Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 59
‘You have fun,’ she said.
‘OK,’ said Rosie. ‘Don’t wait up.’
Lilian smiled. And for the first time, spontaneously, and without thinking about it, Rosie leaned over and kissed her great-aunt on the cheek before she left.
The Red Lion was lively-looking on a Friday night. Rosie had never been in there before and felt tentative at the entrance, the busy noise spilling out on to the pavement with the warm light and the smokers. There was a filled water trough outside, and the sound of hearty male laughter. Rosie had noticed just how many men there were in the countryside – the farmboys, the vets, the tree surgeons, the chemists. This was probably why her female friends always complained about how difficult it was to find a man in the city. Because they’d all moved to the countryside, or never left it. It was true, Lipton was full of hunks; if you let them loose on London the women there would hold a parade. Whereas here they just carried on hoicking hay, undiscovered.
Rosie checked her lipgloss, and slight sense of nerves, and pushed the door. Inside, the wallpaper was ancient and yellow, the fire burning to stave off the early autumnal chill; big oblong tables were positioned willy-nilly around the room, with horse brasses on the walls. And there he sat, slightly awkward-looking, his boyish face and pink cheeks out of place among the tanned agricultural labourers, his shirt crumpled. In front of him was a nearly empty pint of cider and three empty crisp packets. This was her man, she thought. For the first time since she’d been so wrapped up in the giddiness of moving in together, planning their future, she looked at him, hard. Here he was. Not perfect. Well, she wasn’t perfect. And he was her bloke. Her face broke into a smile.
‘Hey!’ she said. ‘Where’s that gin and tonic?’
Two hours later, Rosie was well into the swing of things. Although Gerard did talk a little bit about what it was like to be back at his mum’s and how great it was and how he got a cooked breakfast every day, and he did suggest, after his third pint, perhaps a little too loudly, that they should nip into the bathrooms and have sex, particularly as, along with Jake and his friends, there was the vicar and Malik from the Spar within a few tables.
‘How do you know everyone already?’ said Gerard. Rosie considered telling him it was because she’d ruined Mr Isitt’s vegetable garden and as a consequence was considered by half the town to be sleeping with the other half, but she shrugged and simply said, ‘Oh, you know, small towns.’
‘I don’t,’ said Gerard. ‘It’s weird. Did you say that guy runs the Spar?’
Rosie smiled and nodded over at Malik, who was, it had to be said, quite sanguine about their opening, and had merely remarked that as long as she stayed out of booze, fags and lottery tickets they would get along fine. They occasionally made change for one another. They had a quick chat about how they expected to do on market day, and Rosie instantly regretted not getting an ice-cream fridge. Malik sold standard ice creams, so she could get in something special like Green & Black’s to appeal to older people instead … That would work well next summer, she thought. Then Jake came over to say hi, and gave Gerard such a blatant up-and-down look that Rosie found herself blushing.
‘Who’s this?’ said Jake.
‘This is … this is Gerard,’ said Rosie. ‘Uhm, my, my boyfriend.’
Gerard wiped some crisp dust off his fingers and didn’t get up.
‘Hello,’ he said amiably, ‘you’re a big fella.’
Jake gave Rosie a questioning look. She ignored him.
‘There’s a lot of blokes here,’ said Gerard, glancing around the pub.
‘Yes,’ said Rosie, smiling goodbye to Jake, who didn’t seem to take the hint.
‘We need to go and do some more gardening,’ he said. Behind him, his friends were nudging each other.
‘What, now?’ said Rosie.
Jake stuck out his bottom lip. Rosie suspected he probably found it quite easy to get women. She was just the new thing in town.
‘Soon,’ he said.
‘Yes, all right,’ said Rosie. ‘Soon.’
She took a long slug of her gin and tonic, waving politely to Hye, Maeve and Moray over in the far corner, already well into some bottles of wine. Typical doctor behaviour, she thought.
‘What is this, The Waltons?’ said Gerard, turning his head. ‘You’ve been here five minutes and you know half the town.’
‘Well, I run the local sweetshop,’ said Rosie. ‘Of course I’m going to meet a few people. And everyone knows Lilian.’
‘Yes, but …’
‘And I don’t know everyone, anyway. There’s loads of people I don’t know, like them for example.’
Rosie gestured at a random couple by the window, then realised she’d seen the woman before. The woman saw her looking and got up and came over.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m Edison’s mum.’
‘Oh, hello, nice to meet you.’
‘Well, even I’ve met Edison,’ said Gerard, throwing up his hands.
‘He liked his tooth-fairy bag,’ said Edison’s mother, stiffly. ‘I’ve tried to tell him it’s all just ridiculous superstition, but …’
‘Oh, it’s harmless,’ said Rosie.
The woman sniffed.
‘Actually,’ said Rosie, ‘I did want to ask you something.’ She stood up. The woman had naturally grey hair even though she was quite young, and wire-rimmed spectacles. She wasn’t wearing a scrap of make-up, and was very thin. Potentially, thought Rosie, she could look amazing. ‘Edison talks about his friend who isn’t allowed any sweets? I realise mothers do take quite a firm line on this kind of thing, but we sell fruit drops and raisins, and …’
Edison’s mother smiled in a slightly superior kind of way.
‘Oh gosh, no,’ she said. ‘There is no Reuben!’
Rosie squinted. Edison’s mother seemed to be implying that she, Rosie, was being rather stupid.
‘Reuben is his imaginary friend!’ said the woman cheerfully. ‘He’s terribly imaginative! It’s a sign of very high intelligence.’
Rosie stifled the unkind thought that if his mother dyed her hair and bought Edison a pair of normal trainers then he might not have to make imaginary friends and could make a real one, but nonetheless she arranged her face into an expression of concern.
‘OK,’ said Rosie. ‘Don’t wait up.’
Lilian smiled. And for the first time, spontaneously, and without thinking about it, Rosie leaned over and kissed her great-aunt on the cheek before she left.
The Red Lion was lively-looking on a Friday night. Rosie had never been in there before and felt tentative at the entrance, the busy noise spilling out on to the pavement with the warm light and the smokers. There was a filled water trough outside, and the sound of hearty male laughter. Rosie had noticed just how many men there were in the countryside – the farmboys, the vets, the tree surgeons, the chemists. This was probably why her female friends always complained about how difficult it was to find a man in the city. Because they’d all moved to the countryside, or never left it. It was true, Lipton was full of hunks; if you let them loose on London the women there would hold a parade. Whereas here they just carried on hoicking hay, undiscovered.
Rosie checked her lipgloss, and slight sense of nerves, and pushed the door. Inside, the wallpaper was ancient and yellow, the fire burning to stave off the early autumnal chill; big oblong tables were positioned willy-nilly around the room, with horse brasses on the walls. And there he sat, slightly awkward-looking, his boyish face and pink cheeks out of place among the tanned agricultural labourers, his shirt crumpled. In front of him was a nearly empty pint of cider and three empty crisp packets. This was her man, she thought. For the first time since she’d been so wrapped up in the giddiness of moving in together, planning their future, she looked at him, hard. Here he was. Not perfect. Well, she wasn’t perfect. And he was her bloke. Her face broke into a smile.
‘Hey!’ she said. ‘Where’s that gin and tonic?’
Two hours later, Rosie was well into the swing of things. Although Gerard did talk a little bit about what it was like to be back at his mum’s and how great it was and how he got a cooked breakfast every day, and he did suggest, after his third pint, perhaps a little too loudly, that they should nip into the bathrooms and have sex, particularly as, along with Jake and his friends, there was the vicar and Malik from the Spar within a few tables.
‘How do you know everyone already?’ said Gerard. Rosie considered telling him it was because she’d ruined Mr Isitt’s vegetable garden and as a consequence was considered by half the town to be sleeping with the other half, but she shrugged and simply said, ‘Oh, you know, small towns.’
‘I don’t,’ said Gerard. ‘It’s weird. Did you say that guy runs the Spar?’
Rosie smiled and nodded over at Malik, who was, it had to be said, quite sanguine about their opening, and had merely remarked that as long as she stayed out of booze, fags and lottery tickets they would get along fine. They occasionally made change for one another. They had a quick chat about how they expected to do on market day, and Rosie instantly regretted not getting an ice-cream fridge. Malik sold standard ice creams, so she could get in something special like Green & Black’s to appeal to older people instead … That would work well next summer, she thought. Then Jake came over to say hi, and gave Gerard such a blatant up-and-down look that Rosie found herself blushing.
‘Who’s this?’ said Jake.
‘This is … this is Gerard,’ said Rosie. ‘Uhm, my, my boyfriend.’
Gerard wiped some crisp dust off his fingers and didn’t get up.
‘Hello,’ he said amiably, ‘you’re a big fella.’
Jake gave Rosie a questioning look. She ignored him.
‘There’s a lot of blokes here,’ said Gerard, glancing around the pub.
‘Yes,’ said Rosie, smiling goodbye to Jake, who didn’t seem to take the hint.
‘We need to go and do some more gardening,’ he said. Behind him, his friends were nudging each other.
‘What, now?’ said Rosie.
Jake stuck out his bottom lip. Rosie suspected he probably found it quite easy to get women. She was just the new thing in town.
‘Soon,’ he said.
‘Yes, all right,’ said Rosie. ‘Soon.’
She took a long slug of her gin and tonic, waving politely to Hye, Maeve and Moray over in the far corner, already well into some bottles of wine. Typical doctor behaviour, she thought.
‘What is this, The Waltons?’ said Gerard, turning his head. ‘You’ve been here five minutes and you know half the town.’
‘Well, I run the local sweetshop,’ said Rosie. ‘Of course I’m going to meet a few people. And everyone knows Lilian.’
‘Yes, but …’
‘And I don’t know everyone, anyway. There’s loads of people I don’t know, like them for example.’
Rosie gestured at a random couple by the window, then realised she’d seen the woman before. The woman saw her looking and got up and came over.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m Edison’s mum.’
‘Oh, hello, nice to meet you.’
‘Well, even I’ve met Edison,’ said Gerard, throwing up his hands.
‘He liked his tooth-fairy bag,’ said Edison’s mother, stiffly. ‘I’ve tried to tell him it’s all just ridiculous superstition, but …’
‘Oh, it’s harmless,’ said Rosie.
The woman sniffed.
‘Actually,’ said Rosie, ‘I did want to ask you something.’ She stood up. The woman had naturally grey hair even though she was quite young, and wire-rimmed spectacles. She wasn’t wearing a scrap of make-up, and was very thin. Potentially, thought Rosie, she could look amazing. ‘Edison talks about his friend who isn’t allowed any sweets? I realise mothers do take quite a firm line on this kind of thing, but we sell fruit drops and raisins, and …’
Edison’s mother smiled in a slightly superior kind of way.
‘Oh gosh, no,’ she said. ‘There is no Reuben!’
Rosie squinted. Edison’s mother seemed to be implying that she, Rosie, was being rather stupid.
‘Reuben is his imaginary friend!’ said the woman cheerfully. ‘He’s terribly imaginative! It’s a sign of very high intelligence.’
Rosie stifled the unkind thought that if his mother dyed her hair and bought Edison a pair of normal trainers then he might not have to make imaginary friends and could make a real one, but nonetheless she arranged her face into an expression of concern.
