The Christmas Surprise (26 page)

‘Well,’ said Stephen, sitting down heavily in the armchair by the fire, as Rosie finished taking the dishes into the kitchen. ‘WELL.’

Rosie came back and sat on his lap – the good side. She kissed him on the side of the head.

‘What’s that for?’ he asked, stroking her hair, pleased.

‘For not being like your sister,’ she said.

‘Poor old Pam,’ said Stephen. ‘But she always felt pushed out … because she wasn’t the boy.’

‘You’re the one they sent away to school.’

‘Oh, they sent us both away,’ said Stephen. ‘I swear my parents were the kindest dog breeders you can possibly imagine. And they ran the nicest, cleanest, most loving stables in three counties. I just do not know what on earth they thought they were doing when the time came for them to have children.’

Rosie shook her head.

‘Well, you turned out all right.’

‘And you, dear girl,’ said Stephen, kissing her, ‘are just about the only person on earth who thinks that.’

‘Lilian likes you.’

‘She does, but I wouldn’t say she’s blind to my flaws, or anybody else’s come to that.’

‘She wants us to sell the house. And keep some of the money.’

‘No,’ said Stephen, his eyes flying open. ‘No she doesn’t. Not her lovely cottage.’

‘She was insistent. Said it’s only stuff.’

Stephen shook his head.

‘What are we going to do?’

Rosie looked down. ‘Well, we could …’

‘What?’

‘Well, I mean … if we were going to be spending a lot of time at the hospital … and houses are much cheaper there. I mean,
much.’

‘Move to the city?’ said Stephen, looking horrified. ‘Seriously? Move into a smoky, cramped city?’

‘Bits of it are lovely,’ said Rosie loyally. She came from a city, she wasn’t quite as anti the idea as everyone else out here.

Stephen stared straight ahead, as if imagining a different life.

‘Maybe a cute little terrace?’ said Rosie. ‘Near the hospital.’

Stephen’s jaw looked stiff.

‘Oh yes, that unavoidable place where we’re so desperate to shove Apostil to get chopped up.’

‘We can talk about it later,’ said Rosie, anxious not to
wind him up. It had been a stressful day all round. There was time to decide. They had a lot of adjustments to make; all of them, basically.

‘It does slightly suck not having any money,’ said Stephen.

‘Mmm,’ said Rosie, who had never had any, nor any expectation of having any, so didn’t think the same way.

‘God,’ Stephen said suddenly. ‘You know, Pamela’s planning to spend all that money she earned – all of it, tons of it, enough to run six thousand schools in Africa, or redo Mum’s roof a hundred times – on ridiculously expensive curtains she saw in a magazine. She has never offered to share a penny of it. Not that I want it, but. You know.’

Rosie nodded.

‘But she doesn’t seem too happy. Whereas Lilian was positively cheerful.’

‘Hmm,’ said Stephen. ‘Are you giving a moral lecture, by any chance?’

Rosie smiled.

‘Would you like to balance it up by doing something extremely immoral to me?’

‘Yes,’ said Stephen. ‘Before that baby wakes up and we all have to move into the Land Rover, I really think I would.’

The next day in the shop passed slowly, with occasional hiccups from Tina. At three, the bell above the door jangled with unseemly force, and Lady Lipton pushed her way inside. Rosie started nervously.

‘Um, hello,’ she said.

‘Have you seen my daughter?’ demanded Henrietta without so much as a good afternoon.

‘Isn’t she at Peak House?’

‘She isn’t answering her bloody phone. She can’t just go knocking down walls, she needs proper surveyors and stuff.’

‘Lady Lipton?’ said a quiet voice. ‘Um, excuse me, Lady Lipton?’

Henrietta looked round from where she was examining the Fry’s Chocolate Creams, as if she’d been summonsed by a mouse. Finally her gaze rested on Tina.

‘What?’ she snapped.

‘Um …’ Tina’s face was a picture of misery as she twisted her fingers in her apron. ‘Um, ma’am … I was … I was supposed to be getting married in the Hyacinth …’

Lady Lipton raised an eyebrow.

‘Insurance job. Don’t you think, Rosie?’

‘Not a clue,’ said Rosie hurriedly.

‘And I was wondering …’ went on Tina. ‘It’s … it’s in two weeks and … Well, I was wondering if …’

‘Spit it out, girl.’

‘If we could maybe use your house … I mean, just a bit of it … I mean …’

‘Oh. No,’ said Lady Lipton, handing over money for the chocolate bar.

‘She was just wondering if you might be able to help with an alternative,’ said Rosie, stung by her rudeness. ‘She was only asking.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Lady Lipton. ‘And I’m only saying. No. She can’t. Weddings are a big pain at the best of times, without half the local farming establishment getting their muddy boots on my chesterfields. I’ve no heating, no loos, no catering … It’s bad enough having to think about my own son’s wedding.’

‘Is it?’ said Rosie quickly, startled.

‘And of course we’re having the christening on Christmas Day.’

‘Are we?’

Henrietta looked at Rosie over the top of her glasses.

‘It’s already sorted with the church. He can wear Stephen’s christening gown.’

Over my dead body, thought Rosie.

‘So as you can see, I have quite enough on my plate. I would have thought you all did. Good day.’

And she swept out of the shop in her usual imperious fashion, like a galleon cutting through stormy seas.

Tina collapsed in tears yet again. Rosie put her arms around her.

‘Hush,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry.’

‘Don’t worry? I’ve got a hundred people turning up in two weeks’ time!!! And a church service and no reception!’

Rosie gave her a cuddle.

‘Look, if we have to have it round your mum’s, we will.’

‘It’s a three-bed semi!’ said Tina, still in floods.

Another thought struck Rosie.

‘Oh, we could have had it at Peak House … if Stephen still had Peak House,’ she finished lamely.

‘That place is cold,’ said Tina.

‘Hey!’ said Rosie. ‘Trying to help here. Can’t you cancel?’

‘We’ve paid the deposit for the photographer and the flowers and everything,’ said Tina, snivelling. ‘There’s a juggler and mime artistes, and a lighting operator …’

‘Seriously?’ said Rosie. ‘A lighting operator?’

‘For ambience,’ sniffed Tina. ‘You can’t really have a wedding without it.’

‘Oh,’ said Rosie. ‘I wasn’t aware of that.’

They sat in silence for a while, punctuated by occasional sniffles from Tina. Then the bell tinged again, and Edison came in.

Rosie took a while to clock that it was him.

‘Um, hello, Edison.’

He was wearing a slightly skew-whiff beret, a blue shirt with buttons done up and badges on the arm, and a tight belt. He appeared to be carrying a rolled-up flag.

‘Uh, what are you doing?’

In answer, Edison clicked his heels together and saluted.

‘Boys’ Brigade, ma’am.’

Rosie broke into a smile.

‘Seriously?’

‘Yes, ma’am! Atten-HUT!’

‘But isn’t that …’

‘It’s quas-miltree,’ nodded Edison, blinking through his glasses as if he’d anticipated the question. ‘Hester is furious.’

‘That’s a new development,’ said Rosie. ‘So why are you going?’

‘Dr Moray says I need the drills,’ said Edison. ‘Good for spinal development.’

‘Does he now?’ Rosie smiled to herself. It sounded exactly like Moray, trying to give Edison some kind of a normal social life outside the world of school, the social rules of which he found somewhat difficult to follow.

‘And my dad thinks it’s a good idea.’

‘I like your dad,’ said Rosie. ‘Are you enjoying it?’

Edison’s brow furrowed and he lowered his voice.

‘Some of the mean boys at school … they laugh at my uniform.’

‘Well don’t wear it to school,’ said Rosie.

‘Hester says if I want to be a warmongo I need to show everyone.’

‘Mmmm,’ said Rosie. ‘Edinburgh rock?’

Edison nodded fervently. He was unswervingly loyal to his favourite brand.

‘And then can you sponsor me?’

Poor old Rosie had, of course, sponsored every child in the village. As, to be fair, had everybody else. They had all gone into fund-raising for the African school with a will. Cars were being cleaned on a daily basis, grass cut and errands run; and everyone was getting pleasantly used to mass silences, and the sight of clusters of children dressed up as bears. Rosie tried to keep it economical as she signed Edison’s raggedy sheet for sponsored marching.

‘Is this Boys’ Brigade too? Where is it held?’ she asked as she put away her purse, then fetched the glass jar of Edinburgh rock she kept within easy reach. ‘Is it at the church?’

‘No, that’s Beavers,’ said Edison. ‘We hate Beavers and will shoot them with our muskets.’

Rosie looked at him.

‘You know, I wonder if Hester hasn’t got a point.’

‘Where is it?’ asked Tina, in a voice slightly brighter than before.

‘At the scout hut,’ said Edison, his voice muffled by
the insertion of a large stick of rock into his mouth. ‘Down the other side of the village.’

The girls both fell silent.

‘They still use that place?’ said Tina, sounding slightly out of breath.

‘Hang on, that place Lilian used to go to dances?’ said Rosie. ‘It must be falling down.’

‘It lets in a lot of rain,’ said Edison. ‘Helps us pretend to be REAL soldiers on a deadly battleground. Where it is raining.’

Rosie and Tina swapped significant looks.

‘I think we may be down to look at that later,’ said Rosie.

‘I think we may,’ said Tina.

They left Jake with the twins and marched forward into the frosty Lipton night, Apostil wrapped up papoose style on Rosie’s chest, his little fists clenched tightly.

They walked down the main street, their boots clicking on the cobbles, their breath steaming in the cloudy air. They waved to Malik as they passed, who waved back cheerily, still open for another few hours until everyone was home and nobody needed anything – there was almost nothing he didn’t stock, and he was very generous with his change when they were in a tight spot. Past Mrs Manly’s boutique, which was showing for
winter a stupendously large purple quilted coat, embroidered with a picture of a wolf howling at the moon. It was hundreds of pounds and so completely a one-off that Rosie was desperate for someone to buy it, which she felt was rather cruel of her.

Past the Red Lion, where a couple of farmers were anxiously swapping tips about the cold snap, and how to stop sheep from lambing too early if they got a brief thaw; two dogs ran about having a tussle before being called to heel by their masters.

Past the market cross, and the bakery, which opened early and closed after lunch, or whenever they’d sold the last jam doughnut of the day, when perky, round-cheeked Mrs Arknop would disappear mysteriously at the same time as the milkman, Joe Longbottom. Both of them were well into their fifties, but, Rosie’s doings aside, sometimes the village could be a little low on gossip.

Past the school, its Christmas paper chains hanging from every available wall space, and great sheaves of holly round the door, looking less like decoration and more like the head teacher was trying to ward off evil spirits, the jolly shining berries protection against the darkness of the very depths of the year. Sprinkled above, like fairy threads, was light, delicate mistletoe.

‘Good luck to witches trying to get in there,’ observed Rosie.

‘It’ll keep Lady Lipton out,’ grumbled Tina.

Rosie craned her neck to see if she could see Stephen, his large head bent over, marking exercise books as he often did in the evening, unwilling to clutter up their little home or bring work into the cottage when he would rather be lying on his back rubbing Apostil’s sturdy little shoulders and being licked by Mr Dog. He wasn’t there.

Past the pretty steepled church with its kissing gate, and rainbow paintings by children in the information case, which made Lilian sniff and declare that a few more parish meetings and a few fewer rainbows might actually be a bit more useful. No lights burned in the vestry, so the vicar was probably out and about on his rounds (‘Biscuit-scrounging more like,’ Lilian would growl, before lauding the austere habits of the Pope once again).