Christmas At Rosie Hopkins' Sweetshop (2015)
“The smell of lunch—roast chicken, it seemed—permeated the hallways, and the heating was cozy without being hopelessly overbearing, which Moray also approved of. Hot stuffy rooms spread infection; an open window here and there was a useful state of affairs. Blankets were dotted around to make sure nobody got cold. Edward Boyd was hovering anxiously. He would stay for the medical check-up then make his way home—alone.
“I grew up around here, you know,” said the old man suddenly. At times ...he sounded completely sensible.
“No you didn’t, Dad,” said Edward. “You grew up in Halifax.”
“This was a school,” said James. “Not my school, just a school.”
Moray glanced at the matron, who looked a bit surprised.
“It was a school, actually,” she said. “After the First World War. A boys’ school.”
“Maybe you played them at sport,”MoreLess
“I grew up around here, you know,” said the old man suddenly. At times ...he sounded completely sensible.
“No you didn’t, Dad,” said Edward. “You grew up in Halifax.”
“This was a school,” said James. “Not my school, just a school.”
Moray glanced at the matron, who looked a bit surprised.
“It was a school, actually,” she said. “After the First World War. A boys’ school.”
“Maybe you played them at sport,”MoreLess
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