The Christmas Surprise
Page 64
‘Hear hear!’ chorused the table, raising their glasses in unison.
‘I’ll just go and see to it,’ said Rosie hurriedly, backing away.
Outside, the light was already failing, even though it was only early afternoon. December the twenty-first, Rosie thought, the shortest day of the year. After this, everything would get lighter again. It would. This festival, with the great bonfire crackling, its heat so intense that snow was melting off the branches all around, was fighting off the powers of darkness; the forces that had, at times, threatened to close over her head, so hard had this year seemed. She found Stephen, who was idly chatting with Moshe, drinking cider and leaning on his stick; she took his hand and rested her head on his shoulder. Without missing a beat, he moved his arm around her, held her close, kissed the top of her head, as if he could tell what she was thinking without her having to mention it. He leaned over to whisper something in her ear.
‘Have you lost that baby again?’
Oh well, maybe he wasn’t quite that psychic.
‘No! He’s fine, he’s asleep in the straw.’
‘You Christians are amazing,’ said Moshe, shaking his head.
‘And you came out to fill your face?’ said Stephen.
‘Actually,’ said Rosie, ‘I was being all romantic and contemplative.’
Stephen smiled.
‘Can’t you be those things and fill your face at the same time?’
‘Yes!’
‘Want me to get you some?’
‘No. If I go, I get the crispy bits.’
‘Now you see why she’s my girl,’ said Stephen to Moshe, with pride.
The fish and chip van was proving the more popular of the two, and Rosie queued happily for the silken-fleshed haddock and the extra-crispy chips, golden and steaming, wrapped in specially printed paper that said ‘Tina & Jake, 21 December 2014’. Rosie smiled. Tina always did think of everything.
She got some Fanta too and went back to stand with Stephen and Moshe, smiling cheerfully at even the twelfth person who passed and said, ‘You two next.’
Everyone was rather well oiled and jolly by the time they got to the speeches.
Jake’s had been so sincere and nice about Tina – and short; he obviously couldn’t bear public speaking, and had turned brick red – and he was patently relieved when the attention turned to Rosie and Stephen. Even the children, who had been running wild building snowmen in the woods and hurling themselves about the dance floor, sat up to watch with expectant faces. Jake held the microphone out to them insistently.
‘Oh Lord,’ said Stephen.
‘You spend ALL DAY standing up and talking to people,’ said Rosie.
‘Small people,’ said Stephen.
‘Everyone’s small to you.’
Finally, realising that he had no choice, Stephen got up, reluctantly, to good-humoured applause.
‘Um,’ he said. As he stood up, he realised he was a bit drunk. Actually, really quite drunk. He hadn’t been paying attention out round the bonfire with everyone in such a good mood, instead letting his glass be refilled by a teenager with a crush on him.
‘Thanks for coming … um, and big thanks to Tina and Jake for letting us gatecrash their simply fabulous wedding. There were times this past year when …’ he turned to look at Rosie, ‘when thinking about this wedding has been one of the very few things that’s cheered us up.’
Rosie nodded madly, slightly worried as she noticed him swaying.
‘Hear hear,’ shouted someone, and there was a general toast. Stephen cracked a big lopsided grin at everyone.
‘And I wanted to say as well how sorry we are to be leaving, and how much we’re going to miss all of this and all of you, and hopefully we’ll be back and forth a bit …’
His voice trailed off as he realised everyone had gone silent.
‘Stephen!’ hissed Rosie loudly. She caught sight of Mrs Baptiste, the headmistress of the school, whose jaw had dropped open. Tina was looking at her in absolute horror. All the children had gasped.
‘What?’ the old people were saying on their table.
‘Ah,’ said Stephen, realising belatedly that he’d said rather too much. ‘Anyway, the happy couple.’ He raised his glass quickly and collapsed back into his seat.
‘Well,’ he said, to Rosie’s white face, ‘at least we’re spared the trouble of telling everyone.’
There was hubbub in the hall. Tina was coming up to Rosie with a shocked look on her face.
‘Don’t worry,’ Rosie reassured her. ‘The sweetshop will continue, I promise. But … yes. I think we’re going to have to leave.’
Lilian was looking awkward, and Rosie wanted to go over to her and reassure her that they weren’t sad, that it wasn’t her fault, but she kept being waylaid. One of Stephen’s pupils, Rosie noticed, was in tears. Then she turned round to find Edison standing quiet and pale by her chair.
‘Are you moving to Switzerland?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Rosie, puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘I just think people go to Switzerland,’ said Edison, pushing up his glasses.
‘Are you reading those Second World War books again?’
‘You’ll be safe in Switzerland.’
‘We’re not going to Switzerland! We’re going to Derby! We’ll be thirty miles down the road!’
‘That’s pretty far.’
‘It’s not far! We’ll be back all the time!’
‘How far’s a mile?’
‘Not very far.’
Edison stared at the ground.
‘But you’re my friend,’ he said quietly.
Rosie put her arms around him.
‘I will always be your friend,’ she said. ‘I promise.’
‘That won’t help me when you’re in Switzerland,’ grumbled Edison, as she cuddled his thin body.
Stephen meanwhile had been shocked sober and was talking to Mrs Baptiste, who was, justifiably, absolutely furious with him for announcing his de facto resignation at a wedding ceremony. Stephen tried to explain that he’d commute until he found something else, but that cut no ice with Mrs Baptiste, who pointed out quite rightly that there was a huge teacher shortage in central Derby and he’d get offered something very senior in five minutes, and he’d better be wearing his lion tamer’s outfit. Pamela stared at them both completely stony-faced, as person after person asked loudly why they were moving away.
‘I’ll just go and see to it,’ said Rosie hurriedly, backing away.
Outside, the light was already failing, even though it was only early afternoon. December the twenty-first, Rosie thought, the shortest day of the year. After this, everything would get lighter again. It would. This festival, with the great bonfire crackling, its heat so intense that snow was melting off the branches all around, was fighting off the powers of darkness; the forces that had, at times, threatened to close over her head, so hard had this year seemed. She found Stephen, who was idly chatting with Moshe, drinking cider and leaning on his stick; she took his hand and rested her head on his shoulder. Without missing a beat, he moved his arm around her, held her close, kissed the top of her head, as if he could tell what she was thinking without her having to mention it. He leaned over to whisper something in her ear.
‘Have you lost that baby again?’
Oh well, maybe he wasn’t quite that psychic.
‘No! He’s fine, he’s asleep in the straw.’
‘You Christians are amazing,’ said Moshe, shaking his head.
‘And you came out to fill your face?’ said Stephen.
‘Actually,’ said Rosie, ‘I was being all romantic and contemplative.’
Stephen smiled.
‘Can’t you be those things and fill your face at the same time?’
‘Yes!’
‘Want me to get you some?’
‘No. If I go, I get the crispy bits.’
‘Now you see why she’s my girl,’ said Stephen to Moshe, with pride.
The fish and chip van was proving the more popular of the two, and Rosie queued happily for the silken-fleshed haddock and the extra-crispy chips, golden and steaming, wrapped in specially printed paper that said ‘Tina & Jake, 21 December 2014’. Rosie smiled. Tina always did think of everything.
She got some Fanta too and went back to stand with Stephen and Moshe, smiling cheerfully at even the twelfth person who passed and said, ‘You two next.’
Everyone was rather well oiled and jolly by the time they got to the speeches.
Jake’s had been so sincere and nice about Tina – and short; he obviously couldn’t bear public speaking, and had turned brick red – and he was patently relieved when the attention turned to Rosie and Stephen. Even the children, who had been running wild building snowmen in the woods and hurling themselves about the dance floor, sat up to watch with expectant faces. Jake held the microphone out to them insistently.
‘Oh Lord,’ said Stephen.
‘You spend ALL DAY standing up and talking to people,’ said Rosie.
‘Small people,’ said Stephen.
‘Everyone’s small to you.’
Finally, realising that he had no choice, Stephen got up, reluctantly, to good-humoured applause.
‘Um,’ he said. As he stood up, he realised he was a bit drunk. Actually, really quite drunk. He hadn’t been paying attention out round the bonfire with everyone in such a good mood, instead letting his glass be refilled by a teenager with a crush on him.
‘Thanks for coming … um, and big thanks to Tina and Jake for letting us gatecrash their simply fabulous wedding. There were times this past year when …’ he turned to look at Rosie, ‘when thinking about this wedding has been one of the very few things that’s cheered us up.’
Rosie nodded madly, slightly worried as she noticed him swaying.
‘Hear hear,’ shouted someone, and there was a general toast. Stephen cracked a big lopsided grin at everyone.
‘And I wanted to say as well how sorry we are to be leaving, and how much we’re going to miss all of this and all of you, and hopefully we’ll be back and forth a bit …’
His voice trailed off as he realised everyone had gone silent.
‘Stephen!’ hissed Rosie loudly. She caught sight of Mrs Baptiste, the headmistress of the school, whose jaw had dropped open. Tina was looking at her in absolute horror. All the children had gasped.
‘What?’ the old people were saying on their table.
‘Ah,’ said Stephen, realising belatedly that he’d said rather too much. ‘Anyway, the happy couple.’ He raised his glass quickly and collapsed back into his seat.
‘Well,’ he said, to Rosie’s white face, ‘at least we’re spared the trouble of telling everyone.’
There was hubbub in the hall. Tina was coming up to Rosie with a shocked look on her face.
‘Don’t worry,’ Rosie reassured her. ‘The sweetshop will continue, I promise. But … yes. I think we’re going to have to leave.’
Lilian was looking awkward, and Rosie wanted to go over to her and reassure her that they weren’t sad, that it wasn’t her fault, but she kept being waylaid. One of Stephen’s pupils, Rosie noticed, was in tears. Then she turned round to find Edison standing quiet and pale by her chair.
‘Are you moving to Switzerland?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Rosie, puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘I just think people go to Switzerland,’ said Edison, pushing up his glasses.
‘Are you reading those Second World War books again?’
‘You’ll be safe in Switzerland.’
‘We’re not going to Switzerland! We’re going to Derby! We’ll be thirty miles down the road!’
‘That’s pretty far.’
‘It’s not far! We’ll be back all the time!’
‘How far’s a mile?’
‘Not very far.’
Edison stared at the ground.
‘But you’re my friend,’ he said quietly.
Rosie put her arms around him.
‘I will always be your friend,’ she said. ‘I promise.’
‘That won’t help me when you’re in Switzerland,’ grumbled Edison, as she cuddled his thin body.
Stephen meanwhile had been shocked sober and was talking to Mrs Baptiste, who was, justifiably, absolutely furious with him for announcing his de facto resignation at a wedding ceremony. Stephen tried to explain that he’d commute until he found something else, but that cut no ice with Mrs Baptiste, who pointed out quite rightly that there was a huge teacher shortage in central Derby and he’d get offered something very senior in five minutes, and he’d better be wearing his lion tamer’s outfit. Pamela stared at them both completely stony-faced, as person after person asked loudly why they were moving away.
