"Oh that would be Robbie," Ulla said, glancing at her mobile to check the front door camera.
Jackie figured everything in the cottage was automated and connected, like in the Old School. She wasn't particularly fond of these recent technological advancements: she just didn't fancy her life to be managed by a HAL.
Together with an electronically signed copy of the contract, she'd received several automatic notifications of Alexander granting her access to apps and gadgets in her cottage. She was resolute to 'unplug' as many of them as possible. Among other things, she was planning to install normal buttons or switches to control her lights, as well as to add a deadbolt on the door. She was a wizard when it came to her work software, from SIS management to billing - but she liked her life analogue, provided it didn't affect her productivity. She read books made of actual paper; preferably recycled, of course, if they were new. She jotted down notes and her shopping lists with a pencil. She even owned a watch, which wound up from her walking, but still needed her to manually fix the date at the end of April, June, September, November, and February.
"Would you mind opening the door for him?" Ulla said and pressed her hand into the table. "It'll take me a minute to get up, and he might just walk away. He's neurodivergent."
"Of course."
Jackie put down her cup and quickly went to the hall. The visitor turned out to be a teen of about fourteen, tall and lanky, their dishevelled hair of the brightest orange. Jackie was a ginger from a family of gingers from the country with the highest concentration of redheads per capita in the world. And yet, even she was impressed by the carrot-headedness of Mrs. Svensson's guest.
"Hiya," the teen grumbled, their unfocused gaze wandering the doorframe and the vestibule behind Jackie.
"Hello, Robbie," Jackie said, stepping aside. "My name is Jocelyn. I'm Mrs. Svensson's friend. She asked me to open the door for you."
"I'm late for the class again," Robbie said and lifted their hand with a violin case to demonstrate. "The trainers felt wrong."
"Ah, Robbie. Hiya," Ulla greeted them from the end of the hall. "You can go to the sitting room and start on the usual exercises. I'll be right with you."
Robbie stomped inside, rummaging in their cross-body tote with their left hand. Jackie saw them disappear in the lounge, pulling out a pair of large headphones and awkwardly pushing them onto their head.
"This is Robbie Sparrow," Ulla said, approaching Jackie. "One of your pupils, actually. When they moved to the county a few years ago, there apparently were some behaviour concerns; but when I got him, he was already doing so well," she said, throwing a warm look after the boy. "His stepfather apparently has been the most beneficial influence. You might know him. Stephen Bassey? He used to be a TA in the Comprehensive, around the same time when you taught there."
Jackie whipped her head in the direction of the sitting room.
"I do. Yeah... I do know Stephen. We worked together at the time." Jackie's voice wavered. She suddenly had a paranoid thought that the lovely vicar's wife wasn't as unaware as she appeared; and that this was her way of goading Jackie. "I ran into him when I first came to Fleckney, a couple of months ago," Jackie continued, discreetly clenching her fists behind her back. "He had a smaller child with him. About seven or eight years old. I reckon, it's his younger one. Lee, I think."
"I'll have to admit an awful truth to you," Ulla said and snorted. "I have no interest in my 'parishioners.'" She gestured 'bunny ears' in the air. "I try to stay out of anyone's business, unless they specifically ask for my help or it's irresponsible to ignore a situation. It's Oliver who knows everything about everyone, even if they aren't his flock. I just teach music and train our choir." She shrugged. "I know you don't have the luxury to pick and choose, though. You're open season for anyone's problems in the community."
"Fair enough," Jackie laughed. "And it does make sense. There is only that much information that our brains can store. I unfortunately still haven't learnt to 'delete' people, like Sherlock Holmes, once they stop being my pupils or the parents on one."
"Exactly!" Ulla stilled, listening to Robbie's efforts in the sitting room. "He's definitely dischuffed with something today. He's distracted. There must be a barney at home. Both Stephen and Eddie are lovely, but she's busy in her bakery, and he works most of the regular deliveries in Fleckney. Robbie has been struggling more recently, it's a complicated age. Their biological child is neurotypical; there might be some tension coming from that too."
For a person disinterested in others, the vicar's better half seemed to know quite a lot. Jackie suppressed a petty urge to fish for more information.
And then she put two and two together, and realised that when she had been buying the biscuits and the honeyed nuts for her new neighbours, she'd shopped in Cornflower & Sparrow; and indeed there was a strikingly attractive redhead behind the counter. Jackie had even thought then that the woman was in the best possible place to show off her flaming locks.
It was common knowledge and the source of constant larking that the Fleckney population had a fervid propensity for redheads, which was especially prominent in the Holyoakes and the Oakbies, the two powerful families of tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed hunks and bombshells. Clearly, Stephen shared his compatriots' proclivity. Jackie's hand unconsciously flew up to her hair, and she felt the usual pang of dejection towards the untidy frizz. She could never achieve smooth locks and charming curls such as Mrs. Svensson was sporting so effortlessly.
"Would you like to finish our tea?" the vicar's wife asked. "We've got another fifteen minutes or so."
"It's alright," Jackie said. "I've got to be going. It was a true pleasure to meet you," she added earnestly.
"Ditto." Ulla grinned. "I'm glad you're our neighbour, and hopefully more than that in the future. Unless the obnoxious caterwauling of this one," she joked, patting her stomach, "will make you hate us in a fortnight."
"I've survived living around seven Scottish infants in a row." Jackie clicked her tongue. "I can sleep through anything. Also, if you ever need anything and I'm around, just give me a shout."
"That's awfully Fleckney of you." Ulla chortled. "Oh, meanwhile, you should come to the game. To think of it, I might ask you to, as a favour. The football game? Tomorrow? Fleckney Kestrels vs Abernathy City. I normally post on social media about such events, but I'm so tired these days, so I'd rather stay in and pretend to read What to Expect. Do you think you could snap a few pictures and email them to me? And it'll be good for the school if its new Headmistress starts showing up to all sorts of shindigs," she added cheekily.
Mrs. Svensson wasn't wrong. And avoiding one man wasn't a reason good enough to disregard Jackie's social responsibilities.
"I'll gladly do it. I've got a Canon camera," Jackie said. "I've had some practice with it. The schools where I worked before couldn't afford hiring a photographer."
"Brilliant! That's settled then. Give me your card, please, and I'll email you all the details." Ulla couldn't hold back a short, desperate yawn. "God, I'm knackered. I used to be able to juggle six different roles, and now I just want to nap. Anyroad, thank you for doing it. And don't expect anything special from the match tomorrow, by the way. They'll wipe the grass with us. Fleckney Kestrels have been rubbish for decades. Not even the magical right foot of Alexander Fergusson can save us from Abernathy mullering us over. And they are additionally cheesed off, since we've been stealing back Fleckney players. Before, if anyone wanted to play there, no one judged them. And now there are just a couple of them who didn't return, and I think they might be in danger of tarring and feathering."
Jackie shook her head with a chuckle. "I'm not much of a football fan."
"Neither am I," Ulla scoffed. "But it's Fleckney. You don't stay home while the Mayor, the GP, half the fire brigade, the local builders, and the vicar are running around the pitch and make fools out of themselves. You've got to go and cheer for your man, innit?"
Jackie twitched - but managed to keep her face under control.
"Good thing I haven't got one," she answered and stretched her hand to the door. "I get salty at sport events, especially if our side is losing."
Ulla tittered. "Then I bet tomorrow is going to be properly saline."
They said their goodbyes, and Jackie headed home.
***
It took her exactly five minutes to get to the pitch the next morning. Just as Rhys Holyoake had mentioned, two Fleckney football fields were located just on the other side of the hill behind Jackie's cottage.
She thought that she was early, but the pitch was already already surrounded by a crowd of spectators. There were no stands; but it seemed that everyone in Fleckney owned a folding chair. The hill that obstructed the view from Jackie's back window, now served as a terrace for the improvised tiers. Judging by the colours, Flecknians had occupied the hill, probably having arrived very much in advance. She shortly wondered that some might have camped there overnight. Abernathy supporters were doomed to sit on the other side - as flat as a pancake - and to try to watch the game over each other's heads.
Jackie hesitated, quickly pondering what she could fetch from the cottage to perch on.
"Jocelyn!" a loud, low male voice carried over the crowd; and several people stared at her. "Here! Come here!"
Jackie started frantically turning to locate the 'gentleman caller.'