Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 35
‘I need the car keys. And the keys to Peak House,’ Rosie said. There was a tiny bit of her that thought this might be enough, and that he might just capitulate and hand them over without asking any questions.
‘Um, what?’
‘Yeah, I didn’t think that would work,’ said Rosie.
Stephen glanced around anxiously at his class. The dining tables were all still set up, complete with pink linen cloths, and the little class was divided into six tables. They looked incongruous there, their chubby little legs dangling off the rather nasty conference-style chairs Hetty had bought as she tried to make Lipton Hall pay its way. Rosie waved at Kent and Emily, who grinned back shyly. Kent lifted his bandaged arm, and Rosie gave him the thumbs-up.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Here’s the thing.’
There was a ding in Stephen’s pocket as his phone received a text message. He drew it out unthinkingly. His brow furrowed. Then another one dinged in.
‘Ah,’ said Rosie, thinking immediately – and correctly – that the bush telegraph had got to work. She had about four minutes before Lady Lipton barged in.
Stephen turned off his phone and put it back in his pocket without a word. He felt the pain in his back as he did so.
‘The Reverend seems to think,’ he said quietly, ‘that we may need extra space in the family pew on Christmas Day.’
‘I do not trust that slippery vicar,’ said Rosie, not for the first time. She sighed. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Um.’ Then she squeezed her eyes tight shut. ‘My mum and my brother and sister-in-law and their kids are coming to stay for Christmas.’
Stephen looked completely bemused.
‘But why didn’t you tell me? When are they arriving?’
‘Tomorrow,’ said Rosie.
‘Rosie, open your eyes, this is ridiculous.’
‘No,’ said Rosie.
‘How long have you known?’
‘A bit,’ said Rosie.
‘Where are they going to… oh. Peak House. Of course. I see.’
‘I didn’t know what else to do… I know it’s your house.’
‘So you weren’t even going to ask me, just take the keys?’
‘When you put it like that, it sounds awful,’ said Rosie.
Stephen’s back was really hurting.
‘Why… why did you think I wouldn’t welcome your family?’ he said, rubbing it.
‘Because I thought you’d… rather not…’
Stephen glanced round at the little class, all of whom were staring at them with wide eyes. They couldn’t discuss this now. He didn’t want to deal with this now.
‘But why didn’t you mention it?’
‘I’m an idiot. And there was a lot going on?’
There was a lot going on now, thought Stephen. And she didn’t even realise it. He squeezed his own eyes tight, then turned round abruptly, went to his coat, took out two sets of keys and handed them to her without a word.
‘I’ll see you later,’ said Rosie, her heart beating quickly.
‘Mm,’ said Stephen, non-committally. He just had to get through one thing at a time, he told himself. One thing at a time.
Rosie worried for a second when she was finally sitting in the car, catching sight of Hetty in her rear-view mirror hurrying over the lawn, presumably with the eventful news about Rosie’s family. Then she shook herself. He’d be all right.
Peak House was utterly freezing. It was a dilapidated and eerie place at the best of times, a flat-fronted grey stone Georgian house perched gloomily out of place high up above the Lipton valley, totally open to the freezing winds and storms that passed over the mountainside. The views were wonderful, but terrible too: great craggy ridges, lonesome hills and, in this weather, white everywhere. Even though Rosie had spent happy times there with Stephen in the past, she couldn’t deny it was still a bit of a spooky prospect.
She sighed, hoping Stephen hadn’t forgotten to pay the electricity bill or anything stupid like that. But no, the lights came on as she went through the back door – it wasn’t even locked, she noticed crossly, she could have put that unpleasant conversation off for a bit. No she couldn’t, she told herself, she’d already let it get completely out of hand.
A whole house sitting here empty and untouched for months on end, she thought in amazement. In London they’d have had sixty-five art student squatters and ten thousand mice and some pigeons and someone would have stolen the lead off the roof. Here everything remained as it had been the very first time she’d met Stephen: plain, very tidy, a little faded. The walls were a plain white; the kitchen had a big stove that Rosie decided to come back and light in the morning, after clearing it out, and a well-scrubbed table that would serve. The sitting room was lined with books and had two old squeaky chesterfields. There were some family portraits, obviously moved up from the big house, that Rosie worried would scare the children. Upstairs were four nice square bedrooms with huge light-filled windows and views right across the hills.
Looking round, Rosie wondered, being so used to her own cramped conditions, if nothing could be done about spooky old Peak House – its dimensions and outlook were so nice, really. Even if you did have to wear your coat inside for the rest of your life and downstairs was full of dark old passageways. Stephen’s room was in fairly good nick and would do for Angie (although she would probably insist the best room went to Pip, assuming she hadn’t changed very much). There was a room with two singles and a little pull-out that the children could use, and another, freezing, little double. Only one bathroom, but it was a good size; Rosie turned on the boiler and the old corrugated radiators, crossing her fingers the entire time. There was no mobile signal up here, so God knows what would happen if she needed the emergency plumber. Then she got down to work.
First, she turned the radio full on to Heart FM. Some pop music would stop her feeling so alone and creeped out and cheer her up a bit. They were playing lots of Christmas tunes and reception up here was brilliant, with no neighbours to disturb except some sheep, so she whacked it right up and felt a bit better straight away; a feeling that improved even more when the pilot light wavered for a little bit, then caught, with a whoomphing, reassuring noise, followed by a buzz, which meant the boiler was on. She held her hand against it for a long time as she heard the radiators at last start to gurgle to life.
‘Um, what?’
‘Yeah, I didn’t think that would work,’ said Rosie.
Stephen glanced around anxiously at his class. The dining tables were all still set up, complete with pink linen cloths, and the little class was divided into six tables. They looked incongruous there, their chubby little legs dangling off the rather nasty conference-style chairs Hetty had bought as she tried to make Lipton Hall pay its way. Rosie waved at Kent and Emily, who grinned back shyly. Kent lifted his bandaged arm, and Rosie gave him the thumbs-up.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Here’s the thing.’
There was a ding in Stephen’s pocket as his phone received a text message. He drew it out unthinkingly. His brow furrowed. Then another one dinged in.
‘Ah,’ said Rosie, thinking immediately – and correctly – that the bush telegraph had got to work. She had about four minutes before Lady Lipton barged in.
Stephen turned off his phone and put it back in his pocket without a word. He felt the pain in his back as he did so.
‘The Reverend seems to think,’ he said quietly, ‘that we may need extra space in the family pew on Christmas Day.’
‘I do not trust that slippery vicar,’ said Rosie, not for the first time. She sighed. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Um.’ Then she squeezed her eyes tight shut. ‘My mum and my brother and sister-in-law and their kids are coming to stay for Christmas.’
Stephen looked completely bemused.
‘But why didn’t you tell me? When are they arriving?’
‘Tomorrow,’ said Rosie.
‘Rosie, open your eyes, this is ridiculous.’
‘No,’ said Rosie.
‘How long have you known?’
‘A bit,’ said Rosie.
‘Where are they going to… oh. Peak House. Of course. I see.’
‘I didn’t know what else to do… I know it’s your house.’
‘So you weren’t even going to ask me, just take the keys?’
‘When you put it like that, it sounds awful,’ said Rosie.
Stephen’s back was really hurting.
‘Why… why did you think I wouldn’t welcome your family?’ he said, rubbing it.
‘Because I thought you’d… rather not…’
Stephen glanced round at the little class, all of whom were staring at them with wide eyes. They couldn’t discuss this now. He didn’t want to deal with this now.
‘But why didn’t you mention it?’
‘I’m an idiot. And there was a lot going on?’
There was a lot going on now, thought Stephen. And she didn’t even realise it. He squeezed his own eyes tight, then turned round abruptly, went to his coat, took out two sets of keys and handed them to her without a word.
‘I’ll see you later,’ said Rosie, her heart beating quickly.
‘Mm,’ said Stephen, non-committally. He just had to get through one thing at a time, he told himself. One thing at a time.
Rosie worried for a second when she was finally sitting in the car, catching sight of Hetty in her rear-view mirror hurrying over the lawn, presumably with the eventful news about Rosie’s family. Then she shook herself. He’d be all right.
Peak House was utterly freezing. It was a dilapidated and eerie place at the best of times, a flat-fronted grey stone Georgian house perched gloomily out of place high up above the Lipton valley, totally open to the freezing winds and storms that passed over the mountainside. The views were wonderful, but terrible too: great craggy ridges, lonesome hills and, in this weather, white everywhere. Even though Rosie had spent happy times there with Stephen in the past, she couldn’t deny it was still a bit of a spooky prospect.
She sighed, hoping Stephen hadn’t forgotten to pay the electricity bill or anything stupid like that. But no, the lights came on as she went through the back door – it wasn’t even locked, she noticed crossly, she could have put that unpleasant conversation off for a bit. No she couldn’t, she told herself, she’d already let it get completely out of hand.
A whole house sitting here empty and untouched for months on end, she thought in amazement. In London they’d have had sixty-five art student squatters and ten thousand mice and some pigeons and someone would have stolen the lead off the roof. Here everything remained as it had been the very first time she’d met Stephen: plain, very tidy, a little faded. The walls were a plain white; the kitchen had a big stove that Rosie decided to come back and light in the morning, after clearing it out, and a well-scrubbed table that would serve. The sitting room was lined with books and had two old squeaky chesterfields. There were some family portraits, obviously moved up from the big house, that Rosie worried would scare the children. Upstairs were four nice square bedrooms with huge light-filled windows and views right across the hills.
Looking round, Rosie wondered, being so used to her own cramped conditions, if nothing could be done about spooky old Peak House – its dimensions and outlook were so nice, really. Even if you did have to wear your coat inside for the rest of your life and downstairs was full of dark old passageways. Stephen’s room was in fairly good nick and would do for Angie (although she would probably insist the best room went to Pip, assuming she hadn’t changed very much). There was a room with two singles and a little pull-out that the children could use, and another, freezing, little double. Only one bathroom, but it was a good size; Rosie turned on the boiler and the old corrugated radiators, crossing her fingers the entire time. There was no mobile signal up here, so God knows what would happen if she needed the emergency plumber. Then she got down to work.
First, she turned the radio full on to Heart FM. Some pop music would stop her feeling so alone and creeped out and cheer her up a bit. They were playing lots of Christmas tunes and reception up here was brilliant, with no neighbours to disturb except some sheep, so she whacked it right up and felt a bit better straight away; a feeling that improved even more when the pilot light wavered for a little bit, then caught, with a whoomphing, reassuring noise, followed by a buzz, which meant the boiler was on. She held her hand against it for a long time as she heard the radiators at last start to gurgle to life.
