‘Everyone lovesBake 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.
