The Christmas Surprise
Page 30
‘Come on then, let’s take a look.’
He bent it backwards and forwards without Apostil seeming to notice. Moray made hmming noises.
‘Can’t the nerves grow back?’ said Rosie.
Moray gave her a look.
‘He’s not Doctor Who, Rosie,’ he said.
‘You can be anything you want to be,’ whispered Rosie in Apostil’s ear, as Moray continued to look serious.
‘No, the problem is more that the message from the brain to tell the nerves to work simply never got through.’
They both looked at the little arm, curled in, the fingers bent into a permanent curve.
‘So what’s best?’ said Rosie, her throat dry all of a sudden. ‘It’s weird, because we think he’s perfect.’
Moray put his arm around her.
‘He IS perfect. He’s a smart and alert and perfectly healthy-looking bouncing baby boy. But when he starts to want to use it, to develop, then you’ll want to consider a prosthesis.’
‘A what?’ said Rosie. Her heart was suddenly in her mouth, even though she had known this would need to be discussed.
‘A prosthesis. A false arm. They’re amazing these days. It’s not like he’s going to be Captain Hook.’
Rosie tried to swallow but couldn’t.
‘Will it … will it fit over what he has?’
Moray looked her straight in the face, clear-eyed but sympathetic.
‘No, Rosie-Posie.’
There was a long silence. Apostil started to fuss, and Rosie picked him up and settled him against her chest, where he immediately nuzzled in.
‘They’re not …’ She tried to shake the wobble in her voice. ‘They’re not chopping bits off him.’
Moray patted her on the shoulder.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘You have a little time to think about it. You’re a parent. It’s a big adjustment. And when the time comes, you’ll want to do what’s best. For now, please, Rosie, talk it over with the big man, then just enjoy your baby.’
Rosie nodded, numb. She looked down at the little head, with its whorls of perfect black hair, and kissed it. The idea of the tiny form on a big hospital bed … giving him a general anaesthetic … Apostil not having the faintest idea what was happening to him, waking up without his arm …
She choked slightly. Moray’s phone beeper went off. He glanced at it and cursed.
‘Another tinsel accident,’ he said. Quickly he pulled Rosie and Apostil to him. ‘Look, I have to go,’ he said. ‘But Rosie. Think. Think where you were in the summer, so numb and bleak. Think how far beyond what you ever expected to happen this is; how much better. It’s amazing. You’ve done so well, you’re so lucky. Don’t you see?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie in a trembling voice.
‘Well focus on that, then. Everything else in its own time, capisce?’
She nodded.
‘I know. I know we’re lucky.’
‘You’re INSANELY lucky,’ said Moray. ‘Your beautiful healthy baby is going to be fine. And by the way, he’s lucky too. And so’s that stupid man of yours who absolutely does not deserve this.’
Rosie smiled.
‘Yes. Yes, I know.’
‘Fine. Good. Right, I’ll see you later. Get as much sleep as you can manage. And a solid sense of perspective.’
Rosie stuck her tongue out at him.
‘And go and make Lilian happy.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ said Rosie. ‘I was counting on her being all for the baby when the rest of the village disapproved. But everyone else in Lipton has been absolutely amazing, so she’ll have to go the other way. You know Lilian.’
Moray grinned.
‘I do. Tell her Hye’s a big fat racist and thinks you’re ruining the entire white look of the village.’
‘He SAID that?’
‘No!’ said Moray. ‘I’m just helping you with the gossip.’
‘That’s actually slander.’
‘I know,’ said Moray. ‘But he’s a terrible, terrible man.’
Moray’s boss Hye, head of the GP practice, made Moray do all the work, took a huge salary, spent half his life on holiday, never made a house call and expected special favours from everyone in town because he over-prescribed antibiotics.
‘But he’s not a racist,’ said Rosie.
‘He’s chairman of the golf club!’ said Moray. ‘That is probably basically the exact same thing.’
Rosie worked for the rest of the day, leaving Apostil napping in the sitting room, the baby monitor turned on to full, accepting gifts and good wishes and selling large amounts of selection boxes and a quick run on chocolate buttons, which she put down to people subliminally thinking about babies. Then she let Tina cash up and nipped off up to the care home, driving incredibly carefully on the icy roads.
She took a deep breath as she locked the car, hugging Apostil close. She was looking forward to this.
Lilian tried to pretend she wasn’t peering out of the window of the front hall, which had a lovely fire going and decorations all along the mantel, as well as a large tree filling the entire house with its beautiful pine scent. As soon as she saw the craggy old Land Rover pull up (Rosie worrying all the way how on earth they were going to afford a more suitable car), she made herself scarce as quickly as she could, which wasn’t very. She still walked without a stick, but not very far. Cathryn had suggested a walker, at which Lilian had harrumphed so loudly she’d woken Archie Geffel.
She checked her lipstick, which had an infuriating tendency to lose itself in the cracks around her mouth these days, and made sure that her dress was nicely ironed, which it was, not that Rosie would notice. Her great-niece normally dressed like she’d got up with her eyes shut and had never heard of an iron; what on earth would she be like now she was a mother and had an excuse?
The big, sonorous bell rang, and one of the nice strong young orderlies went to answer it. Lilian looked around for something else she could pretend to be doing so she didn’t give the impression of having done nothing for weeks but panic and wait and listen in utter agony to all the gossip. To make matters worse, Dorothy Isitt had actually been in to the sweetshop that morning, and had immediately rushed up to visit her mother, which she didn’t normally do. The pair of them had, infuriatingly, sat in a corner with their heads together, whisper whisper whisper, gossip gossip gossip, every so often glancing up at her. Lilian had known they wanted her to come over and ask them about it, so of course she point-blank refused to do so and had ended up so cross she’d watched Coronation Street and been found doing so by the girl who changed her bed, who immediately wanted to chat about it. Lilian liked to pretend she wouldn’t be caught dead watching the soaps, and now she wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without discussing the Barlow family.
He bent it backwards and forwards without Apostil seeming to notice. Moray made hmming noises.
‘Can’t the nerves grow back?’ said Rosie.
Moray gave her a look.
‘He’s not Doctor Who, Rosie,’ he said.
‘You can be anything you want to be,’ whispered Rosie in Apostil’s ear, as Moray continued to look serious.
‘No, the problem is more that the message from the brain to tell the nerves to work simply never got through.’
They both looked at the little arm, curled in, the fingers bent into a permanent curve.
‘So what’s best?’ said Rosie, her throat dry all of a sudden. ‘It’s weird, because we think he’s perfect.’
Moray put his arm around her.
‘He IS perfect. He’s a smart and alert and perfectly healthy-looking bouncing baby boy. But when he starts to want to use it, to develop, then you’ll want to consider a prosthesis.’
‘A what?’ said Rosie. Her heart was suddenly in her mouth, even though she had known this would need to be discussed.
‘A prosthesis. A false arm. They’re amazing these days. It’s not like he’s going to be Captain Hook.’
Rosie tried to swallow but couldn’t.
‘Will it … will it fit over what he has?’
Moray looked her straight in the face, clear-eyed but sympathetic.
‘No, Rosie-Posie.’
There was a long silence. Apostil started to fuss, and Rosie picked him up and settled him against her chest, where he immediately nuzzled in.
‘They’re not …’ She tried to shake the wobble in her voice. ‘They’re not chopping bits off him.’
Moray patted her on the shoulder.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘You have a little time to think about it. You’re a parent. It’s a big adjustment. And when the time comes, you’ll want to do what’s best. For now, please, Rosie, talk it over with the big man, then just enjoy your baby.’
Rosie nodded, numb. She looked down at the little head, with its whorls of perfect black hair, and kissed it. The idea of the tiny form on a big hospital bed … giving him a general anaesthetic … Apostil not having the faintest idea what was happening to him, waking up without his arm …
She choked slightly. Moray’s phone beeper went off. He glanced at it and cursed.
‘Another tinsel accident,’ he said. Quickly he pulled Rosie and Apostil to him. ‘Look, I have to go,’ he said. ‘But Rosie. Think. Think where you were in the summer, so numb and bleak. Think how far beyond what you ever expected to happen this is; how much better. It’s amazing. You’ve done so well, you’re so lucky. Don’t you see?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie in a trembling voice.
‘Well focus on that, then. Everything else in its own time, capisce?’
She nodded.
‘I know. I know we’re lucky.’
‘You’re INSANELY lucky,’ said Moray. ‘Your beautiful healthy baby is going to be fine. And by the way, he’s lucky too. And so’s that stupid man of yours who absolutely does not deserve this.’
Rosie smiled.
‘Yes. Yes, I know.’
‘Fine. Good. Right, I’ll see you later. Get as much sleep as you can manage. And a solid sense of perspective.’
Rosie stuck her tongue out at him.
‘And go and make Lilian happy.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ said Rosie. ‘I was counting on her being all for the baby when the rest of the village disapproved. But everyone else in Lipton has been absolutely amazing, so she’ll have to go the other way. You know Lilian.’
Moray grinned.
‘I do. Tell her Hye’s a big fat racist and thinks you’re ruining the entire white look of the village.’
‘He SAID that?’
‘No!’ said Moray. ‘I’m just helping you with the gossip.’
‘That’s actually slander.’
‘I know,’ said Moray. ‘But he’s a terrible, terrible man.’
Moray’s boss Hye, head of the GP practice, made Moray do all the work, took a huge salary, spent half his life on holiday, never made a house call and expected special favours from everyone in town because he over-prescribed antibiotics.
‘But he’s not a racist,’ said Rosie.
‘He’s chairman of the golf club!’ said Moray. ‘That is probably basically the exact same thing.’
Rosie worked for the rest of the day, leaving Apostil napping in the sitting room, the baby monitor turned on to full, accepting gifts and good wishes and selling large amounts of selection boxes and a quick run on chocolate buttons, which she put down to people subliminally thinking about babies. Then she let Tina cash up and nipped off up to the care home, driving incredibly carefully on the icy roads.
She took a deep breath as she locked the car, hugging Apostil close. She was looking forward to this.
Lilian tried to pretend she wasn’t peering out of the window of the front hall, which had a lovely fire going and decorations all along the mantel, as well as a large tree filling the entire house with its beautiful pine scent. As soon as she saw the craggy old Land Rover pull up (Rosie worrying all the way how on earth they were going to afford a more suitable car), she made herself scarce as quickly as she could, which wasn’t very. She still walked without a stick, but not very far. Cathryn had suggested a walker, at which Lilian had harrumphed so loudly she’d woken Archie Geffel.
She checked her lipstick, which had an infuriating tendency to lose itself in the cracks around her mouth these days, and made sure that her dress was nicely ironed, which it was, not that Rosie would notice. Her great-niece normally dressed like she’d got up with her eyes shut and had never heard of an iron; what on earth would she be like now she was a mother and had an excuse?
The big, sonorous bell rang, and one of the nice strong young orderlies went to answer it. Lilian looked around for something else she could pretend to be doing so she didn’t give the impression of having done nothing for weeks but panic and wait and listen in utter agony to all the gossip. To make matters worse, Dorothy Isitt had actually been in to the sweetshop that morning, and had immediately rushed up to visit her mother, which she didn’t normally do. The pair of them had, infuriatingly, sat in a corner with their heads together, whisper whisper whisper, gossip gossip gossip, every so often glancing up at her. Lilian had known they wanted her to come over and ask them about it, so of course she point-blank refused to do so and had ended up so cross she’d watched Coronation Street and been found doing so by the girl who changed her bed, who immediately wanted to chat about it. Lilian liked to pretend she wouldn’t be caught dead watching the soaps, and now she wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without discussing the Barlow family.
