Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 38
‘Little man,’ she said. ‘Today’s the day.’
‘What?’ said Rosie.
‘We’re going to try and wake him up. See how he’s doing. He seems to be healing pretty well. It helps to be young, although I’d have liked him to be a bit plumper.’
‘I can probably help with that,’ said Rosie.
‘Well, we can let Hester sleep a little longer, but then we want to get started,’ said the doctor.
‘Okay,’ said Rosie. ‘I can stay a while.’
‘Can you read again?’ said the nurse. ‘I loved that book.’
‘Of course,’ said Rosie, and took up again. ‘… the four sisters, who sat knitting away in the twilight, while the December snow fell quietly without, and the fire crackled cheerfully within…’
Rosie took the motorway to East Midlands Airport. Everywhere people were driving with Christmas trees strapped to their roofs, their boots piled high with boxes from toy shops and mysterious bicycle-shaped packages; everyone looking flushed and happy. Rosie bit her lip. She hadn’t even started shopping yet, didn’t know when she would get a second. Well, she could take them all in to Derby one day and they could shop. Wouldn’t be a patch on the Sydney shops Angie went on about all the bloody time, she supposed, but they would do.
And the kids would probably want video games, which was apparently all kids ever wanted these days, so that would be easy enough. She had absolutely not the faintest idea what to get Stephen, though. He always managed to look great in really old clothes, some of which he’d inherited from his dad. He wore ancient tweed jackets and managed to look handsome and not daft; worn-in cashmere jumpers, country checked shirts, soft moleskin trousers. Rosie thought first of all how ridiculous she would have thought that get-up before she knew him but how much it suited him, and secondly how unlikely she was to get it quite right, whatever right was, if she bought him something to wear.
She could try books, but he read so widely and so mercurially that it was hard to figure out what would catch his interest. It should probably, she thought, be something pretty damn good to make up for everything.
The flight was running on time. She bought a coffee and wandered the concourse, idly looking through the shops for possible gifts and wondering if it was possible to do all your Christmas shopping at an airport. Looking round, she figured that you could; that that was basically all airports were: malls for last-minute Christmas shoppers, with planes attached.
A Salvation Army band was playing ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ loudly under a huge Christmas tree. It was basically having a fight with the bing-bong of flight alerts and warnings about not leaving baggage unattended, and it made a lot of noise.
Rosie sighed and tried to stop herself being so cynical. She went to the loos and brushed her hair (otherwise she couldn’t be entirely sure Angie wouldn’t brush it for her in the middle of the concourse), then positioned herself along the arrivals barrier, kicking herself to get into a better mood. The last thing she wanted was to break down in floods of tears in front of her mum, confessing that no one knew they were coming and it was all complicated. No. It was fine.
Most people, flying locally from within the UK, waltzed out with a pull-along trolley on wheels. Rosie suspected, correctly, that her party would be last by the time they’d collected all the baggage, and the children of course were going to be exhausted and very ratty. She checked her watch and was just wondering if she had time to get another cup of coffee when suddenly the double doors slid open, and there, her frizzy hair a blonde shade never seen in nature, her bare arms walnut brown and stringy-looking, her teeth oddly white, pushing a trolley with two children hopping on and off it, was her mum.
And suddenly Rosie forgot everything – forgot every worry about the shop, about Stephen, about Edison, about everything – and just ran to the mummy she hadn’t seen in two years.
They held on to each other for a good minute or so before Rosie remembered that there were other people there too. She hugged Pip, then bent down to look at the children, all shyly holding on to Desleigh and Angie’s skirts.
‘Hello,’ she said, smiling.
Meridian, the littlest at three, still had a blankie clutched to her side and her thumb near her mouth just in case. Her big blue eyes blinked nervously. Desleigh nudged the other two – nine-year-old Shane, who was grasping a DS, and Kelly, seven, a chubby copy of her mother.
Shane finally came forward and said, ‘G’day, Auntie Rosie.’ And Rosie smiled, beamed in fact, particularly when she noticed Meridian’s curly black hair, so like her own.
‘Hi, you guys,’ she said, tears pricking at her eyes. ‘Oh boy, I have been waiting such a long time to see you.’
‘Is it true?’ said Kelly. ‘Is it true you have a lolly shop?’
‘Well, we have lots of other things as well as lollies,’ said Rosie.
Pip smiled.
‘Lollies are just… well, everything in Australia. All sweets really.’
‘I see,’ said Rosie. ‘Well, yes, I have a lolly shop. But here we call it a sweetshop.’
And she brought out from her bag the things she’d ordered specially for their coming: three shiny red Christmas lollies with their names iced on them. Three pairs of eyes went wide at the sight.
‘There are,’ said Rosie, ‘certain good things that come along with having an aunt who runs a sweetshop.’
She felt a tiny hand steal its way into hers, and looking down, she saw that Meridian had crept to her side.
‘They’re very well-behaved,’ she said to Desleigh. Desleigh snorted.
‘That’s because they’re all bloody knackered.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Rosie to the children. ‘I think it’s because you’re all very good. Now, please tell me you’ve brought lots and lots and lots of jumpers.’
‘The snow!’ shouted Shane. ‘We have to see the snow!’
‘SNOW!’ echoed the girls.
‘Oh, trust me,’ said Rosie, ‘you’ll see plenty of snow. Now come on, let’s go pick up your car.’
They found the seven-seater they’d hired easily enough. The force of the wind blasted them coming out through the airport doors, and the children shrieked in excited dismay. Rosie picked up Meridian and stuck her inside her jacket.
‘What?’ said Rosie.
‘We’re going to try and wake him up. See how he’s doing. He seems to be healing pretty well. It helps to be young, although I’d have liked him to be a bit plumper.’
‘I can probably help with that,’ said Rosie.
‘Well, we can let Hester sleep a little longer, but then we want to get started,’ said the doctor.
‘Okay,’ said Rosie. ‘I can stay a while.’
‘Can you read again?’ said the nurse. ‘I loved that book.’
‘Of course,’ said Rosie, and took up again. ‘… the four sisters, who sat knitting away in the twilight, while the December snow fell quietly without, and the fire crackled cheerfully within…’
Rosie took the motorway to East Midlands Airport. Everywhere people were driving with Christmas trees strapped to their roofs, their boots piled high with boxes from toy shops and mysterious bicycle-shaped packages; everyone looking flushed and happy. Rosie bit her lip. She hadn’t even started shopping yet, didn’t know when she would get a second. Well, she could take them all in to Derby one day and they could shop. Wouldn’t be a patch on the Sydney shops Angie went on about all the bloody time, she supposed, but they would do.
And the kids would probably want video games, which was apparently all kids ever wanted these days, so that would be easy enough. She had absolutely not the faintest idea what to get Stephen, though. He always managed to look great in really old clothes, some of which he’d inherited from his dad. He wore ancient tweed jackets and managed to look handsome and not daft; worn-in cashmere jumpers, country checked shirts, soft moleskin trousers. Rosie thought first of all how ridiculous she would have thought that get-up before she knew him but how much it suited him, and secondly how unlikely she was to get it quite right, whatever right was, if she bought him something to wear.
She could try books, but he read so widely and so mercurially that it was hard to figure out what would catch his interest. It should probably, she thought, be something pretty damn good to make up for everything.
The flight was running on time. She bought a coffee and wandered the concourse, idly looking through the shops for possible gifts and wondering if it was possible to do all your Christmas shopping at an airport. Looking round, she figured that you could; that that was basically all airports were: malls for last-minute Christmas shoppers, with planes attached.
A Salvation Army band was playing ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ loudly under a huge Christmas tree. It was basically having a fight with the bing-bong of flight alerts and warnings about not leaving baggage unattended, and it made a lot of noise.
Rosie sighed and tried to stop herself being so cynical. She went to the loos and brushed her hair (otherwise she couldn’t be entirely sure Angie wouldn’t brush it for her in the middle of the concourse), then positioned herself along the arrivals barrier, kicking herself to get into a better mood. The last thing she wanted was to break down in floods of tears in front of her mum, confessing that no one knew they were coming and it was all complicated. No. It was fine.
Most people, flying locally from within the UK, waltzed out with a pull-along trolley on wheels. Rosie suspected, correctly, that her party would be last by the time they’d collected all the baggage, and the children of course were going to be exhausted and very ratty. She checked her watch and was just wondering if she had time to get another cup of coffee when suddenly the double doors slid open, and there, her frizzy hair a blonde shade never seen in nature, her bare arms walnut brown and stringy-looking, her teeth oddly white, pushing a trolley with two children hopping on and off it, was her mum.
And suddenly Rosie forgot everything – forgot every worry about the shop, about Stephen, about Edison, about everything – and just ran to the mummy she hadn’t seen in two years.
They held on to each other for a good minute or so before Rosie remembered that there were other people there too. She hugged Pip, then bent down to look at the children, all shyly holding on to Desleigh and Angie’s skirts.
‘Hello,’ she said, smiling.
Meridian, the littlest at three, still had a blankie clutched to her side and her thumb near her mouth just in case. Her big blue eyes blinked nervously. Desleigh nudged the other two – nine-year-old Shane, who was grasping a DS, and Kelly, seven, a chubby copy of her mother.
Shane finally came forward and said, ‘G’day, Auntie Rosie.’ And Rosie smiled, beamed in fact, particularly when she noticed Meridian’s curly black hair, so like her own.
‘Hi, you guys,’ she said, tears pricking at her eyes. ‘Oh boy, I have been waiting such a long time to see you.’
‘Is it true?’ said Kelly. ‘Is it true you have a lolly shop?’
‘Well, we have lots of other things as well as lollies,’ said Rosie.
Pip smiled.
‘Lollies are just… well, everything in Australia. All sweets really.’
‘I see,’ said Rosie. ‘Well, yes, I have a lolly shop. But here we call it a sweetshop.’
And she brought out from her bag the things she’d ordered specially for their coming: three shiny red Christmas lollies with their names iced on them. Three pairs of eyes went wide at the sight.
‘There are,’ said Rosie, ‘certain good things that come along with having an aunt who runs a sweetshop.’
She felt a tiny hand steal its way into hers, and looking down, she saw that Meridian had crept to her side.
‘They’re very well-behaved,’ she said to Desleigh. Desleigh snorted.
‘That’s because they’re all bloody knackered.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Rosie to the children. ‘I think it’s because you’re all very good. Now, please tell me you’ve brought lots and lots and lots of jumpers.’
‘The snow!’ shouted Shane. ‘We have to see the snow!’
‘SNOW!’ echoed the girls.
‘Oh, trust me,’ said Rosie, ‘you’ll see plenty of snow. Now come on, let’s go pick up your car.’
They found the seven-seater they’d hired easily enough. The force of the wind blasted them coming out through the airport doors, and the children shrieked in excited dismay. Rosie picked up Meridian and stuck her inside her jacket.
