Welcome To Rosie Hopkins' Sweetshop Of Dreams (41 page)

‘That was an awful lot of door-banging,’ observed Lilian at breakfast, pained to see how pale and stressed Rosie looked. She had that slightly drained skin she’d had when she arrived, which a few weeks of outdoor living, early nights and good food had put paid to. She tried to remind herself that this was the evil family stranger who was here to take all her money and dump her in a home, but she couldn’t help being concerned for the girl.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ said Rosie, dourly frying up eggs. The smell made her feel slightly sick, even though they had been waiting on the doorstep and the vicar’s hens had laid them just a few hours before.

Lilian raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, better get ready for a busy day then,’ she said.

1944

You couldn’t ever really dislike a child, Lilian knew. It wasn’t right or fair. But still it did seem incredible that any offspring of two such attractive specimens as Henry Carr and Ida Delia Fontayne could be so badly favoured. Dorothy’d had a difficult birth, Lilian had heard, with Henry advancing with the Allies through Italy, and Ida Delia in labour for three days yelling like a stuck pig. People told her this as if she’d be pleased – everyone knew everything, of course – but Lilian took no pleasure in it. Dorothy had been undersized and bright red, slightly boiled-looking. She always appeared irritated when pushed about in the smart perambulator that had been sent for, uncomfortably trussed up in several layers of bright yellow wool that gave her a jaundiced look, festooned with bows and frills and with two tiny feet desperately trying to kick their way out, and a howl or a scowl on her little features
.

One day, Lilian had been cycling down to the drapers when she’d spied them, Ida Delia having trouble getting the enormous perambulator up off the cobbles. Lilian had searched within herself and made a decision. She’d dropped the bike, which made a hell of a clatter and instantly started the baby screaming, and run over to help
.

Ida Delia, looking older than her nineteen years, her yellow hair unbrushed and tied back with a rag, lurched the perambulator away from her
.

‘I don’t want your help, thank you,’ she said
.

‘Ida …’ started Lilian
.

‘I don’t speak to people who try and steal other people’s lads,’ said Ida. ‘He’s mine now. You stay away. I know you wanted his brat. Well, I got her.’ She made an ugly sniffing noise, halfway between a laugh and a snort. ‘So. You can keep away from our family, thank you.’

‘But I … I … Well, I just wanted to say congratulations,’ said Lilian, as humbly as she could
.

‘Well, any time you want to come round and boil some cloths, just say the word,’ said Ida Delia bitterly. The baby’s cries grew louder
.

‘Can I …’

‘You’ll just encourage her,’ said Ida, and finally managed to get the pram mounted on the pavement. The two women looked at each other. ‘Just stay away,’ said Ida, her tone full of menace. Lilian couldn’t know it, but the sight of the trim, youthful, energetic Lilian cycling freely down the street had filled Ida – whose letters from Henry were so infrequent and so stiff, and he never passed a forty-eight-hour leave without managing, somehow, to bring the conversation round to the Hopkins family – had filled her with absolute terror
.

Lilian hadn’t oversold market day. The entire town was absolutely thronged; there seemed to be as many horses as cars, and cows were lowing as they were driven through in large trucks on their way to the Stirlings’ field where the market would be held. Travellers had set up a large fair, and bunting was strung up all down the high street. Already Rosie could see a lost red helium balloon floating upwards through the trees. She took a deep breath and tied on her apron.

Outside the door of the shop her first customer was already waiting.

‘Does your mother know you’re here, Edison?’ asked Rosie, seeing no one behind him.

Edison nodded seriously. ‘Yup. She said it was the best place for me. Encourage self-safishsee.’

‘Really?’ said Rosie, slightly peeved. She wasn’t a daycare centre. ‘Why’s that then?’

Edison pushed his glasses up on his nose with a surprisingly adult-like gesture.

‘I am most terribly afraid of animals,’ he said.

‘What, all animals?’ said Rosie, turning the heavy key and finding she was smiling despite herself.

‘Yes,’ said Edison. ‘And some plants. That’s why it’s best if
I keep myself out of the way.’ He wandered into the shop. ‘Hester said I should make myself useful.’

‘Who’s Hester?’

‘My mother.’

‘Of course she is,’ said Rosie. She called her mum Angie sometimes, but it didn’t seem quite the same.

‘She thinks I would be a good help to you.’

‘Does she now. Why doesn’t she take you to see the animals so you could find out they’re not scary?’

‘Hester thinks it’s wrong that animals get killed for us,’ mumbled Edison. ‘She doesn’t really prove.’

At that moment Hester appeared, grey hair glinting.

‘Hello,’ she said coolly. ‘Now. Listen. I have to go distribute these vegan leaflets at the market. Can I leave Edison with you for a little while? He’ll be a huge help, I’m sure.’

Rosie was taken aback. ‘Well,’ she stuttered, ‘well, I suppose so.’

‘Fantastic! Wonderful! The animals will thank you!’ said Hester, barely breaking stride.

Rosie and Edison watched her disappear down the high street. Then Rosie turned towards the skinny little boy.

‘The thing is,’ said Rosie, ‘everyone’s entitled to their own opinion. But I’m going down later to see all the animals.’

Edison looked at her, his eyes blinking anxiously behind his glasses.

‘Oh,’ he said.

‘You could come with me if you like,’ said Rosie. ‘I promise to protect you from them.’

Edison considered. ‘OK,’ he said.

‘OK,’ said Rosie. ‘Now, I need you to fold up these boxes
very small and put them in this larger box for cardboard recycling.’

‘Can I draw on them first?’

‘You can,’ said Rosie, ‘as long as you keep out of my way.’

Edison looked at her.

‘Where’s the nice man who was here yesterday?’

Rosie bit her lip. ‘He had to go.’

‘Oh,’ said Edison. ‘That’s a shame. I liked him. He was nice to kids. Not everyone is nice to kids, did you know that?’

‘I did know that,’ said Rosie, suddenly hit with the feeling that she might have made a terrible mistake. ‘Gerard was very good at being nice to kids. He’s very like one, in a way.’

‘No he isn’t,’ said Edison. ‘He’s grown up.’

‘That’s a metaphor,’ said Rosie. ‘Surely Hester has taught you about those?’

Edison nodded. ‘But it’s not a metaphor. It’s a simile.’

‘Let’s open up, shall we?’ said Rosie. She could feel her temporary ebullience at the busy town leaking out of her like air from a balloon.

The next person she saw was hardly likely to cheer her up any further.

‘Mr Blaine,’ she said. Roy Blaine, the dentist, was standing in front of her, holding the newspaper in his hands. His own newspaper, of course.

‘I have notice of an advert here,’ he said.

Rosie squinted. What was he talking about?

‘About the forthcoming sale of a going concern …’

Rosie realised what it must be. ‘But I advertised in the Derby papers,’ she said.

‘We share advertising,’ said Mr Blaine. ‘It’s the same company.’

‘Oh.’

Roy marched round the shop, rather rudely sizing it up.

‘Hello,’ said Edison from down by the counter. He was drawing a large, very complicated machine on one of the cardboard boxes.

‘You need to come for your six-month check-up,’ said Roy, barely drawing breath. ‘I haven’t seen you.’

‘You don’t need to see me,’ said Edison, with a bravery Rosie thought rather commendable. ‘Hester says we’ll look after my teeth omopafica-lee.’

Both Rosie and Roy rolled their eyes.

‘And I don’t get sugar at home.’

‘No, just when you live in the sweetshop. So,’ said Roy, looking around. ‘It’s not exactly a
going
concern, is it? Couple of weeks of playing milkmaid.’

Rosie vowed to change this stupid apron.

‘After years of neglect. Not unlike some people’s mouths.’

‘Are you interested?’

‘I might be,’ said Mr Blaine. ‘This might make a rather good site for my new dental practice. Brand new veneers, perfect smiles, super-fast whitening, expensive fillings.’ He was practically rubbing his hands together. ‘Everyone wants that perfect smile nowadays.’

Personally Rosie thought that his hyper-straight, neon-white Hollywood teeth were creepy and weird, like a direct view of a skull picked clean by birds. But she didn’t want to say so.

‘Yes, it’s all new techniques in dentistry these days. A quaint little place like this might work rather well.’

‘So you wouldn’t be selling sweets?’

‘No!’ said Roy. ‘I’d be selling top-of-the-range teeth whiteners at four hundred pounds a pop. So what do you think about that, Snaggle Mouth?’

‘Did you just call me Snaggle Mouth?’ said Rosie.

‘Affectionately of course,’ said Roy. He looked around greedily a little longer, then checked his very expensive watch. ‘Well, I’d better get on. Time is teeth, and teeth are money,’ he said, with a final flash of his luminous grin. He left the shop, making the bell ring abruptly.

Edison quickly made some changes to his drawing.

‘I’m putting him in,’ said the boy. ‘He is a very mean dentist.’

Rosie looked at him. The idea of Roy Blaine taking over Lilian’s beloved shop and turning it into some hi-tech tooth emporium made her feel absolutely miserable. He’d rip out all the shelves and the counter and the fixtures and … She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to sell it like this.

‘He is,’ she said. ‘He is a very mean dentist.’ She glanced down. If she had to have a six-year-old hanging around now Gerard had gone, it might as well be this one.

The shop filled up quickly. Many people who had come into Lipton from the surrounding villages exclaimed with delight at the restoration of their beloved sweetshop, missing from so many market days past. Tentatively they asked for their favourite, asked after Lilian, exclaimed as to how much Rosie resembled her, and beamed when Rosie deftly twirled and passed the little striped paper bags full of memories out into the crowd.

The morning flew past, the door and the till ringing busily, the shop full of children pointing excitedly, and their parents surreptitiously helping themselves to the fudge tasters Rosie had temptingly placed on top of the glass cabinets. Things were going so well, Rosie almost forgot about her terrible start to the day, persuading Anton that only four sugar mice were more than enough to get him through the next half-hour as he waited for his wife to get back from the fête. Indeed, Chrissie popped in to fetch him, and admired the shop as soon as she arrived.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘And I’m on the organising committee for the tombola. I never thought, we could have touched you for a donation.’

‘Of course you can,’ said Rosie. ‘What about a big box of chocs?’

‘You’re a darling!’ The two women looked at each other. Anton’s wife had her hands full of shopping, and a steadying arm on Anton.