Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 60

‘You know,’ confided his mother as if this were a badge of honour, ‘we’ve taken him to all these child psychologists and they just don’t know what to do with him.’
‘Loads of children have imaginary friends though, don’t they?’ said Rosie, stunned they would send such a small boy to see a shrink. ‘Maybe they think it’s perfectly normal.’
Edison’s mum let out a little laugh. ‘Oh no, you would never call our Edison anything like normal! There’s nothing average about our Edison! You see, he’s particularly intelligent. So really it is something of a worry for us.’
She didn’t look like it was a worry, thought Rosie. She looked absolutely delighted that she was turning her own child into the town weirdo.
But she didn’t say anything, it was hardly her place – and, after all, who was to know whether one day, if she did have children (though Gerard had never shown the slightest indication in that direction), she might not be an overprotective basket case too. But she hoped not.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘well, good luck. He’s welcome any time. And his “friend”.’
Edison’s mother smiled. ‘Oh, it’s so nice to have someone a little broad-minded around town,’ she said, loudly, and Rosie smiled her goodbyes as politely as she could and sat down again.
‘So,’ said Gerard, ‘what about selling the shop then? Have you got it on the market? Have you had any viewings? What are you selling it for?’
‘Uhm,’ said Rosie. ‘Well, you know, I’ve been very busy getting it up and running.’
‘Getting it up and running?’ said Gerard. ‘You’ve been here four weeks. It was only meant to be for six. You’ve got a career waiting for you.’
For the first time, oddly, Rosie found the idea of going back to a big hospital – which she normally found buzzy, and exciting, and endlessly interesting, so unlike here, she supposed – unappealing. Instead of being anxious to get back and frustrated with the pace of things here, she found herself in no hurry at all.
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ she said. ‘I know, you’re right.’
‘Well, if you know I’m right, why don’t you just do it?’ grumbled Gerard. ‘Don’t just nod your head and say yeah yeah yeah.’
‘Mmm,’ said Rosie. ‘No, I will, definitely.’
‘Because I don’t want to keep living at my mum’s.’
‘You don’t have to live at your mum’s!’ said Rosie suddenly in exasperation. ‘Why don’t you live in our home like a normal adult human being?’
‘What, ha, and do my own laundry and buy my own food when I can get it all done for me for free?’ scoffed Gerard. ‘Yeah, right, that sounds like a great idea, Rosie. Yes, brilliant.’
‘But don’t you enjoy your independence?’
Gerard shrugged. ‘Why should I? My mum didn’t move to Australia.’
‘Oh, that is very unfair,’ said Rosie, incredibly annoyed that, suddenly, and outwith her control, they seemed to be skidding towards a fight. She was also conscious that, around her, people were watching them. This was a definite disadvantage, she thought, of knowing everyone in the town. It felt a bit like being famous; all sorts of people were looking at them, judging her, she knew, judging Gerard. How dare they! On the other hand, if Gerard had made more of an effort to say hello to people, come and said hi to her great-aunt; turned up with a huge bouquet of flowers, or a small bouquet of petrol station flowers, or … well. That didn’t matter.
‘Shall we get out of here?’
‘Where else is there?’ asked Gerard, slightly bitterly, looking at his pint. It was a fair point. There was a fancy hotel up the road that they used for weddings and conventions but Rosie had never been there and didn’t know what it was like on the weekends.
‘Well, we could try …’ Rosie looked around and took a deep breath. She was going to make an effort. They could try again. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we have another drink?’
Gerard smiled, his pique forgotten.
‘Pint of Magners please! And some crisps! Then I’m going to have the scampi! Can I have the scampi?’
Rosie wondered for a second if he’d always been so young. Well, it was endearing, of course. He was cute, everyone thought that. It was just … well, Jake wouldn’t bother asking her if he could have scampi. Moray wouldn’t eat it. And Stephen … well. Anyway.
‘I don’t mind what you have,’ she said, sounding slightly sharper than she’d intended. ‘Eat what you like.’
‘It’s just I thought, crisps and chips …’
‘Yes, they’re a terrible combination.’
His face fell.
‘But if you want them, have them.’
Gerard bit his lip. ‘I won’t enjoy them now you’ve said that.’
‘Well, have something else.’
‘But I really like scampi.’
‘Well, have that and I’ll eat the chips.’
Gerard’s face relaxed. ‘OK!’
Rosie went to the bar, ordering herself a salad – after all the high-calorie meals with Lilian and the two of Gerard’s chips she’d probably manage to claim before he wolfed them all – and, turning, looked at him, his head buried in the crisp packet as he tried to get out the last few grains of salt. She smiled, half-heartedly. It was odd to see him out of his normal environment. At the hospital, with his white coat on, he was important, authoritative. Nobody needed to know that he still got his mother to iron it because Rosie a) refused and b) once when she offered on a Sunday night, ‘did it wrong’. Carefully, she picked up the two glasses. What a difference in her, though, from just a few weeks ago. She hadn’t been unhappy before, had she? She hadn’t. There wasn’t anything missing. Well, perhaps she’d been a little bit fed up over her job. There was that. And perhaps moving in with Gerard hadn’t been the dream she’d hoped it would be. There was definitely that.
It crossed her mind, as she paid for the drinks (about half, she always noticed, what she paid in London), that perhaps if she had been completely happy, she’d have refused to come here at all.
‘I think maybe I want the steak and ale pie,’ said Gerard when she got back. ‘Can you tell them?’