Needles and Pearls (17 page)

‘Thanks, Ellen.’

‘And then I’ll sue the bastard.’

I’m in the shop on Wednesday morning with Gran and Lulu. She and Vin arrived yesterday, jet-lagged and exhausted, but they’ve both perked up after a big breakfast and Vin’s doing his helpful-big-brother act and moving beds around at home. We’re borrowing a double mattress from Connie for him and Lulu, so Mum and Dad can have the spare bed when they arrive tomorrow, which I’m still dreading. She was on the
phone last night complaining again about the wedding, so I’m knitting the last triangle for the bunting to hang across the window and trying not to think about it.

Gran’s handing Lulu shells, and we’ve already draped dark-blue net over some pale blue to suggest waves. And I’ve stapled silver velvet to the partition and covered it with more net so it’s all looking very nautical. And we’ve got real rocks at each side, which we’ll put back on the beach when we’re done: they’ll be perfect to sit the little knitted teddies on for a mini Teddy Bear’s Picnic alongside the little bathing ladies I’ve knitted, with their striped towels and beach bags. They’re slightly more Beryl Cook than I intended, and look surprisingly lascivious for woolly people, but I’m hoping they’ll inspire people to buy the beach-bag kits I’ve put into our McKnits carrier bags: four balls of cotton in jaunty colours, with a simple pattern and a pair of wooden needles and a stick of rock, all for fifteen quid. They’re starting to sell quite well, which is great, especially since I’m making nearly seven quid profit on each one. Old Mr Prewitt, who does the books, says last month’s takings were the highest he can remember – which is basically since the dawn of time, so that’s encouraging; even if a hefty proportion of it did come from Grace’s big cashmere order.

Gran’s giving the shells a quick squirt of Pledge before she hands them to Lulu; there’s pretty much nothing she can’t polish, or wipe down with a damp cloth.

‘Did you see Jo’s scan picture of the baby, Lulu? Doesn’t he look like our Archie?’

Gran came with me to the second scan at the hospital, and has decided the baby’s definitely a boy because the nurse kept saying ‘he’.

‘It’s wonderful what they can do now, isn’t it? In my day it was only trumpets.’

Lulu looks confused.

‘What did they do with trumpets?’

‘Listened to the baby, but you never got to hear, only the nurse. Those microphone things they’ve got now are much better, and his little heart was beating so fast, I was telling Reg.’

She gives me a sideways glance: she took a great deal of persuading in the hospital that the baby’s heartbeat was meant to be that fast and we didn’t need to get the doctor in.

‘And he passed his nuclear test too, didn’t he, clever thing.’

Lulu turns to me.

‘Nuclear test?’

‘Nuchal fold. It gives you the odds of the baby having Down’s. The older you get the higher the odds are, but I got the results last week and they’re better than Archie’s.’

‘Oh, right. Well, that’s good.’

Gran nods.

‘And he’s the spitting image of our Archie, and Reg agrees with me. And so does Betty.’

I got a copy of the scan picture for Gran too this time, and by the sound of it there aren’t many people in Broadgate who haven’t seen it; she’s got it in a special little Perspex frame in her handbag.

Lulu clambers back through the hatch and starts tucking knitted fish in amongst the net.

‘I think Moby’s a lovely name for a boy.’

Gran peers over the partition.

‘Do you, dear? Fancy that. I like family names, I’ve always liked Tom, or Albert. I had an Uncle Albert, and he was ever so nice. Always had sweets.’

‘Tom’s a nice name, but Archie and Albert sounds a bit like one of those old music hall acts, don’t you think?’

Gran hands her more fish.

‘True.’

‘And what about if it’s a girl? Flower names are pretty, like Daisy and Rose. Or Ocean – that’s a great name for a girl.’

Lulu’s obviously been giving the name thing a fair bit of thought; in fact quite a few people seem to have been pondering names; Elsie was lobbying for Stewart yesterday, for some reason best known to herself.

Gran hands her another knitted fish.

‘Rose is pretty, and I had an Aunty Ruby, she was nice; and there’s Mary of course, for family names, but we’ve got far too many of those already, and Pearl, my grandmother was a Pearl, lovely woman, she was; and my mother had a sister called Nancy, I think, only she never talked about her. Took up with a bad lot and used to drink. We should ask the boys, you know. It would make them feel involved.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Gran, unless you want a grandchild called Gandalf.’

Lulu and I arrange the dangling fish, which I’ve put on to nylon thread, and then Lulu positions the fat ladies on their rock and puts the finishing touches to the Teddy Bear’s Picnic, while I hang a couple of the beach bags and a bucket and spade from the hooks in the corner of the ceiling.

‘Thanks, Lulu. I don’t know how I’d have done this without you.’

‘I think it all looks brilliant.’

‘Well, good, because they’ll all be in complaining if it’s not up to scratch.’

Broadgate won the silver medal in the Seaside in Bloom thing last year, and the shop window got a mention from one of the judges, so practically everyone on the Parish Council has been in reminding me how vital it is that I pull out all the stops.

‘I bet you’ll win gold.’

‘I doubt it. Whitstable is in our group this year, and they win everything. Lady Denby’s furious about it; she reckons money’s been changing hands.’

Lulu heroically offers to go next door with Gran to have another floral moment with Mrs Davies and her buckets of flowers, while I worry about what Mum’s going to say when she sees the wallpaper in the spare bedroom. I’m trying to take my mind off it by putting in another order for the cheap cotton when Lord Denby wanders in, looking even more vague than usual.

‘Morning, my dear. Haven’t seen my wife, have you? Meant to be meeting her somewhere, only I’m damned if I know where, and there’ll be hell to pay if I don’t track her down. Could I wait here? Think she said something about wool.’

‘Of course. Would you like a cup of tea while you’re waiting?’

‘Delightful.’

I’m handing him a Rich Tea while he tells me about his battles with the greenfly on his roses when Lady Denby comes in, looking flustered, dragging Algie and Clarkson in her wake.

‘George. I thought we agreed you’d wait in the car?’

‘Did we, my dear? Completely slipped my mind. Been having a lovely chat with Moira here.’

Lord Denby calls everybody Moira. Nobody really knows why.

Lady Denby gives me an apologetic look.

‘Would you like some tea, Lady Denby?’

‘No thank you, very kind, but we must get on. George, you’re worse than the dogs, always begging for food. I do hope he hasn’t put you to any trouble.’

‘Not at all, we’ve been talking about roses.’

Lord Denby puts his cup down.

‘Charming girl offered me a cup that cheers as soon as I set foot in the place. No begging involved, Pru. Absolutely delightful.’

Lady Denby smiles at me.

‘Now there was something I wanted to say to you. What was it? Oh yes. I hear congratulations are in order. Lot of that sort of thing in the war, you know.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Unmarried mothers. Hordes of them. Still, times have changed – nobody’s business but your own now. As long as you can support yourself, can’t see any problem with it myself, so don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Far too much gossip in this town, in my opinion. Hope you’re feeling well. Felt ghastly with all of mine.’

‘Yes, fine, thank you.’

‘Good. Excellent. Noticed the new display in the window – glad to see you’re keeping up to your usual standards. We’ll give them a run for their money. That’s the spirit. We’ll fight them on the beaches, what?’

Clarkson is now edging forwards trying to lick my flip-flops until he’s yanked backwards.

Lord Denby stands up.

‘Thank you so much for the tea, Moira. Must remember to pop in here more often, and remember, soapy water, that’s the thing for greenfly. The buggers hate it. Good afternoon.’

He winks at me as he opens the door, and there’s a tangle of dog leads and they end up wedged in the doorway for a moment until Lady Denby manages to release them.

‘Blasted dogs, you’ll stay in the car if this is how you’re going to behave.’

I get another wink from Lord Denby and a wave from Lady Denby as she shepherds them all back towards her
ancient Volvo; I must remember to tell Elsie he might be popping in for a cup of tea and calling her Moira: she’ll be absolutely thrilled. Maybe we can teach him to knit, and then he can sit upstairs making dog blankets while Lady Denby goes shopping. He did have a reputation for pinching people’s bottoms, according to Betty, but I think he’s well past that now. At least I hope so.

Vin and Lulu have gone to collect Mum and Dad from the airport while I get the boys from school. Actually, what I really need now is a nice little lie-down, with someone else being in charge of supper, rather than Mum and her Comments.

‘Oh great, here comes Annabel.’

I’m treated to another disapproving sideways look at my stomach as she hands us the latest communiqué about the Summer Fayre. Connie smiles at her, which Annabel ignores as she trots off in search of other people stupid enough to have got themselves landed with doing a stall. The latest missive from mission control has decreed that we all have to appear in Victorian costume behind our respective stalls, and today’s proclamation informs us that a sub-committee is meeting to coordinate outfits.

Houston, we may have a problem.

‘I bet she’ll have told them to put us down as chimney sweeps.’

‘We shall ignore them, yes? I will be Queen Victoria, I’ve got a long black dress, and Mark says he will make me a crown. She will hate that, I think?’

‘Brilliant. And I can be Albert – she’ll hate that even more. A heavily pregnant Albert.’

‘Or we could make beautiful dresses like Anna in
The King and I?’

‘I don’t think they make crinolines that big, Con. And anyway, I don’t know how to waltz.’

‘I will show you.’

We’re having a quick practice as the kids come out.

Jack and Marco are shaking their heads.

‘Can we go home now, Mum? I want to see Mariella.’ Mum insists the boys don’t call her “Gran”, and has adopted Mariella as her name since they’ve been living in Italy.

Trust Jack to bring me back down to earth with a jolt.

I’m putting a vase of tulips on the chest of drawers in the spare bedroom when Jack thunders upstairs yelling, ‘They’re here, they’re here.’

I’m trying to take deep calming breaths, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Brace, brace, brace.

‘Good journey, Mum?’

Vin’s standing behind her rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

‘They lost Mum’s suitcase.’ He’s trying not to laugh.

‘Oh dear.’

‘Oh dear? It’s much worse than that, Josephine. My wedding outfit was in that case, and if they think they’re going to get away with this then they’re very much mistaken. I do have connections, you know.’

Vin sniggers.

‘With who, Mum? The Mafia won’t cut much ice with British Airways.’

She gives him a furious look.

‘Thank you, Vincent, so helpful as usual. Josephine, I need you to make some calls. Start with your friend Ellen.’

‘Ellen?’

‘Once they know the press are involved they’ll soon buck their ideas up. And could someone please make me an infusion – I’ve got some herbal mixtures my little man has given me. He says my stress-levels are extraordinary and this is hardly going to help. Derek, where did you put my rescue remedy?’

By the time I’ve persuaded her that Ellen isn’t likely to run a story about her lost suitcase on the six o’clock news, and I’ve called the lost-luggage number what seems like hundreds of times and listened to the annoying music only to be told that they’re still trying to locate the bag and will call us back when they have an update, Mum is in a major sulk. The boys have tried to introduce her to Trevor the Loony Lurcher, but she wasn’t terribly impressed, so I’m helping her unpack while everyone else is outside in the back garden playing football. Luckily all her herbal sachets appear to be in Dad’s case, so at least I won’t need to be tracking down an emergency herbalist.