The Christmas Surprise Page 21

  Little clusters of seats and tables were being laid out, and a PA system was being set up on the raised area for speeches and the band. And there were, indeed, straw bales being dragged into a corner, Rosie was delighted to see, covered with tartan blankets. They were going to make an unbelievable mess, but they could worry about that after the festivities.

  Tina wasn’t there – Rosie had sent her packing to Carningford to get her hair and nails done in anticipation – but her mother, Jan, was overseeing, very cheerfully. She rushed up to Rosie.

  ‘Thanks for all this,’ she said excitedly.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t do anything,’ said Rosie. ‘It was just lucky something came together.’

  ‘It’s marvellous,’ she said. ‘I like it better than the hotel.’

  ‘You know,’ said Rosie, ‘so do I.’

  Jan, who had the same petite, pretty features as her daughter, leant over.

  ‘Now, about this ring-bearing business …’

  ‘It’s not going to happen,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m sorry. He’s just so young, he’ll swallow them or cry and just ruin everything. I am sorry.’

  Jan nodded, then brought out a parcel.

  ‘Well, even if he’s not doing it, we bought him a present.’ She handed it over, beaming. ‘You’ve done such a lot. We’d love him to wear this tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh no, I haven’t …’ said Rosie, opening up the parcel with a slightly sinking feeling; she had rather been hoping that his nicest babygro – the unbelievably expensive Tartine et Chocolat one Pamela had bought him – would do. Inside was a babygro in black and white, made up to look like a dinner suit, complete with black trousers, black jacket, patterned waistcoat, carnation in the buttonhole and bow tie.

  Jan grinned.

  ‘Isn’t it just totally and utterly perfect?’

  Rosie couldn’t say she didn’t like it; that it was even worse than the christening gown he still wasn’t going to wear. Instead she smiled and hugged Tina’s mum.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ she said. ‘If I manage to get him out the door without throwing up all over it, he’ll definitely be wearing it.’

  Rosie spent the day happily making paper chains, decorating trees, and bringing things in from the lorry. Small snifters of whisky were passed around after lunch to help with the cold, even though the heaters were gradually warming the place through. Rosie had had ample reason to be glad of her new coat, albeit grudgingly. Moray managed to turn up magically at the exact moment whisky was being handed out, and grinned to see her wearing it.

  ‘At last!’ he said, leading her out into the winter sunshine, as they clinked glasses. ‘Finally we’ve done it! We’ve turned the town mouse into the country mouse!’

  Rosie smiled sadly.

  ‘For now,’ she said, and told him about the Derby house she was going to see again, despite Stephen’s objections. He could shout and swear all he wanted, but it was going to happen.

  ‘Seriously?’ said Moray.

  ‘Seriously,’ said Rosie. ‘If … if, you know, we have to go through this with Apostil … then it makes sense to be near the hospital, even if we could find a place round here we could afford, which we can’t.’

  ‘I know,’ said Moray. ‘It’s almost like people enjoy living in beautiful, unspoiled country villages.’

  ‘That don’t even have Starbucks or proper broadband,’ said Rosie, looking at the sun prickling the frosted surface of the snow. Just a little way into the forest behind the hut, a robin hopped on to a twig, grabbed it in his little talons and flew away again. There was barely a sound in the air except the cheerful noises from inside the hut – Christmas carols were playing on the stereo – and the rustling of the wind through the snow-heavy trees.

  ‘I’ll miss this place,’ said Rosie suddenly. ‘All of it.’

  ‘You’re definitely going?’

  ‘We have to,’ said Rosie. ‘Stephen doesn’t see it yet, but he will. He’s just struggling against having to come round to what he knows is right.’

  ‘We’ll miss you,’ said Moray. ‘I can’t believe you’ve only been here three years. Feels like you’re really a part of the place. Most incomers it takes about … um, a hundred and fifty.’

  Rosie swallowed.

  ‘Well, we’ll be back to visit. We’ll have to, we don’t know anybody else.’

  ‘Oh, life moves on,’ said Moray. ‘And the snow will close the road, and you’ll be so busy with Apostil growing up, you’ll forget all about us.’

  Rosie shook her head.

  ‘No, I don’t think we will. Anyway, we’ll always be back for Lilian.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Moray.

  ‘So I don’t suppose you’re bringing anyone to the wedding?’ said Rosie, returning to a lighter, more teasing voice.

  ‘Actually …’ said Moray, grinning.

  ‘No way? You’re bringing Moshe?’

  Moray’s boyfriend only lived in Carningford, but Moray very rarely went out with him in public.

  ‘Well I had a think about it,’ said Moray. ‘And I thought, what better way to really, really annoy Roy?’

  Just as he said this, Roy’s horrible oversized Porsche appeared, its bodywork flashing against the snow. Moray and Rosie went quiet, watching as Roy parked up to look at the hut.

  ‘He’s not getting out!’ said Moray. Given their vantage point, sitting on a tree stump round the side of the building, Roy was unlikely to see them. ‘He’s checking everyone is working really hard, but he isn’t getting out.’

  ‘That’s because he’s a nobber,’ said Rosie. ‘Hardly a news flash.’

  “No, no, LOOK!’ hissed Moray, collapsing into giggles. Sure enough, through the side window they could just glimpse somebody else; somebody with long, expensively highlighted blonde hair. Pamela.

  ‘No way,’ said Rosie, clasping her hand over her mouth. The next moment, the two heads had moved together; they were patently snogging. ‘Oh. My. GOD.’

  Moray was puce in the face trying not to explode with laughter.

  ‘But their teeth might clash and start a fire,’ he choked.

  ‘Watch out in case they reflect the sun and kill you like a laser,’ Rosie said back.

  There was nothing to be done that wouldn’t give away their location. Rosie buried her head in Moray’s jacket to hide her eyes, but otherwise they just had to sit there and not move whilst sloppy kissing sounds reached them from the lowered car window.

  ‘Arrrgh,’ said Rosie. ‘I’ll never be clean again.’

  Finally, thankfully, someone came out of the hut to collect something, whereupon the Porsche immediately burst into action with a puff of exhaust, and, with a waved hand from Roy, sped off. Rosie and Moray burst out into loud laughter.

  ‘This is already a Really Good Wedding,’ said Rosie.

  ‘It is,’ said Moray. ‘Whilst you were hiding your face I took some pics on my phone.’

  Moray left for his afternoon calls and Rosie went back inside to help with the finishing touches. Strung out on the floor was a banner they had been making for the front of the hut. Rosie couldn’t help smiling. Huge cut-out letters, painstakingly stitched on by the church ladies, spelled out ‘CONGRATULATIONS TINA AND JAKE’, to which had been hastily added ‘AND ROY’.

  Halfway through the afternoon, another large car drew up, honking loudly. Rosie went out to see what the commotion was. Lady Lipton was sitting in her battered old Land Rover. Rosie went over nervously.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Have you seen Pamela?’ asked Lady Lipton, looking distracted. ‘I can’t find her anywhere.’

  Rosie plumped for discretion being the greater part of valour, and shook her head sadly.

  ‘Um, I don’t think so.’

  Lady Lipton examined the hut more closely, peering in through the open door.

  ‘What on earth is going on here?’ She indicated the walls, which were now so festooned with banners and lights it was hard to see the wooden panelling. ‘It looks like a tart�
��s boudoir. Are you opening a brothel?’

  She looked at Rosie with a look that suggested she would have absolutely no problem believing this.

  ‘Of course I’m not opening a brothel,’ said Rosie crossly. ‘It’s for Tina’s wedding.’

  ‘Who?’

  Rosie rolled her eyes.

  ‘My colleague and friend Tina. She’s getting married tomorrow.’

  ‘Is she? I don’t recall being invited.’

  ‘She asked if she could hold the wedding in your house, and you said no.’

  ‘Did I?’ said Henrietta distractedly. She looked at the hut for a little longer, and Rosie thought she seemed slightly wistful.

  ‘Well,’ she said eventually. Are we all sorted for the christening?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rosie. She had been thinking about this since the first time Henrietta had met Apostil, remembering how she had behaved. She didn’t want the gown, the fuss, the Lipton family burden. She would bless Apostil for his town and his community, but not for Henrietta. ‘But it’s going to be a blessing because he was baptised in Africa. We’re doing it at the wedding. Quickly and quietly.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Henrietta. ‘And afterwards?’

  ‘We’ll go to the wedding party,’ said Rosie. ‘At the scout hut.’

  Lady Lipton looked at her aghast.

  ‘But Lipton babies always have a drinks party at Lipton Hall. It’s tradition. It’s always been that way.’

  Rosie found herself uncharacteristically outspoken for once. She had had enough of biting her tongue with half the town; enough of the sideways looks, enough of the remarks.

  ‘Well you can do it with Pamela’s children then,’ she shot back. ‘The ones you really want.’

  And she turned round and stormed back into the hut, her hands shaking.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, before she’d even walked in. ‘I’m sorry. I talked it out with Diane, and—’ Rosie turned to him.

  ‘Do you know,’ she said, as calmly as she was able, ‘do you know they can reverse what we signed in Africa? Take the baby away?’

  ‘They’re a bunch of interfering busybodies.’

  ‘With the full support of the law behind them.’ Stephen nodded. ‘I know, I understand.’

  ‘Did you see your mates in London?’ asked Rosie. ‘Don’t ask,’ grimaced Stephen. ‘Was just a thought. Anyway, Mother called about the blessing …’

  ‘No. Don’t start with me,’ said Rosie. ‘I know she’s your mum, but this is the limit. They’ve basically made us homeless and now they want us to play happy families? No. I’ll do the christening for Lilian, but we’ll do it tomorrow. Without that fricking dress thing.’

  ‘It was my sister who made us homeless,’ said Stephen, his face pained.

  ‘Yeah, backed up by Witchiepoo.’

  Stephen still looked sad.

  ‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m sorry. But I have tried and tried with that woman.’

  ‘I know you have,’ said Stephen. ‘But Rosie, you’ve got a whole family that is just going to dote on Apostil – I can’t get your bloody mother off Skype. He’s going to have everyone from your side, all his life. And nobody from mine.’

  ‘Well tell them to come and visit us in the little Derby terrace,’ said Rosie. ‘See how often that happens.’

  ‘Can you stop?’ said Stephen, suddenly riled. ‘You’ve won, okay? We’re moving. We’re going to the hospital. We’re living in a city. I’m changing my job.’

  ‘How have I won, Stephen?’ shouted Rosie, at the end of her tether. ‘HOW HAVE I WON? Do you think I want my mother-in-law to hate my guts because I’ve only got one surname? Do you think I want to leave Lipton and end up in some sooty tenement, going back to stitching up drunks on a Saturday night? Do you think I want to spend the next two years sitting by our son’s hospital bed, praying that he’ll be all right? Or watching you come home to a shitty little house, exhausted from marking thirty-six kids’ exercise books every night? HOW have I won?’

  She sat down in exhaustion.

  ‘You don’t have to do this, you know. You didn’t know what you were getting yourself into last year. Some barren old cow with nowhere to live. It’s not too late, you know. You’re still your mother’s golden boy. You can crawl back. Live in the freaking east wing or something.’

  The colour drained from Stephen’s face.

  ‘You’d keep me from my son?’

  Rosie shook her head, shocked at her own outburst.

  ‘No. No. Of course not.’ She looked up at him. ‘But Stephen, it won’t just be you sacrificing everything for Apostil. It’ll be me too.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  After a sleepless night for both of them, Rosie opened the shop by herself on Saturday morning. She had completely forgotten – although Tina, typically, had not and had ordered up the stock well in advance – that there would be something of a run on sugared almonds to exchange as gifts, as well as the little wrapped jelly sweets that would be thrown out of the car. Although in her excitement at changing her by-the-book hotel wedding into a more down-home one, Tina had also cancelled the Rolls-Royce, so Rosie supposed she was just walking to the church now.

  It was a perfect winter’s day. The sun was shining but the snow still lay – deep and crisp and even, Rosie liked to think – across the fields, each melting drop shining like a diamond. The roads, though, had been cleared, so people coming from further afield wouldn’t have to worry about getting snowed in. With a heavy heart she had left the black-tie babygro out where Stephen could see it, hoping he’d know to get Appy dressed in it. He was an usher, so he’d have to be down at the church early.

  The shop was busy, which was a useful distraction, with mothers buying sweets for the little ones to keep them quiet in church, and boxes of chocolates being bought for the happy couple, as people decided that the vouchers that had been on their wedding list looked a little bit sad on their own. Rosie happily offered to wrap them in Christmas paper, thinking how pretty they would look under the surfeit of overdecorated Christmas trees. The vicar came in for his mints, of course, wearing his best dog collar and smiling cheerfully.

  ‘Is it true there’s going to be free fish and chips?’ he asked.

  ‘There is.’

  He beamed.

  ‘God does love a wedding.’

  Anton, formerly the village’s fattest man, came in. He was wearing a suit that was at least nine sizes too big for him.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Look at this! Don’t I look like an advert?’ He started to unbuckle his belt.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Rosie said, alarmed.

  ‘LOOK!’

  He pulled the waistband of his suit trousers slowly outwards. There was enough free space there to fit another person inside.

  ‘Look at you!’ said Rosie, pleased.

  ‘I thought you would like it! This is the first time I’ve worn my suit in three years. It was for the funeral of an old pizza buddy,’ he added sadly.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘Well, he’d had his time.’

  ‘Really? How old was he?’

  ‘Fifty-two,’ said Anton sorrowfully.

  ‘Well look at you!’ said Rosie cheerfully. ‘You’ve done so brilliantly!’

  ‘I know,’ said Anton, buckling his belt again. ‘So. Can I have a pound of fudge?’

  ‘No,’ said Rosie.

  ‘Please?’

  ‘No. You can have one small packet of Parma violets,’ Rosie said sternly.

  A last-minute rush meant there were just minutes to spare when she finally shut up shop and slipped next door. Stephen and Apostil had already left, but Moray and Lilian were there. Lilian was making up her face in the mirror. She was wearing a beautiful lavender dress, and a matching coat with a huge fur collar.

  ‘Is that real fur?’ asked Rosie.

  Lilian looked at Moray.

  ‘No-ooo,’ she said. ‘It’s completely imaginary. You’re actually looking at a raincoat.
Are you coming like that?’

  ‘Like this? In a black skirt and white shirt?’

  ‘You can never tell with your sartorial choices.’

  ‘Seriously? No, of course I’m not.’

  She disappeared crossly and got into the pretty black and white flowered dress she’d bought specially. Annoyingly, she couldn’t zip it up the side and had to get Moray in to do it.

  ‘Breathe in, Podge,’ he said.

  ‘Shut up!’ said Rosie. ‘For goodness’ sake, has no one got a good word to say about me round here?’

  Moray patted her on the shoulder.

  ‘You look beautiful. Like a goddess.’

  ‘Yeah, all right, all right.’

  She turned to face the mirror and started applying make-up.

  ‘You do look nice,’ said Moray, musing. ‘Pretty. Softer. Motherhood suits you.’

  ‘I don’t want to be soft!’ said Rosie. ‘I need to be tough!’

  Moray smiled and leaned forward, his face concerned.

  ‘Rosie, I got an email from the surgical team at Derby General. They need to start scheduling consultations. Darling, I hate to do this today of all days, but … it’s decision time. It really is. The longer you leave it, the harder it’s going to be for Appy to adjust as he starts to hit his milestones.’

  Rosie swallowed hugely.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s just … with so much going on …’

  ‘I understand,’ said Moray. ‘But there’s never a good time for any of this shit, I promise.’

  ‘I realise that.’

  She closed her eyes.

  ‘I’m so sorry you have to move,’ said Moray.

  ‘Oh well, fair’s fair. It’s Pamela’s house and so on.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Moray. ‘Spoiled brat.’

  ‘They’re both spoiled brats, those children,’ smiled Rosie. ‘It’s just I really fancy one of them.’