Changes
Summary: There's something different about the woman in the pie shop, and Sweeney finds he can't help but think about her. Maybe… maybe he isn't the only one who changed in fifteen years.
A/N: This one... is a little weird. I'm not sure if it's even directly Sweenett, and it gets kinda disjointed after about halfway, but all the same I really like it. Writing Sweeney in first person is easier than expected, but the downside is after a while his thoughts just bunch together and stuff.
I now officially own a little bit of Sweeney Todd, and have done since I walked out of Woolworths with the DVD xD I watched it earlier, and it got me inspired to write this, since when Sweeney's sat there while Mrs Lovett's singing, he looks pretty deep in thought, so this is my view on what was going through his mind.
When I walked into the shop, I suppose I expected it to be the same as it was fifteen years ago. Bright, cheerful, smelling of hot meat pies, and filled to the brim with a bubbling Mrs Lovett. That was just how she was, no argument, no confusion. Just pure, simple Nellie, the one who was always laughing, talking, singing, dreaming about the sea. She never stopped, she hardly ever slept! She was just there. A constant, if you will.
For a few moments I wondered if the shop – despite the sign outside – was under new management. That woman stood there behind the filthy, flour-covered counter… that wasn't her, was it? No, surely not. Her hair was curly, but limp, messy, knotted. Her eyes were brown, yes, but dark and joyless. Her skin was too pale; her freckles had faded away, dark rings beneath her eyes. I was so sure that I'd made a mistake I turned to leave again.
Then she looked up, and for a split-second I saw recognition spark in her eyes – half-expected her to go back to normal – but then it faded. I wondered if she had recognised me, seen through what nobody else had. She was like that, Mrs Lovett, loud and sometimes brash, but she could be quiet and watchful, too, when it suited her. Oh, and didn't I know she could watch! I'd felt her eyes ever since we met. Still, I knew it was her – especially when she started singing! I never knew whether her bursting into song randomly like that amused or irritated me, even when I was better tempered. I suppose it depended on my mood. Right then I expected to find it irritating, but I suppose relief that there was one constant after fifteen years twisted my opinion.
The novelty wore off quickly, though, so I tuned her out and concentrated on the shop. What had happened to it? True, Mrs Lovett had always been messy, but she cleaned up at the end of the day, wiping the counters down, washing the dishes. And the pies! They looked… well, to be frank they looked disgusting. I began to rethink my certainty that this woman was Mrs Lovett. Perhaps a relative? That made sense. She'd handed the shop over to a relative after managing to convince her husband to move to the sea or whatever it was she was always talking about. I silently cursed. Now what? I hadn't considered the possibility that she wouldn't be here. Foolish, really, but still, as I said – she was a constant. She was always there. She was Nellie, the one who was always ready with a comforting word, a joke, that laugh that lit all of her up.
Then again, that's what I've learnt – nothing is constant. Nothing is forever.
But if the shop was under new management… where were Lucy and Johanna? Lucy wouldn't stay somewhere if it was as awful as this shop had become. How was I supposed to find them? Would they even want me back? Johanna wouldn't know me, Lucy…
No, I wouldn't think that way. God, I couldn't think that way.
She – this woman who couldn't be Nellie – put a pie in front of me. God, does she actually expect me to eat it? I prodded it, wondering if it was actually fit for human consumption. Probably not, but then it couldn't be any worse than what we'd eaten in Australia. I picked it up and bit the smallest piece off I could, and gagged. No, definitely not her cooking. Fifteen years, and I still remembered how she would insist Lucy and I come down once a week – at the least, often she invited us down every over night – and cooked us all, including her husband, lovely meals. If Nellie was nothing else, she was a good cook.
Ah, ale. Excellent. I took a long gulp, and shuddered as I swallowed. Dear Lord, did she call that alcohol?
I wonder… why can I remember her cooking and not Lucy's? No – that's wrong, I do remember.
I do. I have to. I do remember. I do.
Lucy. Yes, Lucy, think about Lucy. Beautiful Lucy, my wife, with yellow hair like wheat. God, where is she? And why is she still yammering? No, I don't mean that. Or do I?
No. I don't. I don't think. She gandered at Benjamin Barker, but Benjamin Barker started it, in all honestly, and anyway she was just a harmless little thing. A pretty, harmless little thing that was a curiosity more than anything. She wasn't as beautiful as Lucy, or as well mannered.
...Was that a cockroach that just crawled out of the pie?
And Johanna. My baby girl. No – not a baby. Think, think. Sixteen. Yes, she's sixteen now. Baby girl all grown up. God damn you Turpin, why did you make me miss my daughter growing up?
Wait… she stopped singing. Damn, did she just say something? Yes… it looks like she asked me a question. Or proposed something? I think I heard the word 'gin'… Yes, she's going into the other room, that's where Nellie kept the gin. God, who is this woman? She looks like Nellie – well, sort of – and she acts like Nellie, to an extent, but she's so changed. Like… well…
Like me. God, she's changed as much as I have, hasn't she? I'm… Oh, I don't even know if there's a word for what I am. Of course people change. It's been fifteen bloody years. So… either she's changed, or it's someone else. But no, I don't really believe she's someone else, not now. I… I think… yes, I think it is her. But where's her husband – Albert, wasn't it? – and Lucy. Where's Lucy? Where are my wife and daughter? And why has she changed? Hell, why do I care?
I know why I care. No, I'm not going to deny it, I can't be bothered. I give a damn because I could talk to her. Yes, that's the damn reason. I could really talk to her – or, rather, Benjamin Barker could. Nellie was a friendly ear. And maybe…
No. I'm not going there. I refuse to go there. But even so it comes to mind, Hyde Park, our place. That afternoon. God… what were we? Fourteen? Fifteen? Something ridiculous like that.
No. No. Can't think of that. Won't think of that. Damn, why am I thinking of that?
Follow her. Yes, follow her, ask her about Lucy. She'll know, she'll tell me where they are. They'll be fine; they'll both be fine. I'll have my family again. It might not be like I dreamed, won't be like I remembered, but the three of us will get by.
And I'll find out why she changed.
