Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 20
Tina took her to one side.
‘It’s all fake,’ she said quickly. ‘I keep wanting to throw up. I’ve never felt so terrified in my whole life.’
‘I know,’ said Rosie, giving her a hug. ‘I know.’
‘When I stood outside that school and every other kid came out except mine…’
‘You can’t think like that,’ said Rosie. ‘You just have to think that it didn’t happen. It didn’t.’
‘I can’t sleep a wink,’ said Tina.
‘Me neither.’
Rosie nodded into the sitting room.
‘It looks like someone’s being helpful.’
Tina lost her anxious look for just a second.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He’s been amazing. And the children, they’ve kind of forgotten all about it, except for Kent being this massive hero. He’s happy as Larry. Jake’s just carrying on being sweet. I’m the only one who’s become a complete basket case.’
‘I know I don’t have first-hand experience apart from Mr Dog,’ said Rosie. ‘But I think that might just be motherhood.’
She thought briefly of Lady Lipton.
‘Well, most motherhood.’
Tina nodded.
‘You’re medical and know this stuff. Will it stop?’
Rosie heard the squeals of delight as Mr Dog plucked up the courage to leave her side and join the revels next door.
‘If it doesn’t, go and see Moray and he’ll recommend someone for you to talk to,’ she said. ‘But between you and me, yes, it will. It might take a while, but most people pick up again. Okay? You’re being totally normal.’
Tina smiled.
‘Totally normal.’
‘Yes.’
‘Crying in the bath?’
‘Check.’
‘Not letting them out of my sight?’
‘Check.’
Tina shook her head.
‘Fine.’
Rosie peered back into the jolly scene.
‘It seems to me someone is very happy to help you with everything you’re going through.’
Tina coloured prettily.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m very lucky. I’m so… so… Oh, I’m going again.’ The tears started down her face.
‘Let it out,’ said Rosie, giving her a cuddle. ‘I’ll pick up Mr Dog later, okay? Thanks.’
‘Not at all,’ said Tina. ‘Look at them. They’ve forgotten all about it.’
‘Children are very resilient,’ said Rosie. ‘And so are you. I promise.’
Rosie drove as slowly as she dared along the snowy winding roads. She was nervous now too; nervous of a huge lorry, out of control, looming out of nowhere, smashing everything in its path with a terrible devastation. She inched her way to Carningford, and to the hospital.
‘Hey,’ she said, sneaking in the door. She’d made a special effort after yesterday. Her hair was washed, she’d reapplied lipstick in the car and she was carrying an enormous bag of mixed bonbons, and some grapes for vitamin C.
Stephen had been moved to a side room and she had to scrub up to avoid giving him an infection. The hospital was quiet, so he had the room to himself. She knocked, feeling suddenly nervous, then feeling that that was utterly ridiculous. They’d lived together for nearly a year, it was absurd to be worried.
But she knew him; she knew how his earlier experiences had affected him. Being proud and sensitive was such a tough combination. Please, please let him not be too upset. She thought about what had happened in Africa. He’d been working out there as a teacher and had accompanied his class on a field trip. One of his children had strayed off the track and stepped on a landmine. Two boys, brothers, had died, and Stephen had suffered severe wounds – both physical and mental. It had taken meeting Rosie for him truly to come back to himself, something his high-handed mother, who found communicating with her wayward son extremely difficult, had never forgiven her for.
But could something like this set him back?
She didn’t hear a reply, so she pushed open the heavy door. She paused for a second, then stepped into the room.
Stephen was lying on his front, which at first gave him the aspect of a sullen teenager, but Rosie realised immediately that it was of course to avoid pressure on his scar. He could barely lift his head.
‘Hello,’ he said, glumly.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘You look like you’re going surfing.’
He didn’t raise a smile.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘Cresta Run.’
Rosie went over and kissed his head.
‘Hey,’ she said.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I look stupid.’
Rosie glanced at his back; his side was swathed in bandages, but the muscles, bare in the overheated hospital room, still stood out.
‘Actually,’ she said, ‘you look surprisingly hot for someone who’s just had a bum transplant.’
Stephen tried to force a smile.
‘I think I preferred things a lot more yesterday when I was monged off my face on all the drugs.’
‘Did you not get any drugs today?’ She flipped through his chart.
‘I did,’ said Stephen. ‘But not the really good ones like yesterday.’
Rosie raised her eyebrows.
‘They gave you diamorphine?’
‘Mmmm,’ said Stephen.
‘Yes, well, no wonder, that’s basically heroin.’
‘Oh,’ said Stephen suddenly.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Only I thought I wrote a song and it was brilliant. But that was probably the heroin, wasn’t it?’
‘I must hear your song,’ said Rosie instantly.
‘Um, no.’
‘Was it about me?’
Stephen winced and smiled again.
‘Seriously, I thought it was going to change the shape of music for ever.’
‘Was it to the tune of “Agadoo”?’
‘Now you come to mention it…’ He winced again.
‘Is it awfully painful?
‘Skin is REALLY SORE,’ said Stephen. ‘It’s all right when it’s your insides. People’s appendixes don’t feel a thing, do they? It’s the skin thing that will really do for you. I wish I hadn’t seen Prometheus.’
‘Everyone wishes that,’ said Rosie reassuringly.
‘It’s all fake,’ she said quickly. ‘I keep wanting to throw up. I’ve never felt so terrified in my whole life.’
‘I know,’ said Rosie, giving her a hug. ‘I know.’
‘When I stood outside that school and every other kid came out except mine…’
‘You can’t think like that,’ said Rosie. ‘You just have to think that it didn’t happen. It didn’t.’
‘I can’t sleep a wink,’ said Tina.
‘Me neither.’
Rosie nodded into the sitting room.
‘It looks like someone’s being helpful.’
Tina lost her anxious look for just a second.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He’s been amazing. And the children, they’ve kind of forgotten all about it, except for Kent being this massive hero. He’s happy as Larry. Jake’s just carrying on being sweet. I’m the only one who’s become a complete basket case.’
‘I know I don’t have first-hand experience apart from Mr Dog,’ said Rosie. ‘But I think that might just be motherhood.’
She thought briefly of Lady Lipton.
‘Well, most motherhood.’
Tina nodded.
‘You’re medical and know this stuff. Will it stop?’
Rosie heard the squeals of delight as Mr Dog plucked up the courage to leave her side and join the revels next door.
‘If it doesn’t, go and see Moray and he’ll recommend someone for you to talk to,’ she said. ‘But between you and me, yes, it will. It might take a while, but most people pick up again. Okay? You’re being totally normal.’
Tina smiled.
‘Totally normal.’
‘Yes.’
‘Crying in the bath?’
‘Check.’
‘Not letting them out of my sight?’
‘Check.’
Tina shook her head.
‘Fine.’
Rosie peered back into the jolly scene.
‘It seems to me someone is very happy to help you with everything you’re going through.’
Tina coloured prettily.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m very lucky. I’m so… so… Oh, I’m going again.’ The tears started down her face.
‘Let it out,’ said Rosie, giving her a cuddle. ‘I’ll pick up Mr Dog later, okay? Thanks.’
‘Not at all,’ said Tina. ‘Look at them. They’ve forgotten all about it.’
‘Children are very resilient,’ said Rosie. ‘And so are you. I promise.’
Rosie drove as slowly as she dared along the snowy winding roads. She was nervous now too; nervous of a huge lorry, out of control, looming out of nowhere, smashing everything in its path with a terrible devastation. She inched her way to Carningford, and to the hospital.
‘Hey,’ she said, sneaking in the door. She’d made a special effort after yesterday. Her hair was washed, she’d reapplied lipstick in the car and she was carrying an enormous bag of mixed bonbons, and some grapes for vitamin C.
Stephen had been moved to a side room and she had to scrub up to avoid giving him an infection. The hospital was quiet, so he had the room to himself. She knocked, feeling suddenly nervous, then feeling that that was utterly ridiculous. They’d lived together for nearly a year, it was absurd to be worried.
But she knew him; she knew how his earlier experiences had affected him. Being proud and sensitive was such a tough combination. Please, please let him not be too upset. She thought about what had happened in Africa. He’d been working out there as a teacher and had accompanied his class on a field trip. One of his children had strayed off the track and stepped on a landmine. Two boys, brothers, had died, and Stephen had suffered severe wounds – both physical and mental. It had taken meeting Rosie for him truly to come back to himself, something his high-handed mother, who found communicating with her wayward son extremely difficult, had never forgiven her for.
But could something like this set him back?
She didn’t hear a reply, so she pushed open the heavy door. She paused for a second, then stepped into the room.
Stephen was lying on his front, which at first gave him the aspect of a sullen teenager, but Rosie realised immediately that it was of course to avoid pressure on his scar. He could barely lift his head.
‘Hello,’ he said, glumly.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘You look like you’re going surfing.’
He didn’t raise a smile.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘Cresta Run.’
Rosie went over and kissed his head.
‘Hey,’ she said.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I look stupid.’
Rosie glanced at his back; his side was swathed in bandages, but the muscles, bare in the overheated hospital room, still stood out.
‘Actually,’ she said, ‘you look surprisingly hot for someone who’s just had a bum transplant.’
Stephen tried to force a smile.
‘I think I preferred things a lot more yesterday when I was monged off my face on all the drugs.’
‘Did you not get any drugs today?’ She flipped through his chart.
‘I did,’ said Stephen. ‘But not the really good ones like yesterday.’
Rosie raised her eyebrows.
‘They gave you diamorphine?’
‘Mmmm,’ said Stephen.
‘Yes, well, no wonder, that’s basically heroin.’
‘Oh,’ said Stephen suddenly.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Only I thought I wrote a song and it was brilliant. But that was probably the heroin, wasn’t it?’
‘I must hear your song,’ said Rosie instantly.
‘Um, no.’
‘Was it about me?’
Stephen winced and smiled again.
‘Seriously, I thought it was going to change the shape of music for ever.’
‘Was it to the tune of “Agadoo”?’
‘Now you come to mention it…’ He winced again.
‘Is it awfully painful?
‘Skin is REALLY SORE,’ said Stephen. ‘It’s all right when it’s your insides. People’s appendixes don’t feel a thing, do they? It’s the skin thing that will really do for you. I wish I hadn’t seen Prometheus.’
‘Everyone wishes that,’ said Rosie reassuringly.
