Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 31
Edward nodded.
‘Okay.’
‘We might get sheep later and you can help us, okay?’
‘Yes, yes, I could still do that,’ said James. ‘You never forget. Well, I forget. Ha. I forget. Can I have some tea?’
‘There’s your tea,’ said Edward, pointing to the cup already poured. James turned round and immediately knocked it to the ground, then stared at it, as if he had no idea what he’d just done. Cathryn sprang into action and summoned one of the care assistants to mop up whilst she comforted both of the men. James was very upset.
Suddenly Edward’s eyes, too, filled with tears.
‘I can’t…’ he choked. ‘I don’t… I mean, to leave him here.’
‘He’ll be in safe hands,’ said Cathryn reassuringly. She had taken to Edward. He would pay his bills, visit his father and appreciate the kindnesses done rather than complain about the occasionally mismatched furniture or worn wall coverings.
‘He was… I mean he was a good dad,’ said Edward, holding his father’s hand tightly. ‘He wasn’t demonstrative, we knew that – he was distracted, and busy a lot of the time. But we knew he loved us. And when he got upset about the war… well, we knew he liked us to be near.’
His voice choked again.
‘And now we’re dumping him.’
‘Ssssh,’ said Cathryn. ‘Sssh. You are lucky, both of you. Edward to have a father who you love and who loves you, and James to have a son who is willing to take the very best care of you, right to the end. But it’s not the end, I promise. Many of our residents – well, you have met a couple. But many of them flourish here. When Miss Hopkins came to us, she was so weak she could barely walk; and now she has found a completely new lease of life tormenting Mrs Carr. And you will get your nights back, and sleep again, and stop worrying constantly about what James is doing and how he’s being looked after, so you’ll be happier too, and you can visit him and sit with him whenever and for as long as you like. I won’t tell you how much money I’ve been offered to go and run large health-care home groups, and big chains of institutions, Mr Boyd, but I’ve refused to do it. I think it’s wrong. I think we do better on a small, local level where people know each other. And I give you my solemn word that we will all do the very best we can for your father.’
It was as if a weight had been lifted from Edward’s shoulders. Suddenly he looked like a younger man.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you. I’ll have to talk it over with Doreen, but…’
Cathryn Thompson smiled at that. She knew that in the end it was always the women who were the least sentimental. And who did the most laundry. She didn’t think Edward would have the slightest difficulty convincing Doreen.
Chapter Ten
For the first two seconds after she awoke, Rosie felt almost completely happy. She was buried under the blankets up to her neck, like a rabbit in a hole, warm as toast. She could feel Stephen next to her, finally sleeping soundly, breathing quietly – he had found it hard to settle and get comfortable. The familiarity of him back in her bed filled her with a great sense of security and happiness and peace, of the world being as it should be, as the snow on the window ledge felt as if it had always been there. She stretched out her toes luxuriantly, putting off as long as possible the second when she’d have to roll out of bed on to the icy floor. She kissed Stephen’s head gently so as not to wake him…
Then she remembered. And groaned. It was Wednesday, two days after the council meeting, first day back at school. Mrs Laird and all her ladies had been working round the clock to get Lipton Hall ready for the children, and install the famous luxury Portaloos Lady Lipton hired in for her hunt ball. Rosie had even heard that a chimney sweep had come in and cleared the great fireplace in the hallway, but that couldn’t be true, could it? Health and safety would have a fit. A fire officer had checked the place out, everything was moving for once at super-fast speed. Rosie tried to imagine this happening in London. She couldn’t. Everything would have to go through ninety-five levels of complicated management meetings and take about nine months. Here, however, they had called it an emergency protocol and everything was fine. She supposed, when she thought about it, that Carningford probably hadn’t been too keen on taking fifty new, slightly traumatised children either, and had been only too happy to hand back the problem.
She hopped up and started to fill the tub. The water steamed in the chilly bathroom. Water was much cheaper up here, and the pressure was fantastic, flowing down from the mountains. Rosie did not miss her spindly little shower in the old London flat, and luxuriated in the bath every time she had a moment, which wasn’t that often. While the tub was filling, she nipped downstairs and turned on the coffee machine, stoked up the stove and glanced at the time. She had twenty-five minutes; plenty. It was pretty cool not to have a commute.
But. But. She wasn’t as relaxed as she normally was sinking into the tub, because she knew that somewhere on the other side of the world, right now, six people were getting on a plane, ready for the holiday of their lives. And she had done nothing to sort it out. This was awful. No more excuses. Nothing. It had to be done.
‘What are you looking so thoughtful about?’ said Stephen, groaning and holding his back a little as he came in the bathroom door.
‘Sorry, sweetie,’ said Rosie. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘Well you probably shouldn’t have charged up and down the steps like a baby elephant then.’
He wiped the mirror, then glanced at Rosie behind him. The bath had made her skin turn all pink.
‘You look nice,’ he observed.
‘I can probably make space,’ said Rosie.
‘Oh no, can you imagine? Can’t get it wet.’
‘You are really going to honk very shortly,’ grumbled Rosie.
‘You can give me a bed bath, Matron,’ said Stephen.
‘I will do that,’ said Rosie. ‘You won’t enjoy it as much as you think you will. Are you going back to bed?’
‘No,’ said Stephen. ‘If I do that, I’ll just lie there thinking about how itchy I am. I’m going to limp up to the school actually. You know, drive up and have a look.’
‘Are you sure? You’re on sick leave,’ said Rosie. ‘You’re not well.’
‘Okay.’
‘We might get sheep later and you can help us, okay?’
‘Yes, yes, I could still do that,’ said James. ‘You never forget. Well, I forget. Ha. I forget. Can I have some tea?’
‘There’s your tea,’ said Edward, pointing to the cup already poured. James turned round and immediately knocked it to the ground, then stared at it, as if he had no idea what he’d just done. Cathryn sprang into action and summoned one of the care assistants to mop up whilst she comforted both of the men. James was very upset.
Suddenly Edward’s eyes, too, filled with tears.
‘I can’t…’ he choked. ‘I don’t… I mean, to leave him here.’
‘He’ll be in safe hands,’ said Cathryn reassuringly. She had taken to Edward. He would pay his bills, visit his father and appreciate the kindnesses done rather than complain about the occasionally mismatched furniture or worn wall coverings.
‘He was… I mean he was a good dad,’ said Edward, holding his father’s hand tightly. ‘He wasn’t demonstrative, we knew that – he was distracted, and busy a lot of the time. But we knew he loved us. And when he got upset about the war… well, we knew he liked us to be near.’
His voice choked again.
‘And now we’re dumping him.’
‘Ssssh,’ said Cathryn. ‘Sssh. You are lucky, both of you. Edward to have a father who you love and who loves you, and James to have a son who is willing to take the very best care of you, right to the end. But it’s not the end, I promise. Many of our residents – well, you have met a couple. But many of them flourish here. When Miss Hopkins came to us, she was so weak she could barely walk; and now she has found a completely new lease of life tormenting Mrs Carr. And you will get your nights back, and sleep again, and stop worrying constantly about what James is doing and how he’s being looked after, so you’ll be happier too, and you can visit him and sit with him whenever and for as long as you like. I won’t tell you how much money I’ve been offered to go and run large health-care home groups, and big chains of institutions, Mr Boyd, but I’ve refused to do it. I think it’s wrong. I think we do better on a small, local level where people know each other. And I give you my solemn word that we will all do the very best we can for your father.’
It was as if a weight had been lifted from Edward’s shoulders. Suddenly he looked like a younger man.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you. I’ll have to talk it over with Doreen, but…’
Cathryn Thompson smiled at that. She knew that in the end it was always the women who were the least sentimental. And who did the most laundry. She didn’t think Edward would have the slightest difficulty convincing Doreen.
Chapter Ten
For the first two seconds after she awoke, Rosie felt almost completely happy. She was buried under the blankets up to her neck, like a rabbit in a hole, warm as toast. She could feel Stephen next to her, finally sleeping soundly, breathing quietly – he had found it hard to settle and get comfortable. The familiarity of him back in her bed filled her with a great sense of security and happiness and peace, of the world being as it should be, as the snow on the window ledge felt as if it had always been there. She stretched out her toes luxuriantly, putting off as long as possible the second when she’d have to roll out of bed on to the icy floor. She kissed Stephen’s head gently so as not to wake him…
Then she remembered. And groaned. It was Wednesday, two days after the council meeting, first day back at school. Mrs Laird and all her ladies had been working round the clock to get Lipton Hall ready for the children, and install the famous luxury Portaloos Lady Lipton hired in for her hunt ball. Rosie had even heard that a chimney sweep had come in and cleared the great fireplace in the hallway, but that couldn’t be true, could it? Health and safety would have a fit. A fire officer had checked the place out, everything was moving for once at super-fast speed. Rosie tried to imagine this happening in London. She couldn’t. Everything would have to go through ninety-five levels of complicated management meetings and take about nine months. Here, however, they had called it an emergency protocol and everything was fine. She supposed, when she thought about it, that Carningford probably hadn’t been too keen on taking fifty new, slightly traumatised children either, and had been only too happy to hand back the problem.
She hopped up and started to fill the tub. The water steamed in the chilly bathroom. Water was much cheaper up here, and the pressure was fantastic, flowing down from the mountains. Rosie did not miss her spindly little shower in the old London flat, and luxuriated in the bath every time she had a moment, which wasn’t that often. While the tub was filling, she nipped downstairs and turned on the coffee machine, stoked up the stove and glanced at the time. She had twenty-five minutes; plenty. It was pretty cool not to have a commute.
But. But. She wasn’t as relaxed as she normally was sinking into the tub, because she knew that somewhere on the other side of the world, right now, six people were getting on a plane, ready for the holiday of their lives. And she had done nothing to sort it out. This was awful. No more excuses. Nothing. It had to be done.
‘What are you looking so thoughtful about?’ said Stephen, groaning and holding his back a little as he came in the bathroom door.
‘Sorry, sweetie,’ said Rosie. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘Well you probably shouldn’t have charged up and down the steps like a baby elephant then.’
He wiped the mirror, then glanced at Rosie behind him. The bath had made her skin turn all pink.
‘You look nice,’ he observed.
‘I can probably make space,’ said Rosie.
‘Oh no, can you imagine? Can’t get it wet.’
‘You are really going to honk very shortly,’ grumbled Rosie.
‘You can give me a bed bath, Matron,’ said Stephen.
‘I will do that,’ said Rosie. ‘You won’t enjoy it as much as you think you will. Are you going back to bed?’
‘No,’ said Stephen. ‘If I do that, I’ll just lie there thinking about how itchy I am. I’m going to limp up to the school actually. You know, drive up and have a look.’
‘Are you sure? You’re on sick leave,’ said Rosie. ‘You’re not well.’
