The Christmas Surprise
Page 25
‘WAS GOAN ON, GRAMMA?’
‘You’ve got a new cousin!’ Rosie could hear the tears in her mother’s voice.
‘DOAN WANNA NEW COUSIN! IRON MAN SHOOT THEM WITH MY HAND POW POW POW.’
And Rosie did her best to choke out the entire story, sad and happy, again and again as Pip came in to hear it, then Desleigh, his wife.
‘He’s a cracker,’ said Pip finally. ‘Well done, Rose. Wow. You are a very unpredictable sister.’
‘I know,’ said Rosie, her lip wobbling. She looked round their basic hotel room with its stained basin and faded bedstead. Outside, the noise and the heat came barrelling up all night long, and bugs scuttled across the floor at all hours, as they waited day after day at the British Embassy for the case to be processed. She had never been happier in her entire life.
‘You’ve done WHAT?’
Rosie squeezed Stephen’s hand, and they each covered one of Apostil’s tiny, perfect shell-like ears. Rosie had heard Lady Lipton – Henrietta – cross plenty of times, but this was something else, a whole new level of fury, whereby she was basically talking at a level only dogs could hear.
‘Listen, Mother.’
She was nowhere near listening.
‘The family trust isn’t going to like this, Stephen. Not one little bit.’
‘Well fuck the family trust,’ said Stephen. ‘His name can be Lakeman, I don’t give a shit.’ Lipton was the estate name; Stephen used the old family name, Lakeman.
Rosie smiled and squeezed his hand.
‘Well, Pamela will LOVE this.’
Stephen’s elder sister liked to argue about primogeniture.
‘I said she could have it,’ said Stephen. ‘I don’t care.’
‘Well, we’ll see,’ said Henrietta, sniffing. ‘So, God, tell me the worst … is this baby brown?’
Rosie and Stephen looked at each other, and Rosie had the most terrible desire to burst into fits of laughter.
‘No, Mother,’ said Stephen carefully. ‘He’s green, like all babies born in West Africa.’
There was a long pause.
‘You think this is funny?’ said Lady Lipton.
‘No, Mother,’ said Stephen. ‘I think it’s wonderful.’
There was another long silence and Rosie thought Henrietta was going to slam down the telephone. Then she sniffed so loudly they could hear it two thousand miles away.
‘So. Ahem. You say you’ve sent pictures via The Email?’
‘Yes,’ said Stephen.
‘I don’t know how to work The Email.’
‘Maybe Moray or Mrs Laird could help you,’ said Stephen.
‘Lilian could probably manage,’ said Rosie, as Stephen shushed her.
‘But … but you have absolutely no idea what it takes to raise a baby. Especially not a different type of baby! Especially one where you can’t predict how he’ll turn out, who he’ll be like – do you even know anything about his family? About his breeding? Oh, you’re very smug now, but you just wait and see, it’s no walk in the park, this lark …’
Stephen put the phone down on the bedside table, and moved over to where Apostil was waking from his nap. The baby gave a loud enquiring mewl.
‘Hey there, little fella,’ said Stephen, as Rosie leapt in to kiss him and take him for a feed.
‘Is that … is that him?’
Stephen picked the phone up again. Lady Lipton’s voice had a definite tremble.
‘Well,’ said Stephen, looking down at Rosie on the bed. ‘It’s a baby and it’s green, so I guess …’
‘Stop it, Stephen,’ said Henrietta. ‘We’ll discuss this more when you get home. Assuming you’re coming home.’
In fact Stephen was leaving the following day because he had to get back to school. Rosie would just have to wait it out. This was going to cost them every cent they had. Good training for parenting, Stephen suggested.
‘What have you called him? Please let it be something sensible. Stephen would be absolutely fine.’
‘Um, he already has a name,’ said Stephen.
Henrietta let out a sigh.
‘Let’s hear it.’
‘He’s called Apostil.’
There was a long pause.
‘That is the most Catholic name I’ve ever heard,’ said Lady Lipton eventually. ‘Lilian is going to love it.’
Chapter Eight
In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan
Earth was hard as iron, water like a stone
Snow was falling, snow on snow, snow on snow
In the bleak midwinter, long ago
It was the oddest thing, after the weeks of paperwork, the waiting, the worrying, the learning how to be a parent, to come back from the boiling hot sunshine, the colours, the exhilarating rush of noise and smells, the juxtaposition of all the signs of modernity – smartly dressed commuters, mobile phones, new cars – with goats in the road, people living anywhere. Rosie loved the colour, the bustle; understood immediately why Stephen had loved it too.
It wasn’t just her who felt new. Something about this baby, from this family, seemed to have healed Stephen too. He hadn’t had a nightmare the entire time they’d been away.
She’d missed him terribly when he left for home. But now it was time for her to go too.
There had been many, many meetings – and more to come – and Rosie was worrying terribly about the shop. Tina had held it just about together, but she’d been away for so long. They’d hired a fantastic young woman called Memento, who had got her through all the interviews and the paperwork, and the embassy had been incredibly helpful, and now here she was, flying for the first time with a baby.
She’d packed ridiculously early, nervous about the flight. She needn’t have worried. Faustine was in the capital and not only gave her a lift to the airport but helped her through the time-consuming business of paperwork and stamps, speaking imperiously to the customs officers and guards, waving sheafs of paper menacingly and displaying her MSF badge at every opportunity. Rosie couldn’t believe how lucky she was to have met her, and how that slightly prickly exterior hid someone extraordinary at getting things done.
They didn’t hug, but Rosie touched her on the arm as they took their leave at the gate.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’ve got a new cousin!’ Rosie could hear the tears in her mother’s voice.
‘DOAN WANNA NEW COUSIN! IRON MAN SHOOT THEM WITH MY HAND POW POW POW.’
And Rosie did her best to choke out the entire story, sad and happy, again and again as Pip came in to hear it, then Desleigh, his wife.
‘He’s a cracker,’ said Pip finally. ‘Well done, Rose. Wow. You are a very unpredictable sister.’
‘I know,’ said Rosie, her lip wobbling. She looked round their basic hotel room with its stained basin and faded bedstead. Outside, the noise and the heat came barrelling up all night long, and bugs scuttled across the floor at all hours, as they waited day after day at the British Embassy for the case to be processed. She had never been happier in her entire life.
‘You’ve done WHAT?’
Rosie squeezed Stephen’s hand, and they each covered one of Apostil’s tiny, perfect shell-like ears. Rosie had heard Lady Lipton – Henrietta – cross plenty of times, but this was something else, a whole new level of fury, whereby she was basically talking at a level only dogs could hear.
‘Listen, Mother.’
She was nowhere near listening.
‘The family trust isn’t going to like this, Stephen. Not one little bit.’
‘Well fuck the family trust,’ said Stephen. ‘His name can be Lakeman, I don’t give a shit.’ Lipton was the estate name; Stephen used the old family name, Lakeman.
Rosie smiled and squeezed his hand.
‘Well, Pamela will LOVE this.’
Stephen’s elder sister liked to argue about primogeniture.
‘I said she could have it,’ said Stephen. ‘I don’t care.’
‘Well, we’ll see,’ said Henrietta, sniffing. ‘So, God, tell me the worst … is this baby brown?’
Rosie and Stephen looked at each other, and Rosie had the most terrible desire to burst into fits of laughter.
‘No, Mother,’ said Stephen carefully. ‘He’s green, like all babies born in West Africa.’
There was a long pause.
‘You think this is funny?’ said Lady Lipton.
‘No, Mother,’ said Stephen. ‘I think it’s wonderful.’
There was another long silence and Rosie thought Henrietta was going to slam down the telephone. Then she sniffed so loudly they could hear it two thousand miles away.
‘So. Ahem. You say you’ve sent pictures via The Email?’
‘Yes,’ said Stephen.
‘I don’t know how to work The Email.’
‘Maybe Moray or Mrs Laird could help you,’ said Stephen.
‘Lilian could probably manage,’ said Rosie, as Stephen shushed her.
‘But … but you have absolutely no idea what it takes to raise a baby. Especially not a different type of baby! Especially one where you can’t predict how he’ll turn out, who he’ll be like – do you even know anything about his family? About his breeding? Oh, you’re very smug now, but you just wait and see, it’s no walk in the park, this lark …’
Stephen put the phone down on the bedside table, and moved over to where Apostil was waking from his nap. The baby gave a loud enquiring mewl.
‘Hey there, little fella,’ said Stephen, as Rosie leapt in to kiss him and take him for a feed.
‘Is that … is that him?’
Stephen picked the phone up again. Lady Lipton’s voice had a definite tremble.
‘Well,’ said Stephen, looking down at Rosie on the bed. ‘It’s a baby and it’s green, so I guess …’
‘Stop it, Stephen,’ said Henrietta. ‘We’ll discuss this more when you get home. Assuming you’re coming home.’
In fact Stephen was leaving the following day because he had to get back to school. Rosie would just have to wait it out. This was going to cost them every cent they had. Good training for parenting, Stephen suggested.
‘What have you called him? Please let it be something sensible. Stephen would be absolutely fine.’
‘Um, he already has a name,’ said Stephen.
Henrietta let out a sigh.
‘Let’s hear it.’
‘He’s called Apostil.’
There was a long pause.
‘That is the most Catholic name I’ve ever heard,’ said Lady Lipton eventually. ‘Lilian is going to love it.’
Chapter Eight
In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan
Earth was hard as iron, water like a stone
Snow was falling, snow on snow, snow on snow
In the bleak midwinter, long ago
It was the oddest thing, after the weeks of paperwork, the waiting, the worrying, the learning how to be a parent, to come back from the boiling hot sunshine, the colours, the exhilarating rush of noise and smells, the juxtaposition of all the signs of modernity – smartly dressed commuters, mobile phones, new cars – with goats in the road, people living anywhere. Rosie loved the colour, the bustle; understood immediately why Stephen had loved it too.
It wasn’t just her who felt new. Something about this baby, from this family, seemed to have healed Stephen too. He hadn’t had a nightmare the entire time they’d been away.
She’d missed him terribly when he left for home. But now it was time for her to go too.
There had been many, many meetings – and more to come – and Rosie was worrying terribly about the shop. Tina had held it just about together, but she’d been away for so long. They’d hired a fantastic young woman called Memento, who had got her through all the interviews and the paperwork, and the embassy had been incredibly helpful, and now here she was, flying for the first time with a baby.
She’d packed ridiculously early, nervous about the flight. She needn’t have worried. Faustine was in the capital and not only gave her a lift to the airport but helped her through the time-consuming business of paperwork and stamps, speaking imperiously to the customs officers and guards, waving sheafs of paper menacingly and displaying her MSF badge at every opportunity. Rosie couldn’t believe how lucky she was to have met her, and how that slightly prickly exterior hid someone extraordinary at getting things done.
They didn’t hug, but Rosie touched her on the arm as they took their leave at the gate.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
