Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 72
‘Well,’ she said. ‘I would say he’s in a better place.’
‘He’s still my husband, Lilian Hopkins,’ growled Ida Delia from across the table, on her third champagne, jealous of the attention. ‘It’ll be me he’s with in the afterlife.’
‘Only if he was actually really really bad and goes to that other place. The DOWN one,’ returned Lilian serenely, and turned her attention back to Stephen.
‘Now, where were we?’
‘Well,’ said Stephen. ‘You know Rosie doesn’t have a dad, and I need to ask permission about something from someone who is in loco parentis kind of thing.’
Lilian smiled complacently.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose I am the most important person in her life.’
‘Well, after her mum, but I thought it would be respectful —’
‘GET ON WITH IT!’ said Ida Delia and one or two of the other old women around the breakfast table, who were all speechless with excitement.
Stephen opened the box. Hetty had not only looked out the ring, she had had it cleaned and polished up and suggested, rudely, resizing it. It had been given to Stephen’s maternal grandmother when she had got engaged, and had come down a fair way before that. It was Victorian, a beautiful twisted design of four stones in a larger diamond shape. The stones were small, but of absolute perfect quality, and the gold, worn soft and smooth by years of steady wear, glowed with its own soft light. It was exquisite.
‘I’ll marry you!’ said Theodore Bell, who was a bit of a wag.
‘Alas,’ said Stephen. ‘If only I’d known.’ But the ghost of a smile was beginning to creep across his stubble.
‘Well, you’ll need to clean yourself up a bit,’ grumbled Lilian, but her hands were reverently lifting the beautiful ring out of its box.
‘I remember your grandmother wearing this,’ she said.
Stephen nodded.
‘Me too. And it was pretty ancient then.’
Lilian looked as if she were going to try it on her own finger, then thought better of it.
‘Well,’ she said. Then she looked at him, fixing him with her pale eyes.
‘If you ever,’ she said. ‘If you ever dare stop that girl from being happy… if I ever so much as see her without a great big beaming smile on her face every single day for the rest of her life, I am going to cripple your other leg, do you understand?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Stephen.
‘And if I am dead and gone, I will come back and haunt you for the rest of your life, do you understand that too?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Actually,’ mused Lilian, ‘I think Henry and I might rather like going round haunting people. When we’re together in the Catholic afterlife.’
Stephen decided it was best just to ignore this.
‘So you give me your blessing?’
‘My darling, stubborn, pig-headed boy, she loves you and you love her and anyone who thinks that kind of thing is easy to come by or worth messing about with is an even bigger idiot than they appear. And they should teach THAT in schools.’
Stephen kissed her gently on the cheek and thanked her. Then he retreated back into the early-morning wintry chill.
The Land Rover was making odd noises, he observed half-heartedly as he drew closer to the cottage. That was odd; there was no smoke coming from the chimney. As he pulled up outside the door, it was apparent there was nobody there at all. Bugger bugger bugger, she must have gone up to Peak House already. Stephen didn’t really want to do this in front of everybody, but he supposed he would have to deal with the fact that if he wanted Rosie, he got her family too – just as she got his, he reflected.
He considered briefly running into the house to have a shower and change, but no, the ring was burning a hole in his pocket. He couldn’t wait. It couldn’t. Plus, there were early-morning churchgoers and dog-walkers on the main street, and he absolutely couldn’t handle their cheery greetings, not yet. He had something he had to do.
He stuck the frankly complaining Land Rover into reverse and headed up towards Peak House.
The snow had started again – the snowiest winter in memory, muffling all sound and rendering the world an unrecognisable place. It was going to be a day for huddling round the fire.
He quickly flashed back again to Rosie’s hurt face when he’d announced he was going away. Suddenly a panic gripped him. What if she’d already left? What if she was on her way to Australia? No, surely Lilian would have told him. Of course she would. He was just being paranoid.
Nonetheless, he urged the Land Rover onwards up the snowy gradient. He took out his phone with shaking fingers, but not only was there no signal, there was no charge to phone anyone with even if there had been. He cursed loudly. But not as much as he cursed when he got to Peak House to find it, too, empty and shut up.
There was nothing for it. He was going to have to give up and go back to his bloody mother’s and wait it out there. Exhausted and disappointed, his exhilaration fading, he was halfway across the peaks, in the middle of nowhere, when he smelled burning. Shortly afterwards, the Land Rover made a final protesting noise and stopped altogether, at which point Stephen remembered that in his hurtling rush to leave, he had forgotten to top up the oil before he’d started out for London, and that because he’d been in such a hurry to get there, he’d only grabbed a tweed overcoat, not a hat, gloves or anything else remotely useful in a blizzard. And that this road between Peak House and Lipton Hall was used only by estate staff – all of whom were on holiday today and tomorrow – and Rosie’s family, and Christ only knew where they were. Dubai by now, quite probably.
This was when Stephen turned Hester Felling-Jackson into only Lipton’s second sweariest inhabitant of the last twenty-four hours.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was like walking into a different house. For starters, the front door was flung wide open at the noise of their arrival. Pip had driven them over there first thing in the morning, Rosie, completely exhausted, huddled in the back, Mr Dog and Meridian both on her lap to keep her warm. Hetty had been quite clear that she would like to see them before they all went to church together, and Angie had said, ‘when in Rome’, and the children were quite excited at the prospect of seeing all their new friends from the village, so that was fine.
But more than that. Every light in the building blazed out, warm and cosy-looking, something that normally only happened when Hetty had very high-paying guests. She herself, dressed in what was presumably a seasonal red dress but looked also quite a lot like a horse blanket with a hole in it, plus some pearls, was standing in the doorway to meet them; the great black door also had a huge home-made wreath hanging on it.
‘He’s still my husband, Lilian Hopkins,’ growled Ida Delia from across the table, on her third champagne, jealous of the attention. ‘It’ll be me he’s with in the afterlife.’
‘Only if he was actually really really bad and goes to that other place. The DOWN one,’ returned Lilian serenely, and turned her attention back to Stephen.
‘Now, where were we?’
‘Well,’ said Stephen. ‘You know Rosie doesn’t have a dad, and I need to ask permission about something from someone who is in loco parentis kind of thing.’
Lilian smiled complacently.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose I am the most important person in her life.’
‘Well, after her mum, but I thought it would be respectful —’
‘GET ON WITH IT!’ said Ida Delia and one or two of the other old women around the breakfast table, who were all speechless with excitement.
Stephen opened the box. Hetty had not only looked out the ring, she had had it cleaned and polished up and suggested, rudely, resizing it. It had been given to Stephen’s maternal grandmother when she had got engaged, and had come down a fair way before that. It was Victorian, a beautiful twisted design of four stones in a larger diamond shape. The stones were small, but of absolute perfect quality, and the gold, worn soft and smooth by years of steady wear, glowed with its own soft light. It was exquisite.
‘I’ll marry you!’ said Theodore Bell, who was a bit of a wag.
‘Alas,’ said Stephen. ‘If only I’d known.’ But the ghost of a smile was beginning to creep across his stubble.
‘Well, you’ll need to clean yourself up a bit,’ grumbled Lilian, but her hands were reverently lifting the beautiful ring out of its box.
‘I remember your grandmother wearing this,’ she said.
Stephen nodded.
‘Me too. And it was pretty ancient then.’
Lilian looked as if she were going to try it on her own finger, then thought better of it.
‘Well,’ she said. Then she looked at him, fixing him with her pale eyes.
‘If you ever,’ she said. ‘If you ever dare stop that girl from being happy… if I ever so much as see her without a great big beaming smile on her face every single day for the rest of her life, I am going to cripple your other leg, do you understand?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Stephen.
‘And if I am dead and gone, I will come back and haunt you for the rest of your life, do you understand that too?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Actually,’ mused Lilian, ‘I think Henry and I might rather like going round haunting people. When we’re together in the Catholic afterlife.’
Stephen decided it was best just to ignore this.
‘So you give me your blessing?’
‘My darling, stubborn, pig-headed boy, she loves you and you love her and anyone who thinks that kind of thing is easy to come by or worth messing about with is an even bigger idiot than they appear. And they should teach THAT in schools.’
Stephen kissed her gently on the cheek and thanked her. Then he retreated back into the early-morning wintry chill.
The Land Rover was making odd noises, he observed half-heartedly as he drew closer to the cottage. That was odd; there was no smoke coming from the chimney. As he pulled up outside the door, it was apparent there was nobody there at all. Bugger bugger bugger, she must have gone up to Peak House already. Stephen didn’t really want to do this in front of everybody, but he supposed he would have to deal with the fact that if he wanted Rosie, he got her family too – just as she got his, he reflected.
He considered briefly running into the house to have a shower and change, but no, the ring was burning a hole in his pocket. He couldn’t wait. It couldn’t. Plus, there were early-morning churchgoers and dog-walkers on the main street, and he absolutely couldn’t handle their cheery greetings, not yet. He had something he had to do.
He stuck the frankly complaining Land Rover into reverse and headed up towards Peak House.
The snow had started again – the snowiest winter in memory, muffling all sound and rendering the world an unrecognisable place. It was going to be a day for huddling round the fire.
He quickly flashed back again to Rosie’s hurt face when he’d announced he was going away. Suddenly a panic gripped him. What if she’d already left? What if she was on her way to Australia? No, surely Lilian would have told him. Of course she would. He was just being paranoid.
Nonetheless, he urged the Land Rover onwards up the snowy gradient. He took out his phone with shaking fingers, but not only was there no signal, there was no charge to phone anyone with even if there had been. He cursed loudly. But not as much as he cursed when he got to Peak House to find it, too, empty and shut up.
There was nothing for it. He was going to have to give up and go back to his bloody mother’s and wait it out there. Exhausted and disappointed, his exhilaration fading, he was halfway across the peaks, in the middle of nowhere, when he smelled burning. Shortly afterwards, the Land Rover made a final protesting noise and stopped altogether, at which point Stephen remembered that in his hurtling rush to leave, he had forgotten to top up the oil before he’d started out for London, and that because he’d been in such a hurry to get there, he’d only grabbed a tweed overcoat, not a hat, gloves or anything else remotely useful in a blizzard. And that this road between Peak House and Lipton Hall was used only by estate staff – all of whom were on holiday today and tomorrow – and Rosie’s family, and Christ only knew where they were. Dubai by now, quite probably.
This was when Stephen turned Hester Felling-Jackson into only Lipton’s second sweariest inhabitant of the last twenty-four hours.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was like walking into a different house. For starters, the front door was flung wide open at the noise of their arrival. Pip had driven them over there first thing in the morning, Rosie, completely exhausted, huddled in the back, Mr Dog and Meridian both on her lap to keep her warm. Hetty had been quite clear that she would like to see them before they all went to church together, and Angie had said, ‘when in Rome’, and the children were quite excited at the prospect of seeing all their new friends from the village, so that was fine.
But more than that. Every light in the building blazed out, warm and cosy-looking, something that normally only happened when Hetty had very high-paying guests. She herself, dressed in what was presumably a seasonal red dress but looked also quite a lot like a horse blanket with a hole in it, plus some pearls, was standing in the doorway to meet them; the great black door also had a huge home-made wreath hanging on it.
