Christmas at Rosie Hopkins' Sweetshop

by Jenny Colgan

  “I know,” said Lilian. “You look completely underdressed. Are you going to a discotheque afterward?”

  Angie stood as close to the fire as she could get without actually setting herself alight.

  “You don’t change much, Lilian.”

  “No,” sighed Lilian. “But is it pitch dark in here or is it just me?”

  “No, it’s everyone,” said Rosie. “The children are terrified.”

  “Oh well,” said Lilian. “At least we won’t be able to see what we’re eating.”

  STEPHEN KISSED ROSIE briefly. She wanted to grab him, breathe him in, but he winced as she brushed the skin on his side, and she drew back.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  “Knackered,” said Stephen. “I feel I’ve had enough of the little blighters today. Not to diss your relations, but . . . does that boy ever put his device down? He’s like some awful City banker trying to get a mobile signal.”

  “Ssh,” said Rosie. “They’re in an unfamiliar environment.”

  “Yeah, Super Mario Land.”

  Stephen watched Kelly practice her dance moves.

  “Ah, the sugar plum elephant,” he observed.

  “Shut up!” said Rosie. “Stop it! Don’t pass judgment.”

  “I’m just making an observation!”

  “Well, don’t,” said Rosie. She was furious because she knew she was overwrought, slightly too keyed up about how much she wanted everyone to get on, and at the moment there were just knots of ­people in a dark room, bitching about each other.

  “Okay. Sorry,” said Stephen. “Jeez, you’re touchy today.”

  “Well, be nice to me then,” said Rosie. She picked up Meridian, who was nestling by her knees.

  “Hello, Spiderman,” said Stephen.

  Meridian smiled proudly. “I Spiderman AND Batman.”

  “PHEW,” said Stephen. “So we’re totally protected.”

  “This is like Batman’s house,” said Shane suddenly without looking up.“Have you got a cool car under the house?”

  “Afraid not,” said Stephen. “I’ve got a wheelchair though.”

  Shane went back to his game.

  After what felt like about two hours to Rosie, Hetty appeared with gin and tonics. Rose was so relieved that she took a huge gulp, only to splutter when she realized it was at least ninety percent gin with a tiny squirt of tonic on the top.

  “Bloody hell!” she said.

  “Oh yes,” said Stephen, tucking into his. “I meant to have a word with you about the fact that you don’t know how to mix a gin and tonic.”

  “By pouring the tonic straight down the sink?”

  Stephen looked at his drink.

  “You see, to me this is basically perfect.”

  “Oh, Stephen, you look exactly like your father standing there,” said Lilian. Rosie nearly choked for a second time. Stephen’s relationship with his father was something generally not to be brought up in public.

  “Yes, but he could just as well be Frosty the Snowman in this light,” said Angie. “Or the Incredible Hulk”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hopkins,” said Stephen.

  “No worries. I like this new cocktail. And it’s ‘Miss.’ ”

  “Dinner,” announced Hetty.

  Meridian’s head barely came over the table top. Rosie looked around for a cushion, but Angie had already whisked her into her lap. The children all looked dubiously at the plates of soup in front of them. They were on the finest white china with a golden inlay that Rosie was pretty sure was real, and she crossed her fingers and prayed they wouldn’t get dropped on the floor. The children also regarded the array of cutlery in front of them with dismay.

  “Normally I only like things you can pick up with your fingers,” said Kelly.

  “Like cake?” said Hetty pointedly. Rosie blinked twice at her horrific rudeness.

  “Yeah,” said Kelly. “Mum, I want cake.”

  “Do you want to try a spoon, Kelly sweetheart?” said Desleigh.

  “Is it like Heinz, mummy? I only like Heinz,” whined Kelly. “Or cake.”

  Just as Desleigh lifted a spoon to her lips, Hetty invited Lilian to say grace, and Rosie immediately felt like kicking absolutely everyone involved. She couldn’t help noticing, either, that Stephen had the merest hint of a twitching lip. He had to get rid of it straightaway before she got exceptionally cross with him.

  Lilian said a traditional grace, gently, and they all dug in.

  Rosie closed her eyes. It was awful. It tasted a bit like what would happen if you drank the dishwater. After it had been left to cool down in the fridge.

  “What kind of soup is this?” said Desleigh, doing her best.

  Hetty gave her a look.

  “It’s oxtail.”

  “OXTAIL?” said Shane. “Gross.” He started eating. Kelly burst into tears. “Mum! I don’t want to eat tail.”

  To keep her company, Meridian burst into tears too until Rosie leaned over and whispered, “Spiderman? Do you think Spidermen eat their suppers?” and Meridian thought about it and nodded fiercely and started scooping it up. Rosie wondered if it was dark enough in the room to pour hers into the suit of armor.

  “Mmm,” said Stephen. “That’s gorgeous.”

  “I know,” said Hetty. Rosie narrowed her eyes at him. Was he winding her up?

  “I haven’t . . . it’s been a long time since I’ve eaten at home,” said Stephen, by way of explanation. He wasn’t wearing his normal ironical look. Rosie glanced around for bread to soak the soup up with, but there wasn’t any. Still, Shane and Meridian were doing well enough with theirs—­Angie was pretending to share her plate with Meridian, thus handily avoiding the issue. Kelly was sitting with her bottom lip stuck out, but nobody paid attention to that.

  “So anyway,” said Hetty in a commanding voice. It wasn’t really a surprise she had such a loud voice, Rosie supposed, growing up in a place like this.“I don’t think I can bear all those children in the house another minute.”

  “What’s wrong with us?” asked Shane.

  Hetty looked at him. “Oh, he talks,” she said. “But I don’t mean you, I mean the schoolchildren. They’re getting to be quite the limit.”

  Stephen wiped his mouth with his napkin. “They’re just being kids, Mother. It’s a good sign, shows they’re not still traumatized by the accident.”

  “But the noise!”

  “They’re just practicing singing.”

  “And the running about.”

  “That’s what healthy children do.”

  “And my stag’s head.”

  “Ah, yes. sorry about that. They thought it was a coat hook.”

  “And the banister.”

  “Most of them don’t live in houses with banisters. Certainly not ones so temptingly slideable.”

  “I knew a small boy who slid down a lot of banisters,” said Lillian.

  “Nonsense,” said Stephen. “I was a paragon of virtue.”

  “Virtue and sulking,” said Hetty. “Well, anyway, regardless. English Heritage are going to have a total fit, and it won’t do the house any good. We’re close enough to rack and ruin as it is. If they scratch up the floors any more or give it that kiddie smell, we’ll lose bookings. Someone has already decided not to have their wedding here when they turned up and found four small boys hanging off the ceremonial bridal arch by their knees.”

  “Rather a nice touch I thought,” said Stephen, but Hetty didn’t smile.

  “No,” she said. “I think I have given quite a lot to this village, but I think this school has to stop. I’m sorry, Rosie.”

  “But if you close the school here . . .”

  “My girl, they aren’t going to fix the school. You have to get that through your head. They are not going to release the funds to fix
up the school. This was always a temporary arrangement . . . or do you expect me to run a free school for the rest of my life?”

  “No,” said Rosie.

  “No. Well. Sooner sorted, the better.”

  Rosie felt ridiculously as if she were going to cry in front of everybody.

  “Well, that will be the end of us too,” said Lilian. “No children, no sweets. It’s just about that simple.”

  “Oh, don’t be dramatic, Lil.”

  “I’m not. No school, no families. No families, no sweetshop.”

  HETTY CLEARED AWAY the mostly untouched soup plates and returned with a red-­raw piece of roast beef, plain boiled potatoes and some vegetables that had obviously been steaming for several days.

  “WONDERFUL,” said Stephen, leaping up to carve. “I’ve slightly missed your cooking, Mum. She didn’t do it very often,” he explained to the table

  “Really?” muttered Angie

  “But when Mrs. Laird was off . . . it was kind of a treat.”

  He looked toward his mother, and a rare smile of détente passed between them.

  “Of course you can sell the cottage,” said Lilian. “We might as well be honest. I’m not moving back. Too old.”

  “And you like it where you are?” asked Angie anxiously.

  “Well, as far as being bunged up in a prison for the mentally and physically incontinent, I suppose it could be worse,” allowed Lilian. “It’s you I worry about,” she said, pointing her fork at Rosie.

  “Can I just have some brown bits from around the edges?” said Angie. “Sorry, it’s just that in Australia we normally cook our food.”

  “Incinerate it, surely. On the ‘barbie-­cue’?” inquired Hetty, as if she’d only just heard of the word.

  “I’ll be fine,” said Rosie, feeling something drop in the pit of her stomach.

  “Well, what will you do if the sweetshop closes?” said Lilian.

  “Ahem,” said Angie, clearing her throat, and seeming to give up on dinner altogether. “Well. Of course. We’ll just take Rosie back to Australia with us.”

  “WHAT ARE YOU doing?” asked Doreen, looking over Edward’s shoulder. It wasn’t like him to get obsessed with the Internet; normally he tried to stop Ian doing exactly that. He believed in a proper separation between work and home and liked their son to eat a nice dinner and chat about his day. This wasn’t like him at all.

  “Just some . . . research,” said Edward in a muffled voice.

  Doreen went around and put down his tea—­one Hermesetas—­to have a look. He was on a website called Veterans UK, for ex-­ser­vicemen.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “I don’t really know,” said Edward. “It just occurred to me, really, because he never likes talking about it . . . I just wanted to see if I could pin down any more about Dad in the war.”

  “With a name like James Boyd, you’ll be lucky,” sniffed Doreen. “There’ll be loads.”

  “No, look,” said Edward, suddenly excited, as the search engine pinged up its results. “It’s amazing what ­people have uploaded these days, tons and tons of info.”

  Sure enough, about three pages in there was a James Boyd, born in Halifax in 1921.

  “That’s him.”

  Doreen grabbed a chair and sat down next to him, feeling excited in her own right.

  “Ooh, go on, let’s have a look then. You know, you might have family you don’t even know about.”

  “I’ve got quite enough trouble going on with the family I do have,” joked Edward, but his face was pink with anticipation.

  They had a very slow broadband line out in the sticks—­Ian did nothing but complain about it—­but finally the page loaded itself. They gazed at it. There was a picture there of a young man, straight black hair cut short, freckles on the long nose. They looked at the picture for a long time.

  “You know,” said Doreen finally, “it’s amazing how ­people change the way they look.”

  Edward shook his head.

  “That’s not him,” he said. “We must have the wrong James Boyd.”

  “The date of birth is the same,” said Doreen.

  “Amazing coincidence,” said Edward. “I’m going to search some more.”

  “Well, don’t stay up too late, darling,” said Doreen, planting a kiss on his shoulder. She could never sleep without him beside her in the bed, even after all these years.

  “OF COURSE ROSIE’S not leaving,” said Stephen. He was making his way through dinner at some speed with obvious enjoyment.

  Rosie didn’t know what to say; her mother’s words were so unexpected.

  “Well, what’s she going to do here?” said Angie. “She’s done her duty. And she could go back to London, but London’s over. Sydney’s where it’s at now. And she can be with her family. But it’ll have to be soon; nurses can’t get visas over thirty-­five.”

  “Er, Mum, this is ridiculous,” said Rosie.

  “Are you coming to live with us, Auntie Rosie?” said Kelly. “You know we have a swimming pool. You can come in our swimming pool.”

  “ROSIE WE GOT BIG SWIMMING POOL! COME IN BIG SWIMMING POOL!” said Meridian, wriggling out of Angie’s lap and onto Rosie’s. She turned Rosie’s face toward hers and showered her with kisses.

  “I YIKE you,” she announced loudly. Rosie half-­smiled and kissed her back.

  “I like you too,” she said. “Don’t be daft, Angie. I’m very happy here.”

  Pip and Desleigh were clearly exchanging glances across the table, which made Rosie furious.

  “Doing what?” scoffed Angie. “I mean, it’s pretty for five minutes, but you’re not from here, are you? Look at all this. I mean, it’s not like he’s going to . . .”

  Too late, Rosie realized the terrible effect of two hyper-­strong gin and tonics on a middle-­aged woman on a very strict diet. Angie was already pointing at Stephen. It was like watching a plane crash in slow motion. She felt like leaping out of her seat and shouting, “Noo . . . ooo . . .”

  “Are you going to marry her, love? Or are you just playing with the help?”

  A shocked silence fell on the room, except for Lilian, who appeared to be in fits of giggles.

  Stephen slowly put down his knife and fork, feeling a ringing in his ears. Rosie felt her heart thunder in her mouth. She was also furious with her mother. And Lilian. And Hetty. And everyone. Meridian was still giving her little kisses on the side of her face. Well maybe not quite EVERYONE.

  “I CANNOT BELIEVE your mother did that.” Moray’s face of scandalized horror wasn’t helping matters at all.

  Rosie had opened up the shop, feeling miserable and depressed, and Moray had popped in early for a postmortem. It had turned out to be worse than his wildest dreams. Tina was there too, desperately trying to hide her ring and her happiness and be sympathetic.

  “I know,” said Rosie, sipping her coffee.

  “SO?” said Moray. “What did the high prince of darkness say?”

  “Stop calling him that.”

  Moray traded glances with Tina. They had mopped Rosie up off the floor about Stephen more than once.

  Rosie swallowed heavily. She hadn’t had a lot of sleep.

  “He said . . . he said . . .” She dissolved in tears. “He said he didn’t really know. And so of course Angie gave the most tremendous sniff and said, no, the last one didn’t really know what he wanted either, and I’d wasted eight years of my life on HIM, and I wasn’t going to waste any more.”

  She paused.

  “Nobody really wanted the stewed plums after that.”

  Pip had given her a big hug and patted her on the back. She knew he understood.

  Moray shook his head. “Hetty does the cooking on purpose to discourage ­people from coming to dinner.”

  “But . . . but w
hy doesn’t Stephen want to get married?” said Tina, fingers nervously fiddling with her ring.

  Rosie’s face was set.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “My last boyfriend didn’t want to get married either. Maybe it’s me.”

  “It’s not you,” said Tina and Moray simultaneously. “I’d marry you,” said Moray. “For the toffee alone.”

  “Thanks, guys,” said Rosie.

  “But . . . but . . . what are you going to do?”

  Rosie looked around the lovely warm, cozy little shop, its brass bell gleaming in the cold early-­morning sunshine.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “If the shop can’t carry on, it can’t carry on. And I’ve uprooted my life once before . . . I suppose I could do it again.”

  “In Australia?” asked Tina, eyes wide.

  “Well, I’ve always wanted to go and have a look,” said Rosie. “Everyone says it’s totally amazing. And you know, those are my nephew and nieces there. They’re all the family I’ve got. I’ve missed a lot of their growing up already.”

  “You know, you’re the only family Lilian’s got as well,” said Moray softly.

  “Lilian sides with Hetty every fricking time,” said Rosie, uncharacteristically bitter. “They can be family. She’ll be fine without me. And Hetty will be bloody ecstatic.”

  “And Stephen?” said Moray. But it was too late. Rosie had already dissolved in tears.

  Chapter 14

  AS CHRISTMAS GREW closer, Rosie threw herself into preparations. She took her family to Carningford to see Santa’s grotto and the lights, bought Nintendo games and princess dolls and a huge inflatable Spiderman.

  “We’re going to eat at Peak House,” she announced to Stephen in passing. Stephen was marking and wasn’t really concentrating on her tone.

  “But Mother normally . . .”

  “I don’t care what your mother is doing,” she said. “I’m going to be at Peak House with my mother.”

  “Okay,” said Stephen. “That sounds fine.”