Distraction

Chapter Ten

'I don't think you need to worry about angelic first impressions, with or without your roots being done. Have you seen this?' he asked, holding up a copy of the Haverton Gazette. 

'What?' She took the paper.  

'You're headline news.' 

The headline on the front page was Save Our School, but on page fourteen, under the banner of Hatch, Match, Despatch was a photo of Libby and Andy kissing on his doorstep.  

Allo, Allo, Allo. PC Andrew Chapman with friend, Olivia Wilde, 26, groom at Low Wood Farm.  

He had his hands on her bum and the kiss left no suggestion to how friendly their relationship was. Bugger, it was worse. Milk bottles were on the step; to the world it looked like she was about to start a walk of shame. Oh god, no. 

'You were supposed to play hard to get,' Robbie said, heading back inside.  

'I am hard to get.'  

'Clearly.' He put the kettle on, trying hard to fight a grin.  

How could she explain she wasn't like that, that to Andy's irritation, he'd barely copped a feel of her boobs. 'FYI, it was Monday afternoon, nothing untoward.' 

'Libby! Libby! Libby!' Matilda and Dora came running in, each stopping to hug one of her legs.  

'Apparently, they missed you.' Robbie smiled with affection at his daughters.  

'If this is all they have to write about, it must be a slow news day.' Libby sat down only to have a small child clamber onto each knee. 

'All the news is slow around here. I'm surprised you don't have the front page.' 

'But why's the local paper publishing gossip? Does it think it's The Sun?' She stared at the photos.  

'They started adding the odd bit of sensationalism last year. The editor, Michael Wray, used to work for the News of the World. The paper's been rather dull since Patrick went away, but you and that bloody copper have perked things up a bit.'  

'Oh my god, I really did need to get my roots done, but my bum looks awesome in that dress.'  

'How the hell did you meet that untrustworthy bastard anyway?' 

'Small children present.'  

'They've heard much worse.' 

'He's Sheila's son. We met, he asked me out, I said yes.'  

'You should've said no.' 

She folded the paper, her cheeks burning as Robbie shook his head, scowling at her. I'm an adult. I can go out with who I like. But, please, don't hate me.  

'And how is Mr Chapman?' 

'A very good cook.' 

He raised his eyebrows. 

'Seriously, he is. He made spaghetti. From scratch.' 

'It's astonishing. He protects the village from teenagers drinking cheap cider in the park and knocks up homemade pasta.' 

'Astonishing.' 

'Did he whisk you away for a couple of days? Paris or Rome?' 

'Ha, ha.'  

'Just remember he's an untrustworthy bastard.' He shook his head again as he handed her a tea and the day's list. 'Zoe came to the Mill on Saturday, with Greg.' 

'She said the food was incredible.'  

'They looked awfully cosy, pretty public too.'  

She frowned at the first item on the list, Tidy up again. Sorry. 'You've left the yard in a pigsty?'