Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 92
She felt, suddenly, as if she were being watched and turned, swiftly. Just inside the doors, in the corner of the ballroom, was a dark area filled with sofas and chairs. She had barely registered that a large group had moved there, but she saw it now, and was just in time to catch Stephen’s eyes on her. He glanced away quickly, as she gave a slightly awkward smile through the open door. He was surrounded. CeeCee was there, looking unbelievable in a cutting-edge metallic silver dress, with fierce studded shoes. On anyone not tall and skinny and stunning it might have looked a bit scary. On CeeCee it looked incredibly scary, but also utterly amazing. There were other girls there, many blonde, or with thick sheets of straight hair that covered their eyes, and dresses in pale nudes or sheer fabrics or plain unadorned black. Suddenly Rosie felt a silly wearing green, like a little girl in her party frock.
And there were other young men, Stephen’s age, obviously his friends, laughing and drinking his mother’s champagne and flirting with the girls and teasing each other. One was wearing the most ludicrous pair of tartan trousers.
Where were they? Rosie found herself thinking. Where were they when he was sitting by himself in the kitchen, pouring whisky down his throat?
She composed herself to give the coolest, most distantly polite hello she knew how – it was, she knew, the only way. She risked another look, but of course his attention was elsewhere. How foolish, she thought, remembering how she’d looked at herself in the mirror. As if she compared to these model girls. But she knew that already. She was not going to be downhearted.
To her delight, Moray came towards her, waving madly.
‘Dinner!’ he said. ‘You have to be quick, these country types enjoy their grub and they don’t hang about.’
‘Excellent,’ she said, proffering her arm. He might be the only gay in the village, but Stephen’s stuck-up chums weren’t to know that.
‘Hello,’ she said to Stephen politely as she passed by.
‘Hi,’ said Stephen shortly. Rosie hoped he remained as rude and as grumpy with CeeCee until the day he died.
‘Hi, CeeCee,’ she said. CeeCee looked up from a conversation and did nothing to disguise the fact that she had not the faintest idea whether she’d ever met Rosie before.
‘Oh yeah, hi,’ she said, then turned back to her friend.
‘That’s CeeCee,’ said Rosie to Moray, loud enough for Stephen to hear. ‘She’s very special.’
Stephen didn’t react.
‘Well, it was nice of your mother to invite your nurse,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m going to find her to say thanks.’
‘I don’t …’ Stephen started but then couldn’t go on.
‘What?’
‘I don’t think of you as my nurse,’ he said.
‘You just call me your nurse.’
‘No. No.’
‘Lippy!’ came a loud voice. An enormous pack of rugger buggers was crossing the floor. ‘You weapon!’
Stephen looked crestfallen. ‘Oh God.’
‘Dinner!’ said Moray.
‘You utter weapon!’ shouted the rugby boys.
Rosie waved her hand.
‘I’ll just …’ she stuttered.
Stephen was engulfed, as Moray walked her across the ballroom and in to dinner.
‘Well, well,’ he said.
‘What?’ said Rosie.
‘How long have you had a little soft spot for our lord of the manor?’
‘I do not …’ Rosie felt herself turn pink. ‘Never mind. I know everyone fancies him.’
‘Christ, yes,’ said Moray. ‘Oh well.’
‘Is that why you never wanted to look at his leg?’ said Rosie.
‘No, that’s because he’s an irritating arsehole obsessed with the moral high ground,’ said Moray. ‘It was miles easier just to get a pretty girl to do it.’
‘Aw, thanks.’ Rosie slumped.
‘You need more champagne,’ said Moray, though even before he did so his little acolyte had appeared, bearing more glasses.
‘Thanks,’ said Rosie. ‘Oh, sorry. This is lovely. It’s all just silly bollocks, that’s all. I’m like a teenager with a crush.’
They both looked in the young girl’s direction, who blushed bright red when she saw Moray’s eyes on her.
‘Christ,’ said Moray, ‘let’s get into the dining room immediately.’
‘That’s exactly what Stephen thinks about me,’ said Rosie. ‘Bugger it.’
The dining room was more of a dining hall, with round tables set up with autumnal leaf arrangements and bright red poinsettia. Each table had a little pumpkin on it. Most people were already seated, the men smart, even Rosie had to admit, in their bright red hunting jackets, the women wearing all their jewellery, with their hair done and their lipstick bright. It was a nice sight, after all, made even nicer when they found their table was full of other fun young people from the village, the farmers and their wives, who outdid each other with filthy stories and silliness. Rosie could see that they got out so seldom, and their lives were full of such hard work, that they were determined to enjoy their night to the full, and they heckled the speeches and imitated the hunting horns that were blown to announce each course: mulligatawny soup, roast pheasant with autumn vegetables and game chips, and a splendid rhubarb crumble made with rhubarb from the gardens.
‘There is not,’ announced Rosie, ‘enough ruching in this dress.’
Tina and Jake were nowhere to be seen. Someone said that they’d spotted them in the orangery – a long, low conservatory running along the south face of the house – and Rosie decided to leave them to it. She couldn’t even see Stephen, and did her best to forget all about him, helped by the tremendous food, and a story about pig insemination she suspected she wouldn’t be able to forget even if she tried.
The noise in the great rooms grew louder and louder as dinner finally ended and everyone repaired next door. One room was to have disco dancing, the other proper reeling. Rosie wanted to stay in the disco room, but Moray was adamant.
‘No way,’ he said. ‘How many times are you going to come to a thing like this if you piss off back to London?’
‘Are you sure you don’t want to come to London with me?’ said Rosie. ‘I think you’d like it.’
And there were other young men, Stephen’s age, obviously his friends, laughing and drinking his mother’s champagne and flirting with the girls and teasing each other. One was wearing the most ludicrous pair of tartan trousers.
Where were they? Rosie found herself thinking. Where were they when he was sitting by himself in the kitchen, pouring whisky down his throat?
She composed herself to give the coolest, most distantly polite hello she knew how – it was, she knew, the only way. She risked another look, but of course his attention was elsewhere. How foolish, she thought, remembering how she’d looked at herself in the mirror. As if she compared to these model girls. But she knew that already. She was not going to be downhearted.
To her delight, Moray came towards her, waving madly.
‘Dinner!’ he said. ‘You have to be quick, these country types enjoy their grub and they don’t hang about.’
‘Excellent,’ she said, proffering her arm. He might be the only gay in the village, but Stephen’s stuck-up chums weren’t to know that.
‘Hello,’ she said to Stephen politely as she passed by.
‘Hi,’ said Stephen shortly. Rosie hoped he remained as rude and as grumpy with CeeCee until the day he died.
‘Hi, CeeCee,’ she said. CeeCee looked up from a conversation and did nothing to disguise the fact that she had not the faintest idea whether she’d ever met Rosie before.
‘Oh yeah, hi,’ she said, then turned back to her friend.
‘That’s CeeCee,’ said Rosie to Moray, loud enough for Stephen to hear. ‘She’s very special.’
Stephen didn’t react.
‘Well, it was nice of your mother to invite your nurse,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m going to find her to say thanks.’
‘I don’t …’ Stephen started but then couldn’t go on.
‘What?’
‘I don’t think of you as my nurse,’ he said.
‘You just call me your nurse.’
‘No. No.’
‘Lippy!’ came a loud voice. An enormous pack of rugger buggers was crossing the floor. ‘You weapon!’
Stephen looked crestfallen. ‘Oh God.’
‘Dinner!’ said Moray.
‘You utter weapon!’ shouted the rugby boys.
Rosie waved her hand.
‘I’ll just …’ she stuttered.
Stephen was engulfed, as Moray walked her across the ballroom and in to dinner.
‘Well, well,’ he said.
‘What?’ said Rosie.
‘How long have you had a little soft spot for our lord of the manor?’
‘I do not …’ Rosie felt herself turn pink. ‘Never mind. I know everyone fancies him.’
‘Christ, yes,’ said Moray. ‘Oh well.’
‘Is that why you never wanted to look at his leg?’ said Rosie.
‘No, that’s because he’s an irritating arsehole obsessed with the moral high ground,’ said Moray. ‘It was miles easier just to get a pretty girl to do it.’
‘Aw, thanks.’ Rosie slumped.
‘You need more champagne,’ said Moray, though even before he did so his little acolyte had appeared, bearing more glasses.
‘Thanks,’ said Rosie. ‘Oh, sorry. This is lovely. It’s all just silly bollocks, that’s all. I’m like a teenager with a crush.’
They both looked in the young girl’s direction, who blushed bright red when she saw Moray’s eyes on her.
‘Christ,’ said Moray, ‘let’s get into the dining room immediately.’
‘That’s exactly what Stephen thinks about me,’ said Rosie. ‘Bugger it.’
The dining room was more of a dining hall, with round tables set up with autumnal leaf arrangements and bright red poinsettia. Each table had a little pumpkin on it. Most people were already seated, the men smart, even Rosie had to admit, in their bright red hunting jackets, the women wearing all their jewellery, with their hair done and their lipstick bright. It was a nice sight, after all, made even nicer when they found their table was full of other fun young people from the village, the farmers and their wives, who outdid each other with filthy stories and silliness. Rosie could see that they got out so seldom, and their lives were full of such hard work, that they were determined to enjoy their night to the full, and they heckled the speeches and imitated the hunting horns that were blown to announce each course: mulligatawny soup, roast pheasant with autumn vegetables and game chips, and a splendid rhubarb crumble made with rhubarb from the gardens.
‘There is not,’ announced Rosie, ‘enough ruching in this dress.’
Tina and Jake were nowhere to be seen. Someone said that they’d spotted them in the orangery – a long, low conservatory running along the south face of the house – and Rosie decided to leave them to it. She couldn’t even see Stephen, and did her best to forget all about him, helped by the tremendous food, and a story about pig insemination she suspected she wouldn’t be able to forget even if she tried.
The noise in the great rooms grew louder and louder as dinner finally ended and everyone repaired next door. One room was to have disco dancing, the other proper reeling. Rosie wanted to stay in the disco room, but Moray was adamant.
‘No way,’ he said. ‘How many times are you going to come to a thing like this if you piss off back to London?’
‘Are you sure you don’t want to come to London with me?’ said Rosie. ‘I think you’d like it.’
