The Christmas Surprise
Page 41

‘I heard she had the builders in,’ said Rosie crossly. ‘Making herself the perfect home in the country. For one person to bounce around in all by themselves.’
‘Now, now,’ said Lilian. ‘No point in being bitter about something you never had.’
‘You can talk!’ said Rosie, and they smiled at one another.
‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘I know, you’re totally right, I shouldn’t even think about it. And anyway, we should probably move to town.’
Lilian heaved a sigh and stared for a moment into the fire.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘I wonder what Henry would say.’
Rosie looked at her. Henry had a useful way of knowing exactly what Lilian would like.
‘Henry would say, you know, the cottage … it’s not my home any more. This is my home now.’ She looked around. ‘And you made it possible.’
Rosie shrugged.
‘And now you need a home.’ She leaned forward gently and patted Rosie on the hand. ‘You can sell it, you know. You should.’
‘Sell your lovely cottage?’ said Rosie. ‘We were only going to rent it out.’
‘Well you can’t live there, up a ladder. What are you going to do when Apostil starts crawling? When he needs his own room? When he starts eating my roses?’ She placed her hands in her lap. ‘No, it’s quite decided. You must sell the cottage and get yourselves somewhere more suitable, and some of the money can cover me here, can’t it? It’s never had one of those … mortgage thingies.’
‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘Of course we’d give all the money back to you, of course we would.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Lilian. ‘I know you’re not taking a proper salary from the shop. We’ll see what it will fetch, then what I need to stay here for another—’
‘Twenty years,’ said Rosie stoutly.
‘Year or so,’ said Lilian at the same moment.
There was a pause. Lilian looked into the fire again.
‘I do miss him so,’ she said quietly. ‘I do so want to be with him.’
‘We will always take care of you,’ said Rosie softly. ‘And I thought we could do it without you having to give up your home.’
‘Well, you have a family now,’ said Lilian. ‘Nothing but trouble, I don’t know why you bother, much easier without.’
Rosie grinned.
‘And that one is going to be cheeky. I can always tell. I know children. Plus you have that handful of a Stephen Lakeman to look after.’
‘I like doing those things, though,’ protested Rosie.
‘I know,’ said Lilian. ‘Anyway my mind is quite made up. And Angie agrees with me.’
‘What do you mean, Angie agrees with you?’
‘Oh, she’s on the phone all the time, blah blah, you know, Rosie’s house is too small, blah blah, you should really get rid of it, give her a foot on the ladder.’
‘She is AWFUL, my mother,’ said Rosie.
‘Oh no, she’s great,’ said Lilian. ‘Right. Get the estate agent in.’
‘But your lovely things …’
‘What, I won’t have a guest room wherever you go? You’re moving to Darkest Peru?’
‘No!’
‘Well then. I shall see my things. And they are only things, not people.’
She waved her hands as Rosie leant in to give her a hug. A shrill alarm went off in the sitting room and Cathryn marched past, a stern look on her face.
‘Well, somebody in this room is wet,’ they heard her say, as Lilian, smiling, shook her head, and Rosie leapt up to go and attend to things.
‘So can we go and visit our African school?’
The questions at Lipton Primary hadn’t got any less relentless. Stephen had described for them the hope and the poverty and had even managed to find a video Faustine had of the children of the village singing.
The Lipton children now were completely obsessed, particularly with buying them shoes. Various events for fund-raising had been suggested, including Chloe Carr-Beckley doing a sponsored silence, and various boys volunteering to sit in a bath of baked beans for anything up to a year. Stephen managed to get them back to their quiet morning work, but at lunchtime he allowed them to stay in – it was filthy wet outside, although this didn’t seem to bother most of them, country children as they were, and the playground was a sea of red and black parkas – and several of them followed him to the new music and art room, where he smiled and acquiesced and promised to teach them an African song, then, accompanying them in a clunky fashion on the piano, videoed them singing ‘Jerusalem’ to send back to Faustine. She might be able to show it to the village children on her phone.
So he was in a bouncy mood, despite everything, as he marched back up the cobbled street in the gloom, to be greeted by Rosie telling him about Joy.
‘She said what?’
‘Um, she said she was coming back.’
‘When?’
‘She wouldn’t say. Just that she needs to check us all out. And Ap probably can’t come to work with me.’
‘Screw that, of course he can. That’s what babies have been doing for thousands of years.’
‘And she doesn’t like the sleeping arrangements.’
‘Well she can eff off and live in a hut in Kduli,’ said Stephen. ‘And I’ll tell her that when I see her.’
Rosie winced. He would too.
‘What? What’s the problem? You want me to kowtow to the social worker, tell her she’s right about everything and can Nazi into our lives and pass judgement on everything we say and think and do?’
‘Um, kind of,’ said Rosie. ‘Just for a bit, till she leaves us alone.’
‘What’s she going to do?’ said Stephen, some of his old hauteur resurfacing. ‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously, she could take the baby away,’ said Rosie. ‘Lilian says they do that all the time.’
‘Yes, but Lilian only reads newspapers sanctioned by fascists,’ said Stephen. ‘It’s nonsense.’
‘Just in case it’s not nonsense—’ began Rosie, sensing she was on dangerous ground but not quite sure where to stop. Also she had to tell Stephen about the house.
Suddenly there was a sharp rapping on the door. Rosie and Stephen looked at each other.