The Christmas Surprise (37 page)

She picked up the car seat Stephen had brought in and put it in the cosy straw, then she slipped Apostil out of his scratchy christening dress and into a comfy fleece-lined sleepsuit covered in little blue fish, and wrapped him in his favourite blanket with the spots on. He was so sleepy he obediently closed his eyes as soon as he saw it, and she laid him down gently in his seat, buckled loosely. Then, because it was funny, she plumped up the hay so it covered the plastic of the seat and made him look like they actually had laid him down in a barn.
His little hand that had been gripping the bottle fell, and he tumbled elegantly into sleep, the way babies do, taking a little step from one state of consciousness to another.

Rosie sat watching him for a long time, engrossed, as ever, in the rise and fall of his tiny chest; the long eyelashes shaded on the roundness of his plump cheeks; the way his eyes flickered under his eyelids, looking at those things only dreaming babies can see. Then, smiling at a nearby table of older people, she asked them to keep an eye on him, and they were happy to oblige. Cathryn, busying around too much to even get herself a glass of champagne, nodded at Rosie and told her she’d add him to her rounds, and Rosie went back to the party.

There were piles of gifts everywhere. Although they had tried not to infringe too much on Tina and Jake’s big day, and although they’d already received so many things, for some reason people had once again been incredibly generous, and heaps of small pale blue parcels had been added beneath the tree to those for the happy couple, who were rushing about the wedding in a whirl of happiness. Every so often they would pass each other in the room, and kiss and hold one another in a way that made the old folk sigh, the middle-aged roll their eyes and Rosie grin to herself about how nice it was to see her friend so happy.

After a while the scent of fish and chips got too much
for her and she realised she’d been up for hours and was absolutely starving. She went to see if Lilian wanted to eat too.

‘Go away,’ said Lilian, with her mouth full. ‘You’re not having any of my chips.’

She was holding court at a large table full of other residents of the home. Ida Delia was stoically ploughing through what was clearly a second or third helping. Her startlingly blonde hair was tied up with a bright red ribbon like Emily’s. Rosie rather liked it.

‘Mam, you’re to stop that, you’re getting fat,’ the similarly well-upholstered Dorothy Isitt was scolding her from the next table.

‘Shut up,’ said Ida Delia. ‘Don’t tell me what to do.’

‘Hello, Ida Delia,’ said Rosie. ‘You look nice.’

‘Tarty, more like,’ said Lilian. ‘And have you seen how much she eats?’

‘Stop with the torture,’ said Rosie severely. ‘I’ve told you before.’

‘I’m just trying to be ladylike,’ said Lilian serenely. ‘And stay away from my chips!’

‘And I was just trying to be helpful,’ said Rosie.

‘If you want to be helpful,’ said Lilian, ‘you can bring us more champagne. Matron keeps making remarks about peeing the bed, and we think just for one night and one big celebration we should all be allowed to wet our beds.’

‘Hear hear!’ chorused the table, raising their glasses in unison.

‘I’ll just go and see to it,’ said Rosie hurriedly, backing away.

Outside, the light was already failing, even though it was only early afternoon. December the twenty-first, Rosie thought, the shortest day of the year. After this, everything would get lighter again. It would. This festival, with the great bonfire crackling, its heat so intense that snow was melting off the branches all around, was fighting off the powers of darkness; the forces that had, at times, threatened to close over her head, so hard had this year seemed. She found Stephen, who was idly chatting with Moshe, drinking cider and leaning on his stick; she took his hand and rested her head on his shoulder. Without missing a beat, he moved his arm around her, held her close, kissed the top of her head, as if he could tell what she was thinking without her having to mention it. He leaned over to whisper something in her ear.

‘Have you lost that baby again?’

Oh well, maybe he wasn’t quite that psychic.

‘No! He’s fine, he’s asleep in the straw.’

‘You Christians are amazing,’ said Moshe, shaking his head.

‘And you came out to fill your face?’ said Stephen.

‘Actually,’ said Rosie, ‘I was being all romantic and contemplative.’

Stephen smiled.

‘Can’t you be those things and fill your face at the same time?’

‘Yes!’

‘Want me to get you some?’

‘No. If I go, I get the crispy bits.’

‘Now you see why she’s my girl,’ said Stephen to Moshe, with pride.

The fish and chip van was proving the more popular of the two, and Rosie queued happily for the silken-fleshed haddock and the extra-crispy chips, golden and steaming, wrapped in specially printed paper that said ‘Tina & Jake, 21 December 2014’. Rosie smiled. Tina always did think of everything.

She got some Fanta too and went back to stand with Stephen and Moshe, smiling cheerfully at even the twelfth person who passed and said, ‘You two next.’

Everyone was rather well oiled and jolly by the time they got to the speeches.

Jake’s had been so sincere and nice about Tina – and short; he obviously couldn’t bear public speaking, and had turned brick red – and he was patently relieved when the attention turned to Rosie and Stephen. Even the children, who had been running wild building snowmen in the woods and hurling themselves about
the dance floor, sat up to watch with expectant faces. Jake held the microphone out to them insistently.

‘Oh Lord,’ said Stephen.

‘You spend ALL DAY standing up and talking to people,’ said Rosie.

‘Small people,’ said Stephen.

‘Everyone’s small to you.’

Finally, realising that he had no choice, Stephen got up, reluctantly, to good-humoured applause.

‘Um,’ he said. As he stood up, he realised he was a bit drunk. Actually, really quite drunk. He hadn’t been paying attention out round the bonfire with everyone in such a good mood, instead letting his glass be refilled by a teenager with a crush on him.

‘Thanks for coming … um, and big thanks to Tina and Jake for letting us gatecrash their simply fabulous wedding. There were times this past year when …’ he turned to look at Rosie, ‘when thinking about this wedding has been one of the very few things that’s cheered us up.’

Rosie nodded madly, slightly worried as she noticed him swaying.

‘Hear hear,’ shouted someone, and there was a general toast. Stephen cracked a big lopsided grin at everyone.

‘And I wanted to say as well how sorry we are to be leaving, and how much we’re going to miss all of this and all of you, and hopefully we’ll be back and forth a bit …’

His voice trailed off as he realised everyone had gone silent.

‘Stephen!’ hissed Rosie loudly. She caught sight of Mrs Baptiste, the headmistress of the school, whose jaw had dropped open. Tina was looking at her in absolute horror. All the children had gasped.

‘What?’ the old people were saying on their table.

‘Ah,’ said Stephen, realising belatedly that he’d said rather too much. ‘Anyway, the happy couple.’ He raised his glass quickly and collapsed back into his seat.

‘Well,’ he said, to Rosie’s white face, ‘at least we’re spared the trouble of telling everyone.’

There was hubbub in the hall. Tina was coming up to Rosie with a shocked look on her face.

‘Don’t worry,’ Rosie reassured her. ‘The sweetshop will continue, I promise. But … yes. I think we’re going to have to leave.’

Lilian was looking awkward, and Rosie wanted to go over to her and reassure her that they weren’t sad, that it wasn’t her fault, but she kept being waylaid. One of Stephen’s pupils, Rosie noticed, was in tears. Then she turned round to find Edison standing quiet and pale by her chair.

‘Are you moving to Switzerland?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Rosie, puzzled. ‘Why?’

‘I just think people go to Switzerland,’ said Edison, pushing up his glasses.

‘Are you reading those Second World War books again?’

‘You’ll be safe in Switzerland.’

‘We’re not going to Switzerland! We’re going to Derby! We’ll be thirty miles down the road!’

‘That’s pretty far.’

‘It’s not far! We’ll be back all the time!’

‘How far’s a mile?’

‘Not very far.’

Edison stared at the ground.

‘But you’re my friend,’ he said quietly.

Rosie put her arms around him.

‘I will always be your friend,’ she said. ‘I promise.’

‘That won’t help me when you’re in Switzerland,’ grumbled Edison, as she cuddled his thin body.

Stephen meanwhile had been shocked sober and was talking to Mrs Baptiste, who was, justifiably, absolutely furious with him for announcing his de facto resignation at a wedding ceremony. Stephen tried to explain that he’d commute until he found something else, but that cut no ice with Mrs Baptiste, who pointed out quite rightly that there was a huge teacher shortage in central Derby and he’d get offered something very senior in five minutes, and he’d better be wearing his lion tamer’s outfit. Pamela stared at them both completely stony-faced, as person after person asked loudly why they were moving away.

Even though the hall was still buzzing with gossip, suddenly Roy Blaine himself stood and cleared his throat. Pamela banged her glass loudly to get everyone to stop talking, and people did finally turn round.

‘Welcome to my party,’ he started. There was scattered and quite puzzled-sounding applause. ‘And make sure you floss after all that cake, it can really get in the spaces between your teeth and cause abscesses if left untreated.’

There was a long pause. Rosie wasn’t sure if he thought this was a joke or not. He didn’t really do jokes. Pamela was looking up at him with the fervour of a political wife at a party conference.

‘So, now that I’ve finally managed to escape the coils of that witch …’

He paused for longer this time, and Rosie realised to her horror that he did actually think that was a joke and they were all meant to laugh, though thankfully nobody did.

‘… I can celebrate my freedom … with you, my dear friends.’

There was a kind of embarrassed murmur round the hall. Pamela ran her hand lightly up and down Roy’s arm. Across the hall, Rosie heard Lilian cough, loudly and clearly, on purpose.

‘So let’s all raise a glass …’ said Roy, which everyone, by now getting quite confused, was happy to do as the champagne kept on flowing.

As they did so, there was a noise at the end of the hut, and the door crashed open. Standing there, her cheeks very pink, both from the cold and from every eye in the room being on her, was Laura, Roy’s absent wife.

Roy’s face drained of all colour. Without even turning round, he shook Pamela’s hand off his arm, and swallowed, hard. There was a deathly silence in the room. Laura looked around, and several of her friends, slightly in their cups, raised their glasses and said hello.

Slowly, watched by everyone, her face pinker by the minute, she marched up to the top table and stood right in front of Roy, who was gripping his glass so hard it looked like it might shatter. Rosie glanced across at Lilian and was delighted to see she had lost her uncomfortable expression from earlier, and was looking increasingly perked up with all the lovely gossip. Tina clutched Rosie’s hand, eyebrows raised.

‘So,’ Laura said quietly. ‘You never take me out. You never socialise with me. You never host parties. You are no fun. You never buy champagne. You never do anything nice. And the SECOND I leave …’ She put out her hand to indicate the happy, heaving room, and shook her head. ‘You’re a cruel and despicable man, Roy Blaine.’

Roy seemed struck dumb. Laura looked him up and
down, nodded quietly, then slowly turned to go.

‘Wait,’ croaked Roy as she began making her way across the hall. ‘LAURA! I LOVE YOU! I’VE BEEN AN IDIOT! I CAN CHANGE!’

There was a long, long pause. Rosie glanced at Pamela’s face. It was white and taut with anger.

Laura froze, and closed her eyes.

‘I mean it. I MEAN IT!’

Roy held up one of the bottles of champagne.

‘I won’t make you clean the swimming pool any more!’

‘He really needs to shut up about that damn swimming pool,’ whispered Stephen.

‘This is not the time for you to comment on things people don’t know to shut up about,’ whispered Rosie back. She was grateful to Laura for taking the spotlight off them, but she was still going to have a lot of mopping up to do.

‘Laura …’

Roy’s voice was cracking. Then, amazingly, he started to sing.

‘
Tell Laura I love her …’

It was such an unlikely, pretty little song he sang, and, to Rosie’s amazement, he had a lovely voice: a deep baritone that rang out through the hall. A tear gradually stole its way down Laura’s cheek. Tina went and put her arms around her, then gently turned her round.

Roy stood there, two glasses in his hands.

‘I’ve been such a shit husband.’

‘And such a shit,’ some wag piped up from the tables.

Laura nodded dumbly.