Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 27
‘I am a total and utter heathen,’ said Rosie. ‘But I’d pray quite a lot if it would help the school.’
Rosie left after repeating her thanks so often she realised she was in danger of becoming very annoying. Lady Lipton kept saying that it probably wouldn’t happen, that it was a terrible idea and it would wreck the house even more than it was already. After Rosie had retrieved Mr Dog from his pile of brothers and cousins – he wouldn’t come when called; Hetty stood there and sniffed and suggested she get him trained immediately – she picked him up, took him out of his ridiculous jacket, for which he licked her massively on the face in gratitude, and said goodbye one final time.
‘Honestly,’ said Hetty. ‘Between you, Mrs Laird, Stephen and bloody Lilian bugging me to let the school thing happen, I haven’t had a second to myself. Bloody phone hasn’t stopped ringing.’
Rosie stopped in her tracks.
‘What?’ she said, sure she’d misheard. ‘Stephen called you?’
Hetty rolled her eyes.
‘I might have known you two would cook up something like this between you.’
‘Really? Ha! HA!’ said Rosie. The ridiculous lightness in her shoulders suddenly made her realise how much her disagreement with Stephen had been weighing her down. ‘Really? That’s amazing. Amazing.’
And before the older woman could object, she darted forward and kissed her quickly on the cheek.
Chapter Nine
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s still a ridiculous idea.’
‘I know. Thank you, though.’
‘I have to turn my phone off.’
‘Stop being annoyed with yourself that you did a nice thing.’
‘I didn’t do anything. I reflected on the logic of the position.’
‘You did a good thing, Stephen Lakeman.’
‘Could you stop bothering me on this number, please, whoever you are?’
‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow after the council meeting.’
‘If you’re still dressing that dog up in ballgowns, please don’t bother.’
‘I cannot believe how fast gossip gets around this place.’
‘You’ve made him a laughing stock.’
‘He likes it.’
‘Right.’
‘Good night, you.’
‘Are you in bed?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Is that dog there?’
‘Awroa,’ said Mr Dog.
‘Okay, could you remove the dog, then tell me what you’re wearing?’
Rosie looked down at her tartan flannel pyjama bottoms and thermal top.
‘He’s gone,’ she lied, putting her hand over his muzzle.
‘Go on then.’
‘Um, I’m wearing a push-up Agent Provocateur bra, with my breasts kind of spilling out the top of it…’
‘Go on.’
‘I hope you’re not doing something naughty in the hospital.’
‘I’m not, actually,’ said Stephen. ‘It’s still too bloody painful. I feel like my skin is going to rip every time I move my arms. But I find it soothing to hear you talk to me.’
‘Wouldn’t you rather hear a story?’
‘Yes,’ said Stephen. ‘A story about the imaginary underwear you’re wearing, whilst you pretend you don’t have the dog in the bed.’
‘Okay,’ said Rosie, smiling. ‘Well, I’m just undoing the long silken ties at the side of my navy satin French knickers trimmed with red lace…’
‘Awora,’ said Mr Dog, settling himself down comfortably as Rosie continued to talk on the phone and outside the snow fell again, until she could tell by the breathing at the other end of the line that Stephen was finally asleep.
Ironically, the council meeting was usually held in the schoolhouse, which was still surrounded by police tape. They had adjourned instead to the Red Lion, the pub’s convivial atmosphere slightly marred by the tension evident in the room. Rosie had to sit outside until it was time for the school to come up on the agenda. She was surprised when she was called in to see no sign of Hye. Roy, on the other hand, was looking at her with an unpleasant sneer on his face.
‘Ah, MISS Hopkins.’ He emphasised the ‘miss’. Rosie had heard Roy was married, but steadfastly refused to believe it. She also didn’t believe he could go out in direct sunlight, eat garlic or touch a cross. ‘Here for the good of the village’s children as usual, I suppose?’
‘Always,’ said Rosie.
She looked around. There was Lady Lipton chairing. An empty seat where she guessed Hye was meant to be. Roy, and his lawyer brother, looking ponderous in a grey suit. The nice woman from the bakery. The fat Reverend, looking cheery as ever at the prospect of a free cup of tea, and Dorothy and Peter Isitt, who ran the farm across the way. Dorothy had never liked Rosie, ever since she accidentally ruined her vegetable patch. She eyed her balefully.
Rosie was tempted to make a speech, but it wasn’t really the right time to do it, so she decided just to focus on the most important thing.
‘This is best for the children,’ she said. ‘It’s clearly best. They’ve had a fright. Sending them away is a terrible idea.’
Roy showed off his ghastly teeth.
‘I believe what’s best for the children is the best educational environment. Not a draughty, unsuitable room, but a state-of-the-art facility with a running track and a new playground, as well as professional teachers in the best of health.’
‘Yes, but it’s an hour away,’ said Rosie.
‘Added to this, the money we would save bussing the children would allow much-needed repairs and work in the village, to the benefit of everyone.’
‘There won’t be a village if you shut the school,’ begged Rosie. ‘It’ll turn into some chocolate-box second-homers’ place, full of retired people and just pointless.’
‘I didn’t realise you thought Lipton was pointless,’ said Roy. ‘No doubt you’ll be wishing to shoot right back to London, then, your “first” home.’
Rosie bit her lip. This wasn’t going well at all. She looked at Lady Lipton imploringly, but Hetty was having none of it.
‘The money we save,’ said Roy, ‘could do so much. And the buildings here are old anyway, they need any number of improvements we simply can’t fund. For so few children it simply doesn’t make economic sense.’
Rosie left after repeating her thanks so often she realised she was in danger of becoming very annoying. Lady Lipton kept saying that it probably wouldn’t happen, that it was a terrible idea and it would wreck the house even more than it was already. After Rosie had retrieved Mr Dog from his pile of brothers and cousins – he wouldn’t come when called; Hetty stood there and sniffed and suggested she get him trained immediately – she picked him up, took him out of his ridiculous jacket, for which he licked her massively on the face in gratitude, and said goodbye one final time.
‘Honestly,’ said Hetty. ‘Between you, Mrs Laird, Stephen and bloody Lilian bugging me to let the school thing happen, I haven’t had a second to myself. Bloody phone hasn’t stopped ringing.’
Rosie stopped in her tracks.
‘What?’ she said, sure she’d misheard. ‘Stephen called you?’
Hetty rolled her eyes.
‘I might have known you two would cook up something like this between you.’
‘Really? Ha! HA!’ said Rosie. The ridiculous lightness in her shoulders suddenly made her realise how much her disagreement with Stephen had been weighing her down. ‘Really? That’s amazing. Amazing.’
And before the older woman could object, she darted forward and kissed her quickly on the cheek.
Chapter Nine
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s still a ridiculous idea.’
‘I know. Thank you, though.’
‘I have to turn my phone off.’
‘Stop being annoyed with yourself that you did a nice thing.’
‘I didn’t do anything. I reflected on the logic of the position.’
‘You did a good thing, Stephen Lakeman.’
‘Could you stop bothering me on this number, please, whoever you are?’
‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow after the council meeting.’
‘If you’re still dressing that dog up in ballgowns, please don’t bother.’
‘I cannot believe how fast gossip gets around this place.’
‘You’ve made him a laughing stock.’
‘He likes it.’
‘Right.’
‘Good night, you.’
‘Are you in bed?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Is that dog there?’
‘Awroa,’ said Mr Dog.
‘Okay, could you remove the dog, then tell me what you’re wearing?’
Rosie looked down at her tartan flannel pyjama bottoms and thermal top.
‘He’s gone,’ she lied, putting her hand over his muzzle.
‘Go on then.’
‘Um, I’m wearing a push-up Agent Provocateur bra, with my breasts kind of spilling out the top of it…’
‘Go on.’
‘I hope you’re not doing something naughty in the hospital.’
‘I’m not, actually,’ said Stephen. ‘It’s still too bloody painful. I feel like my skin is going to rip every time I move my arms. But I find it soothing to hear you talk to me.’
‘Wouldn’t you rather hear a story?’
‘Yes,’ said Stephen. ‘A story about the imaginary underwear you’re wearing, whilst you pretend you don’t have the dog in the bed.’
‘Okay,’ said Rosie, smiling. ‘Well, I’m just undoing the long silken ties at the side of my navy satin French knickers trimmed with red lace…’
‘Awora,’ said Mr Dog, settling himself down comfortably as Rosie continued to talk on the phone and outside the snow fell again, until she could tell by the breathing at the other end of the line that Stephen was finally asleep.
Ironically, the council meeting was usually held in the schoolhouse, which was still surrounded by police tape. They had adjourned instead to the Red Lion, the pub’s convivial atmosphere slightly marred by the tension evident in the room. Rosie had to sit outside until it was time for the school to come up on the agenda. She was surprised when she was called in to see no sign of Hye. Roy, on the other hand, was looking at her with an unpleasant sneer on his face.
‘Ah, MISS Hopkins.’ He emphasised the ‘miss’. Rosie had heard Roy was married, but steadfastly refused to believe it. She also didn’t believe he could go out in direct sunlight, eat garlic or touch a cross. ‘Here for the good of the village’s children as usual, I suppose?’
‘Always,’ said Rosie.
She looked around. There was Lady Lipton chairing. An empty seat where she guessed Hye was meant to be. Roy, and his lawyer brother, looking ponderous in a grey suit. The nice woman from the bakery. The fat Reverend, looking cheery as ever at the prospect of a free cup of tea, and Dorothy and Peter Isitt, who ran the farm across the way. Dorothy had never liked Rosie, ever since she accidentally ruined her vegetable patch. She eyed her balefully.
Rosie was tempted to make a speech, but it wasn’t really the right time to do it, so she decided just to focus on the most important thing.
‘This is best for the children,’ she said. ‘It’s clearly best. They’ve had a fright. Sending them away is a terrible idea.’
Roy showed off his ghastly teeth.
‘I believe what’s best for the children is the best educational environment. Not a draughty, unsuitable room, but a state-of-the-art facility with a running track and a new playground, as well as professional teachers in the best of health.’
‘Yes, but it’s an hour away,’ said Rosie.
‘Added to this, the money we would save bussing the children would allow much-needed repairs and work in the village, to the benefit of everyone.’
‘There won’t be a village if you shut the school,’ begged Rosie. ‘It’ll turn into some chocolate-box second-homers’ place, full of retired people and just pointless.’
‘I didn’t realise you thought Lipton was pointless,’ said Roy. ‘No doubt you’ll be wishing to shoot right back to London, then, your “first” home.’
Rosie bit her lip. This wasn’t going well at all. She looked at Lady Lipton imploringly, but Hetty was having none of it.
‘The money we save,’ said Roy, ‘could do so much. And the buildings here are old anyway, they need any number of improvements we simply can’t fund. For so few children it simply doesn’t make economic sense.’
