Needles and Pearls (39 page)

‘God I need a drink.’

‘Have one then. There’s some of that vodka you left in the cupboard, I think.’

‘No, you’re all right.’

I think I may have just guessed what’s put her into such a tailspin.

‘Ellen, you’re not pregnant, are you?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Oh my God, that’s brilliant. Why didn’t you say?’

‘Because I’m bolting, that’s why. It’s all too real for me, and I’m terrified.’ She starts to cry.

‘Sweetheart, it’ll be fine.’

‘It might not be.’

‘Then I’ll be there and we’ll get through it somehow, just like we get through everything else.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise.’

She puts her cup down.

‘Don’t you ever feel trapped?’

‘No, not trapped. Panicked sometimes. Actually, quite a lot of the time.’

‘Panicked about what?’

‘Money, keeping the kids safe, stuff like that. But nothing that makes me feel trapped.’

‘That’s because you’re happy.’

‘I suppose I am, yes.’

‘So you think I should go back to Harry and muddle through?’

‘When did I say that? No, I think you should be honest, and if it’s not what you want then don’t waste your time, or his. Life’s too short.’

‘How will I know?’

‘I’ve got no idea.’

‘Thanks, that’s brilliant. We should get you a bloody column.’

‘I didn’t say I’ve got all the answers.’

‘But you can help me knit a jumper while I’m trying to work it out for myself?’

‘Something like that.’

‘It’s a start.’

‘It’s a bloody good start.’

‘Pass the fairy cakes.’

‘They’re for the Harvest Festival.’

‘Sorry?’

‘At school, tomorrow. Come, if you like. Actually, please come – it would really piss Annabel Morgan off if I swan in with Britain’s Favourite Broadcaster.’

‘Sure. I’ll probably still be bolting then anyway.’

‘Does Harry know where you are?’

‘No.’

‘Ring him.’

‘No.’

‘Ellen, ring him. He’ll be worried. Or I’ll ring him.’

‘Christ, you’re bossy.’

‘Ring Harry, and I’ll put the kettle on.’

I’m lying in bed listening to the sound of the waves; it’s stormy tonight and my back is throbbing. Nothing serious, just niggling throbbing. God, I’m so looking forward to being able to knock back a couple of Panadol again, without worrying that the baby will have six legs due to a drug-abusing mother. Actually, even half an aspirin would be a treat. The midwife at the clinic said my blood pressure was up a bit this week so I’ve got to try to relax. Although it’s easier said than bloody done. Right. Back to inventing new ice-cream flavours. So far I’m thinking bread-and-butter-pudding ice cream would be good, and I’ve got high hopes for chocolate and walnut.

‘Mum.’

Jesus.

‘Yes, Archie.’

‘I’m starving hungry.’

‘No, you’re not.’

‘And I need a drink.’

‘Archie, please, it’s sleep time. Go back to bed, and be quiet – Aunty Ellen’s here tonight.’

‘Okay, but it’s not fair, Mum. I’m really hungry.’

‘Stop fussing, Archie.’

‘Is Archie sleeping in your bed, Mum?’

Great. A full house.

‘No, he’s not, and neither are you.’

‘I might have my dream.’

‘You won’t. Now listen, both of you, back to bed, and be quiet. Quiet as a mouse, and no squeaking, Archie. Promise.’

He tuts.

Gran and Reg are taking the boys for a walk while I’m in the shop on Saturday morning when Mum calls.

‘I need to talk to you about Christmas.’

Oh dear.

‘Can we do it later, Mum? I’m a bit busy.’

‘I think it would be so much better if you came here for Christmas, darling, I really do.’

To a dilapidated palazzo with no proper heating or hot water, which they only get to use because the Milanese banker owner uses them as free caretakers. Perfect choice with a new baby.

‘Yes, but –’

‘We had such fun last year; it was lovely having you all here. You can ring Vincent and tell him, and lots of my friends want to see the baby. I thought I could have a series of little drinks parties.’

In other words the baby will get passed round like a parcel while I act as a waitress.

I don’t bloody think so.

‘No, thanks, Mum. I think we’d –’

‘Sorry, darling, I can’t hear you – this line is terrible. Let me know what flight you’re on and your father will meet you. Or shall I book for you?’

‘I really think we’d all prefer a family Christmas here this year. You and Dad are welcome to join us, though.’

‘Honestly, Josephine, how selfish; it’s not as if I ask for much and it would mean a great deal to me. I’ve told people you’re coming now. Why can’t you be helpful for once in your life?’

Right. That does it. Time for a bit of call my bluff.

‘Maybe you’re right, Mum. Gran will need a rest and I suppose all I need to do is get there and then you can take care of everything else. Look after the boys for me, and make all their meals, and help me with the night feeds and nappy changes, while I get some rest, and have a few lie-ins – that would be great. If you’re really sure? I’m sure I could manage to get up for a drinks party or two, as long as I’d slept all day.’

There’s a silence.

I think she might have just gone off the idea.

‘I’ll have to talk to your father, darling. You know what he’s like. And of course the flights might be booked. Leave it with me and I’ll look into it, shall I?’

‘Great.’

Excellent. Problem sorted.

I think I’ll celebrate with a doughnut.

My phone beeps. I didn’t think she’d get back so quickly. I’m guessing the flights are all booked, but let’s see.

It’s from Daniel.

Sorry. Still not had chance to talk. Work been crazy. Hope all well. Call me when anything happens. Daniel.

I’m not going to make a big deal about this. I haven’t got the energy. But a text? How pathetic is that? Somehow I’m not terribly surprised.

I text back.

All fine. Call me if you want update. Jo.

‘Mum.’

‘Yes, Jack? Did you have a lovely walk?’

‘Yes, but I’m starving. Can we have doughnuts?’

‘Yes, love, we can.’

Oh God. It’s Tuesday morning and it’s D-Day tomorrow, which I still can’t quite believe. I’m due in at nine at the hospital, and the Caesarean is booked for eleven and I’m finishing packing my bag. It’s all so unreal. I’m half looking forward to not being so huge any more. I want to be able to bend down to pick things up without having to think about it; get in the bath without worrying that I might not be able to heave myself out again. It was bad enough with Jack and Archie, but this time I feel even bigger, and much slower, somehow. All I’ve really been able to manage for the past few days is knitting and waddling.

But part of me wants to stay like this; I can do this. God knows how I’m going to cope with a new baby – I’ve forgotten what they’re like. All those midnight moments and walking them up and down. I’ve never done that on my own. Not that Nick did much, but he was there, some of the time, even if he was asleep. Christ, I’m so not ready. Ellen’s due down first thing and she’ll come in with me, and I’ve been shopping and stocked up the fridge for Gran, so in theory I’m all set. Or I would be if I could get to the end of my bloody list.

I’m ready for the school run in plenty of time, for once; the new shower is really great for waking you up, although I managed to do something to the nozzle that meant it went onto full throttle by mistake yesterday and a jet of water
shot across the bathroom and knocked all the bottles off the windowsill.

‘Come on Jack. Where’s your book bag?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, find it, love, and Archie, you can’t take that to school.’

‘It’s for playtime.’

‘No swords at school, Archie.’

‘But –’

‘Come on, get in the car or we’ll be late. Let’s decide what to have for tea. You can both pick your best thing and then we’ll decide.’

‘Not horrible macaroni.’

‘Okay.’

After rejecting Archie’s choice of oysters, which he’s never actually eaten and would hate on sight, and Jack’s chicken pie, because I’m too tired to stand rolling out pastry and getting it stuck to the board, we settle on prawn tagliatelle.

I’m in the shop, trying not to panic, but there’s still an awful lot to do. I want to sort out the wool for Connie to give to Angela at Thursday’s Stitch and Bitch. Stanley’s having a new blanket for his bed with animals on, only I didn’t have all the colours; and then I need to check the computer. And I need to get the back door sorted at the house. It keeps sticking so it’s really difficult to shut and I’ve practically dislocated my bloody shoulder on it a couple of times already. Actually, maybe Martin could have a look at it for me. I think he’s due in at some point this morning. He’s getting his quote sorted for all the carpentry work so he’s been in measuring up. I must remember to call Mr Prewitt about Elsie’s wages; she’s
doing more days over the next few weeks and I want to pay her a bit extra on top of that too.

I keep getting those sharp little cramps you get in the last few weeks, which is annoying. I know it’s just the practice ones; I had them for days with Archie, but I wish they’d pack it in. Okay, let’s find the note I put in the order book about the colours Angela needs, and then I should order some more mohair – we sold loads at the weekend.

Martin’s upstairs poking bits of the ceiling when I go up to make tea.

‘This isn’t too bad, you know.’

‘Good. Oh, and I meant to ask you, our back door at home has gone funny. You couldn’t have a look at it, could you? It keeps sticking.’

‘It’ll be all the rain we’ve had. Easily sorted; it probably needs a bit of adjusting, that’s all. I’m finished here, so we can go round now, if you like?’

‘Oh, right. Okay.’

‘I’m just popping home for a bit, Elsie. I’ll be back in later.’

‘All right, dear. Make sure you rest. Don’t start doing your housework.’

As if.

We walk home slowly, with me doing my waddling.

Martin gives me a slightly anxious look.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘You seem quiet.’

‘Bit tired, that’s all. I’ll be fine once I’ve had a sit-down.’

*   *   *

‘Tea?’

‘Please.’

‘You have to push it really hard, sort of lean on it and push.’

‘Right.’

‘It’s a bugger to shut as well.’

‘I can imagine. So tomorrow’s the big day then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, good luck, although I’m sure you won’t need it. Have you got everything ready?’

‘I think so. Well, most of it.’

He smiles.

‘Actually, not even half.’

‘Half is better than nothing.’

‘True.’

I’m pouring tea from the big blue teapot, leaning forwards slightly.

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re not having, what do they call them, contractions?’

‘No, of course I’m not. I’m having the baby tomorrow in hospital – I told you.’

‘Right.’

I’m putting a load of washing on.

‘Right, that’s it.’

‘Sorry.’

‘I’m phoning an ambulance.’

‘Don’t be silly, Martin.’

‘You’re making weird noises.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘You bloody are, and you keep zoning out, like you’re in another world, and I bet that’s a sign too.’

‘It’s just a sign that I didn’t sleep much last night.’

Christ. Here comes another one.

‘Actually, maybe I should go in, just to get checked over. I can –’

Oh God. Either there’s wee all over the kitchen floor or my waters have broken.

I am not doing this. This isn’t part of the plan. Right. I’ll drive to the hospital, and it’ll all be fine. Although maybe driving isn’t such a clever idea. Martin can drive. Calling an ambulance seems a bit excessive.

‘Martin.’

‘I’m on the telephone.’

‘Martin.’

‘I know … try to stay calm, they said, and an ambulance is on its way. Right. Stay calm. Christ almighty, how do they expect people to stay calm? What, sorry, I’ll ask her. They want to know how many minutes apart.’