Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 68
Hester raised herself off the bed.
‘I,’ she said, very slowly and carefully, ‘WOULD. LIKE. MY. FUCKING. EPIDURAL. NOW.’
Rosie went downstairs to pick up the hot water and fresh towels, and to tell Arthur to turn up the heating.
‘How on earth,’ she said very quickly and quietly, ‘did she manage to have Edison naturally?’
Arthur looked at her in consternation.
‘Oh, she didn’t,’ he said. ‘Elective section at thirty-eight weeks to keep the weight off. He coughed. ‘Hester has changed a LOT since we got married.’
Rosie’s eyes popped.
‘I’ll say,’ she said.
She ran back upstairs and mopped Hester’s brow.
‘You’re doing great,’ she said.
‘Fuck off,’ said Hester. ‘This totally blows. ARGH!’ And she went into another contraction.
Rosie and Moray looked at each other.
‘All normal,’ said Moray. ‘Shouldn’t be long now.’
But it was; and as Hester yelled and swore through the night, and Edison wheeled around downstairs in excitement, Rosie and Moray talked and helped Hester breathe through contractions.
‘Why does ANYONE do this shit?’ she was saying. ‘This is like being in a fucking car accident,’ until Moray told her that he had precisely one vial of diamorphine on him, and if she stopped the filthy language she could have it, which quietened her down a bit. He gave her half of it, whereupon the waves still came on her, stronger and stronger, but she felt more able to gather them in; to let the seas toss her and bend with the storm.
‘A Christmas baby,’ mused Rosie. ‘In sitcoms, this is always hilarious.’
Moray raised an eyebrow.
‘So,’ he said. ‘It’s not going so well with lover boy, then?’
Rosie squeezed Esther’s hand and felt mournful.
‘Well, at least I’ll never need to go through this,’ she said, half joking.
‘Oh, Rosie,’ said Moray, sad that Stephen hadn’t taken his advice. ‘I’m so sorry. If there’s anything… Well, I never saw him happier than when I saw him with you.’
‘Thanks,’ said Rosie. ‘Tina said that too. But it doesn’t appear to have been enough.’
‘No,’ said Moray. ‘I know a bit about that.’
Rosie looked at him curiously.
‘I thought he loved you, Rosie. I really did.’ Moray looked at her straight on, and she wondered what had happened to his nice SHO in Carningford. ‘But you can’t ever make someone love you.’
‘I know,’ said Rosie, her heart breaking at the words.
‘I love you,’ said Moray.
‘Thanks.’
Moray reached over Esther’s bouncing sweaty knees and gently clasped Rosie’s shoulder.
‘Okay!’ he said then, taking a fresh pair of gloves. ‘Let’s have a look… YOUR reward,’ he said to Esther, ‘for stopping being a total navvy is that… yup… I think it’s time for you to have a baby.’
‘Can I push now?’ she said, grunting.
‘Yes! I’m going to count to three, and I want you to push on a count of five for me, then stop, okay? Rosie? Poo?’
‘I’m on it,’ said Rosie, waiting with kitchen roll.
‘What would I do without you?’ he said, winking at her.
Then all was action as they focused on nothing else; not the snow, not the world outside, not Stephen, not anything except counting, and Hester bearing down, and bearing down again, as their world contracted to the little circle of light in the forest.
Stephen looked round at the room. They were in the VIP lounge of a Chelsea nightclub. The air smelled of make-up, heavy perfume, young sweat. The girls looked unreal, like crazy fashion models from outer space. They wore incredibly pointy heels on long skinny legs, short short skirts, and swishy Kate Middleton hair, and were bronzed, shimmering creatures, throwing back their heads when they laughed – though he didn’t know how they could tell what was funny; the noise levels were deafening – revealing long smooth throats; checking themselves out on the mirrored walls and ceilings. He had had a very long day.
‘Come on,’ his old mate Olly had said. ‘We’ll take you out, show you a good time. That’ll sort you out. Thought we’d lost you to being stuck in the country for the rest of your natural life, with some dumpy little ball and chain.’
Stephen had smiled uneasily. A few days, he had thought, catching up with his friends in London. Cee Cee was always pleased to see him, although of course he wasn’t rich enough for her; still, she liked having some breeding spread around. Olly was always going on about all the fun he was missing, and he’d needed to get away, so it seemed to make sense. Now, though, it didn’t seem like fun at all. Olly had said they would definitely pull in here, and sure enough, there he was, his ruddy cheeks completely unchanged from prep school, likewise his rotund tummy, though he was wearing a very expensive watch and pricey shoes and was in here to begin with, and that seemed to be enough for the bronzed girl with the incredibly long hair, who was throwing back her head and laughing hysterically at everything he said, even as he snuck a plump pale arm round her slender waist.
Stephen rolled his eyes. When he glanced to his right, a beautiful girl he hadn’t seen before was sitting there. She had glitter across her face, and a wide smile that seemed to say she’d never been so pleased to see anyone in her life.
‘Merry Christmas!’ she said. ‘Who are YOU?’
Stephen introduced himself.
‘So are you at your London house or your country house tonight?’ the girl asked brightly. ‘I like your shirt, by the way.’
‘Just staying with a friend,’ said Stephen, indicating Olly.
The girl glanced over.
‘Oh, Olly. EVERYONE knows Olly, he’s such a laugh.’
That was hardly surprising, thought Stephen, since he’d inherited twenty million from his grandfather. The champagne was always on Olly.
‘I’m Mills. So what do you do?’ she said, biting her lip suggestively and giving him a look through lashes so heavily fringed they weighed down her huge blue eyes.
Stephen smiled.
‘I’m a primary school teacher.’
Her languid expression changed immediately.
‘I,’ she said, very slowly and carefully, ‘WOULD. LIKE. MY. FUCKING. EPIDURAL. NOW.’
Rosie went downstairs to pick up the hot water and fresh towels, and to tell Arthur to turn up the heating.
‘How on earth,’ she said very quickly and quietly, ‘did she manage to have Edison naturally?’
Arthur looked at her in consternation.
‘Oh, she didn’t,’ he said. ‘Elective section at thirty-eight weeks to keep the weight off. He coughed. ‘Hester has changed a LOT since we got married.’
Rosie’s eyes popped.
‘I’ll say,’ she said.
She ran back upstairs and mopped Hester’s brow.
‘You’re doing great,’ she said.
‘Fuck off,’ said Hester. ‘This totally blows. ARGH!’ And she went into another contraction.
Rosie and Moray looked at each other.
‘All normal,’ said Moray. ‘Shouldn’t be long now.’
But it was; and as Hester yelled and swore through the night, and Edison wheeled around downstairs in excitement, Rosie and Moray talked and helped Hester breathe through contractions.
‘Why does ANYONE do this shit?’ she was saying. ‘This is like being in a fucking car accident,’ until Moray told her that he had precisely one vial of diamorphine on him, and if she stopped the filthy language she could have it, which quietened her down a bit. He gave her half of it, whereupon the waves still came on her, stronger and stronger, but she felt more able to gather them in; to let the seas toss her and bend with the storm.
‘A Christmas baby,’ mused Rosie. ‘In sitcoms, this is always hilarious.’
Moray raised an eyebrow.
‘So,’ he said. ‘It’s not going so well with lover boy, then?’
Rosie squeezed Esther’s hand and felt mournful.
‘Well, at least I’ll never need to go through this,’ she said, half joking.
‘Oh, Rosie,’ said Moray, sad that Stephen hadn’t taken his advice. ‘I’m so sorry. If there’s anything… Well, I never saw him happier than when I saw him with you.’
‘Thanks,’ said Rosie. ‘Tina said that too. But it doesn’t appear to have been enough.’
‘No,’ said Moray. ‘I know a bit about that.’
Rosie looked at him curiously.
‘I thought he loved you, Rosie. I really did.’ Moray looked at her straight on, and she wondered what had happened to his nice SHO in Carningford. ‘But you can’t ever make someone love you.’
‘I know,’ said Rosie, her heart breaking at the words.
‘I love you,’ said Moray.
‘Thanks.’
Moray reached over Esther’s bouncing sweaty knees and gently clasped Rosie’s shoulder.
‘Okay!’ he said then, taking a fresh pair of gloves. ‘Let’s have a look… YOUR reward,’ he said to Esther, ‘for stopping being a total navvy is that… yup… I think it’s time for you to have a baby.’
‘Can I push now?’ she said, grunting.
‘Yes! I’m going to count to three, and I want you to push on a count of five for me, then stop, okay? Rosie? Poo?’
‘I’m on it,’ said Rosie, waiting with kitchen roll.
‘What would I do without you?’ he said, winking at her.
Then all was action as they focused on nothing else; not the snow, not the world outside, not Stephen, not anything except counting, and Hester bearing down, and bearing down again, as their world contracted to the little circle of light in the forest.
Stephen looked round at the room. They were in the VIP lounge of a Chelsea nightclub. The air smelled of make-up, heavy perfume, young sweat. The girls looked unreal, like crazy fashion models from outer space. They wore incredibly pointy heels on long skinny legs, short short skirts, and swishy Kate Middleton hair, and were bronzed, shimmering creatures, throwing back their heads when they laughed – though he didn’t know how they could tell what was funny; the noise levels were deafening – revealing long smooth throats; checking themselves out on the mirrored walls and ceilings. He had had a very long day.
‘Come on,’ his old mate Olly had said. ‘We’ll take you out, show you a good time. That’ll sort you out. Thought we’d lost you to being stuck in the country for the rest of your natural life, with some dumpy little ball and chain.’
Stephen had smiled uneasily. A few days, he had thought, catching up with his friends in London. Cee Cee was always pleased to see him, although of course he wasn’t rich enough for her; still, she liked having some breeding spread around. Olly was always going on about all the fun he was missing, and he’d needed to get away, so it seemed to make sense. Now, though, it didn’t seem like fun at all. Olly had said they would definitely pull in here, and sure enough, there he was, his ruddy cheeks completely unchanged from prep school, likewise his rotund tummy, though he was wearing a very expensive watch and pricey shoes and was in here to begin with, and that seemed to be enough for the bronzed girl with the incredibly long hair, who was throwing back her head and laughing hysterically at everything he said, even as he snuck a plump pale arm round her slender waist.
Stephen rolled his eyes. When he glanced to his right, a beautiful girl he hadn’t seen before was sitting there. She had glitter across her face, and a wide smile that seemed to say she’d never been so pleased to see anyone in her life.
‘Merry Christmas!’ she said. ‘Who are YOU?’
Stephen introduced himself.
‘So are you at your London house or your country house tonight?’ the girl asked brightly. ‘I like your shirt, by the way.’
‘Just staying with a friend,’ said Stephen, indicating Olly.
The girl glanced over.
‘Oh, Olly. EVERYONE knows Olly, he’s such a laugh.’
That was hardly surprising, thought Stephen, since he’d inherited twenty million from his grandfather. The champagne was always on Olly.
‘I’m Mills. So what do you do?’ she said, biting her lip suggestively and giving him a look through lashes so heavily fringed they weighed down her huge blue eyes.
Stephen smiled.
‘I’m a primary school teacher.’
Her languid expression changed immediately.
