The Cornish Village School – Breaking the Rules Read online

  The programme would need several segments every week to make it into a whole episode, so he thought the vegetable plot could combine historical facts alongside masses of practical help around growing your own produce, and he could aim it at all levels of gardener, from those who had never so much as planted a carrot to those who wanted to experiment with the more difficult types of heirloom vegetables. He could feel those elusive creative juices flowing. Perhaps he should develop a formal rose garden too, something that married complexity with a simple beauty – roses would be just the thing! Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea, that should definitely be a segment. And he could explore the seasonal changes too, plants that did best in May, June and so on. This was going to shape up well.

  He headed around the house towards the huge old orangery, chock full of seed drawers, old tools and memories of the past. He had made this his base, all sun-glinting glass sitting to the side of the recently renovated Penmenna Hall, and its beauty in the afternoon light still forced the breath from his body.

  Bam! A foot-stamping brunette jumped into his thoughts, knocking out all his calm just as she had at his front door but a few hours ago. Was that where all this so-called creativity had sprung from? A rose garden! His brain was playing with him, determined to pull him from his celibate dedication and convince him into developing a crush on his slightly spiky but very cute neighbour.

  He was fairly sure that at thirty-four he was too old for crushes as such. Conquests, maybe, but crushes, no. No way. And as he had just firmly agreed with himself, even simple conquests were a no-no right now anyway. But if his next-door neighbour was going to be popping into his head, potentially influencing his work, then maybe this was going to have to be dealt with, and soon.

  Angelina had spotted the signs before he had and had tried hard to dissuade him from any romantic imaginings he may have. She was remarkably single-minded in her belief that she should be the most important female in his life. But even her warnings about Rosy peeking out from the curtains earlier that morning and watching her had made him smile. Quite a lot – certainly far more than it should do.

  The fact that she had snapped at him on their first meeting hadn’t put him off in the slightest. Used to rich bored housewives slavering over him, awash with the scent of desperation and sexual promise, or Angelina’s even more vacuous friends who managed to embody both ennui and entitlement at professional levels, meant that anyone who didn’t dribble or pout over him but challenged him instead was the very sort of person he found interesting. He found the I-respect-myself-and-you-can-too-or-sod-off kind of attitude very attractive.

  The fact that she wasn’t afraid to vocalize her opinions and tempered it with sweetness was so endearing. The baking for her new neighbours was adorable. A kind of country thinking that he could see himself liking. The way she had flushed ever so slightly upon seeing him, in a demure, slightly old-fashioned way, rather than panting at him and encouraging him to remove his clothes, was also captivating. As was her admission that she knew bugger all about gardening, and was pretty rubbish at it when she tried. Honesty rather than bravado was refreshing in his world. Oh, dear God, he needed to get to work!

  A whole afternoon of planning, plotting, digging and organizing didn’t seem to wear him out, or help reinforce the celibacy equals creativity principle that had been at the forefront of his mind (or so he had thought) this morning. A long shower and a self-administered lecture once he had returned home to his little Cornish cottage didn’t lessen his desire to get to know her a little better either. In fact, if anything, knowing she was but a wall away intensified her occupancy in his head.

  Scramble, unrepentantly spread out upon the sofa, fixed him with a mournful gaze as Matt put his shoes on again, but without picking up the lead.

  ‘Look, I’m just trying to be neighbourly. You’ll be OK here, I won’t be long.’ He could swear the dog cocked his eyebrow.

  ‘Hmm, I just need a good excuse now…’ He cast around the house – what reason could he give for knocking so soon, and on a Saturday night?

  Within minutes Matt was wandering up Rosy’s path, cake plate in hand and a goofy grin all over his face.

  Chapter Six

  Rosy opened one eye just the merest crack. The inside of her head had never felt quite so empty or so tender. Even moving a squillimetre on her pillow seemed to make her brain hurtle from one side to the other and hurt as it bounced.

  Ow ow ow.

  She decided that the best thing to do was just lie there, really, really still until it all passed. It was Sunday so it didn’t matter if it were hours rather than minutes. If she just lay here until she got really bored then the boredom would indicate that she was well enough to move. Problem solved.

  She had read somewhere that NASA paid people to stay in bed for seventy days. Maybe if this morning went well she could join them in the summer holidays, top up her finances and see a bit of America. From a window, admittedly, but that was still more than she had seen up to this point.

  Hmm, you could do all sorts in bed for seventy days. Keeping her head very still, and thanking God she had duck-feather pillows supporting her in cushioned heaven, she thought of all the books she would read and the ice cream she could eat during that time.

  She could take up sewing or needlepoint – after seventy days she could probably have a wall hanging like those littered over Tudor castles and Renaissance palaces. People could come from miles and miles to see her work progressing and bid against each other furiously for each artisanal tapestry. Mind you, she’d have to be careful not to get the ice cream on them.

  She was liking this idea the more it developed. What else could she do in bed all day? Whoosh! From nowhere and straight into her diminished and sore brain was an image of her new neighbour. Stop it! Imaginary Matt’s smile widened. To make things worse the camera eye of her brain started to pan down. No, no, no! She sat bolt upright and shook her head violently to try and disperse the image. That way madness lay!

  Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow. His image was replaced by a bright white flashing and a spinning bedroom.

  For goodness’ sake, she and Lynne had only drunk a couple of bottles last night. Bottles, ah! Rosy wasn’t a big drinker, partly because she had form for the world’s worst hangovers, but mainly because of her active decision after uni to always be aware and alert. Hence The Rule. And she did love The Rule.

  But yesterday the combination of Perfect Hair and Matt, and her own godawful hell-date, meant alcohol had seemed like the best way forward. And Lynne was only too happy to help, so much so that they had sung ABBA’s whole back catalogue until the early hours when Lynne’s husband Dave decided to walk Rosy home.

  Lying here hungover and trying to keep images of Matt, naked Matt, out of her head was not how she wanted to spend her day.

  She was going to have to take more proactive action. Action that made a difference. Action like Emma Peel would take. Emma Peel was Rosy’s role model – a fearless, arse-kicking superspy that always had the answer, and did it all in heels (although Rosy would be quite happy to successfully arse-kick in plimsolls). Emma Peel would not have muddled the words to ‘Dancing Queen’ quite so tunelessly and then lain here the next morning just whimpering. No, what would she have done?

  It would definitely involve a catsuit, but seeing that Rosy didn’t have one maybe some paracetamol would be a good start.

  She rolled off her bed and onto all fours and padded to the bathroom – this seemed like the best way to do it this morning and had the plus of being dead Avengers-like. Once there, she winched herself up onto the sink and scrabbled in the cabinet to find painkillers. Standing properly now, she managed to knock back not just the paracetamol but threw some ibuprofen in at the same time. It was a medical emergency after all. Maybe whilst she was here she should brush her teeth, see if it was possible to do it without moving her head. Look, see, as soon as the pain diminished, today was going to be OK.

  Just as she was finishing, there w
as a loud knock at the door. A very loud knock. Oh, Jesus, the last thing she needed now were visitors. Very, very slowly, muttering just a little bit, she headed down the stairs, pyjama-clad, to answer it.

  * * *

  Matt knocked again; he was sure she was in this time. Why was she taking so long? They weren’t exactly big houses. Beautiful but not big. And there had definitely been noises a minute ago, signifying she was awake.

  Suddenly he wondered if that was kind of creepy. Had he turned into one of those guys that obsessed about their neighbours, listening to every sound and mapping every movement? Was his next step on the inevitable path to serial killerdom preparing a basement? Perhaps he should step away from the door right now so things didn’t escalate.

  He’d give her one more minute and then head home. After all, it was quite clear what she – beautiful, sparky, single – would have been doing out last night when he had knocked and why she was now taking her time answering the door on a Sunday morning. Why was he blundering in here? This was madness and he was an idiot.

  Mind made up, he turned to go before he embarrassed himself – just as the latch scraped and the door opened. Great! Now for his idiocy to be shown publicly. He turned and smiled, bracing himself for feeling foolish. Yet the sight of her made him glad he had come over. This was ridiculous.

  ‘Oh, hello.’ She slowly opened the door, and gave him a weak-looking grin and a ‘How are you? How can I help?’

  Neither were an invitation in, he noted, but this was no surprise when he had just worked out what he had worked out. But still she looked so adorable in that little shorts set, all wrapped up in a dinky little printed package with hair that was very definitely tousled. It may not be today but maybe, one day, he’d be able to wake up to that exact smile, with that exact hair and that exact pyjama set.

  But he was getting a bit ahead of himself. How did he even have time to think all of this? He needed to answer, stop staring and answer quickly. Preferably in a way that didn’t make him look like a pervert or the serial killer he was panicking about being just a few minutes ago.

  ‘Hi, I hope it’s not too early but I thought I heard you up and um… thought I should return your plate.’ He proffered said article and watched as she scrunched her eyes up tight and then moved her hand out very slowly and deliberately to take it.

  ‘Um, thank you, I hope you liked it.’

  ‘Oh God yes, it was delicious. I just thought you had better have it back.’ Christ! He was a stammering idiot, she was definitely going to think the worst of him. Where was cool confident charming Matt? The Matt that women swooned at – he knew it happened. He needed him back right now.

  ‘OK, good, right then.’ She smiled again and started to close the door.

  ‘Oh, just a minute.’ Matt stopped her. ‘I was just wondering, um, if you were free later. Maybe? What do you think?’

  Momentarily he saw her eyes blink, almost suspicious. Was this an odd thing to do? Weren’t people super friendly with their neighbours in rural villages? Then her eyes went back to the full Rosy beam he had experienced yesterday morning, and the smile returned to her face.

  ‘Oh OK, well, um… er, yes. I’m just doing regular Sunday stuff. I’d invite you in but… um … well… I can’t at the moment.’

  ‘Oh, that’s OK, I wasn’t expecting to come in…’ Persevere, man! ‘I was just wondering if you were free because, um… I could really do with some help.’

  That should work, and it was true, he did. Did that make him manipulative? Possibly. Or maybe just his inner alpha male was returning, returning to rescue the situation and move things on. Yes, he’d stick with that.

  ‘Ah, um, yes, I can be, this afternoon. What do you need?’ Rosy answered, just the hint of pink in her cheeks. Which was a change from the green that had been sweeping across her face seconds earlier.

  ‘Well, I was going to impose on your good nature, maybe ask if you could show me around. I’m completely new and I could do with a guide. Even the lanes around here are a nonsensical warren if you’re not local. It was just an idea. It’s all so beautiful, and it seems daft that I don’t really know where anything is. I mean, I’ve found the main street obviously, but, well, a little bit of local knowledge could really help me out.’ He shrugged his shoulders and smiled in what he hoped was a winning way. ‘Maybe we could eat too? You could show me the best local Sunday lunch, if you like, my treat obviously,’ Matt continued. She was smiling so he may as well cement the deal if he was in with a chance.

  Suddenly Rosy started to wobble. A very strange expression passed across her face and the pink flush had gone, replaced again by the green. Had he gone too far, turning it from neighbourly favour to lunch date? Don’t backtrack, man. Stand firm.

  ‘Um, Rosy, are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, fine,’ she replied in a woozy not-fine-at-all way. ‘Umm, come knock for me at about one-ish, look, now is difficult, I can’t um… really talk. But just before one should be fine, come back then.’

  And then with no further explanation she shut the door in his face.

  Chapter Seven

  A couple of hours later and Rosy was feeling much better. She could hold herself upright without needing a friendly wall as support, she no longer felt as if she’d been at sea for a week and her head had diminished its pounding to a gentle knocking that she was choosing to ignore.

  Now it was just a matter of wading through the piles of clothes that seemed to have fallen all over her floor in the last twenty minutes and popping some make-up on. Just a smidge; she didn’t want to look as if she were trying. This wasn’t a date, it was a neighbourly gesture.

  Was she going to have to spend the whole time reminding herself he was taken? Or that becoming friendly with a man who lived next door and made her tummy lurch, her fingertips tingle, was against The Rule? No. Because she was a woman of staunch self-will and strong morals. And to prove it she’d limit herself to a pout of sweet honey lip gloss and a wave of mascara and then get her arse downstairs before he knocked.

  A light tap on the door scuppered her plan. The man was certainly punctual. She glided down the stairs in film star mode. She did like film star mode. So much more glamorous than her teacher setting. She would make sure she asked about Perfect Hair fairly early on so she could draw a clear boundary line and then they could get on with being amiable and chummy. She could be a good neighbour and everyone would know where they stood. Perfect.

  ‘Hello, come on in.’ She smiled in her most platonic manner.

  ‘OK, thanks, sorry for disturbing you earlier.’

  ‘Oh, that’s fine, don’t worry about it.’ They continued to stand in the hallway smiling politely at each other. Little shy half-smiles. Feeling awkward, Rosy lavished lots of attention on Scramble, who was jumping up at her and yapping – he really was adorable – but as she felt Matt’s eyes on her she struggled to know what to do with her face. Oh, to have been born elegant!

  ‘Right, come on then. Show me the best roast in the county.’ Matt indicated the front door and broke their silence.

  ‘OK, but if I’m taking you out with me you’re going to have to practise your Cornish on the way.’

  ‘I think I be quite good at that,’ Matt retorted in a broad Somerset accent as he marched alongside her down the path, Scramble tumbling between the two of them.

  ‘I think your dog could do better! That was insulting. If you speak like that, you’ll be punched before your pint is poured. We’re going to have to start with the basics. Ready? Now, you can refer to men as “me ‘ansum” – go on.’

  ‘Do I have to? What if they’re not?’

  ‘You say it anyway, so shh and do as you’re told.’

  ‘Will you tell me off again if I refuse?’ A quick glance at her face made Matt stand up straighter and do as he was told. ‘Good day, me ‘ansum.’

  ‘No, not like that. “Areet, me ‘ansum, how’s it to?”’

  ‘Howsit what? How does that make sense?’


  ‘Just do it.’

  ‘Woah, schoolmarm voice on much! I like it.’

  ‘I am actually a teacher, you know, a headteacher, so you’re getting the real thing. Are you telling me you want to hear my strictest schoolmarm voice?’ Rosy stopped still at the bottom of the hill that led to their cottages.

  ‘I bet you’re an amazing teacher. As to the voice, now I don’t know. Half of me is a yes please and the other half is terrified.’ Matt arched his brow. He stopped alongside her and gazed out across the fields, pointing towards the sea. ‘There’s something special about living this close to the sea, you just breathe in the air and feel cleaner somehow. And look…’ He turned a full circle slowly, indicating all around him. ‘The sea comes lapping in over there, but right here, at this point, all the fields on all sides are rolling down towards us too, like waves of land. All hitting this central point, right here. I don’t know if I feel safe, all ensconced in this valley, or whether I should feel scared, at the central point where all the elements meet. Either way it’s awesome, isn’t it, like in the proper sense of the word.’

  Rosy took in the scene as he described it. He was right; just at this point on the corner before they turned into the village was a central meeting point for the landscape surrounding them. She was so used to the beauty all around her she missed the obvious things.

  ‘I’d go with scared if I were you. Doesn’t do to get complacent.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that this village isn’t the safe haven I expect?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely. Have you lived in a village before? All calm and civil on the surface with a maelstrom of whirling danger and intrigue just a scratch or two under the surface. Trust me, I wouldn’t guide you wrong.’