Knit One Pearl One Read online

  “It’s a definite then. We’ll find something, and I won’t tell you how much it costs, and then you can pay the same as a cheap package deal and we’ll all be happy. And don’t start saying ‘yes but,’ because that’s what we’re doing. I’ve decided. And I’m loving this cardigan, darling; I want to make another one.”

  Ellen’s knitted a short pale pink cardigan in a silky cotton, which I sewed up for her because she tends to end up with bumpy seams and one arm shorter than the other.

  “I’ve brought you the olive green you liked; it’s in one of the bags.”

  “Thanks darling, and I want to make something for Eddie, do the full motherly thing. One of your blankets, if you’ll do the sewing thing for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m really enjoying knitting again you know; it fills in time when I’m hanging about in the studio, and it means I’ve always got something pointy to hand if anyone annoys me. Christ, aren’t we done yet?” She turns to Edam. “Five more minutes, okay, and then I’m throwing everyone out. We’ve got things to do this afternoon. Darling, hello, stop looking at that bloody screen, are we done? Because you’ve got about five minutes left before I turn back into a psycho pumpkin.”

  Ellen did the interview earlier on, and it all sounded great. The piece will be at least three pages, and there’ll be an insert box with details of the shop and our website, and some pictures of knitting kits and our new range of tea cozies. Laura and I knitted a batch of pale blue and pebble white ones for Gus and Duggie at the Bay, with “The Bay” knitted in mint green, which inspired us to do a whole new range. So far we’ve done ones with “More Tea, Vicar?,” “Keep Calm and Carry On,” and “Time for Tea & Cake,” with a small knitted fairy cake on the top instead of our usual pom-pom. We’ve lined them with cotton gingham, and they’re selling really well, particularly at weekends, when the exodus from London brings all sorts of day-trippers into the shop. I’ve got Gran and Betty making more, and I’m doing a kit for the Tea & Cake ones, since they’re the best sellers so far.

  “I can’t wait to see the magazine. It’s for the November issue, so it’ll be out in October, yes?”

  Ellen checks with the magazine people, and a rather scary-looking woman who’s wearing very bright red lipstick and various shades of black says yes, it will be November.

  “But we won’t actually still be sitting here then, will we, darling? Because a one-hour shoot does seem to be heading toward the third hour now, and I’m starting to get a bit pissed off.”

  “Sorry, we’re nearly done, we’d just like one more set, maybe with you standing by the window, and Joanne sitting on the sofa; we think the contrast would work really well.”

  Ellen gives her a Look. Oh dear.

  “It’s Josephine, as in Napoleon and Josephine, and I’m Napoleon: small, but very determined. Happy to be violent when required. And no, I don’t think standing by a window will work. Apart from anything else, I don’t actually knit standing up. Authenticity is so important, isn’t it, darling? Let me see what you’ve got so far. But I’m serious, ten more minutes and we’re done.”

  By the time we’re finally done, it’s half past two, but I’m the proud owner of the silk dress and the orange sandals, at a vastly reduced price, which Ellen has negotiated, which is a bloody good job because the dress alone costs nearly three hundred pounds in the shops.

  “Right, let’s go. Clothes shopping, then tea somewhere fabulous. Where does your train go from?”

  “Charing Cross.”

  “I’ll get my girl at the office to book the Savoy then.”

  “Can’t we go straight to tea? I’ve already got a new frock, and shoes.”

  “No, we cannot. And don’t forget, they pay expenses, so send me your train ticket and I’ll get the office to sort it. There’s a new wool shop I’ve spotted, which you’ll love, all your sort of stuff, only three times the price, and then I want to go to Bond Street. There are some shoes I need to try on, and who knows, we might even find you some decent jeans.”

  “I’ve got jeans, Ellen.”

  “No, you haven’t, not really, darling. Trust me.”

  She drags me round a series of shops, including the fabulous wool shop full of treasures at extortionate prices, where I surreptitiously take a few pictures with my phone, and then countless shoe shops and clothes shops, which all end up merging into one. But I do buy a new pair of jeans, which even I can see are somehow magically better fitting than my usual ones; and a new pair of green ballet flats; two new bras, after a rather unwarranted lecture from Ellen where I basically ended up buying them just to shut her up; and a floral A-line skirt, in blues and greens, which she insisted I buy practically on pain of death.

  “I’m still not sure about that skirt you know, I don’t really need it.”

  “If we only bought things we need, darling, we’d all look appalling. Clothes are meant to be beautiful, lift your spirits, that kind of thing, and that skirt is beautiful and it lifts my spirits, so shut up. The color works for you, the cut is great, and you can wear it with your boots in the autumn. It’ll cheer us up in all that mist and rain you go in for down by the seaside. Let’s find a taxi.”

  “Can we go to John Lewis? I want to look at new sheets for the boys, and maybe—”

  “God, you’re hopeless. Sheets are for online shopping, not wasting valuable drinking time. Let’s do the Savoy tourist thing and have afternoon tea. At least they do a decent martini there. Or champagne? And if you say you want a nice cup of tea, I’m going to hit you with your new sandals.”

  The Savoy have stopped serving tea when we arrive, and a rather snooty waiter is about to glide away and leave us standing there until Ellen goes into full Britain’s Favorite Broadcaster mode, and before we know it we’re whisked off to the American Bar, and given a gorgeous array of dainty sandwiches and cakes, and a bottle of champagne.

  “God, I love champagne, anytime, anywhere. It always hits the spot, doesn’t it darling?”

  “It certainly does.”

  “Have you had a lovely time today?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Good, so have I. Just think, if you moved back to London, we could do this every day.”

  “Apart from the fact that I’d be working full-time to pay for the nanny, and the massive mortgage, so we’d probably see less of each other than we do now. Talking of which, when’s your new nanny starting?”

  “Next month. We’ve settled on three days a week. She still does two days for her other family, and that’s a good sign, that they want to keep her, yes?”

  “Definitely. She sounds lovely. How long has she been with them?”

  “Nearly ten years, so hopefully that will all work out. Harry’s already happier now he can see the end is in sight; he hasn’t completely loved the house-husband thing, not that I blame him. Total nightmare stuck at home every day trying to think of clever things to do with glove puppets. I hope she turns out be a total treasure, so he can get some freelance work. I’ll be busy with the autumn series, and then we can decide about baby number two.”

  “I thought you had decided.”

  “I keep changing my mind. I’d definitely go for it if I knew I’d have a girl. Don’t look at me like that, I’m just being honest; if I had another boy, I wouldn’t put it up for adoption or anything, but I really want a girl. Why don’t you have another one too? One of us is bound to get a girl, and if it’s you we can do a swap. Actually, that’s a brilliant plan. Otherwise all my expert shopping skills are going to go to waste. Eddie yells if I take him into any shop that doesn’t sell food.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t, Ellen.”

  “He bloody does. He’ll sit in the buggy quite happily at the farmers’ market, or in the trolley at the supermarket, but anything remotely designer, he kicks off the minute I wheel him through the doors.”

  “He’s a boy after my own heart.”

  “Yes, but my Pearly girl definitely has the makings of a fashionista,
even if her mother doesn’t.”

  “Not if it involves hats she doesn’t. She buried another one on the beach last week. She digs a nice little hole and then pops her sun hat in when she thinks I’m not looking. She’s as bad as bloody Trevor for digging bloody holes and burying things.”

  “At least she’s stopped putting things in the washing machine.”

  “Not entirely. I washed two bits of Archie’s train set on Sunday.”

  She laughs. “And how’s Dovetail getting on? No more falling asleep?”

  “No, thank you. He’s fine; he’s got a big job on at work, so he’ll be away for three weeks, nearly four, all over the place, installing some new critical upgrade, something like that.”

  “So that’ll be you stuck with that bloody dog? For three weeks? Jesus darling, that’s a bit harsh.”

  “No, thank God, there’s good news on that front. Jeffrey’s setting up a workshop at the barn, in the old stables. He’s got stacks of stuff in the garden shed which Elsie’s been desperate to get rid of for years. So he’s going to move it all, and that way he’ll be there every day to look after Trevor. He’s going to work on all the window frames, making new bits, and that’ll take weeks.”

  “He’s making his own window frames? Christ, they really go for it in the wonderful world of wooden things, don’t they?”

  “I know, but Martin’s earning a fortune on this job, so he thinks he can take October off to finish the barn; well, perhaps not finish, but get the kitchen in, and the last bit of the roof done. So you never know, maybe there’ll be less planks lying around next time you see it. He’s looking after the kids tonight, when Cinzia goes out on her date. She and Tom are seeing each other properly now.”

  “Seeing each other, as in shagging? Christ, I’d never even thought about what my policy is on my domestic staff shagging. I suppose as long as it’s not Harry, it’s fine.”

  “She’s not my domestic staff, not really, and anyway I’m trying not to think about it. I’m not sure her family back in Italy would approve.”

  She laughs. “Well, if you wake up with a horse’s head in your bed, give me a call, darling.”

  “I woke up with a shoe on my pillow the other day; Pearl woke up early to rearrange the bottom of my wardrobe.”

  “See, that’s why I need a girl, they get shoes in a way boys just don’t.”

  She orders another bottle of champagne while I call home, but the line’s engaged.

  “Just one more glass, then I need to go or I’ll miss my train.”

  “Cheers darling. Here’s to us.”

  “Us what?”

  “Us, being fabulous.”

  I raise my glass.

  “Talking of fabulous, any news from Fitzcarraldo?”

  “He’s in Spain, in the mountains, doing some winter fashion thing, or he was the last time I heard from him. But he sent the photographs of us on the beach at my birthday, and they’re lovely. There are some beautiful ones of Pearl, and the boys, and a really nice one of me holding Maximo, talking to Connie. He’s really good at taking pictures of kids; Maximo looks angelic.”

  “Quite good at grown-ups too, darling, from the number of awards he wins.”

  “Yes, but he doesn’t make you pose, he just wanders around, and you forget he’s there. Not like Edam.”

  “Who?”

  “The photographer today.”

  She laughs.

  “Erdenne. Though I’m calling him Edam from now on, it’s much better. Yes, he was a bit full of himself, wasn’t he? Come on, drink up darling. I’ve got to go to this stupid awards thing, and you’ve got a train to catch. Or we could stay here all night. Actually, let’s do that. I’m sure we can find two businessmen at a loose end who’d love to take us to dinner.”

  “No thank you. Loose businessmen aren’t really my style. And we can take ourselves to dinner, can’t we?”

  “Yes, but it would be a laugh. A bit of off-the-record flirting, just to keep your skills up.”

  She pours me another glass of champagne.

  “What skills? No, it’s tempting, but I really need to get home, Ellen, and you should go to the awards thing.”

  “Yes, but one more glass, to celebrate your new frock. And your proper girlie shandals.”

  “Shandals?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  Bugger. I’ve missed the 8:30 train, so I have to hang around at the station for nearly an hour, trying to make a cappuccino last and avoid sitting next to anyone who looks like they might be psychotic, which isn’t easy. I have to move seats three times, and I try calling home again but the line’s still engaged. I’m quite pleased with myself for not going into maternal meltdown and ringing every three minutes until I get through; I know Martin will call if there’s anything up, and it’s either Cinzia talking to her friends or Elsie calling Martin with one of her lectures. So I buy another cappuccino and pretend to read the paper, and then the bloody train stops at every single station and it’s nearly midnight by the time I’m walking back up the hill from the station. Still, at least I’ve got new shandals.

  Martin’s half asleep on the sofa when I get in.

  “God, I’m so sorry, Martin. I didn’t mean to be so late.”

  “They’re all asleep.”

  Poor thing, he’s looking pretty irritated.

  “Thanks so much, Martin. And I’m really sorry, it all took longer than I thought it would and then I missed the 8:30 by minutes. What time did Cinzia leave?”

  “Around eight, after Pearl was asleep.”

  “Great, she said she’d wait until she’d put her down. Would you like a coffee, or tea? I think I’m going to have one.”

  “No thanks, I better be off. Nothing worse than when the paid help lingers, is there? Or the unpaid help in my case.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I wish you’d called.”

  “I did, a few times, but the phone was engaged.”

  “That was Mum, and she was only on for five minutes.”

  I know Elsie has never made a phone call to Martin that only lasted five minutes in her life, but I don’t think he’s in the mood to be contradicted.

  “Well I’m sorry, I did try, and you knew where I was, you could have called me if there was anything urgent.”

  “Yes, but that’s me all over, isn’t it? Nothing urgent.”

  “Shall we talk about this tomorrow? We could have a late breakfast, I’m in the shop for a while in the morning. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds convenient. Like I’m being slotted into your busy day.”

  “Well I don’t mean it like that, Martin, honestly.”

  “But I am, aren’t I? Now Mr. Wonderful is back on the scene.”

  Oh, God. Now I get it.

  “Nobody is back on the scene. He’s Pearl’s dad, so if he’s around a bit more, that’s got to be good, don’t you think?”

  “Oh yes, bloody brilliant, calling everyone angel and chucking money about like there’s no tomorrow. While muggins here gets to stop in and babysit. I had hoped we’d be spending some proper time together now I’m less busy with the boat and everything. I thought that’s what you wanted. Not to go jaunting off to London. Did you see him? Is that why you’re so late back, loaded down with bags? Did he take you shopping? How kind of him.”

  “I’m too tired for all this right now, Martin.”

  “Well I hope you remember it was me that picked up the pieces last time. I was the one worrying myself sick in the kitchen that day, when you had Pearl. And where was he? Off shacked up with an actress living the high life.”

  “Martin, Daniel’s in Spain, and I’ve been out with Ellen, just like I told you. And yes, I have been shopping, isn’t that allowed? Let’s talk about this tomorrow, when you’re less grumpy.”

  “No, I want to talk about it now. I’m fed up of being good old Martin, who you can put to one side when anything better comes along.”

  God, he’s star
ting to sound like Elsie now.

  “Nobody is putting you to one side.”

  “Well it bloody feels like it.”

  “Maybe that’s your problem, Martin, not mine. Look; I think you should go now.”

  Maybe he’s been at the vodka or something, or he’s extra tired. He has been working long hours on that bloody barn.

  “You think you’re so perfect, don’t you? But you’re not you know.”

  “I know I’m not perfect, Martin, but thanks for reminding me.”

  “It’s high time someone told you a few home truths, coming home at this time, half cut and not a word, you could have been anywhere. No proper mother would carry on like you, do you know.”

  No proper mother? Bloody hell.

  “Who’s carrying on? The only person carrying on is you.”

  “It won’t last you know, he’ll soon get tired of you.”

  Oh sod this.

  “I know but beggars can’t be choosers, can they, Martin? Middle-aged women with three kids and one of them without a husband, well, they have to take what they can get, don’t they?”

  Trevor’s looking at us rather anxiously now, and starting to whine. Just like bloody Martin.

  “Shut up, Trevor. Just take him home will you, before he wakes someone up. You’ve made your point. No proper mother. How bloody dare you? Just piss off and take that bloody dog with you.”

  “I just meant—”

  “No. I’ve had it with people just meaning. Everyone grabbing at me for what they need, their special project, their little problem, can I help, can I just fit in one more thing. It’s my turn now. And if people don’t like it—”

  “Yes, but—”

  “As long as the kids are happy, and they are, Martin, I always put them first, actually, first, second, and third. But in case it’s escaped your notice, I do need to earn a living. Nick was off having affairs and taking out a second mortgage before he finally left us, pretty much up the creek without a fucking boat, let alone a paddle.”

  “I know, but—”

  “And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. An interview with Ellen, to get more customers for the shop. And yes, losing Nick was a terrible tragedy, and of course I wish he was still around, for the boys, for all that, of course I do. But part of me thinks it was just bloody typical. When it really got tough, he drives into a bloody tree and leaves me to sort it all out. And that’s exactly what I’m doing. So why don’t you just go, and let me get on with it. It’s been a long day, like most of my days actually, and I’m doing my best, although I know it’s not perfect, thanks. But anyone who doesn’t like it can just bugger off.”