Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 104
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Tears stinging her eyes, it took everything Rosie had not to run up the high street in hysterics. She had the awful, awful feeling that this was the last time they would ever speak. That she had blown it, if she’d ever had it in the first place. She couldn’t think, now, of the night at the ball, how exciting it was and how poundingly, devastatingly attractive she’d found him. How much she’d wanted him. Still wanted him.
Well. He was going away. Good. Better to crush her hopes now than for things to run on indefinitely. Her heart, though, sank into her boots. Was this how Lilian had felt when Henry went away? Worse, she supposed, because Lilian knew she might never see him again. But something told Rosie she’d never see Stephen again. Not the real Stephen; the funny, cussed, brave Stephen she’d got to know. She might see a polite stranger, swishing past her in the pub or coming home at Christmas time, CeeCee tapping her foot impatiently till the family visits were out of the way. But seeing Stephen again? It seemed unlikely.
She ran through the door of the cottage, the first sobs already on her lips.
‘Lilian!’ she howled. Lilian was sitting up on the sofa and, like a child, Rosie threw herself down next to her and burst into tears.
‘There, there,’ said Lilian. ‘There, there.’
‘He’s going away,’ howled Rosie. ‘He’s going away. I thought it wouldn’t matter and I wouldn’t care and I’d be all grown up and graceful. But it does!’
It was only gradually that Rosie realised there was someone else in the room. Sniffing, she tilted up her head, horrified to see Lady Lipton standing in the shadow of the kitchen door, two cups of tea in her hands. Rosie didn’t care, she was so red and damp and her face was a mess and the tears wouldn’t stop dripping, and there was snot too. It didn’t even matter any more that she was such a mess. Hetty would be pleased, presumably, that she wouldn’t be going near her beloved son again.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake’ said Hetty, looking her up and down. ‘This has to stop. You must be freezing in that jacket.’
Rosie hadn’t even noticed what she was wearing.
‘If you’re going to live here, you’d better get yourself sorted out once and for all.’
She picked up a paper bag at her feet.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘Lily told me your size. I thought you might like these.’
Inside were a pair of wellingtons. But not just any wellingtons. Round the top was a narrow stripe of material. And the motif on them was little wrapped sweets.
‘Pulled in a favour from Hunter’s,’ sniffed Hetty. ‘It really was getting beyond a joke.’
Rosie wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Instead, she took Lilian’s proffered cotton handkerchief and blew her nose.
‘Here,’ said Lilian. ‘Have my tea.’
Hetty looked at her. ‘And I suppose you’d better have these. They’ve been cluttering up my son’s kitchen for days now while he’s looked at them and hummed and hawed. I suppose they’re for you. Well, he’s never going to give them to you, so I suppose I’d better. I can’t handle you both mooning around, it’s bad for my angina.’
She handed over a box of sweets, something Rosie didn’t recognise immediately. Then she cottoned on that they were love hearts. She opened the box with fumbling fingers. Instead of different messages, on every single one was a single word: Rosie. Rosie Rosie Rosie Rosie.
Rosie gasped and looked up.
‘I need to tell you something,’ said Lilian. ‘Last night, when we were talking, I lied. Well, I mostly told the truth. But I lied too. I have had a happy life, mostly.’
She took a deep breath.
‘But if I … if I had the chance to do it again, if things had been different …’
‘Mmm?’ Rosie couldn’t take it all in. Hetty had turned her head away.
‘I would never have left that bally dance,’ said Lilian, proudly. Her voice sounded stronger than it had in months. ‘And I would have grabbed his other arm. I wouldn’t have walked backwards. I would have kept on walking forward and kept on dancing, and I would have done everything in my power to make sure he didn’t get near that other girl. And kept him on bloody farming duty while I was at it, and I wouldn’t have cared tuppence for what anyone else said. I’d already sacrificed as much as anyone else in that damn war.’
Lilian gave one of her looks.
‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Rosie squirmed.
‘It’s not like that,’ she said. ‘Henry chased you. It’s nothing like that with Stephen.’
Hetty harrumphed.
‘I am not going to sit here and tell you that Stephen Lakeman isn’t one of the awkwardest buggers ever to walk the face of the earth,’ said Lilian. ‘He’s ridiculously proud and needlessly difficult.
‘But he’s a good boy,’ she added. ‘He’s decent. And he’s kind. And I think if you want him … I think if you want him you should go get him.’
‘But he’s supposed to do the chasing,’ moaned Rosie, fingering the sweets, torn absolutely.
‘Men are meant to do all sorts of things,’ said Lilian. ‘Doesn’t mean they ever bloody manage it.’
‘Amen to that,’ said Hetty. But already Rosie was on her feet and heading out the door.
‘STOP!’ said Hetty. ‘I cannot bear you going out looking like a farm animal one more time. Especially if you are taking my son off my hands.’
Her tone was crusty but her eyes were twinkly.
‘Put on that dress!’
Hetty held her and brushed out her hair with thick strokes, and Lilian tried to apply some black mascara, and Rosie pulled on a thick jumper over the green dress that was ridiculously unsuitable for the middle of a winter’s day, but finally they judged her ready. Rosie’s heart was fit to burst and she was at screaming point before they let her go; for speed, she leapt on the bicycle and threw herself up the hill as fast as she could manage. Was she too late? Had her words hardened his heart? Had he made up his mind once and for all? Maybe – she panicked at this – maybe he had got into his car and headed south straight away. No. No, that couldn’t happen. In her head, she had lots of scenarios looming up closer and closer so that she pedalled harder and harder – till she spotted him, on the flat part of the road leading up to Peak House. He must be trying to walk it. To see him valiantly marching onwards with his stick distracted her for a second and, as she skidded round the corner, she realised suddenly she had absolutely no chance of stopping.
Well. He was going away. Good. Better to crush her hopes now than for things to run on indefinitely. Her heart, though, sank into her boots. Was this how Lilian had felt when Henry went away? Worse, she supposed, because Lilian knew she might never see him again. But something told Rosie she’d never see Stephen again. Not the real Stephen; the funny, cussed, brave Stephen she’d got to know. She might see a polite stranger, swishing past her in the pub or coming home at Christmas time, CeeCee tapping her foot impatiently till the family visits were out of the way. But seeing Stephen again? It seemed unlikely.
She ran through the door of the cottage, the first sobs already on her lips.
‘Lilian!’ she howled. Lilian was sitting up on the sofa and, like a child, Rosie threw herself down next to her and burst into tears.
‘There, there,’ said Lilian. ‘There, there.’
‘He’s going away,’ howled Rosie. ‘He’s going away. I thought it wouldn’t matter and I wouldn’t care and I’d be all grown up and graceful. But it does!’
It was only gradually that Rosie realised there was someone else in the room. Sniffing, she tilted up her head, horrified to see Lady Lipton standing in the shadow of the kitchen door, two cups of tea in her hands. Rosie didn’t care, she was so red and damp and her face was a mess and the tears wouldn’t stop dripping, and there was snot too. It didn’t even matter any more that she was such a mess. Hetty would be pleased, presumably, that she wouldn’t be going near her beloved son again.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake’ said Hetty, looking her up and down. ‘This has to stop. You must be freezing in that jacket.’
Rosie hadn’t even noticed what she was wearing.
‘If you’re going to live here, you’d better get yourself sorted out once and for all.’
She picked up a paper bag at her feet.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘Lily told me your size. I thought you might like these.’
Inside were a pair of wellingtons. But not just any wellingtons. Round the top was a narrow stripe of material. And the motif on them was little wrapped sweets.
‘Pulled in a favour from Hunter’s,’ sniffed Hetty. ‘It really was getting beyond a joke.’
Rosie wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Instead, she took Lilian’s proffered cotton handkerchief and blew her nose.
‘Here,’ said Lilian. ‘Have my tea.’
Hetty looked at her. ‘And I suppose you’d better have these. They’ve been cluttering up my son’s kitchen for days now while he’s looked at them and hummed and hawed. I suppose they’re for you. Well, he’s never going to give them to you, so I suppose I’d better. I can’t handle you both mooning around, it’s bad for my angina.’
She handed over a box of sweets, something Rosie didn’t recognise immediately. Then she cottoned on that they were love hearts. She opened the box with fumbling fingers. Instead of different messages, on every single one was a single word: Rosie. Rosie Rosie Rosie Rosie.
Rosie gasped and looked up.
‘I need to tell you something,’ said Lilian. ‘Last night, when we were talking, I lied. Well, I mostly told the truth. But I lied too. I have had a happy life, mostly.’
She took a deep breath.
‘But if I … if I had the chance to do it again, if things had been different …’
‘Mmm?’ Rosie couldn’t take it all in. Hetty had turned her head away.
‘I would never have left that bally dance,’ said Lilian, proudly. Her voice sounded stronger than it had in months. ‘And I would have grabbed his other arm. I wouldn’t have walked backwards. I would have kept on walking forward and kept on dancing, and I would have done everything in my power to make sure he didn’t get near that other girl. And kept him on bloody farming duty while I was at it, and I wouldn’t have cared tuppence for what anyone else said. I’d already sacrificed as much as anyone else in that damn war.’
Lilian gave one of her looks.
‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Rosie squirmed.
‘It’s not like that,’ she said. ‘Henry chased you. It’s nothing like that with Stephen.’
Hetty harrumphed.
‘I am not going to sit here and tell you that Stephen Lakeman isn’t one of the awkwardest buggers ever to walk the face of the earth,’ said Lilian. ‘He’s ridiculously proud and needlessly difficult.
‘But he’s a good boy,’ she added. ‘He’s decent. And he’s kind. And I think if you want him … I think if you want him you should go get him.’
‘But he’s supposed to do the chasing,’ moaned Rosie, fingering the sweets, torn absolutely.
‘Men are meant to do all sorts of things,’ said Lilian. ‘Doesn’t mean they ever bloody manage it.’
‘Amen to that,’ said Hetty. But already Rosie was on her feet and heading out the door.
‘STOP!’ said Hetty. ‘I cannot bear you going out looking like a farm animal one more time. Especially if you are taking my son off my hands.’
Her tone was crusty but her eyes were twinkly.
‘Put on that dress!’
Hetty held her and brushed out her hair with thick strokes, and Lilian tried to apply some black mascara, and Rosie pulled on a thick jumper over the green dress that was ridiculously unsuitable for the middle of a winter’s day, but finally they judged her ready. Rosie’s heart was fit to burst and she was at screaming point before they let her go; for speed, she leapt on the bicycle and threw herself up the hill as fast as she could manage. Was she too late? Had her words hardened his heart? Had he made up his mind once and for all? Maybe – she panicked at this – maybe he had got into his car and headed south straight away. No. No, that couldn’t happen. In her head, she had lots of scenarios looming up closer and closer so that she pedalled harder and harder – till she spotted him, on the flat part of the road leading up to Peak House. He must be trying to walk it. To see him valiantly marching onwards with his stick distracted her for a second and, as she skidded round the corner, she realised suddenly she had absolutely no chance of stopping.
