The Christmas Surprise Read online

  Praise for Jenny Colgan

  ‘This funny, sweet story is Jenny Colgan at her absolute best’

  Heat

  ‘She is very, very funny’

  Express

  ‘A delicious comedy’

  Red

  ‘Fast-paced, funny, poignant and well observed’

  Daily Mail

  ‘Sweeter than a bag of jelly beans … had us eating up every page’

  Cosmopolitan

  ‘A smart, funny story laced with irresistible charm’

  Closer

  ‘Chick-lit with an ethical kick’

  Mirror

  ‘A quirky tale of love, work and the meaning of life’

  Company

  ‘A smart, witty love story’

  Observer

  ‘Full of laugh-out-loud observations … utterly unputdownable’

  Woman

  ‘A fabulously sweet concoction of warmth, wit and lip-smacking childhood treats’

  Candis

  A chick-lit writer with a difference … never scared to try something different, Colgan always pulls it off’

  Image

  ‘A Colgan novel is like listening to your best pal, souped up on vino, spilling the latest gossip – entertaining, dramatic and frequently hilarious’

  Daily Record

  ‘An entertaining read’

  Sunday Express

  ‘Part-chick lit, part-food porn … this is full on fun for foodies’

  Bella

  Also by Jenny Colgan

  Amanda’s Wedding

  Talking to Addison

  Looking for Andrew McCarthy

  Working Wonders

  Do You Remember the First Time?

  Where Have All the Boys Gone?

  West End Girls

  Operation Sunshine

  Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend

  The Good, the Bad and the Dumped

  Meet Me at the Cupcake Café

  Christmas at the Cupcake Café

  Welcome to Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop of Dreams

  Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop

  The Loveliest Chocolate Shop in Paris

  Little Beach Street Bakery

  Copyright

  Published by Sphere

  ISBN: 978-0-7515-5396-3

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © Jenny Colgan 2014

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Sphere

  Little, Brown Book Group

  100 Victoria Embankment

  London, EC4Y 0DY

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  Praise for Jenny Colgan

  Also by Jenny Colgan

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Introduction

  The Hopkins Family

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Acknowledgements

  Life is sweet with Jenny Colgan

  Chapter One

  Dedicated to the memory of Ali Gunn,

  1968–2014

  Introduction

  Okay, so normally I think, oh, introductions, these things are FULL of spoilers, and generally skip them.

  But whether you are a complete newbie to the world of Rosie Hopkins, or read the last one a year ago, I would say, honestly, read this bit. I won’t spoil a thing, and it might well be really useful.

  Now, I love a series of books as much as the next person. I grew up slavishly devoted to Malory Towers, the Chalet School, the Dark is Rising and the Chronicles of Narnia, and as an adult I am equally enamoured of Shopaholic, Game of Thrones, Rebus and so on.

  BUT. There is a problem writing books in a series. First of all, can people come straight in without having read the earlier ones? (For example, you’re always going to have a good time with In the Fifth at Malory Towers, whereas I’d really really recommend you start with the very first of the Gormenghast trilogy, and even after that concentrate quite hard.)

  And secondly, how do you quickly catch up when you have read the others? (Actually, Jen, believe it or not we do actually have other things to do in our lives apart from memorise the names and whereabouts of every single character in your novels. Seriously? You do? ☺)

  So, aha! Here is something I really hope will help: my as-yet-unpatented Colgan OmniSequeliser. Glance down the bold headings, and all your questions will be, hopefully, anticipated and answered, whether you’re a total newbie or you’ve read one or both of the previous novels (if you’re reading all three over a big weekend splurge, I grant you permission to skip this bit).

  SO. There is a summary of important bits, a full character list, a family tree, a map, and everything else I can think of so that I don’t spoil your enjoyment of the book by having a character walk by and casually dump tons of exposition on you like a dog having a spew. You know the kind of thing I mean: ‘Hi, Stephen, how are you?’ ‘Well I’m fine, thanks, after my terrible flashbacks to my landmine accident in Africa, triggered by that lorry crash at the school that gravely injured nine-year-old Edison, who’s also making a good recovery, thank you so much. How are you?’ I’m going to try very hard not to do that.

  Then I am off to market the Colgan OmniSequeliser to Dragons’ Den. Except that my favourite was sexy stern American Doug with the glasses, and he doesn’t do it any more. I don’t like Duncan, he’s creepy.

  Okay, time to put on my deep, dooming voice: PREVIOUSLY, in the world of ROSIE HOPKINS …

  Who are Rosie and Stephen?

  Rosie Hopkins was an auxiliary nurse working in London and living with her boyfriend Gerard when she had to move to a tiny village in Derbyshire to look after her ageing great-aunt Lilian.

  She was dreading it to begin with and thought she’d stay for five minutes, but she fell in love with the little town – and with Stephen, the son of the local posh family. He was shut up in the desolate Peak House, nursing a wound he’d received when he’d been working as a teacher in Africa for Médecins Sans Frontières (his father had wanted him to join the army, but he wouldn’t). He’d been blown up by a landmine that killed the two small boys he was with. The guilt had haunted him ever since. Meeting Rosie helped to lift him out of this, but it is still, sometimes, a struggle.

  His mother, Lady Lipton, has never quite forgiven him for following his vocation into teaching. His father died whilst Stephen was in hospital overseas; she knows she shouldn’t blame Stephen for this, but she does, a little.

  Rosie, on the other hand, has flourished in Lipton. She has revitalised the sweetshop and turned it into a magnet for town gossip and treats, and met many good and true friends in the little community (she has also made one or two enemie
s, including Roy Blaine, the evil town dentist). She still cannot get used to country ways, but she loves Stephen and Lilian so much, she reckons this probably won’t matter.

  Rosie and Stephen got engaged at Christmas – yay!

  What’s Lilian’s story?

  Lilian was born in the little cottage in Lipton that Rosie now lives in, and spent all her life there until very recently, when she moved to a really nice and very expensive old people’s home.

  When she was a teenager in the war, she fell madly in love with a local boy, Henry Carr. Their short but serious romance was blighted when they found out he’d accidentally got another girl – Ida Delia, Lilian’s erstwhile best friend – pregnant before he and Lilian got together. Being Henry, he did the right thing and married Ida Delia, a marriage that was not happy, before he was lost in the war. Lilian mourned him all her life. That marriage produced a daughter, Dorothy Isitt, who still lives in the village.

  Amazingly, last year, Henry was found: he had suffered head injuries and amnesia, and had started a new life on the other side of the dales. He and Lilian were reunited at the very end of his life, which Lilian mostly thinks is better than nothing.

  Who lives where?

  Lady Lipton lives in the huge crumbling Lipton Hall, which costs a fortune and is falling down. Stephen used to live in a tied house, Peak House, which belongs to his mother’s estate and is a formidable and draughty place on top of the downs. Now, however, he has moved in with Rosie. Rosie lives in Lilian’s tiny but cosy cottage, right next door to the sweetshop, and Lilian has moved to the old folk’s home.

  Who else is in their families?

  Well I’m glad you asked. There’s Angie, Rosie’s warmhearted, flirty mother, who brought Rosie and her brother Pip up single-handedly. She now lives with Pip and his wife Desleigh and their three children, Shane, Kelly and Meridian, in sunny Australia, and wishes Rosie lived there too.

  Stephen’s mother is Lady Lipton, feared doyenne of the town, who lives alone at Lipton Hall. She is snobby, difficult and looks down on Rosie. She does love Stephen really, but their relationship can be fractious. Stephen also has an elder sister called Pamela, who lives in America.

  And who are their friends?

  Rosie’s best friend in Lipton – and occasional colleague – is Moray, the handsome GP, who is still keeping his boyfriend under wraps, fearing village gossip more than is actually necessary. Moray and Stephen fell out when Moray didn’t want to go to Africa to work with him. They are (occasionally grudging) friends again because they both care about Rosie. Rosie sometimes uses her nursing experience to help Moray out in a crisis.

  Tina works in the sweetshop with Rosie, and is engaged to the lovely local farmhand, Jake. They are getting married this year too, and Tina is wildly overexcited about it. She has twins, Kent and Emily, from a previous relationship. Then there is Edison, a very literal nine-year-old who lives with his New Age parents and baby sister Marie in a cottage in the woods. Last year he was involved in a terrible accident, but he is healing well.

  How much time has passed?

  Rosie moved to Lipton two years ago, and this book opens after Christmas, when Stephen proposed to her. She has been pretty much on cloud nine ever since.

  So, now you are ready for The Christmas Surprise! But if there is anything you feel I haven’t covered, tweet me right now on @jennycolgan and I’ll endeavour to get back to you at full speed.

  My very very warmest wishes to you and yours over this festive season.

  Jenny xxx

  The Hopkins Family

  1 To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

  2 a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

  3 a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

  4 a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

  5 a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

  6 a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

  7 a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

  8 a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

  Ecclesiastes 1-8, King James

  I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.

  Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

  Chapter One

  Christmas was over. The baubles had been carefully wrapped, the tinsel packed up, the great tree that stood in the middle of the little village of Lipton, nestled amongst the rolling Derbyshire hills, taken down, its hundreds of white lights coiled away and stored in the old timbered attic of the Red Lion pub.

  The snow was still there; a cold Christmas had given way to an even colder January. At the Rosebury home where eighty-seven-year-old Lilian Hopkins lived, the snow made all outdoor walks and activities moot. Most of the residents played chess, knitted furiously, arthritis allowing, or watched television. Since the death of her erstwhile boyfriend Henry Carr on Christmas Eve, Lilian mostly looked out of the window, a small smile occasionally passing across her face. Henry had been the love of her life, her childhood sweetheart from the war years, who had comforted her when her brother Neddie had been killed at the Front; who had held her hand and made plans for the future after he was called up, who had kissed her fiercely down behind the churchyard where the wild roses grew. He had been her first and only love; her old, neat face and tidy bobbed hair never betrayed the depth of feeling that had once burned there.

  Meeting Henry again had been bittersweet: astonishing, wonderful and a strong reminder of time passed that could not be found again. But she had held his hand and been with him to the very end, and that was more, she knew, than many could say of the love of their life.

  Further down in the village, the little mullioned windows of the sweetshop were cheerily lit up against the dark and cold, the boiled sweets in the window display glinting and glowing, the bell above the shop tinging every time someone else gave up on their New Year’s resolution and slipped inside for some warming peppermint creams, or marshmallows to float in hot chocolate.

  And in the tiny back room of the little sweetshop, in the little sink installed there for washing hands and making tea, Rosie Hopkins was being violently sick.

  It had been, at least for Rosie and her boyfriend Stephen, the most wonderful Christmas ever. Stephen had proposed on Christmas Day. There had been tearful goodbyes to Rosie’s family, who were visiting from Australia, all promising to be back for the wedding, or at the very least insisting that their honeymoon should take place in Oz, which had made Rosie smile. It was hard to imagine Stephen lying on a beach taking it easy with a beer. Stephen was more of a striding about the moors with a stick type person, Mr Dog lolloping ridiculously by his side (he was a tiny mongrel who always seemed to make people laugh. Rosie and Stephen were both very sensitive about people making fun of him).

  They had gone back to work, Rosie to the sweetshop of course, which rang with the cheerful noise of children with Christmas money to spend, and Stephen back to teaching at the local primary school, which had two classes in its nicely restored building.

  The year was bright and crisp in their hands, freshly minted, and they were too, everyone so excited by their news and enquiring into their plans for the wedding and the future.

  Tina, Rosie’s colleague at the shop, who was also engaged, was delighted at their news. Rosie apologised for upstaging her, and Tina said, don’t be ridiculous, they were going for a hotel wedding, whereas presumably Rosie would be after the full massive affair in the big house, Stephen being gentry and everything, and Rosie had shivered slightly and thought that Stephen would hate that. His mother was something of a snob and very concerned about lineage, and she would want to invite everyone in the surrounding counties who was in Debrett’s. Rosie foun
d the whole thing madly intimidating, being particularly concerned that they’d make her wear family jewels that she would lose or break or something. The idea of that many people looking at her filled her with nerves anyway. She and Tina were very different.

  Stephen hadn’t really mentioned the wedding itself, beyond referring to her as ‘the wife’ – not that she had ever thought he was the type of guy who would have a lot of input into invitation design and all that – and she occasionally fantasised about them just slipping off somewhere really quiet and doing it, just the two of them, at Gretna Green or a little room somewhere.

  Then she thought of her mother’s face – and, worse, her great-aunt Lilian’s – if they tried to slope off somewhere, and how her nieces would react to her retraction of the fiercely extracted promise that they could be bridesmaids (although Meridian, who was three and something of a tomboy, had made her agree that she could be a boy bridesmaid, and Rosie had decided to attempt something along the lines of kilts). Well, they would have to put on some sort of a do. But for now she was revelling in the very sense of it, of being newly affianced, of waking up every day next to the man she loved so much and still couldn’t quite believe was hers. Let the snow fall, she thought. Everything in its own time.

  That, of course, was before she started throwing up in the sink.

  Tina, on the other hand, was having so much fun selecting stationery, choosing flowers and colour schemes and favours, and censoring speeches. Her wedding would be held at the Hyacinth, the local fancy golf hotel that served overpriced non-ironic prawn cocktail and usually had groups of loud red-faced men propping up the corner of the bar and complaining about foreigners. She was having a sit-down dinner for a hundred in the main banqueting hall, with a black and white theme for the guests, a choreographed first dance (Rosie couldn’t imagine what her charming but straightforward fiancé Jake would think of that) and just about every girl in the village as a bridesmaid.