Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 61
Dorothy, on the other hand, didn’t want to say anything. She wanted to hold his hand and for him to cuddle her and basically bestow upon her all the masculine affection she had felt so desperately lacking from her cold childhood. Edward, in contrast, had to talk; had to rush, assure himself that Henry’s other life as James Boyd hadn’t been a waste, or something to be forgotten. He wanted to talk about seaside trips, about building a model railway, and days out and even arguments they had had during Edward’s very brief flirtation with punk in adolescence. This was important to him, and Henry did his best to oblige.
But it was Lilian he really looked forward to seeing every day. She looked as pretty and quirky to him as she ever had. And she liked to talk to him, and he just liked to listen, and he enjoyed it all. Anyone overhearing it who was not in love would think it insane nonsense; the nattering on of two very old people. Anyone who was in love would recognise it straight away as the kind of castles-in-the-air building of two people mad about one another. The only difference was, it wasn’t about the future. Instead they played a little game – safer than the shifting sands of their real memories – of let’s pretend, making up a past they had never had.
‘I think probably about 1955, we moved into one of the large houses on the high street,’ Lilian would say, and Henry would nod.
‘The children used to get scared of the outside loo, do you remember?’
‘Yes!’ Lilian would say. ‘Little Henry thought there was a bat, do you remember? And we thought he was just being funny and then Batman came along and we thought we’d have made a lot of money if we’d just written it down.’
‘I liked our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary party,’ Henry would say. ‘Hetty let us have it up at the house, do you remember? And I wreathed your hair with flowers.’
‘And I was so cross because it ruined my new hairdo!’ said Lilian. ‘Ha, and we had that big fight in front of everyone.’
Henry smiled.
‘I could never stay cross with you for long.’
‘That,’ said Lilian, ‘was just as well.’
On the morning of Christmas Eve, Moray brought her down to the village early. Rosie looked up, surprised. Lilian was wearing a very old, faded dress with green sprigs. She had got so thin again, Rosie noticed. Excitement and no sleep, no doubt. She didn’t guess for a second that Lilian had been doing it on purpose, so she could get into her oldest dress again, the one he had loved her in, the one that had been nestling at the bottom of the wardrobe all these years.
‘A half-pound of caramels, please,’ said Lilian, her face made up lightly, the dress dated but still oddly pretty on her girlish figure.
‘Off to the hospital?’ said Rosie. ‘Won’t you freeze?’
‘No,’ said Lilian. ‘I’m from round here, not some vulgar interloper like you. Hello, Spiderman.’
Meridian had been playing behind the counter in a box.
‘I NOT SPIDERMAN! I’M ROBOT! GOOD ROBOT,’ she clarified.
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Lilian. She cast an eye over the shelves. ‘You’re low on pineapple chunks.’
‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘There’s been a run on them for Christmas. No new deliveries until the new year.’
‘Well, that won’t help when someone wants some.’
‘I’ll direct them to the grapefruit suckers,’ said Rosie. ‘We’ll battle through.’
Lilian wasn’t listening, though. She was taking a long look around the little room, its dark red shelves repainted in the same shade they’d always been; the little mullioned windows, the tall glass jars, the ancient brass scales.
‘I’ll miss this place,’ she said.
‘Who says it’s going anywhere?’ said Rosie stoutly.
‘Well, things change,’ said Lilian. ‘People… leave.’
‘Even if I did leave,’ said Rosie, ‘Tina would still be here. The sweetshop would still be here.’
‘Nothing lasts for ever,’ said Lilian.
‘ROBOTS LAST FOR EVER,’ said a little voice. Rosie smiled instinctively. Lilian looked at her carefully.
‘I must get on,’ she said. ‘Moray’s waiting. Oh, and quarter of a pound of golf balls, please.’
‘It’s a “small bag”, Lilian. We can’t serve imperial any more.’
‘I think,’ said Lilian, getting out her little snap-clasp purse, ‘you can to me.’
Henry had deteriorated fairly swiftly in the night. Now he was being moved to full life support – the same bed, coincidentally, that Edison had vacated so recently. Mutterings were being made, though, about perhaps the family might want to come in. This was entirely unnecessary. Everyone was there. No one knew quite what to do, and there was a lot of offering to get coffee and ‘after yous’ and politeness. Edward was not looking forward to his day. On top of the terrible news from the hospital, he was having lunch with Dorothy to very politely and generously tackle necessary changes to the will. He didn’t know Dorothy very well. Then he had an appointment with a police officer. He had been utterly aghast to find out what had happened, but his lawyer had advised him to be reasonably confident that the police would not file charges against his father for distracting a driver. He just wanted the strain lifted off the lorry driver before Christmas; the poor man was out on bail. He went in to the hospital first. Cathryn was there too, still anxious.
‘I can’t… I can’t say how sorry I am,’ she said, grabbing Edward in the hallway. She had a terrible fear that the family were going to get very difficult – and quite rightly. If she hadn’t been so distracted by the children’s beautiful singing, she wouldn’t have taken her eye off him. But she had been, and she had.
Edward turned to her. He looked tired, but somehow less anxious.
‘Cathryn,’ he said. ‘Listen to me. I don’t blame you, okay? He wandered off of his own accord. He is ninety-one years old. I think we knew this day was going to come. But it’s not even that. Whatever else happened to my father out there, it brought him back. He has had the chance to be himself – his real self, the person I never knew. I can’t… It’s the best thing that could have happened. If he’d been at home, we would never have had him back again. If he’d stayed at yours, I don’t think… I think this had to happen. I think he had to come home.’
But it was Lilian he really looked forward to seeing every day. She looked as pretty and quirky to him as she ever had. And she liked to talk to him, and he just liked to listen, and he enjoyed it all. Anyone overhearing it who was not in love would think it insane nonsense; the nattering on of two very old people. Anyone who was in love would recognise it straight away as the kind of castles-in-the-air building of two people mad about one another. The only difference was, it wasn’t about the future. Instead they played a little game – safer than the shifting sands of their real memories – of let’s pretend, making up a past they had never had.
‘I think probably about 1955, we moved into one of the large houses on the high street,’ Lilian would say, and Henry would nod.
‘The children used to get scared of the outside loo, do you remember?’
‘Yes!’ Lilian would say. ‘Little Henry thought there was a bat, do you remember? And we thought he was just being funny and then Batman came along and we thought we’d have made a lot of money if we’d just written it down.’
‘I liked our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary party,’ Henry would say. ‘Hetty let us have it up at the house, do you remember? And I wreathed your hair with flowers.’
‘And I was so cross because it ruined my new hairdo!’ said Lilian. ‘Ha, and we had that big fight in front of everyone.’
Henry smiled.
‘I could never stay cross with you for long.’
‘That,’ said Lilian, ‘was just as well.’
On the morning of Christmas Eve, Moray brought her down to the village early. Rosie looked up, surprised. Lilian was wearing a very old, faded dress with green sprigs. She had got so thin again, Rosie noticed. Excitement and no sleep, no doubt. She didn’t guess for a second that Lilian had been doing it on purpose, so she could get into her oldest dress again, the one he had loved her in, the one that had been nestling at the bottom of the wardrobe all these years.
‘A half-pound of caramels, please,’ said Lilian, her face made up lightly, the dress dated but still oddly pretty on her girlish figure.
‘Off to the hospital?’ said Rosie. ‘Won’t you freeze?’
‘No,’ said Lilian. ‘I’m from round here, not some vulgar interloper like you. Hello, Spiderman.’
Meridian had been playing behind the counter in a box.
‘I NOT SPIDERMAN! I’M ROBOT! GOOD ROBOT,’ she clarified.
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Lilian. She cast an eye over the shelves. ‘You’re low on pineapple chunks.’
‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘There’s been a run on them for Christmas. No new deliveries until the new year.’
‘Well, that won’t help when someone wants some.’
‘I’ll direct them to the grapefruit suckers,’ said Rosie. ‘We’ll battle through.’
Lilian wasn’t listening, though. She was taking a long look around the little room, its dark red shelves repainted in the same shade they’d always been; the little mullioned windows, the tall glass jars, the ancient brass scales.
‘I’ll miss this place,’ she said.
‘Who says it’s going anywhere?’ said Rosie stoutly.
‘Well, things change,’ said Lilian. ‘People… leave.’
‘Even if I did leave,’ said Rosie, ‘Tina would still be here. The sweetshop would still be here.’
‘Nothing lasts for ever,’ said Lilian.
‘ROBOTS LAST FOR EVER,’ said a little voice. Rosie smiled instinctively. Lilian looked at her carefully.
‘I must get on,’ she said. ‘Moray’s waiting. Oh, and quarter of a pound of golf balls, please.’
‘It’s a “small bag”, Lilian. We can’t serve imperial any more.’
‘I think,’ said Lilian, getting out her little snap-clasp purse, ‘you can to me.’
Henry had deteriorated fairly swiftly in the night. Now he was being moved to full life support – the same bed, coincidentally, that Edison had vacated so recently. Mutterings were being made, though, about perhaps the family might want to come in. This was entirely unnecessary. Everyone was there. No one knew quite what to do, and there was a lot of offering to get coffee and ‘after yous’ and politeness. Edward was not looking forward to his day. On top of the terrible news from the hospital, he was having lunch with Dorothy to very politely and generously tackle necessary changes to the will. He didn’t know Dorothy very well. Then he had an appointment with a police officer. He had been utterly aghast to find out what had happened, but his lawyer had advised him to be reasonably confident that the police would not file charges against his father for distracting a driver. He just wanted the strain lifted off the lorry driver before Christmas; the poor man was out on bail. He went in to the hospital first. Cathryn was there too, still anxious.
‘I can’t… I can’t say how sorry I am,’ she said, grabbing Edward in the hallway. She had a terrible fear that the family were going to get very difficult – and quite rightly. If she hadn’t been so distracted by the children’s beautiful singing, she wouldn’t have taken her eye off him. But she had been, and she had.
Edward turned to her. He looked tired, but somehow less anxious.
‘Cathryn,’ he said. ‘Listen to me. I don’t blame you, okay? He wandered off of his own accord. He is ninety-one years old. I think we knew this day was going to come. But it’s not even that. Whatever else happened to my father out there, it brought him back. He has had the chance to be himself – his real self, the person I never knew. I can’t… It’s the best thing that could have happened. If he’d been at home, we would never have had him back again. If he’d stayed at yours, I don’t think… I think this had to happen. I think he had to come home.’
