Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 50
‘But… but why doesn’t Stephen want to get married?’ said Tina, nervously fiddling with her ring.
Rosie’s face was set.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘My last boyfriend didn’t want to get married either. Maybe it’s me.’
‘It’s not you,’ said Tina and Moray immediately. ‘I’d marry you,’ said Moray. ‘For the toffee alone.’
‘Thanks, guys,’ said Rosie.
‘But… but… what are you going to do?’
Rosie looked around the lovely warm, cosy little shop, its brass bell gleaming in the cold early-morning sunshine.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘If the shop can’t carry on, it can’t carry on. And I’ve uprooted my life once before. I suppose I could do it again.’
‘In Australia?’ said Tina, eyes wide.
‘Well, I’ve always wanted to go and have a look,’ said Rosie. ‘Everyone says it’s totally amazing. And you know, those are my nephew and nieces there. They’re all the family I’ve got. I’ve missed a lot of them growing up already.’
‘You’re the only family Lilian’s got as well,’ said Moray softly.
‘Lilian sides with Hetty every fricking time,’ said Rosie, uncharacteristically bitter. ‘They can be family. She’ll be fine without me. And Hetty will be bloody ecstatic.’
‘And Stephen?’ said Moray. But it was too late. Rosie had already dissolved into tears.
Chapter Fourteen
As Christmas grew closer, Rosie threw herself into preparations. She took her family to Carningford to see Santa’s grotto and the lights, bought Nintendo games and princess dolls and a huge inflatable Spiderman, and ordered a vast turkey from the butcher.
‘We’re going to eat at Peak House,’ she announced to Stephen in passing. Stephen was marking, and not really concentrating on her tone.
‘But Mother normally —’
‘I don’t care what your mother is doing,’ she said. ‘I’m going to be at Peak House with my mother.’
‘Okay,’ said Stephen. ‘That sounds fine.’
He returned to his marking.
‘Hey,’ he said a few minutes later. ‘Are you okay?’
But Rosie had already gone upstairs to bed.
‘All right,’ said Stephen. ‘Once more.’
The class looked up at him obediently. It was still amazing to him how much he enjoyed his job. Throwing himself into it was just about the best remedy for feeling better he knew. Getting a slow child to catch up with their reading; making the class laugh explaining arithmetic in terms of dogs and sausages; or hearing young uplifting voices sing and lisp their way through the nativity play. Stephen wasn’t too keen on nativity plays – too much hideous competition between the parents as to who did what – so he was having five very brief tableaux, then moving straight on to the communal singing parts that everybody enjoyed.
‘GLOO-ooo-oooo-ooo-ria,’ yelled the happy voices to the thump of the out-of-tune, almost unplayable piano. He would deal with his mother’s bad mood later.
His thoughts strayed to Rosie. Oh God, he seemed to have managed to turn everybody against him. Again, he thought mournfully. But he was in no fit state to be thinking about the future at the moment. Couldn’t she see that? Could nobody see?
‘Where have you been?’ said Lilian crossly, shouting, as usual, into her mobile phone even though a normal tone of voice would have done perfectly well.
‘Angie’s been to see you every day,’ said Rosie defensively.
‘Yes, well, Angie’s not you, is she? All she talks about is Australia and finding a man.’
‘Maybe that’s what I need to talk about,’ said Rosie gloomily.
‘What’s that? Don’t talk nonsense. You’re entirely too sensitive.’ Lilian sighed. Rosie was moping about the place terribly; it was very dull.
She wandered over to where James Boyd was sitting, pretending to be reading a book. He glanced up, his brown eyes still piercing, and she had a sudden flashback. They both stared at each other for a moment, horrified.
‘Oh my,’ said Lilian, out of breath and sitting down with a thump on the thick cushions. ‘Oh my. Sorry.’ Her fingers fumbled unconsciously for her emergency button. ‘Sorry. Just for a moment there… you looked exactly like…’
‘Lilian,’ said the voice, and it was a voice from the past. It was a voice she knew incredibly well. But it could not be. This voice was dead. This voice had been dead seventy years. This voice’s entire generation had passed…
‘Henry Carr,’ breathed Lilian, all colour drained from her face. ‘You sounded exactly like Henry Carr.’
‘Henry Carr,’ repeated the old man, and a tear rolled down his cheek suddenly, but Lilian couldn’t tell whether he was saying a name he knew or just repeating her words back to her.
‘Did you know him?’ she asked. ‘Did you know Henry Carr?’
But suddenly, as fast as he’d been there, he was gone, his brown eyes fixed on the far window, on the snow falling thickly on the holly bushes.
Lilian sidetracked Edward as he came in the door.
‘Mr Boyd,’ she said.
‘It’s Lilian, isn’t it?’ he said politely, dusting the snow off his shoulders.
‘You can call me Miss Hopkins,’ said Lilian. ‘It’s just… I wanted to ask you about your dad. James.’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s definitely James, isn’t it?’
Edward looked at her strangely.
‘What an odd question.’
‘I know. Only… and I know I am a very silly old lady and I can’t see a thing and have no idea what I’m doing half the time… and I think I’m going dotty…’
‘Miss Hopkins, you are sharp as a tack and you don’t fool me for a second.’
‘Only, it’s just your father reminds me of someone very much. Someone I knew during the war.’
‘Oh,’ said Edward. ‘I’m so sorry, I was born after the war.’
‘Yes, I realise that,’ said Lilian. ‘And your father?’
‘He grew up in Halifax. Weavers, most of his relatives.’
‘Did you know your grandparents when you were little?’
Rosie’s face was set.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘My last boyfriend didn’t want to get married either. Maybe it’s me.’
‘It’s not you,’ said Tina and Moray immediately. ‘I’d marry you,’ said Moray. ‘For the toffee alone.’
‘Thanks, guys,’ said Rosie.
‘But… but… what are you going to do?’
Rosie looked around the lovely warm, cosy little shop, its brass bell gleaming in the cold early-morning sunshine.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘If the shop can’t carry on, it can’t carry on. And I’ve uprooted my life once before. I suppose I could do it again.’
‘In Australia?’ said Tina, eyes wide.
‘Well, I’ve always wanted to go and have a look,’ said Rosie. ‘Everyone says it’s totally amazing. And you know, those are my nephew and nieces there. They’re all the family I’ve got. I’ve missed a lot of them growing up already.’
‘You’re the only family Lilian’s got as well,’ said Moray softly.
‘Lilian sides with Hetty every fricking time,’ said Rosie, uncharacteristically bitter. ‘They can be family. She’ll be fine without me. And Hetty will be bloody ecstatic.’
‘And Stephen?’ said Moray. But it was too late. Rosie had already dissolved into tears.
Chapter Fourteen
As Christmas grew closer, Rosie threw herself into preparations. She took her family to Carningford to see Santa’s grotto and the lights, bought Nintendo games and princess dolls and a huge inflatable Spiderman, and ordered a vast turkey from the butcher.
‘We’re going to eat at Peak House,’ she announced to Stephen in passing. Stephen was marking, and not really concentrating on her tone.
‘But Mother normally —’
‘I don’t care what your mother is doing,’ she said. ‘I’m going to be at Peak House with my mother.’
‘Okay,’ said Stephen. ‘That sounds fine.’
He returned to his marking.
‘Hey,’ he said a few minutes later. ‘Are you okay?’
But Rosie had already gone upstairs to bed.
‘All right,’ said Stephen. ‘Once more.’
The class looked up at him obediently. It was still amazing to him how much he enjoyed his job. Throwing himself into it was just about the best remedy for feeling better he knew. Getting a slow child to catch up with their reading; making the class laugh explaining arithmetic in terms of dogs and sausages; or hearing young uplifting voices sing and lisp their way through the nativity play. Stephen wasn’t too keen on nativity plays – too much hideous competition between the parents as to who did what – so he was having five very brief tableaux, then moving straight on to the communal singing parts that everybody enjoyed.
‘GLOO-ooo-oooo-ooo-ria,’ yelled the happy voices to the thump of the out-of-tune, almost unplayable piano. He would deal with his mother’s bad mood later.
His thoughts strayed to Rosie. Oh God, he seemed to have managed to turn everybody against him. Again, he thought mournfully. But he was in no fit state to be thinking about the future at the moment. Couldn’t she see that? Could nobody see?
‘Where have you been?’ said Lilian crossly, shouting, as usual, into her mobile phone even though a normal tone of voice would have done perfectly well.
‘Angie’s been to see you every day,’ said Rosie defensively.
‘Yes, well, Angie’s not you, is she? All she talks about is Australia and finding a man.’
‘Maybe that’s what I need to talk about,’ said Rosie gloomily.
‘What’s that? Don’t talk nonsense. You’re entirely too sensitive.’ Lilian sighed. Rosie was moping about the place terribly; it was very dull.
She wandered over to where James Boyd was sitting, pretending to be reading a book. He glanced up, his brown eyes still piercing, and she had a sudden flashback. They both stared at each other for a moment, horrified.
‘Oh my,’ said Lilian, out of breath and sitting down with a thump on the thick cushions. ‘Oh my. Sorry.’ Her fingers fumbled unconsciously for her emergency button. ‘Sorry. Just for a moment there… you looked exactly like…’
‘Lilian,’ said the voice, and it was a voice from the past. It was a voice she knew incredibly well. But it could not be. This voice was dead. This voice had been dead seventy years. This voice’s entire generation had passed…
‘Henry Carr,’ breathed Lilian, all colour drained from her face. ‘You sounded exactly like Henry Carr.’
‘Henry Carr,’ repeated the old man, and a tear rolled down his cheek suddenly, but Lilian couldn’t tell whether he was saying a name he knew or just repeating her words back to her.
‘Did you know him?’ she asked. ‘Did you know Henry Carr?’
But suddenly, as fast as he’d been there, he was gone, his brown eyes fixed on the far window, on the snow falling thickly on the holly bushes.
Lilian sidetracked Edward as he came in the door.
‘Mr Boyd,’ she said.
‘It’s Lilian, isn’t it?’ he said politely, dusting the snow off his shoulders.
‘You can call me Miss Hopkins,’ said Lilian. ‘It’s just… I wanted to ask you about your dad. James.’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s definitely James, isn’t it?’
Edward looked at her strangely.
‘What an odd question.’
‘I know. Only… and I know I am a very silly old lady and I can’t see a thing and have no idea what I’m doing half the time… and I think I’m going dotty…’
‘Miss Hopkins, you are sharp as a tack and you don’t fool me for a second.’
‘Only, it’s just your father reminds me of someone very much. Someone I knew during the war.’
‘Oh,’ said Edward. ‘I’m so sorry, I was born after the war.’
‘Yes, I realise that,’ said Lilian. ‘And your father?’
‘He grew up in Halifax. Weavers, most of his relatives.’
‘Did you know your grandparents when you were little?’
