Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 34
‘What?’ said Maeve Skritcherd, who’d just come in for a slab of mint cake.
‘All Rosie’s Australian relatives are turning up tomorrow,’ explained Anton helpfully.
‘Ooh,’ said Maeve. ‘Where are they going to stay?’
‘I don’t know, it’ll be an awful crush in the cottage,’ said Anton.
‘Okay, okay, I am out of here,’ said Rosie, glaring at Lilian, who was now wearing a triumphant look and putting together a very big bag for Anton. Rosie dinged the door crossly.
There were cars parked the length of the great formal driveway of Lipton Hall, like there were sometimes when they did weddings, and lights were on along the front of the house, very rare in the daytime. Rosie got off her bicycle pink-cheeked and exhilarated from her freezing ride – she was wearing Stephen’s ski gloves, which made her look a bit like a monkey but did the job – and sidled towards the house, feeling both nervous and a bit out of place. Mr Dog immediately hurled himself round the back to see his family, and Rosie let him; she didn’t need the added distraction of him being there.
Inside there was a quiet hum, which had to be a good sign. And a warm smell of cooking in the air, which might have been for later. Rosie stepped gently into the hall. The great fire between the two arms of the intertwining stairwells had been lit, albeit with a large fire guard around it, and it sent out a welcoming smell and warmth to Rosie coming in frigid from the cold. A woman bustled past her, round and cheerful-looking. It was Pam, the dinner lady from the school.
‘Hello!’ said Rosie. ‘I forgot you’d be coming here too!’
‘They’re letting me cook!’ said Pam, full of excitement. ‘The education department. They don’t have enough freezer units to refrigerate the lunches, so they’ve sent me two girls from the catering college and they’re letting me make lunch for the children!’
‘And this is good?’ asked Rosie, smiling.
‘Yes!’ said Pam. ‘Some of the stuff we have to serve them…’ She shook her head. ‘You wouldn’t give it to a dog. Absolute brown muck they used to send us. Anyway. Now I can make them something good and decent. Then send them outside to roll in the snow. This is much better.’
And she bustled off, Rosie watching after her, smiling.
Stephen stood in front of the class, in the old dining room, cursing his own stupidity. He should have taken more time off, but he was worried that if he had done, everyone would have panicked and thought he was getting miserable again, and he couldn’t bear that. His back was agony, felt like it was on fire, and he’d had to stop the children from flinging their arms around him. Every touch of their hands reminded him of Edison’s cold fingers beneath him. He winced. He just needed to get through the day, and tune out his mother and anyone else giving him stress. Then he would be fine and better tomorrow and then all Christmas he could lie on his stomach and do nothing and luxuriate in the freedom of it. He just needed to get through the next day…
Rosie, not knowing which door to choose, sidled towards the one she knew led to the enormous ballroom on the ground floor. It was set up with sofas normally, and used for dancing at parties and functions. Rosie wondered how they’d converted it. She knocked quietly.
‘Enter.’
She saw how it worked immediately. A huge dining table had been brought in split into sections, and crossed the room. Behind them, the bigger children sat on long benches, nine or ten to a row. Mrs Baptiste looked up, pleasantly distracted. She had brought up the whiteboard from the old school and was teaching from it in an old-fashioned way.
‘Miss Hopkins. Welcome.’
‘Good mor-ning-Miss-Hop-kins,’ chorused the class, and Rosie smiled back.
‘Wow,’ she said as Mrs Baptiste ordered the children to carry on with their reading and met with her briefly against the side wall. ‘This is amazing.’
‘I must confess,’ said Mrs Baptiste, ‘I love having them in rows rather than modern groups. I can see all their faces at the same time, really see what they’re doing. It’s good for them.’
‘Well,’ said Rosie. ‘How’s Lady Lipton?’
Mrs Baptiste looked slightly pink for a second.
‘Um, that’s working out rather well.’
‘Are they all completely terrified of her?’
‘Petrified. It’s a veiled threat hanging over them all the time. I’ve never seen them behave so well.’
Rosie smiled.
‘I won’t tell her.’
‘Oh, you know Hetty,’ said Mrs Baptiste. ‘She wouldn’t give a toss either way.’
‘Well, sorry to bother you,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s Stephen I’m after.’
‘Can’t keep him away,’ said Mrs Baptiste, shaking her head. ‘He shouldn’t be in at all, you know. I was perfectly happy to take both classes for the week.’
‘He’s committed, all right,’ said Rosie.
‘I’m surprised,’ said Mrs Baptiste. ‘You know, I expected him to be a bit stand-offish…’
‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘He’s not really.’ Except sometimes, she thought to herself.
On the other side of the hall was the large dining room. This must be it. Rosie swallowed hard, screwed up her courage, knocked gently and entered.
He didn’t hear her at first. The entire class was silent, rapt, sitting cross-legged at the front of the room as Stephen stood facing the panelling, one hand resting gently on his back, a book in the other.
‘“… And so, said the prince, that is how you get to the shining island. And now you know that not the wolf’s fiercest howl nor the night’s sharpest claws will stop you in your tracks, nor feet nor snow nor wood can ever slow down the wings of a righteous man.”’
Gradually he became aware of the presence of someone else in the room, and slowly put the book down. He half smiled at Rosie, looking quizzical. The children stayed silent until the spell of the story was broken.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Go back to your tables. I want to see a picture of the prince’s winged companion. With swords in it. And yes, a princess, Crystal.’
‘That’s strong stuff for their first day back,’ said Rosie, indicating the book.
‘Oh, they can take it,’ said Stephen. ‘They love it. Proper gory stuff. Ideal for children. So, um… to what do I owe this…?’
‘All Rosie’s Australian relatives are turning up tomorrow,’ explained Anton helpfully.
‘Ooh,’ said Maeve. ‘Where are they going to stay?’
‘I don’t know, it’ll be an awful crush in the cottage,’ said Anton.
‘Okay, okay, I am out of here,’ said Rosie, glaring at Lilian, who was now wearing a triumphant look and putting together a very big bag for Anton. Rosie dinged the door crossly.
There were cars parked the length of the great formal driveway of Lipton Hall, like there were sometimes when they did weddings, and lights were on along the front of the house, very rare in the daytime. Rosie got off her bicycle pink-cheeked and exhilarated from her freezing ride – she was wearing Stephen’s ski gloves, which made her look a bit like a monkey but did the job – and sidled towards the house, feeling both nervous and a bit out of place. Mr Dog immediately hurled himself round the back to see his family, and Rosie let him; she didn’t need the added distraction of him being there.
Inside there was a quiet hum, which had to be a good sign. And a warm smell of cooking in the air, which might have been for later. Rosie stepped gently into the hall. The great fire between the two arms of the intertwining stairwells had been lit, albeit with a large fire guard around it, and it sent out a welcoming smell and warmth to Rosie coming in frigid from the cold. A woman bustled past her, round and cheerful-looking. It was Pam, the dinner lady from the school.
‘Hello!’ said Rosie. ‘I forgot you’d be coming here too!’
‘They’re letting me cook!’ said Pam, full of excitement. ‘The education department. They don’t have enough freezer units to refrigerate the lunches, so they’ve sent me two girls from the catering college and they’re letting me make lunch for the children!’
‘And this is good?’ asked Rosie, smiling.
‘Yes!’ said Pam. ‘Some of the stuff we have to serve them…’ She shook her head. ‘You wouldn’t give it to a dog. Absolute brown muck they used to send us. Anyway. Now I can make them something good and decent. Then send them outside to roll in the snow. This is much better.’
And she bustled off, Rosie watching after her, smiling.
Stephen stood in front of the class, in the old dining room, cursing his own stupidity. He should have taken more time off, but he was worried that if he had done, everyone would have panicked and thought he was getting miserable again, and he couldn’t bear that. His back was agony, felt like it was on fire, and he’d had to stop the children from flinging their arms around him. Every touch of their hands reminded him of Edison’s cold fingers beneath him. He winced. He just needed to get through the day, and tune out his mother and anyone else giving him stress. Then he would be fine and better tomorrow and then all Christmas he could lie on his stomach and do nothing and luxuriate in the freedom of it. He just needed to get through the next day…
Rosie, not knowing which door to choose, sidled towards the one she knew led to the enormous ballroom on the ground floor. It was set up with sofas normally, and used for dancing at parties and functions. Rosie wondered how they’d converted it. She knocked quietly.
‘Enter.’
She saw how it worked immediately. A huge dining table had been brought in split into sections, and crossed the room. Behind them, the bigger children sat on long benches, nine or ten to a row. Mrs Baptiste looked up, pleasantly distracted. She had brought up the whiteboard from the old school and was teaching from it in an old-fashioned way.
‘Miss Hopkins. Welcome.’
‘Good mor-ning-Miss-Hop-kins,’ chorused the class, and Rosie smiled back.
‘Wow,’ she said as Mrs Baptiste ordered the children to carry on with their reading and met with her briefly against the side wall. ‘This is amazing.’
‘I must confess,’ said Mrs Baptiste, ‘I love having them in rows rather than modern groups. I can see all their faces at the same time, really see what they’re doing. It’s good for them.’
‘Well,’ said Rosie. ‘How’s Lady Lipton?’
Mrs Baptiste looked slightly pink for a second.
‘Um, that’s working out rather well.’
‘Are they all completely terrified of her?’
‘Petrified. It’s a veiled threat hanging over them all the time. I’ve never seen them behave so well.’
Rosie smiled.
‘I won’t tell her.’
‘Oh, you know Hetty,’ said Mrs Baptiste. ‘She wouldn’t give a toss either way.’
‘Well, sorry to bother you,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s Stephen I’m after.’
‘Can’t keep him away,’ said Mrs Baptiste, shaking her head. ‘He shouldn’t be in at all, you know. I was perfectly happy to take both classes for the week.’
‘He’s committed, all right,’ said Rosie.
‘I’m surprised,’ said Mrs Baptiste. ‘You know, I expected him to be a bit stand-offish…’
‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘He’s not really.’ Except sometimes, she thought to herself.
On the other side of the hall was the large dining room. This must be it. Rosie swallowed hard, screwed up her courage, knocked gently and entered.
He didn’t hear her at first. The entire class was silent, rapt, sitting cross-legged at the front of the room as Stephen stood facing the panelling, one hand resting gently on his back, a book in the other.
‘“… And so, said the prince, that is how you get to the shining island. And now you know that not the wolf’s fiercest howl nor the night’s sharpest claws will stop you in your tracks, nor feet nor snow nor wood can ever slow down the wings of a righteous man.”’
Gradually he became aware of the presence of someone else in the room, and slowly put the book down. He half smiled at Rosie, looking quizzical. The children stayed silent until the spell of the story was broken.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Go back to your tables. I want to see a picture of the prince’s winged companion. With swords in it. And yes, a princess, Crystal.’
‘That’s strong stuff for their first day back,’ said Rosie, indicating the book.
‘Oh, they can take it,’ said Stephen. ‘They love it. Proper gory stuff. Ideal for children. So, um… to what do I owe this…?’
