‘Look, Mrs Marksharp, you can trust me to be discreet and really what happens and where between you and your husband is no one else’s business. I have no interest in ever mentioning the coat cupboard again. I promise.’
Marion Marksharp, under the lights of the tree, went seven shades of red. Then she spluttered, and then went even redder, before sitting down upon the bench. Then she stood up again, mere seconds later, and fixed Rosy with her death glare. No shame then or mumbling apology heading Rosy’s way soon.
‘I had wanted to talk to you about the phone call we received yesterday, actually. I didn’t get a chance in the car – always best to concentrate on the road, I feel. Terribly exciting news though and yet you seem remarkably flat. Can I ask why, Rosy? This is such a perfect opportunity – we couldn’t have dreamt up a better way of promoting the school.’
‘Am I? I’m sorry if it came across like that, Marion’ – Rosy didn’t often lie but she wasn’t prepared to bond quite so honestly with Marion over her reluctance about entwining the school with Matt. Glimpsing the woman semi-naked did not mean she was going to bare herself in return – ‘but I think that’s a little unfair. You know I’m utterly committed to keeping Penmenna open.’
‘Yes.’ Marion paused. ‘Yes, you are, I know that. I was just surprised that you weren’t more enthusiastic about the Penmenna Hall project. This is a golden opportunity that has literally dropped into our laps by a hovering angel.’
Rosy wasn’t sure an angel had much to do with it but Marion was right; if she took out her reservations about Matt’s involvement, this was better than anything they could have dreamt up between them, and her own plan wasn’t working as quickly as she had hoped. Not every head she needed to talk to had returned her calls yet.
‘I’ll invite Matt into school this week and we’ll have an assembly and get the ball rolling as quickly as possible. The sooner our children are on screen and winning hearts, the sooner our battle is over. Now if you could make sure some of the more pathetic ones are wheeled out, that small girl in Class Two, for example, I could see if Andrea could borrow a wheelchair from work…’
‘I’m sure I’ve already said no to that, Marion, let’s stick to what is. We’ve a great school with great kids. But you’re right that the Penmenna Hall thing is an opportunity too big to miss. You organize the assembly and we’ll go from there.’
‘If you think so, plus now I’m friends with Angelina I’m sure we could get her on board. After Lynne mentioned her being in the village, it was too good an opportunity to pass up. I don’t know why you were so resistant – she’s terribly good fun.’
Marion paused to eye up their host, who was wandering across the lawn with drinks in his hand, accompanied by Mr Marksharp, presumably on the lookout for his wife.
‘I wonder… I wonder if we could use Chase… although he’s quite reclusive these days. There’ll be something he can do, I’ll just have to work it out.’
‘Should we ask him first?’
Marion laughed, one of those tinkly insincere laughs that really annoyed Rosy usually, but today scared her a little as well. She knew this woman could be politically ruthless but that giggle was bordering on the maniacal. She took it to mean the answer, for now, was a no.
‘Hello again, sorry I got waylaid.’ Chase passed her a drink.
‘Yes, I shall get a reputation for that sort of thing if I’m not careful!’ Mr Marksharp boomed as he leant to give his wife a kiss on the cheek. Not a sleazy kiss, or a possessive kiss or even an overtly sexual we’ve-just-been-caught-in-the-cupboard kiss, just a normal, hello-I-love-you kiss. It was sweet, quick and would have been unnoticeable had not Rosy been particularly focused on romance at the moment – or telling the difference between potential romance and control-based game playing. No one else paid it much credence, but for Rosy it was a window into Mrs Marksharp. She was beginning to realize that there was a lot more than playground terrorist and Machiavellian strategist to the woman in front of her.
‘We were just talking about local colour.’ Marion immediately extended the conversation to her husband and their host.
‘Not the sort you two provided earlier, I hope,’ joked Chase. Rosy froze. He was going to get eaten, spat out and stamped upon. She thought he was a friend of the family. Surely he knew this was a no-go? Did he have no self-preservation skills at all? She was tempted to shut her eyes. She did not want to watch this and, to top it all, her forehead now seemed to have formed a permanent stress crinkle.
‘Haha, you are such a toad! As if I’m not embarrassed enough!’ laughed Marion. Laughed? Had Rosy been transferred to an alternative reality? She scanned around. Everything seemed as normal. And that wasn’t one of her usual scary tinkles, that was a deep laugh, a laugh from the tummy. Was this Chase possessed with some kind of magical skills? Maybe they should use him after all. He could surround the school with a no-merge forcefield or something. Unicorns on the gates, that sort of thing.
‘I can’t take her anywhere, Chase. You know what she’s like. Any opportunity and she pounces,’ Mr Marksharp added. The laughter grew louder and Marion punched her husband on the arm. What on earth? Rosy decided not to get caught up in whatever this was. There was no way she was going to join in. This was like some kind ofGame of Thronestrap – one giggle would accidentally escape her throat and she’d be surrounded by triumphant menacing sword-wielding types. She was going to just stare at the floor until the laughter stopped.
‘Oh God, sorry, Rosy. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,’ Chase said. ‘It’s just we’ve all known each other since uni, so… well, we know each other really well. Tell you what, let’s get you mad drunk until all your inhibitions melt away and you too can take the mickey out of Mother Superior, the Monster Marksharp!’
Oh my God, how did they know everyone called her that?
‘Rosy doesn’t want to get drunk! We’re not eighteen any more, she’s a professional woman trying to find a solution to a major problem, she wants her wits—’
‘No, it’s OK.’ Rosy heard her voice speaking but didn’t understand how or why. ‘I think I would really like that.’
‘In that case, Richard, you’d better go and get us a couple of bottles, we’re going to bed down and bond! Don’t look so scared, Rosy, it was your idea! Oh, but before you play fetch, help us! When you so rudely interrupted us’ – she sent her trademark dark glare at her husband and Chase, which seemed to bounce off without impact – ‘we were just talking about getting Angelina on board. I put stage one of the plan into action yesterday but Rosy just keeps looking at me blankly as if she was shaken at birth. I’ve already tracked her down, now I just need to brainwash her into complying.’
‘How unlike you, my love,’ Richard remarked. Marion stuck her tongue out at him. Chase smiled and then started hopping up and down, foot to foot, like one of Rosy’s pupils.
‘Angelina? Angelina from all those reality shows? She’s my dream date, my soon-to-be-wife. Well done, Marion! She’s amazing, so beautiful but so vulnerable, you know, she just needs an understanding man to support her, help her, instead of those douches she always goes out with. I’ve heard she was in the village, and you’ve spun her into your web already, good work! What’s she doing this evening? Let’s get her over!’ Chase looked as if he had won the lottery, his blond good looks shining with optimism.
Rosy finished her glass in one.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Matt stood nervously outside Rosy’s door, orchid in hand. He wasn’t sure why he was here; the lights weren’t on and her car wasn’t in the drive which suggested, strongly, that she wasn’t home. However, he had been pacing up and down in his own house for a while now, practising his speech about how he wanted to use today to explain how he felt and so on and so on, until he was compelled to knock and see if he got to deliver his speech in person.
Angelina was driving him potty at home, moping about and throwing herself into Victorian heroine poses all over the furniture. He hadn’t realized that not having a Valentine was even more traumatic than having Scramble eat her shoes.
