by Jenny Colgan
There was a little mewling noise from her arms. Nothing grizzly, just a tiny, curious sound. She looked down.
There was no doubt about it, Marie was a beautiful baby. Her eyes were grey blue and, like all babies, she looked wise beyond her years, as if she had spent infinity staring at the stars and had only just landed on earth. Her skin was peaches and cream, not the angry red of some little mites; she had a fine covering of soft blonde curls, which were currently hidden by a knitted red bobble hat. Her lips were like little pillows, making an ‘O’, and she gazed at Rosie with calm, fixed curiosity.
‘Well hello there,’ said Rosie, stroking the little chest tentatively. She swallowed. There was something about her smell, that mix of warm bread and soft sweet milk and cosiness. It was so powerful, she didn’t even realise she was crying until a tear dropped on to Marie’s forehead.
‘Our baby would have been nothing like you,’ she choked, rocking her a little. ‘He would have had dark hair and been noisy and clenched his little fists …’
Marie’s little fists were clenched, she saw. She put her finger inside one of them, and immediately Marie grabbed it and clung on for dear life, trying to draw it to her mouth to suck on it.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ said Rosie, attempting to smile down at her. Marie grinned back, a big gummy beam right across her face.
Rosie pulled the baby close and wept all the tears she had left to cry. No more avoiding other people’s babies, she thought. It would be all right. Surely.
Marie nuzzled into her neck, then started ferreting about for a breast.
‘Ha,’ said Rosie. ‘No, I don’t think so. Not … not yet.’
She stroked the beautiful little forehead and felt calmer, and stronger, and Marie smiled at her once more.
Hester arrived back half an hour later, as usual not mincing her words about her various gynaecological difficulties, and failing to notice, helpfully, that Rosie had given Marie her bottle stone-cold, having no idea what a bain-marie was, and that the baby hadn’t minded a bit. She had also done a huge poo just as Hester walked in, so Rosie was very pleased to hand her back before the smell spread around the shop.
‘Enjoy that?’ said Hester with the same confident belief she always had that looking after her children was the biggest treat Rosie could conceive of.
‘She’s lovely,’ said Rosie, honestly. She felt as if she’d somehow been cleansed. ‘Now, can I get you anything?’
‘Oh God, no,’ said Hester. ‘It’s poison, this shop, you know. Pure poison.’
That night, Rosie dressed up, and put on a full face of make-up for the first time in months, and presented herself to Stephen when he walked through the door, and the look on his face as she greeted him with a glass of wine and a smile was such a mixture of joy and happy relief that she grinned back at him hugely. He picked her up and twirled her round and kissed her happily and deeply as Mr Dog whipped round their ankles, leaping up and down in delight.
‘Did it work?’ said Moray.
‘Well she didn’t steal the baby, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Thanks,’ said Moray, heartfelt. ‘Thank you. It was just a hunch.’
‘Fine,’ said Hester. ‘And thanks for the antibiotics. Can it be our little secret? I don’t actually believe in them.’
‘Always,’ said Moray.
‘Excellent,’ said Stephen, when they came up for air. He didn’t know what had brought about the change – he expected it had a little to do with the afternoon at Peak House, and to be fair, it was that too. Regardless, he just saw it was there, and that was good enough for him, and it made him feel better too. ‘Let’s go to the Red Lion tonight and get pissed.’
Rosie laughed.
‘Seriously, that’s all you can think of for getting the most out of our lives?’
‘You, me, you enjoying a glass of wine again on a Saturday night’ – Rosie had stopped drinking since the pregnancy – ‘the fire lit in the pub, all our friends coming in and saying hello, some farmer gossip, then fish and chips on the way home. I absolutely cannot think of anything I could possibly enjoy more.’
‘Well, when you put it like that …’ said Rosie.
‘Quite!’ said Stephen.
A few quick calls and Tina and Jake were both in the pub when they got there, along with Moray, whose face split into a secret grin when he saw them both.
‘Well, hello,’ he said. ‘I thought you two had gone full hermit. I blamed him, obviously.’
Rosie smiled back.
‘Well, we’re out now.’
‘Would you like …’ Moray indicated the bar area generally, not wanting to ask Rosie outright if she wanted a drink.
‘Glass of white wine, please,’ said Rosie. ‘Large.’
Moray and Stephen exchanged looks.
‘Okay, when we carry her home, I want the bottom end,’ said Moray. ‘Not the spewing end.’
‘Oi,’ said Rosie, who could not handle her drink in the slightest.
‘It’s all right,’ said Stephen. ‘We’ll do what we always do, and pretend in the morning that you were really charming and amusing whilst pissed.’
Rosie’s brow furrowed.
‘Okay, lime and soda, please.’
‘Ssssh, we’re only teasing,’ said Moray, going to the bar. He came back with a bottle of the pub’s very indifferent wine for Rosie and Tina, and pints of Derbyshire Gold for himself and Stephen and Jake.
Rosie hadn’t been out for so long, she had forgotten how jolly it could be. Everyone came over to say hello, pleased to see them out and about. It was time, she decided. Time to embrace what lay ahead.
There was the thought running at the back of her head that she still hadn’t told Stephen about her other health problems.
Later, she told herself fiercely, taking another sip of the wine.
Later, they were staggering up the road when Stephen stopped suddenly and pointed out a star overhead.
‘I see two stars,’ said Rosie.
‘Ssssh,’ said Stephen, as they both started laughing. ‘Put one hand over your eye.’
She did so, falling about with the giggles.
‘That’s Polaris,’ said Stephen. ‘You can see it from Africa. It feels about a billion times closer, like you could touch it.’
He pulled her to him.
‘I’d love to show you Africa.’
‘Would you?’ Rosie was under his coat to keep warm, and her voice came out slightly muffled, but still doubtful. ‘I thought you never wanted to go back.’
‘Well Diane thinks it would be good for me.’
‘That’s because Diane secretly wants to do kissy kissy with you. It’s totally obvious. She’ll want to come with you and be all like, “Oh, here I am in Africa, KISSY KISSY, it’s totally therapeutic.”’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I am not being ridiculous, I can always tell.’
Rosie popped her head out and looked up at the sky.
‘We can’t afford it.’
‘I know.’
She looked at him.
‘Except …’
‘What?’
It shot across her: what could be better than getting away, having a trip, taking some time out? This was just what she needed. To do something a bit different for a bit.
‘We could use my plane ticket to Australia.’
Stephen had forgotten all about that. Rosie’s mother and brother had given it to her for Christmas.
‘It’s open, it cost a fortune. I bet we could change it.’
‘I thought you needed to keep it for when you wanted to run away from your evil fiancé,’ teased Stephen.
‘There is that,’ said Rosie. ‘But wow. It would be … it would be an adventure, wouldn’t it? And we could take lots of pictures and show the village kids where the fund-raising is going, and …’
She looked at Stephen looking at her.
‘What? What is it?’
‘You are some woman, Rosie Hopkins.
’
Rosie woke up with a groan and a headache.
‘Tell me I didn’t just agree to go halfway across the world with you to somewhere without any luxury swimming pools.’
‘Nooo,’ said Stephen, rolling over and taking her in his arms.
‘Oh good,’ she said, snuggling down again under the covers.
There was a pause.
‘Shit, I did.’
‘You can go back on your word,’ said Stephen sleepily.
‘I don’t want to go to Africa! What about all the lions and tigers?’
‘Well, there’s no tigers for starters. They don’t live in Africa.’
‘Not even if they marry lions?’
Stephen cleared his throat.
‘I release you from your promise.’
‘See, this is exactly what will get me eaten in Africa.’
Chapter Five
Lully, lullay, Thou little tiny Child,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
Lullay, thou little tiny Child,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
‘I still can’t believe you’re going,’ said Lilian, stirring her tea crossly.
Rosie felt a bit annoyed at this. Lilian had been to London three times in her life, and Cherbourg once (which she had absolutely adored, talking about the French ever since as the ultimate arbiters of taste and style), with her younger brother Gordon. Rosie wanted her to say ‘Wow, that’s amazing, how wonderful,’ rather than ‘You’re completely crazy, what are you thinking?’
‘What about when you’re being held hostage?’
‘Lilian, stop being racist.’
‘I’m not being racist. There’s loads of places where people get held hostage – Cumbria, for instance – and I don’t want you going to any of them.’
‘People don’t get held hostage in Cumbria!’
Lilian furrowed her brow.
‘A lot of mysterious things happen in Cumbria.’
‘Well anyway. The charity is going to let us ride along with them, we’ll be perfectly safe.’
Lilian sighed.
‘It all sounds very fishy to me. Are you sure you can’t just send them a postal order?’
Rosie shook her head.
‘Stephen wants to go. He feels committed, from before. It’s his duty to the family to make sure the girl is well taken care of.’
Lilian pouted.
‘That’s a given, if he’s taking you.’
‘I think they’ve got plenty of medical staff there,’ said Rosie. It hadn’t actually occurred to her that her skills might be needed.
‘And where does it end?’ said Lilian. ‘Are you sure you won’t make things worse rather than better?’
‘You can never be sure,’ said Rosie. ‘About anything.’
‘Hmph, I suppose that’s true,’ said Lilian. ‘Well, come back safe and never leave the village again. That’s all I ask.’
Planning the trip had been, in retrospect, wonderful for Rosie. She couldn’t forget what had happened, of course, not entirely, but there were vaccinations to arrange, routes to plot. They’d booked their flights – Angie had not been exactly happy to know they weren’t coming out to Australia, but had heard the spark of life back in her daughter’s voice and that had been almost enough – and Faustine was going to let them camp with them, so all their money could pay for Célestine’s trip to the mission hospital. They’d also sent vitamins, supplements, nappies and baby clothes on ahead.
Moray poked his head round the door, having been in to see one of the other residents. He’d heard Rosie’s voice.
‘Hello!’ he said. ‘Give me some gin!’
Rosie looked up.
‘It’s a bit early for gin.’
‘Not when you’ve been doing what I’ve been doing,’ said Moray. ‘Are you joining me or shall I tell you in great detail? It involves use of the word “weeping”.’
Rosie fled to get the gin bottle and the tonic from Lilian’s mini fridge, and grabbed a lemon and some ice from the kitchen, and they sat round the fire, a convivial threesome.
‘So you’ve heard of her nutty plan,’ said Lilian.
Moray gave a half-smile.
‘Rather you than me,’ he said. But in fact, after the hard time Rosie had had so far this year, he absolutely approved. A change of scene, some sunshine, and other people to focus on rather than turning inwards. He was the only person aware of her fertility issues, and he hated her carrying the burden alone, even though he understood her reasons.
‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I think you’ll fall in love with it and go all Meryl Streep and come back saying “I hed a ferm in Efrika” and start talking about the moon over the savannah and the smell of the dust.’
‘I don’t see what’s wrong with Lipton,’ said Lilian.
‘I’m only going for a trip,’ said Rosie. ‘Don’t listen to Moray.’
‘Until Robert Redford turns up with a big gun and sweeps you off your feet,’ said Moray, and they both swooned a little, and Lilian said what on earth were they talking about, and Rosie was shocked when she realised Lilian had never seen the film, so she found it in the library and put it on, and they had more gin and tonics and watched it and all three of them swooned over Robert Redford, and Stephen was entirely confused when Rosie turned up at home late and slightly tipsy, talking about how much she couldn’t wait for their trip.
It had been a good, busy summer season and now it was late October, with fewer daytrippers and hikers coming through. Célestine’s baby was due in two weeks, so they probably wouldn’t be there to see it born, but they would visit the capital, spend a night in the village and make sure everything was all right there, then travel on to a backpackers’ hostel in a beach resort and have a little holiday too.
Rosie clutched Stephen’s hand very tightly as they shut up the little cottage, and turned the sweetshop sign to ‘Closed’. In the three years they’d known each other, they’d never had a holiday.
‘Well, it’s not really a holiday,’ said Stephen, smiling apologetically as he sat trying to apportion out their holiday money, while Rosie puzzled over the packing. ‘A new start. A healing process. Will you throw a humbug at me if I use the word “closure”?’
Rosie swallowed. He was so happy about this trip, so hyped up and enthusiastic. And she was too, of course. But she couldn’t forget that she hadn’t yet come clean with him; hadn’t shared everything about what had happened at the hospital.
‘Then we can come home,’ said Stephen, ‘and make a baby of our own, and then we can forget about ever having had a holiday or a second’s free time ever again.’ He came up behind her and kissed her.
Rosie stiffened.
‘What?’ said Stephen. ‘Sorry. Sorry, love, was that insensitive?’
‘No,’ said Rosie, shaking her head. ‘But there’s something I have to tell you …’
It wasn’t, she knew, the fact of it – or if it was, he didn’t touch on it. It was the months and months she had gone without mentioning it; it was such a huge part of their future, and she had selfishly kept it to herself, assumed he wouldn’t be able to cope, thought she could deal with it all herself.
And all she could say, numbly, was that she didn’t know why she hadn’t told him; that she’d thought it was already bad enough (and there was a tiny part of her that had wondered if, possibly, the immaculate Dr Chang might after all have been completely wrong; that maybe, in the intervening months, it might happen of its own accord, prove them all completely wrong and they would never have to face up to it and deal with it). And Stephen had accused her of wanting to control everything, to keep that knowledge for herself, and she could only agree.
‘Did you think I was going to jilt you?’ Stephen had said furiously. ‘Is that what you think of me? Hmm? Just dump you the second you stopped being breeding material?’
Rosie’s head had drooped.
‘You always bloody do this,’ he said. ‘Something goes wrong and you bottle it up and screw everyth
ing up. How can we work like this, Rosie? How? You think if you live in a pretend sweetie dreamland, bad things will go away. But they don’t, do they? They don’t. They get worse.’
Neither of them got much sleep that night.
Jake drove them the two hours to the airport in his old Peugeot, chatting amiably with Stephen about the price of cattle most of the way, seemingly not noticing that they weren’t speaking to one another. Rosie stared out of the window, but saw nothing. Autumn was bright across the country, brown and red and orange displays of leaves framing harvested fields with their great rolls of straw. Huge grey clouds loomed across the sky; rainfall was visible on distant, shaded hills.
Rosie rubbed her arm reflexively where she’d had her injections, and tried to remember where her malaria tablets were. All she could think about was how Moray had tried to make her laugh by pretending to give her the injections without looking, and then had had to ask if she was pregnant, and of course she’d had to say she wasn’t. And at this rate, she never would be.
They were carefully polite to one another. Stephen slept for most of the flight; Rosie, edgy and upset, failed to concentrate on the films she’d been so looking forward to seeing (the nearest cinema to Lipton was forty-five minutes away). Stephen’s hair had flopped over his forehead as he slept. She wanted to stroke it, but didn’t dare.
Our first holiday, she thought bleakly. You’re returning to the scene of the worst day of your life; I’m an infertile old cow you’re almost certainly going to have second thoughts about marrying. Happy holidays.
The airport was the first shock: a massive roof, no air conditioning, boiling hot, everybody shouting it seemed at once. People approached them from all angles, speaking loudly in French, asking if they needed taxis, hotels, bags carried … Rosie, who had only ever been to Spain before, on a package trip, looked around her in bewilderment. Stephen strode past it all, looking, Rosie thought, in his khakis and collarless cotton shirt, very much like he belonged here. She, on the other hand, was already regretting wearing jeans; they were hot and felt thick and uncomfortably creased against her skin.