Needles and Pearls (3 page)

Oh God, here we go.

‘Granny, did you know when monkeys want to do sex they wee on all the trees? It was on our programme.’

Elizabeth chokes slightly, and Lottie starts to giggle.

‘Archie, I don’t think that’s a very nice thing to talk about at lunch.’

‘Monkeys don’t know it’s not nice.’

‘Archie.’

He sighs.

‘I don’t even like jelly.’

By the time we’re trudging through the field towards the church I’m feeling very close to slapping someone, most probably myself for landing us with a family escort for what should be a quiet moment for the boys. Bloody hell. Elizabeth is seriously sulking now because Gerald said bugger after his fourth glass of wine, and she’s been trying to get me to deliver Grace Harrison as her VIP guest at the next Golf Club dinner, and I’ve had to tell her that I think it’s a bit of a long shot. Fiona’s still trying to recover from the horseradish debacle, and James is having a long conversation about golf, mainly with himself. Everywhere is
still soaking, and my boots keep sinking into the grass, but at least it’s finally stopped raining as we climb over the stile and walk into the churchyard.

Jack’s holding the letters and pictures in a plastic bag, and starts to go rather pale as we get a few yards away from Nick’s grave. There are yellow tulips in the black marble vase at the bottom of the headstone, and a small bunch of roses.

Fiona coughs, very quietly.

‘The roses are from the girls. We put them there earlier.’

I nod. I’m not sure I can actually speak just yet; it’s such a shock, seeing the grave again. Jack puts his hand in mine and we move forwards and I bend slightly to put my flowers down, but they don’t look right in their cellophane wrapping – it’s like Interflora have just made a special delivery or something – so I kneel to take them out of the wrapper, getting wet knees in the process. Jack and Archie are now standing on either side of me. They seem much smaller and quieter than usual.

‘There, that’s better. You can put your letters on top of the flowers now if you’d like to, and your lovely pictures.’

They put their folded-up letters and pictures down very carefully, as Elizabeth walks towards us and starts rearranging the tulips.

‘Shall we pop into church now and say a little prayer?’

‘I think we’d like to just stand here quietly for a minute, if that’s OK. You go ahead, though.’

Fiona and James head off towards the church with the girls and Gerald, while Elizabeth hesitates.

‘I thought a prayer might be nice. Wouldn’t you like to say a prayer for Daddy, Jack?’

Jack’s starting to look tearful now. Bloody woman.

‘Elizabeth, I think we’d like a moment on our own, if that’s all right with you.’

In other words, bugger off, you old bag.

I put my arm around Jack and we walk towards the wooden seat under the tree in the corner of the churchyard.

‘It’s wet, Mum.’

‘I know, love, but it doesn’t matter, we’ve got our coats on. Let’s sit down and have a cuddle.’

He smiles.

‘How will Daddy see our pictures?’ Archie’s sounding rather shaky too.

Actually, I’m not sure I can do this. I don’t know the right things to say; the magic words that will make it all right for them. Christ, this is so unfair. Why should they have to worry about how their dad will get to see the pictures they’ve just put on his grave? I hate this. I really hate it.

I put my arms around them.

‘I think the important thing is that Daddy knows how much we love him.’

Jack nods.

‘Let’s keep cuddling for ages, shall we? I think we need a special big one, because my cuddle bank’s nearly empty.’

They both snuggle in and I kiss them and they pretend to mind.

‘Would you like to go into the church and say a prayer? We can, if you like.’

Jack seems to be considering this for a minute.

‘No thanks, Mum. I think this is better, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do, love.’

Archie snuggles in.

‘We’re cuddling for Daddy, aren’t we?’

‘Yes, love.’

‘And then we can go home?’

‘Yes.’

‘But only after Lottie has shown us her toadstools.’

‘Yes.’

‘And we’ve got cake for tea?’

‘I think so, Granny said she’d made a special one.’

Jack nods.

‘She said she made the one Daddy used to like best when he was little.’

They both snuggle in tighter.

I’ll never forgive him. I know it’s not his fault, and it was just bad luck, and it’s a terrible waste and everything. But I’ll never bloody forgive him.

Archie falls asleep on the drive home, and is extra grumpy when I wake him up, but there’s no way I can carry him into the house like I used to when he was little, so we do the guided-shuffle-with-whining routine instead, as I steer him towards the stairs.

‘It’s not fair. I haven’t even had my supper yet and I was looking forward to it.’

‘You can’t be hungry, Archie – you had crumpets and two slices of cake at Granny’s.’

‘Yes, but that was ages ago. I need some supper, I really do, Mum.’

‘Well, let’s get you in your jimmies and then we’ll see.’

He tuts.

There’s a mega bicker in the bath about who kicked his brother’s leg on purpose, and who did it by accident, and a fair amount of water gets sloshed on the floor until I promise that toasted cheese might be available for anyone who isn’t screaming. Peace is restored, and at least I’ve got the mud off Archie’s face, which he collected during over-enthusiastic toadstool manoeuvres.

They’re both sitting at the kitchen table with damp hair when Gran arrives. She’s got a packet of chocolate buttons for each of them. They’d usually reject buttons as far too babyish, but tonight they seem willing to make an exception.

‘Eat them all, Jack; no saving any for later. We’ve got to do your teeth after supper, don’t forget.’

Jack likes to make his sweets last as long as possible; not least because it torments Archie. He’s busy arranging his buttons on his plate, while Gran puts the kettle on and I slice cheese.

‘So how was Her Majesty then, pet?’

Gran’s never been that keen on Elizabeth.

‘She was fine, a bit of moaning about not seeing enough of us, but when I said she was welcome here any time she backed right off. I think she wants us to trek over there every weekend, but I’ve told her that what with the shop and everything I just can’t do it. We had a few more tearful My Perfect Son moments, though.’

Gran glances at the boys who are engrossed with their buttons, and starts to whisper.

‘I could soon put her right on that one.’

‘I know, Gran, but what’s the point?’

‘She ought to know what you’ve had to put up with, and then maybe she wouldn’t be so high and mighty, but least said soonest mended, I suppose.’ She turns back to the boys. ‘Did you have a lovely day at your Granny McKenzie’s then, Jack?’

‘It was all right. I had to eat my sprouts, or you couldn’t have ice cream, but Mum ate one of them when she wasn’t looking. And we took our pictures to Daddy, only the ground was all wet. But it doesn’t matter, does it, Gran?’

‘No, pet, it doesn’t matter at all.’

Jack nods.

‘Granny made a cake for our tea but Jack didn’t like it, because he’s a silly baby.’

Jack glares at Archie.

‘I just don’t like cake with bits in, that’s all.’

‘They were nuts, not bits. Stupid.’

‘The toasted cheese is nearly done. Who needs more juice?’

They both put their hands up, which makes Gran smile, and we’re just settling down for a fairly peaceful supper when there’s the unmistakable sound of scrabbling and barking by the back door. Sod it. Bloody Trevor has come round to play.

‘Please, Mum. Please.’

They both turn towards me looking desperate.

Bugger.

‘No way. You’re not going out now – it’s too cold.’

Trevor starts leaping up at the kitchen window, barking enthusiastically.

Double bugger.

I close the door to the passage while Gran opens the back door, and Trevor launches himself into the kitchen like a hairy Exocet missile, helping himself to a slice of toasted cheese and knocking Archie over.

Bloody hell.

‘I’ll put the kettle on for Mr Pallfrey, shall I, love?’

‘Thanks, Gran. Archie, don’t let him lick your face, I’ve told you before.’

‘I can wash it.’

‘I know, but, oh never mind.’

Gran opens the back door to Mr Pallfrey, who’s out of breath, as usual.

‘I’m sorry about this. We were just out for our walk and I
think he spotted your car was back. He missed you earlier. He kept whining and standing by your gate.’

‘Cup of tea?’

‘Well, if you’re sure, dear, that would be lovely.’

After what seems like an eternity of stroking and patting, Gran takes the boys up to bed with the promise of an extra story. Mr Pallfrey’s trying to get Trevor back out of the kitchen door, but he’s lying on the floor pretending to be asleep; only he keeps wagging his tail, which is a bit of a giveaway.

‘He does love your lads.’

He tugs on the lead again, and Trevor slides about half an inch across the kitchen tiles.

‘I’m ever so sorry about this – he’s never done it before.’

‘What about if we turn the lights off and go and sit in the other room?’

‘He might panic and break a few things. I tried it at home once, when he’d eaten one of my slippers. Thought I’d give him a spot of cooling-off time.’

‘And what happened?’

‘He broke two chairs in my kitchenette. He just doesn’t know his own strength, that’s the trouble.’

I can’t help wishing Mr Pallfrey’s daughter Christine had gone for something less donkey-sized when she decided she wanted a dog; maybe a nice little spaniel, something you could pick up when it was being annoying. But the boys adore Trevor the Loony Lurcher and there’s no going back now. He pops in most days for a game of football in the back garden, and they’re for ever on about taking him for walks. So it’s completely bloody hopeless.

Mr Pallfrey’s now pulling a completely prone Trevor towards the door.

‘He weighs a ton when he’s asleep.’

‘I bet he does, but he’s not really asleep, is he?’

Christ, we’ll be here all night.

‘No, but he’s made himself go all floppy.’

‘What about if I tip a cup of water on him?’

Mr Pallfrey looks at me with a glimmer of admiration in his eyes.

‘That might work.’

Sadly Trevor’s not quite as stupid as he looks, and when I’m standing over him with a beakerful of water he sits up, and licks my arm, which is a bit of a shame really because I was quite looking forward to pouring water on him.

‘It’s home time, Trevor.’

He lies back down again.

‘Do you want a drink, Trevor?’

I trickle a few drops of water on to his back, and he turns to look at me. I think we understand each other. He moves towards the door, still half lying down and looking like he’s sulking, or he’s lost the use of his back legs. I clip his lead on and hand it to Mr Pallfrey.

‘Thanks for the tea.’

‘You’re welcome. We’ll probably see you tomorrow?’

‘Yes, and I was meaning to say, I’m on the committee for the Seaside in Bloom, and they’ve put me down for front gardens and tubs for our street, so I was hoping I could count on you?’

Christ.

‘Count on me for what?’

‘Just a few flowers. You did say you wanted to make a start on your garden this year, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but I just meant getting rid of the nettles, that kind of thing.’

‘You leave that to me; I’ll sort you out a few plants. I’ve got some lovely geraniums wintering in my greenhouse – they’ll
look a treat – and I’ll do you a couple of trays of bedding. I always do a few.’

‘Well, if you’re sure. Only –’

‘It won’t be anything fancy, I’ll –’

Trevor’s obviously had enough chit-chat, and suddenly leaps towards the door, pulling Mr Pallfrey down the path at quite a pace.

Damn. I think I’ve just agreed to take part in some sort of gardening competition, and I’m already down for a special window display in the shop for the Best Seaside Town (Small) competition. We won the silver medal last year and everyone’s desperate for gold this year, so I’ve already had half the Parish Council in the shop giving me handy hints. It never rains but it pours, as Gran would say.

She comes back downstairs giggling.

‘He’s such a card, our Archie. The things he comes out with. He was telling me he might need a drink of water, but he’s not made his mind up yet, so he’ll let us know, but if he could have a bell it would save him getting up. I don’t know where he gets his ideas from, I really don’t.’

‘He means the little brass one Betty gave us for Christmas. He saw it in a film, I think, someone lying in bed ringing a bell so the servants could pop up with a nice little snack. He’s been after one ever since.’

‘You’d be up and down all night.’

‘I know, which is why I’ve hidden it.’

‘Good idea, pet. Let’s have another cup of tea, shall we? Reg should be here to pick me up soon. Unless you want to go on up to bed?’

‘At ten-past nine?’

‘You look tired.’

‘I am, but I’m not going up to bed this early – it’s not that bad.’

‘Good, because I want to ask you something.’

‘What?’

‘Sit down first.’

‘It’s not the Lifeboats again, is it, Gran? Only I really haven’t got the time.’

‘No, I’ve sorted that out with Betty.’ She sits down, looking rather nervous.

‘There’s nothing wrong, is there, Gran?’

‘No, not at all. It’s just … well … the thing is, it’s Reg. He’s asked me to marry him. And I’ve said yes. And I hope you don’t think it’s silly at our age, only he’s such a lovely man, and it’ll be nice to have a bit of company in the evenings. And, well. There it is. What do you think?’

Bloody hell.

‘Oh Gran, I think it’s lovely.’

‘Do you? Really? Oh I’m so glad. Only you don’t think your grandad would mind, do you? I’ve been fretting about it, and he was such a lovely man, you know. A real gentleman.’

‘Gran, it’s been over fifty years.’