Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 41

‘So where have you been, fannying about all day?’ said Lilian.
‘Did you say fannying?’
‘It’s a perfectly normal word, thank you, been around for donkeys.’
Rosie boiled up the pasta and started grating the Parmesan cheese. Lilian was to get the larger portion. It seemed a bit unfair that her job at the moment seemed to be feeding everyone else up. And what had Stephen meant about her sweetshop figure? Rosie knew she wasn’t a supermodel, nor ever likely to qualify, but men had always complimented her curvy hips and little waist, and liked the fact that she was short, even though she hated it.
So, anyway. Less pasta for her, more for everyone else. She hoped Lilian appreciated it, as she led the old lady to the table.
‘Actually I’ve been seeing yet another man. All on his own! In his house!’ said Rosie in mock-shocked tones. ‘I am going to get a name for myself as the village tart, Great-aunt! You will have to call the vicar in to give me a stern talking-to.’
Lilian snorted. ‘That man makes you look like Julie Andrews. Liberal vicars.’
‘Why, what’s he done?’
‘What hasn’t he done? Oh, it’s all right, do this, disbelieve that, divorce that, marry your farmyard animal of choice.’
Rosie let her chunter on, as she put down the tea things then served up the bolognese.
‘Foreign food now, is it?’ said Lilian.
Rosie was so astonished that someone would think pasta was foreign food that at first she couldn’t figure out what her aunt meant.
‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Do you not really like foreign food then?’
Lilian sniffed. ‘I have never,’ she announced, in a tone that suggested she was about to discuss her Nobel prize, ‘bought garlic in my life!’
‘Well done,’ said Rosie. ‘Doesn’t it grow out in your garden? Wild garlic is just amazing.’
‘Oh yes, there’s some. I usually throw it away.’
‘You do not?’
Lilian looked defiant.
‘OK,’ said Rosie, feeling pleased, ‘you are going to stop eating all the sweetshop stock, and I am going to introduce you to all sorts of good things.’
‘I won’t eat them,’ said Lilian.
‘No, I can see that,’ said Rosie.
Lilian had already scarfed up half of her spag bol. Rosie, watching her, realised for the first time how difficult life must be when you couldn’t even lift a pan of boiling water. How hard it made things. How, even when Lilian was being rude to her, it was better; a million times better than having no one to talk to at all.
‘So it’s not so bad I’m here, is it?’ she ventured.
‘Well, as long as you’re happy,’ sniffed Lilian, letting Rosie inwardly roll her eyes and remind herself that Lilian pretending she was here for her own good was all part of her getting better.
Suddenly, out of the blue, the telephone rang. It was an old-fashioned ringer, and made a noise like a fire alarm going off. Rosie jumped six feet.
‘Christ,’ she said when she came down.
‘Must be one of your admirers,’ said Lilian. ‘Darling, I know Angie didn’t raise you in a barn. Where are the napkins?’
She leaned over and picked up the telephone.
‘Lipton 453? Oh, hello, Angela darling. We were just talking about you.’
Rosie picked up some napkins from Lilian’s very tidy linen cupboard. Staying in Lilian’s house had made her resolve to be more organised at home. There wasn’t loads of space in the cottage but everything had its place, and it obviously made Lilian’s restricted life a lot easier when things were tidy and to hand. It remained a complete mystery to Rosie how her aunt managed it; all she seemed to do was eat and sleep. Rosie eavesdropped shamelessly on the conversation with her mother.
‘Yes, well, she seems to be doing all right,’ said Lilian. ‘She is slacking it up a little around the village, I will say. But young girls don’t mind getting a reputation these days, do they? Positively welcome it.’
Rosie harrumphed loudly. Lilian affected not to have heard.
‘So, all in all she’s getting some colour back in her cheeks … It’s obviously doing her good to get away.’
Rosie stopped short. What on earth did Lilian mean? As soon as she could, she wrested the phone away from her aunt.
‘Mu-um?’ she said.
‘What?’ said Angie, sounding a bit distracted. In the background at least one fight was going on and two children were screeching their heads off.
‘Did you tell Lilian I needed to get away from London?’
‘Well, darling, I had to get her to accept some help, and—’
‘But did you think I needed to get away from London?’
There was, suddenly, a tiny fraction of a pause. Rosie felt wobbly.
‘But … but why? I mean, everything in London is great!’
‘No, no,’ said her mother. ‘It was just that Lilian needed someone. And you were between jobs. That was all it was. Definitely. That’s all.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Definitely,’ said her mum.
‘I mean, you like Gerard, don’t you?’
Gerard and her mother had met many times over the years. He had been cute and cuddly and flirtatious and delightful with her, just like he was with everyone. Everyone liked Gerard, of course they did. Although Angie had seemed immune.
‘This is a very bad line,’ said her mother. ‘Darling, Meridian needs me. I have to go now.’
True enough, a loud scream, all the way from Australia, was making its presence felt.
Rosie found she was a bit shaky, and handed the phone back to Lilian without complaint.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Bye.’
Sitting in the living room, trying to tune the ancient television, Rosie wondered what had her mother had meant. Surely it was just a sop to Lilian, to let the proud old bird stand on her own two feet, think she was taking care of her rather than vice versa. That must be it. It must be. On the other hand, Rosie vowed, she was going to get Gerard to come and visit sooner rather than later. Then they could be back together, and still in love, and she wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. Not that she was worried. Definitely not.
Distracted, she hardly noticed the rap on the door. It came again, louder. Rosie got up, wondering if it was Hetty round to give her grief about something or other, but to her surprise it was Jake, looking a little pink from the sun.