Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 71
‘Good,’ said Hetty. ‘Totally overrated, gifts. Bringing a bunch of pointless new stuff into the world. I didn’t get you anything either. You can have another dog if you like.’
‘No thanks,’ said Stephen. ‘I think we’re okay for dogs right now.’
He remembered Rosie looking up the quarantine laws and his eyes prickled.
‘Um,’ he said.
‘Yes?’ said Hetty. She took the proffered cup of tea from Mrs Laird without a thank you. ‘Out with it.’
Mrs Laird somehow contrived to make herself scarce. Stephen realised he could really do with a shower and a bit of a lie-down – he could still smell the perfumed, sweaty club on his jacket – and, under ideal circumstances, his mother would not be wearing a dead man’s dressing gown. On the other hand, under ideal circumstances he supposed he’d be something big in the army, a colonel or something, and sharing brandy and cigars and regimental stories in the library with his father, who was incredibly proud of him and delighted that he was seeing Squire Phillips’ daughter from down the way…
So. Not everything was perfect in life. But he had one chance, he knew. One shot for one thing – which could be perfect. Or pretty damn close.
He sat down, and his mother followed suit.
‘I hope those eggs are from Isitt’s. She may be a difficult bugger, but you can’t argue with the produce.’
‘No,’ said Stephen, unwilling to get drawn into local gossip. ‘Um, Mother…’
Hetty rolled her eyes.
‘Spit it out, boy. I can read you like a book, you know.’
‘Well,’ he went on. ‘I know you don’t exactly approve, and I know you don’t really like her and that the family aren’t ideal and she probably isn’t the best person to help run the house one day and I know she isn’t from any of those deb families you like and —’
‘Oh God,’ said Hetty. ‘I did wonder, when you vanished.’
Stephen swallowed. He felt like a boy again.
‘Are you sure?’ said Hetty. ‘You know she hasn’t a clue what she’s marrying into. Not just you, but everything that goes with it. And you are no picnic, you know?’
‘I know.’
‘And you’ll have to do things her way too; she’s not a pushover. She looks soft, but she isn’t.’
‘I know that too.’
‘And your personalities can really clash at times; marriage is difficult, you know that?’
‘Yes.’
‘And your backgrounds are completely different. Maybe too different. When things get tough, you won’t understand how the other one is coping.’
‘I think we might.’
She looked at him and snorted.
‘Well, young people think all kinds of crazy things.’
‘So… so I can’t have the ring?’
Hetty sighed and took a long slurp of her tea.
‘Of course you can have the bloody ring. I looked it out for you a year ago. Never seen anything clearer in my life.’
‘You’re serious?’
‘Of course I’m serious. I can’t think of anything that could possibly make either of you happy apart from being together.’
Stephen leapt up.
‘Oh my God.’
Hetty smiled.
‘I really wish everyone wouldn’t treat me like a bloody idiot.’
Stephen wasn’t sure what to say next.
‘I suppose… hm, do you think I should ask her mother?’
‘Ha!’ said Hetty. ‘Her mother will have an orgasm at the very thought.’
‘MOTHER!’ said Stephen. ‘Stop being disgusting.’
‘Stop being bourgeois, darling.’
In fact, Hetty would never relate to anyone the painful conversation that had ensued after Stephen had vanished.
Angie had turned up on the doorstep – the back doorstep, of course, she wasn’t going to make that mistake again – and Mrs Laird had let her in. Then she had let Hetty have it. How her son was being cruel to her daughter; how she was going to take Rosie home to Australia; how badly Hetty had raised him and how dare she let him do this to her. She had delivered her speech fluently, then turned round and marched straight out again, and although she would normally have brushed it off like a fly, this time the words had hit home. The idea of Rosie going to Australia truly worried her. Her boy had flourished so well with her; he might be doing an unsuitable job, but he was happy, and more than that, he was at peace. She had healed him in a lot of ways, that Rosie. Hetty didn’t want to have to deal with the fallout if she drove her away.
Penitent, she had called Peak House, and invited everyone over to lunch on Christmas Day. Angie was extremely doubtful until Hetty swapped some private words with her, promising to turn on the heating and get someone else to do the cooking, and that was that.
Days started early at the nursing home, and Stephen knew he’d not be in the way. He took out the soft woollen beret he’d bought for Lilian in palest baby blue and ho ho ho-ed his way in. They were at breakfast – kippers and kedgeree and champagne. It made him realise how hungry he was. Cathryn immediately insisted he take the empty place. It was Henry Carr’s, he realised. Next to Lilian.
Lilian looked at him suspiciously.
‘What do you want?’ she asked.
‘Happy Christmas,’ said Stephen. ‘Can’t I come and see my favourite great-aunt?’
‘You’re being charming. This isn’t like you. What’s the matter? You’re being horrible to Rosie, therefore I hate you. Go away. That’s not your seat anyway.’
Stephen sat patiently. He knew he deserved it.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘here’s the thing. I have been a bit distracted, yes. But… but I’m better now. And also, I had to think about something very important.’
The excitement that had begun bubbling up in Lilian as soon as she’d seen his tall, spare frame stride through the door, only the slightest limp visible, now threatened to boil over, but she kept her face absolutely poker straight.
‘What’s that then?’ she asked. ‘How to sulk in more than one language at once?’
Stephen collected himself.
‘I’m sorry about James… about Henry.’
Lilian’s eyes took on a misty expression.
‘No thanks,’ said Stephen. ‘I think we’re okay for dogs right now.’
He remembered Rosie looking up the quarantine laws and his eyes prickled.
‘Um,’ he said.
‘Yes?’ said Hetty. She took the proffered cup of tea from Mrs Laird without a thank you. ‘Out with it.’
Mrs Laird somehow contrived to make herself scarce. Stephen realised he could really do with a shower and a bit of a lie-down – he could still smell the perfumed, sweaty club on his jacket – and, under ideal circumstances, his mother would not be wearing a dead man’s dressing gown. On the other hand, under ideal circumstances he supposed he’d be something big in the army, a colonel or something, and sharing brandy and cigars and regimental stories in the library with his father, who was incredibly proud of him and delighted that he was seeing Squire Phillips’ daughter from down the way…
So. Not everything was perfect in life. But he had one chance, he knew. One shot for one thing – which could be perfect. Or pretty damn close.
He sat down, and his mother followed suit.
‘I hope those eggs are from Isitt’s. She may be a difficult bugger, but you can’t argue with the produce.’
‘No,’ said Stephen, unwilling to get drawn into local gossip. ‘Um, Mother…’
Hetty rolled her eyes.
‘Spit it out, boy. I can read you like a book, you know.’
‘Well,’ he went on. ‘I know you don’t exactly approve, and I know you don’t really like her and that the family aren’t ideal and she probably isn’t the best person to help run the house one day and I know she isn’t from any of those deb families you like and —’
‘Oh God,’ said Hetty. ‘I did wonder, when you vanished.’
Stephen swallowed. He felt like a boy again.
‘Are you sure?’ said Hetty. ‘You know she hasn’t a clue what she’s marrying into. Not just you, but everything that goes with it. And you are no picnic, you know?’
‘I know.’
‘And you’ll have to do things her way too; she’s not a pushover. She looks soft, but she isn’t.’
‘I know that too.’
‘And your personalities can really clash at times; marriage is difficult, you know that?’
‘Yes.’
‘And your backgrounds are completely different. Maybe too different. When things get tough, you won’t understand how the other one is coping.’
‘I think we might.’
She looked at him and snorted.
‘Well, young people think all kinds of crazy things.’
‘So… so I can’t have the ring?’
Hetty sighed and took a long slurp of her tea.
‘Of course you can have the bloody ring. I looked it out for you a year ago. Never seen anything clearer in my life.’
‘You’re serious?’
‘Of course I’m serious. I can’t think of anything that could possibly make either of you happy apart from being together.’
Stephen leapt up.
‘Oh my God.’
Hetty smiled.
‘I really wish everyone wouldn’t treat me like a bloody idiot.’
Stephen wasn’t sure what to say next.
‘I suppose… hm, do you think I should ask her mother?’
‘Ha!’ said Hetty. ‘Her mother will have an orgasm at the very thought.’
‘MOTHER!’ said Stephen. ‘Stop being disgusting.’
‘Stop being bourgeois, darling.’
In fact, Hetty would never relate to anyone the painful conversation that had ensued after Stephen had vanished.
Angie had turned up on the doorstep – the back doorstep, of course, she wasn’t going to make that mistake again – and Mrs Laird had let her in. Then she had let Hetty have it. How her son was being cruel to her daughter; how she was going to take Rosie home to Australia; how badly Hetty had raised him and how dare she let him do this to her. She had delivered her speech fluently, then turned round and marched straight out again, and although she would normally have brushed it off like a fly, this time the words had hit home. The idea of Rosie going to Australia truly worried her. Her boy had flourished so well with her; he might be doing an unsuitable job, but he was happy, and more than that, he was at peace. She had healed him in a lot of ways, that Rosie. Hetty didn’t want to have to deal with the fallout if she drove her away.
Penitent, she had called Peak House, and invited everyone over to lunch on Christmas Day. Angie was extremely doubtful until Hetty swapped some private words with her, promising to turn on the heating and get someone else to do the cooking, and that was that.
Days started early at the nursing home, and Stephen knew he’d not be in the way. He took out the soft woollen beret he’d bought for Lilian in palest baby blue and ho ho ho-ed his way in. They were at breakfast – kippers and kedgeree and champagne. It made him realise how hungry he was. Cathryn immediately insisted he take the empty place. It was Henry Carr’s, he realised. Next to Lilian.
Lilian looked at him suspiciously.
‘What do you want?’ she asked.
‘Happy Christmas,’ said Stephen. ‘Can’t I come and see my favourite great-aunt?’
‘You’re being charming. This isn’t like you. What’s the matter? You’re being horrible to Rosie, therefore I hate you. Go away. That’s not your seat anyway.’
Stephen sat patiently. He knew he deserved it.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘here’s the thing. I have been a bit distracted, yes. But… but I’m better now. And also, I had to think about something very important.’
The excitement that had begun bubbling up in Lilian as soon as she’d seen his tall, spare frame stride through the door, only the slightest limp visible, now threatened to boil over, but she kept her face absolutely poker straight.
‘What’s that then?’ she asked. ‘How to sulk in more than one language at once?’
Stephen collected himself.
‘I’m sorry about James… about Henry.’
Lilian’s eyes took on a misty expression.
