Welcome To Rosie Hopkins' Sweetshop Of Dreams

by Jenny Colgan

  From her vantage point, in the corner near the window, she had a good view of the entire shop, Lilian realised. It was truly, she saw, uncanny; these shelves she’d worked with her whole life; the big old till still there; the striped paper bags. She adjusted her glasses, as Rosie served some older children on their lunch hour. With Rosie’s dark hair tumbling around her shoulders, sometimes it gave her the oddest sensation that she had slipped back in time; that she was watching herself. How differently, she reflected, how differently she would do it this time.

  ‘Humbugs are in the wrong place,’ she barked. ‘They go a row up.’

  Rosie looked around. ‘Yes, but I thought I’d arrange everything alphabetically, then I can find it quickly.’

  The children scampered out with Twixes.

  ‘That’s nonsense,’ said Lilian. ‘You have to put everything where you can easily reach it. There’s no point having cola cubes on the top shelf under C when they get asked for every two minutes. And you have to keep the love hearts handy, that’s just obvious.’

  Rosie was stung. She was still waiting for one word of congratulations or thanks for all her hard work.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘maybe what people like has changed over the years.’

  Lilian snorted. ‘Only if they’re idiots. Which they are. I can see that by the fact that you’ve ordered in chewing gum.’

  ‘What’s wrong with chewing gum? The mark-up is unbelievable.’

  ‘Oh nothing, if you don’t consider the complete decline of western civilisation a problem.’

  ‘I do not,’ said Rosie stoically.

  Lilian settled back as a sunbeam hit her chair, feeling pleasantly relaxed. It was the ding of the bell and the ting of the cash register; the smell of the boiled candy and the pink candyfloss ribbony top notes as, all day, people dribbled in and out to have a look, pick up a free sample, make requests for things (she heard, approvingly, Rosie explain in her soft voice that she was sorry they didn’t have any toasted coconut mushrooms; as she, Rosie, hated them, she hadn’t ordered them, but she promised to correct that forthwith), and, apart from saying hello to some of the older customers who remembered her from years ago, she let her mind wander. She was in such a haze she half expected her father to walk in, or Gordon to come and try to cadge some candy cigarettes and get his hand slapped, or …

  1943

  ‘’Ang on,’ said Gordon, ‘Isn’t that the man you’re stepping out with?’

  Lilian couldn’t say anything. The breath was sticking in her throat. Margaret clasped her arm and said loudly, ‘Henry sodding Carr? That eejit?’

  At the sound of his name, Henry’s head flicked to the side, and once again he took on that terrible guilty look Lilian had seen at the dance. She couldn’t believe it. He was a two-timing, woman-baiting idiot, a dame teaser, and she couldn’t believe she’d fallen for it again.

  Margaret, meanwhile, was staring shrewdly at a flush-faced Ida Delia with a look Lilian couldn’t interpret.

  For once, Lilian didn’t care. She didn’t care what was right and proper; whether people would talk in the village; what Ida Delia would think, and tell her friends. She looked straight at Henry’s stricken face, turned round and stormed out.

  At first, caught up in the drama of the thing, she worried that no one would come after her. Then, the gravity of the situation – what a fool she was, what a fool she must look to the world, all the private hopes and dreams she hadn’t dared to admit even to herself – came bubbling up, and erupted, not in tears – her tears, she felt, she had spent for Ned – but in fury; an absolute rage at the universe; the enormous unfairness of falling in love, the difficulty of finding the right man in a world with so few. She wanted to scream, to punch the stars; to howl to the moon about the total bally unfairness of everything. Quiet, skinny, mousy Lilian wanted to take her knotted fists and punch down trees, trample bushes and houses and carts, kick the new pavement to dust. Her eyes blinked in frustration, as she found herself making her way to the churchyard, hardly even noticing what she was doing.

  Footsteps pattered to a halt behind her, but she didn’t turn round. Margaret would be bad, or Gordon making some horrible joke about what lads were like, or anyone but …

  He didn’t even say her name. She felt, instead, a strong, tentative touch on her shoulders, at which temporary fear shot through her anger. He gave a sharp intake of breath then slowly, as if against her will, she allowed herself to be turned round. Only then did he say her name.

  ‘Lily.’ His face was a mask of misery and desperation. ‘Lily, I …’

  But then, like the last gasp of a drowning man, he reached for her, and she felt him reach for her and was happy he did so, and let him grab her shoulders and hold her, as she gave herself up entirely to his fierce, devastating kiss, feeling the contrast between his rough, unshaven face and his soft, pillowy lips, now hard against her own. Then she didn’t think at all; she channelled her anger and her rage into passion, a huge and long-pent-up passion for him that she felt, once it had burst its banks, would never stop flowing. By the churchyard, lit only by the bright harvest moon, hard against the old oak tree, she felt herself melt into him, could barely tell where she ended and he began as they kissed on.

  But eventually, gasping for breath, his whole body, it seemed, straining towards her, Henry pulled himself away. Lilian baulked; was she doing it wrong? Had she done something lewd or awful? Inside she started to panic.

  But it was far, far worse than that.

  Rosie was flushed with success cashing up that evening; she put all the money neatly into the smart little bags she’d got from the bank and put the figures into her laptop with a little sigh of satisfaction. It was far more than she’d expected. She was secretly rather proud of herself.

  ‘Don’t you think that was amazing?’ she said to Lilian, hoping to elicit a word of praise – hoping that Lilian might congratulate her of her own accord, even say that it was just how it used to be, or thank her for her hard work, or do anything in fact but what she’d been doing for the last three hours, which was pretend to listen to Radio 4 while actually staring out of the window.

  ‘I do,’ Rosie said loudly to herself. ‘I think I’m amazing. Let’s order in a curry.’ She thought about it. ‘Is that even possible? Is there Indian food here?’

  ‘Is there what?’ asked Lilian, as if Rosie had asked her if there was any chance of getting an elephant burger to go.

  ‘What about pizza?’

  In fact, it turned out, there was pizza, a little van that parked up at the side of the school, and Rosie wandered down, feeling curiously content and like she did sometimes coming off a successful nursing shift when everything had gone well, and the sun was coming up over the Thames. Except now the sun was sinking gradually over the top of the distant hills, turning them purple and pink and sending huge shadows shooting out for miles against the undulating fields. It was exquisitely beautiful, as if the country were showing off just for her, the houses of the main street turned the other way.

  ‘Wow,’ said Rosie, as her mobile rang, and she didn’t even notice for a second, or realise till she heard it that it hadn’t rung in days.

  She snapped back when she heard it ring a second time; it was Gerard.

  ‘Hello?’ she said, tentatively, then more fondly, ‘Hello, sweetie.’

  ‘Where have you been?’ came the voice, sounding cross. ‘Every time I call your phone is switched off.’

  ‘It’s not switched off!’ said Rosie. ‘It’s just really hard to get a signal up here. Middle of nowhere and all that.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Gerard.

  ‘How are you, sweetie? It’s amazing here, the most gorgeous sunset, wow. The sky is just totally pink and …’

  Rosie sensed a pause on the other end of the line, as if he were just waiting for her to stop talking.

  ‘… anyway,’ she found herself finishing, ‘it’s cool.’

  ‘Sounds like you
’re loving it up there,’ said Gerard, a slight edge to his voice.

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ said Rosie. ‘No. No. There’s nothing to do.’

  As if in mockery, suddenly Jake and his friends passed by, shouting and laughing and nut brown from the sun.

  ‘Hey, Rosie!’ they called out. ‘Coming for pizza?’

  ‘I’m all right!’ She waved quickly.

  ‘Who’s taking you out for pizza? I thought you were in the middle of nowhere, not Pizza bloody Express.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ said Rosie. ‘Just a van they have here some days. Nothing. Honestly.’

  ‘Where you’re going with a whole load of men?’

  ‘Gerard,’ said Rosie, feeling this was somehow going wrong and not quite sure how to get the conversation back on track. ‘Darling.’

  ‘You didn’t phone yesterday.’

  ‘Well, lots of times when I called you were out, or on your way out.’

  Gerard’s voice was sullen. ‘Well, I was just enjoying … you know, first few days of freedom and all that.’

  ‘Freedom? What kind of freedom?’

  ‘Nothing like that. I mean, just going out with the lads and that. Then back to Mum’s.’

  ‘Well, that sounds reassuring.’

  His voice changed. ‘But, you know, I miss you, Rosie. I really do.’

  ‘Now you’re tired of being on the booze and have run out of socks?’ Rosie teased gently.

  ‘No! Yes! Maybe. A bit.’

  Rosie smiled. ‘I miss you too,’ she said. ‘All the time. I mean, well, I have been really, really busy and everything, but …’

  Rosie paused. Something struck her. She’d been working, making friends, seeing the countryside, making an idiot of herself. And Gerard had been going out, seeing his mates, dossing at his mum’s.

  It hit her forcibly that someone really ought to have been missing somebody else a bit more in this scenario. That at least one of them should have been a little sad.

  ‘So,’ said Gerard finally, ‘so I thought I’d come up this weekend!’

  ‘Oh yes!’ said Rosie, relieved. ‘It’s market day! They have a fête! Apparently it’s great, everyone brings their cows and stuff and there’s a fair and it’s going to be amazing, and brilliant for the shop.’

  ‘OK, whatever,’ said Gerard. ‘You know this is only a temporary job, this shop thing. It’s just a favour to your family, you have to get rid of it.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Rosie. The pizza smelled amazing now she was closer; the van had been fitted with its very own brick oven.

  ‘Well, have you advertised it yet?’ ‘Uhm, no, not exactly. I’ve been really busy.’ ‘And what about your career? Have you seen anything in Nursing Times? Have you spoken to your agency?’

  Rosie had to admit that she hadn’t done any of those things, but she was close to perfecting her recipe for cauliflower cheese, as Lilian loved it so much.

  ‘Well, I’ll drive up on Friday night,’ said Gerard. ‘OK!’ said Rosie. ‘Hang on, I’d better ask Lilian.’ ‘Ask her what, if it’s all right for unmarried people to spend the night under her roof?’ Gerard let out an incredulous guffaw.

  ‘Yes!’ said Rosie. ‘It is her roof. It’s only polite.’ ‘Yeah, whatever,’ said Gerard, and, rather unsatisfactorily, they rang off. It was hard, Rosie reflected, to get your meaning across properly on the phone. She was sure all they needed was a proper cuddle and they’d be fine.

  Jake smiled at her from over by the pizza stand. ‘This is great,’ he said, and introduced her to some of the lads who worked with him, or were down for the fair. All of them were friendly and chatty and Rosie ordered a large ham and mushroom with extra pepperoni and cheese for her and Lilian (it was the fattiest thing she could think of; this feeding-up-Lilian project was going to have the most appalling effect on her own waistline, and that was before she took into account the odd flying saucer she snaffled out the back in a break from work). She passed a pleasant ten minutes with the lads and then went home to the cottage.

  To her horror, she had almost forgotten about Gerard coming till she and Lilian were halfway through dinner, which Lilian insisted on eating with a knife and fork, at the table, from a plate. She sniffed and made pointed remarks about the cleanliness of the pizza van and the undesirability of those who hung around it but she almost ate the entire thing, before Rosie remembered to mention him.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘uhm, my boyfriend was thinking of coming up this weekend …’

  Suddenly she wasn’t too sure she wanted Gerard and Lilian to meet. She was used to Lilian’s crusty ways; Gerard could get a bit chippy and take offence easily.

  Lilian was regarding Rosie with that intense beady look she sometimes got.

  ‘So is he going to marry you?’

  Rosie shrugged, twisting slightly. ‘Ha. Well, you know, we haven’t really discussed it!’

  ‘How long have you been a couple?’

  ‘Eight years.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Lilian, with feeling. Rosie shifted in her seat. The thing was, she thought it was too long too. Every time she came across one of those magazine articles that said ‘he should propose after two years’, she quickly turned the page and mentally went lalala.

  ‘Don’t be sexist,’ she said.

  ‘And how old are you?’

  ‘Or ageist.’

  Lilian kept her bright bird eyes fixed on her.

  ‘I’m thirty-one,’ said Rosie. ‘That’s nothing these days.’

  ‘Well, you’re hardly a couple of kids,’ said Lilian.

  ‘No,’ said Rosie slowly. ‘But I think we’re fine as we are, thanks.’

  She started to clear away the dishes. Lilian looked at her, uncomprehending. Young people … didn’t she realise? That if it wasn’t the real thing, if it wasn’t proper, true love then she was wasting her time. She was wasting her life.

  ‘People always believe,’ said Lilian, musing, ‘that they have plenty of time.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Coconut Ice

  Now here is a sweet that is truly unjustly overlooked these days in favour of the gelatine and cheap sour-perfume scent of a conglomerate whose name I have been legally advised to remove. A marriage in pink and white; spring blossom and a wedding dress, powdered with confetti, a fine coconut ice is a joy for the eyes as well as the tongue. Even standard coconut refuseniks – and you know who you are – can’t fail to be enthralled by the perfect match of the sweet fondant with the slightly tart coconut pieces as it melts in the mouth, like two halves of a puzzle finding one another. It is both beautiful and useful.

  9 oz sweetened condensed milk

  9 oz icing sugar, sifted, plus extra for dusting

  8 oz desiccated coconut

  pink food colouring

  Mix together the condensed milk and icing sugar in a large bowl until very stiff. Add coconut. It will not want to go. Make it. Use your hands. If you wear rings, take them off at this point.

  Split the mix into two and knead a very small amount of food colouring into one half. Dust a board with icing sugar, then shape each half into a smooth rectangle and place one on top of the other. Roll with a rolling pin, reshaping with your hands every couple of rolls, until you have a rectangle of two-tone coconut ice about 1 inch thick.

  Transfer to a plate and leave for at least 4 hrs or ideally overnight to set. This will keep for up to a month at least, if stored properly. If your coconut ice lasts for a month, you are not making it correctly.

  The weather held into the weekend, and Rosie waited with anticipation for Gerard to arrive on Friday, the roar of his cool Alfa Romeo lighting up the quiet high street just after five o’clock. Rosie was in the shop – it had been another good day, with children popping in all ready for the weekend with pocket money to spend; her steady sales were around the well-known chocolate bars, but gradually, tentatively, the children were starting to experiment, to try new things. Edison had boldly come in holding up a shiny pound coin.<
br />
  ‘From the tooth fairy,’ he said, showing Rosie the gap. ‘I did wait up, but I didn’t see it. It was good to get the money, but I’d rather have had the fairy. My mother was not happy about that. I really did wait up an awfully long time. After midnight. So, I have proved that the tooth fairy doesn’t come before midnight. That is what is called a start.’

  ‘It is,’ she said. ‘Now you know you have to choose what you want …’ she couldn’t forget the other side of things, ‘and make sure you brush your new teeth properly!’

  Edison nodded gravely. ‘And replace your toothbrush every three moths,’ he said.

  ‘Months?’ said Rosie, wondering briefly when she’d last replaced hers.

  ‘No, moths, I think. When they come towards the bathroom light at bedtime? That’s when you know you need a new one.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Rosie. ‘Now, young man, what would you like?’

  Edison’s eyes looked enormous behind his glasses as he scanned the shelves anxiously.

  ‘I want to try something new. I think,’ he added, tentatively. Rosie eyed him up and down.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Have you ever tried Edinburgh rock?’

  Edison shook his head. ‘I don’t like rock. It’s too hard. It’s a little bit frightening.’

  ‘Aha,’ said Rosie. ‘Not this rock. This rock is soft and crumbly, like chalk. It’s like delicious chalk.’

  Edison’s face perked up. ‘Can I …’

  Rosie bent down, her face mock-stern.

  ‘Now,’ she said, ‘you’re not going to ask me for a free sample, are you?’

  Edison shook his head vigorously.

  ‘OK. Do you trust me?’

  The shaking turned to nodding.

  ‘Would you like me to make it a half and half, so you can have something else in there too in case you don’t love it?’