The Christmas Surprise Page 15

  ‘Joy Armstrong?’ said the woman, without glancing up from her iPad. ‘Derbyshire County Council? You’re expecting us?’

  Rosie’s heart skipped a beat in panic. She tried to think back over all the reams of paperwork they’d read and completed, piled up and filed on the tiny kitchen table. The council had mentioned that they would be sending someone round, but did they have a meeting arranged? She absolutely couldn’t remember.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I don’t have you in my … diary,’ she said lamely.

  Joy let out a short laugh.

  ‘No, we don’t tell you exactly when we’re coming,’ she said, as if this were totally obvious. ‘We need to see you in your normal environment. May I come in?’

  Rosie swallowed.

  ‘This isn’t an ideal time. I’m just leaving for work …’

  ‘Ah,’ said Joy, a concerned yet slightly pleased look stretching over her face. ‘Are you finding things a struggle?’

  ‘No,’ said Rosie, and threw open the door. ‘Come in.’

  As Joy entered, Rosie was suddenly conscious that the smell of dirty nappies was still in the air, and that the little front room, usually so cosy and homely, was looking cold and faded: the old chintz sofa, with its footrest that they scoffed at but which Stephen found incredibly comfortable for his leg on the wet days that swept in from the mountains and got into his joints; the old pictures of Lilian in her younger days, impossibly glamorous but probably in need of dusting; the nearly gone-out stove, the baby on the—

  ‘Is that baby on the FLOOR?’ said the social worker in horror.

  Rosie dashed to where Apostil had managed to kick off his blanket and get one of the buttons on his lemon and purple striped mohair jumper almost into his mouth.

  ‘Oh LORD! Normally he loves being on the floor, don’t you, Ap?’

  As if in response, Apostil felt the cold draught from the closing door, took one look at the tall, menacing stranger and burst into tears. Rosie did her best not to roll her eyes, knowing she was being observed. She felt hot and funny all over, as if she was being judged. Oh, she was being judged. Oh Lord.

  She picked Apostil up, being very careful to support his head properly, and gave him a cuddle. Apostil howled steadily into her shoulder as she patted his little back unsuccessfully.

  ‘Babies shouldn’t wear wool,’ said Joy, her face arranged into an expression of concern. ‘They can choke on it and die. Also you shouldn’t leave them lying on the floor.’

  She glanced at her iPad again. Rosie wanted to explain that he liked kicking on the floor, that normally it was very clean, that the fire had only gone down because they were leaving the house, and by the way it was the height of sneakiness to appear unannounced. But all she could choke out was ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ said Joy automatically, just as Rosie realised to her horror that there wasn’t a drop of milk left in the entire house.

  ‘I’ll just pop next door and get some milk,’ she said before she realised the words had left her mouth. ‘Taking the baby, of course,’ she added as Joy raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Do you pop out a lot?’ she said, tapping hard on her iPad.

  Rosie had never wished more fervently for a time machine to take her back ten minutes. Maybe twenty, so she could stoke the fire and get the milk in.

  ‘Never,’ she said.

  After about a hundred years, absolutely puce in the face, Rosie managed to produce two cups of tea and sit down.

  ‘So have you seen your health visitor?’ asked Joy, bringing out a questionnaire that seemed to be about a thousand pages long.

  ‘Um, yes,’ said Rosie. In fact what had happened was that Moray had come round to dinner, played with the baby, then said, fuck the health visit, everyone was clearly fine and they ought to save the local authority the resources, it was immoral otherwise.

  ‘Because it’s not in the file.’

  ‘Really?’ said Rosie, sitting stock still. She knew enough about NHS paperwork to suspect that she might get away with this one.

  ‘Who was it?’ said Joy.

  ‘I can’t remember,’ said Rosie.

  ‘Well, what did he or she look like?’

  ‘It was a woman,’ guessed Rosie. ‘That’s all I know.’

  Joy stared at her for a long instant.

  ‘Have you found yourself often suffering from memory loss since Baby arrived?’

  Apostil had settled down and Rosie gave him a cuddle.

  ‘Yes,’ she confessed, honestly. ‘All I think about is him. He’s called Apostil, by the way.’

  Joy sniffed, unimpressed.

  ‘Can you show me where Baby sleeps?’

  Rosie led her down the short passageway to Lilian’s room. It was very cold, and the cot was squeezed in between the bed and the wardrobe, with no room to pass.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Joy. ‘And you and your husband are where?’

  ‘Oh, we’re not married,’ said Rosie. ‘Yet.’

  ‘Now I’m not here to judge,’ lied Joy, ‘but it’s a fact that children do better from homes where the parents are married.’

  ‘Well, one, that’s a stupid fact,’ said Rosie. ‘My parents weren’t married. And two, we are getting married. Totally. Once we get a minute.’

  ‘And you sleep …’

  ‘Um, up in the attic.’ She nodded her head towards the ceiling. The pull-down staircase that led to the attic room was up just now, it being the daytime. Joy frowned.

  ‘You have ladders around the house?’

  ‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s not really a ladder …’

  She tried to pull the string down whilst still holding Apostil on her hip. This was, she realised belatedly, a lot harder when she couldn’t lie him on the floor like she normally did. She managed to skip out of the way of the swinging staircase just in time.

  ‘Ta-dah!’

  Joy marched up the stairs, her notable bottom blocking the way. Rosie tried to remember if she’d left anything on the bedroom floor that shouldn’t be there, and hugged Apostil tightly.

  ‘Your baby monitor isn’t on,’ said Joy imperiously, her voice booming from above.

  ‘That’s because I’m with the baby,’ said Rosie. ‘I normally only have it on while I’m up there. Otherwise a bird gets in and scares the life out of me.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘One time. One time we left the window open and a bird got in.’

  The large rump descended.

  ‘We don’t normally recommend having babies and birds in the same house.’

  Rosie bit her lip.

  ‘No. Me neither.’

  Joy looked around pointedly.

  ‘We’re thinking of moving,’ said Rosie quickly. Her fury at having her great-aunt’s lovely cottage sneered at was making her pink in the cheeks.

  Joy took Apostil off her without so much as asking her permission. Annoyingly for Rosie, he kicked and wriggled perfectly happily in the social worker’s arms.

  ‘Hello, Apostil,’ she said, as if she was talking to another adult. Apostil gave her one of his gummy grins. She looked at his arm carefully. ‘What are you thinking about this?’ she said, her voice softening a touch.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Rosie, pleased to be on safer ground. ‘Either we see how he gets on, or …’ her voice choked a little, as it usually did on this subject, ‘or we amputate very early and get him used to a prothesis as he grows …’

  She turned her face away. Joy nodded.

  ‘Well, you must choose what will be best for him.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ said Rosie, stung.

  ‘And what will that be?’

  ‘I … I don’t know yet.’

  There was a strained silence.

  ‘I’ll need to meet your other half,’ said Joy. ‘What time does he get home?’

  ‘About four thirty,’ said Rosie stiffly. She did not like to think what Stephen would make of Joy.

  ‘Good,’ said
Joy, handing back Apostil. Rosie breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Now, were you going to work?’

  ‘Uh, yes.’

  ‘And who is the child’s primary caregiver whilst you do so?’

  ‘Uh, me,’ said Rosie.

  ‘You take Apostil to your workplace? Has this been checked by Health and Safety?’ She glanced at the iPad again. ‘You work in a shop?’

  ‘Um, yes.’

  Joy pushed up her red glasses with one finger.

  ‘Is there any glass in it?’

  Rosie thought of the rows and rows of heavy glass jars on their high shelves.

  ‘Um, some.’

  ‘And anything he could pick up and choke on?’

  Rosie thought of all the boiled sweets and gobstoppers and hard mints.

  ‘Well, he’s not really at the picking-up stage yet …’

  They both looked at Apostil, who was making a bid for the buttons again. Joy’s face, which had seemed to be lightening up, darkened again like clouds moving in over the valley.

  ‘Well, you know,’ she said, ‘that will not do. That will not do at all.’

  Rosie wanted to swear. She knew it wasn’t ideal, but until they got settled and knew where they were living, there was no point making arrangements or looking for childcare they couldn’t afford. Appy liked being with her and she could manage him and the shop. Not for ever, but whilst he slept for half the day, she couldn’t see the harm in it.

  Joy made several marks on her iPad, then bid her a curt good day with an ominous ‘I’ll be back’-type remark. As Rosie opened the door, the vicar passed by, looking jolly and round of face as usual. He raised his hand to her.

  ‘Hello, Rosie! When are you coming in to sort out the christening, then?’

  Rosie narrowed her eyes.

  ‘Um,’ she said.

  ‘Lady L says she’s got it all arranged.’

  The hackles rose on the back of Rosie’s neck. They absolutely hadn’t discussed this.

  ‘Oh yes?’ said Joy. ‘It can be good, welcoming a baby properly into its community … as long as you introduce traditional elements of the child’s own background, if he is differently backgrounded.’

  ‘We’re discussing it,’ said Rosie. She didn’t necessarily mind the idea of a big party, but Appy had already been baptised. And she did rather mind the vicar and Lady Lipton getting together to cook the entire thing up.

  ‘Well, keep me posted,’ sniffed Joy.

  Then she was gone, the sound of a little white Metro puttering off down the cobbled street.

  Rosie kissed Apostil fiercely.

  ‘Oh Lord,’ she said, going back inside and closing the door against the cold wind.

  ‘Interfering old misery …’

  Lilian was rifling through the box of Milk Tray that Rosie had brought her, flinging the ones she didn’t like into the bin with a force that belied her age. Several of the old ladies had stopped by to say hello to Apostil and lingered, obviously hoping to hear the latest juicy gossip of which, Rosie had long learned to accept, she was often the focus.

  ‘Coffee creme,’ Lilian sniffed. ‘Who would buy coffee creme? Why do they still make it? Quality Street don’t do it any more, you know. Because it’s revolting.’

  ‘It’s my favourite,’ said Rosie. ‘Give it to me, don’t throw it in the bin.’

  ‘I’m training your palate. What kind of a sweetshop owner are you?’

  ‘One that’s about to get done by the Health and Safety Executive, unfortunately.’

  Lilian listened, puzzled.

  ‘But you take the dog in,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Yes, but they don’t know about that,’ said Rosie. ‘And anyway, I hide him out the back, so he doesn’t count.’

  ‘Right,’ said Lilian, who pretended she didn’t like Mr Dog then fed him cough drops on the sly.

  She looked at Apostil, who was snoozing gently and occasionally opening a sleepy eye as he was handed round from old knee to old knee. It was strange to think that most of these women – these grandmothers, great-grandmothers even – had once been mothers, had once held tiny bundles of their own; whispered soft words in little shell-like ears; paced floors in the early hours; fumbled with bottles and worried about colic.

  Now, with their earpieces and their thin white hair, and their thick glasses, it was hard to imagine the young mothers they’d once been. Ada Lumb had raised seven, all living, as she said proudly, five boys all alike, who had had their own children who looked alike too and at holiday times charged round the grounds of the home like a cloned army platoon. Ada pointed out cheerfully that the children shared the cost of the home, which was why she could end her days somewhere appreciably nicer than anywhere she’d ever lived before. Rosie, right at this moment, could see the point of that.

  ‘What about the house?’

  Rosie stared at the floor and mumbled something.

  ‘What? Speak up, girl. I haven’t got a hearing aid like that deaf old post Effie McIntyre.’

  ‘I heard that,’ said Effie from across the room. ‘If you’re going to gossip like a washerwoman, Lilian Hopkins, at least choose your targets. Or maybe you’re going doolally as well as deaf.’

  ‘She was a terrible tart, that Effie,’ went on Lilian with equanimity. ‘Tried to run off with an American soldier, but he sent her straight back. NEVER MIND, EH, LOVE.’

  Effie muttered something and went back to playing her internet Scrabble.

  ‘Well,’ said Rosie. ‘Stephen’s sister’s back.’

  Half the room leaned forward appreciably.

  ‘Pamela?’ said Lilian, pretending she didn’t already know. ‘Well well well. That rarely fails to set the cat amongst the pigeons.’

  Rosie looked around.

  ‘Can we go somewhere more private?’

  ‘Can we keep Apostil?’ said Ada. ‘For ever?’

  ‘I thought you’d have enough problems keeping up with your own grandkids,’ said Rosie, smiling. She glanced at the bell pull by Ada’s hand, and propped up a sleeping Apostil in the crook of her arm. Ada smiled a smile of pure happiness and whorled a curl on his warm little head.

  ‘I’ll be right outside,’ said Rosie. ‘Just holler or ring the bell if he gets too heavy, okay?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Ada.

  They found a quiet spot in the hallway by the fire, and Rosie explained all about Pamela coming back and Stephen giving up his inheritance.

  ‘You see,’ she said, ‘we were going to talk to you about … Well, we’re going to have to move. Probably. With the baby. And—’

  ‘To pay for me?’

  ‘We just need more space. We can rent your place out, you know, make sure we keep it for you.’

  Lilian looked out the window.

  ‘Hetty stopped by.’ She looked at her niece. ‘You know, Pamela probably won’t stay at Peak House for ever.’

  ‘I heard she had the builders in,’ said Rosie crossly. ‘Making herself the perfect home in the country. For one person to bounce around in all by themselves.’

  ‘Now, now,’ said Lilian. ‘No point in being bitter about something you never had.’

  ‘You can talk!’ said Rosie, and they smiled at one another.

  ‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘I know, you’re totally right, I shouldn’t even think about it. And anyway, we should probably move to town.’

  Lilian heaved a sigh and stared for a moment into the fire.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I wonder what Henry would say.’

  Rosie looked at her. Henry had a useful way of knowing exactly what Lilian would like.

  ‘Henry would say, you know, the cottage … it’s not my home any more. This is my home now.’ She looked around. ‘And you made it possible.’

  Rosie shrugged.

  ‘And now you need a home.’ She leaned forward gently and patted Rosie on the hand. ‘You can sell it, you know. You should.’

  ‘Sell your lovely cottage?’ said Rosie. ‘We were o
nly going to rent it out.’

  ‘Well you can’t live there, up a ladder. What are you going to do when Apostil starts crawling? When he needs his own room? When he starts eating my roses?’ She placed her hands in her lap. ‘No, it’s quite decided. You must sell the cottage and get yourselves somewhere more suitable, and some of the money can cover me here, can’t it? It’s never had one of those … mortgage thingies.’

  ‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘Of course we’d give all the money back to you, of course we would.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Lilian. ‘I know you’re not taking a proper salary from the shop. We’ll see what it will fetch, then what I need to stay here for another—’

  ‘Twenty years,’ said Rosie stoutly.

  ‘Year or so,’ said Lilian at the same moment.

  There was a pause. Lilian looked into the fire again.

  ‘I do miss him so,’ she said quietly. ‘I do so want to be with him.’

  ‘We will always take care of you,’ said Rosie softly. ‘And I thought we could do it without you having to give up your home.’

  ‘Well, you have a family now,’ said Lilian. ‘Nothing but trouble, I don’t know why you bother, much easier without.’

  Rosie grinned.

  ‘And that one is going to be cheeky. I can always tell. I know children. Plus you have that handful of a Stephen Lakeman to look after.’

  ‘I like doing those things, though,’ protested Rosie.

  ‘I know,’ said Lilian. ‘Anyway my mind is quite made up. And Angie agrees with me.’

  ‘What do you mean, Angie agrees with you?’

  ‘Oh, she’s on the phone all the time, blah blah, you know, Rosie’s house is too small, blah blah, you should really get rid of it, give her a foot on the ladder.’

  ‘She is AWFUL, my mother,’ said Rosie.

  ‘Oh no, she’s great,’ said Lilian. ‘Right. Get the estate agent in.’

  ‘But your lovely things …’

  ‘What, I won’t have a guest room wherever you go? You’re moving to Darkest Peru?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Well then. I shall see my things. And they are only things, not people.’

  She waved her hands as Rosie leant in to give her a hug. A shrill alarm went off in the sitting room and Cathryn marched past, a stern look on her face.

  ‘Well, somebody in this room is wet,’ they heard her say, as Lilian, smiling, shook her head, and Rosie leapt up to go and attend to things.