The Christmas Surprise
Page 39

‘Babies shouldn’t wear wool,’ said Joy, her face arranged into an expression of concern. ‘They can choke on it and die. Also you shouldn’t leave them lying on the floor.’
She glanced at her iPad again. Rosie wanted to explain that he liked kicking on the floor, that normally it was very clean, that the fire had only gone down because they were leaving the house, and by the way it was the height of sneakiness to appear unannounced. But all she could choke out was ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘That would be lovely,’ said Joy automatically, just as Rosie realised to her horror that there wasn’t a drop of milk left in the entire house.
‘I’ll just pop next door and get some milk,’ she said before she realised the words had left her mouth. ‘Taking the baby, of course,’ she added as Joy raised her eyebrows.
‘Do you pop out a lot?’ she said, tapping hard on her iPad.
Rosie had never wished more fervently for a time machine to take her back ten minutes. Maybe twenty, so she could stoke the fire and get the milk in.
‘Never,’ she said.
After about a hundred years, absolutely puce in the face, Rosie managed to produce two cups of tea and sit down.
‘So have you seen your health visitor?’ asked Joy, bringing out a questionnaire that seemed to be about a thousand pages long.
‘Um, yes,’ said Rosie. In fact what had happened was that Moray had come round to dinner, played with the baby, then said, fuck the health visit, everyone was clearly fine and they ought to save the local authority the resources, it was immoral otherwise.
‘Because it’s not in the file.’
‘Really?’ said Rosie, sitting stock still. She knew enough about NHS paperwork to suspect that she might get away with this one.
‘Who was it?’ said Joy.
‘I can’t remember,’ said Rosie.
‘Well, what did he or she look like?’
‘It was a woman,’ guessed Rosie. ‘That’s all I know.’
Joy stared at her for a long instant.
‘Have you found yourself often suffering from memory loss since Baby arrived?’
Apostil had settled down and Rosie gave him a cuddle.
‘Yes,’ she confessed, honestly. ‘All I think about is him. He’s called Apostil, by the way.’
Joy sniffed, unimpressed.
‘Can you show me where Baby sleeps?’
Rosie led her down the short passageway to Lilian’s room. It was very cold, and the cot was squeezed in between the bed and the wardrobe, with no room to pass.
‘Hmm,’ said Joy. ‘And you and your husband are where?’
‘Oh, we’re not married,’ said Rosie. ‘Yet.’
‘Now I’m not here to judge,’ lied Joy, ‘but it’s a fact that children do better from homes where the parents are married.’
‘Well, one, that’s a stupid fact,’ said Rosie. ‘My parents weren’t married. And two, we are getting married. Totally. Once we get a minute.’
‘And you sleep …’
‘Um, up in the attic.’ She nodded her head towards the ceiling. The pull-down staircase that led to the attic room was up just now, it being the daytime. Joy frowned.
‘You have ladders around the house?’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s not really a ladder …’
She tried to pull the string down whilst still holding Apostil on her hip. This was, she realised belatedly, a lot harder when she couldn’t lie him on the floor like she normally did. She managed to skip out of the way of the swinging staircase just in time.
‘Ta-dah!’
Joy marched up the stairs, her notable bottom blocking the way. Rosie tried to remember if she’d left anything on the bedroom floor that shouldn’t be there, and hugged Apostil tightly.
‘Your baby monitor isn’t on,’ said Joy imperiously, her voice booming from above.
‘That’s because I’m with the baby,’ said Rosie. ‘I normally only have it on while I’m up there. Otherwise a bird gets in and scares the life out of me.’
There was a long silence.
‘One time. One time we left the window open and a bird got in.’
The large rump descended.
‘We don’t normally recommend having babies and birds in the same house.’
Rosie bit her lip.
‘No. Me neither.’
Joy looked around pointedly.
‘We’re thinking of moving,’ said Rosie quickly. Her fury at having her great-aunt’s lovely cottage sneered at was making her pink in the cheeks.
Joy took Apostil off her without so much as asking her permission. Annoyingly for Rosie, he kicked and wriggled perfectly happily in the social worker’s arms.
‘Hello, Apostil,’ she said, as if she was talking to another adult. Apostil gave her one of his gummy grins. She looked at his arm carefully. ‘What are you thinking about this?’ she said, her voice softening a touch.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Rosie, pleased to be on safer ground. ‘Either we see how he gets on, or …’ her voice choked a little, as it usually did on this subject, ‘or we amputate very early and get him used to a prothesis as he grows …’
She turned her face away. Joy nodded.
‘Well, you must choose what will be best for him.’
‘Of course I will,’ said Rosie, stung.
‘And what will that be?’
‘I … I don’t know yet.’
There was a strained silence.
‘I’ll need to meet your other half,’ said Joy. ‘What time does he get home?’
‘About four thirty,’ said Rosie stiffly. She did not like to think what Stephen would make of Joy.
‘Good,’ said Joy, handing back Apostil. Rosie breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Now, were you going to work?’
‘Uh, yes.’
‘And who is the child’s primary caregiver whilst you do so?’
‘Uh, me,’ said Rosie.
‘You take Apostil to your workplace? Has this been checked by Health and Safety?’ She glanced at the iPad again. ‘You work in a shop?’
‘Um, yes.’
Joy pushed up her red glasses with one finger.
‘Is there any glass in it?’
Rosie thought of the rows and rows of heavy glass jars on their high shelves.