Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 52
‘I’m not his bit on the side, Mum.’
‘Darling, I love you. And I have never been anything but proud of the choices you’ve made, you know that.’
Rosie realised that her struggle to fight the tears was going to be pointless.
‘And when you dropped everything and came up here to help Lilian, I was so proud of you. So thrilled.’
‘Mmm.’
‘But Rosie, you’re thirty-two years old.’
Rosie flushed pink.
‘I know that, Mum.’
‘Your best years… I mean, are you going to spend the rest of your life tinkering along? Who knows what you’ll do if the sweetshop closes. The thought of you having to pander to that horrible woman and spend time in that dreadful freezing house, waiting around for… I mean, he’s very handsome and can turn on the charm and all of that, but Stephen… you know, he’s not like us, is he?’
Angie had, unwittingly or otherwise, touched on the very core of Rosie’s insecurities around him. She could never forget, last year, his flirtation with Cee Cee, the terrifyingly tall, posh blonde from London, who had looked at her as if she was some kind of scrubber.
‘Love, I’m trying to be kind, but… in the end, you know, isn’t he just going to end up with someone exactly like himself? Don’t they all have to marry each other anyway?’
‘Don’t be daft, Mum, this isn’t Downton Abbey.’
They buttered their scones in silence.
‘Meridian’s really taken to you,’ observed Angie after a moment or two. Rosie’s face softened.
‘Oh, she’s adorable.’
‘She looks a lot like you as a child, you know.’
Rosie nodded; she’d seen the photographs.
‘I know.’
‘I can’t tell you what it’s like as a mother, to see the way you look traced in someone else’s face. She makes me miss you more than anything else.’
‘She’s very cute,’ said Rosie.
‘I think she’s going to need her auntie,’ said Angie. ‘Kelly doesn’t let her get away with much. And I’m not sure Shane knows where he is half the time. And Desleigh’s rushed off her feet…’
‘I wish they’d take that game away from Shane,’ said Rosie suddenly, tactfully not commenting on whether or not Desleigh seemed rushed off her feet. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea if he’s a nice boy or not. He doesn’t say a word, just grunts.’
‘I know,’ said Angie. ‘It would take a bit more time to really get to know him.’
The hotel door banged open in the wind, letting in some other freezing shoppers.
‘Do you think you’d ever move back here?’ asked Rosie tentatively.
‘I couldn’t now,’ said Angie, looking straight at the door. ‘It chills my bones, this. You know, when you wake in the morning in Sydney, you can smell the bougainvillea and the hibiscus and the jasmine in the window, and obviously lots of people go down to the beach, eat their breakfast overlooking the sea – the coffee’s amazing. And the light hits the top of the harbour bridge and the opera house, and the sun is like diamonds on the water, until it feels like the entire city is glowing. There’s just so much possibility. And there aren’t many Hettys there, I’ll tell you that.’
‘So they won’t have much space for a fat old nurse with a failed sweetshop, then,’ said Rosie.
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Angie. ‘You’d love it. Think of it: a new start, warm, soft summer air. We’d get you set up in a little apartment by the sea, yeah? Not too far from all of us, but not too close either. Introduce you to some people? Come round for Sunday lunch? We do it on the barbie now. Just think about it.’
Moray looked up from Saturday morning surgery, surprised at the next name on the list but trying his best not to show it.
‘Hello,’ he said, casually neutral.
Stephen limped over to the comfortable leather seat in front of Moray’s old desk, glancing briefly at the examination table with its roll of paper at the foot, and the wooden toy corner for the little ones. Seeing him walk into his surgery was so entirely unexpected for Moray that he buried his head in the notes. The two of them had been good friends once; Stephen had been full of plans for them both in Africa, a doctor and a teacher, but Moray had not wanted to go, and Stephen had never quite forgiven him.
‘Leg problems?’ said Moray.
‘No, the leg’s fine,’ said Stephen, settling himself carefully.
‘And your back… is it healing? You have been through the wars,’ said Moray, then instantly regretted his turn of phrase.
‘It’s fine,’ said Stephen.
They sat there in silence for a few moments, both men wretchedly uncomfortable. Stephen began to wish furiously that he hadn’t come. On the other hand, he was hardly going to talk to Hye about it… He stared at his hands.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I… I…’
For a horrifying moment he thought he was going to cry. He hauled it back.
‘I keep… I keep getting flashbacks.’
Moray looked at him. He looked – well, not awful; Stephen never looked awful, but there were purple shadows beneath his eyes, and he was a little thin.
‘After the accident.’
Moray nodded carefully.
‘Trouble sleeping?’
Stephen laughed hollowly.
‘And have you… have you spoken to anyone about this?’
Stephen shook his head.
‘It’s Christmas. Everyone’s meant to be happy, having a good time. I’m not going to get in the way and spoil their fun.’
This was precisely what Moray thought he was already doing, but he didn’t mention it.
‘You don’t want to talk to Rosie?’ he said gently. Stephen’s gaze was anguished.
‘I… I don’t want to be her patient. I don’t want her looking after me, everyone feeling sorry for me all over again. Do you see?’
Moray did see. He was also of the opinion that this was a terrible strategy.
‘But don’t you think she’s worried about you?’
‘Don’t you think she’d be more worried about me if she thought I’d gone off my head again?’
Moray shrugged.
‘She’s an understanding person. And it didn’t put her off before.’
‘Darling, I love you. And I have never been anything but proud of the choices you’ve made, you know that.’
Rosie realised that her struggle to fight the tears was going to be pointless.
‘And when you dropped everything and came up here to help Lilian, I was so proud of you. So thrilled.’
‘Mmm.’
‘But Rosie, you’re thirty-two years old.’
Rosie flushed pink.
‘I know that, Mum.’
‘Your best years… I mean, are you going to spend the rest of your life tinkering along? Who knows what you’ll do if the sweetshop closes. The thought of you having to pander to that horrible woman and spend time in that dreadful freezing house, waiting around for… I mean, he’s very handsome and can turn on the charm and all of that, but Stephen… you know, he’s not like us, is he?’
Angie had, unwittingly or otherwise, touched on the very core of Rosie’s insecurities around him. She could never forget, last year, his flirtation with Cee Cee, the terrifyingly tall, posh blonde from London, who had looked at her as if she was some kind of scrubber.
‘Love, I’m trying to be kind, but… in the end, you know, isn’t he just going to end up with someone exactly like himself? Don’t they all have to marry each other anyway?’
‘Don’t be daft, Mum, this isn’t Downton Abbey.’
They buttered their scones in silence.
‘Meridian’s really taken to you,’ observed Angie after a moment or two. Rosie’s face softened.
‘Oh, she’s adorable.’
‘She looks a lot like you as a child, you know.’
Rosie nodded; she’d seen the photographs.
‘I know.’
‘I can’t tell you what it’s like as a mother, to see the way you look traced in someone else’s face. She makes me miss you more than anything else.’
‘She’s very cute,’ said Rosie.
‘I think she’s going to need her auntie,’ said Angie. ‘Kelly doesn’t let her get away with much. And I’m not sure Shane knows where he is half the time. And Desleigh’s rushed off her feet…’
‘I wish they’d take that game away from Shane,’ said Rosie suddenly, tactfully not commenting on whether or not Desleigh seemed rushed off her feet. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea if he’s a nice boy or not. He doesn’t say a word, just grunts.’
‘I know,’ said Angie. ‘It would take a bit more time to really get to know him.’
The hotel door banged open in the wind, letting in some other freezing shoppers.
‘Do you think you’d ever move back here?’ asked Rosie tentatively.
‘I couldn’t now,’ said Angie, looking straight at the door. ‘It chills my bones, this. You know, when you wake in the morning in Sydney, you can smell the bougainvillea and the hibiscus and the jasmine in the window, and obviously lots of people go down to the beach, eat their breakfast overlooking the sea – the coffee’s amazing. And the light hits the top of the harbour bridge and the opera house, and the sun is like diamonds on the water, until it feels like the entire city is glowing. There’s just so much possibility. And there aren’t many Hettys there, I’ll tell you that.’
‘So they won’t have much space for a fat old nurse with a failed sweetshop, then,’ said Rosie.
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Angie. ‘You’d love it. Think of it: a new start, warm, soft summer air. We’d get you set up in a little apartment by the sea, yeah? Not too far from all of us, but not too close either. Introduce you to some people? Come round for Sunday lunch? We do it on the barbie now. Just think about it.’
Moray looked up from Saturday morning surgery, surprised at the next name on the list but trying his best not to show it.
‘Hello,’ he said, casually neutral.
Stephen limped over to the comfortable leather seat in front of Moray’s old desk, glancing briefly at the examination table with its roll of paper at the foot, and the wooden toy corner for the little ones. Seeing him walk into his surgery was so entirely unexpected for Moray that he buried his head in the notes. The two of them had been good friends once; Stephen had been full of plans for them both in Africa, a doctor and a teacher, but Moray had not wanted to go, and Stephen had never quite forgiven him.
‘Leg problems?’ said Moray.
‘No, the leg’s fine,’ said Stephen, settling himself carefully.
‘And your back… is it healing? You have been through the wars,’ said Moray, then instantly regretted his turn of phrase.
‘It’s fine,’ said Stephen.
They sat there in silence for a few moments, both men wretchedly uncomfortable. Stephen began to wish furiously that he hadn’t come. On the other hand, he was hardly going to talk to Hye about it… He stared at his hands.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I… I…’
For a horrifying moment he thought he was going to cry. He hauled it back.
‘I keep… I keep getting flashbacks.’
Moray looked at him. He looked – well, not awful; Stephen never looked awful, but there were purple shadows beneath his eyes, and he was a little thin.
‘After the accident.’
Moray nodded carefully.
‘Trouble sleeping?’
Stephen laughed hollowly.
‘And have you… have you spoken to anyone about this?’
Stephen shook his head.
‘It’s Christmas. Everyone’s meant to be happy, having a good time. I’m not going to get in the way and spoil their fun.’
This was precisely what Moray thought he was already doing, but he didn’t mention it.
‘You don’t want to talk to Rosie?’ he said gently. Stephen’s gaze was anguished.
‘I… I don’t want to be her patient. I don’t want her looking after me, everyone feeling sorry for me all over again. Do you see?’
Moray did see. He was also of the opinion that this was a terrible strategy.
‘But don’t you think she’s worried about you?’
‘Don’t you think she’d be more worried about me if she thought I’d gone off my head again?’
Moray shrugged.
‘She’s an understanding person. And it didn’t put her off before.’
