Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 27
She hardly heard the Land Rover pull up beside her, till it honked loudly.
‘OK, OK,’ she said, trying to pull the bike off the muddy ruts to the side of the road. ‘I’m moving! I’m moving! Bloody hell.’
Moray leaned out of the window. ‘Need a lift?’
Even though she would have liked nothing better than to tip the damn thing on to the path and leave it there, Rosie shook her head.
‘I have this gigantic bike,’ she said.
‘Yes, uhm, I can see that,’ said Moray. ‘Sling it in the back.’
Sure enough, the Land Rover was about the size of a truck. Rosie tried to fling it in casually, but the damn bike swung round and knocked her on the shin. Muttering darkly, she manhandled it in upside down, taking the milk out and putting it on the side.
‘Tell me,’ said Moray when she clambered into the front seat, ‘are you always either soaking wet or covered in straw?’
‘Have you always lived in a world of rain and mud, even when everyone else followed the industrial revolution and moved?’ said Rosie. ‘Look, it’s clouding over again.’
This was true. Ominous black clouds had appeared out of nowhere.
‘How do they even do that?’ Rosie complained.
Moray glanced at her as they continued bumping up the pitted track.
‘Why are you here?’ he asked finally. ‘Is this some kind of alternative to prison?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie. ‘Well, I think so. It’s not easy coming to stay somewhere new.’
‘No,’ said Moray. ‘No. It isn’t.’
‘Everyone thinks I’m some kind of city type that knows nothing about country ways.’
‘Is that mud on your nose?
‘I don’t care,’ said Rosie crossly, looking to change the subject. ‘I’m going home soon.’ Then she thought back to the farm. ‘How’s that old man’s hip? He didn’t look too happy.’
‘Week five,’ said Moray.
Rosie squinted. ‘He should be moving better than that. He’s mobile, but he’s obviously wincing.’
Moray glanced at her again. ‘I agree. I think that old witch … ahem, I mean, his wife … is forcing him back into stuff he’s not ready for. Jake helps out, but I think she’s pushing it too far. A little exercise is good …’
‘Like digging a vegetable garden,’ said Rosie, regretfully.
‘Hmm,’ said Moray. ‘But I think she’s got him on full-time hoofing, and it’s not doing him any favours.’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘Maybe if you drew up a plan? One of those ones on official-looking paper, that mentions the word “insurance”? Those are always handy. And have a word with Jake, see if there’s some way Mr Isitt could look like he was working without actually having to move the wrong way?’
Moray raised his eyebrows. ‘That might work.’ He was pulling up in front of Lilian’s house.
‘Hmm,’ said Rosie. ‘Thanks for the lift.’
She got out of the car. Moray jumped out and helped her with the bicycle.
‘Thank you,’ said Rosie. ‘Now I shall take it into the garden and ceremoniously burn it.’
Moray smiled. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘if you like … it’s always useful to have a nurse’s eye around the place. We have a district nurse, but she’s quite frightening and marches about looking for things to vaccinate … Well, anyway, if you like, I could take you out on my rounds tomorrow. Show you around a little bit. To say thanks for your help yesterday. And for, well, inadvertently getting me to check in on Peter Isitt. He wouldn’t come to the surgery in a million years.’
Rosie thought about it. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Will I get absolutely soaking and mucky?’
‘Not normally,’ said Moray. ‘But seeing as it’s you, I expect so.’
‘What’s this?’ Lilian said, pushing at her soup with her spoon.
‘It’s more vegetable soup,’ said Rosie firmly. ‘With plenty of cream. And eat lots of bread. Good bread.’
‘I would rather,’ said Lilian, in a dignified fashion, ‘have a tutti frutti.’
‘Well, you can’t,’ said Rosie. ‘You have to build up your strength. I think we need to get back to work on the shop. Formulate your way ahead for when I go back to London.’
‘Hmm,’ said Lilian. ‘And when are we starting? Tomorrow?’
‘You’re not starting at all. You’re getting your strength back.’
‘And you? Tomorrow?’
‘Uh, no, not exactly,’ said Rosie. ‘Actually, uhm, the local doctor asked me out tomorrow. To, er, show me around. Show me how nice it is here.’
Lilian’s eyebrows shot up. ‘That young whippersnapper. Hmm.’
‘What?’ said Rosie. ‘It’s nothing. He’s just being friendly. He’s not after me. He’s only ever seen me covered in muck. It’s just friendliness, that’s all. And I have a boyfriend.’
‘So you say,’ said Lilian. Rosie chose to ignore her.
‘You’ll get yourself a reputation in the village,’ said Lilian, thickly smearing butter on her bread.
‘I think I’m doing that already,’ said Rosie.
‘I think you are too,’ said Lilian primly. Then they lapsed into silence once more.
Chapter Seven
You would have to be very ill indeed to consider a lozenge any kind of a treat.
‘Come home if you don’t like it.’
Rosie couldn’t believe Gerard had another hangover. He sounded a bit surly, not at all like himself. She’d really wanted to touch base with him just to reassure herself. She had been startled by how daft and girlish she’d been yesterday when Moray and Jake had been helping her up, and wanted to get back in touch with the man she really wanted, and her real life, which wasn’t all mucky and covered in cow. But she’d woken Gerard up on his day off, and it didn’t sound like he was best pleased to hear from her.
‘You’ve only been there a few days.’
It sounded like he thought she was whingeing at him continuously, rather than the truth: Rosie had never lived anywhere other than the city and neither had Gerard. She might as well have moved to Timbuktu. She wished he could be just a little bit more supportive.
‘OK, OK,’ she said, trying to pull the bike off the muddy ruts to the side of the road. ‘I’m moving! I’m moving! Bloody hell.’
Moray leaned out of the window. ‘Need a lift?’
Even though she would have liked nothing better than to tip the damn thing on to the path and leave it there, Rosie shook her head.
‘I have this gigantic bike,’ she said.
‘Yes, uhm, I can see that,’ said Moray. ‘Sling it in the back.’
Sure enough, the Land Rover was about the size of a truck. Rosie tried to fling it in casually, but the damn bike swung round and knocked her on the shin. Muttering darkly, she manhandled it in upside down, taking the milk out and putting it on the side.
‘Tell me,’ said Moray when she clambered into the front seat, ‘are you always either soaking wet or covered in straw?’
‘Have you always lived in a world of rain and mud, even when everyone else followed the industrial revolution and moved?’ said Rosie. ‘Look, it’s clouding over again.’
This was true. Ominous black clouds had appeared out of nowhere.
‘How do they even do that?’ Rosie complained.
Moray glanced at her as they continued bumping up the pitted track.
‘Why are you here?’ he asked finally. ‘Is this some kind of alternative to prison?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie. ‘Well, I think so. It’s not easy coming to stay somewhere new.’
‘No,’ said Moray. ‘No. It isn’t.’
‘Everyone thinks I’m some kind of city type that knows nothing about country ways.’
‘Is that mud on your nose?
‘I don’t care,’ said Rosie crossly, looking to change the subject. ‘I’m going home soon.’ Then she thought back to the farm. ‘How’s that old man’s hip? He didn’t look too happy.’
‘Week five,’ said Moray.
Rosie squinted. ‘He should be moving better than that. He’s mobile, but he’s obviously wincing.’
Moray glanced at her again. ‘I agree. I think that old witch … ahem, I mean, his wife … is forcing him back into stuff he’s not ready for. Jake helps out, but I think she’s pushing it too far. A little exercise is good …’
‘Like digging a vegetable garden,’ said Rosie, regretfully.
‘Hmm,’ said Moray. ‘But I think she’s got him on full-time hoofing, and it’s not doing him any favours.’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘Maybe if you drew up a plan? One of those ones on official-looking paper, that mentions the word “insurance”? Those are always handy. And have a word with Jake, see if there’s some way Mr Isitt could look like he was working without actually having to move the wrong way?’
Moray raised his eyebrows. ‘That might work.’ He was pulling up in front of Lilian’s house.
‘Hmm,’ said Rosie. ‘Thanks for the lift.’
She got out of the car. Moray jumped out and helped her with the bicycle.
‘Thank you,’ said Rosie. ‘Now I shall take it into the garden and ceremoniously burn it.’
Moray smiled. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘if you like … it’s always useful to have a nurse’s eye around the place. We have a district nurse, but she’s quite frightening and marches about looking for things to vaccinate … Well, anyway, if you like, I could take you out on my rounds tomorrow. Show you around a little bit. To say thanks for your help yesterday. And for, well, inadvertently getting me to check in on Peter Isitt. He wouldn’t come to the surgery in a million years.’
Rosie thought about it. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Will I get absolutely soaking and mucky?’
‘Not normally,’ said Moray. ‘But seeing as it’s you, I expect so.’
‘What’s this?’ Lilian said, pushing at her soup with her spoon.
‘It’s more vegetable soup,’ said Rosie firmly. ‘With plenty of cream. And eat lots of bread. Good bread.’
‘I would rather,’ said Lilian, in a dignified fashion, ‘have a tutti frutti.’
‘Well, you can’t,’ said Rosie. ‘You have to build up your strength. I think we need to get back to work on the shop. Formulate your way ahead for when I go back to London.’
‘Hmm,’ said Lilian. ‘And when are we starting? Tomorrow?’
‘You’re not starting at all. You’re getting your strength back.’
‘And you? Tomorrow?’
‘Uh, no, not exactly,’ said Rosie. ‘Actually, uhm, the local doctor asked me out tomorrow. To, er, show me around. Show me how nice it is here.’
Lilian’s eyebrows shot up. ‘That young whippersnapper. Hmm.’
‘What?’ said Rosie. ‘It’s nothing. He’s just being friendly. He’s not after me. He’s only ever seen me covered in muck. It’s just friendliness, that’s all. And I have a boyfriend.’
‘So you say,’ said Lilian. Rosie chose to ignore her.
‘You’ll get yourself a reputation in the village,’ said Lilian, thickly smearing butter on her bread.
‘I think I’m doing that already,’ said Rosie.
‘I think you are too,’ said Lilian primly. Then they lapsed into silence once more.
Chapter Seven
You would have to be very ill indeed to consider a lozenge any kind of a treat.
‘Come home if you don’t like it.’
Rosie couldn’t believe Gerard had another hangover. He sounded a bit surly, not at all like himself. She’d really wanted to touch base with him just to reassure herself. She had been startled by how daft and girlish she’d been yesterday when Moray and Jake had been helping her up, and wanted to get back in touch with the man she really wanted, and her real life, which wasn’t all mucky and covered in cow. But she’d woken Gerard up on his day off, and it didn’t sound like he was best pleased to hear from her.
‘You’ve only been there a few days.’
It sounded like he thought she was whingeing at him continuously, rather than the truth: Rosie had never lived anywhere other than the city and neither had Gerard. She might as well have moved to Timbuktu. She wished he could be just a little bit more supportive.
