Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 45
‘And,’ Angie had been relentless, ‘you’ve got to have a business brain, my love. Any buyer is going to want to see profit and loss accounts, all of that.’
Rosie had shaken her head in disbelief.
‘Angie! You sent me up here for, and I quote, “a couple of weeks looking after the old lady”. Now you’re telling me I need to apply for Dragon’s Den.’
‘There is not a man on Dragon’s Den I don’t fancy,’ said Angie dreamily for a minute. ‘Anyway, think about it. Of course you have to know how the business works.’
‘I’m a nurse,’ said Rosie.
‘An auxiliary,’ sniffed Angie.
‘I’m hanging up on you.’
‘No. Listen.’
Angie had, it cannot be denied, taken on enough temp jobs in her time. And, as Rosie grudgingly reminded herself when she was getting annoyed, her mother had worked her head off, every single day, to provide for her and Pip when no one else had given a toss.
‘Now, listen to me,’ said Angie. ‘Let me try and get it through to your bandage brain how it works.’
And she had explained, rather well, in fact, how the business should run: what percentage she should spend on stock; what the difference was between turnover and profit; how much stock to hold. Rosie ended up grudgingly taking notes, holding the old receiver awkwardly clamped to her neck. At last it started to make a bit of sense.
‘Angie,’ asked Rosie finally, after she’d been listening for an hour. ‘You know when you were working your head off when me and Pip were little and we didn’t have much money and stuff …’
‘You never went short,’ said Angie.
‘I know! You were amazing! I didn’t even realise at the time! I liked getting toothbrushes for Christmas. Anyway. All I wanted to ask is, Lilian here … I mean, she doesn’t really have anyone to spend money on. Did she ever … I mean, well, I suppose she was busy and everything, but …’
‘Did she ever help us out? Is that what you’re asking?’
Rosie shrugged. ‘I mean, it doesn’t matter, I mean, everyone’s busy.’
But she was surprised by how much emotional weight the question had.
‘Of course she did,’ said Angie, softly. ‘We’d never have made it through without her, and your granpa. All the Hopkinses. That sweetshop kept us afloat for years.’
Now Rosie looked around approvingly. There was Edinburgh rock in its pretty pastel dustiness, and Turkish delight by the pound set out in the glass display cabinet next to the violet creams and chocolate truffles. Rosie had started off very small on the expensive handmade chocolates though, and had bought some tiny boxes if people just wanted to try one or two. She wasn’t sure how big the market would be here. Whereas who didn’t want rainbow drops? Or raisin fudge, or cream-whipped caramel chews? She kept whistling, happily, as she donned her new apron.
She’d persuaded Lilian it was an essential shop purchase, after Lilian had offered her a clean, soft but obviously very old white one. This apron was chic, stripy and brand new, and Rosie kept admiring it and thinking how fond of it she was before remembering that she was a modern professional woman and liking a pinny was betraying the sisterhood. Then she remembered that she was actually restarting a women-run business and therefore it was absolutely fine and anyway, the new owners wouldn’t need to keep it if they didn’t want it.
Humming cheerfully, she tidied the boxes away neatly, making final alterations so all the jars stood equidistant in a row, their labels facing outwards. She’d wanted to get Lilian to make the labels, but her fingers were so stiff with arthritis she’d found it almost impossible, so Rosie had used her own loopy writing. She’d kept Lilian’s original scales, polishing them up with Brasso and newspaper till they absolutely gleamed. Even though she had to sell things metrically, she still expected everyone to ask for quarters and half-pounds, and had memorised her responses precisely (Is that 224 grams? Coming right up!), and was also trying to figure out a way of measuring that request of her childhood: can I have twenty pence worth please?
She’d also kept the antique till – even though she reasoned that if times got tough they might be able to get something for it on eBay – but found a cheap electronic one second-hand. She couldn’t figure out for the life of her how to work it, but she was sure it would come to her, and she’d hidden it behind the counter as far from sight as possible, hoping to keep the illusion of the original sweetshop intact.
At last, she’d done as much as she could do. The whole place was gleaming. It was as bright as a new pin. If Rosie squinted so that the new till, with its little green light, was entirely out of sight, the sweetshop looked like a set from a period drama, or something out of Harry Potter. It was, to her eyes, utterly beautiful. She sighed with satisfaction.
‘Lilian?’ She knocked on the cottage door before she went in, even though no one else ever did. ‘Lilian? Do you want to come and see something?’
Lilian was dozing, slightly irritably, in her blanket. Rosie didn’t want to wake her up, but she was stirring. Plus she felt that Lilian ought to try to stay awake a little more during the day; she was complaining she didn’t sleep well at night. It was in many ways, Rosie often felt, not unlike looking after a baby. Except not quite so adorable.
‘What? Why are you always shouting at me?’ Lilian squinted. ‘Did I give you that apron?’
‘We’ve been through this,’ said Rosie. ‘Come on. Give me your arm.’
Grumbling and reluctant, even when Rosie told her she didn’t have to change out of her slippers, Lilian got up.
‘Leave the house in my slippers? I don’t think so. I am old, my dear, not a slattern.’ So Rosie had had to kneel down and slip on her rather elegant heeled shoes with the ankle button.
Lilian leaned on Rosie heavily as she left the house. Rosie had borrowed a stick from Moray but was having almost no joy in getting her to use it. She hoped her aunt used it when she wasn’t looking.
The day was still warm outside, although Lilian insisted on a cardigan being placed around her shoulders. Rosie hoped that if she could get a bit of weight on her she might not feel so cold all the time.
She led her next door. Rosie had refurbished the bell that hung above the door, which had got so gummed up with muck and stuff she couldn’t imagine the last time it had rung. She had scrubbed and scraped and polished it with Brasso, and now it dinged out cheerfully. When she heard it, Lilian exclaimed despite herself. Then as she walked forward into the new, shiny sweetshop, she stopped dead.
Rosie had shaken her head in disbelief.
‘Angie! You sent me up here for, and I quote, “a couple of weeks looking after the old lady”. Now you’re telling me I need to apply for Dragon’s Den.’
‘There is not a man on Dragon’s Den I don’t fancy,’ said Angie dreamily for a minute. ‘Anyway, think about it. Of course you have to know how the business works.’
‘I’m a nurse,’ said Rosie.
‘An auxiliary,’ sniffed Angie.
‘I’m hanging up on you.’
‘No. Listen.’
Angie had, it cannot be denied, taken on enough temp jobs in her time. And, as Rosie grudgingly reminded herself when she was getting annoyed, her mother had worked her head off, every single day, to provide for her and Pip when no one else had given a toss.
‘Now, listen to me,’ said Angie. ‘Let me try and get it through to your bandage brain how it works.’
And she had explained, rather well, in fact, how the business should run: what percentage she should spend on stock; what the difference was between turnover and profit; how much stock to hold. Rosie ended up grudgingly taking notes, holding the old receiver awkwardly clamped to her neck. At last it started to make a bit of sense.
‘Angie,’ asked Rosie finally, after she’d been listening for an hour. ‘You know when you were working your head off when me and Pip were little and we didn’t have much money and stuff …’
‘You never went short,’ said Angie.
‘I know! You were amazing! I didn’t even realise at the time! I liked getting toothbrushes for Christmas. Anyway. All I wanted to ask is, Lilian here … I mean, she doesn’t really have anyone to spend money on. Did she ever … I mean, well, I suppose she was busy and everything, but …’
‘Did she ever help us out? Is that what you’re asking?’
Rosie shrugged. ‘I mean, it doesn’t matter, I mean, everyone’s busy.’
But she was surprised by how much emotional weight the question had.
‘Of course she did,’ said Angie, softly. ‘We’d never have made it through without her, and your granpa. All the Hopkinses. That sweetshop kept us afloat for years.’
Now Rosie looked around approvingly. There was Edinburgh rock in its pretty pastel dustiness, and Turkish delight by the pound set out in the glass display cabinet next to the violet creams and chocolate truffles. Rosie had started off very small on the expensive handmade chocolates though, and had bought some tiny boxes if people just wanted to try one or two. She wasn’t sure how big the market would be here. Whereas who didn’t want rainbow drops? Or raisin fudge, or cream-whipped caramel chews? She kept whistling, happily, as she donned her new apron.
She’d persuaded Lilian it was an essential shop purchase, after Lilian had offered her a clean, soft but obviously very old white one. This apron was chic, stripy and brand new, and Rosie kept admiring it and thinking how fond of it she was before remembering that she was a modern professional woman and liking a pinny was betraying the sisterhood. Then she remembered that she was actually restarting a women-run business and therefore it was absolutely fine and anyway, the new owners wouldn’t need to keep it if they didn’t want it.
Humming cheerfully, she tidied the boxes away neatly, making final alterations so all the jars stood equidistant in a row, their labels facing outwards. She’d wanted to get Lilian to make the labels, but her fingers were so stiff with arthritis she’d found it almost impossible, so Rosie had used her own loopy writing. She’d kept Lilian’s original scales, polishing them up with Brasso and newspaper till they absolutely gleamed. Even though she had to sell things metrically, she still expected everyone to ask for quarters and half-pounds, and had memorised her responses precisely (Is that 224 grams? Coming right up!), and was also trying to figure out a way of measuring that request of her childhood: can I have twenty pence worth please?
She’d also kept the antique till – even though she reasoned that if times got tough they might be able to get something for it on eBay – but found a cheap electronic one second-hand. She couldn’t figure out for the life of her how to work it, but she was sure it would come to her, and she’d hidden it behind the counter as far from sight as possible, hoping to keep the illusion of the original sweetshop intact.
At last, she’d done as much as she could do. The whole place was gleaming. It was as bright as a new pin. If Rosie squinted so that the new till, with its little green light, was entirely out of sight, the sweetshop looked like a set from a period drama, or something out of Harry Potter. It was, to her eyes, utterly beautiful. She sighed with satisfaction.
‘Lilian?’ She knocked on the cottage door before she went in, even though no one else ever did. ‘Lilian? Do you want to come and see something?’
Lilian was dozing, slightly irritably, in her blanket. Rosie didn’t want to wake her up, but she was stirring. Plus she felt that Lilian ought to try to stay awake a little more during the day; she was complaining she didn’t sleep well at night. It was in many ways, Rosie often felt, not unlike looking after a baby. Except not quite so adorable.
‘What? Why are you always shouting at me?’ Lilian squinted. ‘Did I give you that apron?’
‘We’ve been through this,’ said Rosie. ‘Come on. Give me your arm.’
Grumbling and reluctant, even when Rosie told her she didn’t have to change out of her slippers, Lilian got up.
‘Leave the house in my slippers? I don’t think so. I am old, my dear, not a slattern.’ So Rosie had had to kneel down and slip on her rather elegant heeled shoes with the ankle button.
Lilian leaned on Rosie heavily as she left the house. Rosie had borrowed a stick from Moray but was having almost no joy in getting her to use it. She hoped her aunt used it when she wasn’t looking.
The day was still warm outside, although Lilian insisted on a cardigan being placed around her shoulders. Rosie hoped that if she could get a bit of weight on her she might not feel so cold all the time.
She led her next door. Rosie had refurbished the bell that hung above the door, which had got so gummed up with muck and stuff she couldn’t imagine the last time it had rung. She had scrubbed and scraped and polished it with Brasso, and now it dinged out cheerfully. When she heard it, Lilian exclaimed despite herself. Then as she walked forward into the new, shiny sweetshop, she stopped dead.
