‘I wouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers. As much as I love her, Angelina is very much Angelina, and I can’t see her ever changing.’
‘Oh, OK.’ The mood had suddenly shifted to awkward and he wasn’t sure why. Something to do with his sister, presumably, but he was determined not to let conversation, and the ease with which they spoke to each other, peter out and die now – not when things had been going so well. He cast around in his mind to find a conversational topic that would relax Rosy again.
‘So, you said on the way over you were a headteacher. That’s pretty awesome. Are you secretly fifty and just have mad make-up skills or were you some super-smart child prodigy that raced her way up the career ladder really young?’
‘Ha. Neither. Just really lucky, I guess.’
‘Hmm, I suspect there’s more to it than luck. Go on, tell all. Don’t hold back.’
‘There really isn’t that much to tell. I graduated from university and went straight into teaching and worked in a couple of schools around the country before I came down here; right down the other end though, Penzance way. There I was really lucky to be mentored by the most amazing head, Mrs Lindfield. She was remarkable, I love her and owe her such a debt of gratitude. Anyway, she pushed me and pushed me and with her help I became an AST…’
‘AST? Astounding Space Tractor? Alarmingly Savage Turtle? Oh, I’ve got it! Astonishing Super Teacher?’
‘Fool. Advanced Skills Teacher. My specialism was in early years.’
Bless her, she blushed again, just a little, as if she were embarrassed of her achievement. It was too cute and so at odds with the Cornish lessons and bossy Rosy from earlier.
‘Anyway, before I knew it she was pushing me into the position of deputy head when it opened up and made me take my NPQH – that’s the exams you need to do to become a head. I did that and then when this position came up I applied. I’d always wanted to work in a village school so I couldn’t believe my luck when I got it, and here I am.’
‘Oh wow, so you’re the head in this village?’
‘Yup. Oh, will you excuse me a minute? I promise I won’t be more than a second or two.’ She jumped up hurriedly and wandered off.
So, she was headteacher here in Penmenna; that explained so much. All through lunch they had been constantly interrupted by friends and acquaintances of Rosy’s. A stream of people all paying testament to how popular and downright lovely she was. Matt could not disagree. She met everyone with a smile and a personalized comment or anecdote and didn’t seem in the least perturbed with the interruptions. He had been introduced so many times that he had lost count and was beginning to fear she might be some kind of cult leader. But now it fell into place. She was obviously widely respected within the community and presumably had impacted all of these people, or their children, in a positive way.
He watched as she wended her way through the room, stopping to kneel at a table occupied by a family group who were clearly getting ready to leave. She was speaking to the young woman, who was pale and with startling red hair, fatigue writ clear on her face even at a distance. And he watched as the whole table lit up as Rosy spoke, the three adults laughing at whatever she had said and the small boy with them nodding frantically. She stopped but a minute or two and then headed back to Matt, who was unable to tear his eyes away as she got closer and closer.
‘Sorry about that, I saw they were leaving and just wanted to say hello.’
‘Pupil?’
‘No, not yet, although hopefully he’ll join us next year. I met his mum in Truro a couple of years ago; she used to be a professional ballet dancer. Amazing woman, Sylvie, she teaches self-defence classes now and that’s where I met her. She moved back down here, I think she wanted her son to grow up by the sea, and then her mother got ill, so sad. From what I understand her mum hasn’t got long left and I just wanted to say hello.’
‘I’m sorry. I suppose if there’s any positive to be found then at least she’s back in Cornwall to support her mother.’
‘True. From what I know of her she’ll be doing an amazing job as well. She looks so dainty, doesn’t she, but my goodness I reckon she could throw an elephant over her shoulder should she need to. I’ve never seen such strength.’
‘Well, ballet is notoriously tough so it doesn’t surprise me. Does this mean though that when you were telling me off earlier you could have actually beaten me up if I hadn’t done as I was told?’
‘You better believe it!’ She waved her arms in a faux martial arts style and put on what he assumed was her most threatening face.
Before he knew what he was doing, he leant towards her to scoop a lock of her hair that had fallen forward as she had been gesticulating. Without thinking he placed it behind her ear. They shared a look, and Matt – celibacy and career forgotten in an instant – wanted to sweep her into his arms and out of this crazy pub before any more interruptions, medieval musicians or grumpy landlords got in their path. Instead, he covered her hand with his. She drew her hand away, a little awkwardly, and placed it back on her lap.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that! That was crossing the line. Really, I apologize.’
He was mortified. What to him was both instinctive and unavoidable was making her ill at ease. Of course she’d pulled away – she was probably already dating and had come out with him out of neighbourly kindness and he had just touched her without even thinking. It had just felt so natural, as if they had been friends for years.
‘Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it… it’s fine. Seriously, I would have hurled you to the floor super-quick if you’d offended me. We’re all good.’ As she spoke a bizarre twanging filled the room as the Tudors started tuning up in the corner. ‘I’m just going to take the plates to the kitchen, save Roger coming in for them. Drink?’
She was flashing him that smile, the one he had seen her bestow on everyone that had stopped at their table. Although this time it didn’t quite reach her eyes as the earlier ones had. But still, she had offered another drink, so he wasn’t done yet.
‘Yes, please.’
Three hours later they both fell out of the pub, arms linked and giggling like fools. Matt took back everything he had thought about grown men dressing as medieval musicians. He couldn’t believe he had been so bad-tempered and so wrong! They were awesome. Absolutely awesome. Not only did The Smuggler’s Curse serve the best bloody roast in the south-west, he would swear to it now, they knew how to put on a party. Never, never in his life had he thought he would enjoy a musical stand-off, but it seemed it was a village tradition. The Penmenna Troupe had a mini battle of the bands every other Sunday, and this week they were challenged by a thrash death metal group from four villages along. But despite it being a battle, or the band being called Blood of your Scrotum or some such thing, there was nothing but bonhomie about it all. They played their own tracks, then they swapped instruments and played each other’s. Death metal hair – terribly greasy but still managing to move – flew around as guitars were half killed; jewelled velvet colours mixed in with the black skulls laden with viscera, as they helped teach each other various tricks. No one was precious about who touched what and how, as were most of the musicians Matt had encountered before. In fact, despite it being a supposed battle, people were so friendly and kind Matt wondered if he had suddenly arrived on a different planet entirely. Although, let’s face it, it wasn’t just the kindness that made him query this.
Non-musical diners were encouraged to have a go, the musicians of both bands played some belters as well as their own genre music, and people were happily singing, dancing, plucking, tooting and drumming. All before the watershed and all oiled by rivers of booze. This was the best Sunday ever.
He had learnt how to pluck a harpsichord, albeit briefly, and he had watched Rosy sing a solo, a traditional verse that Dave accompanied on the lute and made him feel in total awe of her all over again. Was there anything she couldn’t do? And best of all, he had discovered that there was no way in the world that Rosy had had Dave back to her house the night before, because it turned out he was married to her best friend Lynne, who only hadn’t joined them because, as Rosy let slip with a giggle, she had the mother of all hangovers. He also learnt jealousy, short-lived though it was, truly was a pointless emotion.
