The Cornish Village School – Breaking the Rules

by Kitty Wilson

  That overdone beam was now heading her way, eyes lit with a determined glow as she approached. It took all of Rosy’s professionalism to maintain eye contact and not visibly gulp.

  ‘Hello, it’s soooo good of you to fit me in, Rosy.’ Mrs Marksharp addressed all the staff by their first names. She had confided to Lynne, the teacher Rosy shared her class with and friend, that she thought it created a strong bond. Lynne, in turn, confided in Rosy that as far as bonds went, she’d be more comfortable with masked men, rope and some gaffer tape, but didn’t want to give Monster Marksharp ideas.

  ‘Now the thing is, I really need to talk to you about Rufus. You see, he is so gifted and I’m very worried about the absence of challenge.’ She drew back the tiny plastic chair and sat herself down, motioning to Rosy to do the same. ‘Well, as a mother, you see, who wouldn’t be? Why, only the other day he was trying to make olive oil in the conservatory using our olives and a screwdriver. Obviously he didn’t mean to smash the glass, but that’s the price you pay for having such a bright boy. And then last week he fed the chickens Miracle-Gro – such a lateral thinker!’

  Forty-five minutes later – all of which were devoted to how special Marion’s three boys were – Rosy managed to escape, but only after promising to sufficiently stretch Rufus, despite her own doubts about his natural genius.

  The more surprising aspect of the conversation was Marion confiding that she had heard whispers that the Local Authority had bought a large tract of land on the outskirts of Roscarrock. If this were the case it could have ramifications for the school. Roscarrock was where most of the Penmenna children went for the next step of their education so if it was for a new secondary school that would mean a shiny new school for them once they became eleven, but if it were for a new primary then it could impact negatively on Penmenna’s future numbers. Either way, she made a note for Sheila to see if she could find out more.

  Sheila was the school secretary and Rosy’s PA and was teetering on the brink of retirement – teetering being the key word. Sheila was lovely, the most supportive and compassionate woman Rosy had ever met and surely on a list somewhere for potential sainthood. It was just that if anyone had given Sheila that list, she would have promptly lost it, or scrunched it up, or run it under water and used it to dab a grazed knee. She reminded Rosy of a little dormouse behind her desk – petite, smiley, oh-so-cute and just as effective. Dormice may have no role in the running of an efficient school, but Sheila had been at Penmenna since the year dot, and was as much an institution of the school as the Nativity play, so it was a matter of just riding it out until retirement rolled around. And making sure she wasn’t allowed near any of the important stuff. This job should be safe with her, though.

  Dropping a note on Sheila’s desk, Rosy crossed her fingers and headed back to the office to tackle another new government directive to increase efficiency and standards. Then, four hours after the supposed end of school, she set the alarm, turned the key in the lock and headed home to a large glass of wine and a little bit more caramel shortbread.

  * * *

  The windows shook for the full length of the five-minute journey back to the cottage as Rosy sang along with the radio and the smile returned to her face.

  ‘Ricooooochet… da da da da da da… titaaaaniuuuum!’ Maybe she had been a tad rude to the removal man? It wasn’t his fault she’d had a crappy day and left Rufus’s book at home. The last time she had felt such an instant, visceral attraction as she had this afternoon was upon meeting Josh, and that hadn’t ended well. Perhaps her snappiness was her subconscious trying to protect her? Regardless of the reason, she should apologize when she got home. Yes, that’s what she’d do, make a cup of tea and apologize.

  But when she pulled up in the drive, there was no sign of the removal van, either responsibly or irresponsibly parked, although the lights sparkled in the cottage next door for the first time in ages. She wondered if the new neighbours would have children. A couple more on the roll was always a good thing in a rural school.

  Tomorrow was Saturday so she could bake them something yummy and go around to introduce herself, and hope her reputation wasn’t tarnished forever because of her uncharacteristic snappiness with their removal guy. Perhaps she could ask them to pass on an apology for her? Perhaps she could make another cake for them to pass on with it? Everyone liked chocolate cake, didn’t they? Perhaps she should just stop worrying and not be so neurotic? She was self-confident and in control. She had just been assertive – that was good. Plus the man had been quite smiley; he hadn’t seem perturbed by her foul temper. And he had broken her plant pot – that was quite remiss of him. Yes, she’d just leave it.

  As she parked the car and headed towards her cottage, something on the doorstep caught her eye. What was that? The late January evening was pierced by the glare of her outdoor light, making it impossible to define what was sitting upon the step. She walked up to the shape to find it was another terracotta pot, but this one didn’t have a dead stick in it; no stick at all. She picked it up to take it inside and have a better look.

  The light showed that it was certainly in better condition than that which had been broken. The pot itself was full of rich-looking compost and had a note attached. Kicking her shoes off, she headed to flick the kettle on as she unfolded it. There, in what she could only term as a creative scrawl, were the words Sorry about the pot, and the van, here’s something for spring.

  What a lovely thought. It certainly went above and beyond all expectations. Damn! Now she doubly wished she had asked his name, and not been so rude. She would have to say something to her neighbours in the morning. There was no way she could let a kindness like this go unremarked.

  Rosy hugged a smile to herself. The day hadn’t been that bad; she had survived Marksharp, and then to finish it was her lovely doorstep gift. As she curled up, slippers on, remote in one hand, tub of ice cream in another, she popped the TV on and prepared to relax. But all night that smile stayed on her face, and broadened every time she looked up at her promise of spring on the window sill.

  Chapter Two

  The next day Rosy was determined to have a long laze under the covers, read a book and drink two cups of tea before getting up properly. Her mind may have been awake far too early (it didn’t seem to understand weekends) but there was no way she was going to let her body comply.

  One cup of tea and a couple of chapters down and a thump thump thump on the door jolted her from her Saturday morning idyll. Popping her head out of the bedroom window, she spotted that it was for her new neighbours instead. It was going to be weird having people next door, because despite years of decoding the bumps and bangs of her previous neighbour, she had been used to complete silence for several months now. And liked it. It meant she could sing as loud (and it was loud) as she wanted, into hairbrushes and wine bottles, without any shame.

  Their visitor was very glamorous, draped in a fake fur coat, balancing upon heels higher than any ever seen in the village before, and hair so perfectly styled she must’ve risen at dawn. As Rosy examined the top of the woman’s head she could almost hear the twitter of small birds embedded within the pyramid of blonde hair à la pre-revolutionary French court.

  This vision of perfection was tarnished by the dog accompanying her. The woman was gripping the lead fiercely and glaring at the dog as if she didn’t trust him one iota. Which, given the look of him, was probably wise. He was the scruffiest dog Rosy had ever seen, a great big tangle of dark grey with a very naughty look on his face. Rosy’s profession meant she was well versed in Very Naughty Faces and this one was glowing with mischief. Glowing with mischief as he jumbled around his owner’s feet, looking as if he would topple her any minute and quite deliberately so. Rosy’s heart melted a little bit.

  Having knocked at the door again, the woman was now trying to stop the dog’s antics by whipping the end of the lead at him. Rosy tried to stifle a giggle; she knew that the dog was going to love this game.

  Per
fect Hair glanced up at Rosy’s window, after a poorly aimed kick caused the dog to speed up the circles he was gleefully running in, and tutted loudly. Which, combined with the sneer she shot at the same time, was a pretty impressive skill. Rosy had a quick try, but it wasn’t as easy as Perfect Hair made it look.

  However it seemed neither sneering nor tutting was persuading the dog to obedience. He was now snapping at her ankles, darting in and out as he did so and increasing Perfect Hair’s bad temper. She knocked again, but less glamour-puss, more police raid this time, loud enough for the dog to pause in its tumble and look startled.

  ‘Honestly, you didn’t need to lock the bloody—’ Her voice, loud and a combination of rage and drawling entitlement, was cut off mid-sentence as the door opened. Then, with another high level of skill, she managed to deliver two killer looks consecutively, one at the door-opener, who was hidden from view and Rosy was itching to see, and an even more brutal one up at Rosy’s window.

  Normally remorse over snooping would have made Rosy duck back behind the window. She wasn’t a natural curtain-twitcher, but the dog’s antics had been so compelling she hadn’t realized she was still staring until Perfect Hair’s second pointed glance of evil.

  The hairs on the back of her neck fizzed and then her arm jerked up, but instead of pulling the curtains shut and bowing her head in shame, her fingers waggled in greeting, a grin – as mischievous as the dog’s – on her face in the split second before her second new neighbour stormed into the house. She supposed that was two apologies she owed them now!

  More irritatingly, there was no way Rosy was going to be able to get comfy back in bed now. It was almost as if having been seen up she was duty-bound to actually get up. She knew it wasn’t pleasant to judge people, especially not at first glance, but she had a feeling that she and the next-door neighbours might not get on. Fancy not being able to be nice to something as cute and fluffy as that dog! She wondered what the husband was going to be like. Was he also going to be a perfectly coiffed city type that kicked small animals?

  Enough with the judgements. Power of positive thought (Harmony would be proud) – her new neighbours were bound to be lovely and she should know better. She was going to stop assuming the worst and do some baking. That way she could get a welcome-to-the-neighbourhood-sorry-I-was-peeping cake made, race through her chores and maybe take a quick, reaffirming walk on the beach.

  Two hours later there was a lemon drizzle cake cooling on the side, the house had been cleaned, albeit in a fairly slapdash way, top to bottom, her wellies were on and a chocolate cake was in her hands. She was all ready to head next door. Mean preconceptions were forced out of her head, and gratitude for the sweet plant pot by their removal man was at the fore. She gave a little shake, reminding herself not to stare evilly at Perfect Hair, and to make a point of passing on her gratitude for the plant whilst looking as welcoming as possible. Beam, beam, beam.

  * * *

  The winter sun was streaming through the breaks in the cloud as she wandered down her path and through the country-cottage gate that took her, in turn, to their gate and path, the clouds of pink flowers cascading down the drystone walls as was typical of the county. Balancing the plate on her hand carefully, she knocked loudly on the door and, biting her lower lip, braced herself to meet the family that would be living next door to her for the foreseeable future.

  Her heart sank as the woman from earlier answered the door. Fake smile plastered on Rosy’s face, she proffered the cake.

  ‘I thought I’d come and say hello, and welcome to the village. I live—’

  ‘It’s not me you want,’ snapped Perfect Hair.

  Thank the Lord for that, just keep smiling.

  ‘Stay here!’ the horror barked as she spun on her vertigo-causing heels and headed back into the cottage. She was swiftly replaced by the four-legged ball of wool that came bowling down the hallway and started jumping up at Rosy.

  Kneeling down with her plate held high, she made a fuss of the little thing. He really was the cutest dog ever, like a big old ball of tumbleweed. He started jumping up, licking her face and sniffing for cake, presumably desperate for affection if Perfect Hair was what he was used to.

  ‘Scramble, get down. Leave her alone, here, let me take that,’ came a familiar male voice suddenly standing over her and removing the plate.

  Rosy looked up to see the smiling face of the removal man from yesterday and once again could feel a flush seeping from the roots of her hair down to her toes. Oh, bloody hell!

  ‘And let me help you up.’ He reached out his free hand to her. ‘Scramble, get back! I’m so sorry, but if it makes you feel any better he’s a good judge of character. He just never really got the hang of puppy school.’

  ‘He’s OK. I don’t mind. Really, I don’t. He’s just saying hello.’ Please stop blushing, please stop blushing, don’t say that out loud. She noticed he was holding the cake. Oh God, what was it she had wanted to say?

  ‘I thought, since I’m your new neighbour, I’d better come and say hello properly and bring you cake to welcome you officially to the village and so on. Everyone is pretty lovely here really, I’m sure you’ll settle in just fine.’ Great, now she was prattling. What was happening to her?

  ‘That’s really kind of you, especially after I messed you about last night. My name’s Matt, by the way, and it’s a pleasure to meet you – officially, that is.’ He stretched out his hand and twinkled his eyes. Rosy hadn’t realized that ‘twinkled’ was something you could do before now. But she was learning.

  Oh yes, hand, um, shake. She remembered what she was actually meant to do, as opposed to just staring at said eyes. She stretched her hand out towards his and as their palms touched a shock tingled all up her arm and through her body. Oh, this was delicious. No! No. Not delicious, ridiculous, that’s what this was. Behave yourself, she chastised her disobedient body. For God’s sake, woman! You’ve got to live next door to him.

  Besides which, look at his girlfriend. He is not going to be interested in someone whose idea of style is anything that can be achieved in less than five minutes. Actually, thank God for Perfect Hair, otherwise she could have been tempted to break her cardinal rule of dating. And this was exactly the sort of man that her rule had been designed to insure against.

  She realized this handshake was going on a bit too long. She dropped his hand and forced herself to look at his face. Eye to eye, like a normal person making contact the first, oh all right, second time. Oh, bloody hell, maybe not the eyes! Now what was it he had said? Of course, that was right…

  ‘Um, Rosy, and it’s a pleasure to meet you properly.’ She managed to control her urge to drop a curtsy, and congratulated herself for beginning to sound more like a lucid adult. ‘And I’m sorry I was a tad grumpy last night but I had had a difficult day.’

  ‘Grumpy? Not at all. We had blocked you in, and then I broke your pot. I reckon I should thank my lucky stars you didn’t troop around brandishing a pitchfork.’

  Rosy giggled, relatively normally. ‘No, I find poisoned chocolate cake is a far more discreet method. It’s funny though, I was going to ask my new neighbours to thank you. I should know not to make assumptions and I had assumed you were the removal guy. I’m pleased I was wrong and that you are my new neighbour so I get to thank you in person. Thank you. That was a lovely thing you did. That plant pot is so much nicer than my grotty old one. And it looks like you planted something in it too. I was really touched. In fact, despite my day, your gift meant that, come the end of the evening, I was smiling.’

  ‘Well, I’m a man with lots of plant pots and I do like the thought of making you smile. Be warned, I may besiege you with them.’ Twinkle repeated twinkle.

  ‘You’re welcome to,’ she replied. Was this exquisite man flirting with her? Were her initial instincts right? He clearly wasn’t to be trusted. Dear God, did she just think the word ‘exquisite’? Hmmm. She needed help! Rosy blushed again, but this time she thought the warmth fl
ooding her body was less feverish than before. With any luck it was a dainty pink rather than the unattractive beetroot glare of earlier. Somehow she managed to maintain eye contact and keep talking.

  ‘Be warned though, I’m rubbish with plants, they seem to wither and die the minute I look at them. I wouldn’t want you to waste your efforts.’ Her head was exploding with the effort of normal conversation. She seemed to have developed some kind of split personality with half her brain filled with a hallelujah-ing chorus of angels and the other half occupied by her tearful, traumatized nineteen-year-old self shaking her head furiously at her adult self.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think they’d be wasted, I’ll just have to show you what to do.’

  Yes please, thought the naughty part of Rosy joyfully, shutting down her own whispers of warning. They stood and looked at each other for a millisecond longer than was normal and she swore her tummy squirmed. Actually squirmed.

  A high-pitched shriek from Perfect Hair, a room away, smashed their momentary silence.

  ‘Matt. Matt! Will you please put her down so we can get on with our day!’

  ‘I’m sorry about that, she’s intolerably rude!’ responded Matt, eyes rolling like a surly fifteen-year-old.

  ‘No, that’s fine. I have to get on with my day too. Anyway, it’s a pleasure to meet you properly.’