Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 85
Finally, shooshing each other as they crept past Lilian, and giggling their heads off, they set out for the Red Lion.
‘All right, girls,’ said Les as they pushed open the door. ‘Ooh, look at you two, going somewhere fancy?’
Tina started to sigh, but Rosie said, ‘Of course! Here! For you, Les!’ Amazingly, this made him smile, and the normal residents grin. One of the farmers came forward and asked to buy them their first gin and tonic and from then on they were happily ensconced by the fire.
‘This,’ said Rosie, ‘is because of my terrible reputation.’
But it wasn’t Rosie who was getting all the attention – it was Tina.
‘We never thought we’d see you out again after Todd left,’ said Jim Hodds, the vet, who was enjoying a rare and well-deserved night off.
Tina smiled. ‘Well, you know, it’s been hard.’
‘Why didn’t you come out, see some people?’ asked another. ‘We’re always here.’
‘Yeah, always here.’
The farmers were good company, cheeky and funny and flirtatious over the course of the next few hours.
When she got up to go to the loo, Rosie realised instantly that she was drunk. Well, not drinking much for months then inventing ridiculous cocktails of vodka and whatnot would do that to you. She found herself making a silly face in the mirror, then putting her lipstick on slightly wonky. Oh well, they were having fun. And it was nice to see Tina happy again. It couldn’t be easy looking after twins on your own. She wobbled slightly coming out of the toilet. Then she blinked, and blinked again, just in case her eyes were deceiving her. They weren’t. Sitting in the corner with his back to her, his stick on the floor, his face filled out, his hair desperately in need of a cut, was Stephen Lakeman.
Had she not had some vodkas, and gin and tonics, and unwarranted admiration from Lipton’s many single menfolk, Rosie would probably have thought twice about what she did next. Instead, emboldened and in a rash mood, she marched straight up to him.
‘Hey!’ she yelled. ‘Not a phone call? Not a word? What kind of a grateful ex are you?’
She meant, of course, ex-patient. But it came out wrong. Stephen, startled, turned round hastily, and Rosie noticed that the other person at his table was a girl. And not just any girl. A long-haired, very slender, wide-eyed blonde girl, with a flick to her hair. She flicked it now, then glanced up at Stephen. It was not a friendly glance. It was a ‘Who the hell is this?’ glance.
‘Hello?’ she said enquiringly. She wasn’t local, Rosie noticed straight away. She was from the south, just like her. It came to her suddenly. She must be a jag!
Stephen looked uncomfortable, and ran his fingers through his hair.
‘Uhm,’ he said. ‘Hi. Hello.’
Even in her fuddled state, it was obvious to Rosie that something was up. She felt like she was intruding. And worse: she realised, in a horrible, blinding flash, that whatever she’d said to Tina or told herself she believed, she did have feelings for Stephen. Not pity or tenderness or the proper professional concern of a carer for a former patient. Nothing like that at all. Real feelings. Real feelings that were being whipped into a frenzy of jealousy by this woman here with the flicky hair.
‘Uhm,’ said Stephen again. Rosie wondered about this too. He was obviously uncomfortable. But why? If she was just a nurse to him, he wouldn’t feel embarrassed, would he? He’d be perfectly happy to introduce her. The fact that it was awkward … A tiny pilot light lit inside her. If he … if he …
‘This is Rosie,’ said Stephen. ‘She was my nurse.’
The light inside Rosie sputtered and died. His what?
‘Uhm, Rosie, this is CeeCee.’
CeeCee? The girl gave her a tight social smile that basically said, back off, I am chatting up the hot young aristocrat. She reminded Rosie of the girls you saw on TV at Formula 1. All blonde and skinny and identical – and desperate to hang around the rich boys.
‘Nice to meet you,’ drawled CeeCee in the most languid way imaginable, before picking up her iPhone. She put it down to add, ‘Oh, darling, Kibs and Francesca have also been dying to know what you’ve been up to.’
‘Oh, yes, well,’ stammered Stephen. He really wasn’t himself at all. Rosie hadn’t felt so ignored since the last time she tried to rouse a ketamine addict in A&E.
‘Uh-huh,’ she said. ‘Well, I didn’t mean to barge in. Bye!’
She had started to retreat to her gang, when Stephen turned to her. CeeCee busied herself putting on more lipgloss.
‘Uhm,’ he said, his face going bright red. ‘Thank you. Again.’
‘All part of the nursing service,’ said Rosie tightly. Stephen blinked a couple of times.
‘Uh. Oh,’ he said. She had never known him lost for words. ‘I meant, thanks for telling me to talk to Mother.’
‘Mother?’
‘Yes. Mother. Female thing. Gave birth to me.’
Well, the old Stephen hadn’t disappeared completely.
‘Anyway. We’ve been getting on a lot better. Thank you.’
‘Who’s that?’ said Rosie bluntly.
CeeCee looked as out of place in the cosy confines of the Red Lion as a tropical fish in a goldfish bowl. Her shoes had red soles. She was talking loudly on her iPhone.
‘Uhm, it’s an old friend of mine …’
‘Oh, it was so nice of her to spend so much time with you when you were poorly,’ said Rosie. ‘Still, now you’re on the mend and set to inherit, it’s lovely she’s made the trip.’
Stephen gave her a sharp look.
‘I’d better go,’ she said.
‘Maybe you had,’ he said. ‘You’re not being very nice.’
‘Maybe I’m not very nice.’
Stephen half smiled. ‘Well, neither am I.’
‘I bet she isn’t either,’ said Rosie, knowing she’d gone too far this time. There was tension in the air as they looked at one another. Then Stephen laughed.
‘Are you coming to Mother’s – sorry, Ma’s or Mummy’s or Lala’s or whatever they use round your way, obviously the only acceptable way you can talk about the person who gave birth to you. Are you coming to the ball?’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘I won’t know a single person there. There’s not one single nice person I like from the village going. It’ll be full of people like CeeCee and your mum treats me horribly. But thanks for asking.’
‘All right, girls,’ said Les as they pushed open the door. ‘Ooh, look at you two, going somewhere fancy?’
Tina started to sigh, but Rosie said, ‘Of course! Here! For you, Les!’ Amazingly, this made him smile, and the normal residents grin. One of the farmers came forward and asked to buy them their first gin and tonic and from then on they were happily ensconced by the fire.
‘This,’ said Rosie, ‘is because of my terrible reputation.’
But it wasn’t Rosie who was getting all the attention – it was Tina.
‘We never thought we’d see you out again after Todd left,’ said Jim Hodds, the vet, who was enjoying a rare and well-deserved night off.
Tina smiled. ‘Well, you know, it’s been hard.’
‘Why didn’t you come out, see some people?’ asked another. ‘We’re always here.’
‘Yeah, always here.’
The farmers were good company, cheeky and funny and flirtatious over the course of the next few hours.
When she got up to go to the loo, Rosie realised instantly that she was drunk. Well, not drinking much for months then inventing ridiculous cocktails of vodka and whatnot would do that to you. She found herself making a silly face in the mirror, then putting her lipstick on slightly wonky. Oh well, they were having fun. And it was nice to see Tina happy again. It couldn’t be easy looking after twins on your own. She wobbled slightly coming out of the toilet. Then she blinked, and blinked again, just in case her eyes were deceiving her. They weren’t. Sitting in the corner with his back to her, his stick on the floor, his face filled out, his hair desperately in need of a cut, was Stephen Lakeman.
Had she not had some vodkas, and gin and tonics, and unwarranted admiration from Lipton’s many single menfolk, Rosie would probably have thought twice about what she did next. Instead, emboldened and in a rash mood, she marched straight up to him.
‘Hey!’ she yelled. ‘Not a phone call? Not a word? What kind of a grateful ex are you?’
She meant, of course, ex-patient. But it came out wrong. Stephen, startled, turned round hastily, and Rosie noticed that the other person at his table was a girl. And not just any girl. A long-haired, very slender, wide-eyed blonde girl, with a flick to her hair. She flicked it now, then glanced up at Stephen. It was not a friendly glance. It was a ‘Who the hell is this?’ glance.
‘Hello?’ she said enquiringly. She wasn’t local, Rosie noticed straight away. She was from the south, just like her. It came to her suddenly. She must be a jag!
Stephen looked uncomfortable, and ran his fingers through his hair.
‘Uhm,’ he said. ‘Hi. Hello.’
Even in her fuddled state, it was obvious to Rosie that something was up. She felt like she was intruding. And worse: she realised, in a horrible, blinding flash, that whatever she’d said to Tina or told herself she believed, she did have feelings for Stephen. Not pity or tenderness or the proper professional concern of a carer for a former patient. Nothing like that at all. Real feelings. Real feelings that were being whipped into a frenzy of jealousy by this woman here with the flicky hair.
‘Uhm,’ said Stephen again. Rosie wondered about this too. He was obviously uncomfortable. But why? If she was just a nurse to him, he wouldn’t feel embarrassed, would he? He’d be perfectly happy to introduce her. The fact that it was awkward … A tiny pilot light lit inside her. If he … if he …
‘This is Rosie,’ said Stephen. ‘She was my nurse.’
The light inside Rosie sputtered and died. His what?
‘Uhm, Rosie, this is CeeCee.’
CeeCee? The girl gave her a tight social smile that basically said, back off, I am chatting up the hot young aristocrat. She reminded Rosie of the girls you saw on TV at Formula 1. All blonde and skinny and identical – and desperate to hang around the rich boys.
‘Nice to meet you,’ drawled CeeCee in the most languid way imaginable, before picking up her iPhone. She put it down to add, ‘Oh, darling, Kibs and Francesca have also been dying to know what you’ve been up to.’
‘Oh, yes, well,’ stammered Stephen. He really wasn’t himself at all. Rosie hadn’t felt so ignored since the last time she tried to rouse a ketamine addict in A&E.
‘Uh-huh,’ she said. ‘Well, I didn’t mean to barge in. Bye!’
She had started to retreat to her gang, when Stephen turned to her. CeeCee busied herself putting on more lipgloss.
‘Uhm,’ he said, his face going bright red. ‘Thank you. Again.’
‘All part of the nursing service,’ said Rosie tightly. Stephen blinked a couple of times.
‘Uh. Oh,’ he said. She had never known him lost for words. ‘I meant, thanks for telling me to talk to Mother.’
‘Mother?’
‘Yes. Mother. Female thing. Gave birth to me.’
Well, the old Stephen hadn’t disappeared completely.
‘Anyway. We’ve been getting on a lot better. Thank you.’
‘Who’s that?’ said Rosie bluntly.
CeeCee looked as out of place in the cosy confines of the Red Lion as a tropical fish in a goldfish bowl. Her shoes had red soles. She was talking loudly on her iPhone.
‘Uhm, it’s an old friend of mine …’
‘Oh, it was so nice of her to spend so much time with you when you were poorly,’ said Rosie. ‘Still, now you’re on the mend and set to inherit, it’s lovely she’s made the trip.’
Stephen gave her a sharp look.
‘I’d better go,’ she said.
‘Maybe you had,’ he said. ‘You’re not being very nice.’
‘Maybe I’m not very nice.’
Stephen half smiled. ‘Well, neither am I.’
‘I bet she isn’t either,’ said Rosie, knowing she’d gone too far this time. There was tension in the air as they looked at one another. Then Stephen laughed.
‘Are you coming to Mother’s – sorry, Ma’s or Mummy’s or Lala’s or whatever they use round your way, obviously the only acceptable way you can talk about the person who gave birth to you. Are you coming to the ball?’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘I won’t know a single person there. There’s not one single nice person I like from the village going. It’ll be full of people like CeeCee and your mum treats me horribly. But thanks for asking.’
