Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 37
She juggled the hot fish suppers wrapped in paper as she got out of the car. Yes. Surely it would be okay.
There was a light on in the window. Well, at least he was there. That was okay. She knocked tentatively on the door, then felt completely stupid, it was her house after all.
‘Hello?’ She peered through the window.
His head turned slowly, still stiff and painful. Rosie held up the fish and chips. His expression didn’t change.
He opened the door.
‘Peace offering?’
‘Of course,’ he said, doing his best to smile, even though he clearly didn’t feel like it. ‘Stop looking so scared. Am I a very terrifying person?’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘A bit.’
‘I didn’t know you’d be so late,’ he said. ‘Tina locked up early.’
‘I know, I asked her to,’ said Rosie.
Stephen slowly fetched plates and ketchup from the little kitchen.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Just take me through it… Your mum is coming?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘My brother.’
‘Lovely!’
‘And his wife.’
‘Yes.’
‘And their children…’
‘Do they have many children?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know absolutely everything about it,’ said Rosie. ‘This is pure torture and nothing else.’
‘I would have loved not everyone to know everything before me,’ Stephen said quietly.
‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘I am so, so sorry. Truly sorry. With everything that was happening…’
‘What, you decided I was going to be really awful about it?’
‘No!’ said Rosie. ‘But I didn’t know…’ She could barely get the words out. ‘After… after the accident…’
Stephen’s dark blue eyes seemed to be boring into her.
‘I was worried… I thought you might retreat again. I thought it might bring on your PTSD. I didn’t want to add to any mental stress I thought you might be under.’
‘Because that would be awful?’
‘Yes… no. I mean… I mean, are you okay?’
For a moment, Stephen considered telling her. How every time he heard a car backfire he thought he was going to have a heart attack. How every time he fell asleep he thought he could feel the dust and smoke in his lungs. How when he’d heard the children playing outside today, all he could hear were screams.
But he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back to where they were last year. He couldn’t handle the sense that Rosie was there for him and he wasn’t there for her; that he was an invalid; that he wasn’t up to loving her, to playing his part, to being a proper man. He couldn’t bear the disappointment on her face, the tiptoeing around him that everyone would inevitably start doing. No. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.
All he said was ‘I’m fine. Okay? I’m fine. I’m not that same guy, remember?’
‘No, you’re not,’ said Rosie. ‘You’re not. I’m sorry that I thought you were.’
And Stephen took that as enough.
‘We should eat before it gets cold.’
Rosie unwrapped her fish and chips, realising belatedly that she’d skipped lunch and was absolutely starving. She dived in without thinking.
‘Well, I’m glad you’re so upset and apologetic that you’re off your food,’ he observed. She smiled at him, overwhelmed with relief that at last it was out in the open and everything was going to be fine.
Stephen couldn’t eat at all but did his best to look as if he was.
‘Did you get my message on your phone?’ she said suddenly.
‘Oh, no. Bloody signal,’ said Stephen.
Rosie had another bath – she was pretty mucky from Peak House – and heard Stephen go quietly to bed before her. She jumped in to join him, but he seemed to be asleep already.
A beeping woke her in the depths of the night, the moon shining strongly through the window. The mobile signal was patchy throughout the village. Sometimes, very rarely, it would swing in and out of the cottage, but it couldn’t be relied on. But it was Stephen’s iPhone she had heard. He wasn’t in bed. Blurrily she looked around the room. He was sitting in the big old armchair just under the window, gazing at the screen. She could see, just about, that it was the letter to Santa she had sent him. He was sitting very still. She decided it was better not to say anything; she had done enough today. So instead she turned over gently in the bed and dropped back into an exhausted sleep.
Chapter Eleven
It had snowed a little in the night, but not enough to trouble the gritters too much. Rosie was opening up in the morning, but Tina would take over while she drove to the airport. She took Stephen to work. Lady Lipton was standing out in front of the great house, looking mutinous.
‘Oh Lord,’ said Stephen.
‘Tell her that us being in Peak House will stop the pipes from freezing,’ suggested Rosie.
‘Yeah, until she gives them one of her looks,’ said Stephen. He kissed her on the cheek and hauled himself out of the car. Rosie watched him walk towards his mother, his resignation obvious.
She’d planned it so that she had a little time to kill before she had to leave for the airport, and was pleased to be able to spend it at Edison’s bedside. She’d brought a copy of Little Women, the closest thing to a child’s book Lilian had in the house, and started reading softly as Hester went for a quick lie-down in the day room. Technically it was light outside, but the skies were so low and heavy it didn’t quite feel like that, and apart from the gentle beeps and whirrs of the equipment, the ward was quiet.
‘“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” grumbled Jo, lying on the rug,’ Rosie began. ‘“It’s so dreadful to be poor!” sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress…’
After about five minutes, she became aware of a doctor and nurse standing behind her, listening.
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘No, it was nice,’ said the doctor. ‘Makes a change from being sworn at by drunks. Um, is Hester about?’
‘She’s just having a nap,’ said Rosie. ‘I can go and fetch her.’
The doctor came over and patted Edison’s cheek.
There was a light on in the window. Well, at least he was there. That was okay. She knocked tentatively on the door, then felt completely stupid, it was her house after all.
‘Hello?’ She peered through the window.
His head turned slowly, still stiff and painful. Rosie held up the fish and chips. His expression didn’t change.
He opened the door.
‘Peace offering?’
‘Of course,’ he said, doing his best to smile, even though he clearly didn’t feel like it. ‘Stop looking so scared. Am I a very terrifying person?’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘A bit.’
‘I didn’t know you’d be so late,’ he said. ‘Tina locked up early.’
‘I know, I asked her to,’ said Rosie.
Stephen slowly fetched plates and ketchup from the little kitchen.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Just take me through it… Your mum is coming?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘My brother.’
‘Lovely!’
‘And his wife.’
‘Yes.’
‘And their children…’
‘Do they have many children?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know absolutely everything about it,’ said Rosie. ‘This is pure torture and nothing else.’
‘I would have loved not everyone to know everything before me,’ Stephen said quietly.
‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘I am so, so sorry. Truly sorry. With everything that was happening…’
‘What, you decided I was going to be really awful about it?’
‘No!’ said Rosie. ‘But I didn’t know…’ She could barely get the words out. ‘After… after the accident…’
Stephen’s dark blue eyes seemed to be boring into her.
‘I was worried… I thought you might retreat again. I thought it might bring on your PTSD. I didn’t want to add to any mental stress I thought you might be under.’
‘Because that would be awful?’
‘Yes… no. I mean… I mean, are you okay?’
For a moment, Stephen considered telling her. How every time he heard a car backfire he thought he was going to have a heart attack. How every time he fell asleep he thought he could feel the dust and smoke in his lungs. How when he’d heard the children playing outside today, all he could hear were screams.
But he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back to where they were last year. He couldn’t handle the sense that Rosie was there for him and he wasn’t there for her; that he was an invalid; that he wasn’t up to loving her, to playing his part, to being a proper man. He couldn’t bear the disappointment on her face, the tiptoeing around him that everyone would inevitably start doing. No. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.
All he said was ‘I’m fine. Okay? I’m fine. I’m not that same guy, remember?’
‘No, you’re not,’ said Rosie. ‘You’re not. I’m sorry that I thought you were.’
And Stephen took that as enough.
‘We should eat before it gets cold.’
Rosie unwrapped her fish and chips, realising belatedly that she’d skipped lunch and was absolutely starving. She dived in without thinking.
‘Well, I’m glad you’re so upset and apologetic that you’re off your food,’ he observed. She smiled at him, overwhelmed with relief that at last it was out in the open and everything was going to be fine.
Stephen couldn’t eat at all but did his best to look as if he was.
‘Did you get my message on your phone?’ she said suddenly.
‘Oh, no. Bloody signal,’ said Stephen.
Rosie had another bath – she was pretty mucky from Peak House – and heard Stephen go quietly to bed before her. She jumped in to join him, but he seemed to be asleep already.
A beeping woke her in the depths of the night, the moon shining strongly through the window. The mobile signal was patchy throughout the village. Sometimes, very rarely, it would swing in and out of the cottage, but it couldn’t be relied on. But it was Stephen’s iPhone she had heard. He wasn’t in bed. Blurrily she looked around the room. He was sitting in the big old armchair just under the window, gazing at the screen. She could see, just about, that it was the letter to Santa she had sent him. He was sitting very still. She decided it was better not to say anything; she had done enough today. So instead she turned over gently in the bed and dropped back into an exhausted sleep.
Chapter Eleven
It had snowed a little in the night, but not enough to trouble the gritters too much. Rosie was opening up in the morning, but Tina would take over while she drove to the airport. She took Stephen to work. Lady Lipton was standing out in front of the great house, looking mutinous.
‘Oh Lord,’ said Stephen.
‘Tell her that us being in Peak House will stop the pipes from freezing,’ suggested Rosie.
‘Yeah, until she gives them one of her looks,’ said Stephen. He kissed her on the cheek and hauled himself out of the car. Rosie watched him walk towards his mother, his resignation obvious.
She’d planned it so that she had a little time to kill before she had to leave for the airport, and was pleased to be able to spend it at Edison’s bedside. She’d brought a copy of Little Women, the closest thing to a child’s book Lilian had in the house, and started reading softly as Hester went for a quick lie-down in the day room. Technically it was light outside, but the skies were so low and heavy it didn’t quite feel like that, and apart from the gentle beeps and whirrs of the equipment, the ward was quiet.
‘“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” grumbled Jo, lying on the rug,’ Rosie began. ‘“It’s so dreadful to be poor!” sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress…’
After about five minutes, she became aware of a doctor and nurse standing behind her, listening.
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘No, it was nice,’ said the doctor. ‘Makes a change from being sworn at by drunks. Um, is Hester about?’
‘She’s just having a nap,’ said Rosie. ‘I can go and fetch her.’
The doctor came over and patted Edison’s cheek.
