The Christmas Surprise
Page 73
‘You know she’s going to be at church,’ said Rosie, as they sat eating breakfast.
Stephen looked at her.
‘I know.’
‘Is she spending the day by herself?’
‘She is pleasing herself, as she always does.’
Rosie gave him The Look. Stephen sighed.
‘Okay,’ he said, picking up the phone. ‘Okay. Just to give her the pleasure of telling me to piss off. As a gift.’
‘Ah, the true spirit of Christmas,’ said Rosie. She took out the dishes while Stephen reluctantly dialled his mother.
‘Hey,’ he said awkwardly. There was a long silence; Henrietta was obviously talking. Rosie pretended not to be earwigging.
‘I think,’ Stephen said eventually, ‘I think there’s probably a spare space … you know, at Lilian’s … Yes …’
Another long silence.
‘Yes. We are thrilled. The letters on the wall … those were your idea?’
Stupefied, Rosie moved closer to the phone so she could hear. Henrietta’s voice was still imperious, but it sounded frailer, too.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I wanted … I wanted to make sure he felt part of the family.’
There was a pause.
‘Merry Christmas … Mum.’
Cathryn had excelled herself this year. Great garlands of holly and ivy had been gathered by the gardeners and hung all around the home, and the old ladies had been busy crocheting silver stars, which they had managed so successfully they now covered every available wall space, along with the hundreds of cards, from a generation whose handwriting grew increasingly faint and wobbly.
Relatives arrived with piles of gifts; surly teenagers fiddled with their phones; exuberant little ones, suddenly anxious at the sight of all the old people, caught sight of the huge tree in the corner, lit up and brilliant, and were struck dumb.
Lilian had bagsied the best table, between the windows looking out on to the snow-covered gardens and the crackling fire, simply by putting a cardigan on the back of each chair and giving a deep snarl to anyone who came over and considered complaining. Cathryn had managed to source a high chair from somewhere, so Apostil, who was only just beginning to sit up, could enjoy watching over the proceedings.
The young, nervous teens from the local Prince of Wales scheme, which trained them up in catering, came round with the first delicious canapés of the day, and aperitifs were served. Lilian asked loudly for a gin fizz, but was ignored and made do with a port and lemon.
Rosie and Stephen came bustling in, brimming over with laughter and gifts, Apostil beaming, Mr Dog sneaking in behind. Cathryn saw the dog but turned a blind eye as he sniffed around appreciatively for chipolatas. Moray and Moshe weren’t far behind.
‘No ailments!’ Moray was shouting. ‘I am NOT on call today, so nobody choke on a turkey bone. Or do if you like; I shall stand by whilst you wake Hye out of his underground lair. Someone give me a Campari and soda.’
Frank Sinatra was singing Christmas carols in the background as gifts were exchanged. To Rosie’s growing embarrassment, all anyone seemed to have bought was a plethora of toys and ridiculous outfits for Apostil, who ignored all of them in favour of trying to eat some bubble wrap. Across the large dining room, similar scenes were taking place in every family group; even Maud Winton, who had nobody left in all the world, had been co-opted by Ada Lumb’s family for the duration. Ida Delia was grumpily examining a necklace Dorothy had bought her and asking if she’d kept the receipt.
Outside, the snow was falling – as it would fall now until March – but Rosie didn’t mind, thinking with a shiver of pleasure of their new carpets, their cosy windows, all the ridiculous luxury of Peak House. She still couldn’t quite get her head around it. She squeezed Stephen’s hand very tightly, and without turning away from flirting with Lilian, he squeezed hers back in a way that showed her he understood; that he would always understand; that he would always be there, hand in hand, side by side, for the good and the bad.
At 12.30, everyone who could manage it stood up, as Cathryn said the grace.
I heard the bells on Christmas Day,
Their old familiar carols play
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, goodwill to men!
Suddenly the door opened, letting in a bitter icy draught. Everyone turned to stare. Standing in the doorway, as proud and formidable-looking as ever – possibly more so in her red greatcoat – was Henrietta. For a few moments everyone was silent. Then Lilian’s voice rang out.
‘Oh, there you are.’
She indicated an empty place at the end of the table that Rosie had thought she was keeping free for Henry, and Rosie dropped Stephen’s hand and urged him forward to greet his mother. He extended his arm to take hers, and kissed her gently on the cheek – at which she coloured, which was unlike her – then led her to the top of the table.
‘I have,’ she said, caressing Apostil’s head, ‘I have a gift for … for my grandchild.’
‘You are his gift,’ said Stephen gently. ‘His grandma.’
And there, gentle reader, we are going to leave them. Eating a wonderful meal – nobody did choke on a turkey bone – in a room full of love and warmth and fellowship, which for my money is just about the best we can get in this world.
Moray will tell a terribly off-colour joke, which Lilian will absolutely love, and Apostil will hit a toy drum someone bought him until they take it away, and Ida Delia will be persuaded to lead the charades (she always was a show-off, Lilian will remark, and refuse to guess), and they will toast their beloved Henry Carr, and the spirit of Célestine, never forgetting that Apostil has two mothers. The weak daylight will soften into early dark, but no one will pay the least bit of attention, and the carers will dance with their elderly clients, even when they pretend they don’t want to, and Lilian will wear her paper hat at a jaunty angle and make it look rather chic, whereas Rosie will get a bit overheated and pink, and her hat will stick to her forehead. And Apostil will try and put anything from the crackers into his mouth and have to be rescued from choking about four times, and he will think this is a tremendous game, and crack up laughing each time. And in about ten minutes, Rosie will go to the bathroom and throw up for the fourth time that day, then run downstairs and whisper to Stephen what has just happened, and he will say, ‘Just like you did yesterday morning?’
Stephen looked at her.
‘I know.’
‘Is she spending the day by herself?’
‘She is pleasing herself, as she always does.’
Rosie gave him The Look. Stephen sighed.
‘Okay,’ he said, picking up the phone. ‘Okay. Just to give her the pleasure of telling me to piss off. As a gift.’
‘Ah, the true spirit of Christmas,’ said Rosie. She took out the dishes while Stephen reluctantly dialled his mother.
‘Hey,’ he said awkwardly. There was a long silence; Henrietta was obviously talking. Rosie pretended not to be earwigging.
‘I think,’ Stephen said eventually, ‘I think there’s probably a spare space … you know, at Lilian’s … Yes …’
Another long silence.
‘Yes. We are thrilled. The letters on the wall … those were your idea?’
Stupefied, Rosie moved closer to the phone so she could hear. Henrietta’s voice was still imperious, but it sounded frailer, too.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I wanted … I wanted to make sure he felt part of the family.’
There was a pause.
‘Merry Christmas … Mum.’
Cathryn had excelled herself this year. Great garlands of holly and ivy had been gathered by the gardeners and hung all around the home, and the old ladies had been busy crocheting silver stars, which they had managed so successfully they now covered every available wall space, along with the hundreds of cards, from a generation whose handwriting grew increasingly faint and wobbly.
Relatives arrived with piles of gifts; surly teenagers fiddled with their phones; exuberant little ones, suddenly anxious at the sight of all the old people, caught sight of the huge tree in the corner, lit up and brilliant, and were struck dumb.
Lilian had bagsied the best table, between the windows looking out on to the snow-covered gardens and the crackling fire, simply by putting a cardigan on the back of each chair and giving a deep snarl to anyone who came over and considered complaining. Cathryn had managed to source a high chair from somewhere, so Apostil, who was only just beginning to sit up, could enjoy watching over the proceedings.
The young, nervous teens from the local Prince of Wales scheme, which trained them up in catering, came round with the first delicious canapés of the day, and aperitifs were served. Lilian asked loudly for a gin fizz, but was ignored and made do with a port and lemon.
Rosie and Stephen came bustling in, brimming over with laughter and gifts, Apostil beaming, Mr Dog sneaking in behind. Cathryn saw the dog but turned a blind eye as he sniffed around appreciatively for chipolatas. Moray and Moshe weren’t far behind.
‘No ailments!’ Moray was shouting. ‘I am NOT on call today, so nobody choke on a turkey bone. Or do if you like; I shall stand by whilst you wake Hye out of his underground lair. Someone give me a Campari and soda.’
Frank Sinatra was singing Christmas carols in the background as gifts were exchanged. To Rosie’s growing embarrassment, all anyone seemed to have bought was a plethora of toys and ridiculous outfits for Apostil, who ignored all of them in favour of trying to eat some bubble wrap. Across the large dining room, similar scenes were taking place in every family group; even Maud Winton, who had nobody left in all the world, had been co-opted by Ada Lumb’s family for the duration. Ida Delia was grumpily examining a necklace Dorothy had bought her and asking if she’d kept the receipt.
Outside, the snow was falling – as it would fall now until March – but Rosie didn’t mind, thinking with a shiver of pleasure of their new carpets, their cosy windows, all the ridiculous luxury of Peak House. She still couldn’t quite get her head around it. She squeezed Stephen’s hand very tightly, and without turning away from flirting with Lilian, he squeezed hers back in a way that showed her he understood; that he would always understand; that he would always be there, hand in hand, side by side, for the good and the bad.
At 12.30, everyone who could manage it stood up, as Cathryn said the grace.
I heard the bells on Christmas Day,
Their old familiar carols play
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, goodwill to men!
Suddenly the door opened, letting in a bitter icy draught. Everyone turned to stare. Standing in the doorway, as proud and formidable-looking as ever – possibly more so in her red greatcoat – was Henrietta. For a few moments everyone was silent. Then Lilian’s voice rang out.
‘Oh, there you are.’
She indicated an empty place at the end of the table that Rosie had thought she was keeping free for Henry, and Rosie dropped Stephen’s hand and urged him forward to greet his mother. He extended his arm to take hers, and kissed her gently on the cheek – at which she coloured, which was unlike her – then led her to the top of the table.
‘I have,’ she said, caressing Apostil’s head, ‘I have a gift for … for my grandchild.’
‘You are his gift,’ said Stephen gently. ‘His grandma.’
And there, gentle reader, we are going to leave them. Eating a wonderful meal – nobody did choke on a turkey bone – in a room full of love and warmth and fellowship, which for my money is just about the best we can get in this world.
Moray will tell a terribly off-colour joke, which Lilian will absolutely love, and Apostil will hit a toy drum someone bought him until they take it away, and Ida Delia will be persuaded to lead the charades (she always was a show-off, Lilian will remark, and refuse to guess), and they will toast their beloved Henry Carr, and the spirit of Célestine, never forgetting that Apostil has two mothers. The weak daylight will soften into early dark, but no one will pay the least bit of attention, and the carers will dance with their elderly clients, even when they pretend they don’t want to, and Lilian will wear her paper hat at a jaunty angle and make it look rather chic, whereas Rosie will get a bit overheated and pink, and her hat will stick to her forehead. And Apostil will try and put anything from the crackers into his mouth and have to be rescued from choking about four times, and he will think this is a tremendous game, and crack up laughing each time. And in about ten minutes, Rosie will go to the bathroom and throw up for the fourth time that day, then run downstairs and whisper to Stephen what has just happened, and he will say, ‘Just like you did yesterday morning?’
