The Christmas Surprise
Page 61
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‘If I can ask Stephen Lakeman and Rosie …’ the vicar coughed, making it entirely clear he was making a point about their different surnames, and glanced at the front pew, ‘Hopkins to step forward.’
‘Oh crap,’ said Rosie. ‘He thinks we’re down there.’
‘You know what that means,’ said Stephen, as the congregation started to twist around looking for them. ‘We are actually going to have to walk down the aisle.’
Rosie went bright pink.
‘Oh bloody hell.’
Helpfully, the organist sprang into action, playing ‘Paiste Am Betlehem’, the ancient Manx carol, that sounded so unearthly it made Rosie shiver.
‘Seriously?’ she said.
‘Seriously,’ said Stephen, proffering his arm. And desperately trying not to laugh, particularly under the disapproving eye of Stephen’s mother and Lilian, both of whom clearly thought they were showing off, they proceeded down the aisle, in Stephen’s case for the second time that morning.
‘Well that was unorthodox,’ said the vicar as they arrived at the front, blushing.
‘You should know,’ murmured Stephen under his breath.
‘Can I also have the godparents?’ said the vicar into the microphone.
Rosie looked round nervously. Moray had disappeared when they’d arrived at the church; she’d expected him to sit with them, but he wasn’t there. Finally she saw him, right at the back, easing out of the end of the pew, followed by a slim, handsome, dark-eyed man.
A gasp of shock went through the congregation as the two men walked up the aisle hand in hand. The vicar was beside himself. Rosie handed Apostil to Stephen and went and met them at the top of the aisle, throwing her arms around them both.
‘Moshe!’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you came! Oh my God, Moray, you’ve really done it this time.’
‘I do hope so,’ said Moray into her ear. ‘Bloody hell.’
Rosie laughed. She’d never seen him without his sangfroid.
Stephen came forward to shake both their hands.
‘The vicar is calling up his agent as we speak to try and get on television. Welcome.’
‘We come as a job lot,’ said Moray. ‘Is that okay?’
‘Totally!’ said Rosie. ‘Do you have a clue what you’re doing?’
‘Nope,’ said Moshe. ‘But I haven’t been burned up in a fiery pit yet.’
‘There’s time,’ said Rosie. ‘Just nod a lot.’
She turned on Moray’s smartphone, which was somehow patching in to Angie in Australia. All the children whooped to see their auntie Rosie, and were rapidly silenced by Angie and Pip.
Tina and Jake, the other godparents, emerged shyly from signing the register, and there were hugs and kisses all round. Rosie, glancing up, caught sight of Henrietta, standing proud and cold at the end of her pew, staring straight ahead as if at a funeral, and felt, in the midst of all her joy, a clutch of pity. Then she thought again of all her empty rooms, and how she still could not open her arms to her own son, and looked away.
‘If we could just get started,’ said the vicar, who was still peeved at not being allowed to perform his original baptism song on his guitar.
He gabbled through the introductory words. Apostil was thoroughly entranced by the lights and the candles and the being handed about, and seemed to be enjoying himself hugely. Then, just as the vicar put his arms out to take him, there was a sudden eruption of giggles and fidgeting from the children’s choir, and Stephen glanced over at them, smiled, and held up his hand.
‘Um,’ he said. ‘We have just one thing.’
‘What?’ said Rosie, feeling that this service had turned into enough of a carnival already.
‘Well,’ said Stephen, clearing his throat. ‘What with the sponsored bean sitting, and the sponsored swim and the sponsored silence, and everyone in the village who kept a tin on their shop counter … we managed to do this …’
He grinned, and turned towards the little choir at the side, who turned on several laptop computers Rosie hadn’t noticed before. After some inevitable fidgeting, they all got fixed and lined up, and Rosie gasped. To her amazement, there it was, right in front of them – the school, the little school in Kduli. But it had a fresh coat of paint, and a large solar-powered fan, and in the corner, a massive selection of books; and every child had a new slate.
A huge group of laughing children were hogging the camera, waving, showing off their new toy, making faces in front of it. A loud ‘CHUT,’ could be heard off camera, from Faustine, and all the children settled down, except one little girl with tight braids, who came forward very slowly and said, with a heavy French accent, ‘We would like to send our love to our brother Apostil and all our brothers and sisters in Lipton.’
Then Stephen raised his arm, and suddenly, from Africa, and from the chilly, snow-covered church, all the children’s voices rose as one.
Sama raka modou, sama raka modou
Yéwougham, Yéwougham
Gnoundé yayou diné gnoundé yayou diné
Ding dang dong, ding dang dong
Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques,
Dormez vous? Dormez Vous?
Sonnez le matin, sonnez le matin
Ding dang dong, ding dang dong.
Then the music changed to something slower, and the voices raised.
Douce nuit, sainte nuit!
Dans les cieux! L’astre luit.
Le mystère annoncé s’accomplit.
Cet enfant sur la paille endormit,
C’est l’amour infini,
C’est l’amour infini!
Silent night, holy night
All is calm all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace.
The sound was glorious, filling the entire nave. The children sang the lilting African lullaby first in Swahili, then in French, then the last time round in a charming, halting English, Stephen conducting madly the entire time.
Rosie held Apostil very tight, the tears rolling off her chin and dripping on his head. Tina whispered how she was going to kill Stephen for ruining her mascara. The church sat rapt, then, when the final voices had died away, erupted in a massive storm of clapping and cheering. It took a while to calm everybody down, and they were in the process of saying goodbye to the children in Kduli when the line collapsed and froze, and contact was lost.
‘Oh crap,’ said Rosie. ‘He thinks we’re down there.’
‘You know what that means,’ said Stephen, as the congregation started to twist around looking for them. ‘We are actually going to have to walk down the aisle.’
Rosie went bright pink.
‘Oh bloody hell.’
Helpfully, the organist sprang into action, playing ‘Paiste Am Betlehem’, the ancient Manx carol, that sounded so unearthly it made Rosie shiver.
‘Seriously?’ she said.
‘Seriously,’ said Stephen, proffering his arm. And desperately trying not to laugh, particularly under the disapproving eye of Stephen’s mother and Lilian, both of whom clearly thought they were showing off, they proceeded down the aisle, in Stephen’s case for the second time that morning.
‘Well that was unorthodox,’ said the vicar as they arrived at the front, blushing.
‘You should know,’ murmured Stephen under his breath.
‘Can I also have the godparents?’ said the vicar into the microphone.
Rosie looked round nervously. Moray had disappeared when they’d arrived at the church; she’d expected him to sit with them, but he wasn’t there. Finally she saw him, right at the back, easing out of the end of the pew, followed by a slim, handsome, dark-eyed man.
A gasp of shock went through the congregation as the two men walked up the aisle hand in hand. The vicar was beside himself. Rosie handed Apostil to Stephen and went and met them at the top of the aisle, throwing her arms around them both.
‘Moshe!’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you came! Oh my God, Moray, you’ve really done it this time.’
‘I do hope so,’ said Moray into her ear. ‘Bloody hell.’
Rosie laughed. She’d never seen him without his sangfroid.
Stephen came forward to shake both their hands.
‘The vicar is calling up his agent as we speak to try and get on television. Welcome.’
‘We come as a job lot,’ said Moray. ‘Is that okay?’
‘Totally!’ said Rosie. ‘Do you have a clue what you’re doing?’
‘Nope,’ said Moshe. ‘But I haven’t been burned up in a fiery pit yet.’
‘There’s time,’ said Rosie. ‘Just nod a lot.’
She turned on Moray’s smartphone, which was somehow patching in to Angie in Australia. All the children whooped to see their auntie Rosie, and were rapidly silenced by Angie and Pip.
Tina and Jake, the other godparents, emerged shyly from signing the register, and there were hugs and kisses all round. Rosie, glancing up, caught sight of Henrietta, standing proud and cold at the end of her pew, staring straight ahead as if at a funeral, and felt, in the midst of all her joy, a clutch of pity. Then she thought again of all her empty rooms, and how she still could not open her arms to her own son, and looked away.
‘If we could just get started,’ said the vicar, who was still peeved at not being allowed to perform his original baptism song on his guitar.
He gabbled through the introductory words. Apostil was thoroughly entranced by the lights and the candles and the being handed about, and seemed to be enjoying himself hugely. Then, just as the vicar put his arms out to take him, there was a sudden eruption of giggles and fidgeting from the children’s choir, and Stephen glanced over at them, smiled, and held up his hand.
‘Um,’ he said. ‘We have just one thing.’
‘What?’ said Rosie, feeling that this service had turned into enough of a carnival already.
‘Well,’ said Stephen, clearing his throat. ‘What with the sponsored bean sitting, and the sponsored swim and the sponsored silence, and everyone in the village who kept a tin on their shop counter … we managed to do this …’
He grinned, and turned towards the little choir at the side, who turned on several laptop computers Rosie hadn’t noticed before. After some inevitable fidgeting, they all got fixed and lined up, and Rosie gasped. To her amazement, there it was, right in front of them – the school, the little school in Kduli. But it had a fresh coat of paint, and a large solar-powered fan, and in the corner, a massive selection of books; and every child had a new slate.
A huge group of laughing children were hogging the camera, waving, showing off their new toy, making faces in front of it. A loud ‘CHUT,’ could be heard off camera, from Faustine, and all the children settled down, except one little girl with tight braids, who came forward very slowly and said, with a heavy French accent, ‘We would like to send our love to our brother Apostil and all our brothers and sisters in Lipton.’
Then Stephen raised his arm, and suddenly, from Africa, and from the chilly, snow-covered church, all the children’s voices rose as one.
Sama raka modou, sama raka modou
Yéwougham, Yéwougham
Gnoundé yayou diné gnoundé yayou diné
Ding dang dong, ding dang dong
Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques,
Dormez vous? Dormez Vous?
Sonnez le matin, sonnez le matin
Ding dang dong, ding dang dong.
Then the music changed to something slower, and the voices raised.
Douce nuit, sainte nuit!
Dans les cieux! L’astre luit.
Le mystère annoncé s’accomplit.
Cet enfant sur la paille endormit,
C’est l’amour infini,
C’est l’amour infini!
Silent night, holy night
All is calm all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace.
The sound was glorious, filling the entire nave. The children sang the lilting African lullaby first in Swahili, then in French, then the last time round in a charming, halting English, Stephen conducting madly the entire time.
Rosie held Apostil very tight, the tears rolling off her chin and dripping on his head. Tina whispered how she was going to kill Stephen for ruining her mascara. The church sat rapt, then, when the final voices had died away, erupted in a massive storm of clapping and cheering. It took a while to calm everybody down, and they were in the process of saying goodbye to the children in Kduli when the line collapsed and froze, and contact was lost.
