Christmas at Rosie Hopkins' Sweetshop Read Online Free PDF

in. She and Rosie had always had something of a tricky relationship, although Henrietta was a dear friend of Lilian’s and was, of course, Stephen’s mother, so Rosie always felt she should make more of an effort. Before Stephen had gone off to work in Africa, he had had a terrible row with his father. His mother had taken his father’s side. When Stephen was in a military hospital in Africa, his father had had a heart attack and died. Stephen’s relationship with his mother had been very up and down ever since.
    Today, Lady Lipton was looking even more imperious than normal.
    â€œCough drops?” said Rosie promptly, even though she knew that Lady Lipton fed them to her dogs, which she shouldn’t really do. A flash of panic grabbed at her heart. What if Lady Lipton didn’t like Angie? Because Angie had absolutely no problem telling ­people exactly what she thought of them, and if she thought this woman wasn’t being nice to her, there was no telling what she would do. And, she thought with a sinking heart, how would Stephen behave? She loved him with every fiber of her being, but he wasn’t like her ex, Gerard, who liked to please and get along with everyone. Stephen’s family had been always been a bit wobbly, and joining in family games and meals with everyone would not be the kind of thing he would want to do at all. . . . Oh Lord.
    â€œWhat’s the matter with you?” said Lady Lipton. “You look like someone’s just thrown up on your slippers. Are you pregnant?”
    Sometimes, thought Rosie, living in a small village where everybody knew everybody’s business was not at all what it was cracked up to be, especially when that knowledge was wrong.
    â€œNo,” said Rosie.
    â€œOh, good’ said Lady Lipton, without indicating whether this was because she didn’t approve of her being with her darling boy. “Now, listen. Wonderful news! Bran’s had a litter!”
    â€œI thought he was a boy dog.”
    Lady Lipton looked at her scornfully.
    â€œHe’s SIRED a litter.”
    â€œSo, more cough drops then?”
    â€œAnd,” went on Lady Lipton, “I’m giving one to you and Stephen. As a Christmas present.”
    â€œI thought you couldn’t give dogs as Christmas presents,” said Rosie, shocked.
    â€œYes, it’s political correctness gone mad,” said Lady Lipton, which was her stock response to literally anything on earth that wasn’t exactly how it had been when she was eleven years old. “Anyway, would you prefer a dog or a bitch?”
    â€œBut we don’t have space for a dog!” said Rosie. “Or time to look after it . . . or . . .”
    Lady Lipton looked at her as if she were completely incapable of understanding how a person could not want a dog—­which was, indeed, exactly her state of mind. Her face clouded over. Rosie felt she’d said something akin to “I eat babies.”
    â€œWell, perhaps I’ll mention it to Stephen,” said Lady Lipton stiffly.
    Rosie ran out of steam.
    â€œOf course,” she said meekly, bagging up the cough drops.
    It wasn’t, she thought, as the door banged heavily behind her, that she didn’t like dogs; of course she did. But she’d grown up without any pets at all, not even a fish, as they didn’t really have anywhere to keep it, and the dogs she was familiar with were one or two really dangerous-­looking pit bulls on the estate, dogs whose owners swaggered up and down with them, letting them shit in the middle of the street, then eyeing passers-­by as if daring them to suggest they clean it up. And the idea of having their little house filled with a big dog—­Bran was undeniably a big dog—­who would make Lilian’s nice things dirty and put muddy paw prints everywhere and need endless walks and those cans of stinky food and . . . Rosie sighed. Oh, and