Matthew carried Mabel back to Gemma’s cottage, where Gemma held the dog still as Matthew picked bits of glass and food and twigs out of her fur. By some miracle she didn’t seem to have cut her paws at all, and other than a few bramble scratches, a fat belly and a doleful look in her eyes, she seemed to be fine. Gemma called a vet in Chippenham to ask for advice and was told to keep a close eye on her for a day or two and bring her in if she was worried. Matthew carried Mabel upstairs so Gemma could give her a bath, washing away all the mud and pomegranate juice before towelling her off gently and settling her into her bed for what was clearly going to be a very long and restorative sleep.
Once Mabel was settled, Gemma poured them both a well-earned glass of wine and heated up some leftover wild garlic pesto pasta for dinner, then told Matthew about the havoc Mabel had caused in the shop. He wept with laughter when Gemma told him about the teeth marks in the meat packaging, which made Gemma feel a bit better, albeit briefly. Any hope she had that the whole village wouldn’t find out about Mabel’s exploits was soon scuppered when Matthew’s phone started to buzz – seemingly Barry had taken some photos and popped them on the village WhatsApp group, and now everyone was sharing laughing emojis and jokes about Mabel needing a ‘dressing-down’. Someone suggested drawing a dog-shaped line around the pink stain on the floor like a crime scene, and Matthew started crying with laughter again. Gemma went off to the lounge to lie on the sofa and die of humiliation alone, and soon fell asleep herself.
When she woke up a couple of hours later, Mabel was still snoozing in her bed and Matthew was standing at the dining table, making notes on countless sheets of paper. One was a list of calls to make in the morning, and another was a list of questions and challenges they’d need to overcome to get the online clubs up and running. So much had happened since their conversation this afternoon, Gemma had entirely forgotten about her idea.
She drifted over to the table and started asking questions, and soon they were both absorbed in the planning again. The biggest challenge was helping older or less tech-savvy residents use the video software so they could join for the first time; obviously the teenagers would be fine, but downloading the Zoom app and managing cameras and speakers could present a challenge to others. On the upside, the crappy phone signal in the village was offset by the broadband speed; it was considerably faster here than Gemma’s had been in London. So they were starting from a good place, if they could just find a way to make it easy for everyone to get started.
Matthew suggested the shop, which Gemma didn’t even want to think about right now. It was the hub of the village, and everyone used it to some degree or other, particularly the older residents. If they created a simple flyer that had details of the groups on one side, and a step-by-step guide to using Zoom on the other, people could pick up a copy from the shop for themselves, or put it through the letterbox of someone who needed it. Ruth’s husband was also delivering shopping to villagers in isolation – people like Joan with her new knitting wool and book of patterns – so they could put a flyer in the delivery boxes too. It felt less wasteful than getting Steve the Postie to put one through every letterbox; this scheme wouldn’t be needed or wanted by everyone, and it made sense to start small and let things grow organically.
Even though Gemma had been full of enthusiasm earlier, right now she felt like she wanted to distance herself from the whole thing altogether, to keep her head down and let other people worry about this kind of stuff. There was no sense in hiding how she was feeling, so she waited for a pause in Matthew’s note-taking to air her worries.
‘Matthew, are you sure this is a good idea?’
‘What do you mean? It was YOUR idea.’
‘I know, but . . . I just feel like such a dick about today, like I’m some kind of joke. I’d quite like to lower my profile a bit, just until the dust settles.’
Matthew laughed and put his hands flat on the dining table. ‘Gemma, everyone’s starved of entertainment. You’ve made their day, given half the village a lift. Nobody died, and Mabel is fine. This is now village legend; people will be talking about it for years.’
Gemma looked horrified. ‘Fuck, really?’
‘Yes, really. About twenty years ago Barry put an axe through a mains water pipe and completely flooded his garden, and the whole of the street at the front was flowing with water. His house has been called Barry Island ever since. He still gets mail addressed to Barry Island.’
Gemma snorted with laughter, and Matthew grinned. ‘You could live here for the next fifty years, and every time you go for dinner at someone’s house they will offer you some kind of salad dressing. That’s just how this village is, think of it as a sign of affection. Offer to settle up for the food Mabel trashed, be gracious when they refuse to accept your money, and laugh it off with everyone else.’
She looked at Mabel’s sleeping form, calculating how much money she’d need to offer the shop to cover her all-you-can-eat buffet. Mabel farted violently, turned over in her bed, and carried on snoring.
They finished the draft plan together, then made a final list of jobs for tomorrow. They were both as exhausted as Mabel, but neither of them wanted to leave her alone all night in case she got sick. Gemma walked her slowly round the garden for ten minutes until she’d done all her business – for now it was fine, but Gemma suspected there weren’t enough poo bags in the world to deal with what Mabel was going to produce over the next couple of days. When they came back inside, Matthew carried both dog and bed back up to the loft, where they tucked her in the corner under the eaves. She wagged her tail half-heartedly and tried to give Matthew’s face a lick, and they both sat and stroked her until she drifted back to sleep.
After a long kiss that Gemma hoped said a million things about how grateful and relieved she was, she took Matthew’s hand and led him to the bathroom, closing the door and leaving the light off so the whirring of the extractor fan didn’t spoil the mood, along with the deeply unflattering glare of bathroom spotlights. On this occasion, moonlight would do. They undressed and soaped each other with a kind of curious reverence, Matthew trailing his fingers gently over the curves of Gemma’s body like she was an exquisite, fragile sculpture. Gemma realised that he was the first man who had ever made her feel anything other than just ordinary; more than just the woman next door. Matthew listened and made her feel smart and interesting, qualities Gemma had always hoped she possessed but that nobody had ever really noticed. In contrast, Fraser had sometimes looked at her like he couldn’t remember her name, or what on earth she was doing in his flat.
Leaning against Matthew in the shower made her want to wrap herself around him like that first night after the barbecue, but she mastered her longing and closed her eyes, shutting out everything but the needle-like drumming of the hot water on her skin and the exquisite agony of his touch. As his hands quickened and his breathing intensified, Gemma backed into the corner of the shower, the darkness consuming her as the world shrunk to nothing other than the cold of the tiles on her back, and the feel of Matthew lifting her legs and pinning her to the wall. It was as close to a religious experience as Gemma had ever known, and in the end even the pounding of the water couldn’t stop their cries ruffling the feathers of the pigeons nesting in the eaves of the roof.
In the early hours, Gemma watched Matthew sleep. They must have left a light on downstairs when they carried Mabel up, as a dim glow from the stairwell was casting a yellow halo behind his head. He looked like an angel. Did angels sleep? The lyrics of ‘Oh Little Town of Bethlehem’ started playing in Gemma’s head, and she worked through each verse she could remember. The lyric she was thinking of was ‘while mortals sleep the angels keep their watch of something something’, so clearly angels didn’t need to sleep. Unless they did it during the day, like vampires, or hamsters. Did angels sleep on the wing, like swifts, or lie down? In which case they’d have to be front sleepers, because those massive wings would really dig in, give you terrible back problems. Gemma turne
d over, unable to clear her head of rambling internal dialogue. God, 2 a.m. thoughts are the worst.
She turned back to look at Matthew, mentally turning off the flow of Christmas carols before ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ kicked in and she spent the next few hours offering herself tidings of comfort and joy. Matthew slept like the dead, completely still and barely breathing. In contrast, Fraser had thrashed around like an eel in a bucket, and Johannes had whistled through his nose, a side effect of a deviated septum. Gemma had suggested he get it fixed, but he said it didn’t affect his ability to play the French horn so it wasn’t a problem. On one occasion she’d woken him up to tell him it was like sleeping with Roger Whittaker, but he thought she meant Roger Federer and took it as a compliment.
Gemma lifted her head a little so she could see Mabel, who looked relaxed and comfortable in her bed. Whatever she was dreaming about was prompting tiny growls and paw twitches, and Gemma wondered what she’d got up to in the two hours she’d been missing. Had she gone straight back to West Cottage, or had she had some adventures on the way? Thankfully she’d been spayed, so there would be no surprise baby Mabels in a couple of months. Her impromptu feast didn’t seem to have caused any major problems, although she’d generated some fairly noxious gas as they were falling asleep, forcing Gemma and Matthew to retreat under the duvet in a fit of horrified giggles. Matthew said it reminded him why he didn’t like dogs, and Gemma told him to prepare himself for an eye-watering twenty-four hours.
She thought about everything that had happened in the past couple of days – the walk to the river yesterday, meeting Matthew’s mum, the carnage at the village hall today. Aside from the two hours he’d spent looking for Mabel, Gemma realised that she and Matthew had barely spent a minute apart since yesterday morning, and yet it didn’t feel strange or unusual. Being with Matthew just made her want to be with him more, like a thirst she couldn’t quench. The sex was an epiphany, but she’d also enjoyed walking with him, chatting about nothing in particular, watching him with Mabel, working with him on her ideas. He made her feel grounded, like this temporary situation wasn’t a waste of her time and her talents. At a time when the world was off-kilter, Matthew’s drama-free normality was exactly what she needed, even though they both knew real life had to resume at some point. She’d have to deal with that soon, make a longer-term plan.
‘Why aren’t you asleep?’ whispered Matthew.
Gemma smiled. ‘Because I’m awake. Go back to sleep.’
Matthew opened his eyes and looked at her, his face soft with slumber. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’
‘Me too.’
‘I’d like to stay like this for a long time.’
‘I promise not to kick you out before morning.’
Matthew smiled and drifted away. Gemma closed her eyes and was on the cusp of sleep when a thought flickered that maybe Matthew had meant something else. By morning she’d forgotten the conversation ever happened.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Tuesday, 21 April
To Do
Ridiculous video clubs idea
De-slag cottage
Find clean knickers
Call Louise
‘Thanks, Alex, that’s really good news. Yep. We’ll let everyone know and Gemma will email over the details. Great. Thanks.’
Matthew put the phone back in its charging cradle and beamed at Gemma. ‘The vicar is on board. He’s never used Zoom so he says can you please send him instructions; he’ll get his kids to set it up for him. A trial run on Sunday at ten-thirty, see how much interest there is, one hymn only and not too much waffling.’ He walked back to the list on his kitchen table. ‘OK, I’ll try Yvonne.’
So far Matthew had successfully pitched the idea to Reverend Alex and Kate who ran the village playgroup, but Tamsyn from Youth Club had said no – they were already running something similar with quizzes and TikTok challenges for the local teens. Autumn Club had potential, however – in more normal times it had been a fortnightly get-together for the over fifty-fives in the village hall, with tea and biscuits and a regular programme of guest speakers. In the past Matthew had done a talk on winter maintenance for the home, showing people how to lag external pipes and bleed their radiators. To Gemma it seemed like the perfect kind of thing to move online, if they could convince the organisers that using video conferencing wasn’t too stressful and problematic.
They had moved their control centre to Matthew’s barn because he had a landline; one of those cordless ones with a charging stand, a grey handset the shape and size of an old nineties mobile phone and actual buttons you had to press to dial. It looked charmingly antiquated to Gemma, but she guessed it was essential in a village like Crowthorpe that was a phone signal black hole. Mabel was snuggled into her usual corner of the sofa, so Gemma left Matthew to finish his call to Yvonne and went out on to the wooden balcony with her mobile to call Ruth on WhatsApp. She answered after a few rings and brushed off Gemma’s repeated apologies and offers of cash for yesterday. Once they’d got that out of the way, Gemma spent a few minutes giving her a quick run-down on the latest plan and asked if she could print the leaflets in the village hall office and leave them in the shop.
‘Goodness, aren’t you Little Miss Fixit.’
Gemma stalled, not sure if she’d overstepped some kind of line, particularly in view of yesterday. ‘Oh. It’s not just me. Matthew said . . .’
Ruth laughed. ‘I’m teasing you, I think it’s a great idea. Just what people need.’
Gemma laughed nervously. ‘I just want to help if I can. You know, while I’m here.’
Ruth’s voice softened. ‘It will be a sad day when you leave us, my dear.’
Gemma could hear Matthew still on the phone, so she stood on the balcony and WhatsApped Louise. Oi, sis. You free for a chat tonight? Gemma would have to walk to the shop for a phone signal if she wanted to chat without Matthew around, but that was OK – she could combine it with Mabel’s evening walk.
Matthew’s head appeared round the door. ‘Yvonne is a yes. She gave me a right mouthful when I asked if she knew what Zoom was. Said she’s only sixty-four and her husband used to be an IT teacher, and could I kindly go fuck myself. Rude.’ He laughed and held the door open for Gemma to come back in, his hand grazing the back of her jeans as she walked past.
‘Oi. Enough of that. We’re working.’
‘I can’t help it, you have a nice bum.’
‘I will still have a nice bum when you’ve called Charlie. I need to get working on the leaflets this afternoon, so I need to know who’s on board.’
Matthew pulled a faux-sulky face as Gemma’s phone beeped. It was Louise. Yes please, I need an excuse to take a break from this lot. 7 p.m. your time? Am two hours ahead so kids will be in bed.
Gemma tapped a quick thumbs up emoji as a reply and turned her attention back to the table of notes. It looked like Autumn Club was going into its usual slot of 2 p.m. every other Monday, starting next week. There would be a Zoom church service this Sunday at 10.30, and the first Parent Pop-In with Kate would be next Wednesday at 11 a.m. Gemma wanted to add two evening clubs to the schedule, which she had tentatively called Lads’ Lock-In and Ladies’ Lock-In. In her head this was an hour on a Friday or a Saturday when you could bring a drink and log on for a chat, nothing formal or too much like organised fun. Ideally these sessions would be hosted by Charlie and Jess who ran the Black Crow, and Gemma was keen to get them started this coming weekend. They could spread the word using Matthew’s village WhatsApp group.
Gemma’s phone beeped again, and she saw it was a message from Caro. Hola Gem. Life here is terrible, tell me you’re having amazing sex and loving country life. Cx
Gemma smiled and sent a laughing emoji, then noticed that Matthew was looking at her, clearly wanting to know what was so funny. ‘It’s Caro, wanting to know if I’m having amazing sex and loving country life.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said country life was great.�
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‘Ha ha.’ Matthew shook his head.
Gemma kissed him gently, her hands sliding up the back of his jumper. ‘I’m not giving Caro all the details. At least not until we’re both in a fancy bar and I can draw her pictures on a cocktail napkin.’
By late morning Gemma and Matthew had made all their calls and finalised their list, so they agreed to do their own thing until tomorrow. Matthew needed to do a few odd jobs around the village, and Gemma was itching to finish the video clubs leaflet and catch up on some life admin before calling her sister at 7 p.m. She was reluctant to leave the cosiness of Matthew’s apartment – it felt like the past couple of days had been a blissful bubble that she didn’t want to burst. But Caro’s cottage was in need of a clean, the laundry was piling up and she’d get the leaflet finished far quicker without Matthew to distract her with his come-to-bed eyes and wandering hands.
Mabel was even less keen to leave, so Matthew sat beside her on the sofa and scratched her ears. ‘I’m sorry, yellow dog. I know you’d rather follow the sun around the sofa while you process all that steak and carrots, but Gemma needs to go home now. It’s hard for both of us.’ Gemma smiled weakly, unable to stop herself imagining him talking about a move of 90 miles, rather than 15 metres. It made her chest hurt to think about it.
By the end of the afternoon Gemma’s mood had lifted, as it invariably did when she’d managed to tick all of the jobs off her list and could enjoy feeling particularly smug about it. The cottage had been hoovered and dusted, two lots of laundry done, the bathroom cleaned and the sheets changed. They’d only been on the bed since Friday but they’d seen quite a lot of human activity since then, and there was no need to let standards slip. She’d walked Mabel on the recreation ground, then finished the design for the leaflet and emailed it to all of the club leaders for them to check times and contact details before Ruth printed it for her tomorrow.
Two Metres From You Page 20