Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 40
‘School,’ he said, ‘was fine. School is fine. My mother on the other hand…’
‘Our mother distribution is all wrong,’ mused Rosie. ‘One needs to be closer, one needs to be further away. What’s she up to now?’
‘Fussing and complaining. You won’t believe what that arsehole Roy Blaine has done now.’
‘Filed all his teeth down to points and started on an all-baby diet?’
Stephen gave a weak smile at this. Rosie went back into the kitchen. She was cooking mustard pork chops, her secret weapon in case Stephen was still sulking. Nobody could resist her mustard pork chops.
‘Worse, if you can imagine.’
‘I still can’t believe he can walk about in daylight without going up in smoke.’
Stephen looked serious.
‘He’s saying that the cost of providing schooling up at the house means there isn’t enough money for the school repairs.’
‘WHAT?’
‘He said they’d planned to pay for the repairs out of money they would have saved whilst the children were at Carningford. But with that not happening…’
‘That is b.u.l.l.s.h.i.t.,’ said Rosie. ‘That man is just such a terrible, terrible guy.’
‘He is.’
‘He’s actually evil.’
‘I know,’ said Stephen. ‘I wish we could get him with a silver bullet. If I just crept into the crypt he sleeps in…’
‘What are we doing to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Stephen. ‘Mother is going to go crazy if we have to keep this up for much longer, you know. Little Lizzie McAllister broke some hideous stag thing by hanging her school bag off it. Mother went spare.’
Rosie rolled her eyes.
‘Oh, God.’
Stephen looked at her, and at the pork chops.
‘Were you still trying to win me round?’ he asked.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Rosie.
Stephen smiled.
‘Well, anyway. On the topic of mothers. Mine has invited you all over to dinner tomorrow night.’
Rosie nearly dropped her spatula.
‘She never asks us over.’
‘She does, actually. I just assume you won’t want to go.’
‘Oh,’ said Rosie. ‘Actually, I would. I don’t feel you’re helping the situation.’
‘Well. Everyone’s invited.’
‘Even the children?’
‘Are they going to hang bags on stags?’
‘Hehe,’ said Rosie. ‘Or stick their pens in hens.’
‘Or drop logs on dogs.’
‘Pork chops are burning.’
‘Normally I would say let them burn,’ said Stephen, caressing her shoulder. ‘But not when it’s your pork chops.’
Rosie woke the next morning to the most unusual sound: the church bells were ringing. It was only a Friday. As she came to, she realised that they were ringing out for Edison.
She sat up, smiling.
‘Hester isn’t going to like that,’ she said. ‘She’s a Kabbalist, I think. No, hang on, that was last year. I think it’s Mother Gaia this year.’
‘I like it,’ said Stephen, glancing at his watch and groaning at the time. His back felt like it was on fire; he’d hardly slept a wink. It was still dark outside. ‘Helps everyone get moving.’
Rosie phoned Peak House straight away. Everyone was up and had been since about five by the sound of things.
‘I’ll bring up second breakfast,’ she promised, and put down the phone, still beaming at waking up with such good news. Stephen glanced again at his watch.
‘You know, if you don’t sink into that bath for the next forty minutes, I’ll come with you.’
‘You will?’ said Rosie, unable to stop the look of delight crossing her face.
‘What? Why, what have you told them about me? Is this Beauty and the Beast?’
‘Heh,’ said Rosie. ‘Um, no.’
‘Go on.’
‘I have told them next to nothing about you,’ said Rosie. ‘Otherwise my mum would go totally nuts.’
‘So that means I’ll be in for the Spanish Inquisition.’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie. ‘Is it really difficult for you, living in a completely normal world where you don’t know absolutely everybody, and Uncle Biffy wasn’t at Eton with SnooSnoo and Pubes, and everyone has a family tree and a signet ring on their pinky?’
Stephen’s social circle and Rosie’s crossed as little as possible. Rosie was pleased sometimes that he wasn’t a massive socialiser. It was entirely selfish, but it meant she got more of him to herself.
‘Yeah, all right,’ said Stephen. ‘Get a move on, then.’
Rosie tried to be a good person. She tried to think well of others. And she adored her family. They were just as good as Stephen’s – better, in many ways. She had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Angie had raised her and Pip single-handedly, with no money but endless love and hard work and the occasional clip round the ear, seemingly at random. She had given them all the tools she had at her disposal and Rosie was fiercely proud of her and loved her dearly, as well as admiring her for her lifelong hard work and unselfishness. She was proud to be introducing her mother to the man she adored.
But did Angie really have to be wearing a fuchsia Juicy Couture tracksuit? With full make-up and earrings? And big old brown Uggs?
Angie’s bright blonde hair was scraped upwards in a slightly odd kind of pineapple style, and she was wearing a lot of perfume. When the Land Rover stopped, she was standing outside the house with an odd expression on her face. For one horrifying moment as Stephen got out carefully from the Land Rover, Rosie thought she was actually going to curtsey. She glared at Stephen, daring his lips to even twitch.
But being Stephen, he had immaculate manners, and kissed Angie on both cheeks. She was completely speechless, a rare position for Angie.
‘Um, Mum, this is Stephen. Stephen, this is Mum.’
‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Hopkins.’
‘Oh, no Mrs about it,’ said Angie, looking awkward. Her voice sounded strange. Rosie suddenly noticed that the upwards Australian inflection had gone. Was she trying to sound posh? ‘Oh no, don’t worry about little old me! Angie’s fine! And can I call you Steve?’
‘Our mother distribution is all wrong,’ mused Rosie. ‘One needs to be closer, one needs to be further away. What’s she up to now?’
‘Fussing and complaining. You won’t believe what that arsehole Roy Blaine has done now.’
‘Filed all his teeth down to points and started on an all-baby diet?’
Stephen gave a weak smile at this. Rosie went back into the kitchen. She was cooking mustard pork chops, her secret weapon in case Stephen was still sulking. Nobody could resist her mustard pork chops.
‘Worse, if you can imagine.’
‘I still can’t believe he can walk about in daylight without going up in smoke.’
Stephen looked serious.
‘He’s saying that the cost of providing schooling up at the house means there isn’t enough money for the school repairs.’
‘WHAT?’
‘He said they’d planned to pay for the repairs out of money they would have saved whilst the children were at Carningford. But with that not happening…’
‘That is b.u.l.l.s.h.i.t.,’ said Rosie. ‘That man is just such a terrible, terrible guy.’
‘He is.’
‘He’s actually evil.’
‘I know,’ said Stephen. ‘I wish we could get him with a silver bullet. If I just crept into the crypt he sleeps in…’
‘What are we doing to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Stephen. ‘Mother is going to go crazy if we have to keep this up for much longer, you know. Little Lizzie McAllister broke some hideous stag thing by hanging her school bag off it. Mother went spare.’
Rosie rolled her eyes.
‘Oh, God.’
Stephen looked at her, and at the pork chops.
‘Were you still trying to win me round?’ he asked.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Rosie.
Stephen smiled.
‘Well, anyway. On the topic of mothers. Mine has invited you all over to dinner tomorrow night.’
Rosie nearly dropped her spatula.
‘She never asks us over.’
‘She does, actually. I just assume you won’t want to go.’
‘Oh,’ said Rosie. ‘Actually, I would. I don’t feel you’re helping the situation.’
‘Well. Everyone’s invited.’
‘Even the children?’
‘Are they going to hang bags on stags?’
‘Hehe,’ said Rosie. ‘Or stick their pens in hens.’
‘Or drop logs on dogs.’
‘Pork chops are burning.’
‘Normally I would say let them burn,’ said Stephen, caressing her shoulder. ‘But not when it’s your pork chops.’
Rosie woke the next morning to the most unusual sound: the church bells were ringing. It was only a Friday. As she came to, she realised that they were ringing out for Edison.
She sat up, smiling.
‘Hester isn’t going to like that,’ she said. ‘She’s a Kabbalist, I think. No, hang on, that was last year. I think it’s Mother Gaia this year.’
‘I like it,’ said Stephen, glancing at his watch and groaning at the time. His back felt like it was on fire; he’d hardly slept a wink. It was still dark outside. ‘Helps everyone get moving.’
Rosie phoned Peak House straight away. Everyone was up and had been since about five by the sound of things.
‘I’ll bring up second breakfast,’ she promised, and put down the phone, still beaming at waking up with such good news. Stephen glanced again at his watch.
‘You know, if you don’t sink into that bath for the next forty minutes, I’ll come with you.’
‘You will?’ said Rosie, unable to stop the look of delight crossing her face.
‘What? Why, what have you told them about me? Is this Beauty and the Beast?’
‘Heh,’ said Rosie. ‘Um, no.’
‘Go on.’
‘I have told them next to nothing about you,’ said Rosie. ‘Otherwise my mum would go totally nuts.’
‘So that means I’ll be in for the Spanish Inquisition.’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie. ‘Is it really difficult for you, living in a completely normal world where you don’t know absolutely everybody, and Uncle Biffy wasn’t at Eton with SnooSnoo and Pubes, and everyone has a family tree and a signet ring on their pinky?’
Stephen’s social circle and Rosie’s crossed as little as possible. Rosie was pleased sometimes that he wasn’t a massive socialiser. It was entirely selfish, but it meant she got more of him to herself.
‘Yeah, all right,’ said Stephen. ‘Get a move on, then.’
Rosie tried to be a good person. She tried to think well of others. And she adored her family. They were just as good as Stephen’s – better, in many ways. She had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Angie had raised her and Pip single-handedly, with no money but endless love and hard work and the occasional clip round the ear, seemingly at random. She had given them all the tools she had at her disposal and Rosie was fiercely proud of her and loved her dearly, as well as admiring her for her lifelong hard work and unselfishness. She was proud to be introducing her mother to the man she adored.
But did Angie really have to be wearing a fuchsia Juicy Couture tracksuit? With full make-up and earrings? And big old brown Uggs?
Angie’s bright blonde hair was scraped upwards in a slightly odd kind of pineapple style, and she was wearing a lot of perfume. When the Land Rover stopped, she was standing outside the house with an odd expression on her face. For one horrifying moment as Stephen got out carefully from the Land Rover, Rosie thought she was actually going to curtsey. She glared at Stephen, daring his lips to even twitch.
But being Stephen, he had immaculate manners, and kissed Angie on both cheeks. She was completely speechless, a rare position for Angie.
‘Um, Mum, this is Stephen. Stephen, this is Mum.’
‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Hopkins.’
‘Oh, no Mrs about it,’ said Angie, looking awkward. Her voice sounded strange. Rosie suddenly noticed that the upwards Australian inflection had gone. Was she trying to sound posh? ‘Oh no, don’t worry about little old me! Angie’s fine! And can I call you Steve?’
