Christmas at Rosie Hopkins' Sweetshop

by Jenny Colgan

  “The snow!” shouted Shane. “We have to see the snow!!”

  “SNOW!” echoed the girls.

  “Oh, trust me,” said Rosie, “you’ll see plenty of snow. Now, come on, let’s go pick up your car.”

  They got to the seven-­seater they’d hired easily enough. The force of the wind blasted them coming out through the airport doors, and the children shrieked in excited dismay. Rosie picked up Meridian and stuck her inside her jacket.

  “Okay,” she said, loading them into the big car and fastening their seatbelts.

  “But not you, Mum,” she added. “You’re coming with me.”

  ON THE WAY back to Lipton they talked about everything and everyone under the sun: about Pip’s job, and Lilian, and the shop. Angie asked about Rosie’s young man, and she coughed out an answer that didn’t really seem satisfactory, but for once her mum was probably too jet-­lagged to question it.

  The long arched avenue to Peak House seemed even more sinister today with icicles dripping down from the branches of the trees.

  “I hope it’s okay,” said Rosie, who’d driven up and put on the Aga that morning. “I mean, it’s . . . it’s pretty desolate, but well, honestly, it’s not far to the village and you’ll be with us and we’ll do stuff together and—­”

  “Stop worrying, Rosebud,” said Angie. “You found us a whole house, good on you. I’m completely amazed. “

  Rosie wondered about this, but when the two cars stopped on the gravel and the others emerged, she was shocked to see everyone looking so excited and happy.

  “OH. MY. GOD. Look at this place,” said Desleigh. “It’s like Downton Bloody Abbey. Have you got servants?”

  Rosie looked at Peak House again. She was so used to thinking of it as such an ominous, foreboding place that she forgot the nice stone and good proportions; how it looked like the great house that it was.

  “We’re going to be living in a castle,” said Shane in awe. “Auntie Rosie, this is seriously cool.”

  “Um, let’s just wait till we get inside,” said Rosie.

  But inside, the radiators were finally working, and the Aga had done its job, and the house seemed to have dried out a little and felt cozy and almost cheerful.

  “It’s like a Christmas card,” said Pip. He whistled. “I think we’ve both fallen on our feet, sis.”

  She showed him upstairs and they sat companionably on the bed together like they always used to.

  “It’s so good to see you,” said Rosie. “The children are just adorable.”

  Pip beamed.

  “Oh, they are, Rosie. And Desleigh is so good to me and, well, Australia’s just fantastic. . . . You know, sis, Mum always says the only thing missing is you.”

  Rosie smiled.

  “But you’re happy here?”

  He said it in the Australian way so she wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement.

  “Oh yes,” she said Rosie. “Totally. Completely. All the time.”

  She tried not to think about the image of Stephen the previous night, staring out the window.

  “Completely happy,” she added, then realized as Pip stared at her that she might have gone into overkill a little bit.

  “I never saw you in a village,” said Pip. “I always saw you as a big-­city girl. You’d love Sydney. Plus nurses there make sixty thousand a year.”

  Rosie coughed a lot at this—­a LOT—­and headed back downstairs, where she made tea and toast for everyone. Kelly sat by the window exclaiming at the snow, and Shane boasted about the size of the snowman he was going to build and the big snowball fight they were going to have, but she could see their eyelids drooping. Angie insisted they needed the afternoon and night to get their heads straight—­nobody had slept a wink on the plane, apparently. Shane had watched Transformers seventeen times in a row until they thought he was going to have an epileptic fit, Kelly had rattled on constantly about the snow, which was leaving her totally awestruck, and Meridian had eaten four breakfasts. Everyone was wilting.

  “I’ll be up in the morning,” promised Rosie, feeling so much better about everything that she practically skipped out to the Land Rover.

  She relieved Tina and did the last few hours in the shop, then cashed up, keeping an ear open for Stephen coming in at four. She heard the door open, but he didn’t pop in as he normally did. Well.

  AT FIVE, SHE locked the doors and went home. Stephen asked after her family, politely but, she thought, with a bit of reticence. She hoped he wasn’t worried about meeting Angie. Not all mothers were as scary as his.

  As she went to turn on the grill, she saw that, amazingly, her phone was connected. She wondered if Roy Blaine had stuck up a sneaky pole on his land. She wouldn’t put it past him. She had a message. Please not anything up at Peak House, please. The boiler exploding. That would be all they needed.

  She could hardly hear the voice on the message for sobs. Then she understood and was completely and utterly touched that she had thought to ring. She marched into the sitting room and stood in front of Stephen.

  “What is it?” he asked, instantly panicked by the tears in her eyes. He got carefully out of his seat and went to her. “What?”

  Rosie put down the phone.

  “Edison woke up,” she said. “He woke up and . . . the first thing he asked for was any homework he’d missed.”

  Stephen blinked quickly, trying again to shake away the image of the crash; not to let it overwhelm him. He choked up and took her in his arms, her tears soaking his sweater.

  “Thank God,” he said. Rosie couldn’t speak at all. “Thank God,” said Stephen again. They had both known that beyond whether Edison’s neck would heal was the question: would he still be himself, or had he suffered brain damage in the accident? To have to raise a child who could no longer think, wash himself, go to school . . . Hester and Arthur would have loved him just the same, of course, but what a terrible, terrible burden of worry would have been added to their lives.

  “That’s amazing,” said Stephen. “Oh God, I can’t wait till he’s back in my class. Asking me what wiped out the fricking dinosaurs again.”

  He wiped his eyes. Rosie was still choked up.

  “You love that kid,” he said, teasing her.

  “I do,” she said. “Oh, thank God. Plus I think he’s single-­handedly kept the Edinburgh rock factory in business.”

  Stephen smiled and gave her another cuddle.

  “So, everyone is settled in?”

  Rosie nodded. “Yes, they’re fine. Actually, it’s wonderful to see them.”

  Stephen smiled.

  “You miss your mum. I’ve heard you on the phone. For months on end.”

  “I do,” she said. “How was school?”

  “School,” he said, “was fine. School is fine. My mother, on the other hand . . .”

  “Our mother distribution is all wrong,” mused Rosie. “One needs to be closer, one needs to be farther away. What’s she up to now?”

  “Fussing and complaining. You won’t believe what that arsehole Roy Blaine has done now.”

  “Filed all his teeth down to points and started on an all-­baby diet?”

  Stephen gave a weak smile at this. Rosie went back into the kitchen. She was cooking mustard pork chops, her secret weapon in case Stephen was still sulking. Nobody could resist her mustard pork chops.

  “Worse, if you can imagine.”

  “I still can’t believe he can walk about in daylight without going up in smoke.”

  Stephen half-­smiled.

  “He’s saying that the cost of providing the new schooling up at the house means there isn’t enough money for the school repairs.”

  “WHAT?”

  “He said they’d planned to pay for school repairs out of money they would have saved while the children were at Carningford
. But with that not happening. . . .”

  “That is b.u.l.l.s.h.i.t.,” said Rosie. “That man is just such a terrible, terrible guy.”

  “He is.”

  “He’s actually evil.”

  “I know,” said Stephen. “I wish we could get him with a silver bullet. If I just crept into the crypt he sleeps in. . . .”

  “What are we doing to do?”

  “I don’t know,” said Stephen. ‘Mother is going to go crazy if we have to keep this up for much longer, you know. Little Lizzie McAllister broke some hideous stag thing by hanging her schoolbag off it. Mother went spare.”

  Rosie rolled her eyes. “Oh, God.”

  Stephen looked at her and at the pork chops.

  “Were you still trying to win me around?” he asked.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Rosie.

  Stephen smiled.

  “Well, anyway. On the topic of mothers. Mine has invited you all over to dinner tomorrow night.”

  Rosie nearly dropped her spatula.

  “She never asks us over.”

  “She does, actually. I just assume you won’t want to go.”

  “Oh,” said Rosie. “Actually, I would. I don’t feel you’re helping the situation.”

  “Well. Everyone’s invited.”

  “Even the children?”

  “Are they going to hang bags on stags?”

  “Hehe,” said Rosie. “Or stick their pens in hens.”

  “Or drop logs on dogs.”

  “Pork chops are burning.”

  “Normally I would say let them burn” said Stephen, caressing her shoulder “But not when it’s your pork chops.”

  ROSIE WOKE UP the next morning to the most unusual sound: the church bells were ringing. It was only Friday. As she came to, she realized that they were ringing out for Edison.

  She sat up, smiling.

  “Hester isn’t going to like that,” she said. “She’s a Kabbalist, I think. No, hang on, that was last year. I think it’s Mother Gaia this year.”

  “I like it,” said Stephen, glancing at his watch and groaning at the time. His back felt as if it were on fire; he’d hardly slept a wink. It was still dark outside. “Helps everyone get moving.”

  Rosie phoned Peak House straightaway. Everyone was up and had been since about five by the sound of things.

  “I’ll bring up second breakfast,” she promised, and put down the phone, still beaming at waking up with such good news. Stephen glanced again at his watch.

  “You know, if you don’t sink into that bath for the next forty minutes, I’ll come with you.”

  “You will?” said Rosie, unable to stop the look of delight crossing her face.

  “What? Why, what have you told them about me? Is this Beauty and the Beast?”

  “Heh,” said Rosie. “Um, no.”

  “Go on.”

  “I have told them next to nothing about you,” said Rosie. “Otherwise my mum would go totally nuts.”

  “So that means I’ll be in for the Spanish Inquisition.”

  “Yes,” said Rosie. “Is it really difficult for you, living in a completely normal world where you don’t know absolutely everybody, and Uncle Biffy wasn’t at Eton with SnooSnoo and Pubes, and everyone has a family tree and a signet ring on their pinky?”

  Stephen’s social circle and Rosie’s crossed as little as possible. Rosie was pleased sometimes that he wasn’t a massive socializer. It was entirely selfish, but it meant she got more of him to herself.

  “Yeah, all right,” said Stephen. “Get a move on, then.”

  ROSIE TRIED TO be a good person. She tried to think well of others. And she adored her family. They were just as good as Stephen’s—­better in many ways. She had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Angie had raised her and Pip single-­handedly with no money but with endless love and hard work and the occasional clip around the ear, seemingly at random. She had given them all the tools she had at her disposal, and Rosie was fiercely proud of her and loved her dearly, as well as admiring her for her lifelong hard work and unselfishness. She was proud to be introducing her mother to the man she adored.

  But did Angie really have to be wearing a fuchsia Juicy Couture tracksuit? With full makeup and earrings? And big old brown Uggs?

  Angie’s bright blond hair was scraped upward in a slightly odd kind of pineapple style, and she was wearing a lot of perfume. When the Land Rover stopped, she was standing outside the house with an odd expression on her face. For a horrifying moment as Stephen got out carefully from the Land Rover, Rosie thought she was actually going to curtsey. She glared at Stephen, daring his lips to even twitch.

  But being Stephen, he had immaculate manners and kissed Angie on both cheeks. She was completely speechless, a rare position for Angie.

  “Um, Mum, this is Stephen. Stephen, this is Mum.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hopkins.”

  “Oh, no Mrs. about it,” said Angie, looking awkward. Her voice sounded strange. Rosie suddenly noticed that the upward Australian inflection had gone. Was she trying to sound posh?

  “Oh no, don’t worry about little old me! Angie’s fine! And can I call you Steve?”

  No doubt about it. She was.

  Stephen managed to glide over the whole Steve thing completely—­he had never, ever been anything like a Steve—­ putting out his hand to shake Pip’s.

  “Hello,” they said to each other.

  “Pip, are you wearing shorts?” said Rosie. “You know it is snowing and everything.’

  “I know,” said Pip, looking down absent-­mindedly. “I don’t know what I was thinking. It was really warm when I packed.”

  “I can lend you some trousers if you like,” said Stephen.

  “Ooh, you’re SO kind,” said Angie.

  “I’m sure my brother can buy his own trousers,” said Rosie tightly, missing the amused glance Stephen gave her..

  “Where are the kids?”

  “Oh, they’ve been outside since it was light . . . Hi there,” said Desleigh, for whose straightforward, breezy Australian friendliness Rosie was suddenly very grateful. “They’ve never seen snow before. Kelly was furious that it was actually wet. She thought it was basically candy floss. Mind you it hasn’t stopped Meridian from eating about a pint of the stuff.

  “Let’s go around the back,” said Rosie. “They can meet Mr. Dog.”

  “His name isn’t Mr. Dog, of course,” said Stephen. “That’s a holding name. We’re actually calling him Reuben Macintosh.”

  “Yes, we’re not,” said Rosie, teeth firmly gritted.

  “Can I get you a tea? Coffee?” asked Angie anxiously.

  ROUND THE BACK was a cheerful sight: all three of the children, wrapped up in brand new snowsuits, were rolling around the garden. Mr. Dog ran up to them immediately to give them a good licking, and there were squeals of delight.

  “You’ve got a dog!” said Shane. “We need a dog. Our dog got bitten by a snake.”

  “And we’re not going through that again,” said Desleigh. “I had to hit it on the head with a spade.”

  “The dog or the snake?” asked Stephen.

  “Oh, the snake, yeah? They’re dangerous bastards.”

  “What happened to the dog?”

  “Yeah, then we had to hit the dog. There’s no coming back from something like that.”

  Rosie felt as if she were representing a family full of sycophantic animal-­hitting, shorts-­wearing imbeciles. Meridian came up and gave her another cuddle.

  “Hello!” she said. “We like the snow. Except, did you know? It’s wet.”

  “I did know,” said Rosie. “But you still like it, yes?”

  Meridian nodded.

  “Who are you?” she asked. Kelly wandered over to see what was going on.

>   “I’m Stephen,” said Stephen. “This is my house.”

  “I like your house,” said Kelly.

  “I BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE ON THE BED,” said Meridian.

  “Good,” said Stephen.

  “Then I fell of the bed,” said Meridian. “Ow ow ow. Sore. But I didn’t cry.”

  “You did,” said Kelly. “You cried a lot.”

  ‘I AMN’T!”

  “DID!”

  “AMN’T!”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter,” said Rosie briskly.

  “What do you do?” asked Kelly, still curious.

  “Do you know,” said Stephen, crouching down to her height, “I’m a school teacher.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “A boy school teacher?”

  Stephen smiled.

  “Yes, I know. there are some boy school teachers.”

  “Do you teach kids who are like my age?”

  “I certainly do. Would you like to come and see my school sometime?”

  Kelly nodded.

  “Actually,” said Desleigh, who was bespeckled with toast crumbs from Rosie’s second breakfast and filling her mouth with another slice as she wiped her hands on her dressing gown, “that’s a great idea. Chuck ’em in school for a few days and I can go out and enjoy myself.”

  “Um, yes, I don’t think that’ll be possible,” said Rosie.

  While Stephen was still explaining the mysteries of a male primary teacher to Kelly, Angie grabbed Rosie in a completely unsubtle neck hold.

  “HE’S GORGEOUS,” she hissed at the top of her voice, clearly audible in Carningford. “MILES BETTER THAN ANYONE ELSE YOU’VE EVER BEEN OUT WITH! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU LANDED SOMEONE LIKE HIM! MY LITTLE ROSIE!”

  “MUUUUM!” warned Rosie. Stephen didn’t look around, but she could see him stiffen.

  “WELL DONE, GIRL!”

  “MUM! . . . Um, I’ll see you later. We have to go.”

  Angie marched up to Stephen.

  “So . . . are you going to make an honest women of her?”

  Everyone froze then, even the children. Rosie could have dug a hole in the snow and buried herself in it forever.

  Stephen smiled a fake social smile that stabbed Rosie like a dagger to the heart and muttered something about being late.