The Christmas Surprise
Page 59
‘Oh, we were, my love,’ said Lilian. ‘In our hearts, I think. Now, how long do you think that fat vicar is going to go on for today? Let’s get the fish and chip van to drive past after twenty minutes. He’ll follow the smell right out the door.’
‘You are awful,’ said Rosie, but it did the trick. She felt a little better, and not as if she’d be sobbing over everyone all through the service. She twisted her own engagement ring anxiously.
‘Stop that,’ said Moray. ‘You’ll look weird.’
‘Okay, okay!’
They were driving the short distance to the church, the icy cobbles being deemed absolutely far too hazardous for Lilian’s delicate bones
‘That’s true, you know,’ Lilian had said. ‘One fall and it’s all over. Everyone knows. Nelly Quivox tripped down the stairs. Only broke her ankle but was dead in a week. I think she did it on purpose.’
‘You are a GHOUL,’ said Rosie. ‘Stop it.’
‘I can’t stop it,’ said Lilian. ‘I’m at the opposite bit to you. Everyone you know is having babies, not dying. So you sit around and bore everyone to tears about people who have just arrived, whereas I tell stories about people who have just left. It’s precisely the same thing, except my stories are interesting and not all blah blah blah milk oh look he did a burp call the Marconi office.’
‘That’s … Well. That’s a bit true,’ said Rosie, taking her great-aunt’s bird-like arm in hers as they stepped out of the cottage and towards the car. Most of Lipton was heading down the main street in their Sunday best. Even those who were not invited were going to see Tina and Jake off; a wedding in the village was, after all, a wedding, and there was a merry Christmas feel to the air as people hailed their neighbours, the women in fancy hats, the farmer’s wives who spent all year in practical, warm clothes pink and nervous-looking, clopping across the cobbles in unaccustomed heels.
The church had white ribbons and holly draped over the lychgate, and great bunches of white flowers at the end of every pew with mistletoe and big white bows everywhere. Stephen – Apostil having been borne off by some of the other mothers – was standing at the door handing out orders of service, his stick leaning against the old arched doorway. For a second, he took Rosie’s breath away.
He was so handsome in his old morning suit, his top hat by his stick, the smart waistcoat with its white buttonhole. He looked exactly, in fact, like the man she’d dreamed of marrying, of being with, for so long. Her heart softened and she wanted to run to him. As if sensing her, he glanced up; she smiled at him, nervously, apologetically, and he raised his hand a little bit, and again she wanted to run and beg forgiveness, and make everything all right again.
But how could it be all right when she was tearing him away from his job and his life and his family and everything he loved?
If she had been different, would his mother have liked her more? Accepted her? Invited her to stay with them, be a part of his family? If she’d been like his other girlfriends: posh, blonde Made in Chelsea types with plenty of money, who could have bought somewhere nice on their own, none of the boring problems that belonged to little people, who ran sweetshops and had no inheritance. And of course if she had a working set of Fallopian tubes, that would probably have helped things too …
She swallowed heavily and checked on Apostil, who was being doted on by some of Jake’s rugby chums. Apostil was giggling and laughing his head off. She went a little closer, conscious now – all the time – of the possibility that the damn social worker might pop up at any moment and that she should probably not be letting him out of her sight.
Apostil’s face lit up when he saw her. There was no other way to describe it. His smile, already wide from the fuss being made of him, suddenly became even wider, his eyes sparkled with excitement, his little hand stretched out towards her. He was the sun coming out; she and Stephen were everything to him, and that was all that mattered.
‘Here’s Mam,’ said one of the boys cheerfully, handing him over. ‘Hey there, our Rosie. Can your lad come and play prop forward? He’s going to be a big ’un.’
‘Maybe not this Saturday,’ said Rosie, smiling, and thinking how, after his op, he’d be able to do all that stuff – all the throwing, and sport, and joining in things. She thought Apostil was the most amazing thing in the world; the operation would give him all the tools to show everybody else that too.
Eventually they were all sitting down. Rosie saw Jake, anxious and sweaty, with a terrible new haircut, and the vicar, in special celebration robes, beaming pinkly and casting ominous glances towards his acoustic guitar. Tina had been pretty adamant about that, though, and someone was playing the organ.
Just as everyone was getting fidgety, the good old wedding march started up, and everyone rose, Rosie realising two things at the same time: firstly, that Lady Lipton and Pamela were there, both looking furious (and extremely similar) at the fact that, of course, their normal pew, the front one, was taken by the families of the bride and groom; and secondly, that she had completely forgotten to check whether Apostil was wearing his special wedding babygro, and she could tell under his jumper that he wasn’t.
First the twins, Kent and Emily, came forward, holding hands, Emily in a beautiful white dress with a big red bow and a soft white cardigan; Kent in white shorts and shirt and a red tie. The entire church sighed with happiness at what a lovely picture they made as they walked slowly and incredibly seriously to the front, the nervous looks on their faces being replaced with relief as they got to within two steps of Jake, their stepdad-to-be, at which point they broke ranks and ran into his arms. He hugged them tightly, tears already streaming down his cheeks.
‘This is emotional,’ said Lilian sarcastically, and Rosie nudged her, whilst sniffing.
Then Jake’s brother and best man came on the arm of Tina’s sister, then the three ushers, including Stephen, with three other bridesmaids, school friends of Tina’s. And trotting next to Stephen, to Rosie’s utter surprise – and the delight of the many children in the church, chivvied in rows for the school choir – was Mr Dog, wearing Apostil’s bow tie babygro with the feet chopped off, and carrying a knotted box, obviously containing the rings, in his mouth.
Then the laughter and the delighted noises stopped, as Tina appeared on her father’s arm at the far end of the nave.
‘You are awful,’ said Rosie, but it did the trick. She felt a little better, and not as if she’d be sobbing over everyone all through the service. She twisted her own engagement ring anxiously.
‘Stop that,’ said Moray. ‘You’ll look weird.’
‘Okay, okay!’
They were driving the short distance to the church, the icy cobbles being deemed absolutely far too hazardous for Lilian’s delicate bones
‘That’s true, you know,’ Lilian had said. ‘One fall and it’s all over. Everyone knows. Nelly Quivox tripped down the stairs. Only broke her ankle but was dead in a week. I think she did it on purpose.’
‘You are a GHOUL,’ said Rosie. ‘Stop it.’
‘I can’t stop it,’ said Lilian. ‘I’m at the opposite bit to you. Everyone you know is having babies, not dying. So you sit around and bore everyone to tears about people who have just arrived, whereas I tell stories about people who have just left. It’s precisely the same thing, except my stories are interesting and not all blah blah blah milk oh look he did a burp call the Marconi office.’
‘That’s … Well. That’s a bit true,’ said Rosie, taking her great-aunt’s bird-like arm in hers as they stepped out of the cottage and towards the car. Most of Lipton was heading down the main street in their Sunday best. Even those who were not invited were going to see Tina and Jake off; a wedding in the village was, after all, a wedding, and there was a merry Christmas feel to the air as people hailed their neighbours, the women in fancy hats, the farmer’s wives who spent all year in practical, warm clothes pink and nervous-looking, clopping across the cobbles in unaccustomed heels.
The church had white ribbons and holly draped over the lychgate, and great bunches of white flowers at the end of every pew with mistletoe and big white bows everywhere. Stephen – Apostil having been borne off by some of the other mothers – was standing at the door handing out orders of service, his stick leaning against the old arched doorway. For a second, he took Rosie’s breath away.
He was so handsome in his old morning suit, his top hat by his stick, the smart waistcoat with its white buttonhole. He looked exactly, in fact, like the man she’d dreamed of marrying, of being with, for so long. Her heart softened and she wanted to run to him. As if sensing her, he glanced up; she smiled at him, nervously, apologetically, and he raised his hand a little bit, and again she wanted to run and beg forgiveness, and make everything all right again.
But how could it be all right when she was tearing him away from his job and his life and his family and everything he loved?
If she had been different, would his mother have liked her more? Accepted her? Invited her to stay with them, be a part of his family? If she’d been like his other girlfriends: posh, blonde Made in Chelsea types with plenty of money, who could have bought somewhere nice on their own, none of the boring problems that belonged to little people, who ran sweetshops and had no inheritance. And of course if she had a working set of Fallopian tubes, that would probably have helped things too …
She swallowed heavily and checked on Apostil, who was being doted on by some of Jake’s rugby chums. Apostil was giggling and laughing his head off. She went a little closer, conscious now – all the time – of the possibility that the damn social worker might pop up at any moment and that she should probably not be letting him out of her sight.
Apostil’s face lit up when he saw her. There was no other way to describe it. His smile, already wide from the fuss being made of him, suddenly became even wider, his eyes sparkled with excitement, his little hand stretched out towards her. He was the sun coming out; she and Stephen were everything to him, and that was all that mattered.
‘Here’s Mam,’ said one of the boys cheerfully, handing him over. ‘Hey there, our Rosie. Can your lad come and play prop forward? He’s going to be a big ’un.’
‘Maybe not this Saturday,’ said Rosie, smiling, and thinking how, after his op, he’d be able to do all that stuff – all the throwing, and sport, and joining in things. She thought Apostil was the most amazing thing in the world; the operation would give him all the tools to show everybody else that too.
Eventually they were all sitting down. Rosie saw Jake, anxious and sweaty, with a terrible new haircut, and the vicar, in special celebration robes, beaming pinkly and casting ominous glances towards his acoustic guitar. Tina had been pretty adamant about that, though, and someone was playing the organ.
Just as everyone was getting fidgety, the good old wedding march started up, and everyone rose, Rosie realising two things at the same time: firstly, that Lady Lipton and Pamela were there, both looking furious (and extremely similar) at the fact that, of course, their normal pew, the front one, was taken by the families of the bride and groom; and secondly, that she had completely forgotten to check whether Apostil was wearing his special wedding babygro, and she could tell under his jumper that he wasn’t.
First the twins, Kent and Emily, came forward, holding hands, Emily in a beautiful white dress with a big red bow and a soft white cardigan; Kent in white shorts and shirt and a red tie. The entire church sighed with happiness at what a lovely picture they made as they walked slowly and incredibly seriously to the front, the nervous looks on their faces being replaced with relief as they got to within two steps of Jake, their stepdad-to-be, at which point they broke ranks and ran into his arms. He hugged them tightly, tears already streaming down his cheeks.
‘This is emotional,’ said Lilian sarcastically, and Rosie nudged her, whilst sniffing.
Then Jake’s brother and best man came on the arm of Tina’s sister, then the three ushers, including Stephen, with three other bridesmaids, school friends of Tina’s. And trotting next to Stephen, to Rosie’s utter surprise – and the delight of the many children in the church, chivvied in rows for the school choir – was Mr Dog, wearing Apostil’s bow tie babygro with the feet chopped off, and carrying a knotted box, obviously containing the rings, in his mouth.
Then the laughter and the delighted noises stopped, as Tina appeared on her father’s arm at the far end of the nave.
