The Christmas Surprise
Page 27
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‘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.
‘No need,’ she said, returning his kiss.
‘Um, there is need,’ said Stephen, his voice a low rumble. ‘You’ve been away for AGES …’
Chapter Nine
First through the door the next morning was, to absolutely nobody’s surprise, Hester, with Edison in tow, and baby Marie, now a stout, lively eleven-month-old, tied up in an ethnic sling not unlike Rosie’s. Rosie couldn’t have known when she had delivered Marie last Christmas how much help this would prove months later and thousands of miles away. She wanted to hug them both. Hester would undoubtedly have had something to say about that.
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.
‘No need,’ she said, returning his kiss.
‘Um, there is need,’ said Stephen, his voice a low rumble. ‘You’ve been away for AGES …’
Chapter Nine
First through the door the next morning was, to absolutely nobody’s surprise, Hester, with Edison in tow, and baby Marie, now a stout, lively eleven-month-old, tied up in an ethnic sling not unlike Rosie’s. Rosie couldn’t have known when she had delivered Marie last Christmas how much help this would prove months later and thousands of miles away. She wanted to hug them both. Hester would undoubtedly have had something to say about that.
