Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 17
‘He’s so… he’s just so… special,’ said Hester suddenly. And Rosie, who had long thought that Edison was terribly mollycoddled, that his parents were trying to turn him into something he wasn’t, with awful consequences for his popularity and social standing at school, saw with real clarity that of course he was. That they all were, but Edison…
It was slow going on the whited-out roads. With the mobile signal so patchy, it was the longest ride of Rosie’s life. She kept flashing in and out of those terrible moments in the dark of the ripped-apart cabin: the sight of Stephen blown across the room, the boy’s contorted body… She realised she was shaking, and tried to force herself to calm down.
The kindly WPC in the front seat turned round to them with a large flask.
‘I’m sorry, it’s all I have,’ she said, pouring them a large cupful of hot tea to share. ‘We hope it won’t be long.’
Rosie took it gratefully and forced Hester to drink some. There were few cars on the road on such a dreadful day; the odd tractor. Every time she saw a lorry, Rosie winced. They were so dangerous on these little roads. So dangerous. She grasped Hester’s hand and held on to it tightly, as much, she realised, for herself as for Hester.
Finally they made it to the bypass, and a series of roundabouts signalled that they were approaching Carningford. Liptonites called it the big town, but to Rosie it was embarrassingly small; it didn’t even have a Topshop. But it did have a hospital. The driver put the sirens on and they sped through the heavier traffic.
Rosie closed her eyes for a few moments, tried to take some deep breaths. The last thing she needed was to go into shock; it was already quite hard enough for everyone else. She was fine. She was fine. She was going to have to be.
Chapter Six
They both ran through the emergency doors. The waiting room, full of bored people who had slipped on icy walks or overindulged at their firm’s Christmas lunch, looked up, interested in the distraction. The nurse on duty bustled them through, and Rosie and Hester were separated. Rosie gulped. Did this mean Stephen was worse than she’d thought.
‘He’s heavily sedated,’ said the nurse.
‘Is he going to be all right?’ said Rosie, desperately. ‘He seemed… he seemed like he would be okay.’
The nurse gently put her hand on her shoulder.
‘He will.’ She nodded. ‘He’ll be okay.’
‘Edison Felling-Jackson,’ said Rosie immediately. ‘What about the little boy?’
The nurse’s face darkened.
‘I can’t…’
‘I’m his…’ Rosie couldn’t work it out. ‘Oh.’
Fortunately Moray came dashing through to her from the waiting room. They hugged, briefly.
‘How’s Edison?’ she barked quickly.
Moray bit his lip.
‘It’s… well, he’s in theatre. They’re having a look. He’s pretty knocked up, Rosie.’
Rosie stared at the ground.
‘His neck?’
‘They’re checking. He’s in good hands.’
They stood apart.
‘Fuck,’ said Rosie, staring at the floor.
‘It’s early days,’ said Moray.
Rosie looked at him.
‘I know. Fuck,’ said Moray.
‘Did you want to see Mr Lakeman?’ said the nurse to Rosie.
‘Of course,’ said Rosie. Moray hung back.
‘He’s all right?’
‘Going to be. Thank God.’ Rosie’s face relaxed slightly. ‘But oh, Moray.’
Moray shook his head.
‘Come over later and we’ll get drunk,’ he said.
Rosie nodded. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll need to talk to Lilian.’
‘I’m sure she won’t mind you getting drunk once in a while.’
‘No, I’ll need to tell her everything.’
Moray rolled his eyes. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? That place is like a telephone exchange. She’ll know. But yes, check in and call by later.’
Rosie nodded.
‘How do I look?’ she said.
Even in the midst of everything that was going on, Moray still managed a smile.
‘Apart from the dust covering your hair and the black smudges and the scrape on your cheek?’ he said.
‘Oh, bloody hell,’ said Rosie.
‘Rosie, he’ll be off his tits on morphine. He’ll think you’re Cameron Diaz. Don’t worry about it.’
Rosie rubbed her face quickly, but decided to take him at his word.
‘Okay. Later. Text me as soon as you know anything about Edison.’
‘No mobiles in the hospital,’ said the nurse automatically. Rosie and Moray exchanged glances.
Rosie took one last deep breath and marched confidently into the side bay.
Stephen was propped up on his side, which made him appear oddly nonchalant. He looked sleepy and a little strained, and Rosie’s heart skipped out of her chest with relief and love.
‘Darling?’ she said softly. Stephen, even drugged up, seemed to relax at the sound of her voice.
‘R?’ he said.
She ran across the room to him.
‘Careful!’ he said. ‘They gave me some nice stuff… very nice stuff actually. It was very nice. I can’t remember what I was saying. Oh yes. My back. It’s still very —’
‘Ssh,’ said Rosie, burying her nose in his thick curly dark hair. It still held traces of dust; a faint smell of burning. Her eyes were dry, but she felt a huge sense of relief.
‘They’re going to do a skin graft,’ said the nurse. ‘When there’s a theatre free.’
‘Really? That bad?’ said Rosie, lifting her head. She looked at Stephen. ‘Did you just get your arse blown off?’
Stephen found this quite funny, but the nurse shook her head.
‘Just a little. On his side and shoulder. He jumped on top of the child and took the brunt of it.’
‘Hear that?’ said Rosie. ‘You’re a hero.’ She kissed him tenderly. Stephen shook his head.
‘Too late,’ he said, suddenly looking stricken. ‘Too late.’
‘Hush,’ said the nurse, glancing at her watch. ‘Don’t get agitated.’
A doctor came in, followed by two porters.
It was slow going on the whited-out roads. With the mobile signal so patchy, it was the longest ride of Rosie’s life. She kept flashing in and out of those terrible moments in the dark of the ripped-apart cabin: the sight of Stephen blown across the room, the boy’s contorted body… She realised she was shaking, and tried to force herself to calm down.
The kindly WPC in the front seat turned round to them with a large flask.
‘I’m sorry, it’s all I have,’ she said, pouring them a large cupful of hot tea to share. ‘We hope it won’t be long.’
Rosie took it gratefully and forced Hester to drink some. There were few cars on the road on such a dreadful day; the odd tractor. Every time she saw a lorry, Rosie winced. They were so dangerous on these little roads. So dangerous. She grasped Hester’s hand and held on to it tightly, as much, she realised, for herself as for Hester.
Finally they made it to the bypass, and a series of roundabouts signalled that they were approaching Carningford. Liptonites called it the big town, but to Rosie it was embarrassingly small; it didn’t even have a Topshop. But it did have a hospital. The driver put the sirens on and they sped through the heavier traffic.
Rosie closed her eyes for a few moments, tried to take some deep breaths. The last thing she needed was to go into shock; it was already quite hard enough for everyone else. She was fine. She was fine. She was going to have to be.
Chapter Six
They both ran through the emergency doors. The waiting room, full of bored people who had slipped on icy walks or overindulged at their firm’s Christmas lunch, looked up, interested in the distraction. The nurse on duty bustled them through, and Rosie and Hester were separated. Rosie gulped. Did this mean Stephen was worse than she’d thought.
‘He’s heavily sedated,’ said the nurse.
‘Is he going to be all right?’ said Rosie, desperately. ‘He seemed… he seemed like he would be okay.’
The nurse gently put her hand on her shoulder.
‘He will.’ She nodded. ‘He’ll be okay.’
‘Edison Felling-Jackson,’ said Rosie immediately. ‘What about the little boy?’
The nurse’s face darkened.
‘I can’t…’
‘I’m his…’ Rosie couldn’t work it out. ‘Oh.’
Fortunately Moray came dashing through to her from the waiting room. They hugged, briefly.
‘How’s Edison?’ she barked quickly.
Moray bit his lip.
‘It’s… well, he’s in theatre. They’re having a look. He’s pretty knocked up, Rosie.’
Rosie stared at the ground.
‘His neck?’
‘They’re checking. He’s in good hands.’
They stood apart.
‘Fuck,’ said Rosie, staring at the floor.
‘It’s early days,’ said Moray.
Rosie looked at him.
‘I know. Fuck,’ said Moray.
‘Did you want to see Mr Lakeman?’ said the nurse to Rosie.
‘Of course,’ said Rosie. Moray hung back.
‘He’s all right?’
‘Going to be. Thank God.’ Rosie’s face relaxed slightly. ‘But oh, Moray.’
Moray shook his head.
‘Come over later and we’ll get drunk,’ he said.
Rosie nodded. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll need to talk to Lilian.’
‘I’m sure she won’t mind you getting drunk once in a while.’
‘No, I’ll need to tell her everything.’
Moray rolled his eyes. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? That place is like a telephone exchange. She’ll know. But yes, check in and call by later.’
Rosie nodded.
‘How do I look?’ she said.
Even in the midst of everything that was going on, Moray still managed a smile.
‘Apart from the dust covering your hair and the black smudges and the scrape on your cheek?’ he said.
‘Oh, bloody hell,’ said Rosie.
‘Rosie, he’ll be off his tits on morphine. He’ll think you’re Cameron Diaz. Don’t worry about it.’
Rosie rubbed her face quickly, but decided to take him at his word.
‘Okay. Later. Text me as soon as you know anything about Edison.’
‘No mobiles in the hospital,’ said the nurse automatically. Rosie and Moray exchanged glances.
Rosie took one last deep breath and marched confidently into the side bay.
Stephen was propped up on his side, which made him appear oddly nonchalant. He looked sleepy and a little strained, and Rosie’s heart skipped out of her chest with relief and love.
‘Darling?’ she said softly. Stephen, even drugged up, seemed to relax at the sound of her voice.
‘R?’ he said.
She ran across the room to him.
‘Careful!’ he said. ‘They gave me some nice stuff… very nice stuff actually. It was very nice. I can’t remember what I was saying. Oh yes. My back. It’s still very —’
‘Ssh,’ said Rosie, burying her nose in his thick curly dark hair. It still held traces of dust; a faint smell of burning. Her eyes were dry, but she felt a huge sense of relief.
‘They’re going to do a skin graft,’ said the nurse. ‘When there’s a theatre free.’
‘Really? That bad?’ said Rosie, lifting her head. She looked at Stephen. ‘Did you just get your arse blown off?’
Stephen found this quite funny, but the nurse shook her head.
‘Just a little. On his side and shoulder. He jumped on top of the child and took the brunt of it.’
‘Hear that?’ said Rosie. ‘You’re a hero.’ She kissed him tenderly. Stephen shook his head.
‘Too late,’ he said, suddenly looking stricken. ‘Too late.’
‘Hush,’ said the nurse, glancing at her watch. ‘Don’t get agitated.’
A doctor came in, followed by two porters.
