Read Christmas at Rosie Hopkins' Sweetshop for Free Online Page B

surprising; Rosie had led the whip-­round the previous year to buy the place a Nespresso machine. Matron had confided in her later that its installation had raised the number of visitors significantly. “What news?”
    â€œHow’s life here?” said Rosie. “Because it looks to me like you’re rather enjoying yourself.”
    Lilian did her best to disguise a smirk.
    â€œNo, no, not at all, abandoned in the depths of despair, as you well know. Sad, alone, unwanted, without visitors, nothing to live for . . .”
    Rosie rolled her eyes.
    â€œWell, actually. About that. Angie’s coming over.”
    Lilian’s face lit up. She had always been particularly fond of her niece, a pretty, headstrong type. If Angie wanted to do something, she just did it. Which sometimes worked out well—­Australia—­and sometimes badly—­Rosie barely knew her father. But on balance, Lilian thought, it was always easier to regret the things you had tried in life that had gone wrong rather than the things you hadn’t. She knew that better than anyone.
    â€œOh, MARVELOUS!” she said. “I must tell Ida Delia.”
    â€œLeave off that poor woman,” said Moray. “Hasn’t she suffered enough?”
    â€œNo,” said Lilian shortly.
    â€œThat’s not all,” said Rosie quickly. “Pip’s coming too. And Desleigh, his wife—­”
    â€œWhat kind of a name is Desleigh?” said Lilian.
    â€œWell, her father was called Des and her mum was called Leigh,” explained Rosie. “You could think that was rather sweet.”
    â€œIt’s repulsive,” said Lilian.
    It was going to be a long four weeks, thought Rosie. And she hadn’t even told Stephen yet.
    â€œ . . . and their children,” she said.
    Lilian perked up. She liked children, which was to say, she liked well-­behaved, interesting children. Rosie privately wondered if Shane, Kelly and Meridian were going to fit those parameters.
    â€œWhere are they going to stay?” asked Lilian with a frown.
    â€œI’m not sure,” said Rosie. She wasn’t even close to figuring this one out. Peak House, Stephen’s old home, was empty. It was also right on the top of a very bleak mountain, and absolutely freezing cold, and impossible to get to without a car.
    â€œIf this snow keeps up, in the village hall, probably.”
    If worst came to worst, she had thought Pip and Desleigh could sleep in the living room, she and Angie could share her room, the children could take Lilian’s, and Stephen could go back to his mother’s. This would have the added bonus of pleasing absolutely nobody.
    â€œIt’s going to be a long time cramped up in the cottage,” prophesied Lilian. “Well, if it’s easier on everyone, I can stay here.”
    â€œYou can’t stay here!” said Rosie. “It’s Christmas!”
    Lilian’s eyes sidled toward a menu placed on the top of the coffee bar. C HRISTMAS M ENU it said. Rosie picked it up.
    â€œChampagne sorbet? Oysters? Goose or roast topside of beef?”
    Lilian looked slightly wistful.
    â€œWhat IS this?”
    â€œWell, the local cookery school has a lot of kids from bad homes and so on. One of those Jamie Oliver charity projects. So they come here on Christmas Day and cook for us.
    â€œGive me that,” said Moray, running his eye down it.
    â€œGoose fat roast potatoes? Ginger pig chipolatas? Chocolate and raspberry bavarois? That’s it, I’M coming. Okay, Lilian, at about eleven forty-­five on Christmas Day, I want you to feign stomach pains, okay? NOT chest pains—­that’s an ambulance job, they’ll bypass me completely. Just stomach pains. Pretend you don’t want me called out on Christmas Day. That will make it more realistic.”
    Lilian nodded and looked around for somewhere to jot this down.
    â€œPack it in, you