The Christmas Surprise

by Jenny Colgan

  ‘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.

  Even though the hall was still buzzing with gossip, suddenly Roy Blaine himself stood and cleared his throat. Pamela banged her glass loudly to get everyone to stop talking, and people did finally turn round.

  ‘Welcome to my party,’ he started. There was scattered and quite puzzled-sounding applause. ‘And make sure you floss after all that cake, it can really get in the spaces between your teeth and cause abscesses if left untreated.’

  There was a long pause. Rosie wasn’t sure if he thought this was a joke or not. He didn’t really do jokes. Pamela was looking up at him with the fervour of a political wife at a party conference.

  ‘So, now that I’ve finally managed to escape the coils of that witch …’

  He paused for longer this time, and Rosie realised to her horror that he did actually think that was a joke and they were all meant to laugh, though thankfully nobody did.

  ‘… I can celebrate my freedom … with you, my dear friends.’

  There was a kind of embarrassed murmur round the hall. Pamela ran her hand lightly up and down Roy’s arm. Across the hall, Rosie heard Lilian cough, loudly and clearly, on purpose.

  ‘So let’s all raise a glass …’ said Roy, which everyone, by now getting quite confused, was happy to do as the champagne kept on flowing.

  As they did so, there was a noise at the end of the hut, and the door crashed open. Standing there, her cheeks very pink, both from the cold and from every eye in the room being on her, was Laura, Roy’s absent wife.

  Roy’s face drained of all colour. Without even turning round, he shook Pamela’s hand off his arm, and swallowed, hard. There was a deathly silence in the room. Laura looked around, and several of her friends, slightly in their cups, raised their glasses and said hello.

  Slowly, watched by everyone, her face pinker by the minute, she marched up to the top table and stood right in front of Roy, who was gripping his glass so hard it looked like it might shatter. Rosie glanced across at Lilian and was delighted to see she had lost her uncomfortable expression from earlier, and was looking increasingly perked up with all the lovely gossip. Tina clutched Rosie’s hand, eyebrows raised.

  ‘So,’ Laura said quietly. ‘You never take me out. You never socialise with me. You never host parties. You are no fun. You never buy champagne. You never do anything nice. And the SECOND I leave …’ She put out her hand to indicate the happy, heaving room, and shook her head. ‘You’re a cruel and despicable man, Roy Blaine.’

  Roy seemed struck dumb. Laura looked him up and down, nodded quietly, then slowly turned to go.

  ‘Wait,’ croaked Roy as she began making her way across the hall. ‘LAURA! I LOVE YOU! I’VE BEEN AN IDIOT! I CAN CHANGE!’

  There was a long, long pause. Rosie glanced at Pamela’s face. It was white and taut with anger.

  Laura froze, and closed her eyes.

  ‘I mean it. I MEAN IT!’

  Roy held up one of the bottles of champagne.

  ‘I won’t make you clean the swimming pool any more!’

  ‘He really needs to shut up about that damn swimming pool,’ whispered Stephen.

  ‘This is not the time for you to comment on things people don’t know to shut up about,’ whispered Rosie back. She was grateful to Laura for taking the spotlight off them, but she was still going to have a lot of mopping up to do.

  ‘Laura …’

  Roy’s voice was cracking. Then, amazingly, he started to sing.

  ‘Tell Laura I love her …’

  It was such an unlikely, pretty little song he sang, and, to Rosie’s amazement, he had a lovely voice: a deep baritone that rang out through the hall. A tear gradually stole its way down Laura’s cheek. Tina went and put her arms around her, then gently turned her round.

  Roy stood there, two glasses in his hands.

  ‘I’ve been such a shit husband.’

  ‘And such a shit,’ some wag piped up from the tables.

  Laura nodded dumbly.

  ‘I miss you so much,’ Roy said.

  ‘So much you threw a party?’

  ‘I hoped you’d hear about it.’

  ‘You know, I always did love champagne. But with you it was like waiting for a special occasion that never, ever came.’

  Roy held out a glass.

  ‘Can I change that?’

  Laura took a step forward.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Roy’s hand was shaking.

  ‘I will try.’

  Laura stepped forward once more and tentatively reached out and took the glass. Everyone clapped and roared as she clinked it against Roy’s and they both took a sip. Then Roy, amazingly, jumped over the table – knocking over Pamela’s glass as he went, and not even
noticing – took Laura into his arms and kissed her, their teeth clanging together.

  ‘Well,’ said Rosie, stunned.

  ‘Fuck this,’ said Pamela, and, largely unnoticed, she marched out of the hall, her stilettos clattering on the wooden floor. The band immediately struck up a happy reel, and finally Jake and Tina got to take to the floor for their first dance.

  Much later – she had taken to dancing to avoid the many awkward questions that would doubtless take up much of her time over the next few days – Rosie found herself picking up Apostil, who had been sitting watching the dancers absolutely fascinated, swaying his head to the music and being bounced and jiggled by everyone who came by. She decided it was time to get him home for his bath and bed, before he got overtired. She asked Stephen – who had decided to deal with the situation by drinking rather more – if he’d like to stay, but seeing everyone dancing arm in arm, and Cathryn rounding up the old folk, who were complaining mightily (except for Ida Delia, who had fallen noisily asleep at the table and was snoring loudly with her mouth open, despite Dorothy prodding her and telling her to stop), he decided to come too.

  It took them about forty minutes to get round everyone to say goodbye, and Rosie found herself overwhelmed by the levels of love, drunkenness, community and consideration in the warm room; such an outpouring of happiness for the newly-weds, concern for themselves, and extraordinary, jolly bonhomie. It was how, she told herself, she would always remember Lipton.

  ‘Best wedding ever,’ she whispered in Tina’s hair, which had come completely undone from its posh do and was flying wildly about her shoulders. Her immaculate make-up was also running down her cheeks, and Emily and her friends were taking turns wearing the headpiece and the veil. Of her bouquet there was no sign.

  ‘It was, wasn’t it?’ said Tina. The joy beaming from her made her still the loveliest bride. ‘But you can’t go.’

  ‘We must,’ said Rosie, as Apostil grabbed on to Tina’s finger and tried to put her new rings in his mouth. ‘We’ll still see you, though.’

  ‘What, out here in the middle of nowhere, when it’s snowing up to our waists and pitch dark?’ joked Tina.

  ‘This isn’t the middle of nowhere,’ said Rosie, sincerely. ‘It’s the middle of my everywhere.’

  Rosie carried Apostil in the sling and half carried Stephen as he wobbled back up the main street. A well-fed Mr Dog was running cheerfully behind them.

  ‘Ha, that was ace,’ said Stephen. ‘Oh God, the look on those old fuckers’ faces when I told them we were leaving.’

  ‘It was nice,’ said Rosie. ‘That they were sad. You shouldn’t have done that. Especially not to Mrs Baptiste.’

  She glanced across the road. The village was utterly deserted, everyone still at the party. But was that a figure stepping out of the shadows?

  ‘I know,’ said Stephen, still talking loudly. ‘But still. Nice to be appreciated for a change. Funny, when I was younger, I couldn’t wait to get out of this FUCKING SHITHOLE!’ He burst out laughing.

  ‘You are a really daft drunk,’ Rosie complained.

  ‘It’s true! I used to think it was a FUCKING SHITHOLE!’ he yelled again. Then his face turned glum. ‘Now I can’t believe we have to leave it,’ he added quietly, but it was too late. The figure had turned round and was waving.

  ‘No way,’ said Rosie. It was Joy. ‘Does that cow never sleep?’

  Joy approached them, iPad welded to her bosom.

  ‘I was just coming to see you, but you weren’t there,’ she said. She glanced at her watch.

  Rosie glanced down. Apostil had pulled off his hat and it was nowhere to be seen. She pulled her jacket over him protectively. The wind was biting.

  ‘Why are you hanging round this FUCKING SHITHOLE?’ said Stephen, giggling to himself. Rosie felt like kicking his stick away.

  Joy pushed a button on her iPad.

  ‘Do you have many problems with substance abuse?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s late,’ said Rosie. ‘I need to get the baby home.’

  ‘Yes, this is an absurd time to have a baby out,’ said Joy. ‘There’s really a lot you need to learn about parenting, you know.’

  Stephen was still laughing, and suddenly, all the emotion of the day welled up in Rosie, everything she’d done and was trying to do, and she couldn’t hold it in any more. Knowing as she did it that it was terribly dangerous, she turned on Joy.

  ‘There’s a lot EVERYONE has to learn about parenting,’ she said loudly. ‘That’s the whole point. It’s a LEARNING PROCESS. If it wasn’t, nobody would bother having the damn things, they’d know it all. But I’ll tell you one thing I’ve learned. This baby is adored, beloved, spoiled rotten by everyone he’s ever met, and that includes his mum, which is me, and his dad, which is that man over there who works like a Trojan every bloody day of his life, and if he isn’t allowed to get a bit pissed at a wedding and his own fricking baby’s christening, well then it’s you who’s got the problem.

  ‘If you think we’re not good enough for Apostil, you tell your bosses, and we will fight you for our son until there is no fight left in us and we are both lying dead in a ditch. Otherwise, you can just shut the fuck up and get out of our lives. Good night. There’s a party on at the scout hut you could go to, if you ever let your hair down, which I doubt, though it could certainly do with a wash.’

  And exhilarated and shocked at herself, she turned round without another word and stomped off with Apostil, Stephen wobbling along as fast as he could on his stick at her side.

  ‘I have NEVER fancied you more,’ he said as they made their way up past the darkened door of the sweetshop.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘Oh God …’

  ‘Sssssh.’

  Downstairs, Apostil was crying, a long, thin wail that sounded like he was absolutely furious at the world and wasn’t afraid to show it. Rosie felt like she’d been punched in the head repeatedly. Stephen was lying behind her, his eyes tight shut, making a thick, groaning noise.

  ‘Oh God …’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Rosie. She’d kept a close eye on her consumption and was sure she’d only had a few glasses of champagne … well, and some cider, she supposed. And a bit of beer to wash down the fish and chips. And obviously more champagne for all the toasts …

  ‘Oh crap,’ she said, as Apostil became more demanding. ‘I did that thing where I was drunkenly utterly convinced I was sober.’

  ‘Rrrrrrr,’ said Stephen, still refusing to open his eyes. His dark stubble stood out on his pale chin.

  With great difficulty Rosie managed to roll herself over to the side of the bed.

  ‘Oh GOD,’ she said. ‘Oh God, what did I say to Joy?’

  Stephen put a pillow over his head.

  ‘She caught you driving a baby whilst drunk,’ he muttered.

  Rosie put her head in her hands.

  ‘Oh God oh God oh God. It’s all right, baby boy, I’m coming.’

  She rolled off the bed and resisted the temptation to crawl down the stairs. Her thoughts were churning in her head. What had she done? What had she said? Icy water plummeted into her stomach. Oh God. They’d take Apostil away. They’d done too much, been too rude. Social services would speak to Stephen’s mother and conclude he didn’t have a stable family background. They’d see the house was up for sale and judge them financially incompetent. And what if they’d dropped him? What if something had happened whilst she’d been a bit squiffy?

  By the time she got downstairs she was in full-blown tears, and it took her a second or two to realise what she was seeing. Firstly, it was eight o’clock – it was light! Apostil had slept right through! And secondly, he had manoeuvred himself somehow out of his sleeping bag, and was, wonder of wonders, over on his tummy. When he saw her, he stretched up his arm and beamed a proud gummy smile so enormous that Rosie felt worse than ever.

  ‘Look at you!’ she said. ‘Are you rolling? Don’t roll on your tummy, that’s bad! Ha, the first thing you h
ave ever done and I’m telling you not to do it.’

  ‘Gah,’ said Apostil.

  Rosie picked him up and covered him in kisses.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I probably smell awful.’

  ‘Bu,’ said Apostil.

  Three cups of tea and four Nurofen later, Rosie was trying to put things in perspective. Apostil had rolled over four times. This was better than everything else.

  ‘Woah,’ she said. ‘Stephen! You’re missing, like, all the milestones! If you don’t get down here soon, he’ll be off to university.’

  ‘Grraaaah,’ came a voice from upstairs.

  ‘Hangovers are much worse when you’re a parent,’ confided Rosie to Apostil. ‘That is why you mustn’t drink.’ She looked around the kitchen dolefully. ‘In fact, almost anything you see your mum and dad do in life, just do the opposite and you’ll be all right.’

  Apostil batted her arm until she gave him some more of his bottle. Maybe, thought Rosie. Maybe she hadn’t been too bad with Joy last night. Then she remembered something about lying dead in a ditch and closed her eyes. Oh Lord.

  She also remembered Stephen announcing to everyone that they were leaving. Oh God, no wonder he didn’t want to get up. She checked her phone, as usual having to hang her arm out of the window to get a signal. It started bleeping with messages. She glanced at one from Tina announcing what a fabulous day she’d had, and remembered that they would have to go up there at some point this afternoon and help clear up so the hut could revert to the Boys’ Brigade. She couldn’t help smiling when she remembered Roy and Laura, though. Except, God, poor Pamela.

  Eventually she couldn’t take it any longer and went out to get the Sunday papers and some Lucozade for Stephen. Malik looked absolutely fine and cheerful behind the shop counter, even though he’d still been there when they’d left last night.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said when he saw her. ‘Everyone is suffering this morning.’