The Christmas Surprise
Page 69
Her hands were shaking so much she could barely hold the receiver, and it took her three goes, swearing all the while, to get the digits dialled. Finally the extension rang, and rang, and rang. Rosie was feeling torn between being desperate to get this over with and relief at putting it off for a while when the phone was finally picked up, and a different, younger voice said, ‘Hello?’
‘Um, hello,’ said Rosie, discombobulated. ‘Is, uh, is Joy there?’
‘Nooo,’ came the voice. ‘No. She’s on sick leave. She’s been signed off. I’m the replacement.’
‘What’s wrong with her?’ said Rosie, horrified. ‘Is she okay?’
‘Stress?’ said the voice, still sounding very chipper. ‘Yeah, she was finding it too stressful. People do, you know.’
‘I bet,’ said Rosie, a tiny pilot light of hope suddenly leaping into flame in her chest as well as some astonishment at the leakiness of social service departments. ‘Um, we’re the Lakeman family. I wondered if … I mean, are you going to be looking after us?’
‘I guess so?’ said the voice, still in that youthful questioning register. ‘The thing is, Joy dropped her iPad, and she hadn’t backed up all the notes, so it’s a bit of a mess this end.’
‘Oh,’ said Rosie, blinking hard and letting out a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding.
‘Hang on,’ said the girl. ‘I can call you up on the computer … L-a-k-e-m-a-n?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie. There was a long pause, and lots of clicking.
‘Okay, all it says is you’ve adopted a baby from overseas?’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yup, I know, she didn’t back a thing up.’
‘Wow.’
‘So, how are you getting on?’
‘We’re GREAT,’ said Rosie. ‘Really terrific.’
As if on cue, Apostil gurgled cheerfully into the telephone.
‘Sounds like it,’ said the girl on the other end. ‘Okay, well, listen, I don’t think you’re on our priority list for now … Can I put you on the end of my very long list, and pop round to see you in a month or so?’
‘We’re moving,’ said Rosie.
‘Oh, no problem. Just send us your new address when you get settled. And call if there are any problems, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘How are you finding it?’ said the voice, in a friendly way. ‘My first baby, I was a bit all over the place.’
‘Us too,’ said Rosie, fervently. ‘But do you know, we just about seem to be pulling it together.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ said the woman, and gave Rosie her details, which Rosie pretended to write down before hanging up the phone.
Then she collapsed on to the sofa and burst into tears.
There was an envelope waiting in the sweetshop. Rosie, still slightly tear-stained, opened it. It was a copy of a referral letter from Moray to Derby General. He’d attached a Post-it: ‘Stephen told me. Good luck.’
There was also a letter from the nursing agency that she needed to use to re-register herself so she could get a job. So much paperwork. But oh my goodness, this was nothing compared with the relief – and slight guilt – she felt at slipping down the social worker’s files. She wondered if it had been her that had caused Joy’s stress. But weren’t social workers used to people shouting at them?
She wished she could send Joy a card or something to cheer her up, but was wary of bringing herself to her attention in any way.
She looked up as Hester clanged the bell loudly. Marie was, as usual, wriggling like crazy. When she saw Apostil, her face lit up. He also struggled forward.
‘They’re like two dogs sniffing each other’s bottoms,’ said Rosie, then wished she hadn’t. Even though it was against about a million Health and Safety regulations, she plopped Apostil on top of the glass cabinet that housed the chocolate bars, nose to nose with Marie, still in the ethnic sling, who stuck out a pudgy hand and patted Apostil hard on the head.
‘HEH,’ she said.
‘That’s right,’ said Hester. ‘That is his head. She’s a very early speaker,’ she said to Rosie. ‘I have to struggle to keep up with her! Ha ha!’
‘Ha ha,’ smiled Rosie.
Marie reached out and batted Apostil in the nose.
‘NEH!’
Apostil burst into tears.
‘Oh, does he cry a lot?’ said Hester, putting her head on one side. ‘Sometimes children do that when they don’t feel securely connected to their mothers.’
‘What can I get you?’ said Rosie, comforting Apostil and moving him backwards out of Marie’s reach.
‘Barley sugar, please. Arthur needs them for his throat.’ This was Hester’s long-suffering husband. ‘He’s giving a paper at a major conference in Geneva. No surprise Marie is so verbal really.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Rosie blandly, fetching down the glass jar. ‘Small bag or large?’
‘Large, please … How’s Apostil coping in the cold weather?’
Rosie gave her a sharp look.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Well, you know. He won’t be used to the cold.’
‘He’s lived here for over half his life. He’s more used to it than I bloody am.’
Hester smiled beatifically.
‘Now don’t be so touchy, Rosie. I think it’s part of your duty to keep Apostil in touch with his heritage, that’s all.’
‘By turning up the thermostat?’
‘It’s all right for him to be different, Rosie,’ said Hester in her most infuriatingly gentle voice. ‘You must never force a child to fit in.’
‘I shall force him to fit in his duvet jacket,’ muttered Rosie, handing over the bag with bad grace.
‘Sorry to hear you’re leaving us,’ said Hester. ‘It was nice to have a bit of colour in the village.’
Rosie wanted to hit Hester quite badly now, so she turned away and forced herself to concentrate on the morning’s good news.
‘Although I suppose in Derby it’s a lot more … mixed.’
(Stephen said to Rosie later that you had to realise that Hester was probably only saying what other people were thinking, and Rosie had snapped back, yes, other RACIST people, and Stephen had shrugged and said, okay, she was evil, and Rosie had said, yes, she was and that was the end of that conversation. Rosie was already cross with him because he had been so delighted that Joy was ill, and didn’t have a word of sympathy for her. ‘She hounded us,’ he said.
‘Um, hello,’ said Rosie, discombobulated. ‘Is, uh, is Joy there?’
‘Nooo,’ came the voice. ‘No. She’s on sick leave. She’s been signed off. I’m the replacement.’
‘What’s wrong with her?’ said Rosie, horrified. ‘Is she okay?’
‘Stress?’ said the voice, still sounding very chipper. ‘Yeah, she was finding it too stressful. People do, you know.’
‘I bet,’ said Rosie, a tiny pilot light of hope suddenly leaping into flame in her chest as well as some astonishment at the leakiness of social service departments. ‘Um, we’re the Lakeman family. I wondered if … I mean, are you going to be looking after us?’
‘I guess so?’ said the voice, still in that youthful questioning register. ‘The thing is, Joy dropped her iPad, and she hadn’t backed up all the notes, so it’s a bit of a mess this end.’
‘Oh,’ said Rosie, blinking hard and letting out a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding.
‘Hang on,’ said the girl. ‘I can call you up on the computer … L-a-k-e-m-a-n?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie. There was a long pause, and lots of clicking.
‘Okay, all it says is you’ve adopted a baby from overseas?’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yup, I know, she didn’t back a thing up.’
‘Wow.’
‘So, how are you getting on?’
‘We’re GREAT,’ said Rosie. ‘Really terrific.’
As if on cue, Apostil gurgled cheerfully into the telephone.
‘Sounds like it,’ said the girl on the other end. ‘Okay, well, listen, I don’t think you’re on our priority list for now … Can I put you on the end of my very long list, and pop round to see you in a month or so?’
‘We’re moving,’ said Rosie.
‘Oh, no problem. Just send us your new address when you get settled. And call if there are any problems, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘How are you finding it?’ said the voice, in a friendly way. ‘My first baby, I was a bit all over the place.’
‘Us too,’ said Rosie, fervently. ‘But do you know, we just about seem to be pulling it together.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ said the woman, and gave Rosie her details, which Rosie pretended to write down before hanging up the phone.
Then she collapsed on to the sofa and burst into tears.
There was an envelope waiting in the sweetshop. Rosie, still slightly tear-stained, opened it. It was a copy of a referral letter from Moray to Derby General. He’d attached a Post-it: ‘Stephen told me. Good luck.’
There was also a letter from the nursing agency that she needed to use to re-register herself so she could get a job. So much paperwork. But oh my goodness, this was nothing compared with the relief – and slight guilt – she felt at slipping down the social worker’s files. She wondered if it had been her that had caused Joy’s stress. But weren’t social workers used to people shouting at them?
She wished she could send Joy a card or something to cheer her up, but was wary of bringing herself to her attention in any way.
She looked up as Hester clanged the bell loudly. Marie was, as usual, wriggling like crazy. When she saw Apostil, her face lit up. He also struggled forward.
‘They’re like two dogs sniffing each other’s bottoms,’ said Rosie, then wished she hadn’t. Even though it was against about a million Health and Safety regulations, she plopped Apostil on top of the glass cabinet that housed the chocolate bars, nose to nose with Marie, still in the ethnic sling, who stuck out a pudgy hand and patted Apostil hard on the head.
‘HEH,’ she said.
‘That’s right,’ said Hester. ‘That is his head. She’s a very early speaker,’ she said to Rosie. ‘I have to struggle to keep up with her! Ha ha!’
‘Ha ha,’ smiled Rosie.
Marie reached out and batted Apostil in the nose.
‘NEH!’
Apostil burst into tears.
‘Oh, does he cry a lot?’ said Hester, putting her head on one side. ‘Sometimes children do that when they don’t feel securely connected to their mothers.’
‘What can I get you?’ said Rosie, comforting Apostil and moving him backwards out of Marie’s reach.
‘Barley sugar, please. Arthur needs them for his throat.’ This was Hester’s long-suffering husband. ‘He’s giving a paper at a major conference in Geneva. No surprise Marie is so verbal really.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Rosie blandly, fetching down the glass jar. ‘Small bag or large?’
‘Large, please … How’s Apostil coping in the cold weather?’
Rosie gave her a sharp look.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Well, you know. He won’t be used to the cold.’
‘He’s lived here for over half his life. He’s more used to it than I bloody am.’
Hester smiled beatifically.
‘Now don’t be so touchy, Rosie. I think it’s part of your duty to keep Apostil in touch with his heritage, that’s all.’
‘By turning up the thermostat?’
‘It’s all right for him to be different, Rosie,’ said Hester in her most infuriatingly gentle voice. ‘You must never force a child to fit in.’
‘I shall force him to fit in his duvet jacket,’ muttered Rosie, handing over the bag with bad grace.
‘Sorry to hear you’re leaving us,’ said Hester. ‘It was nice to have a bit of colour in the village.’
Rosie wanted to hit Hester quite badly now, so she turned away and forced herself to concentrate on the morning’s good news.
‘Although I suppose in Derby it’s a lot more … mixed.’
(Stephen said to Rosie later that you had to realise that Hester was probably only saying what other people were thinking, and Rosie had snapped back, yes, other RACIST people, and Stephen had shrugged and said, okay, she was evil, and Rosie had said, yes, she was and that was the end of that conversation. Rosie was already cross with him because he had been so delighted that Joy was ill, and didn’t have a word of sympathy for her. ‘She hounded us,’ he said.
