The Christmas Surprise
Page 26
Faustine shook her head.
‘Thank you.’ She kissed Apostil’s little head, and a flicker of something that looked almost like envy crossed her face. ‘Take him home,’ she said. ‘Raise him well.’
‘I’ll try,’ said Rosie, and watched from the safety of the other side of the gate as Faustine turned smartly and walked away into the colourful, noisy hurly-burly, off to save the next, and the next, and the next.
And now here she was. Apostil had lain in his bassinet and gurgled, intrigued by the lights and lulled to sleep by the motion of the plane. Rosie had been unable to sleep, unable to believe everything that had happened. It felt like a dream, but one that became more real by the second, as she watched sitcoms on the flight TV system; looked at adverts for watches and perfumes.
Stephen came to pick them up from the airport, pointing out that he had had to fight off half the village to do so. Appy had been happy in his bassinet all the way, but Rosie had been too keyed up to sleep, too nervous about seeing everyone, about settling in. They’d led her to a special room at immigration at Heathrow, which had also made her very nervous, but in fact the staff had been incredibly kind, just going through their paperwork until they could confirm that Apostil really had been adopted and really was a British child now. Rosie appreciated that they couldn’t be too careful, but it was wearying, especially as he woke up and, unusually for him, decided to start bawling his head off at everything, making her look like the worst fraud of a mother ever, and wildly unsuited to raising a caterpillar, never mind a baby.
Apostil’s tantrum ultimately proved timely, however, as the customs staff couldn’t wait to be rid of them and pushed them though as quickly as they legally could.
Stephen was beside himself, desperate to see them.
‘How can you miss someone so much when you’ve only known them a week?’ he said, charging forward to scoop them up at Arrivals. When Rosie saw him standing there, she suddenly burst into tears. The emotions of the last few weeks had been so overwhelming, with everything coming thick and fast, her life changing in such a rush from someone who could not be a mother to someone who was, and always would be, that she hadn’t realised until she saw him how pent up she’d been. It was as if her shoulders had been up around her ears and were finally relaxing.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Stephen, genuinely surprised. ‘You’ve got him, we’re all together …’
‘I know,’ said Rosie.
Stephen drew her to him.
‘I’m sorry I had to leave you in Africa alone,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t stay any longer.’
‘I know, I know,’ said Rosie, burying her head in his strong shoulder. It wasn’t a good look, having a total nervous breakdown at the airport.
Stephen reached into the sling and tried to dislodge Apostil, which was easier said than done, given how good Rosie had got at tying him round her. Eventually she did a pirouette so they could unwind him and Stephen could set about hugging his son, whilst Rosie tried to clean the make-up from underneath her eyes.
‘I was worried they wouldn’t let you in,’ said Stephen. ‘So I called my old mate Biff at the Foreign Office.’
‘You didn’t!’ said Rosie indignantly.
‘Certainly bloody did. Did you get a passport in five days or what?’
‘I did find it all wonderfully efficient,’ said Rosie. ‘Yuck, you disgusting privileged types.’
‘Yes,’ said Stephen, nuzzling Apostil’s head. Apostil was looking about somewhat warily. ‘Oh, I have missed that smell. Anyway, yes, I apologise for making things easier for us all.’
She smiled at him. ‘Sometimes it is very useful you being a hideously overprivileged snotbag.’
‘Only sometimes?’
He kept hold of Apostil and tried to take Rosie’s bags too, realised this was impossible, gave it up as a bad job, handed Apostil back reluctantly and hauled up the bags.
As soon as they hit the freezing cold air outside – there was frost on the tarmac, and people waiting for taxis were blowing out smoke as they huddled into their coats – Apostil’s head jerked upwards as if someone had prodded him. Stephen and Rosie looked at him grinning.
‘Yes,’ said Stephen. ‘Welcome to the world you must now live in!’
Rosie pulled a woolly hat from her hand luggage – she had worn it to the airport on their way out, a million years ago – and tried to arrange it on Apostil’s tiny head, but it fell over his eyes and he started waving his hand about madly, whilst Rosie and Stephen fell about laughing and Stephen tried to take a picture.
‘We are terrible, terrible parents,’ said Rosie, noticing someone looking at them curiously.
‘I think this is the last time he’s going to feel warm and cosy until the spring,’ said Stephen. ‘And we haven’t even moved into Peak House yet.’
Inside the car, Stephen had fitted a brand new baby seat. Rosie frowned.
‘How much …’
‘Ssssh,’ said Stephen. ‘Don’t start me. There’s four more at home. People have been showering us.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘SHOWERING US. Everybody knows about Apostil, everybody is totally fascinated, and all those nosy parkers have been getting their kicks by coming round and passing on their old shiz to us. We’ve got three buggies, too.’
‘Or,’ said Rosie, getting in the back as Stephen turned up the heating in the old Land Rover, which didn’t go very far. She hoped Apostil had enough blankets on. ‘OR they’re being kind and generous from the bottom of their hearts.’
‘Whilst being unbelievable nosy parkers,’ said Stephen. He looked at the heating gauge again and frowned.
‘This won’t do, will it?’
Rosie winced.
‘Well …’
‘I never noticed it being this chilly before.’
‘It’s got a hole in the floor.’
‘I thought that was, you know, atmospheric.’
‘It is,’ said Rosie. ‘Atmospheric, like the South Pole.’
‘Hmm.’ He looked at her. ‘Look at us! Bringing our baby home!’
Rosie beamed, a smile of pure joy.
‘I know! Drive slower!’
‘I can’t drive slower, we’ll freeze him to death.’
‘Thank you.’ She kissed Apostil’s little head, and a flicker of something that looked almost like envy crossed her face. ‘Take him home,’ she said. ‘Raise him well.’
‘I’ll try,’ said Rosie, and watched from the safety of the other side of the gate as Faustine turned smartly and walked away into the colourful, noisy hurly-burly, off to save the next, and the next, and the next.
And now here she was. Apostil had lain in his bassinet and gurgled, intrigued by the lights and lulled to sleep by the motion of the plane. Rosie had been unable to sleep, unable to believe everything that had happened. It felt like a dream, but one that became more real by the second, as she watched sitcoms on the flight TV system; looked at adverts for watches and perfumes.
Stephen came to pick them up from the airport, pointing out that he had had to fight off half the village to do so. Appy had been happy in his bassinet all the way, but Rosie had been too keyed up to sleep, too nervous about seeing everyone, about settling in. They’d led her to a special room at immigration at Heathrow, which had also made her very nervous, but in fact the staff had been incredibly kind, just going through their paperwork until they could confirm that Apostil really had been adopted and really was a British child now. Rosie appreciated that they couldn’t be too careful, but it was wearying, especially as he woke up and, unusually for him, decided to start bawling his head off at everything, making her look like the worst fraud of a mother ever, and wildly unsuited to raising a caterpillar, never mind a baby.
Apostil’s tantrum ultimately proved timely, however, as the customs staff couldn’t wait to be rid of them and pushed them though as quickly as they legally could.
Stephen was beside himself, desperate to see them.
‘How can you miss someone so much when you’ve only known them a week?’ he said, charging forward to scoop them up at Arrivals. When Rosie saw him standing there, she suddenly burst into tears. The emotions of the last few weeks had been so overwhelming, with everything coming thick and fast, her life changing in such a rush from someone who could not be a mother to someone who was, and always would be, that she hadn’t realised until she saw him how pent up she’d been. It was as if her shoulders had been up around her ears and were finally relaxing.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Stephen, genuinely surprised. ‘You’ve got him, we’re all together …’
‘I know,’ said Rosie.
Stephen drew her to him.
‘I’m sorry I had to leave you in Africa alone,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t stay any longer.’
‘I know, I know,’ said Rosie, burying her head in his strong shoulder. It wasn’t a good look, having a total nervous breakdown at the airport.
Stephen reached into the sling and tried to dislodge Apostil, which was easier said than done, given how good Rosie had got at tying him round her. Eventually she did a pirouette so they could unwind him and Stephen could set about hugging his son, whilst Rosie tried to clean the make-up from underneath her eyes.
‘I was worried they wouldn’t let you in,’ said Stephen. ‘So I called my old mate Biff at the Foreign Office.’
‘You didn’t!’ said Rosie indignantly.
‘Certainly bloody did. Did you get a passport in five days or what?’
‘I did find it all wonderfully efficient,’ said Rosie. ‘Yuck, you disgusting privileged types.’
‘Yes,’ said Stephen, nuzzling Apostil’s head. Apostil was looking about somewhat warily. ‘Oh, I have missed that smell. Anyway, yes, I apologise for making things easier for us all.’
She smiled at him. ‘Sometimes it is very useful you being a hideously overprivileged snotbag.’
‘Only sometimes?’
He kept hold of Apostil and tried to take Rosie’s bags too, realised this was impossible, gave it up as a bad job, handed Apostil back reluctantly and hauled up the bags.
As soon as they hit the freezing cold air outside – there was frost on the tarmac, and people waiting for taxis were blowing out smoke as they huddled into their coats – Apostil’s head jerked upwards as if someone had prodded him. Stephen and Rosie looked at him grinning.
‘Yes,’ said Stephen. ‘Welcome to the world you must now live in!’
Rosie pulled a woolly hat from her hand luggage – she had worn it to the airport on their way out, a million years ago – and tried to arrange it on Apostil’s tiny head, but it fell over his eyes and he started waving his hand about madly, whilst Rosie and Stephen fell about laughing and Stephen tried to take a picture.
‘We are terrible, terrible parents,’ said Rosie, noticing someone looking at them curiously.
‘I think this is the last time he’s going to feel warm and cosy until the spring,’ said Stephen. ‘And we haven’t even moved into Peak House yet.’
Inside the car, Stephen had fitted a brand new baby seat. Rosie frowned.
‘How much …’
‘Ssssh,’ said Stephen. ‘Don’t start me. There’s four more at home. People have been showering us.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘SHOWERING US. Everybody knows about Apostil, everybody is totally fascinated, and all those nosy parkers have been getting their kicks by coming round and passing on their old shiz to us. We’ve got three buggies, too.’
‘Or,’ said Rosie, getting in the back as Stephen turned up the heating in the old Land Rover, which didn’t go very far. She hoped Apostil had enough blankets on. ‘OR they’re being kind and generous from the bottom of their hearts.’
‘Whilst being unbelievable nosy parkers,’ said Stephen. He looked at the heating gauge again and frowned.
‘This won’t do, will it?’
Rosie winced.
‘Well …’
‘I never noticed it being this chilly before.’
‘It’s got a hole in the floor.’
‘I thought that was, you know, atmospheric.’
‘It is,’ said Rosie. ‘Atmospheric, like the South Pole.’
‘Hmm.’ He looked at her. ‘Look at us! Bringing our baby home!’
Rosie beamed, a smile of pure joy.
‘I know! Drive slower!’
‘I can’t drive slower, we’ll freeze him to death.’
