The Christmas Surprise
Page 57

There was nothing to be done that wouldn’t give away their location. Rosie buried her head in Moray’s jacket to hide her eyes, but otherwise they just had to sit there and not move whilst sloppy kissing sounds reached them from the lowered car window.
‘Arrrgh,’ said Rosie. ‘I’ll never be clean again.’
Finally, thankfully, someone came out of the hut to collect something, whereupon the Porsche immediately burst into action with a puff of exhaust, and, with a waved hand from Roy, sped off. Rosie and Moray burst out into loud laughter.
‘This is already a Really Good Wedding,’ said Rosie.
‘It is,’ said Moray. ‘Whilst you were hiding your face I took some pics on my phone.’
Moray left for his afternoon calls and Rosie went back inside to help with the finishing touches. Strung out on the floor was a banner they had been making for the front of the hut. Rosie couldn’t help smiling. Huge cut-out letters, painstakingly stitched on by the church ladies, spelled out ‘CONGRATULATIONS TINA AND JAKE’, to which had been hastily added ‘AND ROY’.
Halfway through the afternoon, another large car drew up, honking loudly. Rosie went out to see what the commotion was. Lady Lipton was sitting in her battered old Land Rover. Rosie went over nervously.
‘Hello.’
‘Have you seen Pamela?’ asked Lady Lipton, looking distracted. ‘I can’t find her anywhere.’
Rosie plumped for discretion being the greater part of valour, and shook her head sadly.
‘Um, I don’t think so.’
Lady Lipton examined the hut more closely, peering in through the open door.
‘What on earth is going on here?’ She indicated the walls, which were now so festooned with banners and lights it was hard to see the wooden panelling. ‘It looks like a tart’s boudoir. Are you opening a brothel?’
She looked at Rosie with a look that suggested she would have absolutely no problem believing this.
‘Of course I’m not opening a brothel,’ said Rosie crossly. ‘It’s for Tina’s wedding.’
‘Who?’
Rosie rolled her eyes.
‘My colleague and friend Tina. She’s getting married tomorrow.’
‘Is she? I don’t recall being invited.’
‘She asked if she could hold the wedding in your house, and you said no.’
‘Did I?’ said Henrietta distractedly. She looked at the hut for a little longer, and Rosie thought she seemed slightly wistful.
‘Well,’ she said eventually. Are we all sorted for the christening?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie. She had been thinking about this since the first time Henrietta had met Apostil, remembering how she had behaved. She didn’t want the gown, the fuss, the Lipton family burden. She would bless Apostil for his town and his community, but not for Henrietta. ‘But it’s going to be a blessing because he was baptised in Africa. We’re doing it at the wedding. Quickly and quietly.’
‘Indeed,’ said Henrietta. ‘And afterwards?’
‘We’ll go to the wedding party,’ said Rosie. ‘At the scout hut.’
Lady Lipton looked at her aghast.
‘But Lipton babies always have a drinks party at Lipton Hall. It’s tradition. It’s always been that way.’
Rosie found herself uncharacteristically outspoken for once. She had had enough of biting her tongue with half the town; enough of the sideways looks, enough of the remarks.
‘Well you can do it with Pamela’s children then,’ she shot back. ‘The ones you really want.’
And she turned round and stormed back into the hut, her hands shaking.
‘Sorry,’ he said, before she’d even walked in. ‘I’m sorry. I talked it out with Diane, and—’ Rosie turned to him.
‘Do you know,’ she said, as calmly as she was able, ‘do you know they can reverse what we signed in Africa? Take the baby away?’
‘They’re a bunch of interfering busybodies.’
‘With the full support of the law behind them.’ Stephen nodded. ‘I know, I understand.’
‘Did you see your mates in London?’ asked Rosie. ‘Don’t ask,’ grimaced Stephen. ‘Was just a thought. Anyway, Mother called about the blessing …’
‘No. Don’t start with me,’ said Rosie. ‘I know she’s your mum, but this is the limit. They’ve basically made us homeless and now they want us to play happy families? No. I’ll do the christening for Lilian, but we’ll do it tomorrow. Without that fricking dress thing.’
‘It was my sister who made us homeless,’ said Stephen, his face pained.
‘Yeah, backed up by Witchiepoo.’
Stephen still looked sad.
‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m sorry. But I have tried and tried with that woman.’
‘I know you have,’ said Stephen. ‘But Rosie, you’ve got a whole family that is just going to dote on Apostil – I can’t get your bloody mother off Skype. He’s going to have everyone from your side, all his life. And nobody from mine.’
‘Well tell them to come and visit us in the little Derby terrace,’ said Rosie. ‘See how often that happens.’
‘Can you stop?’ said Stephen, suddenly riled. ‘You’ve won, okay? We’re moving. We’re going to the hospital. We’re living in a city. I’m changing my job.’
‘How have I won, Stephen?’ shouted Rosie, at the end of her tether. ‘HOW HAVE I WON? Do you think I want my mother-in-law to hate my guts because I’ve only got one surname? Do you think I want to leave Lipton and end up in some sooty tenement, going back to stitching up drunks on a Saturday night? Do you think I want to spend the next two years sitting by our son’s hospital bed, praying that he’ll be all right? Or watching you come home to a shitty little house, exhausted from marking thirty-six kids’ exercise books every night? HOW have I won?’
She sat down in exhaustion.
‘You don’t have to do this, you know. You didn’t know what you were getting yourself into last year. Some barren old cow with nowhere to live. It’s not too late, you know. You’re still your mother’s golden boy. You can crawl back. Live in the freaking east wing or something.’
The colour drained from Stephen’s face.