The Christmas Surprise (31 page)

‘Managed what?’ said Pamela, whose eyes looked sleepy, but still magnificent.

‘To get him to give us the venue for the wedding, of course! You pretending to flirt with him was a masterstroke. Well, that and whatever that terrifying drink was.’

Pamela still looked puzzled.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said. ‘I like him. Can I stay, Rosie? My house is full of builders. Right, I’m going to bed. Oh, and by the way, there’s lots of glasses still round the windowsill.’

Rosie managed not to growl, as Stephen came through the back door again.

‘Okay, off you go, everyone,’ he said cheerily. ‘You’ve got what you wanted. And you have totally knackered out my—’

It must have been the lateness of the hour, the tone of the discussion, the alcohol consumed that made him do it. But he knew – and Rosie knew, and they swapped significant looks as he stopped himself – that he had been about to say ‘my wife’.

Two nights later, the snow that had been threatening for weeks began in earnest; proper heavy-flaked settling snow. It was freezing up in the little attic, even when Rosie let Apostil in to cuddle up after his early-morning feed. He was nearly eight weeks now; she couldn’t believe how fast he was growing.

Rosie looked at Stephen and he looked at her. Then they both looked at the gigantic green down-lined waxed jacket hanging on the back of the bedroom door. It had been a birthday gift from Stephen and Moray together. Rosie hadn’t even pretended to be pleased.

‘You have to,’ he said.

‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘I swore I never would.’

‘There are a lot of things you never thought would happen,’ pointed out Stephen, with some justification.

‘Yes, but …’

‘Do you still think you’re a swinging London Town girl hopping up and down Carnaby Street in a miniskirt?’

‘I was never like that,’ protested Rosie. ‘But …’

They both looked at the jacket again. It was Thursday, two days before the wedding and a week before Christmas. The last few days had been a blur of activity. Everyone had texted Roy the morning after the dinner party, assuring him he had been completely splendid and what a brilliant guy he was. The champagne had arrived that same afternoon, and was crammed into the tiny storage room at the shop. It made Rosie’s heart leap with joy every time she saw it, and Tina was beside herself. Although the payout from the wedding insurance didn’t really help when it came to hiring new catering rather than taking what the hotel arranged as a package, Rosie had had the brilliant idea – and she was very proud of this – of asking Stan from the chippy to bring his van down, along with the pizza van that swung past occasionally. Even if everyone there ate a cod supper
and
a pizza, it would still be substantially cheaper than what they’d planned before. A few of the local teenagers would be serving drinks, and the cake could double as pudding.

‘I didn’t really care for the salmon anyway,’ pointed
out Jake. ‘We were only having it because she saw it in a magazine.’

‘I did see it in a magazine,’ said Tina. ‘I thought that’s what you had to have. I don’t like it either.’

Rosie smiled.

‘You’re not too fussed?’ she said. ‘About it not being like those wedding mags you like?’ She knew what a shopaholic Tina was, and how long she’d dreamed about having the perfect wedding.

‘Not at all!’ said Tina, beaming. ‘Look!’

And she showed Rosie the latest edition of a glossy weddings magazine (which Rosie couldn’t help being at least slightly interested in). Emblazoned across the cover was the strapline ‘THE YEAR’S MOST FASHIONABLE CHOICE – SHABBY CHIC AND FISH AND CHIPS!!!’

‘It’s the newest thing!’ beamed Tina. ‘Apparently hotel weddings with salmon and place setting are really old hat! Now you need old-fashioned surroundings, lots of bunting … look!’

She flicked to a piece that explained how you could hire an authentic-style old-fashioned fish and chip van for ‘only a few thousand pounds’. Rosie burst out laughing. ‘I think Stan’s a bit cheaper than that.’

‘Exactly,’ said Tina, her face pink with happiness. ‘It’s going to be the coolest wedding ever. Look, they’ve even got bales of straw in to sit on!’

‘Well, Jake can get a few of those!’

‘Exactly!’ Tina said again.

Her joy was infectious. Rosie hugged her.

‘Are you sure—’ began Tina.

‘No!’ said Rosie. ‘For the last time, Apostil is not being the ring-bearer. He’ll eat it or spew on it. That’s what he does!’

Tina sighed.

‘But he was going to be my something borrowed!’

Rosie gave her a look. At least one thing was falling into place. She couldn’t bear to think of what had happened yesterday.

‘No. No no no NO. Dammit.’

Rosie had stared miserably at the floor.

‘I don’t know what other choice we have.’

‘Here’s the choice we have. I don’t leave my job, which I love; you don’t leave your job, which you love; we don’t leave this village, which we love, and we work it out.’

Rosie blinked.

‘I’ve thought and thought and thought, and I just don’t know how. Go live with your mother?’

Stephen swore copiously.

‘We need to be near the hospital,’ said Rosie. She’d spoken to the consultant that Hye and Moray had both recommended and she seemed excellent. She had
walked past the school one day and seen the children hanging off the monkey bars and screaming and running and throwing balls. Apostil would be able to do all of those things with a prosthesis. But they had to put the effort in, she knew. It wasn’t a simple procedure, and it was a long and complicated rehab. But with all her nurse’s soul she knew it was worth it, and she couldn’t work out why Stephen was being so stubborn about admitting it.

‘In some grotty, cramped little house?’

‘It’s a house,’ said Rosie. ‘You’re just being a snob.’

‘Fine,’ Stephen had snarled. ‘Call me a snob if that solves everything. Tear us away from our entire lives so you can chop his hand off. Go for it.’

‘It’s not like that!’

The doorbell had rung, and Rosie had opened it without thinking. Standing there fiddling with her red spectacles was Joy. It took everything Rosie had not to swear.

‘Ah, the father, I presume,’ twittered Joy. Rosie looked at her. She wasn’t normally this friendly.

Stephen looked at her in a hostile fashion.

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m from social services. Just checking up on Baby!’

‘Oh for Christ’s sake,’ said Stephen, turning away. ‘Great. Just what we need. You’ll be pleased, Rosie, she’ll probably be on your side.’

‘It’s not about sides,’ protested Rosie. ‘We’re all on the same side. Doing what’s best for our son.’

‘Yes, except what you think is best for our son is growing up in a dump and chopping off his fucking hand.’

‘STEPHEN!’

Rosie had literally never been so cross with him. She could have thrown something at him. Apostil started to wail.

‘Don’t mind me,’ said Joy, in a voice that was meant to be calming. ‘But babies often pick up on tension in the household.’

‘Well I shall leave the household then,’ said Stephen, picking up his satchel. ‘Let the coven get on with it.’

‘AND HE’S NOT WEARING THAT DRESS!’ shouted Rosie after him, still incoherent with rage. All she got in response was a slammed door.

There was a long pause. Rosie tried to soothe Apostil. Great tears plopped from her eyes on to his soft curly head. Joy made no effort to comfort her, simply made more notes on her iPad.

‘Um, tea?’ said Rosie eventually.

‘No thank you,’ said Joy, pressing a button emphatically.

‘Are you … I mean, what are you doing? Are you making a report?’

‘We always make reports,’ said Joy.

She glanced at her watch.

‘Right, I must get on. Do you think you can keep things calm for Baby? I can send a team in if needs be.’

‘NO!’ said Rosie. ‘No, we’re fine! We’re fine, just … I mean, we’re fine.’

‘Is he coming back?’

‘What do you mean? Of course he’s coming back.’

Stephen leant heavily on his stick as he walked crossly down the main street. People hailed him as he went, but one look at his lowered brow and they quickly marched on. Old habits died hard round Lipton. He took a sharp right and headed up the hill.

Even though he couldn’t bear to admit it, he knew deep down that Rosie was right; that trying to pretend that everything would be okay with Appy’s arm was not going to get them anywhere. The idea of uprooting their lovely life, away from the fresh air and the outdoors and home, and moving to somewhere noisy and hemmed in and full of stress and pressure … Stephen squeezed his eyes tight shut. Well, if they had to do that, at least he ought to get paid.

He came back an hour later. Joy, thank God, had gone, but Rosie was still cross with him. He knew this because she told him straight out.

‘I’m still very cross with you.’

‘Isn’t that what you say when you want to kiss and make up and then have sex so that everything’s all right again?’ he attempted.

Rosie shook her head.

‘No! And I can’t believe you think that being
high-handed with someone who can take away our son and put him in a home is some kind of a joke.’

Stephen kissed Apostil fiercely.

‘But she’s a horrible old boot.’

‘She could be Adolf fucking Hitler, you still have to impress her!’

Rosie never, ever swore. Stephen looked at her.

‘I have an idea,’ he said.

‘Does it involve you sucking up to the social worker?’

Stephen shook his head.

‘No. But it might help. I’ll need to go away for a couple of days.’

She looked at him mistrustfully.

‘Where?’

‘London.’

‘Seriously?’

He shrugged.

‘Can’t hurt.’

‘Well, see that lovesick psychologist of yours while you’re down there. Tell her what you said when Joy was here and see if she agrees with me or you. And if she says you, that’s because she’s lust-fuddled and you’re STILL WRONG.’

‘Are you still cross with me and Apostil?’ said Stephen, nuzzling the baby under the chin.

‘I’m not cross with him,’ said Rosie.

‘Oh well, I’m halfway there,’ said Stephen.

Rosie bit her tongue. She wasn’t happy about Stephen going to London, not a bit. But the fact that he was looking for a solution rather than sticking his fingers in his ears and pretending this wasn’t happening was a big step forward.