Divas Don't Knit (36 page)

It’s raining as I’m driving to see Grace, and one of the wipers isn’t working properly so there are smears all over the windscreen, and then I get stuck behind a gritting lorry which sprays grit all over the front of the car. I park as far away from the black jeep as I can and Maxine comes out, looking anxious.

‘She’s in a terrible temper.’

‘Oh dear, why?’

‘I’m not really sure.’

‘Shall I see if I can cheer her up a bit then?’

She smiles. ‘Please. We’d all be eternally grateful. But be careful: she hates being Handled.’

‘I wouldn’t dare.’

I’ve never really seen Grace in a temper, although it’s obvious to anyone within fifty yards of her that she’s used to getting her own way: she’s always been completely charming to me, which probably means she’s never been that relaxed, which makes me feel rather sad.

She’s lying on one of the green sofas looking very pregnant and very annoyed.

‘Oh, it’s you. Great. Could we have some drinks, Maxine? If it’s not too much trouble, of course. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your telephone calls.’

Maxine looks at her feet.

‘Water for me, and not that plastic crap, and I’d like a bagel. Toasted.’

‘I’m not sure if we’ve got bagels, but I can—’

‘Well, go out and get some, then. You’re my assistant, right? So assist me. Or send Sam. I don’t really care.’

‘Of course. I’ll get right on it.’

Maxine closes the door, and Grace turns to look at me. She’s very pale.

‘What’s the matter?’

She gives me a surprised look. And rather a terrifying one too, if I’m completely honest.

‘You seem a bit upset.’

‘That’s because I fucking am.’

‘Can I help?’

‘No.’

‘Can anyone help?’

‘No.’

‘It’s not anything to do with the baby, is it?’

There’s a small hesitation.

‘No.’

She turns her head away from me, like Archie does when he’s sulking.

Bless.

‘Does your back hurt? When I was having Jack I had terrible backache. You get so uncomfortable by the end, nothing really fixes it for long, does it?’

‘No.’

‘I remember feeling very panicky, too. I don’t think you ever feel completely ready for something like this, do you?’

‘No.’

Her shoulders are heaving now, so I think she might be crying. Or maybe she’s just laughing at my pathetic attempts to be reassuring.

‘I was just as bad with Archie, too, and then he ended up being an emergency caesarean because he was getting distressed – although not half as distressed as I was, I can tell you. And I remember thinking, when they handed him to me, that they’d give me a quick look and then hand him over to someone more sensible to take home, someone more like a proper mum.’

She turns round, and sniffs. ‘I didn’t realise you had a caesarean.’

‘Yes. And I bloody wish I’d had one with Jack too.’

‘Really? Don’t you think natural childbirth is better, then?’

‘No, I don’t. I think all that too-posh-to-push stuff is rubbish, I don’t think it’s better at all, it’s just cheaper. When I was in with Archie there were three doctors having babies on my ward, and they’d all had elective caesareans, so that’s got to tell you something.’

She smiles. ‘So you don’t think it’s a cop out?’

‘No. Natural births aren’t always flute music and getting your breathing right, you know. And having your baby delivered by forceps isn’t exactly ideal, especially for the baby, or having the poor little thing dragged out with one of those horrible plastic
suction cap things so it gets a pointy head. And what’s so natural about crawling about in agony on all fours for hours, anyway, that’s what I’d like to know. It can’t be very nice for the baby, can it, all that yelling; I’ve always thought it was pretty daft spending nine months playing the poor little sod Mozart, and then for its introduction to the world all it gets is yelling and screaming and hearing its mum telling everyone to fuck off’

‘Did you tell everyone to fuck off then?’

‘Oh yes, and I punched Nick so hard he nearly fell over. It was brilliant, and it really made the midwife laugh, and she’d been a bit of a cow up to then. He was meant to be massaging my back but he just kept sort of prodding and it was annoying me.’

She smiles.

‘Seriously, Grace, if men gave birth do you really think they’d do it with a bit of gas and air and a bloody bean bag?’

‘But what about breastfeeding? Someone was telling me it’s harder to get going with that after a c-section.’

‘I didn’t have any problems. I mean, it’s really weird at first – you can’t quite believe it works – but everyone gets that. Who was telling you it’s harder?’

‘One of the midwives at the hospital.’

‘That’s because most of them hate c-sections, because they don’t get to be in charge. It’s like asking a member of the Countryside Alliance for an impartial view on hunting: they just start frothing at the mouth. And you’ll be different. You won’t be having an emergency caesarean after hours in labour so you’re so exhausted you can hardly see straight, let alone have a go at breastfeeding. You’ll be fine.’

‘But what if I can’t cope – when it’s out, I mean? What if I’m just totally fucking useless?’

‘Of course you’ll be useless; everyone is at first.’

‘That’s very bloody encouraging, thanks. You were almost
helping there for a minute, but now you’ve totally blown it.’ She’s smiling.

‘Grace, nobody feels ready for this, and if they say they do they’re either thick or lying. But do you know what’s clever? The baby doesn’t know you’re making it up as you go along. They just know you’re their mum. They look at you, and you become sort of invincible.’

‘Well, I don’t feel invincible, I can bloody tell you. I’ve been in tears half the fucking morning. And if you say it’s hormones I’ll throw something at you.’

‘You’ve got yourself into a right old frazzle, haven’t you?’

‘A what?’

‘A frazzle. It’s a technical term for someone who’s eight months pregnant.’

She smiles. ‘I’m not even nesting, and all my books go on about nesting.’

‘I didn’t either. Lots of people don’t; I think it’s called anti-nesting.’

‘What did you do, then, when the baby was born?’

‘Sent Nick out emergency shopping, with my friend Ellen, and she sorted it all out for me.’

‘Does she have kids?’

‘No, but she’s very good at shopping. It’s her specialist subject.’

Maxine comes in with a tray and puts it down on the table. ‘Sam’s gone to get bagels. He won’t be long.’

‘Thanks, Max. And I’m sorry, about earlier.’

Maxine looks surprised. ‘That’s fine.’

She winks at me as she passes me my tea.

‘I bloody saw that.’

‘I’ll bring the bagels straight in, shall I?’

‘Yes. Thanks, Max.’

Maxine curtseys, and goes out.

Grace smiles. ‘So, tell me, how was Venice?’

‘Great. I got some lovely new wool for the shop. I’ll show you, if you like.’

‘I’ve nearly finished my blanket. Do you want to see?’

‘I’d love to, and I’ve found a pattern for a sweet little baby sleeping bag, which I thought you might like to try next. It would be handy for car journeys.’

‘Do they like sleeping in cars?’

‘At the risk of frazzling you even more, sometimes it’s the only place they’ll sleep, as long as you keep driving.’

‘Looks like Bruno’s going to be busy, then.’

‘Mum, Mum, quick, get up, it’s snowing. Look.’

Archie is jumping on my bed, at half past seven in the bloody morning.

‘You’re supposed to play quietly in your bedroom until the big hand is on the eight, Archie.’

‘Yes, but it’s
snowing:
’

I get up and look out of the window, and he’s right, it is. But it’s not really settling, thank God.

‘Can we go out and make a snowman?’

‘I don’t think there’s enough snow for that yet, love.’

‘Will there be more later?’

I bloody hope not, because I’ve got my Stitch and Bitch group tonight and I’m supposed to be meeting Mrs Chambers at school this morning to talk about the knitting project.

‘We’ll see.’

The boys insist on walking to school for maximum exposure to what is now much closer to sleet than snow. Archie tries to collect handfuls to make snowballs and gets very annoyed when it melts, while Jack trudges along behind me, moaning that we haven’t got a sledge, and then we see Mr Pallfrey’s daughter Christine taking Trevor out for his morning walk,
which means we have to stop to say hello, and Trevor puts muddy pawprints all over the front of Archie’s coat while I ask Christine how Mr Pallfrey’s doing; he went into hospital on Tuesday, and he had his operation yesterday.

‘I think he’s in a fair bit of pain, but he was sitting up last night, and they’re getting him walking today. I gave him your card and the picture and he was ever so pleased.’

Archie drew him a picture of Trevor, in case he was missing him.

‘So when will he be home?’

‘At the weekend, or maybe Monday – it depends on how he’s doing.’

Please let it be Monday. I really don’t want to have to take over full-time dog-walking duties on the weekend when Elizabeth and Gerald are here for lunch.

‘Give him our love, won’t you? And let me know if you think he’d like a visit.’

She smiles.

‘Between you and me I don’t think he’s that keen on people seeing him in his pyjamas. He’s having enough trouble coping with me going in.’

‘Well, let me know when he’s coming home and we’ll bring a cake round. Come on, Archie, put that down. What do you want a dirty wet stick for?’

‘For Trevor.’

‘Give it to him quickly, then, or we’ll be late.’

‘I’m not sure I like this one. I might need another one.’

‘Archie.’

‘Oh, all right. Grumpy big potamus.’

The playground is even more chaotic than usual, with everyone under twelve trying to get as much contact as possible with whatever is available in the snow department, and everyone over twelve desperately trying to stop them. Mr O’Brien’s
blowing his whistle and Mrs Berry’s ringing the bell, but there’s still a great deal of Milling About before they start to line up and go in.

Connie’s looking very cold and fed up.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, I’m just tired. Christmas was so busy, and it seems like this cold and fogging will be for ever.’

‘Why don’t you have a break at half-term? Go home and see your parents?’

Her face lights up for a second at the mention of home, but then she sighs.

‘We can’t afford to close for a week, not now. Maybe in the summer. Mark has a friend, he might come and do the restaurant for us, but he’s in Germany now.’

‘Well let’s go shopping somewhere nice and have lunch, maybe one day next week?’

She smiles.

‘Perfect.’

The school secretary takes me into the staff room while I wait for Mrs Chambers. It’s full of piles of leaflets and folders, and half-drunk cups of tea, with a white board on the wall, and a selection of felt-tip pens on the ledge underneath it. There are various notes on it in different kinds of handwriting, some of which is definitely C+. Apparently, the word for today is ‘rhyming’, and Mrs Nelson and Mrs Connell are down for wet playtime duty, poor things. I’m trying to work out why someone has written ‘Punctuality!’ on the board, and hoping it isn’t aimed at parents, when the door opens and Mr O’Brien comes in. I feel like I’ve been caught snooping, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

‘I see you’ve noticed our planning board. We meet most mornings, and I find it helps us focus, although I’m not sure all my colleagues would agree with me. Actually, I think some of them would quite like me to be banned from the staff room entirely.’

I think he’s probably talking about Mrs King, who’s been at the school for decades and likes to do things the way she’s always done them.

‘Mrs Chambers will be along in a minute, she’s finishing her register, and then I’m doing poetry with them, it’s my favourite part of the day, when I’m in class, especially with the younger ones. They’re so spontaneous. You’ll see when you do your groups, it’s the smallest ones who sometimes have the biggest ideas, especially with things like poetry; it really gets them going, particularly anything rude.’

‘I can imagine that.’

‘Here she is. We were just talking about how much our children like rude poetry.’

Mrs Chambers smiles. ‘I’d avoid anything to do with snow, if I were you. They’re all rather overexcited.’

Mr O’Brien nods. ‘James Pelling was just telling me how to survive in an avalanche, quite fascinating; apparently, you have to swim up the surface and try not to swallow. And it’s okay if you do a wee. Although personally speaking I’m not sure I’d have that much choice in the matter.’

Mrs Chambers and I both laugh.

‘Still, it’s good to know, isn’t it? It might come in handy later, just thought I’d pass it on: swim to the surface. Now, where’s my book gone? There’s a lovely one about a cat that always goes down well.’ He goes off down the corridor muttering Slinky Malinky to himself.

Mrs Chambers closes the door. ‘Would you like a coffee? It’s such a treat for me to be in here during lesson time I think I’ll have a biscuit too.’