The Christmas Surprise (17 page)

And now here she was. Apostil had lain in his bassinet and gurgled, intrigued by the lights and lulled to sleep by the motion of the plane. Rosie had been unable to sleep, unable to believe everything that had happened. It felt like a dream, but one that became more real by the second, as she watched sitcoms on the flight TV system; looked at adverts for watches and perfumes.

Stephen came to pick them up from the airport, pointing out that he had had to fight off half the village to do so. Appy had been happy in his bassinet all the way, but Rosie had been too keyed up to sleep, too nervous about seeing everyone, about settling in. They’d led her to a special room at immigration at Heathrow, which had also made her very nervous, but in fact the staff had been incredibly kind, just going through their paperwork until they could confirm that Apostil really had
been adopted and really was a British child now. Rosie appreciated that they couldn’t be too careful, but it was wearying, especially as he woke up and, unusually for him, decided to start bawling his head off at everything, making her look like the worst fraud of a mother ever, and wildly unsuited to raising a caterpillar, never mind a baby.

Apostil’s tantrum ultimately proved timely, however, as the customs staff couldn’t wait to be rid of them and pushed them though as quickly as they legally could.

Stephen was beside himself, desperate to see them.

‘How can you miss someone so much when you’ve only known them a week?’ he said, charging forward to scoop them up at Arrivals. When Rosie saw him standing there, she suddenly burst into tears. The emotions of the last few weeks had been so overwhelming, with everything coming thick and fast, her life changing in such a rush from someone who could not be a mother to someone who was, and always would be, that she hadn’t realised until she saw him how pent up she’d been. It was as if her shoulders had been up around her ears and were finally relaxing.

‘What’s the matter?’ said Stephen, genuinely surprised. ‘You’ve got him, we’re all together …’

‘I know,’ said Rosie.

Stephen drew her to him.

‘I’m sorry I had to leave you in Africa alone,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t stay any longer.’

‘I know, I know,’ said Rosie, burying her head in his strong shoulder. It wasn’t a good look, having a total nervous breakdown at the airport.

Stephen reached into the sling and tried to dislodge Apostil, which was easier said than done, given how good Rosie had got at tying him round her. Eventually she did a pirouette so they could unwind him and Stephen could set about hugging his son, whilst Rosie tried to clean the make-up from underneath her eyes.

‘I was worried they wouldn’t let you in,’ said Stephen. ‘So I called my old mate Biff at the Foreign Office.’

‘You didn’t!’ said Rosie indignantly.

‘Certainly bloody did. Did you get a passport in five days or what?’

‘I did find it all wonderfully efficient,’ said Rosie. ‘Yuck, you disgusting privileged types.’

‘Yes,’ said Stephen, nuzzling Apostil’s head. Apostil was looking about somewhat warily. ‘Oh, I have missed that smell. Anyway, yes, I apologise for making things easier for us all.’

She smiled at him. ‘Sometimes it is very useful you being a hideously overprivileged snotbag.’

‘Only sometimes?’

He kept hold of Apostil and tried to take Rosie’s bags too, realised this was impossible, gave it up as a bad job, handed Apostil back reluctantly and hauled up the bags.

As soon as they hit the freezing cold air outside – there was frost on the tarmac, and people waiting for taxis were blowing out smoke as they huddled into their coats – Apostil’s head jerked upwards as if someone had prodded him. Stephen and Rosie looked at him grinning.

‘Yes,’ said Stephen. ‘Welcome to the world you must now live in!’

Rosie pulled a woolly hat from her hand luggage – she had worn it to the airport on their way out, a million years ago – and tried to arrange it on Apostil’s tiny head, but it fell over his eyes and he started waving his hand about madly, whilst Rosie and Stephen fell about laughing and Stephen tried to take a picture.

‘We are terrible, terrible parents,’ said Rosie, noticing someone looking at them curiously.

‘I think this is the last time he’s going to feel warm and cosy until the spring,’ said Stephen. ‘And we haven’t even moved into Peak House yet.’

Inside the car, Stephen had fitted a brand new baby seat. Rosie frowned.

‘How much …’

‘Ssssh,’ said Stephen. ‘Don’t start me. There’s four more at home. People have been showering us.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘SHOWERING US. Everybody knows about
Apostil, everybody is totally fascinated, and all those nosy parkers have been getting their kicks by coming round and passing on their old shiz to us. We’ve got three buggies, too.’

‘Or,’ said Rosie, getting in the back as Stephen turned up the heating in the old Land Rover, which didn’t go very far. She hoped Apostil had enough blankets on. ‘OR they’re being kind and generous from the bottom of their hearts.’

‘Whilst being unbelievable nosy parkers,’ said Stephen. He looked at the heating gauge again and frowned.

‘This won’t do, will it?’

Rosie winced.

‘Well …’

‘I never noticed it being this chilly before.’

‘It’s got a hole in the floor.’

‘I thought that was, you know, atmospheric.’

‘It is,’ said Rosie. ‘Atmospheric, like the South Pole.’

‘Hmm.’ He looked at her. ‘Look at us! Bringing our baby home!’

Rosie beamed, a smile of pure joy.

‘I know! Drive slower!’

‘I can’t drive slower, we’ll freeze him to death.’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Rosie. ‘Man, we have a lot to learn.’

Even though it was only November, the lights had already gone up around the little village. Nothing too fancy – just plain bulbs, the same ones strung every year from lamp post to lamp post, but there were plenty of them, and they were beautiful, and against the glittering diamonds of frost snow, they turned the main street into a fairyland.

Stephen had left the fire crackling in the grate, and the embers were still warm when they returned (fireguard, Rosie found herself immediately thinking: fireguard). Mr Dog gave a mighty hop and a small yip when Rosie appeared. She let Stephen hold Apostil, and opened her arms to the little white dog, who looked a bit like a mop but was as sweet, lazy and gentle as the day was long.

‘Hello, DOG THING!’

Mr Dog’s little pink tongue licked her enthusiastically on the face, his tail going nineteen to the dozen.

‘He’ll be glad you’re home,’ said Stephen. ‘Back to being spoiled.’

‘Nooo!’ said Rosie in agony. ‘I can’t spoil him any more in case he smothers Apostil!’

‘Divided loyalties,’ said Stephen.

‘Not divided,’ said Rosie. ‘He’s not smothering my son.’

She sat down on the sofa, grateful to be close to the fire. Apostil’s eyes opened; he was hungry, and she gave
him a quick bottle. He was normally swaddled tight and fast asleep by now. Memento, the girl at the embassy, who had four children of her own, had shown her how to do it, and how not to jump up every time he made a tiny noise. If it had been up to Rosie, she would have been jiggling and kissing him awake every five minutes. It was absolutely thanks to Memento that Apostil was good at sleeping at night-time rather than appallingly over-fussed in the manner of Mr Dog. Although Rosie never met Memento again, she never forgot her for that invaluable advice, and when new mothers came and went in the shop, complaining bitterly about having had no sleep, she would diplomatically pass on the simple wisdom that had made a time of such extraordinary upheaval so very much easier.

But now he was utterly transfixed by two things, could barely contain his delight: the fire flickering in front of him, to which he held out his good hand in awe, and the scruffy white bundle beside him, that Stephen had by the rear end in case Mr Dog licked him to death.

Both Rosie and Stephen kept a close eye on the baby as he turned from one thing to another. Finally he turned and looked straight into Stephen’s face, and for the very first time gave a huge, gummy, unmistakable grin, that went to his eyes and lit up his entire face.

‘OH MY GOD!’

‘He smiled! He smiled!’

Rosie ran around looking for her phone to take a picture, but there was no rush; as soon as Apostil realised the effect his grin had elicited from his overwhelmed parents, he repeated the trick immediately. Then, just as Stephen was satisfyingly proclaiming that the child was patently a genius, he’d always known it, smiling at five weeks was a clear sign, Apostil went too far and threw up all over Lilian’s treasured faded Victorian Persian rug. Mr Dog immediately started licking it up. Rosie and Stephen just looked at one another, frozen. Rosie started to giggle.

‘We’re brilliant parents,’ she laughed.

‘Made for this,’ said Stephen. ‘Oh Christ, I think there’s some on my shoes.’

Rosie knew the shop would be busy the next day, but she had to open up, she absolutely had to. Tina was only just holding it together between the shop, the children and the wedding stress. Plus they needed a busy day, and she knew for a fact she would get one. It had been hard to figure out exactly where to put Apostil – she didn’t want him in their bed, even though she’d read a million online threads about the benefits of co-sleeping, until Stephen had threatened to unplug the wireless router if she didn’t stop obsessing over every tiny detail. Upstairs out of the bed was, as usual, absolutely freezing.
Downstairs close to the fire was too unnerving in case a spark jumped out (of the closed stove? enquired Stephen, but Rosie couldn’t leave anything to chance). And Mr Dog would need to be shut in the tiny kitchen, which was tricky, as it didn’t have a door and was full of food. The Moses basket Rosie had brought with her from Africa was put down in Lilian’s room, which was cosy from the sitting room and had the benefit of a closing door. After checking the baby monitor forty or fifty times, they agreed that this should be Apostil’s room.

‘For now,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s Lilian’s room really.’ She and Stephen shared a look. They couldn’t do it tonight, with everything so new, but the time was undoubtedly coming when they would have to discuss their finances, and moving. Soon.

It was Rosie’s first night sleeping without Apostil, and she found it difficult to get comfortable, till Stephen moved closer and held her and she turned in for a kiss. She grinned at him in the dark.

‘What?’

‘This feels naughty,’ said Rosie.

‘What, because we’re parents?’

‘Yup.’

‘I don’t think he’s going to march in.’

‘Not yet …’

Rosie listened to the monitor.

‘What if he wakes?’

‘We could be quick,’ said Stephen with a glint in his eye.

Rosie thought about everything they had on their plates – the new baby, the shop, money, the house, the challenge of Apostil’s arm, the total change in absolutely everything that was going on in their lives – and decided that he was right. If there was one place where she could forget her worries, be in the moment, stop making lists and fussing and worrying about everybody else, it was here, right here, with Stephen’s hard body next to her in the bed, his muscular arms around her, his stubbly face against hers.