The Christmas Surprise Read online

  ‘A what?’ said Rosie. Her heart was suddenly in her mouth, even though she had known this would need to be discussed.

  ‘A prosthesis. A false arm. They’re amazing these days. It’s not like he’s going to be Captain Hook.’

  Rosie tried to swallow but couldn’t.

  ‘Will it … will it fit over what he has?’

  Moray looked her straight in the face, clear-eyed but sympathetic.

  ‘No, Rosie-Posie.’

  There was a long silence. Apostil started to fuss, and Rosie picked him up and settled him against her chest, where he immediately nuzzled in.

  ‘They’re not …’ She tried to shake the wobble in her voice. ‘They’re not chopping bits off him.’

  Moray patted her on the shoulder.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘You have a little time to think about it. You’re a parent. It’s a big adjustment. And when the time comes, you’ll want to do what’s best. For now, please, Rosie, talk it over with the big man, then just enjoy your baby.’

  Rosie nodded, numb. She looked down at the little head, with its whorls of perfect black hair, and kissed it. The idea of the tiny form on a big hospital bed … giving him a general anaesthetic … Apostil not having the faintest idea what was happening to him, waking up without his arm …

  She choked slightly. Moray’s phone beeper went off. He glanced at it and cursed.

  ‘Another tinsel accident,’ he said. Quickly he pulled Rosie and Apostil to him. ‘Look, I have to go,’ he said. ‘But Rosie. Think. Think where you were in the summer, so numb and bleak. Think how far beyond what you ever expected to happen this is; how much better. It’s amazing. You’ve done so well, you’re so lucky. Don’t you see?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rosie in a trembling voice.

  ‘Well focus on that, then. Everything else in its own time, capisce?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I know. I know we’re lucky.’

  ‘You’re INSANELY lucky,’ said Moray. ‘Your beautiful healthy baby is going to be fine. And by the way, he’s lucky too. And so’s that stupid man of yours who absolutely does not deserve this.’

  Rosie smiled.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I know.’

  ‘Fine. Good. Right, I’ll see you later. Get as much sleep as you can manage. And a solid sense of perspective.’

  Rosie stuck her tongue out at him.

  ‘And go and make Lilian happy.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that,’ said Rosie. ‘I was counting on her being all for the baby when the rest of the village disapproved. But everyone else in Lipton has been absolutely amazing, so she’ll have to go the other way. You know Lilian.’

  Moray grinned.

  ‘I do. Tell her Hye’s a big fat racist and thinks you’re ruining the entire white look of the village.’

  ‘He SAID that?’

  ‘No!’ said Moray. ‘I’m just helping you with the gossip.’

  ‘That’s actually slander.’

  ‘I know,’ said Moray. ‘But he’s a terrible, terrible man.’

  Moray’s boss Hye, head of the GP practice, made Moray do all the work, took a huge salary, spent half his life on holiday, never made a house call and expected special favours from everyone in town because he over-prescribed antibiotics.

  ‘But he’s not a racist,’ said Rosie.

  ‘He’s chairman of the golf club!’ said Moray. ‘That is probably basically the exact same thing.’

  Rosie worked for the rest of the day, leaving Apostil napping in the sitting room, the baby monitor turned on to full, accepting gifts and good wishes and selling large amounts of selection boxes and a quick run on chocolate buttons, which she put down to people subliminally thinking about babies. Then she let Tina cash up and nipped off up to the care home, driving incredibly carefully on the icy roads.

  She took a deep breath as she locked the car, hugging Apostil close. She was looking forward to this.

  Lilian tried to pretend she wasn’t peering out of the window of the front hall, which had a lovely fire going and decorations all along the mantel, as well as a large tree filling the entire house with its beautiful pine scent. As soon as she saw the craggy old Land Rover pull up (Rosie worrying all the way how on earth they were going to afford a more suitable car), she made herself scarce as quickly as she could, which wasn’t very. She still walked without a stick, but not very far. Cathryn had suggested a walker, at which Lilian had harrumphed so loudly she’d woken Archie Geffel.

  She checked her lipstick, which had an infuriating tendency to lose itself in the cracks around her mouth these days, and made sure that her dress was nicely ironed, which it was, not that Rosie would notice. Her great-niece normally dressed like she’d got up with her eyes shut and had never heard of an iron; what on earth would she be like now she was a mother and had an excuse?

  The big, sonorous bell rang, and one of the nice strong young orderlies went to answer it. Lilian looked around for something else she could pretend to be doing so she didn’t give the impression of having done nothing for weeks but panic and wait and listen in utter agony to all the gossip. To make matters worse, Dorothy Isitt had actually been in to the sweetshop that morning, and had immediately rushed up to visit her mother, which she didn’t normally do. The pair of them had, infuriatingly, sat in a corner with their heads together, whisper whisper whisper, gossip gossip gossip, every so often glancing up at her. Lilian had known they wanted her to come over and ask them about it, so of course she point-blank refused to do so and had ended up so cross she’d watched Coronation Street and been found doing so by the girl who changed her bed, who immediately wanted to chat about it. Lilian liked to pretend she wouldn’t be caught dead watching the soaps, and now she wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without discussing the Barlow family.

  She heard footsteps in the hallway and tried to dampen down her excitement, but then, to her irritation, she heard a chorus of coos and the footsteps stopped. Curses! Sure enough, Ada Lumb, Millicent Miller and Carmel Smith had already gathered round, their hands stretching out towards the little bundle Rosie was carrying like three old witches trying to steal the power of youth, thought Lilian crossly. She had never had a child of her own – had only ever wanted Henry’s, couldn’t give a fig for the rest – but those women who had been mothers seemed, as age crept up on them and their faculties left them one by one, still to have a yearning deep inside to hold a baby, to feel the soft weight in their arms once again. It was one of the last things to leave them.

  Lilian made her way slowly to the door.

  ‘Don’t crowd that child,’ she barked loudly. ‘You’ll drown him with lavender.’

  Rosie looked up, her face tired and pale but somehow soft, happy, gentle and fuzzy round the edges with an odd kind of quiet, proud joy.

  ‘Aunt Lilian,’ she said softly.

  ‘Well bring him in,’ said Lilian. ‘He won’t be used to that cold air out there.’

  ‘He’s getting used to it,’ said Rosie.

  She moved quickly and kissed Lilian’s soft, powdery cheek, then gave her a hug. Lilian could smell Rosie’s shampoo, but also the mild, milky fragrance of the baby. They went into the sitting room together.

  ‘Needlepoint?’ said Rosie sceptically as she looked at the arm of Lilian’s chair.

  ‘It’s a great passion of mine,’ said Lilian, who had grabbed it hastily once she’d seen the Land Rover pull up.

  ‘Right,’ said Rosie, smiling. ‘Okay … are you ready?’

  ‘He’s only a baby, Rosie, not the second coming.’

  ‘Says you,’ said Rosie. ‘And he’s your second great-great-nephew!’

  ‘Well, quite,’ said Lilian. ‘The novelty factor has completely worn off.’

  Rosie was rolling him out of his blanket and his sling and his knitted overcoat, all the many layers she’d needed to take him out into the frosty Lipton evening. Woken up from his half-slumber, Apostil looked around, blinking, his mouth opening and shutting. He made his little mewing n
oise, then twisted his head round to check on his mother, who smiled at him. He smiled back, waved his good hand in the air and grabbed a handful of Rosie’s hair.

  Lilian gave an involuntary smile too. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t known what to expect, tending to think that he would be a little mite – the kind of baby you saw on adverts for charities. But this chunky, strong-looking little fellow with the huge dark eyes and the incredibly long eyelashes … well, he was something else altogether. He was …

  ‘He’s beautiful,’ she said, cursing her cracking voice.

  ‘I know,’ said Rosie, grinning widely. ‘It is a total bonus. Do you want to hold him?’

  Lilian sat down.

  ‘He’s huge. Are you feeding him too much?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rosie. ‘Cherry cola in the morning, then liquidised Mars Bars at night. Why, am I doing it wrong?’

  ‘Don’t be cheeky.’

  ‘I’m not being cheeky, you’re being cheeky. He’s a baby. He drinks milk. When he’s had enough milk, he throws up the rest. Don’t fret.’

  Lilian arranged herself carefully on the sofa, her legs looking very thin.

  ‘Go on, then.’

  Carefully Rosie propped him up on Lilian’s lap, Lilian putting her arms under his back to support him. For a long moment, he and Lilian regarded each other.

  ‘The older I get,’ said Lilian crisply, ‘the more surprising life becomes.’

  Apostil made a grab for her pretty watch.

  ‘Ah, you have an eye for quality,’ said Lilian. Carefully she lifted the little body towards hers and gave him a cuddle. Apostil twisted his head anxiously to look for Rosie, but she shushed him gently and gave him an encouraging smile, then quickly whipped out her phone to take a photograph to add to the seventy-five million she’d already taken. Angie phoned angrily if she didn’t get one every two hours.

  The other old ladies were hovering anxiously around the sitting room door, Ida Delia notable by her absence.

  ‘Come on in then, hubble, bubble, toil and trouble,’ said Lilian, and Rosie went forward to thank them all for all the knitting, then Cathryn came in, her ruddy face breaking into a smile as she implored Rosie to bring him by as often as she liked, it did everybody good to have a baby around the place, and Rosie promised that she would, and left on cloud nine, Lilian again making sure to stay in the hall, watching them all the way as they went. It was why Cathryn had built up the fire.

  Rosie was still floating on a happy cloud as she walked in through the front door. Even though she knew there was a long, hard winter ahead, there was still something about seeing the smoke puffing out of their little chimney that made her feel so happy and cosy.

  Stephen was sitting at the little table, frowning over a huge pile of papers.

  ‘Hello, love,’ she said, planting a kiss on his handsome head. ‘Too much marking?’

  Stephen sighed.

  ‘If only,’ he said. ‘Tea?’

  He put up his hands for Apostil, who was fussing, and patted him gently into his shoulder.

  ‘I’ll make it, I need to do his lordship’s bottle anyway. Oh my God, the girls at the home went NUTS for him, I swear.’

  ‘They want to drink his blood,’ said Stephen.

  ‘They do not! They just wanted to see a young face.’

  ‘Ha, and yours no longer counts.’

  Rosie stuck her tongue out at him.

  ‘Obviously not.’

  She let the kettle boil and pulled the bottles out of the steriliser.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Stephen. ‘You know we keep saying we’re going to have to sit down and have a serious chat about our finances?’

  Rosie’s nice, happy feeling dropped out of her body immediately.

  ‘Um, yeah?’

  Stephen held up a whole sheaf of bills with his free hand.

  ‘That time is probably now.’

  ‘Oh bugger.’

  She looked around.

  ‘What’s for tea?’

  ‘You mean supper?’

  ‘No, I mean TEA.’

  ‘Well, I thought if we had the difficult conversation about money, we could have fish and chips as a reward.’

  ‘Can we afford fish and chips?’

  ‘We can smash Lilian’s penny jar.’

  Rosie sat down beside him as he went through it painstakingly. It did not make happy reading. They didn’t have to pay a mortgage or rent on the house or the shop, but money that would have done that went to pay Lilian’s nursing home fees. They wouldn’t have told Lilian in a thousand years, but the fees had increased massively; to keep serving good food, to keep the home warm just seemed to get more and more expensive all the time. Their joint salaries from the sweetshop – Rosie made hardly any money by the time she’d bought stock and paid Tina – and Stephen’s teaching job, where he was still on the lowest rung, couldn’t cover their outgoings. And now they’d have to move into a large house with all its associated running costs, even if they were lucky enough to get it rent-free from Stephen’s mother, and neither of them was sure about that at all. Plus they needed to change the car, plus a million and one normal everyday expenses that Apostil had brought with him, plus paying off the credit card for Africa. And there was the debt they owed to Apostil’s home town: they’d promised to help rebuild and maintain the school there. Things were cheaper in Africa, and labour was inexpensive too – though not that inexpensive, with so many of the men of the village absent or simply untrained – but the money still needed to be raised.

  Mrs Baptiste, the head teacher at Stephen’s school, had immediately insisted that Lipton Primary twin itself with the school in Kduli, and had launched an African project – Stephen had already sent Faustine several pictures and hellos from the children in both classes – but they couldn’t rely on the kindness of the village to fund their pet project.

  They stared at the spreadsheet.

  ‘We could economise,’ said Rosie, after she’d put Apostil down. He’d complained about it and shaken his little fist, then resigned himself to his lot. Mr Dog had immediately jumped up from his snooze in front of the fire; he knew this was his time. She patted him absent-mindedly and he licked her wrist.

  ‘What on?’ said Stephen. He smiled at her. ‘I’d like you to have a new dress now and again.’

  ‘You can talk,’ said Rosie. ‘You don’t wear anything that’s younger than me. We could go own-brand for Mr Dog.’

  They looked at him; he’d perked up at the sound of his name. His fuzzy mop head tilted and little pink tongue panted enquiringly.

  ‘Neh,’ said Stephen.

  ‘And thank God we didn’t have to buy any clothes for Superbaby,’ said Rosie fondly.

  ‘You have to stop calling him Superbaby. You’ll say it somewhere out and about and get a reputation for being conceited.’

  ‘OR people will realise I’m right,’ said Rosie dotingly.

  ‘Anyway, the moment he realises you’re dressing him entirely in lemon-coloured wool, he’s going to throw a fit.’

  ‘We have time.’

  But they kept looking at the figures.

  ‘The best thing to do,’ began Stephen slowly, ‘is just to sell the cottage. In fact, I think it’s the only thing to do.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Rosie. She had been dreading this. ‘But would she agree? And how could we ask her to? She was born in this house.’

  If they sold the cottage in this current, buoyant market, they would be able to cover Lilian’s care for the future and take one of their burdens away.

  ‘Can’t we sell Peak House?’ said Rosie. ‘That would be better.’

  ‘Not allowed under the trust,’ said Stephen automatically. ‘It belongs to the estate. Plus, you know, Apostil is going to need his own bedroom one day. He can’t just sleep in Lilian’s old room. We’ve outgrown this place. We need to admit it and move to the Ice Box.’

  Rosie remembered her promise in Africa, never to keep
anything from him again. Even though Moray had said it could keep for a bit, she wasn’t going to do that any more.

  ‘There’s something else we have to consider,’ she said.

  ‘No fucking way.’

  ‘It’s just something we’ll have to think about.’

  ‘Well I have thought about it. He’s perfect as he is. I’m not having some butcher chop into him. I’m not putting a baby under anaesthetic. I’ve only got three good limbs, want to chop one of mine off?’

  ‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘But you’d do it to your son?’

  Rosie shrugged. ‘If it would be the best thing for him.’

  ‘Bloody doctors think they know it all,’ said Stephen darkly. ‘And where would all this be? Because it wouldn’t just be the op, would it?’

  Rosie shook her head.

  ‘It’d be rehab and appointments, and physio – for YEARS.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘Derby,’ said Rosie quietly.

  ‘The city.’

  Rosie swallowed.

  ‘You’re suggesting we go and live in the grotty city next to the hospital?’

  ‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s just … it’s just a possibility.’

  Stephen blinked.

  ‘Don’t you think he’s fine?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Rosie. ‘I don’t know.’

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning dawned on a black world crackling with rime frost (including on the inside of the windows, Rosie noticed with a shudder, snuggling back under the covers with Apostil for a few more minutes of warmth. She felt a stone in the pit of her stomach and for a moment couldn’t remember what it was. Then she did. It was everything. And on top of that, it was also time to visit her mother-in-law-to-be and introduce her to her new grandson. She thought wistfully of how in some families this would be a joyous occasion.

  She stretched out a leg into the freezing air of the room, and swore. It was pitch dark outside still, it felt totally wrong that anyone should have to be out in this weather. Then she thought of the farmers, who’d been up for three hours already doing the milking, and felt guilty. There were many, many harder lives than hers, that was for sure.