Rosy spotted a little mound of mud near the fence. That was odd. Could she have moles? She remembered them from her mother’s garden, neat, sifted piles of earth appearing overnight on the lawn. Perhaps she had a beginner mole who had made a wrong turn and banged his head on her fence.
Smiling, she headed towards the fence to investigate and started the conversation afresh.
‘Hmmm. How are you, anyway?’ She wasn’t sure she’d ever had a conversation through a fence before, it felt a little bizarre. VeryPyramus and Thisbe. Well, maybe not quite, but still.
‘Yeah, good. No, actually a bit stressed. I’ve come home and bloody Angelina has disappeared, not a sign of her.’
What? Was she not supposed to leave or something? This was an interesting insight into his psyche. Dear God, had her subconscious been right all along? Clearly not a lovely twinkly-eyed gardener after all, but some kind of girlfriend-imprisoning control freak. Had she recognized this on some deep level despite his exquisite surface game? She had been through this. And yet again it needed repeating. Matt was not Josh. Hear him out, then examine the evidence and draw a conclusion. Stop always leaping to the worst-case scenario. But despite her inner rationalizing, Rosy remained rooted to the ground, frozen, as something began moving by the fence. Her concern didn’t seem to reach Matt; indeed her silence seemed to encourage him.
‘Seriously, she was told not to go out and now I come home and poof, nothing! She never does what she’s bloody told! Never. You’d think I would have learnt by now!’
Woah! OK. Imprint this on your brain and remember. Imprint now!
‘And what’s really weird, I meanreallyweird, Rosy…’
Really? This wasn’t enough for him? ‘Go on.’
‘Someone’s been here, I know it’s a bitColumbobut there are two empty glasses here, both covered with lipstick, and she doesn’t have any friends here, not that I know… oh bloody hell…’
Rosy’s concerns about Matt and Angelina vanished, spiralling into the night sky as the confused baby ‘mole’ emerged from the pile of mud by the fence and bowled straight into her arms, licking her face and wagging his naughty Scramble tail.
Chapter Eighteen
Despite her overwhelming workload, her strict intent not to engage and the recent discovery that Matt didn’t like letting Angelina out of the house, Rosy found herself with his dog in her arms, knocking on his door.
As she waited for him to answer, Scramble squirming against her, she considered whether she needed to reconsider her judgements. Maybe instead of disliking Perfect Hair she should feel a bit sorry for her. Was Matt that type of man that liked a vacuous celebrity girlfriend for the prestige, the power it gave him? Did he like his women scantily clad and stripped of control? That just didn’t make sense, it didn’t sit right, regardless of this new evidence.
Matt answered the door with a grin as wide as the Nile, reaching for Scramble and shaking his head. As usual, the sheer physicality of his presence made Rosy breathe deep. When had she become so shallow? Was she really thinking of throwing out The Rule for a pretty face and tummy flips? No, pretty was the wrong word, but those jeans, all muddy and really quite tight! His arms, patterned by dark unruly hair and the definition that physical work brought them. She would do anything to run a finger down them and then they, in turn, they led to his hands…
‘Rosy, hello in person. I thought you were still in the garden. I’ve been chattering away to you and instead you were on the doorstep. You’d better come in. Although you’ – he pointed at Scramble, already pulling out of his arms – ‘you are a disgrace!’
Thank God for that, he hadn’t picked up on her silent lust-filled staring as he opened the door. She stared a little longer. This was all such a puzzle – he really didn’t emanate menace in any form. The only vibe he chucked out in buckets was irresistible all-round good guy.
‘Thanks, I was in the garden, and then before I knew it your pickle of a dog was in my arms! I did toy with kidnapping him but decided even I couldn’t handle his level of naughty.’
Matt’s face crinkled as he gave up the fight and placed Scramble on the hallway floor where he scampered kitchen-wards. ‘We used to say that about Ange when she was little – that any kidnapper would kick her out the car after three minutes.’ He laughed at the memory.
‘When Angelina was little?’ Rosy queried. ‘Have you known her forever then?’ That would certainly explain the bond that led to their relationship. Of course he wasn’t into inane celebrity. She was an idiot.
Matt looked directly at her, eyebrow raised. ‘Rosy, she’s my sister! Why else would I put up with her nonsense?’ He laughed again. ‘Now you’re here, though, do you fancy playing detective?’
His sister? His sister. He wasn’t in a relationship – she was his sister!
‘Rosy?’ He wasn’t giving her any time to process this, and she was not prepared to make more of a fool of herself than she already had.
‘Yes, detective, let’s do that. Show me these lipstick-covered glasses, you can be my Watson.’ She tried to keep her voice as close to normal as possible.
‘Oh, well, I always rather fancied Moriarty myself. Not fancied, um… wanted to be.’
Oh, cute! See, he stumbled just like me.
Her other voice kicked in.Cute! He wants to model himself on an arch villain who has killed countless people!A third, louder, triumphant voice piped up –she’s his sister!
Oh, shut up, head!
‘You wanted to be the baddy?’
‘He’s super clever, super cool and baddies have so much fun. Anyway, you told me only a minute ago in the garden that you weren’t such a good girl.’
