Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 89
‘Yes,’ agreed Tina.
Rosie felt herself grow uncomfortably hot. She’d forgotten Lilian would have overheard the entire conversation she and Tina had had about Stephen.
‘Well, he won’t,’ she said.
‘Why not?’ said Lilian. ‘Stranger things have happened. Sometimes the handsomest man in the village does notice the girl with the dark hair.’
‘Not if it’s me,’ said Rosie.
‘I think Jake’s the handsomest man in the village,’ said Tina.
‘Yes,’ said Rosie. ‘Closely followed by Moray.’
‘Yup.’
But they’re not the ones I like, Rosie found herself thinking. They’re not the ones I want.
‘If Hetty thinks her son is too good for my great-niece, she’s got another think coming,’ said Lilian. ‘Go into my bedroom. The large armoire.’
‘The what?’
‘What do they teach you at school these days? The wardrobe. Tch!’
Rosie did as she was bid. It was a huge old thing. Inside it smelled of camphor and beeswax. The clothes were packed so closely together it was hard to see what was in there.
‘Count six from the far right side,’ said Lilian. ‘No. Seven.’
Everything was in dry-cleaning bags, immaculately ironed and hung. Rosie gasped as she started to leaf through them. There were beaded gowns in jewel shades; bright hot fuchsias; a jacket with a proper fox trim. Tina came charging in and her eyes widened.
‘Oh my God, look at this stuff.’ She popped her head back into the sitting room. ‘No wonder you always look so immaculate. This is a treasure trove in here.’
Lilian shrugged and tried not to look pleased.
‘Well, everyone needs a hobby,’ she said.
Tina pulled out things here and there, unheeding of Lilian’s commands not to. But it was the dress seventh from the end that drew the eye. Lilian had been absolutely right.
There was a faint, not unpleasant hint of perfume as Rosie pulled the cool green silk over her head. It shimmered; almost iridescent. It wasn’t a forest green, or a racing green; more of a dark emerald, but the material itself was so light it seemed to dance before the eyes. Rosie was convinced it would be too small, but there was ruching along the back, cleverly concealed at the waist.
‘It’s to allow room for dancing,’ grumbled Lilian when she saw her. ‘Of course you stretch it out.’
‘You were bigger then though,’ argued Rosie.
‘I was,’ said Lilian. ‘You’d think you’d be happy that being terribly old helps you lose weight. I assure you, you won’t be.’
Finally, however, Rosie wriggled and shrugged and felt the material flow over her hips with a soft swooshing sound. She could tell by the way Lilian and Tina had gone silent that they approved.
‘What?’ she said. Lilian, suddenly, quickly, found herself wanting to look away. Rosie was a softer-looking girl than she had been; not so angular; her nose not so long, her shoulders not so pointy. But something in the long, dark curling hair and the wide pink mouth caught and tugged hard on Lilian’s memory; the memory of a hopeful young woman in front of a full-length mirror, waiting, and waiting, until there was no point in waiting any more, and then continuing to wait, in pretty dresses, even when she knew that what she was waiting for would never come …
‘You look amazing,’ said Tina. ‘That colour is gorgeous on you!’
Rosie dashed off to the full-length mirror over the bath. She couldn’t help smiling at what she saw there. Odd, really – and, frankly, annoying when you thought about it – but a few months of staying off the late nights, and getting a bit of fresh air, and not eating takeaways, or nicking all the chocolates patients brought into the wards; of not working nights, or wrestling catheters at 4am, or blearily making her way home through the dawn and trying to sleep through car alarms and buses and parties and deliveries and noises in a busy London street; it had changed her. She could see it. Her skin looked soft and creamy, with a pink blush in her cheeks that she identified, correctly, as excitement. Her grey eyes were clear, and the green in the beautiful silk dress made them shine. Shed of her practical clothing and slouching demeanour, she felt …
Well. Beautiful would be silly, she told herself. But really, this was as good as it was going to get.
She went back into the sitting room, grinning.
‘All right, all right,’ said Tina. ‘Look at you, cat who’s got the cream. OK, so you look lovely.’
‘Sorry,’ said Rosie. ‘I will go back to being my normal grumpy self immediately.’
She caught sight of her great-aunt’s stricken face.
‘Lilian,’ she said, darting forward. ‘Lilian! Are you all right? Are you feeling all right? Show me your left hand.’ She turned back to Tina. ‘I’ll have to stay behind, I can’t go.’
‘Stop being daft,’ said Lilian. ‘I was just thinking how nice you look. Now, go into the larder and look behind the mustard box on the highest shelf. Carefully.’
They put the ancient, dusty, exquisite bottle of champagne into the freezer, on Tina’s advice.
‘Probably ruin it,’ she said with a nervous giggle.
‘It was probably ruined a long time ago,’ said Lilian. ‘It’ll be the most undrinkable muck, probably.’
‘Stop being such a pessimist,’ said Rosie. ‘I can’t believe you’ve had that there all this time. It could be worth a fortune. Can’t you sell it?’
Lilian shrugged. ‘It won’t be worth that much. Anyway, sell it so you can pack me off to a home? Not bloody likely.’
‘Actually I was thinking we could use the money to hire a nurse for a bit, so there,’ said Rosie.
‘You’d never guess you two were related,’ said Tina.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter what Miss Green Dress says,’ said Lilian, undaunted. ‘That is my bottle of champagne. Your granpa Gordon liberated it during the war and brought it all the way back to Derbyshire. He brought two actually. We drank the first one to celebrate Gordon being home – he said it would be like drinking stars. I thought he was talking rubbish myself. But by his second glass, my da was singing a stupid song about blackbirds I hadn’t heard since my ma died. We spent the whole afternoon just laughing, and talking about Neddy – that was my middle brother, he died in the war – and, well. It was the first time I’d been happy in a long time. And then we were going to keep the second one for Terence coming home, but then we weren’t all there together, and he was always so low-key anyway, hated any fuss, didn’t even invite us to his wedding, the bugger. So we never drank it. Then your granpa went off to London and that was the end of that branch of the family, till a few months ago.’
Rosie felt herself grow uncomfortably hot. She’d forgotten Lilian would have overheard the entire conversation she and Tina had had about Stephen.
‘Well, he won’t,’ she said.
‘Why not?’ said Lilian. ‘Stranger things have happened. Sometimes the handsomest man in the village does notice the girl with the dark hair.’
‘Not if it’s me,’ said Rosie.
‘I think Jake’s the handsomest man in the village,’ said Tina.
‘Yes,’ said Rosie. ‘Closely followed by Moray.’
‘Yup.’
But they’re not the ones I like, Rosie found herself thinking. They’re not the ones I want.
‘If Hetty thinks her son is too good for my great-niece, she’s got another think coming,’ said Lilian. ‘Go into my bedroom. The large armoire.’
‘The what?’
‘What do they teach you at school these days? The wardrobe. Tch!’
Rosie did as she was bid. It was a huge old thing. Inside it smelled of camphor and beeswax. The clothes were packed so closely together it was hard to see what was in there.
‘Count six from the far right side,’ said Lilian. ‘No. Seven.’
Everything was in dry-cleaning bags, immaculately ironed and hung. Rosie gasped as she started to leaf through them. There were beaded gowns in jewel shades; bright hot fuchsias; a jacket with a proper fox trim. Tina came charging in and her eyes widened.
‘Oh my God, look at this stuff.’ She popped her head back into the sitting room. ‘No wonder you always look so immaculate. This is a treasure trove in here.’
Lilian shrugged and tried not to look pleased.
‘Well, everyone needs a hobby,’ she said.
Tina pulled out things here and there, unheeding of Lilian’s commands not to. But it was the dress seventh from the end that drew the eye. Lilian had been absolutely right.
There was a faint, not unpleasant hint of perfume as Rosie pulled the cool green silk over her head. It shimmered; almost iridescent. It wasn’t a forest green, or a racing green; more of a dark emerald, but the material itself was so light it seemed to dance before the eyes. Rosie was convinced it would be too small, but there was ruching along the back, cleverly concealed at the waist.
‘It’s to allow room for dancing,’ grumbled Lilian when she saw her. ‘Of course you stretch it out.’
‘You were bigger then though,’ argued Rosie.
‘I was,’ said Lilian. ‘You’d think you’d be happy that being terribly old helps you lose weight. I assure you, you won’t be.’
Finally, however, Rosie wriggled and shrugged and felt the material flow over her hips with a soft swooshing sound. She could tell by the way Lilian and Tina had gone silent that they approved.
‘What?’ she said. Lilian, suddenly, quickly, found herself wanting to look away. Rosie was a softer-looking girl than she had been; not so angular; her nose not so long, her shoulders not so pointy. But something in the long, dark curling hair and the wide pink mouth caught and tugged hard on Lilian’s memory; the memory of a hopeful young woman in front of a full-length mirror, waiting, and waiting, until there was no point in waiting any more, and then continuing to wait, in pretty dresses, even when she knew that what she was waiting for would never come …
‘You look amazing,’ said Tina. ‘That colour is gorgeous on you!’
Rosie dashed off to the full-length mirror over the bath. She couldn’t help smiling at what she saw there. Odd, really – and, frankly, annoying when you thought about it – but a few months of staying off the late nights, and getting a bit of fresh air, and not eating takeaways, or nicking all the chocolates patients brought into the wards; of not working nights, or wrestling catheters at 4am, or blearily making her way home through the dawn and trying to sleep through car alarms and buses and parties and deliveries and noises in a busy London street; it had changed her. She could see it. Her skin looked soft and creamy, with a pink blush in her cheeks that she identified, correctly, as excitement. Her grey eyes were clear, and the green in the beautiful silk dress made them shine. Shed of her practical clothing and slouching demeanour, she felt …
Well. Beautiful would be silly, she told herself. But really, this was as good as it was going to get.
She went back into the sitting room, grinning.
‘All right, all right,’ said Tina. ‘Look at you, cat who’s got the cream. OK, so you look lovely.’
‘Sorry,’ said Rosie. ‘I will go back to being my normal grumpy self immediately.’
She caught sight of her great-aunt’s stricken face.
‘Lilian,’ she said, darting forward. ‘Lilian! Are you all right? Are you feeling all right? Show me your left hand.’ She turned back to Tina. ‘I’ll have to stay behind, I can’t go.’
‘Stop being daft,’ said Lilian. ‘I was just thinking how nice you look. Now, go into the larder and look behind the mustard box on the highest shelf. Carefully.’
They put the ancient, dusty, exquisite bottle of champagne into the freezer, on Tina’s advice.
‘Probably ruin it,’ she said with a nervous giggle.
‘It was probably ruined a long time ago,’ said Lilian. ‘It’ll be the most undrinkable muck, probably.’
‘Stop being such a pessimist,’ said Rosie. ‘I can’t believe you’ve had that there all this time. It could be worth a fortune. Can’t you sell it?’
Lilian shrugged. ‘It won’t be worth that much. Anyway, sell it so you can pack me off to a home? Not bloody likely.’
‘Actually I was thinking we could use the money to hire a nurse for a bit, so there,’ said Rosie.
‘You’d never guess you two were related,’ said Tina.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter what Miss Green Dress says,’ said Lilian, undaunted. ‘That is my bottle of champagne. Your granpa Gordon liberated it during the war and brought it all the way back to Derbyshire. He brought two actually. We drank the first one to celebrate Gordon being home – he said it would be like drinking stars. I thought he was talking rubbish myself. But by his second glass, my da was singing a stupid song about blackbirds I hadn’t heard since my ma died. We spent the whole afternoon just laughing, and talking about Neddy – that was my middle brother, he died in the war – and, well. It was the first time I’d been happy in a long time. And then we were going to keep the second one for Terence coming home, but then we weren’t all there together, and he was always so low-key anyway, hated any fuss, didn’t even invite us to his wedding, the bugger. So we never drank it. Then your granpa went off to London and that was the end of that branch of the family, till a few months ago.’
