Christmas at Rosie Hopkins' Sweetshop by Jenny Colgan Read Free Book Online

two!” howled Rosie. “It’s already tricky enough. They’re coming about eighty thousand miles to see you and have a lovely Christmas, which means we all have to be there and have a lovely time.”
    â€œEating in a circle on the floor,” said Moray.
    â€œYOU are not invited!” said Rosie. “What do you do at Christmas anyway?”
    â€œGo to Carningford and spend ten hours telling my parents why I haven’t met the right woman yet,” said Moray with a last longing look at the menu.
    â€œI cannot understand why a sensible medical man like you, not exactly in his first flush of youth, still can’t come out to his parents,” said Rosie.
    â€œAnd that,” said Moray, “is the one thing I envy you about growing up in London.”
    Lilian had calmed down.
    â€œIt will be lovely to see Angie,” she said.
    â€œIt will,” said Rosie firmly.
    â€œAnd I need to thank her,” said Lilian.
    â€œI know, it’s such a long way to come.”
    â€œOh no, no no, not about that,” said Lilian. “That’s going to be a nightmare, clearly.”
    Rosie rolled her eyes again.
    â€œWhy then?”
    â€œFor bringing you to me, of course.”
    O UTSIDE IT HAD started to snow again, gently. Moray looked up at the sky and groaned.
    â€œOh, but it’s lovely,” said Rosie.
    â€œIt’s deadly,” said Moray. “It means our district nurse has to check in on all the old folks, make sure they’ve turned on their heating and that they have someone to get to the shops for them.”
    Rosie looked at him.
    â€œWas that a hint?”
    She helped out from time to time. She had hoped it would help her fit in and become more a part of the community. But it didn’t really seem to work at all; ­people still saw her as the London interloper, so she still got a bit of the cold shoulder. Moray had told her this would probably start getting better in about three generations’ time.
    â€œWell, you’re snowed under with this family visit . . .”
    â€œNot quite yet,” said Rosie. “Just say the word. I’ll fit it in.”
    S HE RELIEVED T INA to go and pick up the twins, then set about dealing with the after-­school rush—­plus, with the snow, a huge pick-­up on lozenges and cough drops—­making sure she asked after her older regulars. Then, at five, she tinkled the bell and set about cashing up. Often she let Tina do it, but she liked to keep an eye on it, though Tina was so accurate that it made her job much easier anyway. She ran her eyes over the figures. They were good—­the shop was busy and flourishing, but even so, by the time she’d bought stock and paid Tina and the bookkeeper and the tax man, there wasn’t a lot left over. What there wasn’t, she thought, looking at it, was enough to pay for a week at the Red Lion for Pip, Desleigh and the kids. (They would be in Lipton for a week and would spend the rest of the time sightseeing and visiting other cousins.) Which meant she was no closer to fixing the problem. She glanced at her calendar. Five weeks till Christmas.
    W HEN R OSIE ARRIVED home, the smell of the stew making a warming greeting—­she slow-­cooked as many of their meals as possible with the reasonable assumption that as she worked next door, she would smell it if the house caught fire. It meant she could buy the cheapest cuts of meat from the local butcher, and they would still taste ambrosial if slow-­cooked long enough.
    But there was another smell in the air, she thought. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. And then, in the next moment, a strange noise, like the tiny pattering clip-­clop of nails on a polished wooden floor.
    â€œHello?” she shouted.
    She heard Stephen’s careful tread come through from the tiny doll’s-­house kitchen. He had a bottle of red wine in one hand, which