Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 53
For once, a ghost of a smile passed Stephen’s lips. Then he shook his head.
‘No. No. There must be another way.’
Moray sighed.
‘Well, there are sleeping pills and anxiety drugs, but I’m not going to give you those.’
‘I thought you might say that.’
‘I’m not saying they’re not helpful; I would just want you to explore other solutions first. I have the name of a very good therapist.’
‘Christ, it’s not one of those forest weirdos is it?’
‘No,’ said Moray, crossing his fingers. Stephen glared into the middle distance. ‘Stephen,’ said Moray gently. ‘I think this needs fixing. And I am telling you now that it can be fixed. You can make it go away. Probably a lot faster than you think. There’s a method called Exposure Therapy where they make you talk it through again and again until it stops freaking you out; the outcome rates are very encouraging. And it’s quick.’
‘Can’t you do it? Now?’
‘Not that quick,’ said Moray. ‘And no, I’m not trained. And you should probably discuss this with Rosie, you know?’
Stephen put up his hand.
‘I don’t want to worry her. She has enough on her plate.’
Moray scribbled something down.
‘This is the name of the therapy, and a local practitioner, but you can find it anywhere. If you want me to refer you, I can.’
Stephen took the piece of paper.
‘I’ll let you know,’ he said.
And that, thought Moray, was better than nothing. He hoped that just knowing it was a solvable problem might cheer up his gloomy friend.
Stephen turned at the doorway, his hand twisting the knob.
Here it comes, thought Moray. He’s going to beg me for drugs, or mention something else, or start swearing… Patients notoriously didn’t tell him what was really the matter until they were turning the surgery doorknob on the way out.
Instead, Stephen paused.
‘Thank you,’ he said. Then he was gone. Moray remained surprised all the way through Crystal Harris’s bum rash.
Rosie tried to put her umbrella up when they got outside the restaurant in the driving rain and wind, but it kept turning inside out, so in the end they just made a run for the car. The weather was absolutely vicious. She dropped everyone off at Peak House, after having been given a full run-down of the sledging experience from the point of view of a three-year-old (punctuated every so often by Kelly saying, ‘No, it wasn’t like that, Meridian’), then turned round and headed for home. Stephen was there already, lighting the fire. For a moment, going in, she felt her emotions flood up through her: part softness, watching his strong form bending down to fling in the wood, conscious, always, of his leg; part crossness at his lack of commitment.
Could she give it up? Or should she take all he could offer, even when it wasn’t much, because of her love for him? Should she carry on down that road? After all, she thought, thinking of Gerard, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice… Was it too much for her? she wondered. Was getting married and having a family just going to be one of those things that passed her by? Was she going to follow in Lilian’s footsteps, living a quiet, sheltered life, always dreaming of the past?
And what about Lilian? She couldn’t leave her great-aunt, could she? Although a little voice inside her reminded her of how preoccupied Lilian had been recently, how involved in the politics and social life of the old people’s home, surrounded by friends and people who cared about her. And Lilian, however crusty, wanted Rosie to be happy, she knew that for a fact.
‘Hey,’ said Stephen, distracted. ‘How’s it going?’
Rosie shrugged.
‘You know.’
She moved towards the kitchen.
‘I was thinking… I mean, I know it’ll be expensive, but I’ve been trying to save a bit of money…’
‘Mmm?’
‘What if I went to Australia next year? Maybe February, when it’s still really cold here?’
Stephen looked at her.
‘How long for?’
‘Well, just for a visit, you know. I… I do miss them.’
Stephen nodded.
‘Well, yes, of course.’
He didn’t even ask, thought Rosie miserably. He didn’t even ask what I’m thinking, if I think I’d be happier there, if I miss them too much. He doesn’t want to come with me, and he doesn’t even care.
Good, thought Stephen, a holiday for Rosie; maybe that’s what she needs to perk her up a bit. And get her away from me bringing her down, he thought darkly. He wouldn’t want to be around him right now either.
‘I thought I might go down and see the guys in the Red Lion tonight, is that all right?’
‘Of course,’ said Rosie. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
Chapter Fifteen
The day of the school carol concert dawned, thankfully, white and sunny. Stephen was counting on a good turn-out; it had taken a lot to persuade his mother to let people into the house at all. She had made sniffy remarks about it not being a National Trust open day, but on the other hand the children had already ruined practically everything in the estate, so it barely mattered. If they sold a lot of tickets on the door, that would be a good thing. Rosie was also running a little stand, manned by Tina, so people could buy sweets to eat afterwards, and Mrs Laird was going to do tea, coffee and mulled wine. Nothing had yet been decided about the fate of the school, but the council had not voted to release the funds for the repairs, and things looked ominous. If this was to be the last ever Lipton school carol concert, Mrs Baptiste was very keen it would be a good one.
Cathryn was sending the old folk in a minibus. Mrs Baptiste had offered to take the concert to them, but Cathryn believed in people getting out and about, to have something to look forward to and a bit of variety, even if, as she explained, they only complained about it afterwards. The turn-out should be massive, after everything the children had been through and the fact that it might be the last concert ever. Stephen nervously counted and rechecked the rows of chairs to make sure everything was set. Peter Isitt was also there, due to come on at the end dressed as Santa Claus, with gifts for all the children.
The little ones were jittery with excitement. All had freshly washed hair, neatly pressed shirts and sweatshirts with the words Lipton Primary proudly emblazoned on them – for now. Emily was wearing a special new red velvet ribbon in her blonde hair. Stephen told them to relax, all the time anxiously scanning the horizon for the first of the cars, before they kicked off at three o’clock.
‘No. No. There must be another way.’
Moray sighed.
‘Well, there are sleeping pills and anxiety drugs, but I’m not going to give you those.’
‘I thought you might say that.’
‘I’m not saying they’re not helpful; I would just want you to explore other solutions first. I have the name of a very good therapist.’
‘Christ, it’s not one of those forest weirdos is it?’
‘No,’ said Moray, crossing his fingers. Stephen glared into the middle distance. ‘Stephen,’ said Moray gently. ‘I think this needs fixing. And I am telling you now that it can be fixed. You can make it go away. Probably a lot faster than you think. There’s a method called Exposure Therapy where they make you talk it through again and again until it stops freaking you out; the outcome rates are very encouraging. And it’s quick.’
‘Can’t you do it? Now?’
‘Not that quick,’ said Moray. ‘And no, I’m not trained. And you should probably discuss this with Rosie, you know?’
Stephen put up his hand.
‘I don’t want to worry her. She has enough on her plate.’
Moray scribbled something down.
‘This is the name of the therapy, and a local practitioner, but you can find it anywhere. If you want me to refer you, I can.’
Stephen took the piece of paper.
‘I’ll let you know,’ he said.
And that, thought Moray, was better than nothing. He hoped that just knowing it was a solvable problem might cheer up his gloomy friend.
Stephen turned at the doorway, his hand twisting the knob.
Here it comes, thought Moray. He’s going to beg me for drugs, or mention something else, or start swearing… Patients notoriously didn’t tell him what was really the matter until they were turning the surgery doorknob on the way out.
Instead, Stephen paused.
‘Thank you,’ he said. Then he was gone. Moray remained surprised all the way through Crystal Harris’s bum rash.
Rosie tried to put her umbrella up when they got outside the restaurant in the driving rain and wind, but it kept turning inside out, so in the end they just made a run for the car. The weather was absolutely vicious. She dropped everyone off at Peak House, after having been given a full run-down of the sledging experience from the point of view of a three-year-old (punctuated every so often by Kelly saying, ‘No, it wasn’t like that, Meridian’), then turned round and headed for home. Stephen was there already, lighting the fire. For a moment, going in, she felt her emotions flood up through her: part softness, watching his strong form bending down to fling in the wood, conscious, always, of his leg; part crossness at his lack of commitment.
Could she give it up? Or should she take all he could offer, even when it wasn’t much, because of her love for him? Should she carry on down that road? After all, she thought, thinking of Gerard, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice… Was it too much for her? she wondered. Was getting married and having a family just going to be one of those things that passed her by? Was she going to follow in Lilian’s footsteps, living a quiet, sheltered life, always dreaming of the past?
And what about Lilian? She couldn’t leave her great-aunt, could she? Although a little voice inside her reminded her of how preoccupied Lilian had been recently, how involved in the politics and social life of the old people’s home, surrounded by friends and people who cared about her. And Lilian, however crusty, wanted Rosie to be happy, she knew that for a fact.
‘Hey,’ said Stephen, distracted. ‘How’s it going?’
Rosie shrugged.
‘You know.’
She moved towards the kitchen.
‘I was thinking… I mean, I know it’ll be expensive, but I’ve been trying to save a bit of money…’
‘Mmm?’
‘What if I went to Australia next year? Maybe February, when it’s still really cold here?’
Stephen looked at her.
‘How long for?’
‘Well, just for a visit, you know. I… I do miss them.’
Stephen nodded.
‘Well, yes, of course.’
He didn’t even ask, thought Rosie miserably. He didn’t even ask what I’m thinking, if I think I’d be happier there, if I miss them too much. He doesn’t want to come with me, and he doesn’t even care.
Good, thought Stephen, a holiday for Rosie; maybe that’s what she needs to perk her up a bit. And get her away from me bringing her down, he thought darkly. He wouldn’t want to be around him right now either.
‘I thought I might go down and see the guys in the Red Lion tonight, is that all right?’
‘Of course,’ said Rosie. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
Chapter Fifteen
The day of the school carol concert dawned, thankfully, white and sunny. Stephen was counting on a good turn-out; it had taken a lot to persuade his mother to let people into the house at all. She had made sniffy remarks about it not being a National Trust open day, but on the other hand the children had already ruined practically everything in the estate, so it barely mattered. If they sold a lot of tickets on the door, that would be a good thing. Rosie was also running a little stand, manned by Tina, so people could buy sweets to eat afterwards, and Mrs Laird was going to do tea, coffee and mulled wine. Nothing had yet been decided about the fate of the school, but the council had not voted to release the funds for the repairs, and things looked ominous. If this was to be the last ever Lipton school carol concert, Mrs Baptiste was very keen it would be a good one.
Cathryn was sending the old folk in a minibus. Mrs Baptiste had offered to take the concert to them, but Cathryn believed in people getting out and about, to have something to look forward to and a bit of variety, even if, as she explained, they only complained about it afterwards. The turn-out should be massive, after everything the children had been through and the fact that it might be the last concert ever. Stephen nervously counted and rechecked the rows of chairs to make sure everything was set. Peter Isitt was also there, due to come on at the end dressed as Santa Claus, with gifts for all the children.
The little ones were jittery with excitement. All had freshly washed hair, neatly pressed shirts and sweatshirts with the words Lipton Primary proudly emblazoned on them – for now. Emily was wearing a special new red velvet ribbon in her blonde hair. Stephen told them to relax, all the time anxiously scanning the horizon for the first of the cars, before they kicked off at three o’clock.
