The Christmas Surprise (35 page)

Eventually they were all sitting down. Rosie saw Jake, anxious and sweaty, with a terrible new haircut, and the vicar, in special celebration robes, beaming pinkly and casting ominous glances towards his acoustic guitar. Tina had been pretty adamant about that, though, and someone was playing the organ.

Just as everyone was getting fidgety, the good old
wedding march started up, and everyone rose, Rosie realising two things at the same time: firstly, that Lady Lipton and Pamela were there, both looking furious (and extremely similar) at the fact that, of course, their normal pew, the front one, was taken by the families of the bride and groom; and secondly, that she had completely forgotten to check whether Apostil was wearing his special wedding babygro, and she could tell under his jumper that he wasn’t.

First the twins, Kent and Emily, came forward, holding hands, Emily in a beautiful white dress with a big red bow and a soft white cardigan; Kent in white shorts and shirt and a red tie. The entire church sighed with happiness at what a lovely picture they made as they walked slowly and incredibly seriously to the front, the nervous looks on their faces being replaced with relief as they got to within two steps of Jake, their stepdad-to-be, at which point they broke ranks and ran into his arms. He hugged them tightly, tears already streaming down his cheeks.

‘This is emotional,’ said Lilian sarcastically, and Rosie nudged her, whilst sniffing.

Then Jake’s brother and best man came on the arm of Tina’s sister, then the three ushers, including Stephen, with three other bridesmaids, school friends of Tina’s. And trotting next to Stephen, to Rosie’s utter surprise – and the delight of the many children in the church, chivvied in rows for the school choir – was Mr
Dog, wearing Apostil’s bow tie babygro with the feet chopped off, and carrying a knotted box, obviously containing the rings, in his mouth.

Then the laughter and the delighted noises stopped, as Tina appeared on her father’s arm at the far end of the nave.

Her dress was plain and long, with a red bow just like Emily’s tight around her tiny waist, matching her lipstick exactly. Her hair was soft and tousled, and she wore a thin gold circlet around her head, with a little medieval-style tuft of a veil coming off the back of it. Long strands of ivy were threaded in and out of her plaits (which were thicker, Rosie thought suspiciously, than Tina’s normal hair). She had a little fake fur shrug round her shoulders, and the sleeves of the satin dress hung long, nearly to the floor. The effect was beautiful, like a carved tomb come to life. She held a bouquet of holly and mistletoe interlaced with ivy. From up and down the church there were gasps. Jake was now extremely red in the face, his mouth hanging open. Rosie beamed. It was, she knew, exactly the effect Tina had dreamed of for a long time, had worked on so hard. For her, it was all worthwhile.

The choir of children began to sing, though it wasn’t ‘Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring’ or one of the more usual wedding songs. Stephen had quietly gone and taken up his place in front of them as default choirmaster. Very softly they started up the old Advent hymn, their pure voices echoing in the high vaults of the church ceiling.

When Tina had told Rosie that that was what they were going to sing, she had been rather taken aback.

‘Isn’t it about the baby Jesus?’

‘It’s church, Rosie. You’re a heathen. They’re all about Jesus.’

‘Yes, I know, but it doesn’t sound very weddingy.’

But Tina had been right and Rosie wrong. The gentle beseeching tone of the hymn, with its celebratory final cadences, was cathartic and beautiful, the children’s voices joined by the congregation for ‘Rejoice! Rejoice!’

The vicar welcomed everyone and made a lame joke about broadband internet, which most of the congregation didn’t get, then invited Emily up to the front.

She stood, as white as her dress, almost hidden behind the mike stand until Stephen moved over and lowered it for her, clasping her briefly on the shoulder and smiling at her as he did so. She smiled tentatively back, her look of terror replaced by something more relaxed, and the audience relaxed too as Stephen signalled to the organist.

Quietly at first, then with growing confidence, Emily sang as sweetly as a bird:

‘Oh MAN,’ said Rosie quietly, digging in her handbag for a tissue. ‘This is totally unfair. Who can compete with that?’

The high, clear voice rang through the church, a celebration of all that was fresh and new, and there was barely an eye left dry.

As the marriage service got under way, and the old words were spoken, Rosie thought about the bundle in her bag. She would have time; nobody was looking at them, and she was right next to the loo, entirely deliberately.

‘
To have, and to hold
…’

She glanced up and saw with a start that Stephen was staring straight at her, with such a naked look of pain and doubt, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

‘
For better, for worse
…’

She blinked away the tears. It was she who had brought all these doubts; questioned Stephen’s ability to change, to do what needed to be done; blamed him for the tough times of the past, failed to trust him in the hard times coming.

‘
For richer, for poorer
…’

The rest of the church faded away. The music, the bride, the flowers, the fancy hats (the village boutique had been completely emptied in the preceding weeks), the fuss, the squabbles all disappeared and suddenly there was nobody there but the three of them, in the ancient space where those same words had been said for hundreds of years.

‘In sickness and in health
…’

Rosie held their son tight to her chest, so tightly he looked at her enquiringly, plucking at the little silk buttons on her collar, but she did not glance down.

‘
Till death us do part
…’

Stephen strode across the church, leaving the children behind, barely noticed by most of the congregation, who were transfixed by Tina and Jake, equally in a world of their own. Not taking his eyes off Rosie for a second, he grabbed her, and Apostil, and her bag, and without a word pulled her into the back of the church, surrounded by flowers and a disgruntled-looking video technician, and grabbed her to him
and kissed her again and again, the tears running down her face.

‘
I now pronounce you man and wife
.’

They held each other close, and Stephen promised his family with all his heart that he would never leave them, that he didn’t care where they were or how they lived, as long as Apostil had every chance to get better, and Rosie could only say, ‘I know, I know, I know.’

The choir started up (rather raggedly without Stephen to guide them, but the organist tipped them the wink) with a lusty and thrilling version of ‘Torches’, involving much full-hearted singing and some bellowing, as Stephen and Rosie drew apart. They hadn’t much time: the blessing was to take place after the signing of the register.

‘Quick,’ said Stephen. ‘Go on. Let’s get him changed.’

‘No way,’ said Rosie, not betraying it was in her bag.

‘Way. Come on. This one thing.’

She looked at his face, smiling at her.

‘Argh,’ she said, grinning. ‘He will NEVER FORGIVE US.’

‘He will never forgive us for a lot of things,’ said Stephen. ‘I reckon this will come pretty far down the list by the time we’re finished with him.’

With a few squawks from the normally obliging Apostil, they wrestled him into the ridiculous lacy white
christening gown, which he promptly dribbled down. Rosie cleaned him up as best she could with a wipe, which he did not enjoy, and there was a clearing of throats from the altar.

‘And now,’ said the vicar, ‘we are pleased to be welcoming a baby into the family of our church.’

‘I don’t want to give the vicar my baby,’ squeaked Rosie, her face turning pink.

‘Ssssh,’ said Stephen, squeezing her tight. ‘You can cross your fingers.’

‘If I can ask Stephen Lakeman and Rosie …’ the vicar coughed, making it entirely clear he was making a point about their different surnames, and glanced at the front pew, ‘Hopkins to step forward.’

‘Oh crap,’ said Rosie. ‘He thinks we’re down there.’

‘You know what that means,’ said Stephen, as the congregation started to twist around looking for them. ‘We are actually going to have to walk down the aisle.’

Rosie went bright pink.

‘Oh bloody hell.’

Helpfully, the organist sprang into action, playing ‘Paiste Am Betlehem’, the ancient Manx carol, that sounded so unearthly it made Rosie shiver.

‘Seriously?’ she said.

‘Seriously,’ said Stephen, proffering his arm. And desperately trying not to laugh, particularly under the disapproving eye of Stephen’s mother and Lilian, both
of whom clearly thought they were showing off, they proceeded down the aisle, in Stephen’s case for the second time that morning.

‘Well that was unorthodox,’ said the vicar as they arrived at the front, blushing.

‘You should know,’ murmured Stephen under his breath.

‘Can I also have the godparents?’ said the vicar into the microphone.

Rosie looked round nervously. Moray had disappeared when they’d arrived at the church; she’d expected him to sit with them, but he wasn’t there. Finally she saw him, right at the back, easing out of the end of the pew, followed by a slim, handsome, dark-eyed man.

A gasp of shock went through the congregation as the two men walked up the aisle hand in hand. The vicar was beside himself. Rosie handed Apostil to Stephen and went and met them at the top of the aisle, throwing her arms around them both.

‘Moshe!’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you came! Oh my God, Moray, you’ve really done it this time.’

‘I do hope so,’ said Moray into her ear. ‘Bloody hell.’

Rosie laughed. She’d never seen him without his sangfroid.

Stephen came forward to shake both their hands.

‘The vicar is calling up his agent as we speak to try
and get on television. Welcome.’

‘We come as a job lot,’ said Moray. ‘Is that okay?’

‘Totally!’ said Rosie. ‘Do you have a clue what you’re doing?’

‘Nope,’ said Moshe. ‘But I haven’t been burned up in a fiery pit yet.’

‘There’s time,’ said Rosie. ‘Just nod a lot.’

She turned on Moray’s smartphone, which was somehow patching in to Angie in Australia. All the children whooped to see their auntie Rosie, and were rapidly silenced by Angie and Pip.

Tina and Jake, the other godparents, emerged shyly from signing the register, and there were hugs and kisses all round. Rosie, glancing up, caught sight of Henrietta, standing proud and cold at the end of her pew, staring straight ahead as if at a funeral, and felt, in the midst of all her joy, a clutch of pity. Then she thought again of all her empty rooms, and how she still could not open her arms to her own son, and looked away.

‘If we could just get started,’ said the vicar, who was still peeved at not being allowed to perform his original baptism song on his guitar.

He gabbled through the introductory words. Apostil was thoroughly entranced by the lights and the candles and the being handed about, and seemed to be enjoying himself hugely. Then, just as the vicar put his arms out to take him, there was a sudden eruption of giggles and
fidgeting from the children’s choir, and Stephen glanced over at them, smiled, and held up his hand.

‘Um,’ he said. ‘We have just one thing.’

‘What?’ said Rosie, feeling that this service had turned into enough of a carnival already.

‘Well,’ said Stephen, clearing his throat. ‘What with the sponsored bean sitting, and the sponsored swim and the sponsored silence, and everyone in the village who kept a tin on their shop counter … we managed to do this …’

He grinned, and turned towards the little choir at the side, who turned on several laptop computers Rosie hadn’t noticed before. After some inevitable fidgeting, they all got fixed and lined up, and Rosie gasped. To her amazement, there it was, right in front of them – the school, the little school in Kduli. But it had a fresh coat of paint, and a large solar-powered fan, and in the corner, a massive selection of books; and every child had a new slate.

A huge group of laughing children were hogging the camera, waving, showing off their new toy, making faces in front of it. A loud ‘CHUT,’ could be heard off camera, from Faustine, and all the children settled down, except one little girl with tight braids, who came forward very slowly and said, with a heavy French accent, ‘We would like to send our love to our brother Apostil and all our brothers and sisters in Lipton.’