Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 19
‘Are there mice?’ said Rosie first off. ‘I bet there are mice.’ She looked around. ‘Wow,’ she said again. ‘I can’t believe you don’t get burgled all the time. I mean, how long …’
‘None of it’s worth much,’ said Lilian. But Rosie, taking in a deep breath, below the layers of dust and atmosphere of neglect, begged to disagree. In the few available bits of space between the displays hung old posters: a little girl in a purple furred coat for Fry’s, suggesting boys drink more milk by eating chocolate; a very smartly turned-out little boy playing cricket for Cadbury’s and a beautiful wartime dolly bird suggesting a Mars Bar was a meal in itself – the great triumvirate of British chocolate-making.
The floor, old black and white linoleum, had been worn smooth by generations of children beating a path with their farthings, their sixpences, their ten pences, their pound coins, clutched stickily in excited paws, eyes darting everywhere to decide what would be best; terrified of making the wrong choice.
‘But this is – I mean, it’s obviously once been absolutely amazing in here,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s fantastic.’
‘Shows what you know,’ said Lilian. ‘It’s all finished now. Anyway, it’s not what kids want these days. They don’t want gobstoppers any more. They want great big bars of Dairy Milk that you buy in six-packs from the supermarket. They want family packs and supersharers and litres of cola and hot dogs and nachos, whatever they are. Sweets are boring, and old-fashioned. No one is interested any more.’
Rosie looked around. ‘I can’t believe that’s true.’ Her eyes caught something at the back of the shop. Her face lit up.
‘Are those … sweetie cigarettes?’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen these for years. You’re not allowed to sell them any more. Lilian, why didn’t you throw away all this stock?’
Her aunt looked cross but stoic.
‘Sweets keep for a long time. I’m coming back to the shop.’
‘Mmm,’ said Rosie. She hadn’t realised things were quite so bad. This wasn’t just from Lilian’s operation. The shop had obviously been like this for a long, long time, and Lilian had been unable or unwilling to tell anyone that she could no longer cope.
‘These aren’t even legal any more!’ said Rosie. But she couldn’t help opening the cigarette packet and inhaling the sticky candied scent of the little white sticks with the pink ends.
‘I used to love these,’ she confessed.
‘You’ll pay for those’ said Lilian.
‘I will,’ said Rosie. ‘What are they, nine pence?’
‘I was still getting some tourist trade,’ Lilian was saying, looking round her as if confused as to whether she was still open or not. ‘Some chocolates round Valentine’s day. But the children have moved on.’
‘But this could be … I mean the fact that it’s all unchanged …’
‘Well, nothing much good happens in the world of sweets. Everything they invent now actually tastes worse than the old stuff. It’s the children I feel sorry for,’ grumped Lilian. ‘So I saw no reason to change.’
Rosie looked at the ancient cash register.
‘How did you use this?’
‘Well, you just got used to it,’ said Lilian. ‘Decimalisation was terrible for the children though. It made their sweets more expensive. It was an awful thing. I definitely think they should go back. Idiot politicians.’
‘I’m not sure that’s going to happen,’ said Rosie. ‘But on the plus side, keeping the till may have been a smart move. You know, this kind of thing is really fashionable.’
Lilian looked almost flattered. ‘Well, good things never go out of style,’ she said.
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘They never do. You know, adults like sweets too.’
‘You don’t say,’ observed Lilian dryly, as Rosie realised that, without thinking about it, she had stuck a sweetie cigarette in her mouth.
‘Ha! I don’t even smoke,’ said Rosie.
Suddenly there was a ting, as the little brass bell above the shop rang. Both the women turned round, Rosie slightly guiltily.
It was the woman with the dog. Or rather, Rosie supposed, Lady Lipton.
‘Coo-eee! Lils, darling. You have to hear about this extraordinary new girl in the village, you won’t believe what she did with Bran …’
She sounded like a different woman.
‘Oh, who is it?’ said Lilian eagerly. ‘Is she awful?’
Rosie rolled her eyes.
‘Hard to say,’ said Lady Lipton, then finally realised who else was in the room. Completely unperturbed, she held out her hand.
‘And here she is. Hello. Have you bought a proper coat yet? We’re predicted four days of rain by the way. Which either means nine, or none at all. Lils, I stuck the groceries in your kitchen. Don’t tell Malik, I got Mrs Cosgrove to pick me up some bits at Asda. Man cannot live by Spar alone. Now, let me tell you the whole story.’
So Rosie had to stand by as Lady Lipton recounted the entire event to Lilian, leaving out the parts where she’d been hysterically upset about her dog and had to leave the room, but laying it on quite thickly about Rosie careering around in the rain wearing a bikini.
‘And that terribly smart young doctor managed to take out all the wire, wasn’t that wonderful?’
Not wanting to point out that she’d helped, Rosie busied herself by examining the rest of the shop. Not that there was much more to it; but the storeroom revealed itself to be a knocked-about treasure trove of gold bars, Wham Bars, caramels and chocolate eclairs, sherbet lemons and, to Rosie’s overwhelming excitement, an enormous jar of chocolate limes. Chocolate limes were her absolute, absolute favourite thing, yet she probably hadn’t thought of them for years. Now, all she wanted to do was scoff a dozen of them. And if that was how she felt, she wondered, surely other people would feel the same … would want to taste something again, something that had made them feel happy and loved and cared for as a child.
For her and Pip, it was Friday mornings, and their mum would give them twenty pence so they could choose what they wanted for school breaks. Rosie had a hazy idea you weren’t allowed to take in sweets for school breaks any more. That seemed a shame. She and her best friend Daniela would plan Fridays all week. One would get one thing and the other would get another, then they would solemnly split the bags exactly between them. If there was an odd number, they would offer the sweet to their teacher, Mrs Gilford, who had bright yellow hair and wore lots of blue eyeshadow and was, Daniela and Rosie were convinced, actually a princess in disguise. Mrs Gilford would smile politely and, when they explained that they were trying to be fair, would always take the sweet with heartfelt thanks and a bright pink-lipsticked smile. Rosie, now she came to think of it, didn’t remember ever seeing Mrs Gilford eat one.
‘None of it’s worth much,’ said Lilian. But Rosie, taking in a deep breath, below the layers of dust and atmosphere of neglect, begged to disagree. In the few available bits of space between the displays hung old posters: a little girl in a purple furred coat for Fry’s, suggesting boys drink more milk by eating chocolate; a very smartly turned-out little boy playing cricket for Cadbury’s and a beautiful wartime dolly bird suggesting a Mars Bar was a meal in itself – the great triumvirate of British chocolate-making.
The floor, old black and white linoleum, had been worn smooth by generations of children beating a path with their farthings, their sixpences, their ten pences, their pound coins, clutched stickily in excited paws, eyes darting everywhere to decide what would be best; terrified of making the wrong choice.
‘But this is – I mean, it’s obviously once been absolutely amazing in here,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s fantastic.’
‘Shows what you know,’ said Lilian. ‘It’s all finished now. Anyway, it’s not what kids want these days. They don’t want gobstoppers any more. They want great big bars of Dairy Milk that you buy in six-packs from the supermarket. They want family packs and supersharers and litres of cola and hot dogs and nachos, whatever they are. Sweets are boring, and old-fashioned. No one is interested any more.’
Rosie looked around. ‘I can’t believe that’s true.’ Her eyes caught something at the back of the shop. Her face lit up.
‘Are those … sweetie cigarettes?’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen these for years. You’re not allowed to sell them any more. Lilian, why didn’t you throw away all this stock?’
Her aunt looked cross but stoic.
‘Sweets keep for a long time. I’m coming back to the shop.’
‘Mmm,’ said Rosie. She hadn’t realised things were quite so bad. This wasn’t just from Lilian’s operation. The shop had obviously been like this for a long, long time, and Lilian had been unable or unwilling to tell anyone that she could no longer cope.
‘These aren’t even legal any more!’ said Rosie. But she couldn’t help opening the cigarette packet and inhaling the sticky candied scent of the little white sticks with the pink ends.
‘I used to love these,’ she confessed.
‘You’ll pay for those’ said Lilian.
‘I will,’ said Rosie. ‘What are they, nine pence?’
‘I was still getting some tourist trade,’ Lilian was saying, looking round her as if confused as to whether she was still open or not. ‘Some chocolates round Valentine’s day. But the children have moved on.’
‘But this could be … I mean the fact that it’s all unchanged …’
‘Well, nothing much good happens in the world of sweets. Everything they invent now actually tastes worse than the old stuff. It’s the children I feel sorry for,’ grumped Lilian. ‘So I saw no reason to change.’
Rosie looked at the ancient cash register.
‘How did you use this?’
‘Well, you just got used to it,’ said Lilian. ‘Decimalisation was terrible for the children though. It made their sweets more expensive. It was an awful thing. I definitely think they should go back. Idiot politicians.’
‘I’m not sure that’s going to happen,’ said Rosie. ‘But on the plus side, keeping the till may have been a smart move. You know, this kind of thing is really fashionable.’
Lilian looked almost flattered. ‘Well, good things never go out of style,’ she said.
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘They never do. You know, adults like sweets too.’
‘You don’t say,’ observed Lilian dryly, as Rosie realised that, without thinking about it, she had stuck a sweetie cigarette in her mouth.
‘Ha! I don’t even smoke,’ said Rosie.
Suddenly there was a ting, as the little brass bell above the shop rang. Both the women turned round, Rosie slightly guiltily.
It was the woman with the dog. Or rather, Rosie supposed, Lady Lipton.
‘Coo-eee! Lils, darling. You have to hear about this extraordinary new girl in the village, you won’t believe what she did with Bran …’
She sounded like a different woman.
‘Oh, who is it?’ said Lilian eagerly. ‘Is she awful?’
Rosie rolled her eyes.
‘Hard to say,’ said Lady Lipton, then finally realised who else was in the room. Completely unperturbed, she held out her hand.
‘And here she is. Hello. Have you bought a proper coat yet? We’re predicted four days of rain by the way. Which either means nine, or none at all. Lils, I stuck the groceries in your kitchen. Don’t tell Malik, I got Mrs Cosgrove to pick me up some bits at Asda. Man cannot live by Spar alone. Now, let me tell you the whole story.’
So Rosie had to stand by as Lady Lipton recounted the entire event to Lilian, leaving out the parts where she’d been hysterically upset about her dog and had to leave the room, but laying it on quite thickly about Rosie careering around in the rain wearing a bikini.
‘And that terribly smart young doctor managed to take out all the wire, wasn’t that wonderful?’
Not wanting to point out that she’d helped, Rosie busied herself by examining the rest of the shop. Not that there was much more to it; but the storeroom revealed itself to be a knocked-about treasure trove of gold bars, Wham Bars, caramels and chocolate eclairs, sherbet lemons and, to Rosie’s overwhelming excitement, an enormous jar of chocolate limes. Chocolate limes were her absolute, absolute favourite thing, yet she probably hadn’t thought of them for years. Now, all she wanted to do was scoff a dozen of them. And if that was how she felt, she wondered, surely other people would feel the same … would want to taste something again, something that had made them feel happy and loved and cared for as a child.
For her and Pip, it was Friday mornings, and their mum would give them twenty pence so they could choose what they wanted for school breaks. Rosie had a hazy idea you weren’t allowed to take in sweets for school breaks any more. That seemed a shame. She and her best friend Daniela would plan Fridays all week. One would get one thing and the other would get another, then they would solemnly split the bags exactly between them. If there was an odd number, they would offer the sweet to their teacher, Mrs Gilford, who had bright yellow hair and wore lots of blue eyeshadow and was, Daniela and Rosie were convinced, actually a princess in disguise. Mrs Gilford would smile politely and, when they explained that they were trying to be fair, would always take the sweet with heartfelt thanks and a bright pink-lipsticked smile. Rosie, now she came to think of it, didn’t remember ever seeing Mrs Gilford eat one.
