Knit One Pearl One (11 page)

“I know, I saw it in the papers.”

“Yes, well, that wasn’t my idea, some fucker tipped them off. Probably Ed.”

“There weren’t any pictures of Lily, just people arriving, stuff like that. It looked very glamorous.”

“It was ridiculous. Some idiot from the studio actually bought her a diamond tiara, can you believe it, and she got a diamond tennis bracelet, although why anyone wears diamonds to play tennis is beyond me.”

“To show off?”

She smiles.

I’m so glad I left Pearl’s tiara at home.

“I thought an old-fashioned English tea party would be nice. This is her home, after all.”

Maxine looks nervous. “Ed wants to invite lots of VIPs from London too, Grace. Have you decided about that?”

“Fine. A few. But I want locals too, people with kids, if you can help us with that, Jo. I want it to feel like a family event. Next month sometime.”

“I’d love to. Why don’t you do it on a Sunday? Actually, Mother’s Day’s coming up, isn’t it? Would that work?”

“Brilliant. Max, check the dates, would you?”

Maxine is already tapping away on her BlackBerry.

“Mother’s Day is April the third this year, and then Easter is toward the end of April. We’re in Milan on the second, but we could do the weekend before that?”

“Perfect. An early Mother’s Day tea party. I like it. Sort it with Jo, would you, Max?”

“Of course.”

“And Jo, get me some of that lilac, and the peppermint, and the raspberry, and bring those patterns for blankets over again, I want to make something for her new bed. Evenings by the fire knitting, that’s exactly what I need right now. Fuck, who’s that?”

The phone on the table by her chair is beeping.

“It’s Ed. He really wants to run through the interview bids with you, Grace.”

“Christ, why can I never get any peace? Okay, I’ll take it. Thanks, Jo. Hi, Ed, don’t hello-darling me, I’m not in the bloody mood.”

Maxine nods toward the door, and we tiptoe out. Blimey. It sounds like Ed might be in for a bumpy half hour.

“Oh, before I forget, I’ve got a couple of bags for you, just a few things Lily’s too big for now.”

“Thanks, Max.”

Cinzia will be thrilled. She loves dressing Pearl in clothes which Lily has grown too big for, little designer T-shirts and denim skirts, with soft cotton tights that cost a fortune, and gorgeous old-fashioned flannel nightgowns with embroidered yokes.

“It’s our pleasure. It’s lovely knowing someone else will get the benefit. And Meg says we’ve got stacks of cot-size sheets and blankets if you can use them, now she’s in her new bed.”

“I’m fine, I think, but thank her for me, would you? Oh dear, I think that might be Archie.”

There’s the unmistakable sound of “If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands” being sung very loudly as we head back toward the kitchen. Lily and Pearl are clapping and having a lovely time, despite being covered in yogurt.

Jack gives me a desperate look. “Is it home time now, Mum?”

“Yes, love.”

“Good.”

It’s nearly half past eight by the time I’ve finished the baths and bedtime routine. Thank God I took the lasagne out of the freezer this morning, so I only need to make a salad and supper is ready. I’ve brought some of the clementine ice cream home for pudding—Martin’s not that keen on puddings, but he makes an exception for Mark’s ice cream.

I’m lighting the fire in the living room when he arrives, with a bottle of red wine and a bunch of red roses. He’s still wearing the bobble hat Elsie knitted him as we go into the kitchen.

“I know they’re soppy, but I thought you might like them.”

“Thank you, they’re lovely.”

He leans forward for a kiss, but I move sideways.

“There’s something I need you to do first.”

He looks slightly worried.

“Take your hat off.”

He takes it off and throws it on the floor. “Better?”

“Much. Now we’ve both got tufty hair.”

“Tufty? This is tousled, proper men have tousled hair. Nothing tufty.”

“If you say so. Supper’s nearly ready.”

“Great. I’m starving. It smells great, what is it?”

“Cod in parsley sauce.”

I open the oven door and carry the lasagne to the table.

“Great. You had me going there for a minute.”

“Good. Because I need to know when you’re going to tell her. You can’t keep a great big boat a secret for much longer, you know, and if she finds out, well, it’ll be much worse, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I know.”

We talk about his plans for the boat, in slightly more detail than I intended, and the sailing course he’s going to book, where you learn how to read charts and not sail into things, and use the radio, and then he gives me another lecture about how we can improve the website for the shop and I need to take far more pictures, and upload stuff. Or possibly download.

“This lasagne’s great. I’ll need to get some flares too.”

“I’m assuming you’re talking distress signals now, rather than special sailing trousers.”

“Yes, thank you. You won’t be so superior when we’re onboard in some little deserted bay catching our own supper and watching the stars.”

“I might be. It depends on the weather.”

“Well yes, not this time of year obviously. But in the summer. I can’t wait. I bet the kids will love it.”

“I’m sure they will. Once we’ve got them into their life jackets, just in case. Actually, do they do life jackets for girls in tiaras? Otherwise Pearl won’t be coming.”

He smiles. “I’m sure they do. Safety is paramount, even for princesses, every good skipper knows that.”

“Skipper?”

“Shut up.”

He’s helping me put the plates in the sink. “That was lovely.”

“The fire’s on in the living room. Why don’t you go through and I’ll make the coffee.”

“No, you go and sit down, you made the meal, I’ll make the coffee.”

“Ahoy, Captain.”

Oh, God. How mortifying. I’ve just woken up, and it’s half past twelve and I’m on the sofa. The fire’s gone out, and Martin’s left a note.

Tried to wake you, but you were out for the count. Let’s do this again, only next time where we’re both awake.

Martin x

P.S. You looked very lovely fast asleep.

I text him, just in case he’s still awake.

SORRY. BEEN A LONG WEEK. PROMISE TO STAY AWAKE NEXT TIME. JO X

My phone beeps while I’m putting the washing machine on.

HAVEN’T ACTUALLY SENT A GIRL TO SLEEP BEFORE. AT LEAST I KNOW YOU DON’T SNORE. : ) M.

I text him back.

I DO. PS—YOU LEFT YOUR HAT. TWIT. X

It’s a quarter to nine on Monday morning, and we’re about to start the inaugural journey of the walking bus at the bottom of the High Street. We’ve already got fifteen kids, and Pearl’s singing and trying to get her balaclava off, thrilled to find herself with such a large audience. Bloody hell; it’s so cold the kids are all wrapped up in wooly hats and scarves, which they’re trying take off when their mums aren’t looking. Connie’s holding the we’re-walking-to-school lollipop which Mark made for her, and Jane Johnson is already festooned with PE kit and book bags. We’ve got a stop set up at the Post Office on the seafront, then one at Mr. Parsons’s shop, where he’s hung a special sign in among his buckets and mops, and then one just past our shop on the corner. The last collection point is by the bandstand in the park, which is only a few minutes from school, but we didn’t want anyone to feel left out. It’s cloudy, and it looks like it’ll rain any minute. Bugger.

Jane counts the kids and lifts her green flag; her husband, Bob, collects model trains, and he’s got a bit carried away with all the planning. He’s lent us his whistle too.

“Fifteen.”

Connie and I nod, and we’re off.

Parents stand clapping as we straggle up the High Street, and I spot Lady Denby standing waving a Union Jack, for some reason best known to herself, with Algie and Clarkson wagging their tails. By the time we reach our shop, we’ve got thirty-one kids, and there are more children and parents waiting, alongside Gran, with Elsie and Laura.

“Here you go, Jo. I can’t wait till my Rosie can do this, it’s brilliant, isn’t it?”

“You can take my place on the rota anytime you like, Laura.”

She smiles. “No, you’re all right.”

“You look very smart in your jacket, pet.”

“Thanks, Gran.”

Jane is raising her flag again.

“Forty-two.”

I start counting, which is harder than you’d think when everyone keeps moving.

Connie blows her whistle, and the kids all stand still; all that PE training at school is definitely paying off.

“We need to count.”

Everyone stops talking, including Gran and Elsie.

“Forty-two.”

Jane raises her flag and we’re off again, to a little chorus of clapping.

I’d be touched if it wasn’t so bloody cold and I wasn’t wearing a scratchy fluorescent tabard with
I’M WALKING TO SCHOOL
stenciled on the back.

The tricky bit, where we have to cross the road at the top of the hill, goes without a hitch; partly because we got so anxious about it last week we came and practiced with Jane after school. We wait for the lights to go red, and then Connie leads the kids across, while Jane plants herself in the middle of the road and holds her green flag firmly down by her side in case some idiot mistakes it for a signal to drive forward. I follow slowly to make sure nobody gets marooned on the wrong side of the traffic, and a man in a Range Rover toots and looks annoyed. Luckily, Trent Carter’s dad is behind him and leans out of his window and gives him a hand signal which I don’t remember from the Highway Code.

“The kids are crossing the road. What’s your problem? Wanker.”

The driver in the Range Rover tries to ignore this, but it’s quite hard when you’ve got three women, forty-two mixed infants, and various onlookers laughing at you. The kids are all thrilled, particularly Trent.

“That’s my dad, and that bloke is a wanker, isn’t he, miss?”

I’m not sure what our policy is on swearing on the bus, I’m guessing we’re not keen, but I think I’ll just ignore it. And anyway, I quite like being called miss.

“That’s a lovely scarf you’re wearing, Trent.”

“It’s crap, but my mum said I’ve got to wear it or I’ll get one of my chests. Is the baby’s face meant to be like that?”

Pearl is woolen-faced again. Fortunately without her tiara this morning. Although the balaclava-with-tiara look is one she’s definitely working on.

“No, not really.”

I lean forward and adjust her balaclava, amid shrieks which make Trent laugh. “She don’t like that.”

He wraps his scarf over his face, and then drops it, which Pearl thinks is hilarious.

Archie is watching Trent, who’s one of the tougher boys, and someone he’d usually steer clear of.

“She does that with her hat all the time, and she takes her socks off and throws them away when she hasn’t got her wellies on.”

Trent’s obviously rather impressed by Archie’s fraternal boasting. “She can throw my scarf away if she likes. I don’t think boys wear scarfs, they’re more for girls, but my mum makes me wear it.”

Archie tuts and Trent grins at him, and whispers something which makes them both giggle.

Jane’s looking anxious. “We’re going to run out of armbands if we get many more.”

She’s got a stash of fluorescent armbands in her bag for every child who joins the bus, so we can spot the ones we’re meant to be shepherding.

“I never thought we’d get this many.”

“I know. It’s great, though, isn’t it?”

She nods and starts counting her armbands again.

There’s another group of parents waiting by the bandstand, including Mrs. Peterson and Amy. I stand up straighter, trying to look like the kind of überefficient person you’d trust to walk your child to school, and there’s a round of applause as we stop and Connie and Jane start counting again. Angela is waiting with Peter, who’s looking very pleased with himself, like this is all down to him and the Parish Council; he’s got his suit on and looks like he’d make a Speech given half a chance. Bob’s taking photographs with his digital camera for the school newsletter, and Peter’s making sure he gets into every shot, much to Angela’s obvious annoyance.

“It all looks marvelous, Jo, I’m quite looking forward to Wednesday.”

Angela’s volunteered to be on the rota for Wednesdays, with Tina and Sophie Lewis’s mum.

“Thanks, Angela, and it’s very kind of you to help out.”

“Not a bit of it, it’s helping me really. I always mean to go out walking, but somehow I never do, so this will be the ideal opportunity.”

Connie blows the whistle again, and we start counting; it’s vital we don’t linger here, as there’s a slide and swings beckoning in the playground by the fountain, and if we let them start wandering off, we stand no chance.

Jane lifts her flag. “Fifty-six.”

Crikey. That’s nearly a third of the whole school.

Connie shouts “Fifty-six,” and we start moving and Mrs. Peterson suddenly looks very anxious, like she’s changed her mind and wants to walk with us. I think this is an important moment for her, letting Amy go. Oh, God.

“Would you like to help me push the baby, Amy?”

She nods and puts her hand on the buggy handle as we start to walk, while her mum stands still, clearly willing herself not to race after us and retrieve her child. Jane’s noticed too, and we both smile at her encouragingly, and she tries to smile back. Just when I think she’s not going to be able to bear it, Angela steps forward and puts her hand on her arm, and she turns, with one last look at Amy, and starts talking. Good for Angela. Amy seems oblivious, but I put my hand on her shoulder, just in case her mum’s having one last look.

Jane starts singing “The Wheels on the Bus” as we walk through the gates and down the road to the school. We’re not going to sing every morning—we don’t want to annoy the entire town—but we thought on the first day we’d indulge ourselves. The playground is lined with parents and teachers, and Mr. O’Brien rings the bell and says how pleased he is to see the bus arriving right on time, and how every car journey we avoid will help save our planet, and while there won’t be a walking home bus after school just yet, he hopes parents will get into the habit of walking. He asks the kids to give themselves a round of applause, which they do, so enthusiastically he has to ring the bell again to get them to stop.

“And now everyone is warmed up and ready to learn, let’s all line up, quietly please.”

There’s a bit less enthusiasm for this, but it’s starting to drizzle, so we divest ourselves of book bags and PE kits and packed lunch bags as quickly as we can. I’ll have to get some of those plastic clips you put on the handles of buggies or I’m going to look like a luggage porter. We’re not really meant to carry things according to the guidelines we got from the local Education Department, but some of them are so little it seemed mean not to. Maybe we should get a trolley. Or a donkey. The kids would love that, or we could train Trevor, he’d be perfect for a couple of panniers full of kit. I might mention it to Martin.

Annabel Morgan is standing by the main doors, looking Annoyed. She’s talking to her usual coterie of Gina Preston and Mrs. Nelson; I think we were supposed to crawl in with a dozen kids, preferably having lost one of them in the sea. Not fifty-six with nobody gone AWOL.

Jane’s very pleased. “That was brilliant.”

“Yes, largely thanks to your organizing it all, and thank Bob too, for the flag and the whistle.”

“I’ll have to get him new ones, I’m keeping these. I draw the line at the hat though; he was still trying to get me to wear it this morning.”

Connie smiles. “A hat, it might be good, for the rain?”

“Yes, but not one with
STATIONMASTER
on it. Oh, and I meant to say, Mr. O’Brien’s found a bit of money in the budget and he’s giving me a promotion. It’s not much, but still, I’m really pleased. It’ll be after Easter, and I’ll be office manager and school secretary, isn’t that great? And I know doing the bus helped, so thanks, Jo, it was such a good idea.”

“Don’t thank me, I just mentioned it at the meeting. I didn’t think we’d end up doing it.”

“Be careful what you wish for?”

“You’re telling me. Trust me; being fluorescent in the mornings was never top of my list. Do you want the tabards, for tomorrow?”

“Please, and can we have your sign, Connie, it was really handy. We could have hit that idiot in his Range Rover with it if we’d needed to.”

“Sure, but it is, how do you say, it is not straight, in the wind. It bends.”

“No problem, Bob will soon sort that. I better get in, no rest for the wicked. See you later. I’m going to order some more armbands just in case.”

Annabel gives her a very haughty look as she walks past holding the lollipop and the tabards, but Jane is fearless.

“Morning, Annabel. Isn’t it marvelous? Such a huge success, Mr. O’Brien says the governors are really pleased.”

Jane shakes the lollipop and smiles at Annabel, which completely infuriates her. Just like she knew it would.

“She’s a brave woman, that Jane, I’ve always liked her. Come on, Con, I’ll race you to the café. There’s one of your lovely husband’s croissants waiting for me. I can hear it calling. Here, give me your bag and I’ll put it in the buggy.”

The atmosphere in the shop is rather fraught: Elsie’s furious about Martin getting a boat; he told her at the weekend, and she’s still not speaking to him, or her husband, Jeffrey, who made the mistake of saying he thought it wasn’t such a terrible idea and he’d help with some of the carpentry. Big mistake. She’s barely speaking to me either, since she thinks I should have stopped him.

“I think I’ll change the window, Elsie. I thought we could do something for Mother’s Day.”

As soon as I’ve said it, I realize this is a pretty stupid thing to say with her in tragic mother mode.

She sniffs. “Nice Mother’s Day I’m going to have, worrying myself sick about him on that silly boat. He was sick on the ferry that time we went to the Isle of Wight, he never liked boats. I don’t know what’s got into him, I really don’t.”

“Well, it’s got nothing to do with me, Elsie, but he can spend his money on what he likes, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but how would you feel if your Archie bought himself a great big boat?”

“Not that thrilled, but he is only seven, Elsie. Martin’s thirty-eight.”

“Yes, so it’s about time he grew up and got that barn finished; there’s still a hole in the middle of that kitchen floor.”

“I know, but he’s still working out the plumbing, it’s not going to stay like that.”

“He’s always been the same, starts things and never finishes. Just like his father. I don’t know how I’ve put up with it for all these years, I really don’t.”

“Because you love them?”

She sniffs again, but she doesn’t look quite so cross.

“It could be worse, you know, Elsie.”

“How?”

“They could be into morris dancing or something.”

There’s a trace of a smile.

“Well, I will say they’ve never been drinkers, and they can make your life a misery. I was talking to Mrs. Marwell the other day, and she said she saw that Mr. Nelson coming out of the Star and Garter along by the pier, and he could hardly walk straight he was that far gone.”

“Oh dear.”

Actually, if I was married to Mrs. Nelson, I might have the occasional tipple.

“Yes, they’d had one of their silly meetings, that Navy thing they all belong to, and they always come out three sheets to the wind after one of those.”

“Oh dear.”

“Mind you, for all I know my Martin will join them now he’s got a boat. And his father will go along too. Hasn’t got the sense he was born with.”

“I can’t see them sitting around with a load of old codgers getting legless.”

“Well, maybe not. I’m just saying I wouldn’t put it past him, that’s all. Do you want a hand with the window? We’ve got those baby cardigans we hung up last year on that little washing line upstairs in one of the boxes in the stockroom, shall I bring them down?”

“Thanks Elsie. And if you see the flags, bring them down as well, would you?”

We knitted a set of little flags last year, in pretty colors with initials on, to spell out
MCKNITS
, so I’ll hang them up too. The flag kits are selling quite well now, with the gingham ribbon and the pattern for each initial, so you can knit the name of your child. Short names are easiest, of course. Christopher takes quite a few flags; Mrs. Hirst said she wished she’d gone for James, her other top name, by the time she’d finished knitting all the flags for him. But it did look lovely. The kits are popular on the website too, so people obviously like them. They’re one of the things I’m most pleased with, the beach bag kits in summer and the shawl kits, in the mohair made famous by Grace, and the easier crepe one, which is lovely and warm. We do a cotton one too, and a simple baby cardigan, all knitted in one so you only have to sew up the sides, with no tricky shoulder seams or neckbands. But the best sellers so far are our blanket kits; we do a cot-size one, and smaller ones for the buggy or car seat. We sell quite a few ready-made too, and Mrs. Collins is knitting for us now, as well as Elsie and Laura, and Gran and Betty if we get busy, so we’re just about keeping up.