Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 32
‘I’m mending,’ said Stephen. ‘Out and about is apparently the best way. As I remember a certain someone telling me last year.’
‘They’ll be pleased to see you.’
‘I doubt that, back to school.’
‘They need stability right now. Even though you’ve just started, they need to see you. I’m glad you’re going.’
‘Me too,’ said Stephen grudgingly.
Tell him, Rosie said to herself. TELL HIM. But instead she heard herself say, ‘Would you like some poached eggs?’
‘Christ, no,’ said Stephen. ‘I mean, my doctor said they’re not advisable at this point.’
‘Oh,’ said Rosie. ‘Okay, one, two, three.’ And she leapt up, forcing herself out of the lovely bath into the frigid room. Stephen picked up one of the rough old towels they’d somehow inherited from Peak House and dried her, tickling her breathless.
‘Stop that!’ she squealed.
‘Why, what will we do, wake the neighbours?’ he teased. ‘We are the neighbours.’
‘Stop it or… or I’ll touch your back,’ said Rosie, a threat that worked sufficiently well for him to release her. She shimmied into a burgundy wool dress and cardigan, thick tights and boots, ran a comb through her hair, put on a little lipstick and mascara and charged out the door. Then she stuck her head back in, still furious with herself.
‘We have to talk about something tonight,’ she said.
Stephen’s brow furrowed.
‘Can’t we talk about it now?’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s longer than now.’
‘Am I going to like it?’
‘Um. Not sure. But it’s not that bad.’
‘Okay,’ said Stephen. ‘Tell me now.’
‘Later.’
His deep blue eyes caught hers.
‘Are you pregnant?’
Rosie jumped back, almost as if she’d had an electric shock.
‘Oh, oh God. No. NO. Definitely not. Cripes. Is that what you thought?’ She watched his face closely. She couldn’t tell if he was happy or unhappy.
‘No,’ said Stephen quickly. ‘I saw you with the red wine bottle last night.’
‘Oh yes, ha.’ Rosie tried to laugh, but neither of them could quite manage it. Her mind started racing: they hadn’t been together that long or anything… on the other hand, she wasn’t as young as she used to be… but she’d just started the business… and she couldn’t tell if he thought it was a good idea or a terrible idea, the way he just sat there…
Her head spinning, she forgot all about her family.
‘I have to go,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Stephen, looking embarrassed. ‘Yes. Okay. See you later.’
‘Later. Yes.’
Still in a daze, Rosie opened up the shop in the dark. Cars were already moving up and down the main street, and many people stopped outside to get the little ones an extra something for their first day at the big house.
‘How are you, Crystal?’ Rosie said to one of her regular customers. Lilian had known the name of every child she ever served, and Rosie saw that as good business, but she wasn’t as practised at it as Lilian.
Crystal shrugged and pointed to the alphabet letters. This wasn’t like her; Crystal was usually a confident child. Rosie glanced at her mother.
‘She thinks Lady Lipton is a witch who’s going to eat them,’ whispered the woman.
‘No way,’ said Rosie. ‘Do they all think that?’
‘They’re petrified.’
Rosie clasped her head in her hands. ‘Oh my Lord, this is what’s called the Law of Unintended Consequences. Crystal, you know that Lady Lipton isn’t a witch?’
Crystal shrugged, eyes fixed on the floor. Finally, a very quiet voice:
‘Have you seen how she dresses, though?’
Rosie laughed.
‘Oh, that’s just how posh people dress! Honestly. She’s not a witch.’
‘She lives in a haunted house.’
‘It’s just a big house.’
Crystal stuck out her hand and took her sweets without saying thank you until her mother prompted her. This definitely wasn’t like her.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Rosie. ‘I’ve put some witch repellent in with your sweets, okay? If you share them out, you’ll all be safe.’
Crystal perked up.
‘And also, she’s not a witch!’ Rosie added hurriedly as they left the shop with a ding.
It was the same with every family that came in that morning: nervous children somehow convinced that they were being driven to a terrible doom.
‘I can’t believe we thought we were doing them a favour,’ Rosie said to Oliver the baker’s husband, who’d brought in little Fraser-James to buy him a chocolate Santa to stop him crying.
‘I know, I know.’
‘I’m going to phone Mrs Baptiste. Tell her not to read them any Roald Dahl today.’
At 9.30, as the morning rush slowed and Rosie started dusting and polishing the shelves, there was a ding at the door.
‘You’ve missed a bit,’ came the unmistakably cranky voice.
Rosie turned round.
‘Lilian!’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting you today.’
In truth, she was glad of the distraction. She was finding her own thoughts a bit overwhelming at the moment.
‘Let me get your chair. Tea?’
‘Moray ran me in. He was seeing some old duffer upstairs.’
‘You really shouldn’t talk about the other residents that way.’
‘But they’re so old. Oh, we have someone new coming.’
‘Really? What’s she like?’
‘No! It’s a man! And he’s a dish.’
Rosie filled two cups from the newly boiled kettle.
‘Excellent,’ she said.
‘That Ida Delia Fontayne has set her cap at him, but I saw him first.’
‘Ida Delia would never get picked over you,’ said Rosie scornfully, bringing in the tea from the tiny galley through the back.
‘Hmph,’ said Lilian. ‘Well, not twice.’
Rosie smiled. It amazed her how much Lilian still thought about Henry Carr. She put the tea down on the counter.
‘Okay, what will you have?’
‘They’ll be pleased to see you.’
‘I doubt that, back to school.’
‘They need stability right now. Even though you’ve just started, they need to see you. I’m glad you’re going.’
‘Me too,’ said Stephen grudgingly.
Tell him, Rosie said to herself. TELL HIM. But instead she heard herself say, ‘Would you like some poached eggs?’
‘Christ, no,’ said Stephen. ‘I mean, my doctor said they’re not advisable at this point.’
‘Oh,’ said Rosie. ‘Okay, one, two, three.’ And she leapt up, forcing herself out of the lovely bath into the frigid room. Stephen picked up one of the rough old towels they’d somehow inherited from Peak House and dried her, tickling her breathless.
‘Stop that!’ she squealed.
‘Why, what will we do, wake the neighbours?’ he teased. ‘We are the neighbours.’
‘Stop it or… or I’ll touch your back,’ said Rosie, a threat that worked sufficiently well for him to release her. She shimmied into a burgundy wool dress and cardigan, thick tights and boots, ran a comb through her hair, put on a little lipstick and mascara and charged out the door. Then she stuck her head back in, still furious with herself.
‘We have to talk about something tonight,’ she said.
Stephen’s brow furrowed.
‘Can’t we talk about it now?’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s longer than now.’
‘Am I going to like it?’
‘Um. Not sure. But it’s not that bad.’
‘Okay,’ said Stephen. ‘Tell me now.’
‘Later.’
His deep blue eyes caught hers.
‘Are you pregnant?’
Rosie jumped back, almost as if she’d had an electric shock.
‘Oh, oh God. No. NO. Definitely not. Cripes. Is that what you thought?’ She watched his face closely. She couldn’t tell if he was happy or unhappy.
‘No,’ said Stephen quickly. ‘I saw you with the red wine bottle last night.’
‘Oh yes, ha.’ Rosie tried to laugh, but neither of them could quite manage it. Her mind started racing: they hadn’t been together that long or anything… on the other hand, she wasn’t as young as she used to be… but she’d just started the business… and she couldn’t tell if he thought it was a good idea or a terrible idea, the way he just sat there…
Her head spinning, she forgot all about her family.
‘I have to go,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Stephen, looking embarrassed. ‘Yes. Okay. See you later.’
‘Later. Yes.’
Still in a daze, Rosie opened up the shop in the dark. Cars were already moving up and down the main street, and many people stopped outside to get the little ones an extra something for their first day at the big house.
‘How are you, Crystal?’ Rosie said to one of her regular customers. Lilian had known the name of every child she ever served, and Rosie saw that as good business, but she wasn’t as practised at it as Lilian.
Crystal shrugged and pointed to the alphabet letters. This wasn’t like her; Crystal was usually a confident child. Rosie glanced at her mother.
‘She thinks Lady Lipton is a witch who’s going to eat them,’ whispered the woman.
‘No way,’ said Rosie. ‘Do they all think that?’
‘They’re petrified.’
Rosie clasped her head in her hands. ‘Oh my Lord, this is what’s called the Law of Unintended Consequences. Crystal, you know that Lady Lipton isn’t a witch?’
Crystal shrugged, eyes fixed on the floor. Finally, a very quiet voice:
‘Have you seen how she dresses, though?’
Rosie laughed.
‘Oh, that’s just how posh people dress! Honestly. She’s not a witch.’
‘She lives in a haunted house.’
‘It’s just a big house.’
Crystal stuck out her hand and took her sweets without saying thank you until her mother prompted her. This definitely wasn’t like her.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Rosie. ‘I’ve put some witch repellent in with your sweets, okay? If you share them out, you’ll all be safe.’
Crystal perked up.
‘And also, she’s not a witch!’ Rosie added hurriedly as they left the shop with a ding.
It was the same with every family that came in that morning: nervous children somehow convinced that they were being driven to a terrible doom.
‘I can’t believe we thought we were doing them a favour,’ Rosie said to Oliver the baker’s husband, who’d brought in little Fraser-James to buy him a chocolate Santa to stop him crying.
‘I know, I know.’
‘I’m going to phone Mrs Baptiste. Tell her not to read them any Roald Dahl today.’
At 9.30, as the morning rush slowed and Rosie started dusting and polishing the shelves, there was a ding at the door.
‘You’ve missed a bit,’ came the unmistakably cranky voice.
Rosie turned round.
‘Lilian!’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting you today.’
In truth, she was glad of the distraction. She was finding her own thoughts a bit overwhelming at the moment.
‘Let me get your chair. Tea?’
‘Moray ran me in. He was seeing some old duffer upstairs.’
‘You really shouldn’t talk about the other residents that way.’
‘But they’re so old. Oh, we have someone new coming.’
‘Really? What’s she like?’
‘No! It’s a man! And he’s a dish.’
Rosie filled two cups from the newly boiled kettle.
‘Excellent,’ she said.
‘That Ida Delia Fontayne has set her cap at him, but I saw him first.’
‘Ida Delia would never get picked over you,’ said Rosie scornfully, bringing in the tea from the tiny galley through the back.
‘Hmph,’ said Lilian. ‘Well, not twice.’
Rosie smiled. It amazed her how much Lilian still thought about Henry Carr. She put the tea down on the counter.
‘Okay, what will you have?’
