The Christmas Surprise
Page 67

‘Gah,’ said Apostil.
Rosie picked him up and covered him in kisses.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I probably smell awful.’
‘Bu,’ said Apostil.
Three cups of tea and four Nurofen later, Rosie was trying to put things in perspective. Apostil had rolled over four times. This was better than everything else.
‘Woah,’ she said. ‘Stephen! You’re missing, like, all the milestones! If you don’t get down here soon, he’ll be off to university.’
‘Grraaaah,’ came a voice from upstairs.
‘Hangovers are much worse when you’re a parent,’ confided Rosie to Apostil. ‘That is why you mustn’t drink.’ She looked around the kitchen dolefully. ‘In fact, almost anything you see your mum and dad do in life, just do the opposite and you’ll be all right.’
Apostil batted her arm until she gave him some more of his bottle. Maybe, thought Rosie. Maybe she hadn’t been too bad with Joy last night. Then she remembered something about lying dead in a ditch and closed her eyes. Oh Lord.
She also remembered Stephen announcing to everyone that they were leaving. Oh God, no wonder he didn’t want to get up. She checked her phone, as usual having to hang her arm out of the window to get a signal. It started bleeping with messages. She glanced at one from Tina announcing what a fabulous day she’d had, and remembered that they would have to go up there at some point this afternoon and help clear up so the hut could revert to the Boys’ Brigade. She couldn’t help smiling when she remembered Roy and Laura, though. Except, God, poor Pamela.
Eventually she couldn’t take it any longer and went out to get the Sunday papers and some Lucozade for Stephen. Malik looked absolutely fine and cheerful behind the shop counter, even though he’d still been there when they’d left last night.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said when he saw her. ‘Everyone is suffering this morning.’
‘Seriously?’ said Rosie. ‘I look that bad?’
‘No,’ said Malik quickly.
Rosie bought fizzy drinks, papers and some bacon to make sandwiches.
‘So,’ said Malik, ‘you are leaving us.’
‘It’s only a few miles,’ said Rosie. ‘We’ll come back and visit.’
Even as she said it, it sounded hollow to her own ears.
‘We need to do what’s best for this little man,’ she said.
As he always did, Malik tried to give Apostil a lollipop, and Apostil tried to grab it, and Rosie politely returned it.
‘I never know why you think I have a lollipop shortage.’ She smiled at Malik, who smiled back.
‘We’ll miss him,’ he said. ‘The village, it needs children.’
‘I know,’ said Rosie. ‘But, you know … life …’
Malik nodded.
‘Life,’ he said.
Rosie sat on the edge of the bed and prodded Stephen until he eventually woke up. His eyes focused on Apostil, who was lying on his tummy.
‘No way,’ he said. Apostil let out the same proud grin and showed off how good he was at rolling. The motion, though, demonstrated how useless his right hand was.
‘Look at you, my boy!’ Stephen said, picking him up in his strong arms. ‘See. Your parents going out and getting pissed is obviously really, really good for you.’
‘That’s a shame, because it’s NEVER happening again,’ said Rosie. ‘Oh God, I can’t even think what Joy’s going to do. Do you think they knock on your door at four o’clock in the morning?’
‘Ssssh,’ said Stephen, downing half his Lucozade. ‘Come here, both of you.’
He pointed out of the window.
‘Look, it’s started snowing again. It’s nearly Christmas. Today is a day to cuddle up in front of the fire and make Apostil watch The Great Escape. Followed, if he’s good, by Goldfinger. Then we’ll wrap presents and eat toast and drink tea, and we won’t think about social workers, or moving house, or operations, or families, or anything. Okay?’
Rosie rested her head on his shoulder, Apostil in between them, and watched the snow fall softly on the quiet Sunday-morning village.
‘Okay,’ she whispered.
‘On the other hand, I wouldn’t mind nipping down to church to see how the vicar manages. Last thing I remember last night, he was dancing the Macarena.’
They did curl up on the sofa together, the room cosy and flickering in the firelight, and Rosie watched the film, but also the tree, with its shining bells and little lights all over it, trying to brand on to her memory how it felt: the three of them together, all cuddled up and happy and cosy, with Mr Dog at Stephen’s feet, snorting little doggy dreams, and Christmas upon them and everything quiet and peaceful in the world. She vowed that whatever happened next, whatever lay ahead on the hard road they had to take, away from everything they knew and loved, it wouldn’t come between them; wouldn’t take away this deep peace and happiness, the strong bond of their little family, however unconventional, however hard-won.
‘What are you looking so pensive about?’ said Stephen, glancing over at her face, made pink by the fire, her hair falling softly down her back. She hadn’t had time to get it cut. He was glad.
‘God rest ye merry, gentlemen,’ murmured Rosie softly.
‘And so say all of us,’ said Stephen, kissing her lightly on the head.
Just as it was starting to get dark, after three, and everyone was snoozing comfortably, the phone jangled furiously, breaking into their calm. Stephen started, and Apostil let out a disgruntled noise.
‘What?’ said Rosie. ‘Oh God, what now?’ All her happy cosiness fell away with a start and she leapt up. ‘The phone. That is never good news. I hate phones.’
They both looked at it as it jangled again.
‘Joy?’ said Rosie.
Stephen’s eyes narrowed.
‘It’s probably my bloody mother, wanting a full rundown on everything whilst pretending she doesn’t. Don’t answer it.’
Rosie gave him a look.
‘What if it’s Lilian?’
Stephen picked it up and passed it to her.
‘I’m going to change Ap,’ he said, leaving the room.
‘Hello?’ said Rosie with trepidation.
‘FUCKING HELL,’ came the well-bred mid-Atlantic voice. Rosie could have collapsed with relief.