Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop
Page 76
‘I need you,’ he said simply. ‘I needed you.’
‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘I know.’
‘After the accident…’
‘I know. I didn’t want to put the family thing on you, but you know… I love them too.’
‘I know.’
‘And I can’t… I can’t always just fix you,’ she said. ‘We’re not Chris Martin and Gwyneth bloody Paltrow. I’m not your nurse. You’re not my case.’
‘I know,’ said Stephen. ‘That’s why I tried to pull myself together. I did try, Rosie, please believe me.’
‘But you vanished.’
He shook his head.
‘I promise you. I tried so hard. I just… everything got so noisy. With everyone around. I kept having flashbacks, all the time. I couldn’t sleep; you were so busy and all I could hear was… Every time I heard the children talk, to me it just sounded like screaming.’
Rosie looked at him in dismay.
‘I went… I went to see someone. Moray recommended them. On Harley Street. They were very good to see me at such short notice. Well, first he recommended some awful local person, but they sent me in the right direction.’
‘He never said,’ murmured Rosie.
‘Well, good. He’s not meant to.’
‘He’s not.’
‘But Rosie, it was so hard. To admit I was sick again…’
Even now it was difficult for him to form the words; to say them out loud.
‘Anyway,’ he mumbled. ‘Anyway… They… they helped a lot. I have to see them again, but… well. It was a good thing to do.’
Rosie sighed.
‘I wish you’d just TOLD me how hard it was. I thought you were being…’
‘… an arse?’
She smiled.
‘A bit.’
‘Also, you forgot just now to pull me up on using private medicine.’
Rosie looked at his taut jaw, the beautifully shaped lips, one of which he was currently biting, and realised how hard this had been for him to face up to.
‘I must be forgiving you then,’ she said softly.
Stephen looked down and took a deep breath.
‘You know, I want… I want to look after you too.’
She stared at him. Suddenly it burst from him in a rush.
‘I want you to look after me and I want to look after you, and you know, I am never, ever happy, Rosie my love, I am never happy when you’re not with me. And I think that’s the problem maybe… My life… Rosie, my life SUCKS without you. Whereas you succeed whatever you do, whether I’m there or not.’
Rosie looked at him, her face full of pain.
‘Is that what you think?’
‘You’re surrounded by family and people who love you and lots of opportunities… the world is your oyster. You don’t need me the way I need you. I can barely handle a winter walk…’
They were both crying now, and Rosie desperately tried to wipe the tears away with her hand.
‘But…’ She felt pathetic. ‘All I want is you. All I’ve ever wanted is you. But you don’t want this and you don’t want that and you don’t want to get married and you don’t want to settle down, and so I’m clearly not enough for you. I don’t want to be second best; I don’t want to be your nurse. I want to be everything to somebody, and I want them to be everything to me. You’re… you’re everything to me, Stephen. Everything.’
The last words dissolved in a flurry of tears as she buried her face in Mr Dog.
‘It is very unfair you having Mr Dog to cuddle,’ said Stephen. ‘At this point.’
‘At what point? What are you doing?’
It was agony, the blood flowing back into his fingertips and toes; the thawing-out process. It hurt like buggery. Nonetheless, slowly, carefully, Stephen manoeuvred his bad leg under his good one, and just about managed to kneel on the fine old rug in front of the fire, his shirt still wide open.
‘Rosie Hopkins, esteemed sweetshop proprietor of this parish,’ he said, but he couldn’t keep it up; he was crying too. ‘Rosie, you are everything to me. You are… you are everything to me.’
And carefully, with hands now shaking for a very different reason, he held up the little box.
‘I don’t want you to be my nurse. I don’t want you to be my second best, as if you ever ever could be. Rosie, I really, really want you to be my wife.’
‘CAN WE COME IN NOW?’
Kelly had grown impatient at the door. She disliked being left out of adult things and other people knowing things she didn’t. However, if she was being sneaky today, she was only being sneaky with six anxious adults by her shoulder (including Mrs Laird).
Rosie and Stephen looked up from where they were kissing in a way that probably wasn’t entirely appropriate for a seven-year-old to witness, and burst out laughing.
‘Of course, come in, come in,’ said Rosie, her cheeks pink with happiness. She had no make-up on, but the glow from the joy and the heat of the fire and the redness of her full happy mouth from being kissed suited her better than any cosmetics ever could.
‘You know how I promised not to lean on you as a nurse any more?’ whispered Stephen, clutching her little hand in his big one. ‘Um, could I possibly postpone that promise for about five seconds while you help me up?’ His leg had stiffened horribly underneath him and his muscles were still very uncomfortable. But he had never felt better in his life.
And they stood, side by side, hand in hand, utterly together, in front of the glorious roaring fire, on Christmas Day, waiting as their family, old, new, foreign and familiar, came charging in to embrace them, full of joy and good wishes and happiness; for the day, for the future.
After all, thought Lilian, carefully turning over in bed where Rosie, slightly squiffy, had helped her after a long, jolly afternoon with hats and crackers and silly jokes, and after Hetty had wheeled out an ancient television so Meridian could watch the James Bond film, which she had done, rapt, open-mouthed and in complete silence, and Rosie and Stephen had stolen away for a few quiet moments of being together and looking at the stars; after all, she thought – as Rosie had said to her, over and over, ‘I love him so much, Lil. I just love him SO MUCH’ – this was right, and as it should be, and it was good.
‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘I know.’
‘After the accident…’
‘I know. I didn’t want to put the family thing on you, but you know… I love them too.’
‘I know.’
‘And I can’t… I can’t always just fix you,’ she said. ‘We’re not Chris Martin and Gwyneth bloody Paltrow. I’m not your nurse. You’re not my case.’
‘I know,’ said Stephen. ‘That’s why I tried to pull myself together. I did try, Rosie, please believe me.’
‘But you vanished.’
He shook his head.
‘I promise you. I tried so hard. I just… everything got so noisy. With everyone around. I kept having flashbacks, all the time. I couldn’t sleep; you were so busy and all I could hear was… Every time I heard the children talk, to me it just sounded like screaming.’
Rosie looked at him in dismay.
‘I went… I went to see someone. Moray recommended them. On Harley Street. They were very good to see me at such short notice. Well, first he recommended some awful local person, but they sent me in the right direction.’
‘He never said,’ murmured Rosie.
‘Well, good. He’s not meant to.’
‘He’s not.’
‘But Rosie, it was so hard. To admit I was sick again…’
Even now it was difficult for him to form the words; to say them out loud.
‘Anyway,’ he mumbled. ‘Anyway… They… they helped a lot. I have to see them again, but… well. It was a good thing to do.’
Rosie sighed.
‘I wish you’d just TOLD me how hard it was. I thought you were being…’
‘… an arse?’
She smiled.
‘A bit.’
‘Also, you forgot just now to pull me up on using private medicine.’
Rosie looked at his taut jaw, the beautifully shaped lips, one of which he was currently biting, and realised how hard this had been for him to face up to.
‘I must be forgiving you then,’ she said softly.
Stephen looked down and took a deep breath.
‘You know, I want… I want to look after you too.’
She stared at him. Suddenly it burst from him in a rush.
‘I want you to look after me and I want to look after you, and you know, I am never, ever happy, Rosie my love, I am never happy when you’re not with me. And I think that’s the problem maybe… My life… Rosie, my life SUCKS without you. Whereas you succeed whatever you do, whether I’m there or not.’
Rosie looked at him, her face full of pain.
‘Is that what you think?’
‘You’re surrounded by family and people who love you and lots of opportunities… the world is your oyster. You don’t need me the way I need you. I can barely handle a winter walk…’
They were both crying now, and Rosie desperately tried to wipe the tears away with her hand.
‘But…’ She felt pathetic. ‘All I want is you. All I’ve ever wanted is you. But you don’t want this and you don’t want that and you don’t want to get married and you don’t want to settle down, and so I’m clearly not enough for you. I don’t want to be second best; I don’t want to be your nurse. I want to be everything to somebody, and I want them to be everything to me. You’re… you’re everything to me, Stephen. Everything.’
The last words dissolved in a flurry of tears as she buried her face in Mr Dog.
‘It is very unfair you having Mr Dog to cuddle,’ said Stephen. ‘At this point.’
‘At what point? What are you doing?’
It was agony, the blood flowing back into his fingertips and toes; the thawing-out process. It hurt like buggery. Nonetheless, slowly, carefully, Stephen manoeuvred his bad leg under his good one, and just about managed to kneel on the fine old rug in front of the fire, his shirt still wide open.
‘Rosie Hopkins, esteemed sweetshop proprietor of this parish,’ he said, but he couldn’t keep it up; he was crying too. ‘Rosie, you are everything to me. You are… you are everything to me.’
And carefully, with hands now shaking for a very different reason, he held up the little box.
‘I don’t want you to be my nurse. I don’t want you to be my second best, as if you ever ever could be. Rosie, I really, really want you to be my wife.’
‘CAN WE COME IN NOW?’
Kelly had grown impatient at the door. She disliked being left out of adult things and other people knowing things she didn’t. However, if she was being sneaky today, she was only being sneaky with six anxious adults by her shoulder (including Mrs Laird).
Rosie and Stephen looked up from where they were kissing in a way that probably wasn’t entirely appropriate for a seven-year-old to witness, and burst out laughing.
‘Of course, come in, come in,’ said Rosie, her cheeks pink with happiness. She had no make-up on, but the glow from the joy and the heat of the fire and the redness of her full happy mouth from being kissed suited her better than any cosmetics ever could.
‘You know how I promised not to lean on you as a nurse any more?’ whispered Stephen, clutching her little hand in his big one. ‘Um, could I possibly postpone that promise for about five seconds while you help me up?’ His leg had stiffened horribly underneath him and his muscles were still very uncomfortable. But he had never felt better in his life.
And they stood, side by side, hand in hand, utterly together, in front of the glorious roaring fire, on Christmas Day, waiting as their family, old, new, foreign and familiar, came charging in to embrace them, full of joy and good wishes and happiness; for the day, for the future.
After all, thought Lilian, carefully turning over in bed where Rosie, slightly squiffy, had helped her after a long, jolly afternoon with hats and crackers and silly jokes, and after Hetty had wheeled out an ancient television so Meridian could watch the James Bond film, which she had done, rapt, open-mouthed and in complete silence, and Rosie and Stephen had stolen away for a few quiet moments of being together and looking at the stars; after all, she thought – as Rosie had said to her, over and over, ‘I love him so much, Lil. I just love him SO MUCH’ – this was right, and as it should be, and it was good.
