Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 54
This was surprising, thought Rosie. She’d turned up nice and early to help Tina with the stall – they’d shut the shop for the afternoon, as she couldn’t believe anybody would be left in the village – but the great ballroom wasn’t filling up quite as quickly as she’d expected. Obviously some of the mums were there, but not a lot of the dads – couldn’t they take a bit of time off for their children’s concert? It was winter after all, not the busiest time of year for farmers. She couldn’t even see Moray. The minibus arrived from the old people’s home and she popped out to help them down and in as close to the miserly fire as possible. She’d hoped that having lots of bodies in the room would warm things up a bit, but it wasn’t nearly as busy as she’d anticipated. She’d texted Cathryn to tell her to bring extra blankets, and Cathryn had texted back to say thank you but they’d been to Lipton Hall before and had already loaded the blankets, hot-water bottles and flasks.
‘I’m looking forward to being caterwauled at,’ said Lilian, waving away Rosie’s offer of help as she descended regally from the bus. ‘Is there real wine in the mulled wine?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie. ‘So go easy.’
‘And you’re selling sweets?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good for you. You should bump the prices up a bit, you’ve got a captive audience.’
‘Lilian!’ said Rosie, but she wasn’t really shocked.
Meridian appeared from nowhere and hurled herself round Rosie’s legs. Desleigh weakly reminded her not to run across car parks. Kelly smugly held her mother’s hand.
‘Hello, Spidey,’ said Rosie. ‘Did you say hello to your great-great-aunt?’
‘That makes me sound disgustingly old,’ said Lilian, but she gave Meridian a broad smile and handed her a little lollipop. ‘I brought my own,’ she confided. ‘I didn’t want to get price-gouged.’
Rosie rolled her eyes.
‘Can I sit with you, Auntie Rosie?’ said Meridian.
‘Of course,’ said Rosie, kissing her. ‘Just give me a minute, okay, sweetie?’
Meridian skipped off to show her big sister her lollipop. Kelly immediately stuck out her bottom lip and tugged on her mother’s arm. Desleigh led them all off to the sweet trolley.
Lilian regarded Rosie shrewdly.
‘You’ve got rather attached to that one.’
‘Well, she is clearly the cutest three-year-old ever,’ said Rosie defensively.
Lilian smiled.
‘Oh, all three-year-olds are like that,’ she said. ‘I’ve known them all. No, you like that one specially. I used to have a niece I liked specially like that.’ She looked at Angie with pride. ‘If I had another chance… You know, I’m sad I missed so much of all of your childhoods.’
Rosie looked at Lilian, wondering what she was getting at.
‘Parents aren’t allowed to have favourites,’ Lilian said slyly. ‘But aunts ALWAYS do. Now. Sit me between the fire and “James Boyd”.’
‘Why are you saying his name like that?’
But Lilian sniffed and looked mysterious and refused to answer.
‘Tell me about going to Australia,’ she said. And that truly made Rosie’s eyebrows lift.
At ten past three, Stephen looked round at the half-empty room and bit his lips. From the other end of the room, Rosie was thinking the exact same thing. If this was the best Lipton could do, they were doomed. No one cared about the school, or the children. They would have to go to Carningford, and after that… well.
Meridian put her sticky arms round Rosie’s neck – she weighed a ton – and sighed with happiness.
‘I like being with you, Auntie Rosie.’
‘I like being with you too, Meridian.’
‘I AMN’T MERIDIAN.’
Rosie kissed the soft cheek and gave her a squeeze. Meridian retaliated by kissing her on the mouth.
‘LOOK AT MY BIG KISSES.’
Rosie glanced at Tina, who was doing a miserable trade in soft chews for the old folk.
‘Is Jake not even here?’ she said crossly.
‘He said he had an urgent repair down at the Isitts’,’ said Tina. ‘You don’t want to get on the wrong side of Dorothy. Sorry.’
Mrs Baptiste was sitting at the piano. Unable to delay any longer, desperate not to disappoint the children, Stephen caught her eye and nodded, and she brought her hands down to start a rousing version of ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas,’ as the children, beginning with the biggest, filed on to the stage and lined up neatly, spotless in their school uniforms, singing their little hearts out to a half-empty room.
Edward looked at the email in shock and disbelief. Or rather, the attachment. This was the last one. He had sent emails off to every Boyd who’d served in the war in Halifax – and there were a lot. Most people had been extremely kind and very obliging, but none had been a lot of help. Then the regiment’s historian himself had got in touch, very kindly, and sent him everything he could find. He couldn’t have been nicer. That very touching generosity made everything harder to bear somehow.
Edward sat down.
‘Doreen?’ he called, weakly. His wife came through, glancing over his shoulder.
He scrolled down slowly, picture after picture, none of which he’d ever seen before. His father had come back from the war, according to his own account, with head injuries, and never talked about his life beforehand. He had got married very soon afterwards, to Edward’s lovely mother, who had raised him and his brother, and even though their father was quiet, he wasn’t noticeably more reticent than many other dads from that era, who’d seen things and sustained injuries they never wanted their children to know about. He was just Dad; working at the printing company, occasionally ruffling their hair or telling silly jokes.
The man in these pictures was James Edward Boyd, born 5 April 1921, 2nd Battalion Royal Fusiliers, honourable discharge 1944. All the dates matched, the regiment; there was even a faded copy of the telegram that had been dispatched to James’s brother, then acting as his guardian. It was undoubtedly the same man.
This man was not Edward’s father.
Tina’s Emily was a very quiet child, but Stephen had discovered to his surprise that when she started to sing, she was possessed of quite a pair of lungs. She didn’t sing at home, she said, not really, and Stephen was amazed and vowed to have a word with Tina. Then he’d thought it would work even better if he held on to it as a surprise. So when the little girl stepped forward on the final verse of ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’, Tina’s gasp was entirely audible.
‘I’m looking forward to being caterwauled at,’ said Lilian, waving away Rosie’s offer of help as she descended regally from the bus. ‘Is there real wine in the mulled wine?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie. ‘So go easy.’
‘And you’re selling sweets?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good for you. You should bump the prices up a bit, you’ve got a captive audience.’
‘Lilian!’ said Rosie, but she wasn’t really shocked.
Meridian appeared from nowhere and hurled herself round Rosie’s legs. Desleigh weakly reminded her not to run across car parks. Kelly smugly held her mother’s hand.
‘Hello, Spidey,’ said Rosie. ‘Did you say hello to your great-great-aunt?’
‘That makes me sound disgustingly old,’ said Lilian, but she gave Meridian a broad smile and handed her a little lollipop. ‘I brought my own,’ she confided. ‘I didn’t want to get price-gouged.’
Rosie rolled her eyes.
‘Can I sit with you, Auntie Rosie?’ said Meridian.
‘Of course,’ said Rosie, kissing her. ‘Just give me a minute, okay, sweetie?’
Meridian skipped off to show her big sister her lollipop. Kelly immediately stuck out her bottom lip and tugged on her mother’s arm. Desleigh led them all off to the sweet trolley.
Lilian regarded Rosie shrewdly.
‘You’ve got rather attached to that one.’
‘Well, she is clearly the cutest three-year-old ever,’ said Rosie defensively.
Lilian smiled.
‘Oh, all three-year-olds are like that,’ she said. ‘I’ve known them all. No, you like that one specially. I used to have a niece I liked specially like that.’ She looked at Angie with pride. ‘If I had another chance… You know, I’m sad I missed so much of all of your childhoods.’
Rosie looked at Lilian, wondering what she was getting at.
‘Parents aren’t allowed to have favourites,’ Lilian said slyly. ‘But aunts ALWAYS do. Now. Sit me between the fire and “James Boyd”.’
‘Why are you saying his name like that?’
But Lilian sniffed and looked mysterious and refused to answer.
‘Tell me about going to Australia,’ she said. And that truly made Rosie’s eyebrows lift.
At ten past three, Stephen looked round at the half-empty room and bit his lips. From the other end of the room, Rosie was thinking the exact same thing. If this was the best Lipton could do, they were doomed. No one cared about the school, or the children. They would have to go to Carningford, and after that… well.
Meridian put her sticky arms round Rosie’s neck – she weighed a ton – and sighed with happiness.
‘I like being with you, Auntie Rosie.’
‘I like being with you too, Meridian.’
‘I AMN’T MERIDIAN.’
Rosie kissed the soft cheek and gave her a squeeze. Meridian retaliated by kissing her on the mouth.
‘LOOK AT MY BIG KISSES.’
Rosie glanced at Tina, who was doing a miserable trade in soft chews for the old folk.
‘Is Jake not even here?’ she said crossly.
‘He said he had an urgent repair down at the Isitts’,’ said Tina. ‘You don’t want to get on the wrong side of Dorothy. Sorry.’
Mrs Baptiste was sitting at the piano. Unable to delay any longer, desperate not to disappoint the children, Stephen caught her eye and nodded, and she brought her hands down to start a rousing version of ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas,’ as the children, beginning with the biggest, filed on to the stage and lined up neatly, spotless in their school uniforms, singing their little hearts out to a half-empty room.
Edward looked at the email in shock and disbelief. Or rather, the attachment. This was the last one. He had sent emails off to every Boyd who’d served in the war in Halifax – and there were a lot. Most people had been extremely kind and very obliging, but none had been a lot of help. Then the regiment’s historian himself had got in touch, very kindly, and sent him everything he could find. He couldn’t have been nicer. That very touching generosity made everything harder to bear somehow.
Edward sat down.
‘Doreen?’ he called, weakly. His wife came through, glancing over his shoulder.
He scrolled down slowly, picture after picture, none of which he’d ever seen before. His father had come back from the war, according to his own account, with head injuries, and never talked about his life beforehand. He had got married very soon afterwards, to Edward’s lovely mother, who had raised him and his brother, and even though their father was quiet, he wasn’t noticeably more reticent than many other dads from that era, who’d seen things and sustained injuries they never wanted their children to know about. He was just Dad; working at the printing company, occasionally ruffling their hair or telling silly jokes.
The man in these pictures was James Edward Boyd, born 5 April 1921, 2nd Battalion Royal Fusiliers, honourable discharge 1944. All the dates matched, the regiment; there was even a faded copy of the telegram that had been dispatched to James’s brother, then acting as his guardian. It was undoubtedly the same man.
This man was not Edward’s father.
Tina’s Emily was a very quiet child, but Stephen had discovered to his surprise that when she started to sing, she was possessed of quite a pair of lungs. She didn’t sing at home, she said, not really, and Stephen was amazed and vowed to have a word with Tina. Then he’d thought it would work even better if he held on to it as a surprise. So when the little girl stepped forward on the final verse of ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’, Tina’s gasp was entirely audible.
