Knit One Pearl One (34 page)

He laughs, and then suddenly stops. “Christ, I’ve just thought. Some little bastard is going to want to be her first boyfriend. Over my dead body. We want her having none of that until she’s at least, I don’t know, twenty-six? God in heaven, there’s no way I’m going to be able to cope with that. You’ll have to get a big dog; actually, get a couple. Any male over fifteen who comes round has to get past them. Rottweilers would be good. I’ll get a couple, send them down, shall I?”

“No thanks, we’ve got enough trouble with Trevor, and he’s basically just daft. The last thing I need is something designed to take chunks out of people’s legs.”

“God, I need a drink. The idea of some bastard like me trying to dazzle my lovely girl is really freaking me out.”

“She’ll be fine. Actually it’s more likely to be the other way round; look what she’s like with that waiter.”

He smiles. Cinzia is particularly fond of one of the waiters, one of the surfing gods who works only part-time in the hotel and is nowhere to be found whenever the waves are good. Pearl’s taken rather a shine to him as well and holds her hands up for him to lift her up and twirl her about whenever she sees him, which he does, whereupon she nuzzles into his shoulder, hugely envied by all the women under thirty. Actually, quite a few over thirty too.

“Well, I’m not having it. I’m going to research attack dogs, specially trained to repel teenage boys.”

“Right you are.”

“I am.”

“You go for it. As long as they live at your house, not mine.”

By the time we’ve had our swim, and a cream tea, and Daniel has taken hundreds more photographs, it’s nearly eight. The hotel has hung fairy lights on the beach, which are twinkling across the sand, and there’s a proper beach fire, and a huge gas-fired barbecue with two chefs with white hats, grilling fish and prawns and fabulous steaks while waiters scurry up and down to the hotel with bowls of salads and orders for drinks. It’s like a Barbecue Plus, all the usual food, but better cooked, and ice in your gin and tonic. I’m definitely going to save up for next year, and maybe I can persuade Ellen to join us; Eddie will love it, and I can always warn her about the spa not really being up to her usual hot-stones-and-special-mud-wraps standards. There’s music playing softly, thankfully not the breakfast accordion medley, and people are starting to dance.

“It’s like my poem, Mum.”

“What is, Jack?”

“ ‘Hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, they danced by the light of the moon.’ Let’s do dancing, by the light of the moon, can we, Mum?”

“Yes love.”

Daniel looks at me and winks. He’s been reading stories to Pearl, and the book of nonsense rhymes is one of her current favorites.

“We haven’t had slices of quince yet though, have we Jack?”

“No, but eat a fair amount of mince though, don’t we Jack?”

Jack giggles as Daniel stands up.

“Come on, let’s dance. We’ve got the honey, and plenty of money, but God knows where I’ve put the runcible spoon, Queenie has probably buried it somewhere. Actually, what is a runcible spoon?”

“We did it at school, and people think it’s like a fork and a spoon all in one, but I think it’s a special golden spoon like Kings and Queens have.”

Daniel lifts Jack up and twirls him round, and he laughs, and then he gives Archie a twirl too and they end up dizzy and delighted, and then one of the waiters turns the music up and the Beach Boys’ “Surfing USA” booms across the beach and everyone starts dancing. The waiters form into a line, loosening their ties and taking off their rather shiny black jackets as “Help Me, Rhonda” starts playing, and they go into what seems like a well-practiced routine, which is brilliant and very funny, and also quite rude, but in a way that none of the kids will pick up on. Pearl is dancing, and is picked up by our breakfast waiter and twirled around for a quick jive, and Cinzia and Amber, one of the models from the photo shoot, are in the middle of the circle, dancing with all the waiters simultaneously. It’s so perfect you almost want to clap. Actually, Pearl is clapping.

By eleven the kids are half asleep, despite pretending they’re not, so we carry them up the hill, with Tony and Daniel carrying the boys and Cinzia carrying Pearl while I carry the bags.

“Are you coming back down, angel?”

“I don’t know. Someone needs to stay with the kids, and I’m pretty tired.”

Actually I’m still feeling a bit dizzy from all the dancing. I may have slightly overdone it on the gin and tonics, but I really don’t care.

“Cinzia will stay with the kids. Come back down and have another drink.”

Cinzia doesn’t look that pleased. I think she’s got plans with one of the waiters, which come to think of it is probably just the kind of thing her mother is hoping I’ll be watching out for. Tom too, not that it’s any of my business. But I have stayed in the room for the past two nights.

“Maybe, just for one more drink.”

After a sleepy round of putting pajamas on, and tucking them into bed, we walk back down to the beach, and sit chatting and drinking and watching the fire, while people dance and melt away into the dunes.

“Fancy a dance, Jo?”

“Thanks Tony, but I’m fine.”

“Have a dance with me, love, celebrate the holiday?”

“Okay.”

He’s so sweet, Tony. He puts his arms on my shoulders and we sway along to “No Woman No Cry.” Which always makes me want to cry.

He kisses my hand as the music finishes.

“Thank you Tony, that was lovely.”

“My pleasure, sweetheart. You’ve made this week a total treat. We should have you and the kids on all our jobs, makes him behave himself. No walking off in a huff if he doesn’t get his own way.”

“I heard that.”

“You were meant to, guv.”

“Charming. I bring you to all these nice places, and all you ever do is moan.”

“Nice places? I was up at five yesterday sorting those fucking huts out.”

“Yes, and they still looked like crap.”

“Watch out, guv, she’s coming over.”

One of the models, Tanya, the one who wore the see-through muslin shirt to breakfast, comes and drapes herself across Daniel.

“I’ve been waiting for you to dance with me, darling.”

“Have you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a shame; I’m all danced out, but thanks.”

Tony’s staring at his feet and trying not to laugh.

We sit watching the fire, and I realize I’m nearly asleep.

“I think I’ll go up.”

“I’ll walk up with you, angel, make sure you don’t fall off that bloody cliff path.”

We start up the hill, which seems much longer now.

“Bloody hell, angel, I’m way too tired for this. They should have a lift.”

“Or one of those golf carts. I quite like the idea of whizzing up and down in one of those. The boys would love it too.”

“I wanted to say thanks, angel.”

“What for?”

“These past couple of days. Tony’s right, bringing the kids and everything, it’s made a real difference. I’ve loved it.”

“Good, because we’ve had a brilliant time.”

“You’re a total sweetheart, you know that, don’t you?”

And then he kisses me. A nice friendly kiss, which suddenly turns into something else.

“Sorry angel, I didn’t mean to do that.”

We’re both smiling now as he moves a strand of my hair behind my ear and kisses me again. And I kiss him back.

Oh God.

“I think I should—”

“Yes.”

“Cinzia will be waiting for me.”

“Let her wait. Let’s just stand here for a minute, look at the moon; it’s so close you could almost touch it. Fancy a dance?”

He’s smiling as I look up at the moon, and he kisses me again.

“Daniel.”

“I know. But just for tonight, angel, just you and me?”

Oh God.

Bloody hell. It’s half past two.

“Daniel, I’ve got to go.”

“I know, just stay a bit longer. It’s usually me who creeps out of hotel bedrooms in the middle of the night, and this is the second time you’ve done this to me, first Venice and now Devon. Takes a bit of getting used to. Stay a bit longer.”

“But Cinzia will—”

“She’ll be fast asleep, dreaming of waiters, and so will Queenie, and the boys will be dreaming of waves. Come here.”

It’s half past four by the time I get back to the room, with my hair in a total tangle and a strange mark on my neck.

Bloody hell.

Bloody bloody hell.

It’s ten o’clock on Tuesday morning and we’re all still in our pajamas. The traffic on the journey home from Devon was so terrible we had to stop three times, and each motorway service station was worse than the last.

Archie’s busy reuniting himself with Peter Rabbit, who seems have enjoyed his mini-break with Gran and Reg. I’m pretty sure Reg has cleaned out his hutch too, and put in fresh straw, so that’s one thing off my list, which is a bloody good job because I’ve just finished writing it, and it was so long I needed a second sheet of paper. Jack and Pearl are watching telly, in between Pearl lining up all our shoes in the hall, so I put the second load of washing on and call Ellen.

“What time did you get back?”

“Really late. The journey was a nightmare; I got so desperate I almost let Cinzia drive, and she’s only got a license for a scooter. I’m so knackered I feel like I need another holiday.”

She laughs. “Well, if you will go having magic moments, darling. What did he say in the morning?”

“Nothing really. We were busy with the kids at breakfast, and then with all the packing we didn’t really get a chance to talk. But it was okay; it didn’t feel too shameful or anything.”

“Of course not, darling, it’s brilliant actually, but you do need to know what he’s thinking.”

“I don’t even know what I’m thinking, Ellen, and anyway, he’s off to New York. He said he’ll call when he’s back and fix a time to come down to see Pearl.”

“Yes, but don’t you want some time with him, just the two of you? Why don’t you leave the kids with Cinzia and see him in town when he gets back? See how you go. Call him tonight and arrange it.”

“Because I don’t want to, not really. It felt right to be coming home. This isn’t the start of anything, Ellen, I’m sure it isn’t, and there’ll be loads to do in the shop. I haven’t even got their school uniforms sorted and they’re back next week. And anyway, Cinzia’s sulking.”

“Why?”

“She had a hot date lined up.”

“Not as hot as yours by all accounts. She’ll get over it.”

“I know, but I don’t want to push it. She’s got the day off today, so I’m hoping she’ll be a bit happier tomorrow. Gran will be around, but I really need some proper time in the shop. God knows what they’ve got up to while I’ve been away, but I bet Elsie’s ordered all sorts of tragic stuff.”

“You’re not feeling guilty about Martin, are you? Because you shouldn’t, you know. All bets are off if he’s too stupid to call you.”

“It’s weird, but I’m okay about that. I think because I know it’s not real. If I thought it was the start of something, I’m sure I’d feel really guilty. Look, I better go, we’ve got to get to the bloody supermarket if we want any lunch.”

“Lucky you.”

“I know. I’m so looking forward to it. I’ll call you later.”

“Well done darling, just what you needed, a nice little fling, and I still think it might be more than that.”

“We’ll see.”

Actually, what I’d really like is not to think about Daniel or Martin or anyone over ten. I want a nice calm few days doing what Nick used to call my ostrich act. I can’t cope with all this drama. I haven’t got the time to go into a meltdown about me and my complicated life, not unless food is going to magically appear in the fridge and someone else is going to finish the unpacking and sort all the washing and work out where Pearl’s hidden her sandals.

We finally get to the supermarket just before lunch, when everyone is hungry, so that’s a great start. But Jack and Archie are luckily in helpful mode and find items on the list quite chirpily, which gains me a few admiring glances from other mothers busy wrestling unsolicited food off their kids. Pearl sits in the seat in the trolley, wearing her tiara and waving breadsticks in a rather regal fashion. It’s all going quite well until we get to the dairy aisle. The boys are fed up and start bickering about whether we do or do not like chocolate milk, which we’re not buying anyway, and then they both start lobbying me to buy cheese strings, which are so revolting I refuse to buy them on principle. And before I know it all three of them are yelling and Pearl throws down her tiara, as a prelude to a serious tantrum. It skitters across the floor and disappears under one of the freezer cabinets.

“Stop it, right now, all of you. Jack, get the bloody tiara, would you?”

Jack and Archie pause, midshove.

“Mum, you said bloody.”

“I know I did. I’m very cross.”

“Yes but—”

“No buts, Archie, just be quiet.”

Jack’s lying on his tummy, retrieving the tiara, and even Pearl has gone silent, although she’s clearly considering whether to go into a Full Monty meltdown.

Jack hands me the tiara, and I put the sodding thing back on her head.

“Thank you, Jack. Pearl, no more shouting, we just need a few more things and we can go home. We can get chocolate mousse, for people who are not doing shouting, but there can’t be any for people who are being silly.”

Jack and Archie nod, recognizing the signs of a mother about to ban television for the rest of the day, but Pearl is oblivious and slowly removes her tiara and chucks it. Thankfully this time it lands in among the frozen peas.

“She’s done it again, Mum.”

“Thanks Archie, I did notice. Just ignore her.”

I pick the tiara up and put it in my bag as she goes into a full screaming strop. She’s kicking her legs and could probably propel the trolley round the shop all by herself. I move to the back of the trolley and push it from the side, a trick I learned with Archie, which attracts another admiring glance from a mum, but for a different reason obviously.

We move into the household supplies section, and the boys find washing-up liquid and fabric softener, and each time I put anything in the trolley there’s another round of shrieking and kicking. Jack and Archie, after initially quite enjoying the spectacle of their sister looping out, are now trudging along looking unhappy. I think they’re genetically programmed to sympathize with whichever member of the family is having a strop with their mother. They quite enjoy someone getting a mini-telling-off, but anything more protracted than that and their allegiances definitely shift.

“I think you’re being very cruel, Mum.”

“Do you, Archie? Get a box of Shreddies please, love.”

“I don’t like—”

“I don’t care, just get a box, and get Weetabix too please, and no, we’re not having chocolate anything.”

He tuts.

“Mum.”

“Yes Jack?”

“Can I give her a breadstick, she’s lost her others.”

Pearl pauses, to listen to my response.

“She hasn’t lost them, Jack; she’s thrown them on the floor, which was silly. So no, I’ve got better things to spend my money on than food for people to throw on the floor. When she stops yelling, and says sorry, we can have a cuddle. But people who yell and kick and throw things can’t have breadsticks. Or tiaras.”

We get into another round of yelling and I’m starting to think I might have to cave and give her the bloody tiara when Annabel Morgan appears, pushing a trolley with Horrible Harry trotting along beside her. How absolutely bloody perfect. Harry and Archie glare at each other as Annabel scans the contents of my trolley and gives me one of her special condescending smiles. Thank God I didn’t let them have the cheese strings.

“Supermarkets are so ghastly, aren’t they? We usually shop at the farmers’ markets, so super, aren’t they? But we’re just back from two weeks in France; Harry’s French has improved so much. I suppose with your little shop it must be so difficult for you. Did you manage to get away at all?”

“We’ve just got back from Devon.”

Archie nods and steps forward. Oh, God.

“Yes, and we stayed in a big hotel, with swimming pools and everything, it was brilliant, and we had fridges in our rooms, with chocolate in, and nuts. And Coke. And we did surfing, and Ted said I was very good, so I might be a surfer when I grow up, or a magician, I haven’t decided yet.”

He smiles, and gives Harry a rather menacing I-can-do-magic-so-you-better-watch-out kind of look.

Pearl has stopped yelling and is busy watching Archie, so I think this might be the perfect time for a quick exit before she starts up again. “Lovely to see you, Annabel, but we must get on.”

I risk pulling the trolley from the front, while Pearl glares at me and then turns her head away, so she practically ends up facing backward, and we head into the biscuits and cakes aisle, which was very poor planning on my part because Jack and Archie start agitating for all sorts of packets of biscuits which we don’t usually buy, and since I’m trying to be placatory, we end up with marshmallow teacakes and peanut cookies and a giant pack of Kit Kats, along with the digestives and custard creams for the shop, while I take the opportunity to solicit the magic word
sorry
from Pearl and reunite her with the bloody tiara, along with a large chunk of baguette. And then we’re into the sweets and crisps aisle and things get even worse. Still, I’m sure they’ll come in handy at some point, and I need all three of them out of full-strop mode so we can look at new school shirts and trousers in the clothing aisles at the back of the store.

After the usual scramble to find the right sizes, which are miraculously on the racks, we head for the till, and the end is in sight. Hurrah. Thirteen shopping bags later, I’m about to put my credit card into the machine when the till beeps and goes blank.

“The till’s gone down. You’ll have to go to another till and put it back through again.”

The girl behind the till seems to find this amusing; she’s about nineteen, and presumably child-free. Charm-free too.

“Sorry?”

“There’s nothing I can do, you’ll have to go through another till.”

She’s definitely smirking now. There are long queues at all the other tills, and Pearl’s nearly finished eating her bread.

Actually, I don’t bloody think so.

“Can you call the manager for me please?”

She presses a button, and a supervisor wanders over. Pearl is definitely moments away from another strop, and I’m about to join her.

“Sorry, there’s nothing we can do, you’ll need to go through another till.”

“But we’ve got the total, it’s still on the credit card machine, here’s my card, just put it through and I can go.”

“You need a till receipt.”

“I really don’t.”

“We can’t let you take things like that. How would we know what things you’ve bought? We need it for stock control. I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to rescan everything.”

“I think I need to speak to the manager.”

“He’s not here.”

“The duty manager then. Now please.”

She looks at me, and takes a mobile from her apron pocket as she walks away a few feet and turns her back.

“He says he’s very busy, sorry.”

“Well, could you ring him back and tell him I’m from Head Office and I’d like a word? Thanks.”

I saw Ellen do this once, and it worked wonders.

She looks at me again and presses a button on her phone.

“She says she’s from Head Office.”

She puts the phone back in her pocket, and we stand waiting, with Pearl glaring at all of us and dropping bits of bread on the floor, like we might need to retract our steps, while Jack and Archie lean against the checkout and sigh.

The manager appears, in a shiny suit, looking very pleased with himself. “Good afternoon, madam. Can I help?”

He’s clearly waiting for my special Head Office credentials, but I’ve already worked out what I’m going to say. I’m channeling Ellen, which always works, well, nearly always.

“I’m a customer who spends a great deal of money here. I’ve got a trolley full of shopping, and your till has broken. So this is what we’re going to do. I’m going to take my kids to the car, and you’re going to sort it out. Here’s my card, and my loyalty card. You can bring me my trolley and my receipt, with everything repacked, and if you’re smart you’ll bring me a bunch of flowers, to say sorry for the inconvenience and your staff appearing to think this is all highly amusing and somehow my problem. And then I’ll tell you exactly who to call in Head Office so you can report in. But I do need you to do it, not one of your staff. It will give you some excellent practice in customer relations at the sharp end. Upskilling is so important. Thank you.”

I hand him my card, pick up Pearl, who is now fortunately silent. The supervisor winks at me, and the manager stands with his mouth slightly open.

“Come on, Jack, Archie, we’re just going to wait in the car, I’m sure it won’t be long. This nice man is going to sort it all out for us.”

We walk to the car, and I’m half pleased that I’ve managed to be so assertive, and half terrified that security will appear and insist I leave the car park and we’ll have to go somewhere else and get all the bloody shopping all over again. I’ve just sat down in the driving seat when my phone beeps.

Christ. Maybe they’re texting me to tell me my loyalty card has been canceled and I’ve been banned for life.

“Jo?”

Bloody hell, it’s Martin. What perfect timing.

“Hello Martin.”

“How are you?”

“Fine thanks. Well, actually we’re in the middle of a bit of a drama in the supermarket, but apart from that.”

“Look, I just wanted to say I’m sorry, about the last time we spoke. I didn’t mean half of it, not about you. I should have said it to Patsy, not you. But I think a break has probably been good, and I hope we can talk when I’m back? Can we?”

“Of course we can, Martin.”

“Oh, thank God for that. Good, well, I should be home by the end of next week, so maybe we could meet up then?”

“Sure.”

“This job has been mad. I’m sorry I haven’t called before now, but Mum says you’ve been in Devon.”

Here we go. Damn. I really don’t want any more drama today.

“Yes. Daniel was working down there, so we had a few days in a hotel.”

He hesitates, and then rallies. “That must have been nice.”

“Yes, it was. The boys learnt to surf.”