Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 55
Lilian sniffed at him.
‘What?’ said Moray. ‘Come on, I’m not even your doctor.’
Lilian indicated towards the back room and spoke quietly.
‘That’s my niece in there, you know.’
‘I do know,’ said Moray, smiling.
‘Well, try not to get her mixed up in any Lipton rubbish,’ snapped Lilian. ‘You know who I mean. She’s not here for long and she doesn’t need any of your nonsense, thank you very much.’
By the time Rosie had extricated the chair from the empty boxes waiting for the recycling run, Moray had gone.
‘Where’s he off to?’ she said pleasantly, sitting her aunt down.
‘Got more quackery to do, I expect,’ said Lilian, arranging herself.
From her vantage point, in the corner near the window, she had a good view of the entire shop, Lilian realised. It was truly, she saw, uncanny; these shelves she’d worked with her whole life; the big old till still there; the striped paper bags. She adjusted her glasses, as Rosie served some older children on their lunch hour. With Rosie’s dark hair tumbling around her shoulders, sometimes it gave her the oddest sensation that she had slipped back in time; that she was watching herself. How differently, she reflected, how differently she would do it this time.
‘Humbugs are in the wrong place,’ she barked. ‘They go a row up.’
Rosie looked around. ‘Yes, but I thought I’d arrange everything alphabetically, then I can find it quickly.’
The children scampered out with Twixes.
‘That’s nonsense,’ said Lilian. ‘You have to put everything where you can easily reach it. There’s no point having cola cubes on the top shelf under C when they get asked for every two minutes. And you have to keep the love hearts handy, that’s just obvious.’
Rosie was stung. She was still waiting for one word of congratulations or thanks for all her hard work.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘maybe what people like has changed over the years.’
Lilian snorted. ‘Only if they’re idiots. Which they are. I can see that by the fact that you’ve ordered in chewing gum.’
‘What’s wrong with chewing gum? The mark-up is unbelievable.’
‘Oh nothing, if you don’t consider the complete decline of western civilisation a problem.’
‘I do not,’ said Rosie stoically.
Lilian settled back as a sunbeam hit her chair, feeling pleasantly relaxed. It was the ding of the bell and the ting of the cash register; the smell of the boiled candy and the pink candyfloss ribbony top notes as, all day, people dribbled in and out to have a look, pick up a free sample, make requests for things (she heard, approvingly, Rosie explain in her soft voice that she was sorry they didn’t have any toasted coconut mushrooms; as she, Rosie, hated them, she hadn’t ordered them, but she promised to correct that forthwith), and, apart from saying hello to some of the older customers who remembered her from years ago, she let her mind wander. She was in such a haze she half expected her father to walk in, or Gordon to come and try to cadge some candy cigarettes and get his hand slapped, or …
1943
‘’Ang on,’ said Gordon, ‘Isn’t that the man you’re stepping out with?’
Lilian couldn’t say anything. The breath was sticking in her throat. Margaret clasped her arm and said loudly, ‘Henry sodding Carr? That eejit?’
At the sound of his name, Henry’s head flicked to the side, and once again he took on that terrible guilty look Lilian had seen at the dance. She couldn’t believe it. He was a two-timing, woman-baiting idiot, a dame teaser, and she couldn’t believe she’d fallen for it again.
Margaret, meanwhile, was staring shrewdly at a flush-faced Ida Delia with a look Lilian couldn’t interpret.
For once, Lilian didn’t care. She didn’t care what was right and proper; whether people would talk in the village; what Ida Delia would think, and tell her friends. She looked straight at Henry’s stricken face, turned round and stormed out.
At first, caught up in the drama of the thing, she worried that no one would come after her. Then, the gravity of the situation – what a fool she was, what a fool she must look to the world, all the private hopes and dreams she hadn’t dared to admit even to herself – came bubbling up, and erupted, not in tears – her tears, she felt, she had spent for Ned – but in fury; an absolute rage at the universe; the enormous unfairness of falling in love, the difficulty of finding the right man in a world with so few. She wanted to scream, to punch the stars; to howl to the moon about the total bally unfairness of everything. Quiet, skinny, mousy Lilian wanted to take her knotted fists and punch down trees, trample bushes and houses and carts, kick the new pavement to dust. Her eyes blinked in frustration, as she found herself making her way to the churchyard, hardly even noticing what she was doing.
Footsteps pattered to a halt behind her, but she didn’t turn round. Margaret would be bad, or Gordon making some horrible joke about what lads were like, or anyone but …
He didn’t even say her name. She felt, instead, a strong, tentative touch on her shoulders, at which temporary fear shot through her anger. He gave a sharp intake of breath then slowly, as if against her will, she allowed herself to be turned round. Only then did he say her name.
‘Lily.’ His face was a mask of misery and desperation. ‘Lily, I …’
But then, like the last gasp of a drowning man, he reached for her, and she felt him reach for her and was happy he did so, and let him grab her shoulders and hold her, as she gave herself up entirely to his fierce, devastating kiss, feeling the contrast between his rough, unshaven face and his soft, pillowy lips, now hard against her own. Then she didn’t think at all; she channelled her anger and her rage into passion, a huge and long-pent-up passion for him that she felt, once it had burst its banks, would never stop flowing. By the churchyard, lit only by the bright harvest moon, hard against the old oak tree, she felt herself melt into him, could barely tell where she ended and he began as they kissed on.
But eventually, gasping for breath, his whole body, it seemed, straining towards her, Henry pulled himself away. Lilian baulked; was she doing it wrong? Had she done something lewd or awful? Inside she started to panic.
But it was far, far worse than that.
Rosie was flushed with success cashing up that evening; she put all the money neatly into the smart little bags she’d got from the bank and put the figures into her laptop with a little sigh of satisfaction. It was far more than she’d expected. She was secretly rather proud of herself.
‘What?’ said Moray. ‘Come on, I’m not even your doctor.’
Lilian indicated towards the back room and spoke quietly.
‘That’s my niece in there, you know.’
‘I do know,’ said Moray, smiling.
‘Well, try not to get her mixed up in any Lipton rubbish,’ snapped Lilian. ‘You know who I mean. She’s not here for long and she doesn’t need any of your nonsense, thank you very much.’
By the time Rosie had extricated the chair from the empty boxes waiting for the recycling run, Moray had gone.
‘Where’s he off to?’ she said pleasantly, sitting her aunt down.
‘Got more quackery to do, I expect,’ said Lilian, arranging herself.
From her vantage point, in the corner near the window, she had a good view of the entire shop, Lilian realised. It was truly, she saw, uncanny; these shelves she’d worked with her whole life; the big old till still there; the striped paper bags. She adjusted her glasses, as Rosie served some older children on their lunch hour. With Rosie’s dark hair tumbling around her shoulders, sometimes it gave her the oddest sensation that she had slipped back in time; that she was watching herself. How differently, she reflected, how differently she would do it this time.
‘Humbugs are in the wrong place,’ she barked. ‘They go a row up.’
Rosie looked around. ‘Yes, but I thought I’d arrange everything alphabetically, then I can find it quickly.’
The children scampered out with Twixes.
‘That’s nonsense,’ said Lilian. ‘You have to put everything where you can easily reach it. There’s no point having cola cubes on the top shelf under C when they get asked for every two minutes. And you have to keep the love hearts handy, that’s just obvious.’
Rosie was stung. She was still waiting for one word of congratulations or thanks for all her hard work.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘maybe what people like has changed over the years.’
Lilian snorted. ‘Only if they’re idiots. Which they are. I can see that by the fact that you’ve ordered in chewing gum.’
‘What’s wrong with chewing gum? The mark-up is unbelievable.’
‘Oh nothing, if you don’t consider the complete decline of western civilisation a problem.’
‘I do not,’ said Rosie stoically.
Lilian settled back as a sunbeam hit her chair, feeling pleasantly relaxed. It was the ding of the bell and the ting of the cash register; the smell of the boiled candy and the pink candyfloss ribbony top notes as, all day, people dribbled in and out to have a look, pick up a free sample, make requests for things (she heard, approvingly, Rosie explain in her soft voice that she was sorry they didn’t have any toasted coconut mushrooms; as she, Rosie, hated them, she hadn’t ordered them, but she promised to correct that forthwith), and, apart from saying hello to some of the older customers who remembered her from years ago, she let her mind wander. She was in such a haze she half expected her father to walk in, or Gordon to come and try to cadge some candy cigarettes and get his hand slapped, or …
1943
‘’Ang on,’ said Gordon, ‘Isn’t that the man you’re stepping out with?’
Lilian couldn’t say anything. The breath was sticking in her throat. Margaret clasped her arm and said loudly, ‘Henry sodding Carr? That eejit?’
At the sound of his name, Henry’s head flicked to the side, and once again he took on that terrible guilty look Lilian had seen at the dance. She couldn’t believe it. He was a two-timing, woman-baiting idiot, a dame teaser, and she couldn’t believe she’d fallen for it again.
Margaret, meanwhile, was staring shrewdly at a flush-faced Ida Delia with a look Lilian couldn’t interpret.
For once, Lilian didn’t care. She didn’t care what was right and proper; whether people would talk in the village; what Ida Delia would think, and tell her friends. She looked straight at Henry’s stricken face, turned round and stormed out.
At first, caught up in the drama of the thing, she worried that no one would come after her. Then, the gravity of the situation – what a fool she was, what a fool she must look to the world, all the private hopes and dreams she hadn’t dared to admit even to herself – came bubbling up, and erupted, not in tears – her tears, she felt, she had spent for Ned – but in fury; an absolute rage at the universe; the enormous unfairness of falling in love, the difficulty of finding the right man in a world with so few. She wanted to scream, to punch the stars; to howl to the moon about the total bally unfairness of everything. Quiet, skinny, mousy Lilian wanted to take her knotted fists and punch down trees, trample bushes and houses and carts, kick the new pavement to dust. Her eyes blinked in frustration, as she found herself making her way to the churchyard, hardly even noticing what she was doing.
Footsteps pattered to a halt behind her, but she didn’t turn round. Margaret would be bad, or Gordon making some horrible joke about what lads were like, or anyone but …
He didn’t even say her name. She felt, instead, a strong, tentative touch on her shoulders, at which temporary fear shot through her anger. He gave a sharp intake of breath then slowly, as if against her will, she allowed herself to be turned round. Only then did he say her name.
‘Lily.’ His face was a mask of misery and desperation. ‘Lily, I …’
But then, like the last gasp of a drowning man, he reached for her, and she felt him reach for her and was happy he did so, and let him grab her shoulders and hold her, as she gave herself up entirely to his fierce, devastating kiss, feeling the contrast between his rough, unshaven face and his soft, pillowy lips, now hard against her own. Then she didn’t think at all; she channelled her anger and her rage into passion, a huge and long-pent-up passion for him that she felt, once it had burst its banks, would never stop flowing. By the churchyard, lit only by the bright harvest moon, hard against the old oak tree, she felt herself melt into him, could barely tell where she ended and he began as they kissed on.
But eventually, gasping for breath, his whole body, it seemed, straining towards her, Henry pulled himself away. Lilian baulked; was she doing it wrong? Had she done something lewd or awful? Inside she started to panic.
But it was far, far worse than that.
Rosie was flushed with success cashing up that evening; she put all the money neatly into the smart little bags she’d got from the bank and put the figures into her laptop with a little sigh of satisfaction. It was far more than she’d expected. She was secretly rather proud of herself.
