Welcome To Rosie Hopkins' Sweetshop Of Dreams (49 page)

‘I’m a mother, not a slipper-wearing invalid,’ said Tina, smiling. ‘OK. Dive in!’

‘Nothing you have will fit me!’

‘Of course it will,’ said Tina. ‘Well, the tops will.’

‘OK, OK.’

Tina came back to the invite. ‘But look at this!’ She’d carried it upstairs.

Rosie shrugged. ‘I just assumed everyone got invited.’

‘Everyone does
not
get invited. Why do you think Lilian has it on the mantelpiece to impress people? Lady Lipton’s hunt ball is like the talk of the county.’

‘The whole county?’

‘Yeah, yeah, very sarcastic. But it’s like all the landowners and aristocracy from all around, and she does the place up and makes it all fancy …’ Tina’s voice trailed off. ‘I kind of hoped … well, it’s silly. But last year when I broke up with Todd, I wanted to go so badly.’

‘Maybe Jake will be going.’

Tina snorted. ‘Yeah, to park the cars maybe.’

‘Really?’ said Rosie. ‘Well, actually it sounds a bit shit now, the way you’re talking about it.’

‘It’s the only time of the year the house is open, apart from tours in the summer and weddings and stuff,’ said Tina, her eyes gleaming. ‘They light the driveway so you can see it from all over the village, and you can hear them all night. Plus there’s always some posh loony who drives his Land Rover into someone’s house on his way home.’

‘It sounds
awful
,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m not going.’

Tina gave her a knowing look. ‘Not even to see your patient?’

‘I haven’t heard hide nor hair of my ex-patient in weeks,’ said Rosie, realising as she said it how irritating this was. She had thought they were becoming … well, maybe not close. Stephen didn’t seem to do close. Intense, and often irritating, he could manage. But not a line, not a phone call, not even a proper thank you. Would a bunch of flowers have been out of the question? It stiffened her resolve.

‘I don’t think I really want to go to some poshos-throwing-themselves-about thing,’ she said. ‘Plus I don’t know those weird dances they do. I won’t know anyone except Stephen, who will probably be sulking, and she’s not inviting any of my friends and anyway she’s totally rude to me all the time.’

‘She’s only rude to people she likes,’ said Tina. ‘Everyone else she’s just kind of distractedly polite. You should be flattered.’

‘And yet I’m not,’ said Rosie. ‘
Argh!
’ She was trying to do up a dusty-pink sleeveless party dress at the back. It was beautiful, but clearly wasn’t going to fit. ‘Bum, this is annoying. Running a sweetshop is doing nothing for me.’

‘It’s still pretty,’ said Tina. ‘Try this.’

And she handed over a top in the same colour, which did fit, and made Rosie’s dark hair and pale skin look like Snow White.

‘Gorgeous,’ said Tina. ‘Although you’ll need some lippy.’

‘Always,’ said Rosie. ‘Where do you get all this stuff?’

‘Mail order!’ said Tina. ‘It arrives off the internet. It’s like somebody sending you a present.’

There was a silence.

‘Does that make me sound really lonely?’ she said.

‘No,’ said Rosie immediately.

‘Well, that’s good,’ said Tina. ‘I am really lonely though.’

Rosie glanced out at the moon rising in her window.

‘Oh sugar,’ she said. ‘Me too.’

The two girls dissolved in laughter.

‘Come on, let’s go out and get a bit pished up,’ said Rosie. ‘I believe it’s medically necessary.’

She reached under her bed. Tina’s eyes widened as she pulled out two packets of Refreshers, some sherbet and a large bottle of vodka.

‘What the hell is that?’ she said.

‘Aha,’ said Rosie. She’d already put ice cubes in her sink, with two cocktail glasses. She dissolved the sherbet in the vodka, added ice cubes and sugar syrup and topped it off with a Refresher.

‘You’re joking me,’ said Tina. ‘Sweetie cocktails?’

‘Fabulous, no?’ said Rosie. ‘I just made it up. If it weren’t so goshdarn illegal I’d sell them in the shop.’ The girls giggled and chinked glasses, then sipped slowly.

‘The thing is,’ said Rosie, ‘the first sip is a bit weird. But the second is
amazing
.’

‘If I have a third,’ said Tina, ‘I’m going to fall out the window.’

Rosie shrugged on a dark red bolero over the ruched pink top.

‘Ooh,’ she said. ‘What do you think? Too much of the sexy señorita? Should I be holding a rose in my teeth?’

‘I think what Lipton needs is a sexy señorita,’ said Tina. ‘That is the
only
thing lacking in this town.’

Finally, shooshing each other as they crept past Lilian, and giggling their heads off, they set out for the Red Lion.

‘All right, girls,’ said Les as they pushed open the door. ‘Ooh, look at you two, going somewhere fancy?’

Tina started to sigh, but Rosie said, ‘Of course! Here! For you, Les!’ Amazingly, this made him smile, and the normal residents grin. One of the farmers came forward and asked to buy them their first gin and tonic and from then on they were happily ensconced by the fire.

‘This,’ said Rosie, ‘is because of my terrible reputation.’

But it wasn’t Rosie who was getting all the attention – it was Tina.

‘We never thought we’d see you out again after Todd left,’ said Jim Hodds, the vet, who was enjoying a rare and well-deserved night off.

Tina smiled. ‘Well, you know, it’s been hard.’

‘Why didn’t you come out, see some people?’ asked another. ‘We’re always here.’

‘Yeah,
always
here.’

The farmers were good company, cheeky and funny and flirtatious over the course of the next few hours.

When she got up to go to the loo, Rosie realised instantly that she was drunk. Well, not drinking much for months then inventing ridiculous cocktails of vodka and whatnot would do that to you. She found herself making a silly face in the mirror, then putting her lipstick on slightly wonky. Oh well, they were having fun. And it was nice to see Tina happy again. It couldn’t be easy looking after twins on your own. She wobbled slightly coming out of the toilet. Then she blinked, and
blinked again, just in case her eyes were deceiving her. They weren’t. Sitting in the corner with his back to her, his stick on the floor, his face filled out, his hair desperately in need of a cut, was Stephen Lakeman.

Had she not had some vodkas, and gin and tonics, and unwarranted admiration from Lipton’s many single menfolk, Rosie would probably have thought twice about what she did next. Instead, emboldened and in a rash mood, she marched straight up to him.

‘Hey!’ she yelled. ‘Not a phone call? Not a word? What kind of a grateful ex are you?’

She meant, of course, ex-patient. But it came out wrong. Stephen, startled, turned round hastily, and Rosie noticed that the other person at his table was a girl. And not just any girl. A long-haired, very slender, wide-eyed blonde girl, with a flick to her hair. She flicked it now, then glanced up at Stephen. It was not a friendly glance. It was a ‘Who the hell is this?’ glance.

‘Hello?’ she said enquiringly. She wasn’t local, Rosie noticed straight away. She was from the south, just like her. It came to her suddenly. She must be a jag!

Stephen looked uncomfortable, and ran his fingers through his hair.

‘Uhm,’ he said. ‘Hi. Hello.’

Even in her fuddled state, it was obvious to Rosie that something was up. She felt like she was intruding. And worse: she realised, in a horrible, blinding flash, that whatever she’d said to Tina or told herself she believed, she did have feelings for Stephen. Not pity or tenderness or the proper professional concern of a carer for a former patient.
Nothing like that at all. Real feelings. Real feelings that were being whipped into a frenzy of jealousy by this woman here with the flicky hair.

‘Uhm,’ said Stephen again. Rosie wondered about this too. He was obviously uncomfortable. But why? If she was just a nurse to him, he wouldn’t feel embarrassed, would he? He’d be perfectly happy to introduce her. The fact that it was awkward … A tiny pilot light lit inside her. If he … if he …

‘This is Rosie,’ said Stephen. ‘She was my nurse.’

The light inside Rosie sputtered and died. His
what
?

‘Uhm, Rosie, this is CeeCee.’

CeeCee?
The girl gave her a tight social smile that basically said, back off, I am chatting up the hot young aristocrat. She reminded Rosie of the girls you saw on TV at Formula 1. All blonde and skinny and identical – and
desperate
to hang around the rich boys.

‘Nice to meet you,’ drawled CeeCee in the most languid way imaginable, before picking up her iPhone. She put it down to add, ‘Oh, darling, Kibs and Francesca have also been
dying
to know what you’ve been up to.’

‘Oh, yes, well,’ stammered Stephen. He really wasn’t himself at all. Rosie hadn’t felt so ignored since the last time she tried to rouse a ketamine addict in A&E.

‘Uh-huh,’ she said. ‘Well, I didn’t mean to barge in. Bye!’

She had started to retreat to her gang, when Stephen turned to her. CeeCee busied herself putting on more lipgloss.

‘Uhm,’ he said, his face going bright red. ‘Thank you. Again.’

‘All part of the nursing service,’ said Rosie tightly. Stephen blinked a couple of times.

‘Uh. Oh,’ he said. She had never known him lost for words. ‘I meant, thanks for telling me to talk to Mother.’

‘Mother?’

‘Yes. Mother. Female thing. Gave birth to me.’

Well, the old Stephen hadn’t disappeared completely.

‘Anyway. We’ve been getting on a lot better. Thank you.’

‘Who’s that?’ said Rosie bluntly.

CeeCee looked as out of place in the cosy confines of the Red Lion as a tropical fish in a goldfish bowl. Her shoes had red soles. She was talking loudly on her iPhone.

‘Uhm, it’s an old friend of mine …’

‘Oh, it was so nice of her to spend so much time with you when you were poorly,’ said Rosie. ‘Still, now you’re on the mend and set to inherit, it’s lovely she’s made the trip.’

Stephen gave her a sharp look.

‘I’d better go,’ she said.

‘Maybe you had,’ he said. ‘You’re not being very nice.’

‘Maybe I’m not very nice.’

Stephen half smiled. ‘Well, neither am I.’

‘I bet she isn’t either,’ said Rosie, knowing she’d gone too far this time. There was tension in the air as they looked at one another. Then Stephen laughed.

‘Are you coming to Mother’s – sorry, Ma’s or Mummy’s or Lala’s or whatever they use round your way, obviously the only acceptable way you can talk about the person who gave birth to you. Are you coming to the ball?’

‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘I won’t know a single person there. There’s not one single nice person I like from the village
going. It’ll be full of people like CeeCee and your mum treats me horribly. But thanks for asking.’

Rosie felt her walk back to the other side of the pub would have been a lot better if she hadn’t accidentally stumbled over her shoes before she got there.

The fun had gone out of the night, and they all knew it. Tina wanted to head home anyway; the twins would be up at seven whether she had a hangover or not and that was the end of it. Rosie trailed up to bed alone, taking off the pink ruched top – what had she been thinking, she looked like she was dolled up for flamenco fancy dress. Stephen and CeeCee were probably chuckling about it right now. Rosie groaned in embarrassment. Oh God. Did he know? Of course he knew. She must have made it so obvious. But how hadn’t
she
known?

She had of course. A bolt of electricity had shot through her when she saw him there. She couldn’t help it. And he was going to think of her as such an idiot, a chunky little curly-haired London girl against a slender, lissom creature like CeeCee. It probably happened to him all the time before he cut his leg open. Handsome aid worker, posh family, big fuck-off house … God, what an idiot she must seem to him. He probably felt sorry for her, like George Clooney did every time he got gushed on by a TV reporter.

And she realised something worse: that when she had ditched Gerard, ditched a perfectly nice man, she had obviously, on one level, hoped there might be a chance with Stephen, that she might be in with a shot. What a totally
stupid thing that had been. Of course now he was on the mend he’d have bees round the honey pot. She was lucky he had even remembered her name.