Knit One Pearl One (5 page)

Trevor the bloody Wonder Dog is now fully grown, and even more enormous than when we first met him pulling our new neighbor Mr. Pallfrey up our garden path on the night we moved in.

“How’s Mr. Pallfrey doing?”

“Fine, I think. He rang me last week from Spain. Well, I say me, but he likes to speak to Trevor too.”

“Martin, you’re completely mad, you know that, don’t you?”

“Trevor recognizes his voice.”

“Well he bloody should do, he’s his dog. Which brings me to the question how come you’re stuck with him, with us as backup? It was only meant to be temporary, you know.”

Mr. Pallfrey is visiting his daughter Christine, in Spain, ostensibly recuperating from his second hip operation, but I think he likes it so much he’s going to stay over there.

“I still can’t work out how you’ve ended up adopting Trevor. A few weeks were fine, but it’s been ages now. And yes, I know you like dogs, and the boys adore him, and so does Pearl, although he does keep knocking her flat and sooner or later she’s going to get fed up with that. Even bloody Cinzia loves him. I know you wanted a dog, but do you really want such a huge mad one?”

“I can’t get rid of him now, it wouldn’t be fair. I’m too nice, that’s my trouble.”

“And an idiot.”

I lean across the counter and kiss him, which is risky, because if Elsie comes back in with the tea there’ll be even more sniffing.

He’s grinning now. “Anyway, enough of all that, I need to ask you something.”

“No.”

“You don’t know what it is yet.”

“Can we have Trevor for the night next week while you go to London for a freelance job that’ll pay double your usual rate because their computers have all gone on the blink and you’re the only person who can unravel them?”

“Crikey, that’s almost spooky, how did you— Oh, right. Mum.”

Elsie puts the tray on the counter and sniffs again. “There’s only digestives.”

“I thought you liked digestives, Elsie.”

I’ve learnt from bitter experience that it’s pretty vital to keep Elsie supplied with the right kinds of biscuits, particularly if she’s already in a sulk.

“I do, but I like those jam ones you got last week, I was hoping for one of those. Still, never mind. Now what were you saying, Martin?”

“Nothing, Mum, just talking about Trevor.”

She sniffs again.

“Martin can go and get some Jammie Dodgers, Elsie. Can’t you, Martin?”

“What? Well I—”

“Yes. And I’ll think about that stupid dog.”

“Right. Jammie Dodgers coming up. Is that right, Mum? Or are these some new biscuits with jam that I don’t know about?”

“Don’t be cheeky, Martin, it doesn’t suit you.”

It does actually.

He kisses me on the cheek and then winks. Bugger. Elsie is definitely going to need those extra biscuits now.

By the time I’ve got the boys home, and we’ve had baked potatoes and tuna with grated cheese for Jack, and sweet corn for Archie, and a bit of both for Pearl, although most of the sweet corn ended up on the kitchen floor as usual, because she insists on waving her spoon about, I’m exhausted. I’ve managed to get through bath time without shouting at anyone, but I’m beyond tired. Pearl conks out in her cot nice and early, but Jack and Archie are still keen for another half hour of cartoons.

“It’s a school night, come on, up we go, and there might be time for a story.”

“Mum, that’s just not fair. I’m the oldest; I’m nearly ten, so I should be allowed to stay up longer.”

Archie is horrified. “You are not nearly ten, not for ages. You’re nine, and I’m nearly eight, and that’s only one littler than nine, so you’re not that bigger. Stupid.”

“Tell him, Mum.”

“You can keep your light on and read for a bit, Jack, you know that. But it’s bedtime now.”

There is no way on this earth I’m falling for an extra half hour of someone sitting downstairs watching child-friendly telly every evening, thank you very much.

“Yes, but I’m not tired, Mum, I’m really not.”

Archie’s getting agitated now. “I’m not tired too, stupid.”

“Well I am, so stop it, both of you. Or there won’t be time for any stories. At all.”

They both hesitate but recognize the signs of a mother close to the edge.

“You can choose one book each, and no, Jack, not a long book, one of your bedtime picture books. Or not. And I’ll just have a nice rest and you two can sulk.”

“Honestly Mum, there’s no need to be so grumpy. Great big grumpypotamus.”

“Thanks, Archie, I love you too.”

Archie falls asleep while I’m reading to him, but Jack’s sitting up looking anxious by the time I’m trying to tuck him in.

“Lie down, love.”

“Mum, you know Dad is in heaven.”

Oh God, not again.

“Yes love.”

“If there is a heaven. That’s what we say, isn’t it?”

“Yes love.”

“Well, is there?”

“What sweetheart?”

“A heaven.”

“I don’t know, Jack, nobody does. Not really. Some people think there is, but if you love somebody, like you love Dad, well, that never ends. They live in your heart forever.”

“And that’s a kind of heaven, isn’t it, Mum?”

“Yes love.”

And a kind of hell too, if you happen to have been on the point of leaving them and sodding off to live with a bloody French nymphet called Mimi. And now you’re stuck floating about somewhere and watching your little boys trying to make sense of it all.

“Yes, but he can’t see us, can he? Not all the time?”

“No love.”

Please don’t let him ask me any more tricky questions tonight, I’m too tired and I never feel I’m getting this right. I don’t want to trot out the lines about heaven and angels, because I’m really not sure what I think about all of that, and it seems important to be honest about something so important. But I want them to have the comfort of it, like fairies and Father Christmas; that sense that magic things can happen and there will always be a happy ending. Even if it doesn’t feel like it. Something that makes the darker moments a bit more bearable.

He’s still thinking.

“Snuggle down, love.”

“I can’t see him now, Mum, when I close my eyes. Sometimes I can’t remember what he looked like.”

He’s on the brink of tears now, silent crying in the dark while he tries to make sense of it all.

Bloody hell, I hate this. It’s so incredibly unfair.

“I know love, neither can I, sometimes. But we’ve got lots of photographs, and our holiday films.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I know, but when you look at the photographs, you’ll see, you’ll feel it straightaway, love.”

“Feel what?”

“How much he loved you, more than anything in the whole world.”

“Yes. More than anything in the whole wide world to infinity and back again.”

There’s a small smile now.

“Yes.”

“Even more than Archie, because I was first, wasn’t I, Mum?”

“He loved you both more than anything in the entire world; there just isn’t anything bigger than that. Now, what story do you want, love?”

“
Owl Babies.
Just because it’s one of our favorites. I’m too big for it really.”

“Okay.”

“And Mum.”

“Yes, Jack.”

“If I have one of my dreams, can I come into your bed?”

“Yes love. But very quietly. If you bring Archie or wake up Pearl, then the deal’s off.”

He nods and snuggles down.

So that’ll be him in my bed by the time I come back upstairs. Great.

“Oh darling, poor Jack, he’s always been such a trooper about it all, and they’ve coped so well, you know, you’ve done an amazing job.”

“No I haven’t, Ellen, I’ve done what any mum would do, muddled through the best you can and tried to keep the kids safe.”

“Well, I think you’re amazing.”

“I should bloody hope so. You’d be in real trouble if your best friend thought you were crap.”

“True.”

“He hasn’t had his bad dreams so much lately; I was hoping he might be getting over it. Well, not over it, obviously, but past worrying it was somehow his fault.”

“Archie’s never really gone in for that, has he?”

“No, nothing is ever Archie’s fault. He gets that from Nick. But he minds. He told me the other day, how much he misses him.”

“Did he?”

“Yes, but he wanted to play football in his pajamas, so I’m not sure he wasn’t just guilt-tripping me, to see if I might cave and let him out into the garden.”

“Why should you feel guilty? You didn’t do anything. Christ.”

“It’s never just one person though, is it? And anyway, haven’t you realized yet, the wonderful world of motherhood is one long guilt trip; it goes with the territory.”

“True. I was looking at Eddie the other day, and he’s definitely got Harry’s nose, you know. You’d think I could have chosen someone with more aquiline features. Anyway, enough of all this guilt-tripping bollocks, tell me about you and Dovetail. What’s up? I thought it was working out really well.”

“It was, I mean it is. It’s just. Oh, I don’t know, but sometimes it feels like we’ve been catapulted forward ten years.”

“You mean you’re totally bored and you hate him?”

“No, but I think maybe we’re in a bit of a rut, and it’s quite early for that, isn’t it? I mean, we haven’t actually been seeing each other that long, not really.”

“By seeing you mean shagging, right?”

“Ellen.”

“Well, you do.”

“I mean just the two of us, as opposed to with the kids, or in the shop, or with his mother.”

“Kinky.”

“Ellen, this is so not helping.”

“Sorry darling. But seriously, maybe he’s not the one for you.”

“I don’t want anyone who’s the one for me, I haven’t got the energy. The last thing I need is Mr. Right.”

“Just Mr. Friday Night?”

“Something like that. I just want everyone to be happy, and go to sleep on time. That’s about all I can cope with at the minute. And I do like him, you know, he’s really—”

“Don’t say nice, darling. It’s the kiss of death.”

“I know, but he is. A really decent, nice, kind man. He’ll never cheat or lie, and he gets how important the children are, they’re not just background noise for him.”

“Stop it, I’m getting so jealous. The passion. I can’t bear it.”

“Yes, but maybe that’s just the way it is, when it’s more than a brief affair, for most people anyway, and I can barely make it through the day as it is; the last thing I need is too much passion.”

“You can’t have too much passion my darling, trust me. But I do know what you mean. Sometimes I look at Harry and I think, Really? This is it, forever? How’s that going to work?”

“But it does.”

“Not all the time.”

“You say that, Ellen, but it does, with you and Harry.”

“He’s all right, I suppose. Moans a lot, but when I watch him with our beautiful boy, well, it makes up for a great deal.”

“Exactly. But that’s another thing. Martin’s great with the kids, better than Nick ever was, but they’re not his. He just doesn’t have that extra bit of connection, and I’m not sure about that, longer term.”

“Well, you could soon fix that.”

“How?”

“Have another one, with him.”

“Are you mad? I’m in enough trouble with the three I’ve got. Christ, four would finish me off completely. I don’t think Martin wants kids actually; he’s never said anything. And anyway, I’m too old.”

“Forty isn’t old, darling, haven’t you heard?”

“It bloody is if you’ve got three kids under ten, and no visible means of support that doesn’t involve you getting out there and working for it. And before you say it, yes, there’s still a bit of my rainy day money left, and the money for the boys from Nick’s work policy, and Daniel said he’d put some money aside for Pearl, when she’s bigger. But that’s up to him. I’ve told you, I don’t want to be beholden. Not to anyone. I never want to do that again. That way the world can’t come crashing down again. See, I’ve got it all worked out.”

“Marvelous, darling. Talking of Daniel.”

“We’re not talking about Daniel, we’re talking about Martin.”

“Yes, but when Daniel rang you on her birthday, and then turned up bearing half of Toys ‘R’ Us in the car, are you really sure you’re okay with that? Because I think you’re mad. You should sue him for every penny.”

“For what? It was my choice, Ellen, and anyway, the presents weren’t useless. Well, not all of them.”

“Nothing for you though?”

“Ellen, it was one night. A nice moment. Why would he be bringing me presents? He hardly knows me. I like it that he comes to see her. He’s not going to be a major part of her life, and that’s fine, Nick wasn’t much different for the boys, not when it counted.”

“I know darling, but wouldn’t it be good not to have to work quite so hard?”

“Says the woman who went back to work six weeks after having Eddie.”

“Yes, but that’s different. The bastards are all after my job, you know that. If I’d left it any longer, I’d have been moved back to weekend slots. Anyway, don’t change the subject. All I’m saying is keep your options open, with everything, including Martin.”

“Well, that should be easy; he’s not pushing me to do anything else.”

“Do you want him to then? Ask if he can move in or something?”

“God, no.”

“Well then.”

“I know, ignore me. I don’t know what I mean.”

“It’s not enough, that’s what you mean, and I think you’re right, I’ve told you before. He’s sweet, but he’s not enough for you. You need someone who can give you a run for your money.”

“What money?”

“You know what I mean, someone more like Nick.”

“Ellen, please. When I think how long I spent trying to work out what to do for Valentine’s Day that year, and if he’d get the new foreign correspondent job and whether we’d get posted to somewhere with good schools for the boys. It would be ironic if it wasn’t so tragic.”

“I know, darling, but you were happy, at first.”

“Until.”

“Yes I know, until he came home and announced he was having an affair and then stormed out and crashed the bloody car. Bastard. But look how far you’ve come since then.”

“I didn’t have much choice.”