by Kitty Wilson
Any nerves he had didn’t seem to affect his crazy level of handsome, though. But she knew that after her appalling behaviour she was lucky he had turned up at all. Marion was at his side, no doubt spouting reassurances, and looking like she was going to tuck his curls behind his ear or give him a quick spit-and-scrub on his face. He looked as if he were ready to pass out.
‘Hello, hello!’ Savannah and Chloe had spotted the cameras set up in the corner and were waving frantically, distracting Rosy from the nerves emanating from the man at the front.
The other four- and five-year-olds realized what the girls were doing and also all started frantically waving at the cameramen that Matt had brought with him.
‘Grandma, Grandma, it’s me!’ Jack called.
‘And the pea went POP!’ Billy clapped, practising his song and jumping as he did so, pride scrawled wide across his face. ‘Clap not roll, clap not roll, clap not roll!’ he added loudly, just to make sure everyone knew that he had been trying really hard.
Rosy fought to keep the laughter in as she herded them across the hall and to the front where they sat. The youngest didn’t come in often for assembly in the first term and were only now beginning to get used to it. Not laughing but presenting an authoritative face had always been one of the hardest bits of her job. Luckily today the children’s spontaneity was a perfect ice-breaker and she felt her shoulders relax as she fought off the giggles.
Matt didn’t have such professional restrictions and laughed out loud at the kids’ level of cute, waving at them as they walked across and clapping Billy’s ‘POP!’ His anxious expression completely evaporated, leaving that comfortable, relaxed and slightly mischievous one that Rosy knew so well. That she had slid her hand down as he had lifted her to the table. Arrgghhh.
She decided the best thing to do was just to send him her most welcoming smile and maybe try and speak to him later. She was exasperating herself with all the zigzagging in her head but one of the few indisputable facts of this whole sorry mess was that the Penmenna Hall restoration could be the saving of the school and for that she should be thankful.
He beamed back. She felt her neck tingle.
Now all the children were in place – there were ninety-three in total, two of which, the Russell brothers, had only joined the school this week – Rosy began.
‘Good morning, Penmenna.’
‘Good morning, Miss Winter.’
‘Can we please have a Penmenna welcome for Mr… um… Matt, who is joining us today, and his friends from the television.’ How the hell did she not know his surname? This was madly unprofessional – any other visitor and she would have checked first. She had let her fretting get in the way. She could have kicked herself.
Reserved clapping resounded through the hall, although a couple of the boys in Class Four made a clattering noise with their feet until a well-practised glare from Mrs Adams made them settle down with hands on laps, heads down and terror on their faces. Rosy herself was in awe of Mrs Adams’ looks; they were a nod to the teaching methods of the nineteenth century and seemed to contain the combined power of the cane, the slipper and the guillotine without any recourse to actual items. Mrs Adams was a firm proponent of the ‘children should be seen and not heard’ school of thought and would prefer classrooms segregated by gender and social class. She was the only woman Rosy knew who still asked ‘and what does your father do, dear?’
Rosy smiled and moved her hand down slowly, the international schoolteacher gesture for quiet. ‘Now, we have been practising a welcome for you, Matt. Class One, if you would.’
Matt listened attentively to all three classes’ offerings, clapping and smiling in the right places, and giving a nod and a thumbs up to the older ones for ‘ximenia, yam and zucchini’. He thanked them and, as Rosy returned to sit on the floor with her class, he launched into a big hello where he introduced the film crew by name, Bob and Sid, and explained what he was going to be doing up at Penmenna Hall and how he hoped the children would help him.
He launched a quick slide show on the smart board showing what the gardens were like now and his plans for how they would look when he was finished. He pulled children up to the front and had them doing activities; in fact he overran his slot by fifteen minutes, but remarkably managed to keep the children focused, attentive and engaged the whole way through.
The only awkward moment was when the youngest Russell brother stood up and with an imaginary gun took potshots at his brother across the hall. The oldest brother (instead of shushing his sibling) jumped up and took aim back. Matt smiled but didn’t miss a beat as Mrs Adams managed to quell them both without getting in the line of fire and removed them wordlessly.
Once he had finished, the children were all excited about going up to the hall, which they would begin doing this very week to start planting and get a feel of the place. Marion had organized the rota and they would be going up in groups of ten, and for the first couple of weeks Rosy knew she would have to accompany them. If she neglected her professional responsibilities just to dodge Matt and keep The Rule, the very premise of which was so deeply embedded but beginning to lose its hold after the night at Chase’s, then she would be disrupting her own life in the very way she wanted to avoid. By going she could make sure everything was run smoothly and that the only outtakes the production company would get would be terribly cute puddle splashing, ladybird conversing and suchlike, rather than the children setting fire to things or slipping things into their pockets to sell later in the playground, Mrs Adams clipping a child around the ear (although after last time Rosy was fairly sure she had learnt her lesson – writing a letter of apology to an eight-year-old was probably the darkest experience of her life), or Hippy Dippy Harmony setting up a crop positivity circle. All the above would be distinct possibilities if Rosy didn’t keep a firm eye on proceedings.
The children gave him a heartfelt chorus of thank you and, aping his earlier action, some gave him a thumbs up before trooping back to their classrooms. Lynne, who had come in especially for the assembly even though it wasn’t one of her official teaching days, took control of Rosy’s class so she could thank Matt and see him and the crew out.
‘That was fabulous, thank you. You have a real gift with the children.’ Rosy beamed at him. ‘I really appreciate you coming in today, especially after… well… thank you. I have a feeling that this is going to be even better than I hoped it would.’
‘Did you doubt it?’ he asked with an arched brow.
‘Of course not! It was just interesting to see you in action with them.’ He was right, she should have known. Anyone who could make a Tudor hat out of weed control fabric and teeny bits of gravel was going to be a natural near a primary classroom. Now he was here, in front of her, she felt ridiculous. How could she have allowed herself to spiral so badly and assume he was another Josh? Examining his face she realized, again but with more force this time, that all her upset had been one hundred per cent her, and zero per cent Matt.
‘You too! You have that whole mind control thing down pat. One sweep of the hand and a hundred children fall silent. You should market that stuff.’
‘Every teacher does that!’
‘Yes, but whilst I wouldn’t usually dream of being rude about your colleagues, the thought of that scary-looking one controlling my mind could keep me up tonight, not in a good way, and as for that—’
She hit his arm, just lightly, a familiar gesture reminiscent of the camaraderie they had shared before that evening he had come for supper, before she had fallen prey to the crazy attraction she felt and before she’d screamed at him in Chase’s garden.
‘Ouch! I’m fairly sure you’re not allowed to use corporal punishment in schools any more. Where’s that one in the tie-dye? I’ll tell on you.’
‘No, you won’t, I’ll quell you with my mind control.’
‘Ooh yes pl…’ He tapered off at the glare she shot him. ‘Sorry, not appropriate.’
‘Nope. Look, thank you for today
but I need to get back to class. I’ll bring the first batch up on Friday like Marion arranged, is that still good?’
‘Yep, weather looks OK, but wellies and waterproofs just in case.’
‘Obviously.’
‘OK then, see you Friday, if not before, Miss Winter.’
‘Friday,’ she said firmly as she handed him and the crew back over to a hovering and intrigued Marion, and started to head back to class. She hadn’t taken two paces before she began to feel a bit bad and she turned back to him.
‘Matt…’ She paused at the door as she held it open. ‘Putting the you and me dynamics to one side, I just want to tell you how grateful I am, on behalf of everyone, for what you’ve agreed to do for the school.’ She moved back towards him and held out her hand to shake; she was going to end today on a professional note. ‘Thank you, I’m looking forward to working with you.’
He smiled a slightly less Matt smile than usual and shook her hand.
‘Here’s to saving your school, Rosy. We’re going to be an unbeatable team.’ And then he was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Matt was sitting up at the breakfast bar pouring himself a second glass of red when Angelina clattered into the kitchen. He hadn’t seen her properly since the party; she seemed to whizz in and out at all hours nowadays and with a purpose he couldn’t quite decode. He had stopped asking where she went every day. Experience suggested it was best not to ask unless he wanted to listen to twenty minutes of drawling sentences punctuated with the overuse of ‘darling’ and still be none the wiser.
So instead he just nodded hello and took another slug. He knew he was a fool to be obsessing over Rosy; she’d barely had the time of day for him since their supper, then she’d had that hideous meltdown that he still didn’t fully understand but certainly didn’t want to broach and today, although friendly, she couldn’t have made it clearer that she was expecting things to be ‘professional’ only, from now on in. He just wished he knew where he had gone wrong.
Maybe this was what his mates had warned him of when he was younger, that never having a woman say no was not necessarily a good thing. They got knocked back daily, so they said, and all was good. They had always threatened him that one day it would happen and his world would fall apart.
His world may not be falling apart but it was certainly nagging at him. It wasn’t as if he was unable to think of nothing else. He was concentrating a lot of time on work, how this project was going to pan out, how involving the children was going to be great, a real USP, doing good for the community, the paying-it-forward thing that people were and should be doing more of. It was a savvy career move as well as the right thing to do. See, that wasn’t thinking about Rosy!
‘Hey! I said hello, is there a reason you’re ignoring me?’
He took a deep breath and felt his eyes roll of their own accord. ‘Hello, Angelina. Nice to see you.’
‘Well, don’t worry about making that sound believable in any way. Are you drinking?’
Matt moved the bottle out of her reach.
‘But we don’t keep red in the house!’
He gave her a measured, fraternal look. One that stated that he would like her to shut up, and quite quickly. Or he’d burn her Barbie doll.
‘Oh my God! You’re mooning over Little Miss Perfect, aren’t you? Too busy baking to put out? Needs a ring on her finger first?’
Matt arched a warning eyebrow. ‘Don’t be such a cow and no!’
‘Oh wow, I haven’t heard that tone since you were twelve! You are, you are. I really thought you had more… I don’t know… more taste? And actually after her appalling, appalling behaviour on Valentine’s night it’s not just a matter of taste but sanity. As in, she’s clearly absolutely bonkers and if her outrageous display wasn’t enough to put you off then you are too!’
‘Angelina, I’m not sure you’re the best person to lecture on acceptable behaviour…’ Matt grinned at his sister and giggled a little as she gave him a look that stated that she was very clearly the pinnacle of calm and rational common sense and had no idea what he was referring to.
‘Clearly, oh brother mine, we need to have a little chat about firm boundaries. That bottle’s nearly gone, let me open some fizz.’
He hadn’t got drunk with his sister in what felt like ages (well, just over a fortnight ago in London but he couldn’t be expected to keep track of such things) and yes, she was a shocking example of humanity – having even less empathy or compassion than your average dictator, and very strong opinions on anything that involved Rosy, or directly opposed her world view – but she was bloody good fun.
She started with the Scarlett O’Hara and the curtains game, moved on to tangoing around the kitchen and then tried to give him a pedicure. She had wanted to tackle his fingernails, but those of a gardener’s were pretty different to most and after examination Angelina threatened to have to lie down if he didn’t cover them up immediately. Which is why he seemed to be currently dancing around the kitchen with Scramble, wearing a pair of gloves with half a red toenail. The one upside of Rosy’s ‘professional’ relationship with him was that she was hardly likely to come wandering in and catch him like this. Mind you, how much would it make her giggle if she saw him now?
Dancing eventually turned to discussion, as he tried to get to the bottom of Rosy’s relationship with the man at the party. Angelina veered between stating that she couldn’t bear to listen to such drivelling, self-destructive nonsense, lying on the floor pushing Scramble (who had beautiful red nails at this point) off her, and jumping in on his monologue, outraged by everything he said.
‘I think she’s dating that guy at the party, did you see him? I wasn’t sure at first but she didn’t come home that night…’
‘That’s because she was as pissed as a newt and being very, very needy. Poor Chase had to get Marion to put her to bed, she was spoiling everyone’s evening.’
‘So they’re not dating?’
‘Why would he be dating Rosy? He’s a multi-squillionaire with remarkable taste-, he’s not interested in the country mouse.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh yes, I happen to know that on the night of the party he was single and very definitely interested in someone else. Someone with style, grace, immaculate taste and a rather wonderful wardrobe.’ His sister smirked a predatory smirk, one that made him grateful that he would never be on the receiving end of it. I really think you need to re-evaluate this crazy hang-up you have. She’s really not worth it.’
‘So, she’s not dating anyone?’
‘Oh my God, I can’t take much more of this!’ came Angelina’s ever-patient reply as she picked up her phone again.
‘But is she dating anyone?’
‘How the hell am I supposed to know? Perhaps she’s a lesbian? It would explain those shoes,’ piped up his sister. This thought was so delicious she managed to switch focus from her screen back to the conversation.
Matt looked at her as if she were insane. He was fairly sure sexuality wasn’t something that dictated which shoes one bought.
‘I don’t think she is.’
‘I’ve never seen any signs to say otherwise.’
‘Have you actually seen any signs that she is?’
‘She doesn’t wear very much make-up, and she owns walking boots and a cagoule!’ Angelina was triumphant; it was obviously a clincher.
Oh dear, his sister’s views were clearly coming from some pre-World-War-Two era, if not before. He didn’t have the energy to challenge this right now.
‘See.’ Angelina struggled to mask her triumph. ‘You need to stop wasting time, mooning about her. It all makes sense now. Start chasing women that actually like you, or men at the very least.’
‘She does actually like me!’
‘Hmmm, clearly not. She obviously didn’t like you very much the other night and you do seem to be here alone.’
‘She did at one point! I thought she decided not to see me because she was
dating someone else, someone like Chase, but if that’s not the case…’
‘Oh my God, she’s not dating Chase, she doesn’t like men! I’ve had enough of this, I’m going to fetch some more fizz.’ Angelina stomped out of the room, phone in hand, and left Matt with the dog.
‘I need a really bold idea, a romantic gesture that declares how I feel. But it can’t be stalky. That’s the trouble, isn’t it, Scramble? Some of those old-school romantic gestures are a little bit creepy and I need to be careful. Rosy was so upset the other night, I don’t want to make things worse…’ He felt he might be slurring his words, but thankfully Scramble was not too harsh a judge. ‘What do you think I should do?’ The dog, usually so supportive, remained mute, cocking his head and looking at Matt but not actually giving him an answer. Matt was not going to let that stop him. ‘Maybe an orchid isn’t enough – perhaps a plane with a banner, or a flowerbed with a declaration planted. I could do it on the show. She’s such a love…’ He saw her in his mind, all petite and furious, and then somehow, the dancing, the whirling, the giggling and the arguing was all forgotten and he found that he was really very, very sleepy.
As he laid his head back, ready to slide into sleep, he heard the living room door thwack open as his sister returned to the room. Opening one eye he could see she had her most determined look on, and that she was holding her mobile aloft with the triumphant stance of a cup winner.
‘It’s confirmed. All your problems are solved – Siobhan will be back in the country in a few weeks. You can thank me later!’
Chapter Thirty
Friday dawned clear, which provided more relief than was natural to Rosy as she popped her wellies into the car. Despite her gratitude to Matt for making the assembly go smoothly and not using the opportunity to quiz her over her outburst, today was likely to be a bit of a marathon and she wanted it to go as well as possible. With her overseeing and ferrying groups of children, to and from Penmenna Hall, getting them familiar with the grounds, what they would be doing in the garden and the cameras, it was to be a day ripe with possibilities. But not the sort of possibilities she could get excited about.
