Welcome To Rosie Hopkins' Sweetshop Of Dreams (60 page)

‘Yes,’ said Stephen carefully. ‘They have. They’ve gone back to London. But I’ve been thinking …’

He paused. Rosie couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help the little burst of excitement that leapt inside her now they were gone. It was stupid; he’d been awful and he hadn’t contacted her or anything to apologise or to mention it or – it was all too embarrassing for words. She kept her eyes on the ground.

‘I was thinking about what you said … You know, I do need something to do. Something practical to do with my life instead of sitting around moping. I see that now. So I’ve decided.’

At once Rosie knew what was coming. Unbelievable. Although, in a funny way, what would have been worse? Living in some rotten flatshare in London, starting over from the bottom, going out on hideous dates while knowing all the while that he was swanning around town living it up with CeeCee and Weapon and God knows who while she worked night shifts? Well, no. At least she wouldn’t be doing that.

‘You’re going down to London,’ she said, her voice sounding choked and husky.

Stephen nodded. ‘Get a change of scene. It’ll be good, don’t you think?’

His voice betrayed a hint of nerves. Rosie felt herself go shaky too.

‘Well, that’s good,’ she said, trying to sound cool and poised. ‘I’m sure it will be great.’

Stephen looked at her questioningly.

‘I’m staying here,’ she announced, very quietly. She almost couldn’t believe the words as they came out of her mouth.

‘You’re what?’ said Stephen.

‘I’m staying here. I’m buying out my great-aunt, so she can get looked after properly. Well, buying the business. Renting half the cottage. I’ll have to get a tenant as well. Then when Tina gets more together she can buy in too. We’ll be like the John Lewis version of a village sweetshop. But I’ve decided. I don’t … I don’t know if it will be for ever. And I don’t know if I can make a go of it. And I don’t know if it will make me happy. But.’

She looked around her, the frosty fields white in the morning mists, the sun glinting off the icy tops of the hills.

‘I … I like it here. I’m happy here. I have friends here. Some friends here. Some people who hate my guts, but I can live with that. And family. I have family here, and I don’t really have that anywhere else. So. I’m going to change. I’m going to stay.’

Stephen looked completely taken aback.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘That’s a shame. That’s … oh. I thought maybe, you know, you’d show me round London a bit.’

‘I think the London I would show you and the London CeeCee will show you would be very different things.’

Stephen smiled. ‘I thought I was meant to be the chippy one,’ he said sadly. ‘But I’d hoped …’

‘What did you hope?’ said Rosie, suddenly furious. ‘That I’d do a naked dance in front of your chums? That I’d come up and give you a few handy shags before you got fully back in with your London set? That you could pick me up whenever I was of use to you and drop me afterwards?’

Stephen’s brow furrowed.

‘What are you talking about?’ he said.

‘You used me,’ said Rosie. ‘You used me when you were sick and you used me when you were getting better and I fell for it every bloody time. You’re not worth it.’ Rosie was furious. ‘I wasted … oh. It doesn’t matter.’

‘Wasted what?’ said Stephen, cross. ‘Wasted what? Sorry, was I wasting your time as well as the rest of the fucking town’s? Oh God, how long do I have to limp around being sorry? You seemed quite happy at the time.’

‘And now it’s over,’ said Rosie. ‘Well, thanks very much. It’s fine. I don’t need you and I don’t need anything. It is
very
unclassy not to call a girl. Very. Although I’m sure those tarts in London won’t give a toss.’

Stephen looked at her in disbelief.

‘Who uses a phone round here? Have you seen anyone use a phone round here? If you need something you go and get it. And get ignored and left in the lurch,’ he added, pointedly.

There was a silence. Nobody moved.

‘I have to be getting on,’ said Rosie, stiffly.

‘Fine,’ said Stephen. He stomped off the other way, his limp pronounced but, oddly, rather suiting him.

Tears stinging her eyes, it took everything Rosie had not to run up the high street in hysterics. She had the awful, awful feeling that this was the last time they would ever speak. That she had blown it, if she’d ever had it in the first place. She couldn’t think, now, of the night at the ball, how exciting it was and how poundingly, devastatingly attractive she’d found him. How much she’d wanted him. Still wanted him.

Well. He was going away. Good. Better to crush her hopes
now than for things to run on indefinitely. Her heart, though, sank into her boots. Was this how Lilian had felt when Henry went away? Worse, she supposed, because Lilian knew she might never see him again. But something told Rosie she’d never see Stephen again. Not the real Stephen; the funny, cussed, brave Stephen she’d got to know. She might see a polite stranger, swishing past her in the pub or coming home at Christmas time, CeeCee tapping her foot impatiently till the family visits were out of the way. But seeing Stephen again? It seemed unlikely.

She ran through the door of the cottage, the first sobs already on her lips.

‘Lilian!’ she howled. Lilian was sitting up on the sofa and, like a child, Rosie threw herself down next to her and burst into tears.

‘There, there,’ said Lilian. ‘There, there.’

‘He’s going away,’ howled Rosie. ‘He’s going away. I thought it wouldn’t matter and I wouldn’t care and I’d be all grown up and graceful. But it does!’

It was only gradually that Rosie realised there was someone else in the room. Sniffing, she tilted up her head, horrified to see Lady Lipton standing in the shadow of the kitchen door, two cups of tea in her hands. Rosie didn’t care, she was so red and damp and her face was a mess and the tears wouldn’t stop dripping, and there was snot too. It didn’t even matter any more that she was such a mess. Hetty would be pleased, presumably, that she wouldn’t be going near her beloved son again.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake’ said Hetty, looking her up and down. ‘This has to stop. You must be freezing in that jacket.’

Rosie hadn’t even noticed what she was wearing.

‘If you’re going to live here, you’d better get yourself sorted out once and for all.’

She picked up a paper bag at her feet.

‘Here,’ she said. ‘Lily told me your size. I thought you might like these.’

Inside were a pair of wellingtons. But not just any wellingtons. Round the top was a narrow stripe of material. And the motif on them was little wrapped sweets.

‘Pulled in a favour from Hunter’s,’ sniffed Hetty. ‘It really was getting beyond a joke.’

Rosie wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Instead, she took Lilian’s proffered cotton handkerchief and blew her nose.

‘Here,’ said Lilian. ‘Have my tea.’

Hetty looked at her. ‘And I suppose you’d better have these. They’ve been cluttering up my son’s kitchen for days now while he’s looked at them and hummed and hawed. I suppose they’re for you. Well, he’s never going to give them to you, so I suppose I’d better. I can’t handle you
both
mooning around, it’s bad for my angina.’

She handed over a box of sweets, something Rosie didn’t recognise immediately. Then she cottoned on that they were love hearts. She opened the box with fumbling fingers. Instead of different messages, on every single one was a single word:
Rosie. Rosie Rosie Rosie Rosie
.

Rosie gasped and looked up.

‘I need to tell you something,’ said Lilian. ‘Last night, when we were talking, I lied. Well, I mostly told the truth. But I lied too. I have had a happy life, mostly.’

She took a deep breath.

‘But if I … if I had the chance to do it again, if things had been different …’

‘Mmm?’ Rosie couldn’t take it all in. Hetty had turned her head away.

‘I would never have left that bally dance,’ said Lilian, proudly. Her voice sounded stronger than it had in months. ‘And I would have grabbed his other arm. I wouldn’t have walked backwards. I would have kept on walking forward and kept on dancing, and I would have done everything in my power to make sure he didn’t get near that other girl. And kept him on bloody farming duty while I was at it, and I wouldn’t have cared tuppence for what anyone else said. I’d already sacrificed as much as anyone else in that damn war.’

Lilian gave one of her looks.

‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’

Rosie squirmed.

‘It’s not like that,’ she said. ‘Henry chased you. It’s nothing like that with Stephen.’

Hetty harrumphed.

‘I am not going to sit here and tell you that Stephen Lakeman isn’t one of the awkwardest buggers ever to walk the face of the earth,’ said Lilian. ‘He’s ridiculously proud and needlessly difficult.

‘But he’s a good boy,’ she added. ‘He’s decent. And he’s kind. And I think if you want him … I think if you want him you should go get him.’

‘But he’s supposed to do the chasing,’ moaned Rosie, fingering the sweets, torn absolutely.

‘Men are meant to do all sorts of things,’ said Lilian. ‘Doesn’t mean they ever bloody manage it.’

‘Amen to that,’ said Hetty. But already Rosie was on her feet and heading out the door.

‘STOP!’ said Hetty. ‘I cannot bear you going out looking like a farm animal one more time.
Especially
if you are taking my son off my hands.’

Her tone was crusty but her eyes were twinkly.

‘Put on that dress!’

Hetty held her and brushed out her hair with thick strokes, and Lilian tried to apply some black mascara, and Rosie pulled on a thick jumper over the green dress that was ridiculously unsuitable for the middle of a winter’s day, but finally they judged her ready. Rosie’s heart was fit to burst and she was at screaming point before they let her go; for speed, she leapt on the bicycle and threw herself up the hill as fast as she could manage. Was she too late? Had her words hardened his heart? Had he made up his mind once and for all? Maybe – she panicked at this – maybe he had got into his car and headed south straight away. No. No, that couldn’t happen. In her head, she had lots of scenarios looming up closer and closer so that she pedalled harder and harder – till she spotted him, on the flat part of the road leading up to Peak House. He must be trying to walk it. To see him valiantly marching onwards with his stick distracted her for a second and, as she skidded round the corner, she realised suddenly she had absolutely no chance of stopping.

‘
Get out the way!
’ she screamed at him. The bicycle made almost no noise on the tarmacked road. ‘MOVE!’

He tried to move aside but he was too late, and she saw his
eyes widen as she remembered, at the very last minute, to jam on the brakes. Then, gracelessly, she felt herself, as if in the stretched-out timing of a dream, fly over the handlebars and crash headlong into his arms. They both fell flat, the stick clattering to the ground, and found themselves, caught in each other’s arms, squelching deep into the soft, forgiving mud at the side of the track, love hearts scattered all around.

At first they stared at each other, shocked and appalled. Then, almost inexorably, Stephen and then Rosie started to laugh. And finally, filthy with mud and wet with newly falling rain and fuelled by adrenalin and happiness, they kissed once again, as hungrily and as passionately as the young of the village had kissed each other by the side of the harvest fields, witnessed only by cows, and owls, and deep-swooping birds, for hundreds and hundreds of years.

CODA

The snow had fallen so thickly the cottage looked like something out of a Christmas tree advert, the day they loaded up the Land Rover – Stephen’s this time, not Moray’s. Stephen and Moray had grudgingly made up, Stephen admitting it was hard to see his contemporary fit and well and swanning about when there was so much need in Africa; Moray sniffing loudly and saying he was probably also jealous of his good looks and how much everybody liked him, but Stephen had ignored that.

They had packed all of Lilian’s photos, her cushions and as many of her dresses as Rosie could get in the car.

‘Why will I need those?’ Lilian had said, not displeased.

‘Because there’ll be a different social occasion every night,’ Rosie had said. ‘You’ll be tea-danced off your feet.’

Lilian sniffed.

‘Not with my hips.’

‘Don’t be daft, they’ve all got dicky hips. They play the
music at thirty-three and a third. And you’ll be by far the best-looking woman there.’

‘Well, I can’t deny that,’ said Lilian. She was full of nerves about moving from the only home she’d ever known. But in a funny kind of way, she was excited too; excited to be doing something new, trying something different. The idea of room service and games nights and someone to play Scrabble with … well, she couldn’t deny it sounded interesting. Although the presence of Ida Delia made her slightly nervous, although Ida Delia would have forgotten her long ago, gone doolally or something.

But the best news of all was Rosie. That Rosie would still be near – that she could visit the shop whenever she chose; come to the cottage or pick up the phone; that this was going to happen without ruining Rosie’s life; that Rosie
wanted
to do this – made her feel safe and content inside.