. They remained wordless, and just stood there for a second or two, staring at each other, almost cementing the moment on their brains, wanting it to be clear for future recall. This could be momentous.
She quivered in front of him, as a baby rabbit in the hand of a man. Her tremble though was not with fear; she maintained his eye contact, daring him on. Tongue still flicking across her lips, unaware she was doing it, nerves fully on show. Yet she did not step back and he lowered his head to meet her lips in a deliberately measured way, offering her every chance to step back, scream no, slap him. Yet she didn’t. She instead moved almost imperceptibly closer, willing him forward until he could bear no more.
This was an entirely different way of doing things than he was used to; this seemed full, rich, fertile and bursting; this seemed like one of those life-defining moments where a decision was made; this felt to him like more than kissing his neighbour. This was big.
He could bear it no more. He had to feel her lips on his, just taste them and then pull back, that was the plan. He didn’t want to suddenly be swishing pasta bowls off the table – well of course he did, really did – but this was too momentous, this he wanted to secure every step of the way. He had scared her before; he wasn’t repeating that mistake.
She met him and as their lips touched he felt the frissons shoot through him. What was supposed to be a simple kiss became much more intense; he had felt her shudder as their mouths initially touched and he needed to feel more. He pulled her closer still as the kiss became deeper and deeper and one hand travelled up to support her head, the other resting in the small of her back, to protect her, to hold her there. She was matching him depth for depth, no hesitancy, no holding back, she wanted him as badly as he wanted her, she was moving from responsive to more aggressive as the heat he was feeling was clearly consuming her too.
He was almost too scared to stop; he didn’t want that second to happen when his mouth left hers, when they were separate, even if it were just for a moment. He didn’t want any chance of sanity – hers – kicking in and making her stop. He wasn’t sure what had been holding her back before, but he had known something had, confirmed on Sunday, but whatever it was, she had given it up now.
He hitched her up onto the table, hands wandering, taking in her whole body. A body that was leaning in to him, encouraging him to go further, to feel more, and he didn’t think he was going to be able not to. He wanted to lose himself, he wanted to make her feel the depth of what he was feeling, he wanted her to gasp, to scream with pleasure.
Her hands were also frantic, pulling at his shoulders, up and down his back. He could just lose himself here forever.
But no, as strong as his desire was, and it was, he needed to check properly. He wanted to hear her give her consent. He wanted it made as clear as could be – this could not be a crazed bulldozing of lust, this had to be more.
Matt pulled himself away, hands still on her waist as he took a breath and forced her to as well.
‘Rosy?’ He was scared to ask. Scared her answer would be no, petrified her answer would be a yes, for he knew this was a Pandora’s box, one he wouldn’t ever want to close. He had never given anyone such power over his emotions before and he was alternating between trepidation and that feeling of never-so-sure-of-anything-in-his-life. It all hung on her.
Her lips were swollen, her pupils huge as she gazed back up at him, and nodded.
As he felt the smile take over his face, she arched up and pulled him back down. This was really happening; this woman was amazing in so many different ways. He knew, at this moment there was no doubt in his mind, this woman was the one he was meant to find.
He closed his eyes and leaned in, happy, renouncing his fears and committing in this one movement to all the future had to hold as he felt her kiss imbue his whole being. Then he heard a car door slam.
Chapter Twenty
Rosy felt Matt tense above her and heard an engine starting and moving away. She froze as the sounds of stumbling up next door’s path followed. There was no mistaking it – with her cottage out on the edge of the village with very little traffic or street noise, she was attuned to everything.
It had to be Angelina and Marion, and if it were Marion… oh dear God! The realization of what she had just done – and she wasn’t sure how she had got there, but she knew she had been very, very willing – hit home. This could be around the village in seconds! Penmenna was speedier than Twitter when it came to the spreading of news.
Aghast, she looked up at Matt and pushed him off. She needed to get him out and home before Angelina noticed he was missing and Marion worked out that her headteacher was spending a Thursday night practically straddling her neighbour.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Too late! They were at her door. How could either woman think this was OK? Neither had ever felt the need to visit before! She stood stock-still.
She heard Matt muttering at her, but could do nothing but stare at him blankly.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
‘Look, we’d better let them in before they wake up the whole of Penmenna. Rosy, Rosy, are you OK?’
Rosy shook her head (less as a negative response, more a clearing of fug), came out of her catatonic state and launched herself towards the front door.
Marion clattered through into the house, bringing Angelina with her and shrieking in tongues. Well, middle-aged, middle-class drunkenness, but it sounded like much of a muchness. So much so that neither stopped their braying to greet either Rosy or her guest.
She looked across to Matt to catch and assess any expressions on his face. How he behaved here would be key. Suddenly he had gone from being knee-shakingly tempting to possessing the power to shape how the village viewed her. A familiar feeling quickly swooshed through Rosy’s stomach, only this time it wasn’t based upon desire. She felt sick. Her breath was deep and rapid and her heart was beating so loud and fast it was bound to explode out of her chest any minute no
w.
Head in the game! She needed to focus herself, and quickly.
A quick glance at Marion saw her teeter on her heels and grab onto Angelina, both still cackling, interspersing it with a stream of babble so loud and incoherent – like a fairground, blare jarring against blare – that she began to wonder if she could get away with this. Could they not have noticed? Could she be free and clear if she just got them out? What about Matt, could she persuade him to keep quiet?
She glanced around: no obvious clues to what had happened, just two settings for supper and a couple of half-eaten bowls of pasta, innocent enough. She turned to Matt and as she studied him assessingly he smiled at her, all reassuring and affectionate and so tummy-flippingly sexy. Damn him! Lust almost replaced fear, curling up from the tips of her toes and whooshing all the way through her, the two combined emotions making her feel weak. Literally dizzy.
She scowled at him. How brazen could a person be? Smiling as if nothing had happened. As if they hadn’t just been about to make love on her dining table. On her dining table! Still, that was exactly what had happened and for now her best plan was to smile, say nothing and guide them all towards the door, whilst praying he had the wit to keep his mouth shut.
She forced her brain to try and take control of her physical responses, which were clearly not to be trusted. But her brain was struggling; all it could tell her was that regardless of what happened here, it was a lose-lose situation for her. If Matt told the world, or even just his sister, she’d be straight back to where she was ten years ago – all her hard work forgotten – under the microscope and judged for her choices. Arrgggh! She suddenly fully understood what people meant when they said they wished the ground would open up beneath them. If only life were that merciful.
