Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 86
Rosie felt her walk back to the other side of the pub would have been a lot better if she hadn’t accidentally stumbled over her shoes before she got there.
The fun had gone out of the night, and they all knew it. Tina wanted to head home anyway; the twins would be up at seven whether she had a hangover or not and that was the end of it. Rosie trailed up to bed alone, taking off the pink ruched top – what had she been thinking, she looked like she was dolled up for flamenco fancy dress. Stephen and CeeCee were probably chuckling about it right now. Rosie groaned in embarrassment. Oh God. Did he know? Of course he knew. She must have made it so obvious. But how hadn’t she known?
She had of course. A bolt of electricity had shot through her when she saw him there. She couldn’t help it. And he was going to think of her as such an idiot, a chunky little curly-haired London girl against a slender, lissom creature like CeeCee. It probably happened to him all the time before he cut his leg open. Handsome aid worker, posh family, big fuck-off house … God, what an idiot she must seem to him. He probably felt sorry for her, like George Clooney did every time he got gushed on by a TV reporter.
And she realised something worse: that when she had ditched Gerard, ditched a perfectly nice man, she had obviously, on one level, hoped there might be a chance with Stephen, that she might be in with a shot. What a totally stupid thing that had been. Of course now he was on the mend he’d have bees round the honey pot. She was lucky he had even remembered her name.
‘Bugger,’ said Rosie, out loud, her voice resounding in the silent room. ‘Bugger bugger bugger.’
Chapter Nineteen
Dear ignoramuses,
Hallowe’en is not ‘a yankee holiday’ celebrated only by gigantic toddlers wearing baseball caps back to front and spraying ‘automobiles’ with eggs. This is ignorance.
Hallowe’en is an ancient druidic holiday, one the Celtic peoples have celebrated for millennia. It is the crack between the last golden rays of summer and the dark of winter; the delicately balanced tweak of the year before it is given over entirely to the dark; a time for the souls of the departed to squint, to peek and perhaps to travel through the gap. What could be more thrilling and worthy of celebration than that? It is a time to celebrate sweet bounty, as the harvest is brought in. It is a time of excitement and pleasure for children before the dark sets in. We should all celebrate that.
Piñatas on the other hand are heathen monstrosities and have no place in a civilised society.
‘I’m not going, so stop it.’
It was 4pm on Saturday 27 October. The shop had been overrun all day, with Hallowe’en lollipops, white chocolate skeletons with raspberry icing, gum balls that looked like eyeballs, gobstoppers with teeth and large bags of economy sweets in every conceivable flavour and hue for people expecting huge parties. Tina had suggested making up special Hallowe’en bags with a few sweets in, to be handed out easily without mess, and these had proved highly popular. Edison had sat in the corner putting the sweets into bags.
‘Hester doesn’t believe in Hallowe’en,’ he said sadly. ‘She said it’s commercialised tooth-rot and encourages loutishness. She says if I like I can come to her druidic festival next week. But it always rains and I don’t like all the men with beards who hit trees.’
Rosie and Tina swapped worried glances. ‘Would you like to come out with us?’ asked Tina hurriedly. ‘Kent would love to go with you.’
Kent and Edison had become friends, which Tina mostly approved of, although she worried about Edison filling Kent’s head with nonsense. Rosie had pointed out that Kent was robust enough to figure out the world for himself, and ever since they’d started playing together Edison had hardly mentioned Reuben, his imaginary friend, and Tina had been mollified. It was a little hard on Emily though.
‘Yes you are,’ came the crotchety voice over the loudspeaker. ‘Tina, you tell her.’
‘I would love to go,’ said Tina. ‘Jake and I supposedly have a date and I can’t seem to get further than the bloody Red Lion!’
Rosie stuck her lip out.
‘It is going to be full of bloody nobbers, all of whom will look down their noses at me – you wouldn’t believe what the woman in the pub was like – and go “Hwa hwa hwa” when they laugh and dance with swords and talk about horses. Of course I’m not going. I’m staying in to watch The X Factor and it will be lovely.’
‘Did you ever go to those balls, Miss Hopkins?’ asked Tina.
Lilian was silent for a while. Then, ‘Not at first. Of course, she was the girl of the big house, I was just the sweetshop lady. But then the world changed, and lots of new people moved into town, and it suddenly didn’t seem to matter quite so much exactly who your parents were, and then we somehow … we became friends. We’d had a lot of people in common growing up. But it was too late for me by then!’
‘Too late for what?’ said Rosie. ‘If you say “to find a husband” I’m going to put you in a dogs’ home.’
‘To really enjoy the dancing of course. And the beautiful gowns, and the champagne that flows all night, and the wonderful food, and the romance of it all, the men so handsome.’
‘Argh!’ said Tina. ‘Honestly, I am going to go and say I’m you. They won’t care.’
‘You should,’ said Lilian.
‘I won’t,’ said Tina. ‘Someone would hand me a tray of empty glasses before I’d been there five minutes, I know it.’
The bell tinged, and Lady Lipton breezed in, imperious as ever.
‘Ah!’ she said. ‘It’s the little scarecrow. How are you?’ She eyed Rosie. ‘Still not got any clothes sent up for the winter?’ She was looking at Rosie’s floral frock. It was freezing outside now, incredible given that it wasn’t even November. The ground was frosted over every morning; Lilian’s garden looked like a twinkling fairyland.
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
‘But what are you wearing tonight?’
Rosie looked at the ground.
‘Not that, I hope. You know, it is formal.’
‘Uhm,’ said Rosie.
‘Well, come on, spit it out. Also, you.’ She meant Tina. ‘I need all the eyeball gobstoppers you have. I think it will be hilarious for my guests.’
Tina jumped to it. Rosie couldn’t bear the rudeness.
The fun had gone out of the night, and they all knew it. Tina wanted to head home anyway; the twins would be up at seven whether she had a hangover or not and that was the end of it. Rosie trailed up to bed alone, taking off the pink ruched top – what had she been thinking, she looked like she was dolled up for flamenco fancy dress. Stephen and CeeCee were probably chuckling about it right now. Rosie groaned in embarrassment. Oh God. Did he know? Of course he knew. She must have made it so obvious. But how hadn’t she known?
She had of course. A bolt of electricity had shot through her when she saw him there. She couldn’t help it. And he was going to think of her as such an idiot, a chunky little curly-haired London girl against a slender, lissom creature like CeeCee. It probably happened to him all the time before he cut his leg open. Handsome aid worker, posh family, big fuck-off house … God, what an idiot she must seem to him. He probably felt sorry for her, like George Clooney did every time he got gushed on by a TV reporter.
And she realised something worse: that when she had ditched Gerard, ditched a perfectly nice man, she had obviously, on one level, hoped there might be a chance with Stephen, that she might be in with a shot. What a totally stupid thing that had been. Of course now he was on the mend he’d have bees round the honey pot. She was lucky he had even remembered her name.
‘Bugger,’ said Rosie, out loud, her voice resounding in the silent room. ‘Bugger bugger bugger.’
Chapter Nineteen
Dear ignoramuses,
Hallowe’en is not ‘a yankee holiday’ celebrated only by gigantic toddlers wearing baseball caps back to front and spraying ‘automobiles’ with eggs. This is ignorance.
Hallowe’en is an ancient druidic holiday, one the Celtic peoples have celebrated for millennia. It is the crack between the last golden rays of summer and the dark of winter; the delicately balanced tweak of the year before it is given over entirely to the dark; a time for the souls of the departed to squint, to peek and perhaps to travel through the gap. What could be more thrilling and worthy of celebration than that? It is a time to celebrate sweet bounty, as the harvest is brought in. It is a time of excitement and pleasure for children before the dark sets in. We should all celebrate that.
Piñatas on the other hand are heathen monstrosities and have no place in a civilised society.
‘I’m not going, so stop it.’
It was 4pm on Saturday 27 October. The shop had been overrun all day, with Hallowe’en lollipops, white chocolate skeletons with raspberry icing, gum balls that looked like eyeballs, gobstoppers with teeth and large bags of economy sweets in every conceivable flavour and hue for people expecting huge parties. Tina had suggested making up special Hallowe’en bags with a few sweets in, to be handed out easily without mess, and these had proved highly popular. Edison had sat in the corner putting the sweets into bags.
‘Hester doesn’t believe in Hallowe’en,’ he said sadly. ‘She said it’s commercialised tooth-rot and encourages loutishness. She says if I like I can come to her druidic festival next week. But it always rains and I don’t like all the men with beards who hit trees.’
Rosie and Tina swapped worried glances. ‘Would you like to come out with us?’ asked Tina hurriedly. ‘Kent would love to go with you.’
Kent and Edison had become friends, which Tina mostly approved of, although she worried about Edison filling Kent’s head with nonsense. Rosie had pointed out that Kent was robust enough to figure out the world for himself, and ever since they’d started playing together Edison had hardly mentioned Reuben, his imaginary friend, and Tina had been mollified. It was a little hard on Emily though.
‘Yes you are,’ came the crotchety voice over the loudspeaker. ‘Tina, you tell her.’
‘I would love to go,’ said Tina. ‘Jake and I supposedly have a date and I can’t seem to get further than the bloody Red Lion!’
Rosie stuck her lip out.
‘It is going to be full of bloody nobbers, all of whom will look down their noses at me – you wouldn’t believe what the woman in the pub was like – and go “Hwa hwa hwa” when they laugh and dance with swords and talk about horses. Of course I’m not going. I’m staying in to watch The X Factor and it will be lovely.’
‘Did you ever go to those balls, Miss Hopkins?’ asked Tina.
Lilian was silent for a while. Then, ‘Not at first. Of course, she was the girl of the big house, I was just the sweetshop lady. But then the world changed, and lots of new people moved into town, and it suddenly didn’t seem to matter quite so much exactly who your parents were, and then we somehow … we became friends. We’d had a lot of people in common growing up. But it was too late for me by then!’
‘Too late for what?’ said Rosie. ‘If you say “to find a husband” I’m going to put you in a dogs’ home.’
‘To really enjoy the dancing of course. And the beautiful gowns, and the champagne that flows all night, and the wonderful food, and the romance of it all, the men so handsome.’
‘Argh!’ said Tina. ‘Honestly, I am going to go and say I’m you. They won’t care.’
‘You should,’ said Lilian.
‘I won’t,’ said Tina. ‘Someone would hand me a tray of empty glasses before I’d been there five minutes, I know it.’
The bell tinged, and Lady Lipton breezed in, imperious as ever.
‘Ah!’ she said. ‘It’s the little scarecrow. How are you?’ She eyed Rosie. ‘Still not got any clothes sent up for the winter?’ She was looking at Rosie’s floral frock. It was freezing outside now, incredible given that it wasn’t even November. The ground was frosted over every morning; Lilian’s garden looked like a twinkling fairyland.
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
‘But what are you wearing tonight?’
Rosie looked at the ground.
‘Not that, I hope. You know, it is formal.’
‘Uhm,’ said Rosie.
‘Well, come on, spit it out. Also, you.’ She meant Tina. ‘I need all the eyeball gobstoppers you have. I think it will be hilarious for my guests.’
Tina jumped to it. Rosie couldn’t bear the rudeness.
