The Cornish Village School – Breaking the Rules

by Kitty Wilson

‘It was. An absolute pleasure. I’ll see you soon.’

  Adrenalin still pumping, she offered up a quick prayer of thanks to the girlfriend, feeling that she had been saved from a weakness she had thought no longer existed. She switched right back to neighbourly and gave him a final smile as he showed her out.

  * * *

  As Matt shut the door his smile dropped. He turned and headed into the kitchen where his earlier guest was waiting for him.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Ange, do you have to be so rude? I’ve just moved in – she’s my neighbour. Could you try not to upset her, or anyone else in the village, just for the first day or two, perhaps?’

  His guest yawned and flicked a pistachio shell across the kitchen counter.

  ‘She’s dowdy and a peeping Tom, and who gets up and bakes a bloody cake? On a Saturday! That’s what Waitrose is for. Silly cow. Silly cow in a stupid primitive county.’

  ‘This county is one of the most beautiful places in the country – beaches, moors, sunshine, peace and quiet. And not so primitive that it’s prevented you from jumping in my car at the crack of dawn to drop the dog off before I’m settled in!’

  Angelina smiled, stood up and pulled Matt into a massive hug.

  ‘You’re welcome. Besides, who the hell else would put up with me? And for that matter who would have helped you with Scramble? Honestly, he’s a nightmare. I couldn’t keep him any longer. Do you know he chewed one of my Louboutins last night? I’m billing you.’

  Matt gave in to the cuddle and grinned at his difficult, pain-in-the-arse baby sister. ‘I’m not paying until I actually see the damage. And stop eyeing that cake with evil intent, it’s mine and you don’t eat cake anyway, you freak. And what do you mean a peeping Tom? I think she’s cute. Do you know that last night she actually stamped her foot at me? I don’t think she even realized she had done it.’

  ‘Hmmm, I bet she does it all the time. I was standing on the doorstep, waiting and waiting for you to answer, and she was spying on me from her upstairs window. On top of which, people who stamp their feet clearly have emotional issues. Demanding narcissists. You can’t spend time with those sorts of people, it’ll bring you down.’

  Matt’s eyes widened and he blinked slowly before speaking. ‘Your lack of self-awareness never fails to amaze me. As for spying? I don’t think so.’

  ‘My what? Honestly, you talk such rubbish! And what else do you call someone watching someone else? When I saw her, she shot back behind the curtains quicker than a wink and then, get this, had the cheek to come back out again and taunt me. She did.’ Angelina’s head was nodding fast, emphasizing the truth of her statement.

  ‘She probably heard poor Scramble’s cries for help, desperately calling for rescue from your dastardly clutches. You’re lucky she didn’t come racing out of her house and wallop you with her rolling pin so she could set him free.’ Scramble jumped up high onto Matt’s lap and curled his lip at Angelina in agreement. Matt loved this dog. Angelina remained oblivious.

  ‘Yeah, I bet she has a rolling pin too, and one of those poncey cake stands, and watches Bake Off.’

  ‘Everyone loves Bake Off. What is wrong with you? I’m serious. You are not normal, you know.’

  ‘Pfft. You’ve been saying that for years. But you still love me.’

  ‘True, but I don’t really have a choice. Look, stop being such a cat and help me work out how to get that beautiful brown-haired domestic goddess interested in her slightly scruffy neighbour.’

  ‘No, I cannot. You said you weren’t interested in dating for a while. And you know I have the perfect friend lined up for you. You’re going to love her. Much better for your career and she’s got this season’s Birkin.’

  ‘Oh please, not again!’

  Chapter Three

  Rosy had fled down her neighbour’s path and marched as quick as her legs could take her to the coast, pausing only for breath once the familiar kick of salt and seaweed hit her senses. Storming along the coastal path, framed by gorse and bracken, she soon left the wide open sands of Penmenna and reached her favourite cove, smaller and more intense than the beaches that the tourists sought. Enclosed by rocks and far more darkly Cornish, it provided the perfect escape, only used by locals or hikers stopping for a brief rest, and they were few at this time of year. It was as if someone had tipped her upside down and jiggled her about until everything was loose, and this cove was the perfect place to rebalance herself.

  Years of careful compartmentalizing had been smashed down in one quick motion simply because she had had such a physical reaction to her new neighbour. An appreciation of a dishy removal guy was fine, but finding that he had moved in next door was just too much. The fact that his oh-so-sexy-eyes-and-mouth combo had been so reminiscent of Josh’s was bad enough, but to have him move in next door, well that was just cruel. And the timing – unbelievable!

  She sank onto the slate that covered this particular beach, pushing bits to one side and allowing her fingers to dig deep into the sand that nestled below, resting her aching calves and trying to gain a little perspective. Where to start? The neighbour, Matt, was not Josh. This she had to remember; it would be unfair to assume that he shared the horrendous character traits of that man, just because he had the same stomach-twirling effect on her. She wasn’t nineteen years old any more and was far from the impressionable, naive girl she had been at university. She was now an experienced, organized and grown-up grown-up who was not going to make the same mistakes as she had as a teen. This would all be fine. Her breathing, however, was not getting any easier; in fact it was becoming more ragged. Breathe in, hold for three, breathe out. And repeat. And repeat.

  This was silly, she knew it. One bad experience did not shape your life, not unless you allowed it to. And she had worked so hard at making sure it didn’t. She had full control of her life, by having – and keeping – one very simple rule. The Rule (and she liked to refer to it as that in her head, the capital letters highlighting its importance) was that she would never date anyone who lived nearby, hence keeping her private and professional lives completely separate. Completely separate. Completely under control. She would never be embarrassed in that way again.

  Yes, Matt may have twinkly eyes that screamed knowledge of all things naughty, and hair as curly as that of Scramble’s (she had always had a weakness for curly hair), and he had potted her up a plant for spring (which in itself was the most romantic thing someone had ever done for her) but there were several pertinent facts she had to remember.

  Firstly, Matt had a girlfriend, a very high-maintenance girlfriend, and a tendency to flirtation even when said girlfriend was in the next room. Men like that were never to be trusted. Secondly, even if Matt turned out to be the perfect man, he had moved in next door – she would not risk upsetting her life just for sparkly eyes and a nice gesture. That sort of chaos was to be very deliberately avoided. She had The Rule for a reason. This was good; this was almost a whole battalion of red flags waving. The dog was cute, though – she could be friends with the dog. Perhaps if she had a puppy, that would help. She could take it to school, and she’d have company in the evenings, something to cuddle up to.

  She snuggled deeper into her scarf as the cold stung her ears and her cheeks. The wind curled the waves into arches, ferociously crashing onto the shoreline, and Rosy repeated to herself: Matt with the beautiful shoulders and let’s-take-our-clothes-off eyes is to be avoided. Avoided at all costs. Matt is not Josh, so don’t be mean but definitely don’t flirt any more. You are kind, you are nice, you do not bat your lashes at another woman’s man. You can be welcoming, you just can’t fancy him. At all.

  She let the rhythm of the waves, as they peaked and smashed, take over her thoughts and was soon calm enough to open her book and lose herself in its pages for an hour or so. By the time she left she was feeling a lot more grounded than she had upon arrival.

  She was walking back along the coast path when her mobile pinged. Service out here was sketchy so she
was surprised to get anything. She checked her phone and bit her lip. How had she forgotten that? With the chaos of yesterday and the sheer force of this morning’s sexual attraction/panic, all thought of tonight’s date had been pushed out of her mind.

  She used the term ‘date’ loosely. It was, without quibble, a date – a meeting of two single adults with the sole purpose of seeing whether there was the chance of a future relationship. But she knew before she got there that the chances were unlikely.

  She had been Internet dating for a little while now – it had worked for a couple of her friends, and with her rural location, her rule about not dating locally and her lack of desire to travel twenty miles to hang out in clubs alongside people she had nothing in common with, Internet dating seemed like it may be the only solution to her unrelenting singledom.

  She wasn’t sure why she had been single for so long. She may not be as attractive as Perfect Hair but she wasn’t a complete troll and every now and again she did get the odd glance on the street. She assumed it wasn’t because she had a horned back and webbed feet that she was unaware of. However, glances or not, no one ever asked her out.

  On the less superficial side, she was well educated, had a job that she loved, was articulate, passionate even, about certain things, didn’t mind watching football or rugby and enjoyed cooking. What more did a man want, for God’s sake? Some days she was fairly sure that even if she learnt to play the harmonica whilst juggling fire-lit batons and stripping down to some nipple tassels, she still wouldn’t attract a mate.

  And it wasn’t that she was desperate, but she liked men and was ready for that easy companionship and the camaraderie that some of her married friends had. Regular sex would also be a bonus. A really enjoyable, almost forgotten bonus. She just had to find someone who was as busy as she was and understood that she needed to be sure before she committed herself and introduced him properly to her life.

  Admittedly there were bits of a relationship she could easily do without. Lynne’s Dave, for example, piled up musical instrument parts in the kitchen and liked medieval dress. Lucy’s husband shouted at the news all night and got arsey whenever she suggested they change channel, and she was fairly sure there was something dodgy going on with Tim, Alice’s boyfriend – no one needed to walk the dogs for three hours every evening, did they? So keeping someone at arm’s length until she was sure was sensible, not at all weird. She just needed to find someone who agreed with her.

  She’d started Internet dating a couple of months ago, and had lost count of the amount of failed dates. All right, she could probably remember them all if she tried hard, but some of them she actively wanted to forget – particularly Tony, who had suggested, three minutes in, with tongue hanging out, that they check sexual compatibility before ordering the starters.

  And some of them had been so dull she had considered running to the ladies’ and escaping out of the window or painting awake-looking eyes on her eyelids so she could have a quick doze without appearing rude.

  Despite this, she was sticking with optimism and was going with the ‘if you keep trying then all will come right’ view rather than the ‘a fool is a person who constantly repeats the same mistakes’ that was slowly becoming the more dominant voice in her head.

  Hence she had a date lined up for tonight, as she had most Saturday nights since she’d decided that this was her solution. Experience was telling her tonight was not going to be a winner, but her innate (or was that inane?) hopefulness was not letting her give up.

  Just because Simon, tonight’s candidate, wasn’t proving too sparky on their online chats didn’t mean he wasn’t a good man. Teaching had taught her that if you gave someone a chance, looked a little deeper, real treasure could be found. So she applied it to her dates – give them a proper chance and search for the sparkle.

  Lynne said that there was such a thing as being too nice, and sometimes people didn’t have hidden depths, just hidden dark, and that a level of discernment was required with this whole thing. Rosy agreed to a point. She was discerning enough to refuse to date the seven – yes, seven – different men who had inboxed her pictures of their willies, but otherwise still stuck to her ‘everyone deserves a fair chance’ thing.

  Which was why she had agreed to meet Simon for drinks in Plymouth later tonight. She had registered only for dates with men from Devon, close enough to get to, far away enough to ensure they didn’t know anyone locally, had never heard of Penmenna School and were unlikely to turn up for dinner unannounced.

  Simon had started chatting to her a couple of weeks ago, and although he hadn’t exactly made her laugh out loud, or even snigger, he did at least seem relatively stable and secure. An all-round nice guy and therefore worthy of a chance.

  It was just unfortunate that with his considerate gesture and downright titillating physicality, Matt had made her completely forget about Simon this evening. Should she cancel? Was it fair going on a date with someone when all you really wanted to do was strip your next-door neighbour down to nothing and encourage him to keep his promises about teaching new things? Or, at the very least, spend the evening fantasizing about it. No, all that was surely evidence that she needed to go on the date, and give it her all. There would be no fantasizing about her neighbour; she would not become a laughing stock again.

  She looked up to see she was already back in the depths of the village. Her musings meant she had walked back on autopilot, completely oblivious to all around her.

  Her musings had, however, reinforced her resolve. She would not allow herself to be fazed by her new neighbour. It was obviously a test she had been given and one she was ready to pass. Looking up, she realized she was at the village shop – she’d nip in and buy herself some chocolate. Maybe a small bar after a late lunch would cheer her up a bit and help her get ready for tonight. Maybe that late lunch should be a Creme Egg?

  As she headed back towards her cottage, three large (large) bars of Galaxy and some chocolate eggs rammed in her handbag making the climb up the hill a bit more tricky, she caught a glimpse of Perfect Hair giggling as she slapped Matt on the arm whilst they were walking to his car. Glued to the pavement, she watched as he took a swipe back at her hair – brave man – with those beautifully shaped arms and then dart out of the way. It was an intimate gesture and Rosy could feel her eyes narrow before she forced them back to their normal shape as quick as she could. Life wasn’t fair sometimes, but she could do this, she could live next door to the most beautifully perfect physical specimen she had ever seen and try not to care. More importantly, she was going to find that sort of intimacy for herself, that closeness; fear was no longer going to hold her back. She grinned a wide easy grin. Simon, hang on to your hat, tonight is going to blow your mind!

  Chapter Four

  Rosy took a slug of wine as she looked across the table at her date. As much as she wanted to find The One this evening, she had a feeling there was no way Simon was going to be it. Although he was certainly going to be memorable, just not in the way she had wanted.

  She smiled as he shuffled the wad of cue cards that he had brought with him. Her ‘looking for the treasure’ policy was proving harder than she had anticipated. He was a good ten years older and hundred pounds (OK, maybe not, but she was willing to bet it wasn’t far off) heavier than his photo had indicated and her depths were clearly more shallow than she had thought.

  ‘So, Rosy, top five films in ascending order?’

  ‘Um… I don’t get to the cinema much. I heard the new Star Wars was good.’

  He curled his lip and arched an eyebrow. ‘Right, so you don’t know about films then, hmm?’

  ‘Well, it’s just that—’

  ‘Yep, never mind, I can overlook that, you are, after all…’ He didn’t even disguise the look he shot straight at her chest. Her arms immediately crossed themselves in protection, warding him off. If only she could do something about the waves of body odour emanating off him with such potency. Rosy was amazed they weren’
t visible.

  ‘Right, another chance then. What’s your favourite breed of dog? Quick, quick. No thinking about it. You must know. You’re quite slow, aren’t you? I thought you said you were a teacher!’ All this was shot at her at speed, followed by a bout of burping indicative of some kind of chronic digestive disorder.

  ‘Funny you should ask, I met this adorable little one this morning. All tangly and bumbly. So cute. He made me think about getting one of my own.’

  ‘Yes, but what breed?’ He spoke very slowly this time, in contrast to the staccato sentences of earlier.

  She could do this, she could be nice, sit here with him for an hour before making her excuses and leaving. Preserving his dignity and keeping her good karma intact.

  ‘Well, I didn’t ask, I’m not sure but he—’

  ‘So, you don’t know about dogs either.’

  Maybe half an hour instead. With only an inch of wine left in her glass, she couldn’t even blot out the reality of the date with any more alcohol if she wanted to drive home – and she certainly wouldn’t be staying. She excused herself to the loo and wondered how long before he sent a waitress in looking for her. Thank God she had agreed to drinks and not a meal. Maybe half an hour was generous; maybe she’d be kinder by making it clear he didn’t stand a chance. Decision made, she strolled out to the bucket chairs they were in, sat down and took her last gulp of wine whilst formulating her excuses.

  Suddenly everything moved really fast and a heavy human-shaped form had landed on her lap and oh-my-God! Something wet, slug-like, was on her cheek. Was he licking her? Someone screamed and then a fluster, a flurry of arms and legs were all around her. She felt an elbow – she assumed it was an elbow – whack her in the face and she could feel numbness swell in her tongue as the jolt had caused her to bite down. At least the screaming had stopped.

  She could breathe again. The tumult calmed and she could feel air around her again. In and out. In and out. This breathing thing was becoming a pattern! Someone kneeling pressed a glass of water into her hand, and as she turned to thank them she could see the two bouncers hurling her date out.