The Cornish Village School – Breaking the Rules Page 8

  ‘But—’

  ‘But—’

  Rosy walked to the chair she usually sat in, pushed up her sleeves and put the iPad she was carrying down as forcefully on the table as she dared.

  ‘No, we have real stuff to deal with today, and I need your full attention. I’m afraid that this meeting may be a lengthy one, and you know I usually keep them as quick as possible so for that I apologize, but we need to get down to work.’

  Lynne stopped glaring across the table to where Harmony had retreated and turned her full attention to her friend.

  ‘What’s up? I haven’t seen you all day.’

  Lynne, however, was interrupted by Harmony, who was still on a roll. ‘I’m afraid I can’t stay late, I have the Festival of the Enlightened Spirit to attend in—’

  ‘Shut up, Harmony!’ the rest of the staff chorused in unison before turning their attention back to Rosy.

  She looked at them all, this little family of teachers, respected in the community but still a ragbag of everything human: Lynne, loyal to the core, loved by the children and parents alike; Harmony, currently with mouth agape and probably the less said about the better; Amanda, tip-to-toe in pinstripe and the most efficient teacher Rosy had ever worked with; and Sarah, her head cocked to one side like a little bird, glasses halfway down her nose, calm, quiet and with more experience than the rest of them put together. All these women – she was going to have to tell them that their village school, their home-from-home, was hanging by a thread.

  ‘I had a meeting with Edward Grant today and I have to tell you, there’s a chance we could be closed by next September. Now the key word here is “chance” – it’s not definite but it is probable and the way I see it we have two options. We can let Penmenna School close and the children will be moved into the huge new school they’re building in Roscarrock—’

  ‘But that’s over ten miles away, they can’t do that!’

  ‘Yes, Lynne, and that may work in our favour. They’re hoping to get rid of several village schools and pop them all in one larger one, but I’m hoping that, as the school located furthest away, we can use that to give ourselves a fighting chance.’

  ‘But we were classed as outstanding in almost every area.’ Amanda shot a quick poisonous glance at Harmony as she spoke; Ofsted hadn’t quite understood the relevance of her teachings on the power of the moon. ‘Surely it’s bad politics to close an outstanding school?’

  ‘Yes, again you’re right and we definitely need to use this fact. But we’re not alone. A couple of the other schools under consideration are also deemed outstanding. We just need to make sure we have the loudest voice!’

  ‘Well, how do we do that, dear?’

  ‘Sarah, that is exactly what we need to work out. And we need to start working it out today. We need to show people how important Penmenna School is, to the children and to the community. How we do that in a novel and outstanding way is something we need to decide. Can I assume from what you’ve said that we’re in agreement – we take option two, we stand and we fight?’

  She didn’t dare voice her concerns about how Mr Grant had chosen the schools to close, which had very little to do with performance and all to do with his outdated world view. She needed time to research and get her facts straight, but if what she believed was true that also would give them a much stronger chance of winning this battle.

  ‘Coo-ee! Hope you don’t mind me popping in.’ Marion, resplendent in a very tightly fitted fuchsia dress printed with hummingbirds, popped her head around the door.

  Rosy, all geed up from the staff’s positive response to her horrible news, managed to smile. As much as she, and the rest of the team, loathed the woman, she could be a very useful ally. Perhaps she should bring her in on Team Save Our School now? Looking at Lynne shooting the woman looks of pure evil and the other three members of staff who had bowed their heads and were studiously examining the table, she decided against it for the minute. Maybe talk to her about it next week. Yes, that was best.

  ‘The thing is, Mrs Marksharp—’

  ‘Marion, please,’ was the inevitable response. Rosy didn’t dare look at Lynne.

  ‘The thing is, Marion, we really are having to keep this meeting to teaching staff only today. But having said that, I was hoping to see you. Any chance you’re free to come in first thing on Monday?’

  ‘Yes, yes of course. However, Rosy, you did miss the PTA meeting this afternoon about the Valentine’s disco. Sheila said you were very busy, but I’m afraid we’ve had to make some decisions without you.’ Marion, disappointment seeping out of her, nodded her head slowly as if she were disciplining a child – clearly not a look she practised on her own offspring.

  Don’t look at Lynne, don’t look at her! Rosy told herself, mantra-like.

  ‘So, because I’ve got a very busy weekend with Richard, very busy, I’m afraid it’s fallen on you to cut out the cardboard hearts. We only need five hundred or so, and it’s not as if you have family commitments so I knew you wouldn’t mind.’ And Marion, oblivious to the fury on Lynne’s face, placed a thick wad of red card on the table in front of Rosy. ‘See you on Monday!’

  Chapter Ten

  Matt was also at work. He had spent most of the day with Pete constructing raised beds and ordering seeds. He loved leafing through catalogues and planning ahead for the season and with this new project it was extra exciting. There was an element of risk, because if he got it wrong it wouldn’t be a case of a grovelling apology but failure broadcast across the nation in a peak viewing slot. However, there was no reason to fail; he knew what he was doing, he could manage soil conditions in the raised beds perfectly and pests, weather and other gardening niggles were exactly what his years of experience were there for. He was going to send Pete home early and give the big seed-storage drawers they had unearthed a bloody good scour so they would be ready, before getting on with his last job of the day. A rather romantic one at that.

  His train of thought was interrupted by his phone ringing. Glancing at the screen he saw it was his agent. So much for a quiet morning pottering. He liked his agent, Susie – she was thorough and supportive whilst being loud and jolly good fun at the same time. They had a great relationship and he had found he could be as honest as he liked with her, without having to couch his words. Nothing fazed her, she’d just laugh and find a way to get things done. But a phone call meant that whatever she had to say was bound to involve him doing something, and he really just wanted to get on with this afternoon’s project.

  His phone continued to sing. Susie wasn’t going away.

  ‘Hey, Susie. How’s things?’

  ‘Fabulous, darling. Thank you for asking. But I’m ringing to talk about you!’ Matt groaned; it was his least favourite subject. ‘Ha, I heard that, you are funny! This is good news, and no, before you ask you don’t need to do anything. Well, apart from say yes, obviously I do need you to say yes.’

  ‘I need to know what I have to say yes to and then I’m sure I will.’

  ‘OK, well, great news. I’ve heard from the production company and they’ve decided upon a name for the series.’

  ‘OK…’ Matt drew the word out. He was fairly sure it would have the word ‘gardening’ in it, and probably ‘Cornwall’ – that seemed to sell most things these days – but he wasn’t that fussed. It was a gardening show, what was the worst they could do?

  ‘Are you ready? Remember, just say yes!’

  That made him nervous. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, they’ve gone with… drum roll… Green-fingered and Gorgeous: The Cornish Edition… Isn’t it fabulous? Women will be tuning in in their thousands and—’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that.’

  ‘Susie, I’m very fond of you but no, a big loud not-in-a-million-years, over-my-dead-body no. Just no. No!’

  ‘But, Matt—’

  ‘No. I’ll come back to London if I have to and tear the contract up…’ He wouldn’t; he liked Pe
nmenna too much, but he was playing hardball on this one. What were they thinking? ‘There’s no way. This is my debut and I know I should do as I’m told, and I’m happy to. But to be packaged up as some kind of gardening sex toy, it’s not happening. I’m sorry, Susie, you’re going to have to get them to come up with something a little less exploitative.’

  ‘But you know this is how things work, and you’re a good-looking man. Where’s the harm?’

  ‘I really don’t like it, Susie. Please go back and see if they’ve got anything else.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what, I’ll tell them and I’ll ask them to brainstorm more ideas but I know they’re really happy with this and it’s the direction they want. I hear what you’re saying and I will try, but in return, can you just sit with it for a couple of weeks and see if you feel any better as time goes by? Please.’

  ‘I can’t see me changing my mind, but if you promise to try, I’ll promise to sit with it and see. How’s that?’

  ‘Matt, I love you. Always said you were my favourite client.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t been on your books that long!’

  Susie laughed and terminated the call. Green-fingered and Gorgeous. It was embarrassing. Mind you, he bet it would make Rosy laugh. Which reminded him of his project.

  He had been having Rosy flashbacks all week long, although he hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of her in real life since the weekend. Spending Sunday together, despite all his resolutions to keep it neighbourly, had changed the dynamic for him more than he could have thought possible. He was now thinking that celibacy wasn’t useful for harnessing creative juices at all, but was just a frustrating state of being that meant he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on what he should be doing but could while away hours thinking of hair tendrils, big grins and cute little pyjama sets.

  He had obviously been looking at this the wrong way and had decided action and declaration was a more sensible path, and with this in mind he had come up with two great plans. One was to make this Sunday as memorable as the last and the other was to prepare a beautiful gift for Valentine’s Day, a romantic gesture that would show the best side of him, and hope it trumped anything the guy she was seeing came up with. Failing that, he could tell her about this name thing; she might pity-date him if nothing else. Armed with some black weed-control fabric, some gravel and a glue gun, he was going to start on project number one as soon as those drawers were scrubbed – if he could keep the daft grin off his face long enough to concentrate.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sunday came around and, instead of her usual windblown walk on the beach or coffee and newspapers in her pyjamas, Rosy was sitting on the floor in the middle of her living room surrounded by millions of red cut-out hearts, several more bits of card and the desperate desire for some light relief.

  She padded over on her hands and knees to the laptop to change the music but in that second of silence her ears caught a wisp of something rather bizarre. Frozen, she hovered her finger over the computer, in case she could hear it again. She was most likely imagining things, but she paused to be sure.

  Pling pling pling.

  Pling pling pling.

  No, that was definitely the same sound. What was going on out there? Getting up off the floor and standing dead still, she listened and then followed the twanging to the front window, peeking out to see what was happening.

  No! She couldn’t believe her eyes. There was Matt in the front garden, underneath her misshapen tree, with some kind of roughly fashioned velvet pearl-seeded Tudor cap on and a medieval fiddle in his hands, the strings of which he was twanging badly.

  ‘Alas, my lo-ove…’ Matt began to sing ‘Greensleeves’ at her, complete with mournful look in his eye.

  Laughing out loud, Rosy threw open the latticed window so she could hear him better. And as he finished the first verse and started the chorus she joined in. Two little voices singing their hearts out together, one slightly more tuneful than the other.

  ‘What are you doing! You’re such an idiot.’

  Matt stopped twanging and giggled too. ‘Well, I thought you might be in withdrawal so I decided to serenade you myself this Sunday. Did you like it?’

  ‘Haha, yes I did. Although I’m not sure I deserve the sentiment. Of the words, that is. The sentiment of being serenaded, I like that very much indeed!’

  ‘It’s the only old-fashioned song I know, I remember it from school. We’d be allowed to either butcher it on the recorder or with our voices.’

  ‘Nothing much changes, believe me. Well, actually it does. Do you know what, I don’t want to talk about school. You would not believe the week I’ve had.’

  ‘Well, let’s not then. I’ve got a proposition that may make you smile,’ Matt said.

  ‘Hmmm. I bet you have.’

  ‘Sorry, I missed that. What did you say?’

  ‘Um, not to worry. Tell you what, let’s stop shouting across the garden – come on in and you can tell me. If it’s decent, that is.’

  ‘Oh, if it has to be decent…’ Matt shrugged off his cap and pretended to walk away.

  Rosy shook her head as she shut the window. Really, the man was so daft! But he did make her giggle. Sadly, though, he wasn’t getting any less gorgeous, or living any further away. Thank God she was blessed with a strong moral sense when it came to other women’s men and had the self-imposed chastity belt that was The Rule. Not to mention being too exhausted with endless politics, paperwork and poxy hearts. However, she could still be friendly, and who knew – he might join Team Save Our School.

  ‘Come on in then, but still – no insulting my sensibilities with your indecent ideas. Oh, and tell me, where did you get that hat? What on earth is it made from?’ Rosy said as she opened the door and led him through to the living room. His face was like a puppy, all happy and bouncy and full. Full largely of naughtiness and irresistibility.

  ‘Well, I think it’s quite a good idea rather than an indecent one. I knew you were in and obviously with the Sunday lunch thing not happening this week, I made a hat to fit the mood out of stuff at work and thought it would be nice if we…’ Matt paused as he entered the room and took in the scene around him. His little puppy eagerness fell off his face for a minute and he looked, for no apparent reason, as if the world had just kicked him hard and stolen his favourite bone.

  ‘Matt?’ Rosy queried, leaning forward and lightly touching his arm.

  ‘Uh?’

  ‘You thought it would be nice…’ She watched him shake his head as if to pull himself together and plaster his smile back on.

  ‘Oh yes, that’s right. I thought it would be nice to cook you lunch. Just in case you hadn’t. I mean, if you have, or have other plans I quite understand, it was a bit of a gamble but I knew you were in and I thought…’

  ‘You’ve cooked Sunday lunch? For when?’

  ‘Well, it’s Sunday and it’s lunchtime.’

  ‘You mean now?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What have you cooked?’

  ‘Chicken and potatoes and stuffing, sweet potato, car—’

  ‘For now?’

  ‘Yes, but like I said—’

  ‘Oh my God! Roast chicken! Oh, I think I love you!’ Rosy grabbed his arms as tight as tight could be and started jumping up and down on the spot with excitement. Then realized what she’d said, flushed bright red and stopped jumping. But not blushing. So much for iron self-control; she was virtually crumpling over roast chicken!

  ‘So is that a yes? That looks like a yes.’ Matt smiled.

  Rosy looked at the red hearts sprinkled over her carpet, and the ones still waiting to be cut out.

  ‘Um…’

  ‘Roast parsnips, French peas… Shall I go on?’

  Rosy’s tummy rumbled as if in encouragement. Bloody typical!

  ‘Oh, it does sound delicious, really good. I didn’t mean to appear ungrateful. Let me grab my phone. I’d love to join you and Angelina for lunch.’

&nb
sp; ‘Ange is still in London.’

  ‘Oh…’ Rosy paused. How the hell was she going to get out of this now? ‘In that case, perhaps…’

  ‘Stop it! It’s lunch. There’s nothing nefarious going on. You need to eat, and I’ve cooked, so grab your phone and I shall sing you back to mine, milady. You can wear the hat.’

  * * *

  There was a definite pattern developing, one around yummy Sunday lunches and all sorts of silly giggling. They had talked and talked and talked: politics, fashion, current affairs, gossip, weather, best holidays ever, dreams, ambitions, baby names, Rosy’s secret passion for Wotsits, pink wafers and Dairylea – everything. They played each other their top three tracks of all time, with Matt shrieking that she had stolen his when she put on ‘Walk on the Wild Side’. She had even told him about the possibility of the school closure, and her doubts that she was political enough to be able to save it. He had listened, said if he could help in any way then he would and reassured her that he had complete faith in her abilities. She wasn’t sure how but really appreciated it all the same. And then to top it off she was currently sitting on one of those swingy stool things she had always coveted for herself. Even their furniture choices would be identical, if she had the budget and the time.

  However, as comfortable as Rosy was becoming in Matt’s company (and house), and as much as she was enjoying today, she was aware she was beginning to develop a proper crush. Trying to remind herself of The Rule was tough when she was so relaxed that she was constantly laughing.

  In fact, the laughter she shared with Matt, the light touches and the increasingly long meaningful looks – she could feel her tummy flip just thinking about them – were becoming increasingly flirtatious, and somehow, somehow, she needed to bring Angelina into the conversation. Not that she particularly wanted to talk about the nasty, perfectly plastic, dog-kicking woman, but she did have to remind Matt of his responsibilities and that she really wasn’t that sort of girl. She would never, ever even countenance starting something with a man in a relationship, never! She needed to make it clear this was a friendship only thing, and why. She would wait until he came back in from the pantry where he had snuck off to and bring it up then.