Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 13
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
So she tidied up the sitting room, put a load of laundry into the prehistoric twin tub – how on earth had Lilian managed to look so dapper? It must have been agony for her – changed into a floral frock, a denim jacket and the patterned wellies she’d bought four years ago in an attempt to be hip and go to Glastonbury (which had ended very badly indeed); left a note for Lilian and the door on the latch and stepped out into the morning.
1942
When she first saw them, she couldn’t quite believe it. Four weeks’ worth of ration cards, pale pink cardboard, neatly lined up in a row.
‘What’s this?’ she said coolly, convinced he was buying an enormous box of chocolates for another girl.
Henry looked pink. ‘A large bag of caramels please.’
Blinking nervously, Lilian climbed the little stepladder, conscious of his eyes on her. It was a ravishingly beautiful day outside, and the shop was empty so early.
She filled the bag with the sweet, shining, fudgy caramels. No one took her responsibilities more seriously than Lilian. Her father had made it clear that in times of hardship, they absolutely couldn’t be seen to be taking more than their fair share. He had been so grave when he had said it, asking for her promise on the issue, that Lilian hadn’t had a sweet since. Surrounded by them all day, most of the time she didn’t miss it too much. She didn’t usually eat caramel, had always liked to get more for her money, something with a bit of crunch in it.
The pink-striped bag was bulging by the time Henry put down his sixpence.
‘There you are,’ she said. Henry didn’t pick up the bag.
‘They’re for you,’ he said.
Lilian stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Your friend told me they were your favourites.’
Ida Delia, thought Lilian. Ida Delia would even tell a fib about something as stupid as that.
‘Are they all for me?’
‘They are,’ said Henry, blushing. ‘Unless you’d like to share one.’
Lilian looked at him, half shocked, half giggling, as her father dinged into the shop.
‘Come on, Lils,’ he said. ‘Get a shuffle on.’ He looked up. ‘Hello, Carr.’ He sniffed quickly, then grabbed the bag. ‘These yours, are they?’
By this time Henry was puce and looked at her in horror. Lilian’s father pressed the sweets into his hands.
‘Well, come on, young man, we haven’t got all day. There’s a war on, you know. You do know?’ he said, with the serious air of a man with three sons fighting and who was looking at a perfectly healthy young man with the time to wander around eating sweets.
Lilian looked at Henry, waiting for him to announce that he’d bought the sweets for her. But poor Henry was in a panic. Such an enormous gesture; he might as well ask for her hand. This wasn’t what he’d expected at all.
‘Uhm, well,’ he began. ‘I’d like to …’
Mr Hopkins had already started examining the ledger. Henry glanced at Lilian, who couldn’t help him, but just looked at him like a big-eyed panic-stricken mouse. He couldn’t read it at all. Was she terrified he was going to say something in front of her father? Had he misjudged the situation entirely? She hadn’t even looked happy that it was caramels; were they really her favourites? He felt a horrid dull flush deepen over his face.
‘I’ll come back for these later,’ he said, then turned round and left. Neither of the Hopkinses said goodbye. Lilian’s fingernails were tightly dug into the palm of her hand.
‘What an odd fellow,’ said her father eventually, then wondered why his daughter was pushing past him into the house. He’d never understood her mother either.
First off, Rosie stopped at the little shop next door. The front of it was ancient, and the mullioned windows, which were of thick glass, could do with a proper scrubbing out. The wood frontage was painted a kind of fading burgundy but although the building was pretty, the paint was flaking, and the swinging striped sign outside, Hopkins’ Sweets and Confectionery, was gilded but tired-looking. Inside Rosie could just about make out jars of this and that, in a slightly higgledy-piggledy order, and lots of jelly snakes sitting out in a huge dusty box. It didn’t, she thought, look terribly appealing. In fact, to her horror, she realised that it wasn’t open; that it clearly hadn’t been open for a long, long time. Lilian had been fooling everyone for what looked like years.
Rosie winced. This job of hers was going to be even more of a pain in the arse than she had expected.
She shook off her horrible sense of foreboding and decided to follow the flow and see where she ended up.
The cottage and shop sat at the western end of the main street of Lipton, a collection of thatched cottages, a doctor’s surgery, lawyer’s office, dentist, several feed stores, and a clothing store which featured some extraordinary mother-of-the-bride outfits that Rosie, belying her hunger, spent several moments staring at. What type of person could be in need of a huge jade, silver and violet-striped formal jacket with shoulder pads and large paisley flowers embroidered down the front for two hundred and seventy-nine pounds? The clothing shop next door sold jodhpurs, quilted jackets and waterproof trousers. Rosie wondered where the nearest shopping centre was, then figured out it was probably at the other end of that two-hour bus trip.
She mentally ran through her wardrobe. Since she and Gerard had moved in together, she had just got so comfy. Maybe that was why Lilian still dressed so formally; because she had never found anyone she could relax with. A perfect night for Rosie these days was a takeaway, a bottle of wine and a movie, her head tucked under Gerard’s arm, lying on the sofa they’d bought in Ikea. OK, so Gerard teased her about wearing her old pyjama pants and slippers around the house and asked what had happened to the hot young thing he’d met at the hospital, but this was what contentment looked like. She thought about Lilian’s smart appearance, though, and wondered for an instant if her own approach might just be complacency.
Rosie made a mental note of the right kinds of high-calorie foods to bring back for Lilian. She wondered if she would baulk at eating peanut butter, but it had to be worth a shot. She wandered past a bank, the post office, a large Spar that looked like it stocked just about everything in the world, an electrical store that proudly boasted that it still fixed toasters, a large old-fashioned pub called the Red Lion and, unexpectedly, a chic little restaurant with wooden benches and a chalkboard menu. Streets ran off the main road, all heading upwards out of the valley, with houses dotted more and more sparingly up the hills till you got to the farmland.
1942
When she first saw them, she couldn’t quite believe it. Four weeks’ worth of ration cards, pale pink cardboard, neatly lined up in a row.
‘What’s this?’ she said coolly, convinced he was buying an enormous box of chocolates for another girl.
Henry looked pink. ‘A large bag of caramels please.’
Blinking nervously, Lilian climbed the little stepladder, conscious of his eyes on her. It was a ravishingly beautiful day outside, and the shop was empty so early.
She filled the bag with the sweet, shining, fudgy caramels. No one took her responsibilities more seriously than Lilian. Her father had made it clear that in times of hardship, they absolutely couldn’t be seen to be taking more than their fair share. He had been so grave when he had said it, asking for her promise on the issue, that Lilian hadn’t had a sweet since. Surrounded by them all day, most of the time she didn’t miss it too much. She didn’t usually eat caramel, had always liked to get more for her money, something with a bit of crunch in it.
The pink-striped bag was bulging by the time Henry put down his sixpence.
‘There you are,’ she said. Henry didn’t pick up the bag.
‘They’re for you,’ he said.
Lilian stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Your friend told me they were your favourites.’
Ida Delia, thought Lilian. Ida Delia would even tell a fib about something as stupid as that.
‘Are they all for me?’
‘They are,’ said Henry, blushing. ‘Unless you’d like to share one.’
Lilian looked at him, half shocked, half giggling, as her father dinged into the shop.
‘Come on, Lils,’ he said. ‘Get a shuffle on.’ He looked up. ‘Hello, Carr.’ He sniffed quickly, then grabbed the bag. ‘These yours, are they?’
By this time Henry was puce and looked at her in horror. Lilian’s father pressed the sweets into his hands.
‘Well, come on, young man, we haven’t got all day. There’s a war on, you know. You do know?’ he said, with the serious air of a man with three sons fighting and who was looking at a perfectly healthy young man with the time to wander around eating sweets.
Lilian looked at Henry, waiting for him to announce that he’d bought the sweets for her. But poor Henry was in a panic. Such an enormous gesture; he might as well ask for her hand. This wasn’t what he’d expected at all.
‘Uhm, well,’ he began. ‘I’d like to …’
Mr Hopkins had already started examining the ledger. Henry glanced at Lilian, who couldn’t help him, but just looked at him like a big-eyed panic-stricken mouse. He couldn’t read it at all. Was she terrified he was going to say something in front of her father? Had he misjudged the situation entirely? She hadn’t even looked happy that it was caramels; were they really her favourites? He felt a horrid dull flush deepen over his face.
‘I’ll come back for these later,’ he said, then turned round and left. Neither of the Hopkinses said goodbye. Lilian’s fingernails were tightly dug into the palm of her hand.
‘What an odd fellow,’ said her father eventually, then wondered why his daughter was pushing past him into the house. He’d never understood her mother either.
First off, Rosie stopped at the little shop next door. The front of it was ancient, and the mullioned windows, which were of thick glass, could do with a proper scrubbing out. The wood frontage was painted a kind of fading burgundy but although the building was pretty, the paint was flaking, and the swinging striped sign outside, Hopkins’ Sweets and Confectionery, was gilded but tired-looking. Inside Rosie could just about make out jars of this and that, in a slightly higgledy-piggledy order, and lots of jelly snakes sitting out in a huge dusty box. It didn’t, she thought, look terribly appealing. In fact, to her horror, she realised that it wasn’t open; that it clearly hadn’t been open for a long, long time. Lilian had been fooling everyone for what looked like years.
Rosie winced. This job of hers was going to be even more of a pain in the arse than she had expected.
She shook off her horrible sense of foreboding and decided to follow the flow and see where she ended up.
The cottage and shop sat at the western end of the main street of Lipton, a collection of thatched cottages, a doctor’s surgery, lawyer’s office, dentist, several feed stores, and a clothing store which featured some extraordinary mother-of-the-bride outfits that Rosie, belying her hunger, spent several moments staring at. What type of person could be in need of a huge jade, silver and violet-striped formal jacket with shoulder pads and large paisley flowers embroidered down the front for two hundred and seventy-nine pounds? The clothing shop next door sold jodhpurs, quilted jackets and waterproof trousers. Rosie wondered where the nearest shopping centre was, then figured out it was probably at the other end of that two-hour bus trip.
She mentally ran through her wardrobe. Since she and Gerard had moved in together, she had just got so comfy. Maybe that was why Lilian still dressed so formally; because she had never found anyone she could relax with. A perfect night for Rosie these days was a takeaway, a bottle of wine and a movie, her head tucked under Gerard’s arm, lying on the sofa they’d bought in Ikea. OK, so Gerard teased her about wearing her old pyjama pants and slippers around the house and asked what had happened to the hot young thing he’d met at the hospital, but this was what contentment looked like. She thought about Lilian’s smart appearance, though, and wondered for an instant if her own approach might just be complacency.
Rosie made a mental note of the right kinds of high-calorie foods to bring back for Lilian. She wondered if she would baulk at eating peanut butter, but it had to be worth a shot. She wandered past a bank, the post office, a large Spar that looked like it stocked just about everything in the world, an electrical store that proudly boasted that it still fixed toasters, a large old-fashioned pub called the Red Lion and, unexpectedly, a chic little restaurant with wooden benches and a chalkboard menu. Streets ran off the main road, all heading upwards out of the valley, with houses dotted more and more sparingly up the hills till you got to the farmland.
