The Christmas Surprise
Page 22
There was another long pause in the chattering dusk. Somewhere far away an animal howled. Rosie found tears coursing down her cheeks.
‘We can’t have a baby,’ she said, for the second time in three days. The words were stones in her mouth.
‘Nobody wanted this,’ said Stephen. ‘But …’
They looked at each other for a long time. Everything else seemed a long way away.
‘This is going to be … you know, this is a big deal,’ said Rosie softly, shaking all over.
‘Parenting,’ said Stephen. ‘But you know, we were—’
‘Yes. All parenting. And this might be more complicated than most. Adoption can be very difficult.’
‘So can having your own kids,’ said Stephen. ‘Look at those awful Mountford brats.’
With a sudden wobbly smile, Rosie thought of the Mountford family, the richest in Lipton. The father ran a car dealership in Carningford, and the children always had the newest toys, the most up-to-date technology, and as many sweets as they could cram into their gobs. Rosie never liked to say anything about them at home, partly because they were children, and partly because they were splendid customers, but the way they ordered everyone else about, and made all the other children of the village dance to their whims in order to win an invitation to one of their infamous birthday parties, which had in the past featured circus animals, chocolate fountains and carousels (Edison had never been invited), was absolutely cringe-inducing.
‘It’s true,’ she said, her mood lightening a tiny bit. ‘We couldn’t possibly do a worse job than the Mountfords.’ Her heart started to beat incredibly fast.
‘We could,’ Stephen began slowly. ‘We could …’ He stared straight into her eyes.
‘I think,’ said Rosie, ‘I need to meet him properly.’
Rosie approached carefully, her heart beating like a drum. She thought back over the months of emptiness, the terrible gap in her heart, the dreadful sense of her potential wasted. She had never been one of those people who cooed over babies, never believed that all she needed to fulfil her in life was a little bundle wrapped in Baby Gap. But the knowledge that she wasn’t having Stephen’s baby had broken her heart, totally and surely, and she knew that deep down she hadn’t begun to come to terms with it.
The grandfather did not say a word; simply held out the child. The entire village was watching, and Rosie sensed that they were all holding their breath as much as she was.
She took the warm bundle into her arms. His little face screwed up, snuffled a little, then, even though he was already sleeping, his mouth opened into a tiny tiger yawn. Rosie propped him up, her hand strong on the back of his neck, and laid his tiny head against her shoulder. The baby moved a little, nestled, found a perfect hollow in her shoulder Rosie had not even known was there, and curled his head straight into it.
The man was talking to her, but Rosie couldn’t hear him. She leant in closer, but she still couldn’t hear his voice or make out what he was saying.
‘Apostil,’ said Faustine, then she said it again, louder, when Rosie clearly didn’t understand. ‘His name is Apostil. Ah-pos-teel.’
‘Like Apostle?’
‘No, like Apostil.’
Even through the flood of emotion, Rosie’s first, ridiculous thought was that they were going to be having a lot of conversations like that in the days and years to come.
The villagers melted away, seemingly satisfied that the matter had been settled, except for the wet nurse, who lingered at a distance. Rosie was incredibly grateful to be left alone with the baby.
She walked up carefully to Stephen, holding the tiny form in her shaking arms. He gazed at them both.
‘Do you want to hold him?’ she whispered.
Stephen stared at the bundle for a long time.
‘Here’s the thing,’ he said, swallowing. He rested a little more heavily on his stick, as he did when he was nervous. ‘The thing is … you have to be sure, Rosie. You have to be sure, right now. Because if you … if you hand him to me … if you hand him to me now …’
He looked her straight in the eye.
‘There’s no going back. He’ll be ours.’
She stared at him intently.
‘Did you think this might happen?’
Stephen shook his head.
‘I only ever wanted the same for Célestine as you would have had.’
His face twisted into a smile that contained a trace of the old Stephen.
‘Also, I may be wrong, but I suspect this is really going to screw with our holiday.’
She held his gaze.
‘You want me to give him to you?’
Carefully, Rosie handed over the tiny, precious bundle. Somewhere a soft voice started to sing something that sounded like a lullaby.
Salay salay chinkama
Tulay salay wawama
Chinka lolo wink wa salay.
More voices took up the quiet refrain on the still air. Stephen held the baby tentatively, supporting his head as Rosie showed him. He looked straight into the child’s face, and as he did so, Apostil woke up. To Rosie’s surprise, he didn’t cry, but instead met Stephen’s gaze with a calm, measured look of his own. She crept closer, unwilling to interrupt this moment. Man and boy stared at one another.
‘He recognises you,’ she whispered.
‘I think he’s older than me,’ said Stephen wonderingly. ‘Look at him, Rosie. Look at that child and tell me he doesn’t know everything in the universe.’
Rosie glanced up at the huge stars that were appearing overhead.
‘Well he did just get here from there.’
‘I think maybe he’s a genius,’ said Stephen, unable to tear his eyes away. ‘We’ll probably have to make special provision for him.’
Rosie grinned as there was a sudden loud noise.
‘The genius just pooed all over your shoes.’
‘And I don’t even mind,’ said Stephen, still transfixed. ‘Look at me, standing here, all not minding.’
Apostil blinked his huge eyes twice, slowly.
‘I agree,’ said Stephen. ‘You must feel better.’
Rosie smiled.
‘Hang on, the van brought nappies. Not many, though. Give me a minute.’
She went off to find them – Faustine had kindly put them by their tent – but paused and turned back to look. Father and son, she thought, frozen in time, both utterly absorbed in one another; and she snapped a quick picture on her phone. Her first baby pic.
‘We can’t have a baby,’ she said, for the second time in three days. The words were stones in her mouth.
‘Nobody wanted this,’ said Stephen. ‘But …’
They looked at each other for a long time. Everything else seemed a long way away.
‘This is going to be … you know, this is a big deal,’ said Rosie softly, shaking all over.
‘Parenting,’ said Stephen. ‘But you know, we were—’
‘Yes. All parenting. And this might be more complicated than most. Adoption can be very difficult.’
‘So can having your own kids,’ said Stephen. ‘Look at those awful Mountford brats.’
With a sudden wobbly smile, Rosie thought of the Mountford family, the richest in Lipton. The father ran a car dealership in Carningford, and the children always had the newest toys, the most up-to-date technology, and as many sweets as they could cram into their gobs. Rosie never liked to say anything about them at home, partly because they were children, and partly because they were splendid customers, but the way they ordered everyone else about, and made all the other children of the village dance to their whims in order to win an invitation to one of their infamous birthday parties, which had in the past featured circus animals, chocolate fountains and carousels (Edison had never been invited), was absolutely cringe-inducing.
‘It’s true,’ she said, her mood lightening a tiny bit. ‘We couldn’t possibly do a worse job than the Mountfords.’ Her heart started to beat incredibly fast.
‘We could,’ Stephen began slowly. ‘We could …’ He stared straight into her eyes.
‘I think,’ said Rosie, ‘I need to meet him properly.’
Rosie approached carefully, her heart beating like a drum. She thought back over the months of emptiness, the terrible gap in her heart, the dreadful sense of her potential wasted. She had never been one of those people who cooed over babies, never believed that all she needed to fulfil her in life was a little bundle wrapped in Baby Gap. But the knowledge that she wasn’t having Stephen’s baby had broken her heart, totally and surely, and she knew that deep down she hadn’t begun to come to terms with it.
The grandfather did not say a word; simply held out the child. The entire village was watching, and Rosie sensed that they were all holding their breath as much as she was.
She took the warm bundle into her arms. His little face screwed up, snuffled a little, then, even though he was already sleeping, his mouth opened into a tiny tiger yawn. Rosie propped him up, her hand strong on the back of his neck, and laid his tiny head against her shoulder. The baby moved a little, nestled, found a perfect hollow in her shoulder Rosie had not even known was there, and curled his head straight into it.
The man was talking to her, but Rosie couldn’t hear him. She leant in closer, but she still couldn’t hear his voice or make out what he was saying.
‘Apostil,’ said Faustine, then she said it again, louder, when Rosie clearly didn’t understand. ‘His name is Apostil. Ah-pos-teel.’
‘Like Apostle?’
‘No, like Apostil.’
Even through the flood of emotion, Rosie’s first, ridiculous thought was that they were going to be having a lot of conversations like that in the days and years to come.
The villagers melted away, seemingly satisfied that the matter had been settled, except for the wet nurse, who lingered at a distance. Rosie was incredibly grateful to be left alone with the baby.
She walked up carefully to Stephen, holding the tiny form in her shaking arms. He gazed at them both.
‘Do you want to hold him?’ she whispered.
Stephen stared at the bundle for a long time.
‘Here’s the thing,’ he said, swallowing. He rested a little more heavily on his stick, as he did when he was nervous. ‘The thing is … you have to be sure, Rosie. You have to be sure, right now. Because if you … if you hand him to me … if you hand him to me now …’
He looked her straight in the eye.
‘There’s no going back. He’ll be ours.’
She stared at him intently.
‘Did you think this might happen?’
Stephen shook his head.
‘I only ever wanted the same for Célestine as you would have had.’
His face twisted into a smile that contained a trace of the old Stephen.
‘Also, I may be wrong, but I suspect this is really going to screw with our holiday.’
She held his gaze.
‘You want me to give him to you?’
Carefully, Rosie handed over the tiny, precious bundle. Somewhere a soft voice started to sing something that sounded like a lullaby.
Salay salay chinkama
Tulay salay wawama
Chinka lolo wink wa salay.
More voices took up the quiet refrain on the still air. Stephen held the baby tentatively, supporting his head as Rosie showed him. He looked straight into the child’s face, and as he did so, Apostil woke up. To Rosie’s surprise, he didn’t cry, but instead met Stephen’s gaze with a calm, measured look of his own. She crept closer, unwilling to interrupt this moment. Man and boy stared at one another.
‘He recognises you,’ she whispered.
‘I think he’s older than me,’ said Stephen wonderingly. ‘Look at him, Rosie. Look at that child and tell me he doesn’t know everything in the universe.’
Rosie glanced up at the huge stars that were appearing overhead.
‘Well he did just get here from there.’
‘I think maybe he’s a genius,’ said Stephen, unable to tear his eyes away. ‘We’ll probably have to make special provision for him.’
Rosie grinned as there was a sudden loud noise.
‘The genius just pooed all over your shoes.’
‘And I don’t even mind,’ said Stephen, still transfixed. ‘Look at me, standing here, all not minding.’
Apostil blinked his huge eyes twice, slowly.
‘I agree,’ said Stephen. ‘You must feel better.’
Rosie smiled.
‘Hang on, the van brought nappies. Not many, though. Give me a minute.’
She went off to find them – Faustine had kindly put them by their tent – but paused and turned back to look. Father and son, she thought, frozen in time, both utterly absorbed in one another; and she snapped a quick picture on her phone. Her first baby pic.
