Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 49
‘Can I just have some brown bits from round the edges?’ said Angie. ‘Sorry, it’s just in Australia, we normally cook our food.’
‘Incinerate it, surely. On the “barbie-cue”?’ enquired Hetty, as if she’d only just heard of the word.
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Rosie, feeling something drop in the pit of her stomach.
‘Well, what will you do if the sweetshop closes?’ said Lilian.
‘Ahem,’ said Angie, clearing her throat and seeming to give up on dinner altogether. ‘Well. Of course. We’ll just take her back to Australia with us.’
‘What are you doing?’ asked Doreen, looking over Edward’s shoulder. It wasn’t like him to get obsessed with the internet; normally he tried to stop Ian doing exactly that. He believed in a proper separation between work and home, and liked their son to eat a nice dinner and chat about his day.
‘Just some… research,’ said Edward, in a muffled voice.
Doreen went round and put down his tea – one Hermesetas – to have a look. He was on a website called Veterans UK, for ex-servicemen.
‘What are you looking for?’
‘I don’t know really,’ said Edward. ‘It just occurred to me, really, because he never likes talking about it… I just wanted to see if I could pin down any more about Dad in the war.’
‘With a name like James Boyd you’ll be lucky,’ sniffed Doreen. ‘There’ll be loads.’
‘No, look,’ said Edward, excited suddenly, as the search engine pinged up its results. ‘It’s amazing what people have uploaded these days, tons and tons of info.’
Sure enough, about three pages in there was a James Boyd, born in Halifax in 1921.
‘That’s him.’
Doreen grabbed a chair and sat down next to him, feeling excited in her own right.
‘Ooh, go on, let’s have a look then. You know, you might have family you don’t even know about.’
‘I’ve got quite enough trouble going on with the family I do have,’ joked Edward, but his face was pink with anticipation.
They had a very slow broadband connection out in the sticks – Ian did nothing but complain about it – but finally the page loaded itself. They gazed at it. There was a picture of a young man, straight black hair cut short, freckles on the long nose. They looked at it for a long time.
‘You know,’ said Doreen finally, ‘it’s amazing how people change the way they look.’
Edward shook his head.
‘That’s not him,’ he said. ‘We must have the wrong James Boyd.’
‘The date of birth is the same,’ said Doreen.
‘Amazing coincidence,’ said Edward. ‘I’’m going to search some more.’
‘Well don’t stay up too late, darling,’ said Doreen, planting a kiss on his shoulder. She could never sleep without him beside her in the bed, even after all these years.
‘Of course Rosie’s not leaving,’ said Stephen. He was making his way through dinner at some speed with obvious enjoyment.
Rosie didn’t know what to say; her mother’s words were so unexpected.
‘Well, what’s she going to do here?’ said Angie. ‘She’s done her duty. And she could go back to London, but London’s over. Sydney’s where it’s at now. And she can be with her family. But it’ll have to be soon; nurses can’t get visas over thirty-five.’
‘Er, Mum, this is ridiculous,’ said Rosie.
‘Are you coming to live with us, Auntie Rosie?’ said Kelly. ‘You know we have a swimming pool. You can come in our swimming pool.’
‘ROSIE WE GOT BIG SWIMMING POOL! COME IN BIG SWIMMING POOL!’ said Meridian, wriggling out of Angie’s lap and on to Rosie’s. She turned Rosie’s face towards hers and showered her with kisses.
‘I YIKE you,’ she announced loudly. Rosie half smiled and kissed her back.
‘I like you too,’ she said. ‘Don’t be daft, Angie,’ she added. ‘I’m very happy here.’
Pip and Desleigh were clearly exchanging glances across the table, which made Rosie furious.
‘Doing what?’ scoffed Angie. ‘I mean, it’s pretty for five minutes, but you’re not from here, are you? Look at all this. I mean, it’s not like he’s going to…’
Too late, Rosie realised the terrible effect of two hyper-strong gin and tonics on a middle-aged woman on a very strict diet. Angie was already pointing at Stephen. It was like watching a plane crash in slow motion, she felt like leaping out of her seat and shouting ‘Noo… ooo…’
‘Are you going to marry her, love? Or are you just playing with the help?’
A shocked silence fell on the room, except for Lilian, who appeared to be in fits of giggles.
Stephen slowly put down his knife and fork. Rosie felt her heart thundering in her chest. She was furious with her mother. And Lilian. And Hetty. And everyone. Meridian was still giving her little kisses on the side of her face. Well, maybe not quite EVERYONE.
‘I CANNOT believe your mother did that.’ Moray’s face of scandalised horror wasn’t helping matters at all.
Rosie had opened up the shop feeling miserable and depressed, and Moray had popped in early for a post-mortem. It had turned out to be worse than his wildest dreams. Tina was in too, desperately trying to hide her ring and her happiness and be sympathetic.
‘I know,’ said Rosie, sipping her coffee.
‘SO?’ said Moray. ‘What did the high prince of darkness say?’
‘Stop calling him that.’
Moray traded glances with Tina. They had mopped Rosie up off the floor about Stephen more than once.
Rosie swallowed heavily. She hadn’t had a lot of sleep.
‘He said… he said…’ She dissolved in tears. ‘He said he didn’t really know. And so of course Angie gave the most tremendous sniff and said, no, the last one didn’t really know what he wanted either, and I’d wasted eight years of my life on HIM, and I wasn’t going to waste any more.’
She paused.
‘Nobody really wanted the stewed plums after that.’
Pip had given her a big hug and patted her on the back. She knew he understood.
Moray shook his head.
‘Hetty does the cooking on purpose to discourage people from coming to dinner.’
‘Incinerate it, surely. On the “barbie-cue”?’ enquired Hetty, as if she’d only just heard of the word.
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Rosie, feeling something drop in the pit of her stomach.
‘Well, what will you do if the sweetshop closes?’ said Lilian.
‘Ahem,’ said Angie, clearing her throat and seeming to give up on dinner altogether. ‘Well. Of course. We’ll just take her back to Australia with us.’
‘What are you doing?’ asked Doreen, looking over Edward’s shoulder. It wasn’t like him to get obsessed with the internet; normally he tried to stop Ian doing exactly that. He believed in a proper separation between work and home, and liked their son to eat a nice dinner and chat about his day.
‘Just some… research,’ said Edward, in a muffled voice.
Doreen went round and put down his tea – one Hermesetas – to have a look. He was on a website called Veterans UK, for ex-servicemen.
‘What are you looking for?’
‘I don’t know really,’ said Edward. ‘It just occurred to me, really, because he never likes talking about it… I just wanted to see if I could pin down any more about Dad in the war.’
‘With a name like James Boyd you’ll be lucky,’ sniffed Doreen. ‘There’ll be loads.’
‘No, look,’ said Edward, excited suddenly, as the search engine pinged up its results. ‘It’s amazing what people have uploaded these days, tons and tons of info.’
Sure enough, about three pages in there was a James Boyd, born in Halifax in 1921.
‘That’s him.’
Doreen grabbed a chair and sat down next to him, feeling excited in her own right.
‘Ooh, go on, let’s have a look then. You know, you might have family you don’t even know about.’
‘I’ve got quite enough trouble going on with the family I do have,’ joked Edward, but his face was pink with anticipation.
They had a very slow broadband connection out in the sticks – Ian did nothing but complain about it – but finally the page loaded itself. They gazed at it. There was a picture of a young man, straight black hair cut short, freckles on the long nose. They looked at it for a long time.
‘You know,’ said Doreen finally, ‘it’s amazing how people change the way they look.’
Edward shook his head.
‘That’s not him,’ he said. ‘We must have the wrong James Boyd.’
‘The date of birth is the same,’ said Doreen.
‘Amazing coincidence,’ said Edward. ‘I’’m going to search some more.’
‘Well don’t stay up too late, darling,’ said Doreen, planting a kiss on his shoulder. She could never sleep without him beside her in the bed, even after all these years.
‘Of course Rosie’s not leaving,’ said Stephen. He was making his way through dinner at some speed with obvious enjoyment.
Rosie didn’t know what to say; her mother’s words were so unexpected.
‘Well, what’s she going to do here?’ said Angie. ‘She’s done her duty. And she could go back to London, but London’s over. Sydney’s where it’s at now. And she can be with her family. But it’ll have to be soon; nurses can’t get visas over thirty-five.’
‘Er, Mum, this is ridiculous,’ said Rosie.
‘Are you coming to live with us, Auntie Rosie?’ said Kelly. ‘You know we have a swimming pool. You can come in our swimming pool.’
‘ROSIE WE GOT BIG SWIMMING POOL! COME IN BIG SWIMMING POOL!’ said Meridian, wriggling out of Angie’s lap and on to Rosie’s. She turned Rosie’s face towards hers and showered her with kisses.
‘I YIKE you,’ she announced loudly. Rosie half smiled and kissed her back.
‘I like you too,’ she said. ‘Don’t be daft, Angie,’ she added. ‘I’m very happy here.’
Pip and Desleigh were clearly exchanging glances across the table, which made Rosie furious.
‘Doing what?’ scoffed Angie. ‘I mean, it’s pretty for five minutes, but you’re not from here, are you? Look at all this. I mean, it’s not like he’s going to…’
Too late, Rosie realised the terrible effect of two hyper-strong gin and tonics on a middle-aged woman on a very strict diet. Angie was already pointing at Stephen. It was like watching a plane crash in slow motion, she felt like leaping out of her seat and shouting ‘Noo… ooo…’
‘Are you going to marry her, love? Or are you just playing with the help?’
A shocked silence fell on the room, except for Lilian, who appeared to be in fits of giggles.
Stephen slowly put down his knife and fork. Rosie felt her heart thundering in her chest. She was furious with her mother. And Lilian. And Hetty. And everyone. Meridian was still giving her little kisses on the side of her face. Well, maybe not quite EVERYONE.
‘I CANNOT believe your mother did that.’ Moray’s face of scandalised horror wasn’t helping matters at all.
Rosie had opened up the shop feeling miserable and depressed, and Moray had popped in early for a post-mortem. It had turned out to be worse than his wildest dreams. Tina was in too, desperately trying to hide her ring and her happiness and be sympathetic.
‘I know,’ said Rosie, sipping her coffee.
‘SO?’ said Moray. ‘What did the high prince of darkness say?’
‘Stop calling him that.’
Moray traded glances with Tina. They had mopped Rosie up off the floor about Stephen more than once.
Rosie swallowed heavily. She hadn’t had a lot of sleep.
‘He said… he said…’ She dissolved in tears. ‘He said he didn’t really know. And so of course Angie gave the most tremendous sniff and said, no, the last one didn’t really know what he wanted either, and I’d wasted eight years of my life on HIM, and I wasn’t going to waste any more.’
She paused.
‘Nobody really wanted the stewed plums after that.’
Pip had given her a big hug and patted her on the back. She knew he understood.
Moray shook his head.
‘Hetty does the cooking on purpose to discourage people from coming to dinner.’
