Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 66
She wrapped up the special Spiderman activity set for her little Meridian, tears dropping on to the paper. Well, she would miss her most of all. She had never thought being an aunt would be such a pleasure.
As if he knew what she was thinking, Mr Dog got out of his basket and came and plopped his head on her lap, looking up at her with infinite compassion.
‘You still love me, don’t you, Mr Dog?’ she said, absent-mindedly feeding him a bit of mince pie. ‘Because I give you mince pie even though it’s very bad for dogs.’
Mr Dog made a groaning sound.
‘Yes, and because you love me for myself. I forgot about that.’
A tear plopped on to his nose and he licked it off, then licked her hand. She caressed his silken ears, then started wrapping Shane’s new Nintendo game, which Desleigh had told her would be ideal, and a new dressing-up princess outfit for Kelly, size ‘cheery child’, which Rosie had learned was secret shop code for ‘plump’. She had at the last minute added a very fancy tiara, which in turn had made her search all the shops in Derby until she got hold of a Spiderman mask for Meridian. No luck with James Bond merchandise – another of Meridian’s obsessions – for a girl quite so small, but she found a perfect little reproduction Aston Martin. Then she had to get something else for Kelly and Shane, so it was a ridiculous mound of gifts that now sat before her.
She had longed to go shopping for Stephen; to find a beautiful jumper in a dark blue that would go with those eyes of his, or black, which made him look so dramatic, like James Bond himself; and if the sales assistant had asked what she was looking for, she would have said, ‘Oh, I’m shopping for my boyfriend,’ and they would have looked out something really special.
But in the end, she hadn’t. It had seemed like bad luck. She couldn’t shop for someone when she didn’t even know where they were; when the last thing you’d heard them say was ‘I don’t want to marry you.’ So.
A beautiful cashmere cardigan for Lilian, in her trademark colour of soft violet, that suited her colouring so well – expensive, but worth it, definitely. And for Angie, a ridiculous dress, far too short and a bit too tight, in a bright orange, that she’d seen her sighing over in the shopping centre. She’d bought a size 8. That would probably be wrong, but she’d erred on the safe side, so that should be pleasing.
She must get on. On what should be one of the happiest nights of the year – the snow still falling, the fire burning merrily in its grate, the Christmas TV, when she turned it on, full of snowmen and excitement and joy upon the earth – Rosie sat wrapping her gifts, crying and crying and crying.
Edward and Doreen lay in bed, hands tightly clasped. They had written to the registrar and had vast amounts of paperwork to do, plus the hospital wanted an autopsy. They didn’t even know when they would get to bury Edward’s father. But somehow, although there was great sadness, there was also a sense of peace.
Edward’s greatest fear, ever since James – Henry – had been diagnosed all those years ago, had been that he would die in anguish; in terrible pain and fear and confusion, not knowing who he was or where, upset and scared. But it had not happened like that. Even though there was a lot to process, his father’s last hours had been spent safe, warm, in his bed, cared for, surrounded by people he both loved and recognised.
‘I don’t think,’ Edward said, as the ever kind and patient Doreen stroked him gently on the forearm in the depths of the snowy night, ‘I don’t think you can really ask for more than that, can you?’
‘No,’ said Doreen, who would never tell Edward that the idea of James living for another five or six years – or, even more terrifying, ten or fifteen – had always filled her with a terrible anxiety, about money, caring, basically everything; that fond as she had been of her kind, quiet father-in-law, it was now time to go on a cruise – a BIG cruise – somewhere with absolutely no bloody snow.
Pip was having not the slightest luck in putting the children to bed. They were leaping around Peak House, giggling and shrieking and dancing and insisting on waiting up for Santa. Angie and Desleigh had decided simply to ignore them and had retired to the kitchen, cosy from the Aga, and opened a bottle of wine.
‘How are you doing?’ said Desleigh. ‘I thought coming to the English bush was meant to be all quiet and everything?’
‘I know,’ said Angie. ‘It’s completely mad. You know, I never even knew Lilian had a boyfriend. Wasn’t the kind of thing she ever mentioned. My dad said once, when I asked why she never got married, that she liked a boy who got killed in the war but he was married to someone else, so I didn’t think… I mean, I just thought it couldn’t have been that serious, know what I mean?’
‘I think it’s romantic,’ said Desleigh. ‘PIP! CAN YOU PUT THOSE BLOODY BUGGERS TO BED, THEY’RE DOING MY HEAD IN!’
‘Yes,’ said Angie, topping up their glasses. ‘So what do you think about our Rosie, then?’
Desleigh shook her head slowly.
‘You know she’s a lovely girl, Angie.’
‘She is,’ said Angie, proudly.
‘But I don’t think it’s going to work with that one, do you know what I mean?’
Angie nodded soberly.
‘I mean, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of him for days… just disappearing like that, it’s no good. And what he said about settling down?’
‘I thought it was too good to be true,’ said Angie. ‘I really did. Not that I don’t think she deserves the world.’
‘I know you think that,’ said Desleigh. ‘You’re a wonderful mother.’
‘Thank you,’ said Angie. ‘So are you.’
They smiled happily at one another.
‘But he’s just… I mean, he’s just not really going to be there for her, is he?’
Angie shook her head sorrowfully.
‘And can you imagine THAT as a mother-in-law?’
Angie and Desleigh shared a giggle at how unfortunate other people could be with their in-laws.
‘No. It’s not going to happen,’ said Angie. ‘I think Rosie just has to face up to it. Not that he isn’t a spunk.’
‘He’s a spunk,’ agreed Desleigh, a little too vociferously. ‘But you know what they say: men don’t get much keener than they are at the beginning.’
As if he knew what she was thinking, Mr Dog got out of his basket and came and plopped his head on her lap, looking up at her with infinite compassion.
‘You still love me, don’t you, Mr Dog?’ she said, absent-mindedly feeding him a bit of mince pie. ‘Because I give you mince pie even though it’s very bad for dogs.’
Mr Dog made a groaning sound.
‘Yes, and because you love me for myself. I forgot about that.’
A tear plopped on to his nose and he licked it off, then licked her hand. She caressed his silken ears, then started wrapping Shane’s new Nintendo game, which Desleigh had told her would be ideal, and a new dressing-up princess outfit for Kelly, size ‘cheery child’, which Rosie had learned was secret shop code for ‘plump’. She had at the last minute added a very fancy tiara, which in turn had made her search all the shops in Derby until she got hold of a Spiderman mask for Meridian. No luck with James Bond merchandise – another of Meridian’s obsessions – for a girl quite so small, but she found a perfect little reproduction Aston Martin. Then she had to get something else for Kelly and Shane, so it was a ridiculous mound of gifts that now sat before her.
She had longed to go shopping for Stephen; to find a beautiful jumper in a dark blue that would go with those eyes of his, or black, which made him look so dramatic, like James Bond himself; and if the sales assistant had asked what she was looking for, she would have said, ‘Oh, I’m shopping for my boyfriend,’ and they would have looked out something really special.
But in the end, she hadn’t. It had seemed like bad luck. She couldn’t shop for someone when she didn’t even know where they were; when the last thing you’d heard them say was ‘I don’t want to marry you.’ So.
A beautiful cashmere cardigan for Lilian, in her trademark colour of soft violet, that suited her colouring so well – expensive, but worth it, definitely. And for Angie, a ridiculous dress, far too short and a bit too tight, in a bright orange, that she’d seen her sighing over in the shopping centre. She’d bought a size 8. That would probably be wrong, but she’d erred on the safe side, so that should be pleasing.
She must get on. On what should be one of the happiest nights of the year – the snow still falling, the fire burning merrily in its grate, the Christmas TV, when she turned it on, full of snowmen and excitement and joy upon the earth – Rosie sat wrapping her gifts, crying and crying and crying.
Edward and Doreen lay in bed, hands tightly clasped. They had written to the registrar and had vast amounts of paperwork to do, plus the hospital wanted an autopsy. They didn’t even know when they would get to bury Edward’s father. But somehow, although there was great sadness, there was also a sense of peace.
Edward’s greatest fear, ever since James – Henry – had been diagnosed all those years ago, had been that he would die in anguish; in terrible pain and fear and confusion, not knowing who he was or where, upset and scared. But it had not happened like that. Even though there was a lot to process, his father’s last hours had been spent safe, warm, in his bed, cared for, surrounded by people he both loved and recognised.
‘I don’t think,’ Edward said, as the ever kind and patient Doreen stroked him gently on the forearm in the depths of the snowy night, ‘I don’t think you can really ask for more than that, can you?’
‘No,’ said Doreen, who would never tell Edward that the idea of James living for another five or six years – or, even more terrifying, ten or fifteen – had always filled her with a terrible anxiety, about money, caring, basically everything; that fond as she had been of her kind, quiet father-in-law, it was now time to go on a cruise – a BIG cruise – somewhere with absolutely no bloody snow.
Pip was having not the slightest luck in putting the children to bed. They were leaping around Peak House, giggling and shrieking and dancing and insisting on waiting up for Santa. Angie and Desleigh had decided simply to ignore them and had retired to the kitchen, cosy from the Aga, and opened a bottle of wine.
‘How are you doing?’ said Desleigh. ‘I thought coming to the English bush was meant to be all quiet and everything?’
‘I know,’ said Angie. ‘It’s completely mad. You know, I never even knew Lilian had a boyfriend. Wasn’t the kind of thing she ever mentioned. My dad said once, when I asked why she never got married, that she liked a boy who got killed in the war but he was married to someone else, so I didn’t think… I mean, I just thought it couldn’t have been that serious, know what I mean?’
‘I think it’s romantic,’ said Desleigh. ‘PIP! CAN YOU PUT THOSE BLOODY BUGGERS TO BED, THEY’RE DOING MY HEAD IN!’
‘Yes,’ said Angie, topping up their glasses. ‘So what do you think about our Rosie, then?’
Desleigh shook her head slowly.
‘You know she’s a lovely girl, Angie.’
‘She is,’ said Angie, proudly.
‘But I don’t think it’s going to work with that one, do you know what I mean?’
Angie nodded soberly.
‘I mean, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of him for days… just disappearing like that, it’s no good. And what he said about settling down?’
‘I thought it was too good to be true,’ said Angie. ‘I really did. Not that I don’t think she deserves the world.’
‘I know you think that,’ said Desleigh. ‘You’re a wonderful mother.’
‘Thank you,’ said Angie. ‘So are you.’
They smiled happily at one another.
‘But he’s just… I mean, he’s just not really going to be there for her, is he?’
Angie shook her head sorrowfully.
‘And can you imagine THAT as a mother-in-law?’
Angie and Desleigh shared a giggle at how unfortunate other people could be with their in-laws.
‘No. It’s not going to happen,’ said Angie. ‘I think Rosie just has to face up to it. Not that he isn’t a spunk.’
‘He’s a spunk,’ agreed Desleigh, a little too vociferously. ‘But you know what they say: men don’t get much keener than they are at the beginning.’
