Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 24
By the shed, Rosie watched him work. He had the bike upside down and was gripping the front wheel between his legs as he did something to the gears. She wondered if she could pop off and put some lipstick on.
‘Want a cup of tea?’ she asked.
‘No, you’re all right, duck,’ said Jake.
Rosie didn’t even notice her arriving, but suddenly Lilian was at her elbow.
‘Enjoying the view?’ said Lilian, chuckling to herself.
‘Did you do this on purpose?’ said Rosie.
‘Yes,’ said Lilian. ‘But I thought you’d have washed your hair.’
‘I know,’ groaned Rosie, as Jake flipped over the heavy bike as if it were nothing, pausing only to push a muscled arm through his thick straw hair. ‘Oh well, I’m sure he’s horrible.’
‘Jake’s a pussy cat,’ said Lilian firmly. ‘He does all the … I mean he very occasionally helps me out with the heavy lifting.’
‘All right, Miss Hopkins?’ said Jake, glancing up. ‘Don’t you ever oil this thing? It’s as stiff as a badger’s gate.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Rosie. Lilian told her to be quiet.
‘Thanks so much for fitting us in,’ said Lilian in a nice voice Rosie hadn’t encountered before. ‘We’ll sort you out with some peppermint ice. I know you’re very busy.’
Jake rolled his eyes. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘Bad as ever?’ Lilian asked.
‘She’s a … she’s a …’
Jake looked like he was about to say something harsh. Then, as if realising he was in the presence of two ladies, he checked himself.
‘OK. Here you go. Good as new.’ He righted the bike and held it up by the saddle.
1942
The village hall was wreathed in smoke under the lights, and perfume, mixed with a hint of illicit alcohol and sweat, and absolutely packed with people, young boys and giggling young girls. These were the boys down to work the harvest, along with the land girls, whom the local girls roundly shunned, seeing them, with some accuracy, as competition for the few remaining menfolk. Lilian had tried to chat to the land girls in the shop; she found them fascinating, with their confident ways and different accents, but they kept themselves to themselves too. Soldiers home on leave had come from all the towns around. There was an overheated atmosphere engendered by the warm night and the transient population; Lilian felt not just the excitement of looking for someone she desperately wanted to see, but also the sense she rarely had of being young and free, not tied down – although, of course, she was, in so many ways. For the first time in her life, it felt, she was walking into this hall without knowing every single person in there. With all the seventeen-year-old confidence she could muster, she thought that this just might be the most important night of her life.
Margaret was in flirt overload, her eye wandering furiously, as they parked up their bikes and sidled in. The noise level was overwhelming. On the raised platform at the end the band were perspiring in their cheap shirts to keep up with the dancers, who seemed hell bent on squeezing as much fun out of the night as they could; as if they couldn’t predict when the next entertainment would be.
Lilian paid the small ticket price on the door, and left her cardigan on her bicycle. She might not be wearing the most fashionable dress, she noted, but it was light, and cool in the hot sticky room, and her shoes weren’t smart with a heel, but they were comfortable. If, of course, anyone asked her to dance. She was almost too scared to scan the room, just in case he wasn’t there, and kept her head down as she followed Margaret to the fruit-punch stand. Hanging out by the punch was a good place to start and figure out who was where; it was at least better than immediately giving yourself up to being a wallflower, like Merry Foxington, whose spots were so awful Lilian was impressed she’d come out at all, and made a mental note to go and say hello.
Clutching their paper cups nervously, Margaret and Lilian smiled at each other – which was about all that was possible through the noise – and looked around. This was definitely an unusual night for Lipton. The uniformed men were sitting down, looking handsome, with a couple of girls nearby. They were laughing with each other and playing the big men; telling stories about bravery, and beating ten men, and skirmishes in the sky and at sea. On the opposite wall, eyeing them up, were the harvest boys: those too young to enlist; the travelling groups who fought for no one; the farmers’ boys too important to go off to war. They were sunburned, not smartly dressed in uniforms, and looked awkward. There were no girls hovering around them. Lilian sensed there might be trouble later.
Out on the dance floor the girls’ dresses shone like parachute silk; there was not much around, but they had made the best of what they had. Cyan blue, primrose yellow; the girls flashed and twirled around the floor to the enthusiastic farmers’ band, who were doing their very best Glenn Miller with a double bass, a banjo, an oil drum, two trumpets and a harmonica; laughing over-exuberantly, tossing back (Lilian noticed bitterly) perfectly coiled hair, as the Brylcreemed boys threw them about the floor, showing off their moves, sweating and nervous too.
‘We have to get a lumber,’ whispered Margaret in a state of high excitement. ‘We have to tonight. I haven’t seen so many men since we went to the parade.’
Lilian didn’t answer. She wasn’t interested in too many men. She wasn’t interested in being whisked off by a navy man from Scarborough, or toyed with by a slumming-it officer down from Harrogate. There was only one boy, one mop of unruly nut-brown hair, one pair of laughing nut-brown eyes, that was of the faintest interest to her.
Suddenly, she saw him at the other end of the hall.
Rosie looked at Jake the bicycle fixer, and did her best to smile at him. She didn’t want a bicycle as good as new. She didn’t want a bicycle at all.
‘I’ve replaced the tyres, oiled the chain, fixed the brakes and raised the saddle … no disrespect, Miss Hopkins.’
‘None taken,’ said Lilian, sitting on the sun chair. ‘It is ridiculous that I keep getting shorter. The most appalling design flaw. Among the many, many shocking design flaws that accompany the act of getting older.’ She shook her head.
‘Still, I’m sure this is being passed into good hands,’ said Jake.
That, Rosie was not sure about at all.
‘Want a cup of tea?’ she asked.
‘No, you’re all right, duck,’ said Jake.
Rosie didn’t even notice her arriving, but suddenly Lilian was at her elbow.
‘Enjoying the view?’ said Lilian, chuckling to herself.
‘Did you do this on purpose?’ said Rosie.
‘Yes,’ said Lilian. ‘But I thought you’d have washed your hair.’
‘I know,’ groaned Rosie, as Jake flipped over the heavy bike as if it were nothing, pausing only to push a muscled arm through his thick straw hair. ‘Oh well, I’m sure he’s horrible.’
‘Jake’s a pussy cat,’ said Lilian firmly. ‘He does all the … I mean he very occasionally helps me out with the heavy lifting.’
‘All right, Miss Hopkins?’ said Jake, glancing up. ‘Don’t you ever oil this thing? It’s as stiff as a badger’s gate.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Rosie. Lilian told her to be quiet.
‘Thanks so much for fitting us in,’ said Lilian in a nice voice Rosie hadn’t encountered before. ‘We’ll sort you out with some peppermint ice. I know you’re very busy.’
Jake rolled his eyes. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘Bad as ever?’ Lilian asked.
‘She’s a … she’s a …’
Jake looked like he was about to say something harsh. Then, as if realising he was in the presence of two ladies, he checked himself.
‘OK. Here you go. Good as new.’ He righted the bike and held it up by the saddle.
1942
The village hall was wreathed in smoke under the lights, and perfume, mixed with a hint of illicit alcohol and sweat, and absolutely packed with people, young boys and giggling young girls. These were the boys down to work the harvest, along with the land girls, whom the local girls roundly shunned, seeing them, with some accuracy, as competition for the few remaining menfolk. Lilian had tried to chat to the land girls in the shop; she found them fascinating, with their confident ways and different accents, but they kept themselves to themselves too. Soldiers home on leave had come from all the towns around. There was an overheated atmosphere engendered by the warm night and the transient population; Lilian felt not just the excitement of looking for someone she desperately wanted to see, but also the sense she rarely had of being young and free, not tied down – although, of course, she was, in so many ways. For the first time in her life, it felt, she was walking into this hall without knowing every single person in there. With all the seventeen-year-old confidence she could muster, she thought that this just might be the most important night of her life.
Margaret was in flirt overload, her eye wandering furiously, as they parked up their bikes and sidled in. The noise level was overwhelming. On the raised platform at the end the band were perspiring in their cheap shirts to keep up with the dancers, who seemed hell bent on squeezing as much fun out of the night as they could; as if they couldn’t predict when the next entertainment would be.
Lilian paid the small ticket price on the door, and left her cardigan on her bicycle. She might not be wearing the most fashionable dress, she noted, but it was light, and cool in the hot sticky room, and her shoes weren’t smart with a heel, but they were comfortable. If, of course, anyone asked her to dance. She was almost too scared to scan the room, just in case he wasn’t there, and kept her head down as she followed Margaret to the fruit-punch stand. Hanging out by the punch was a good place to start and figure out who was where; it was at least better than immediately giving yourself up to being a wallflower, like Merry Foxington, whose spots were so awful Lilian was impressed she’d come out at all, and made a mental note to go and say hello.
Clutching their paper cups nervously, Margaret and Lilian smiled at each other – which was about all that was possible through the noise – and looked around. This was definitely an unusual night for Lipton. The uniformed men were sitting down, looking handsome, with a couple of girls nearby. They were laughing with each other and playing the big men; telling stories about bravery, and beating ten men, and skirmishes in the sky and at sea. On the opposite wall, eyeing them up, were the harvest boys: those too young to enlist; the travelling groups who fought for no one; the farmers’ boys too important to go off to war. They were sunburned, not smartly dressed in uniforms, and looked awkward. There were no girls hovering around them. Lilian sensed there might be trouble later.
Out on the dance floor the girls’ dresses shone like parachute silk; there was not much around, but they had made the best of what they had. Cyan blue, primrose yellow; the girls flashed and twirled around the floor to the enthusiastic farmers’ band, who were doing their very best Glenn Miller with a double bass, a banjo, an oil drum, two trumpets and a harmonica; laughing over-exuberantly, tossing back (Lilian noticed bitterly) perfectly coiled hair, as the Brylcreemed boys threw them about the floor, showing off their moves, sweating and nervous too.
‘We have to get a lumber,’ whispered Margaret in a state of high excitement. ‘We have to tonight. I haven’t seen so many men since we went to the parade.’
Lilian didn’t answer. She wasn’t interested in too many men. She wasn’t interested in being whisked off by a navy man from Scarborough, or toyed with by a slumming-it officer down from Harrogate. There was only one boy, one mop of unruly nut-brown hair, one pair of laughing nut-brown eyes, that was of the faintest interest to her.
Suddenly, she saw him at the other end of the hall.
Rosie looked at Jake the bicycle fixer, and did her best to smile at him. She didn’t want a bicycle as good as new. She didn’t want a bicycle at all.
‘I’ve replaced the tyres, oiled the chain, fixed the brakes and raised the saddle … no disrespect, Miss Hopkins.’
‘None taken,’ said Lilian, sitting on the sun chair. ‘It is ridiculous that I keep getting shorter. The most appalling design flaw. Among the many, many shocking design flaws that accompany the act of getting older.’ She shook her head.
‘Still, I’m sure this is being passed into good hands,’ said Jake.
That, Rosie was not sure about at all.
