Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 32
Sitting down on a boulder, Rosie felt all the stresses of the morning, and her new, temporary, awkward life that her partner had seemingly no interest in, slowly melt away. Silently, Moray held out a bottle of water and a package of waxed paper. Inside was thick white crusty bread, filled with rare cold roast beef, a smear of mustard and a twist of black pepper, with sliced and salted tomatoes on the side.
‘I picked it up in town,’ he murmured.
Rosie thanked him, bit into a sandwich and stared out at the view. Suddenly, she felt calm; she’d found peace and quiet and a place to rest the heart. It was lovely. She was not going to let anyone else bring her down. She took a photo on her phone and tried to send it to Gerard. No signal. Of course not. Rosie found she was pleased.
‘This is gorgeous.’
‘Well, say what you like about Phyllis, she does make a good sandwich,’ said Moray.
‘No, I mean, this … all this.’
Rosie indicated the brown and green and gold of the world beneath her feet and pointed to the mansion. ‘Is that … is that Hetty’s place?’
‘Do you mean Lady Lipton?’ said Moray, sounding amused.
‘Uhm, yes. I probably will go back to calling her that now I’ve seen it. How could you live there? There’s like a million rooms. You’d never get your wireless to stretch, for starters.’
Moray smiled. ‘I think she only lives in a little bit of it. Rents the rest out for weddings and film shoots and so on. She opens it up from time to time, especially the gardens. She has to, I think. It must cost a fortune to run. She’s probably skinter than you.’
‘I’m not sure that’s possible,’ said Rosie, heaving a sigh.
‘What?’
‘Oh, nothing. I just … I just need to get it together to sell the shop. Quickly.’
‘Well, that’ll be good, won’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie. ‘Yes it will.’ She looked at the big house again. ‘Wow. Is it just her?’
There was a long pause.
Then Moray changed the subject. ‘I wonder, can I ask you something of a favour? My next patient.’
‘Aha,’ said Rosie, brushing down her thighs. ‘Man, that was an excellent sandwich.’
‘Mmm,’ said Moray. For the first time, his effortless confidence seemed to wobble a bit and he looked slightly unsure of himself.
‘Are you trying to bribe me with sandwiches?’ said Rosie.
‘Mmm,’ said Moray. ‘My next patient. He’s proving a little … intractable.’
‘I don’t know what that means,’ said Rosie. ‘Has he got a gun?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Moray, then looked worried, as if this possibility had never occurred to him. ‘I hope not. God. No. No, definitely not.’
‘Uh-oh,’ said Rosie.
‘He’s just … he keeps refusing treatment. And all three of us from the surgery have been up there and he hasn’t really wanted to see any of us. And we’re just irritating him now. So I wondered if … possibly … a fresh face might clear the way a bit.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
Moray looked about to hand over a thick file of notes, then stopped himself.
‘Well, I can’t give you these,’ he said.
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘Just tell me.’
‘Actually,’ said Moray, ‘why don’t you tell me what you think? Once you’re inside, just tell him we’re going to take a look at it, then call me.’
‘There’s no mobile phone signal up here,’ said Rosie.
‘No, call me. “MORAY!” You know.’
Rosie swallowed. ‘I’m not sure about this. Is he violent?’
‘No!’ said Moray. ‘No, no, nothing like that. I’m sure. No. No. And you’re very brave, I saw that with Bran.’
‘Am I in more or less danger of being bitten?’
‘It’s just five minutes,’ said Moray. ‘Till I can get through the door.’
‘Or I get shot.’
Moray looked at her. ‘I promise, I wouldn’t ask if we weren’t … a bit desperate.’
They got back in the car.
Just over the crest of the hill, where the sun disappeared and the temperature in the car seemed instantly to drop several degrees, was a tiny lane. Who on earth would build a house up here? Rosie wondered. She’d noticed the farmhouses tended to be down in the valleys, to protect them from the harsh winds that blew through the region in the long winter months. The patient was obviously someone who did not like his neighbours.
There was a long drive down a heavily wooded track, where the trees blocked out much of the light. Rosie began to feel a touch of excitement; perhaps, like the great white house she’d glimpsed, this was something else out of a story. It felt as if anything could be at the end of the tunnel of trees: a fantastical castle, a great waterfall, a giant beanstalk.
Instead, as the Land Rover emerged into the open, Rosie found herself looking at a road that led straight to the edge of a cliff. At the end, perched right at the top, and absolutely deserving of its name, was Peak House.
At first glance, Rosie thought it was indeed from a fairy tale: the giant’s castle. It was a flat-fronted edifice of grey local stone; its forbidding aspect stopped it from being beautiful. It was a little too large, with rows of sash windows, unlit, facing into the late afternoon, where the sun was already leaving and a chill wind had begun to blow. Rosie made a mental note, as she stepped out of the unheated car, to buy one of those really unattractive down-filled parkas. It would make her look like a waddling penguin, but keep her warm in all weathers. Moray smiled gratefully.
‘You just stay there and enjoy yourself,’ said Rosie, starting the long walk towards the front door.
‘You just get us inside,’ said Moray, ‘with your exceptional charm. I’ll be, uh, right behind you.’
Rosie stuck her tongue out at him and trudged on. It was a long way to the huge front door; once red, it had faded badly. The entire building looked a bit run-down, in need of care and attention. There was a bell, a proper old-fashioned clanging one, by the door. She couldn’t be meant to pull that, could she? Tentatively, she knocked. There was no answer. He could be very deaf of course. Many of her more elderly clients were.
‘I picked it up in town,’ he murmured.
Rosie thanked him, bit into a sandwich and stared out at the view. Suddenly, she felt calm; she’d found peace and quiet and a place to rest the heart. It was lovely. She was not going to let anyone else bring her down. She took a photo on her phone and tried to send it to Gerard. No signal. Of course not. Rosie found she was pleased.
‘This is gorgeous.’
‘Well, say what you like about Phyllis, she does make a good sandwich,’ said Moray.
‘No, I mean, this … all this.’
Rosie indicated the brown and green and gold of the world beneath her feet and pointed to the mansion. ‘Is that … is that Hetty’s place?’
‘Do you mean Lady Lipton?’ said Moray, sounding amused.
‘Uhm, yes. I probably will go back to calling her that now I’ve seen it. How could you live there? There’s like a million rooms. You’d never get your wireless to stretch, for starters.’
Moray smiled. ‘I think she only lives in a little bit of it. Rents the rest out for weddings and film shoots and so on. She opens it up from time to time, especially the gardens. She has to, I think. It must cost a fortune to run. She’s probably skinter than you.’
‘I’m not sure that’s possible,’ said Rosie, heaving a sigh.
‘What?’
‘Oh, nothing. I just … I just need to get it together to sell the shop. Quickly.’
‘Well, that’ll be good, won’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie. ‘Yes it will.’ She looked at the big house again. ‘Wow. Is it just her?’
There was a long pause.
Then Moray changed the subject. ‘I wonder, can I ask you something of a favour? My next patient.’
‘Aha,’ said Rosie, brushing down her thighs. ‘Man, that was an excellent sandwich.’
‘Mmm,’ said Moray. For the first time, his effortless confidence seemed to wobble a bit and he looked slightly unsure of himself.
‘Are you trying to bribe me with sandwiches?’ said Rosie.
‘Mmm,’ said Moray. ‘My next patient. He’s proving a little … intractable.’
‘I don’t know what that means,’ said Rosie. ‘Has he got a gun?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Moray, then looked worried, as if this possibility had never occurred to him. ‘I hope not. God. No. No, definitely not.’
‘Uh-oh,’ said Rosie.
‘He’s just … he keeps refusing treatment. And all three of us from the surgery have been up there and he hasn’t really wanted to see any of us. And we’re just irritating him now. So I wondered if … possibly … a fresh face might clear the way a bit.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
Moray looked about to hand over a thick file of notes, then stopped himself.
‘Well, I can’t give you these,’ he said.
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘Just tell me.’
‘Actually,’ said Moray, ‘why don’t you tell me what you think? Once you’re inside, just tell him we’re going to take a look at it, then call me.’
‘There’s no mobile phone signal up here,’ said Rosie.
‘No, call me. “MORAY!” You know.’
Rosie swallowed. ‘I’m not sure about this. Is he violent?’
‘No!’ said Moray. ‘No, no, nothing like that. I’m sure. No. No. And you’re very brave, I saw that with Bran.’
‘Am I in more or less danger of being bitten?’
‘It’s just five minutes,’ said Moray. ‘Till I can get through the door.’
‘Or I get shot.’
Moray looked at her. ‘I promise, I wouldn’t ask if we weren’t … a bit desperate.’
They got back in the car.
Just over the crest of the hill, where the sun disappeared and the temperature in the car seemed instantly to drop several degrees, was a tiny lane. Who on earth would build a house up here? Rosie wondered. She’d noticed the farmhouses tended to be down in the valleys, to protect them from the harsh winds that blew through the region in the long winter months. The patient was obviously someone who did not like his neighbours.
There was a long drive down a heavily wooded track, where the trees blocked out much of the light. Rosie began to feel a touch of excitement; perhaps, like the great white house she’d glimpsed, this was something else out of a story. It felt as if anything could be at the end of the tunnel of trees: a fantastical castle, a great waterfall, a giant beanstalk.
Instead, as the Land Rover emerged into the open, Rosie found herself looking at a road that led straight to the edge of a cliff. At the end, perched right at the top, and absolutely deserving of its name, was Peak House.
At first glance, Rosie thought it was indeed from a fairy tale: the giant’s castle. It was a flat-fronted edifice of grey local stone; its forbidding aspect stopped it from being beautiful. It was a little too large, with rows of sash windows, unlit, facing into the late afternoon, where the sun was already leaving and a chill wind had begun to blow. Rosie made a mental note, as she stepped out of the unheated car, to buy one of those really unattractive down-filled parkas. It would make her look like a waddling penguin, but keep her warm in all weathers. Moray smiled gratefully.
‘You just stay there and enjoy yourself,’ said Rosie, starting the long walk towards the front door.
‘You just get us inside,’ said Moray, ‘with your exceptional charm. I’ll be, uh, right behind you.’
Rosie stuck her tongue out at him and trudged on. It was a long way to the huge front door; once red, it had faded badly. The entire building looked a bit run-down, in need of care and attention. There was a bell, a proper old-fashioned clanging one, by the door. She couldn’t be meant to pull that, could she? Tentatively, she knocked. There was no answer. He could be very deaf of course. Many of her more elderly clients were.
