The Christmas Surprise (3 page)

‘Oh my God,’ Rosie said, dropping down onto the loo seat. ‘Oh my God.’

In the next booth over, a couple of teenage girls were talking loudly in a strange accent that was half local, half an attempt at a kind of London slang.

‘So I says to him, awriight …’

Rosie fumbled for her phone and thought she was going to drop it straight down the loo. She wanted to wash her hands, but oh, she was here now, and what was she going to do anyway, she couldn’t call outside.

‘So I says to her, you backs off RAGHT NOW, innit …’

Stephen didn’t keep his phone on in class; she’d have to call the office. She tried to keep her voice steady when Carmel, the school secretary, answered, although it was considered very odd to call a teacher in the middle of the day.

‘You want Stephen? Is everything all right?’

Rosie thought again how, even though she didn’t miss London very often, she had rather enjoyed its anonymity.

‘Fine!’ she trilled. ‘All fine! Great, in fact! Just a little thing …’

‘Because you know it’s choir and he’s a bit busy …’

‘I’ll be two seconds,’ lied Rosie.

‘I’sa gonna duff you up,’ said the voice loudly from the next cubicle.

There was a silence.

‘I’ll just get him,’ said Carmel.

Rosie rolled her eyes, her heart hammering in her chest.

‘What’s up?’ said Stephen, when he finally got to the phone. ‘Carmel says you’re being duffed up!’

‘She NEVAH,’ came the voice.

‘Uh, no,’ said Rosie. A mucky toilet in a horrible going-downhill shopping centre with two screeching fifteen-year-olds – a reminder of what awaited them one day – wasn’t exactly how she’d dreamt of this moment.

‘Um, it’s something else.’

‘Good.’

‘So AH says, YOU UP THE DUFF?’

‘Who are you with?’ said Stephen.

Rosie closed her eyes.

‘Nobody. But listen …’

‘An’ SHE says, SO WHAT IF I AM, an I’m like, SLAG …’

‘I’m up the duff,’ said Rosie.

‘Wha’?’ said the girls next door.

‘Mr Lakeman, I need go toilet, please,’ came a small voice from Stephen’s end.

‘What?’ said Stephen, who thought that saying ‘pardon’ was common.

‘Um. Uh.’ Rosie realised she was about to burst into tears.

‘Um, yes,’ said Stephen desperately.

‘Yes?’

‘No, I’m talking to Clover Lumb. I mean, yes?’

‘UH,’ said Rosie. Her hand was shaking as she held up the little stick. ‘Yes. I mean. I think so. No. Definitely. Yes. YES.’

There was a long pause.

‘Oh my goodness,’ said Stephen. ‘Miss Hopkins, you do not mess about.’

Rosie choked, half laughing, half crying.

‘Plus, I was rather under the impression that I’d already sealed the deal.’

‘That’s right, I did it all by myself.’

Stephen let out a short. barking laugh.

‘Oh Lord, I guess it was always going to happen sooner or later.’

‘I did tell you we should get central heating.’

‘This really is quite a lot sooner, though, isn’t it?’

For a moment Rosie forgot all about the horrible toilet, the fact that it was freezing, the obviously earwigging girls next door, the whole new world that had suddenly flung itself open in her face. Despite everything to come, it was, as it so often was, just her and Stephen, in their little bubble, just the two of them, while the rest of the world faded away to white noise.

‘BAD sooner?’

She could hear the warm smile in his voice, and everything around her suddenly became warmer too.

‘Lord, yes. Awful. You can tell my bloody mother.’

‘Well you can tell Lilian.’

They both thought for a second about Rosie’s beloved great-aunt.

‘No, we can tell her together,’ said Stephen eventually. ‘Anyway, order a lemonade in the Red Lion and it’ll be common knowledge all over town in about fifteen seconds.’

The two girls were pretending to do their make-up at the counter when Rosie emerged from the cubicle, purple in the face. They looked at her shyly.

‘Uh, congratulations,’ said the first one, who had been the loudest. Her normal voice was back. Rosie couldn’t help smiling.

‘You guys are the only people who know,’ she said. ‘Whoa, that’s the weirdest thing.’

She breezed home again, hugging the secret close to her all day, letting it keep her warm in the cold. Stephen called again at lunchtime, reporting that he had done absolutely nothing useful with fractions but in the end had just got the children to practise their number bonds.

‘Are you all right?’ he said. ‘How far gone are you? Do you need to sit down? Are you feeling sick?’

‘No,’ Rosie said, having vanished into the tiny back room of the sweetshop. It was little more than a sink and a kettle, and she never shut the door, but today she did. If Tina thought there was anything odd about that, she didn’t mention it. ‘I feel completely fine. Except, you know … OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!’

At the other end of the phone, Stephen nodded.

‘Also,’ he said cheerfully, ‘your knockers are probably going to get huge.’

Actually, they were feeling a bit swollen, Rosie realised. She’d put it down to post-Christmas overindulgence, which, she realised, probably also explained
a couple of nights when they weren’t as careful as they might have been.

‘Seriously, is that all you’re thinking about?’

‘That is the only thing I can think about that isn’t absolutely terrifying.’

‘Well you didn’t want Mr Dog … Oh my God, how are we going to break it to Mr Dog?’

‘I think
your dog
…’ Stephen hated the name Mr Dog and thought he should be called something sensible, like Archie or Rex, ‘could do with being reminded once in a while that he’s just an animal. I don’t think it will be bad for him at all.’

‘Hmm,’ said Rosie. ‘Oh Lord. The timing is awful. Goodness, this is all going to be awful.’

There was a pause. Stephen wanted to pull her into his arms and bury his face in her hair. He resisted the urge to run straight out of school and up the road.

‘Oh darling, do you really think that?’ he said instead.

‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m just panicking.’

‘Well it isn’t going to be awful. It’s going to be ours, and it will be wonderful, and full of love. And dental cavities.’

‘Ha,’ said Rosie. Then, quietly, ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ said Stephen. ‘Right, I have to go, there’s some kind of spilled milk catastrophe. Little buggers …’ he paused, ‘with whom I am soon going to have masses of tolerance and patience.’

Rosie smiled and put the phone down, then burst
into tears. Come to think about it, she had been very emotional recently, but everyone had put that down to the engagement.

Okay. They would talk about it tonight, but the most important thing was not to tell people. When was it, twelve weeks you could mention it? Right. Well, she couldn’t be more than five or six, not really. She’d have to get online and check it out. But that meant they had lots of time to get used to it and calm down and start to prepare themselves and … Oh, to have Stephen’s baby! If it were a boy, would it be tall and handsome? And a bit moody? And if it was a girl, would his heart turn over? Would he collapse with joy and be madly in love with her and spoil her to bits?

Tina knocked on the door to come and wash up teacups and Rosie tried to pull herself together. Right. She was going to be calm, collected, professional. No one would suspect a thing, not until they’d got everything sorted out. It would be cool.

‘Hey,’ said Tina pleasantly. ‘You okay?’

‘I’M HAVING A BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’

In the end, Tina decided to shut up shop for twenty minutes, given that the post-lunch crowd had dropped and it wouldn’t really kick off again till the school came out, when it went crazy. She put up the ancient ‘Back in
Ten Minutes’ sign, which reminded Rosie that it was a Wednesday and Lilian still grumbled that they didn’t have half-day closing. She refused to visit the shop on Wednesday afternoons, even when Rosie pointed out that if they didn’t open six full days, they’d all starve.

The cottage was right next door to the shop. The rooms were small and the ceilings were low, but it was cosy, cluttered with Lilian’s old floral coverings and her horse brasses polished to a high shine. On the wooden mantelpiece were the silver-framed photographs of Lilian as the beautiful young woman she’d been, and a picture of her young man, Henry Carr, whom she had loved as a teenager and believed killed in the war until he had re-entered their lives the year before. Having been blown up and suffered brain damage, he had built another life for himself until fate had thrown him in the way of the sweetshop. His family in Harrogate had very kindly made up a box of snapshots for Lilian, who treasured it above all other things. A particularly handsome shot of him laughing at someone off camera in his khaki uniform, marked ‘Africa 1942’, had pride of place.

Downstairs there was Lilian’s bedroom, which she still used when she stayed over from the nursing home; a tiny doll’s-house kitchen with exquisite china hanging from hooks; and a bathroom. Upstairs, in a loft conversion that could only be reached by pulling down a set of steps from the ceiling, was the beautiful, austere white-painted
bedroom Rosie and Stephen shared, with its views both ways: to the rolling hills on the north side of Lipton; and across Lilian’s lovingly tended kitchen garden, and the bower gate at the end with its rose trellis, to the fields beyond.

Rosie loved this tiny house – they both did, otherwise they would have lived in Stephen’s chilly Georgian stone house at the top of the hills, a place Rosie always associated with freezing winds and the lonely state she had found Stephen in the first time she’d ever met him. Plus, it wasn’t technically theirs: it belonged to the estate, which belonged to Stephen’s mother, and neither of them liked the idea of living under her thumb like that.

But the cottage, she thought, wasn’t very practical now. Goodness knows how Lilian – however comfortably ensconced at her very nice old people’s home – would react to her bedroom being turned into a nursery, and as for when the little one started crawling up the stairs … Rosie blinked as Tina brought her a cup of tea.

‘It’s rosehip,’ said Tina. ‘I guess you’re off the caffeine now.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Rosie. ‘Oh my God, I hadn’t even got round to all that stuff. No shellfish … no more visiting the great sushi bars of Lipton.’

This went straight over Tina’s head; she had been born and raised in the village and had relatively little interest in what went on elsewhere.

‘No booze … hmm.’ Rosie thought with some guilt about the fizz they’d consumed at New Year. ‘I have had a bit, though.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ said Tina. ‘So has about a hundred per cent of everyone. Half the babies on earth wouldn’t have been conceived if their parents hadn’t got off their box.’

‘Yes, I suppose,’ said Rosie. ‘Cor.’

Tina shook her head.

‘It’s lovely news, but I’m so sorry.’

‘Why?’

Tina’s head took on a pitying tilt.

‘Well, you know … you’ll have to postpone the wedding.’

Rosie blinked twice.

‘That hadn’t even occurred to me,’ she said, thinking about all the fretting she’d been doing about the seating plan, getting her relatives over, coping with Stephen’s horrid posh friends, dealing with her new mother-in-law. ‘Yay!’ she added.

She texted this news to Stephen.
WOO HOO!
came a text back about thirty seconds later. She giggled.

‘I think he’s happier putting off the marriage than he is about the baby,’ she said to Tina, who looked totally scandalised. ‘And it will give me loads of time to dedicate to yours,’ she went on quickly. ‘I can help you out more.’

Tina brightened immediately. ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘And everyone will think mine was the best.’

‘Yours was always going to be the best,’ said Rosie. ‘Crumbs, believe me, I’d got about as far as bridesmaids in kilts.’