The Christmas Surprise (20 page)

Rosie was still floating on a happy cloud as she walked in through the front door. Even though she knew there was a long, hard winter ahead, there was still something about seeing the smoke puffing out of their little chimney that made her feel so happy and cosy.

Stephen was sitting at the little table, frowning over a huge pile of papers.

‘Hello, love,’ she said, planting a kiss on his handsome head. ‘Too much marking?’

Stephen sighed.

‘If only,’ he said. ‘Tea?’

He put up his hands for Apostil, who was fussing, and patted him gently into his shoulder.

‘I’ll make it, I need to do his lordship’s bottle anyway. Oh my God, the girls at the home went NUTS for him, I swear.’

‘They want to drink his blood,’ said Stephen.

‘They do not! They just wanted to see a young face.’

‘Ha, and yours no longer counts.’

Rosie stuck her tongue out at him.

‘Obviously not.’

She let the kettle boil and pulled the bottles out of the steriliser.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Ah,’ said Stephen. ‘You know we keep saying we’re going to have to sit down and have a serious chat about our finances?’

Rosie’s nice, happy feeling dropped out of her body immediately.

‘Um, yeah?’

Stephen held up a whole sheaf of bills with his free hand.

‘That time is probably now.’

‘Oh bugger.’

She looked around.

‘What’s for tea?’

‘You mean supper?’

‘No, I mean TEA.’

‘Well, I thought if we had the difficult conversation about money, we could have fish and chips as a reward.’

‘Can we afford fish and chips?’

‘We can smash Lilian’s penny jar.’

Rosie sat down beside him as he went through it painstakingly. It did not make happy reading. They didn’t have to pay a mortgage or rent on the house or the shop, but money that would have done that went to pay Lilian’s nursing home fees. They wouldn’t have told
Lilian in a thousand years, but the fees had increased massively; to keep serving good food, to keep the home warm just seemed to get more and more expensive all the time. Their joint salaries from the sweetshop – Rosie made hardly any money by the time she’d bought stock and paid Tina – and Stephen’s teaching job, where he was still on the lowest rung, couldn’t cover their outgoings. And now they’d have to move into a large house with all its associated running costs, even if they were lucky enough to get it rent-free from Stephen’s mother, and neither of them was sure about that at all. Plus they needed to change the car, plus a million and one normal everyday expenses that Apostil had brought with him, plus paying off the credit card for Africa. And there was the debt they owed to Apostil’s home town: they’d promised to help rebuild and maintain the school there. Things were cheaper in Africa, and labour was inexpensive too – though not that inexpensive, with so many of the men of the village absent or simply untrained – but the money still needed to be raised.

Mrs Baptiste, the head teacher at Stephen’s school, had immediately insisted that Lipton Primary twin itself with the school in Kduli, and had launched an African project – Stephen had already sent Faustine several pictures and hellos from the children in both classes – but they couldn’t rely on the kindness of the village to fund their pet project.

They stared at the spreadsheet.

‘We could economise,’ said Rosie, after she’d put Apostil down. He’d complained about it and shaken his little fist, then resigned himself to his lot. Mr Dog had immediately jumped up from his snooze in front of the fire; he knew this was his time. She patted him absent-mindedly and he licked her wrist.

‘What on?’ said Stephen. He smiled at her. ‘I’d like you to have a new dress now and again.’

‘You can talk,’ said Rosie. ‘You don’t wear anything that’s younger than me. We could go own-brand for Mr Dog.’

They looked at him; he’d perked up at the sound of his name. His fuzzy mop head tilted and little pink tongue panted enquiringly.

‘Neh,’ said Stephen.

‘And thank God we didn’t have to buy any clothes for Superbaby,’ said Rosie fondly.

‘You have to stop calling him Superbaby. You’ll say it somewhere out and about and get a reputation for being conceited.’

‘OR people will realise I’m right,’ said Rosie dotingly.

‘Anyway, the moment he realises you’re dressing him entirely in lemon-coloured wool, he’s going to throw a fit.’

‘We have time.’

But they kept looking at the figures.

‘The best thing to do,’ began Stephen slowly, ‘is just
to sell the cottage. In fact, I think it’s the only thing to do.’

‘I know, I know,’ said Rosie. She had been dreading this. ‘But would she agree? And how could we ask her to? She was born in this house.’

If they sold the cottage in this current, buoyant market, they would be able to cover Lilian’s care for the future and take one of their burdens away.

‘Can’t we sell Peak House?’ said Rosie. ‘That would be better.’

‘Not allowed under the trust,’ said Stephen automatically. ‘It belongs to the estate. Plus, you know, Apostil is going to need his own bedroom one day. He can’t just sleep in Lilian’s old room. We’ve outgrown this place. We need to admit it and move to the Ice Box.’

Rosie remembered her promise in Africa, never to keep anything from him again. Even though Moray had said it could keep for a bit, she wasn’t going to do that any more.

‘There’s something else we have to consider,’ she said.

‘No fucking way.’

‘It’s just something we’ll have to think about.’

‘Well I have thought about it. He’s perfect as he is. I’m not having some butcher chop into him. I’m not
putting a
baby
under anaesthetic. I’ve only got three good limbs, want to chop one of mine off?’

‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘Of course not.’

‘But you’d do it to your son?’

Rosie shrugged. ‘If it would be the best thing for him.’

‘Bloody doctors think they know it all,’ said Stephen darkly. ‘And where would all this be? Because it wouldn’t just be the op, would it?’

Rosie shook her head.

‘It’d be rehab and appointments, and physio – for YEARS.’

‘I know.’

‘Whereabouts?’

‘Derby,’ said Rosie quietly.

‘The city.’

Rosie swallowed.

‘You’re suggesting we go and live in the grotty city next to the hospital?’

‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s just … it’s just a possibility.’

Stephen blinked.

‘Don’t you think he’s fine?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Rosie. ‘I don’t know.’

The next morning dawned on a black world crackling with rime frost (including on the inside of the windows, Rosie noticed with a shudder, snuggling back under the covers with Apostil for a few more minutes of warmth. She felt a stone in the pit of her stomach and for a moment couldn’t remember what it was. Then she did. It was everything. And on top of that, it was also time to visit her mother-in-law-to-be and introduce her to her new grandson. She thought wistfully of how in some families this would be a joyous occasion.

She stretched out a leg into the freezing air of the room, and swore. It was pitch dark outside still, it felt totally wrong that anyone should have to be out in this weather. Then she thought of the farmers, who’d been up for three
hours already doing the milking, and felt guilty. There were many, many harder lives than hers, that was for sure.

At least they had hot water. She filled up the old claw-foot bath until the tiny bathroom was steaming and almost bearable. The sound of the water woke Stephen and he padded in blearily.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘There is a really disgusting nappy in that bed. With our baby in it.’

‘I know,’ said Rosie. She had decided before falling asleep the night before that she wasn’t going to push Stephen on the arm issue. He was stubborn as a mule. She wasn’t going to change his mind. And they didn’t have to decide now, did they?

She smiled at him.

‘I’ll give you a million pounds and a striptease if you’ll change it.’

‘Four million,’ said Stephen, throwing hot water from the bath on his face.

‘I am so sleepy,’ groaned Rosie. She had gone downstairs to give Apostil his bottle at four, but found it so inhospitable she had brought him upstairs to bed with her and they had all fallen asleep again, the three of them together.

‘You’ll be fine,’ said Stephen, lathering up his face. ‘It’s not like we have anything really awful to do today.’

‘I am looking on the bright side,’ said Rosie. ‘She’s going to love him. Everyone loves him.’

‘Yes, everyone whose house and title he’s not inheriting loves him,’ pointed out Stephen.

‘Maybe she’ll say, “Hey, here’s a bunch of money for you I forgot we had, why not take it and let Lilian keep her house?”’

‘No chance of that,’ said Stephen. ‘She’s still saying I need to pay her back for boarding school, seeing as I didn’t use my expensive education to the full extent of my abilities.’

‘Oh,’ frowned Rosie, clambering into the scalding bath and wincing.

‘Was that it? Was that my striptease? It’s all covered in goosebumps. And what about Ap? I’m sure it’s your turn.’

‘OH!’ said Rosie. ‘I totally forgot.’

‘You forgot? You can smell him from Isitt’s farm. He smells exactly
like
Isitt’s farm.’

‘But I’m in now,’ pleaded Rosie. They only got one bathful of hot water a day from the very old boiler, and it didn’t stay warm for terribly long in the frigid air.

‘That was a rubbish striptease though,’ grumbled Stephen, who nonetheless grabbed the box of Pampers and went and set to. Apostil was not impressed by having his bum exposed to a cold world, and made his feelings known accordingly.

‘I’m bringing him in.’

Rosie reluctantly added some cold water to the bath so it wasn’t too hot, then reached up for the baby.

‘Hello, my sweetie.’

Apostil greeted her with his normal gummy grin, and she sat him up on her tummy and bounced him up and down till he chuckled.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now today you are going to meet your EVIL GRANDMOTHER.’

Stephen popped his head back round the door.

‘Are you going to call her that?’

‘Maleficent?’

‘Hmm. I wonder what she wants to be called.’

‘How about Beelzebub, Destroyer of Worlds?’

Mr Dog as usual was beside himself with excitement as they took the familiar uphill road to Lipton Hall. The trees in the long avenue leading to the house were white, their branches heaped with early snow; the driveway was gravelly and full of icy puddles, which the Land Rover cracked with a satisfying bounce, jiggling Apostil’s car seat in a faintly worrying fashion. All Mr Dog’s relatives lived in the great house, and he liked nothing better than tearing about with them, even though, as the runt of an extremely suspect litter, he was about a tenth of the size of most of his pure-bred cousins. He let out a couple of happy barks as they drew closer to the house, its soft yellow sandstone and rows of glittering windows (some cracked) looking magnificent. They drove as usual round the back, where
there was a large yard with several outbuildings, and always some cheerful dogs roaming about.