Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 97

Monday morning had grey lowering skies that perfectly suited Rosie’s mood. She checked her phone (inside and outside to make sure she was getting a signal). Nothing. Nothing at all. What kind of a prick was he? Presumably just because she turned up there, offering herself on a plate … She gulped. That was it. She was a cheap date, that was all. Probably happened to him all the time. She sighed, mightily. Stupid girl. She had rung Mike, who had laughed his head off and congratulated her on breaking her duck. It was quite something to have sex with someone new after such a long time.
‘How was it?’ he said.
‘That’s not the point,’ snapped Rosie.
‘Ooh, amazing,’ said Mike. ‘Wow. Don’t let that go.’
‘I don’t think I have the slightest choice in the matter,’ she had sniffed.
‘Look,’ said Mike. ‘Stop beating yourself up. This is good. And funny. Everyone else spent the whole of their twenties having one-night stands with unsuitable men. God, I know I did. You spent your entire twenties convincing yourself you were ready to settle down with Captain Pie. It’s all right to make a few mistakes along the way.’
‘Mmm-hmm,’ said Rosie.
‘Did you really like this bloke?’
Rosie considered it. ‘Well, he’s really annoying and full of himself and cranky and he sulks all the time …’
‘You’ve got it really bad,’ said Mike.
‘He’s the bravest man I’ve ever met,’ said Rosie. ‘Pigheaded. But.’
‘Brave and fantastic in bed?’
‘And a lord.’
Mike really was laughing now.
‘Well, good for you. You always set your sights too low.’
‘I honestly, truthfully do not give a shit about him being a lord,’ said Rosie. ‘I’d rather he had a job.’
‘And wasn’t surrounded by jaghags,’ observed Mike, helpfully.
‘Yes,’ sighed Rosie. ‘That too. Anyway. Not to worry. I have a business to sell … I wonder if Tina will let me keep some of the jars?’
‘You’ll miss it,’ said Mike. ‘Incredible. I can’t believe you’re not desperate to get back to mopping up puke and blood all day.’
Rosie looked around the little shop. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I will miss it.’
But the weather seemed to be affecting everything. They were selling a lot of chocolate; something about the weather closing in made people want to snuggle down on their sofas with big slabs of Lindt and Dairy Crunch; the purple jackets of the sweet white Swiss Lindt, or the dark red of Bournville and, for the more daring – Rosie often felt she should keep them under the counter – the higher-count dark chocolates: 75, 85 and even 95 per cent cocoa, which didn’t taste in the least sweet to Rosie. They were selling a lot of the premium chocolate, so much so that she would be putting in a whole new order before the end of the week.
‘Rosie,’ said Tina, crashing in at ten thirty. Rosie looked up from her order book and saw her distressed face.
‘What’s wrong?’ she said. If Jake had done anything to hurt her friend, she vowed, she was going to whack his and Stephen’s heads together. ‘What’s the matter? Is it Jake?’
Tina’s face temporarily cleared. ‘Oh. Oh, no, it’s not Jake. No. God. He’s amazing.’
Rosie didn’t feel quite tough enough yet to hear about the amazing Jake.
‘Oh well, that’s good,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s not … it’s not Kent and Emily, is it? There’s nothing wrong with the twins?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Tina. ‘No, thank God. No. Touch wood. No. But oh, oh, Rosie.’ She dissolved in floods of tears. ‘It’s the shop.’
Once they had sat down with a cup of tea, Tina could choke out the story. It turned out, in fact, that her Topshop habit had, in the end, proved a serious problem; her credit rating was nowhere near good enough to take out a business loan. She had tried to raise the money to buy Lilian out, but …
‘But didn’t you tell them?’ said Rosie. ‘Didn’t you tell them you were married to an alcoholic and you had to cope somehow and this was the best way, and …’
‘No,’ said Tina. ‘I think that would have made it all worse, don’t you?’
‘But we gave them all the books and projections and everything!’ wailed Rosie. ‘It’s so obvious you’re doing great things for this place! And turning it into a real business!’
‘It was always a real business,’ croaked Lilian over the baby monitor. Rosie had placed her on the sofa with her ankle raised. She should have been walking around on it, to get it moving again, but no one wanted to risk that. Moray had popped by with a walking frame. Lilian didn’t mind her stick so much, but there was absolutely no way, she warned them, she would be seen dead with that awful thing, hauling herself along like a zombie, and Rosie didn’t want to press the issue. Still, they had appointments made for that afternoon – Moray was being generous with his Land Rover once again – and that was that. Now this was throwing a spanner right in the works.
‘And there’s no one else?’ said Rosie. ‘Your ex? Could your parents help?’
‘I haven’t heard from the ex in months,’ snorted Tina. ‘And my parents run a strawberry farm. What do you think?’
‘Oh Tina,’ said Rosie. ‘Oh, I am so sorry.’
Tina shook her head, unable to hide her disappointment. ‘Those stupid bloody cocktail dresses,’ she said bitterly. ‘What was I thinking?’
‘You were thinking, one day I want to wear beautiful dresses to look lovely for my total hunk of a boyfriend,’ said Rosie, trying to be encouraging. It wasn’t Tina’s fault. But she hadn’t had a sniff of other interest. Nothing at all. Except for …
As if reading her thoughts, the little bell rang and the two women turned round, to see Roy Blaine standing there.
He smiled unpleasantly, his ridiculous teeth glinting in the subtle lighting.
‘So,’ he said, seeing them both there, ‘I heard the news.’
‘How did you hear about it?’ said Rosie crossly.
‘His brother’s the bank manager,’ said Tina.
‘No way! Small bloody towns!’ howled Rosie. ‘Is that why he turned down the loan? That’s totally illegal.’