The Christmas Surprise
Page 32
‘Well, I thought if we had the difficult conversation about money, we could have fish and chips as a reward.’
‘Can we afford fish and chips?’
‘We can smash Lilian’s penny jar.’
Rosie sat down beside him as he went through it painstakingly. It did not make happy reading. They didn’t have to pay a mortgage or rent on the house or the shop, but money that would have done that went to pay Lilian’s nursing home fees. They wouldn’t have told Lilian in a thousand years, but the fees had increased massively; to keep serving good food, to keep the home warm just seemed to get more and more expensive all the time. Their joint salaries from the sweetshop – Rosie made hardly any money by the time she’d bought stock and paid Tina – and Stephen’s teaching job, where he was still on the lowest rung, couldn’t cover their outgoings. And now they’d have to move into a large house with all its associated running costs, even if they were lucky enough to get it rent-free from Stephen’s mother, and neither of them was sure about that at all. Plus they needed to change the car, plus a million and one normal everyday expenses that Apostil had brought with him, plus paying off the credit card for Africa. And there was the debt they owed to Apostil’s home town: they’d promised to help rebuild and maintain the school there. Things were cheaper in Africa, and labour was inexpensive too – though not that inexpensive, with so many of the men of the village absent or simply untrained – but the money still needed to be raised.
Mrs Baptiste, the head teacher at Stephen’s school, had immediately insisted that Lipton Primary twin itself with the school in Kduli, and had launched an African project – Stephen had already sent Faustine several pictures and hellos from the children in both classes – but they couldn’t rely on the kindness of the village to fund their pet project.
They stared at the spreadsheet.
‘We could economise,’ said Rosie, after she’d put Apostil down. He’d complained about it and shaken his little fist, then resigned himself to his lot. Mr Dog had immediately jumped up from his snooze in front of the fire; he knew this was his time. She patted him absent-mindedly and he licked her wrist.
‘What on?’ said Stephen. He smiled at her. ‘I’d like you to have a new dress now and again.’
‘You can talk,’ said Rosie. ‘You don’t wear anything that’s younger than me. We could go own-brand for Mr Dog.’
They looked at him; he’d perked up at the sound of his name. His fuzzy mop head tilted and little pink tongue panted enquiringly.
‘Neh,’ said Stephen.
‘And thank God we didn’t have to buy any clothes for Superbaby,’ said Rosie fondly.
‘You have to stop calling him Superbaby. You’ll say it somewhere out and about and get a reputation for being conceited.’
‘OR people will realise I’m right,’ said Rosie dotingly.
‘Anyway, the moment he realises you’re dressing him entirely in lemon-coloured wool, he’s going to throw a fit.’
‘We have time.’
But they kept looking at the figures.
‘The best thing to do,’ began Stephen slowly, ‘is just to sell the cottage. In fact, I think it’s the only thing to do.’
‘I know, I know,’ said Rosie. She had been dreading this. ‘But would she agree? And how could we ask her to? She was born in this house.’
If they sold the cottage in this current, buoyant market, they would be able to cover Lilian’s care for the future and take one of their burdens away.
‘Can’t we sell Peak House?’ said Rosie. ‘That would be better.’
‘Not allowed under the trust,’ said Stephen automatically. ‘It belongs to the estate. Plus, you know, Apostil is going to need his own bedroom one day. He can’t just sleep in Lilian’s old room. We’ve outgrown this place. We need to admit it and move to the Ice Box.’
Rosie remembered her promise in Africa, never to keep anything from him again. Even though Moray had said it could keep for a bit, she wasn’t going to do that any more.
‘There’s something else we have to consider,’ she said.
‘No fucking way.’
‘It’s just something we’ll have to think about.’
‘Well I have thought about it. He’s perfect as he is. I’m not having some butcher chop into him. I’m not putting a baby under anaesthetic. I’ve only got three good limbs, want to chop one of mine off?’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘Of course not.’
‘But you’d do it to your son?’
Rosie shrugged. ‘If it would be the best thing for him.’
‘Bloody doctors think they know it all,’ said Stephen darkly. ‘And where would all this be? Because it wouldn’t just be the op, would it?’
Rosie shook her head.
‘It’d be rehab and appointments, and physio – for YEARS.’
‘I know.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Derby,’ said Rosie quietly.
‘The city.’
Rosie swallowed.
‘You’re suggesting we go and live in the grotty city next to the hospital?’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s just … it’s just a possibility.’
Stephen blinked.
‘Don’t you think he’s fine?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Rosie. ‘I don’t know.’
Chapter Ten
The next morning dawned on a black world crackling with rime frost (including on the inside of the windows, Rosie noticed with a shudder, snuggling back under the covers with Apostil for a few more minutes of warmth. She felt a stone in the pit of her stomach and for a moment couldn’t remember what it was. Then she did. It was everything. And on top of that, it was also time to visit her mother-in-law-to-be and introduce her to her new grandson. She thought wistfully of how in some families this would be a joyous occasion.
She stretched out a leg into the freezing air of the room, and swore. It was pitch dark outside still, it felt totally wrong that anyone should have to be out in this weather. Then she thought of the farmers, who’d been up for three hours already doing the milking, and felt guilty. There were many, many harder lives than hers, that was for sure.
At least they had hot water. She filled up the old claw-foot bath until the tiny bathroom was steaming and almost bearable. The sound of the water woke Stephen and he padded in blearily.
‘Can we afford fish and chips?’
‘We can smash Lilian’s penny jar.’
Rosie sat down beside him as he went through it painstakingly. It did not make happy reading. They didn’t have to pay a mortgage or rent on the house or the shop, but money that would have done that went to pay Lilian’s nursing home fees. They wouldn’t have told Lilian in a thousand years, but the fees had increased massively; to keep serving good food, to keep the home warm just seemed to get more and more expensive all the time. Their joint salaries from the sweetshop – Rosie made hardly any money by the time she’d bought stock and paid Tina – and Stephen’s teaching job, where he was still on the lowest rung, couldn’t cover their outgoings. And now they’d have to move into a large house with all its associated running costs, even if they were lucky enough to get it rent-free from Stephen’s mother, and neither of them was sure about that at all. Plus they needed to change the car, plus a million and one normal everyday expenses that Apostil had brought with him, plus paying off the credit card for Africa. And there was the debt they owed to Apostil’s home town: they’d promised to help rebuild and maintain the school there. Things were cheaper in Africa, and labour was inexpensive too – though not that inexpensive, with so many of the men of the village absent or simply untrained – but the money still needed to be raised.
Mrs Baptiste, the head teacher at Stephen’s school, had immediately insisted that Lipton Primary twin itself with the school in Kduli, and had launched an African project – Stephen had already sent Faustine several pictures and hellos from the children in both classes – but they couldn’t rely on the kindness of the village to fund their pet project.
They stared at the spreadsheet.
‘We could economise,’ said Rosie, after she’d put Apostil down. He’d complained about it and shaken his little fist, then resigned himself to his lot. Mr Dog had immediately jumped up from his snooze in front of the fire; he knew this was his time. She patted him absent-mindedly and he licked her wrist.
‘What on?’ said Stephen. He smiled at her. ‘I’d like you to have a new dress now and again.’
‘You can talk,’ said Rosie. ‘You don’t wear anything that’s younger than me. We could go own-brand for Mr Dog.’
They looked at him; he’d perked up at the sound of his name. His fuzzy mop head tilted and little pink tongue panted enquiringly.
‘Neh,’ said Stephen.
‘And thank God we didn’t have to buy any clothes for Superbaby,’ said Rosie fondly.
‘You have to stop calling him Superbaby. You’ll say it somewhere out and about and get a reputation for being conceited.’
‘OR people will realise I’m right,’ said Rosie dotingly.
‘Anyway, the moment he realises you’re dressing him entirely in lemon-coloured wool, he’s going to throw a fit.’
‘We have time.’
But they kept looking at the figures.
‘The best thing to do,’ began Stephen slowly, ‘is just to sell the cottage. In fact, I think it’s the only thing to do.’
‘I know, I know,’ said Rosie. She had been dreading this. ‘But would she agree? And how could we ask her to? She was born in this house.’
If they sold the cottage in this current, buoyant market, they would be able to cover Lilian’s care for the future and take one of their burdens away.
‘Can’t we sell Peak House?’ said Rosie. ‘That would be better.’
‘Not allowed under the trust,’ said Stephen automatically. ‘It belongs to the estate. Plus, you know, Apostil is going to need his own bedroom one day. He can’t just sleep in Lilian’s old room. We’ve outgrown this place. We need to admit it and move to the Ice Box.’
Rosie remembered her promise in Africa, never to keep anything from him again. Even though Moray had said it could keep for a bit, she wasn’t going to do that any more.
‘There’s something else we have to consider,’ she said.
‘No fucking way.’
‘It’s just something we’ll have to think about.’
‘Well I have thought about it. He’s perfect as he is. I’m not having some butcher chop into him. I’m not putting a baby under anaesthetic. I’ve only got three good limbs, want to chop one of mine off?’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘Of course not.’
‘But you’d do it to your son?’
Rosie shrugged. ‘If it would be the best thing for him.’
‘Bloody doctors think they know it all,’ said Stephen darkly. ‘And where would all this be? Because it wouldn’t just be the op, would it?’
Rosie shook her head.
‘It’d be rehab and appointments, and physio – for YEARS.’
‘I know.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Derby,’ said Rosie quietly.
‘The city.’
Rosie swallowed.
‘You’re suggesting we go and live in the grotty city next to the hospital?’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s just … it’s just a possibility.’
Stephen blinked.
‘Don’t you think he’s fine?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Rosie. ‘I don’t know.’
Chapter Ten
The next morning dawned on a black world crackling with rime frost (including on the inside of the windows, Rosie noticed with a shudder, snuggling back under the covers with Apostil for a few more minutes of warmth. She felt a stone in the pit of her stomach and for a moment couldn’t remember what it was. Then she did. It was everything. And on top of that, it was also time to visit her mother-in-law-to-be and introduce her to her new grandson. She thought wistfully of how in some families this would be a joyous occasion.
She stretched out a leg into the freezing air of the room, and swore. It was pitch dark outside still, it felt totally wrong that anyone should have to be out in this weather. Then she thought of the farmers, who’d been up for three hours already doing the milking, and felt guilty. There were many, many harder lives than hers, that was for sure.
At least they had hot water. She filled up the old claw-foot bath until the tiny bathroom was steaming and almost bearable. The sound of the water woke Stephen and he padded in blearily.
