were starting to droop.
‘Oh,’ she said, wearily. In her head, she had an idea that the MSF people would take him, would know what to do with him, or, he would be subsumed into village life, raised collectively with the other children, playing joyfully in the sand, sitting in long rows at lessons …
‘So—’
They were interrupted by the middle-aged man Rosie had noticed before, the one with the air of self-importance.He wore a very smart robe over a businessman’s shirt with a white collar and beckoned them to come.
Stephen glanced at Rosie and they followed the man back to the hut. Outside, Faustine was hovering, looking worried. Célestine’s parents were standing stiffly, the baby fast asleep in his grandfather’s arms.
‘Now here’s the thing,’ said Faustine, slightly nervously.
The entire village was watching them.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Rosie suspiciously. Stephen looked at her just as the man holding the baby stepped forward.
‘It’s to do with the concept of being godparents …’
‘You are KIDDING me,’ said Rosie.
Stephen had led her to one side very quickly.
‘You see, what godparents do—’
‘Is send presents at odd times of year because they can’t remember birthdays!’ said Rosie. ‘I should know, I’ve got three. You buy them a nice christening present, then put them up in their gap year! THAT’S what godparents do.’
Stephen ignored her and went on. ‘There’s another element to the whole concept …’
‘FINANCIAL,’ said Rosie quickly. ‘We agreed to support the family. With money! So they can feed the baby.’
‘It’s slightly more than that …’
‘I realise that,’ said Rosie. ‘Except, obviously, you’re not serious.’ She realised she was babbling. ‘Because of course he has his grandparents here, who can—’
Stephen was shaking his head.
‘They don’t … they can’t …’ He took a deep breath. ‘You have to realise, Rosie. This baby – he can’t work in the fields. Not with one arm. He can’t be a fighter or a hunter, he just can’t. They can’t look after him.’
‘We can help them.’
‘That’s not the kind of help—’
Rosie looked at him.
‘We can’t just
take
a baby.’
Stephen bit his lip.
‘“Will you care for them, and help them to take their place within the life and worship of Christ’s Church?”’ he quoted.
‘Yes, but that’s just something you say, like renouncing the devil and all his evil works.’
Stephen held her hands.
‘Remember how happy we were at Christmas?’
Rosie nodded, painfully. So much had happened since.
‘I always remember someone saying how ironic it is that Christmas is celebrated in the home but we’re celebrating the birth of a homeless child.’
She just looked at him. In the trees, strange birdscalled, insects made noises. The crackle of the fire and the chattering of the villagers could be heard. Somewhere a woman was crying. The bush was never quiet. She held his gaze for a long, long time, until finally Stephen spoke softly.
‘They can get the local official. For a fee, he can handle the paperwork.’
‘This is RIDICULOUS. It’s off its head! Don’t be daft, we can’t have a baby.’
There was another long pause in the chattering dusk. Somewhere far away an animal howled. Rosie found tears coursing down her cheeks.
‘We can’t have a baby,’ she said, for the second time in three days. The words were stones in her mouth.
‘Nobody wanted this,’ said Stephen. ‘But …’
They looked at each other for a long time. Everything else seemed a long way away.
‘This is going to be … you know, this is a big deal,’ said Rosie softly, shaking all over.
‘Parenting,’ said Stephen. ‘But you know, we were—’
‘Yes. All parenting. And this might be more complicated than most. Adoption can be very difficult.’
‘So can having your own kids,’ said Stephen. ‘Look at those awful Mountford brats.’
With a sudden wobbly smile,
‘Oh,’ she said, wearily. In her head, she had an idea that the MSF people would take him, would know what to do with him, or, he would be subsumed into village life, raised collectively with the other children, playing joyfully in the sand, sitting in long rows at lessons …
‘So—’
They were interrupted by the middle-aged man Rosie had noticed before, the one with the air of self-importance.He wore a very smart robe over a businessman’s shirt with a white collar and beckoned them to come.
Stephen glanced at Rosie and they followed the man back to the hut. Outside, Faustine was hovering, looking worried. Célestine’s parents were standing stiffly, the baby fast asleep in his grandfather’s arms.
‘Now here’s the thing,’ said Faustine, slightly nervously.
The entire village was watching them.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Rosie suspiciously. Stephen looked at her just as the man holding the baby stepped forward.
‘It’s to do with the concept of being godparents …’
‘You are KIDDING me,’ said Rosie.
Stephen had led her to one side very quickly.
‘You see, what godparents do—’
‘Is send presents at odd times of year because they can’t remember birthdays!’ said Rosie. ‘I should know, I’ve got three. You buy them a nice christening present, then put them up in their gap year! THAT’S what godparents do.’
Stephen ignored her and went on. ‘There’s another element to the whole concept …’
‘FINANCIAL,’ said Rosie quickly. ‘We agreed to support the family. With money! So they can feed the baby.’
‘It’s slightly more than that …’
‘I realise that,’ said Rosie. ‘Except, obviously, you’re not serious.’ She realised she was babbling. ‘Because of course he has his grandparents here, who can—’
Stephen was shaking his head.
‘They don’t … they can’t …’ He took a deep breath. ‘You have to realise, Rosie. This baby – he can’t work in the fields. Not with one arm. He can’t be a fighter or a hunter, he just can’t. They can’t look after him.’
‘We can help them.’
‘That’s not the kind of help—’
Rosie looked at him.
‘We can’t just
take
a baby.’
Stephen bit his lip.
‘“Will you care for them, and help them to take their place within the life and worship of Christ’s Church?”’ he quoted.
‘Yes, but that’s just something you say, like renouncing the devil and all his evil works.’
Stephen held her hands.
‘Remember how happy we were at Christmas?’
Rosie nodded, painfully. So much had happened since.
‘I always remember someone saying how ironic it is that Christmas is celebrated in the home but we’re celebrating the birth of a homeless child.’
She just looked at him. In the trees, strange birdscalled, insects made noises. The crackle of the fire and the chattering of the villagers could be heard. Somewhere a woman was crying. The bush was never quiet. She held his gaze for a long, long time, until finally Stephen spoke softly.
‘They can get the local official. For a fee, he can handle the paperwork.’
‘This is RIDICULOUS. It’s off its head! Don’t be daft, we can’t have a baby.’
There was another long pause in the chattering dusk. Somewhere far away an animal howled. Rosie found tears coursing down her cheeks.
‘We can’t have a baby,’ she said, for the second time in three days. The words were stones in her mouth.
‘Nobody wanted this,’ said Stephen. ‘But …’
They looked at each other for a long time. Everything else seemed a long way away.
‘This is going to be … you know, this is a big deal,’ said Rosie softly, shaking all over.
‘Parenting,’ said Stephen. ‘But you know, we were—’
‘Yes. All parenting. And this might be more complicated than most. Adoption can be very difficult.’
‘So can having your own kids,’ said Stephen. ‘Look at those awful Mountford brats.’
With a sudden wobbly smile,
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