Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 64
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And now he had his papers. It felt as if, somehow, while she could still see him there was still hope. He didn’t come into the sweetshop, of course, he avoided her as assiduously as she avoided him, but she had seen him – at church, in a high collar, standing next to his in-laws to be, who were, town gossip had it, every bit as horrified by their daughter’s farm labourer choice as Lilian had predicted. Or being tugged up and down the high street by Ida Delia, wearing a too-large dress and pretending to all and sundry that there was nothing in there and they were madly in love, that was all. Ida Delia, thought Lilian spitefully, was probably glad when his call-up papers came. It gave a little veracity to why they were getting married in such a hurry.
Glimpses, as he rushed past, head bowed … they were nothing. There wasn’t a note, nothing. It seemed that Henry, once he had given his word, was a man of it. The fact that, as far as Lilian was concerned, he had given it to the worst person she could possibly imagine didn’t detract from his commitment.
The wedding was sparsely attended; Ida Delia’s mother certainly wasn’t going to ask her Bristol cousins to watch her beautiful, eligible daughter settle for someone who could hardly pick the straw out of his hair. Henry had started basic training and was wearing an ill-fitting uniform in rough wool. Lilian stayed upstairs in her room all day, but couldn’t resist a glimpse outside to see the procession go past. Ida Delia, wearing a rose-pink suit dress, and a pink netted hat on her lavish golden curls, looked glorious: happy and radiant, rounded; her breasts full, her waist still small, her face beaming in triumph. Henry looked tall, different, with his newly shorn hair and his awkward worsted uniform. Lilian decided there and then that she hated weddings.
At around six, when the procession was long past, her dad knocked on Lilian’s door. That she wasn’t crying was the worst bit. Instead, she sat, perched on the edge of the single bed with its floral counterpane, not looking, not making a sound, but completely and utterly blank.
Not knowing what else to do, he took her in his arms and sat her on his knee as if she was a child again – she was so thin, he felt, even for his little Lily she had got so thin – and waited, till gradually her rigid body bent a little towards him, and she turned, and buried her head in his shoulder, and made small, mewling animal noises of pain. Terence senior stared out of the window and felt her heart break, and watched the sun go down over the blue hills, and wondered why on God’s earth any living creature would want to bring a child into this world.
‘She was,’ remarked Moray quietly, ‘a lot quicker with the damn dog.’
Rosie gazed at Henrietta, not understanding. Stephen had allowed his eyes to close briefly.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Mother.’
Rosie stared at him in consternation, then looked at Lady Lipton. Sure enough, the resemblance, though slight, was there. But this didn’t make any sense at all. She’d been over at the big house all the time? Knowing her injured son was stuck in that cold house all by himself? Why hadn’t she been looking after him? Swanning around making sarcastic remarks and worrying herself senseless about her dog? Rosie shook her head in disbelief.
‘Why …’ she began, then wasn’t sure how to go on. If she had injured herself, her mother would drop everything, would haunt her house, drive her mental and get in the way and totally wind her up until she was 100 per cent better. And it wouldn’t matter if Rosie said no thanks I don’t want your help, or please don’t visit. Her mother would have bashed in the door with a hammer. And why had she spent all this time worrying about Stephen when he had half the county at his disposal, and a hundred-room mansion for whenever he got bored with being petulant? She looked from one to the other.
Lady Lipton turned on her, ferociously.
‘This is all your fault,’ she spat at Rosie.
Rosie started in shock.
‘Up there pestering the life out of him since the day you arrived. Don’t think I didn’t spot what you were up to. Mrs Laird tells me everything, you know. He’d have come back to his family in his own time. But now … now …’ Her voice cracked.
‘Rosie,’ came a weak voice from the gurney, but they were already wheeling him away, and Rosie’s head was reeling. She took a couple of steps back and watched, as the ambulance turned on its blue lights and, with a great commotion, took off for Ashby.
Shaken to the core, Rosie tried to wash her hands in the tiny pub sink. Moray was right beside her, packing up his equipment.
‘What the hell?’ said Rosie. Moray looked at her curiously.
‘Didn’t you know?’
‘How would I have known? I’ve only been here five minutes. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I thought he’d have told you!’
‘What happened?’ But at that moment, Gerard burst through the doors at the back of the pub.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ he said. He was clearly a bit pissed, and had crisp crumbs all round his mouth. ‘There wasn’t any food! And you just disappeared when that guy fell over. And I had to sit there by myself for ages! And everyone was talking about that guy. And you. And I had to sit there and listen to it! That scary woman reckons you’re shagging him.’
‘Of course I’m not!’
His lower lip was wobbling. Rosie genuinely feared he might cry. She moved towards him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘He was sick. He needed help.’
She felt, uncomfortably, that it was strange to be touching your boyfriend when you had spent the last half-hour clasping another man.
‘Well, he’s a doctor, isn’t he?’ said Gerard. Moray tried to make himself scarce.
‘Yes, but I needed to help.’
‘I thought you ran a sweetshop now,’ said Gerard stubbornly. ‘You made me sit out there all by myself feeling an idiot.’
‘I have no relationship with him except he’s injured!’
Gerard harrumphed furiously, then turned to Moray and put out a pudgy hand.
‘I guess I don’t need to introduce myself?’
Moray didn’t bother to hide his bewilderment. ‘Uhm …’
Gerard looked at Rosie then.
‘You’ve told him my name?’
‘Uhm …’
‘Unbelievable,’ said Gerard. ‘I’m Gerard. I’m her boyfriend. Which she hasn’t seen fit to mention, apparently. Fine. What a great trip this is turning out to be. I’m missing Formula 1 for this.’ He looked round. ‘I’d storm out, but there’s nowhere in this godforsaken backwater to actually go.’
Glimpses, as he rushed past, head bowed … they were nothing. There wasn’t a note, nothing. It seemed that Henry, once he had given his word, was a man of it. The fact that, as far as Lilian was concerned, he had given it to the worst person she could possibly imagine didn’t detract from his commitment.
The wedding was sparsely attended; Ida Delia’s mother certainly wasn’t going to ask her Bristol cousins to watch her beautiful, eligible daughter settle for someone who could hardly pick the straw out of his hair. Henry had started basic training and was wearing an ill-fitting uniform in rough wool. Lilian stayed upstairs in her room all day, but couldn’t resist a glimpse outside to see the procession go past. Ida Delia, wearing a rose-pink suit dress, and a pink netted hat on her lavish golden curls, looked glorious: happy and radiant, rounded; her breasts full, her waist still small, her face beaming in triumph. Henry looked tall, different, with his newly shorn hair and his awkward worsted uniform. Lilian decided there and then that she hated weddings.
At around six, when the procession was long past, her dad knocked on Lilian’s door. That she wasn’t crying was the worst bit. Instead, she sat, perched on the edge of the single bed with its floral counterpane, not looking, not making a sound, but completely and utterly blank.
Not knowing what else to do, he took her in his arms and sat her on his knee as if she was a child again – she was so thin, he felt, even for his little Lily she had got so thin – and waited, till gradually her rigid body bent a little towards him, and she turned, and buried her head in his shoulder, and made small, mewling animal noises of pain. Terence senior stared out of the window and felt her heart break, and watched the sun go down over the blue hills, and wondered why on God’s earth any living creature would want to bring a child into this world.
‘She was,’ remarked Moray quietly, ‘a lot quicker with the damn dog.’
Rosie gazed at Henrietta, not understanding. Stephen had allowed his eyes to close briefly.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Mother.’
Rosie stared at him in consternation, then looked at Lady Lipton. Sure enough, the resemblance, though slight, was there. But this didn’t make any sense at all. She’d been over at the big house all the time? Knowing her injured son was stuck in that cold house all by himself? Why hadn’t she been looking after him? Swanning around making sarcastic remarks and worrying herself senseless about her dog? Rosie shook her head in disbelief.
‘Why …’ she began, then wasn’t sure how to go on. If she had injured herself, her mother would drop everything, would haunt her house, drive her mental and get in the way and totally wind her up until she was 100 per cent better. And it wouldn’t matter if Rosie said no thanks I don’t want your help, or please don’t visit. Her mother would have bashed in the door with a hammer. And why had she spent all this time worrying about Stephen when he had half the county at his disposal, and a hundred-room mansion for whenever he got bored with being petulant? She looked from one to the other.
Lady Lipton turned on her, ferociously.
‘This is all your fault,’ she spat at Rosie.
Rosie started in shock.
‘Up there pestering the life out of him since the day you arrived. Don’t think I didn’t spot what you were up to. Mrs Laird tells me everything, you know. He’d have come back to his family in his own time. But now … now …’ Her voice cracked.
‘Rosie,’ came a weak voice from the gurney, but they were already wheeling him away, and Rosie’s head was reeling. She took a couple of steps back and watched, as the ambulance turned on its blue lights and, with a great commotion, took off for Ashby.
Shaken to the core, Rosie tried to wash her hands in the tiny pub sink. Moray was right beside her, packing up his equipment.
‘What the hell?’ said Rosie. Moray looked at her curiously.
‘Didn’t you know?’
‘How would I have known? I’ve only been here five minutes. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I thought he’d have told you!’
‘What happened?’ But at that moment, Gerard burst through the doors at the back of the pub.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ he said. He was clearly a bit pissed, and had crisp crumbs all round his mouth. ‘There wasn’t any food! And you just disappeared when that guy fell over. And I had to sit there by myself for ages! And everyone was talking about that guy. And you. And I had to sit there and listen to it! That scary woman reckons you’re shagging him.’
‘Of course I’m not!’
His lower lip was wobbling. Rosie genuinely feared he might cry. She moved towards him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘He was sick. He needed help.’
She felt, uncomfortably, that it was strange to be touching your boyfriend when you had spent the last half-hour clasping another man.
‘Well, he’s a doctor, isn’t he?’ said Gerard. Moray tried to make himself scarce.
‘Yes, but I needed to help.’
‘I thought you ran a sweetshop now,’ said Gerard stubbornly. ‘You made me sit out there all by myself feeling an idiot.’
‘I have no relationship with him except he’s injured!’
Gerard harrumphed furiously, then turned to Moray and put out a pudgy hand.
‘I guess I don’t need to introduce myself?’
Moray didn’t bother to hide his bewilderment. ‘Uhm …’
Gerard looked at Rosie then.
‘You’ve told him my name?’
‘Uhm …’
‘Unbelievable,’ said Gerard. ‘I’m Gerard. I’m her boyfriend. Which she hasn’t seen fit to mention, apparently. Fine. What a great trip this is turning out to be. I’m missing Formula 1 for this.’ He looked round. ‘I’d storm out, but there’s nowhere in this godforsaken backwater to actually go.’
