Knit One Pearl One Page 28

  “I just think you need to—”

  “No, I don’t need to do anything, Martin. Good night. You can see yourself out can’t you? Night Trevor.”

  Trevor wags his tail as I walk out of the kitchen toward the stairs.

  Christ. I don’t know why he’s got himself into such a state, but he’s got me into one now. And he did sound uncannily like his mother for a minute or two there. Bloody hell. If Ellen wasn’t at her awards thing, I’d call her. So I go back and sit at the kitchen table instead, and write a list, eating half a packet of chocolate biscuits in the process. And Martin is definitely not on my list. Bloody cheek. No proper mother. Christ.

  Elsie’s standing with her arms folded when I get to the shop the next morning. Well, she can keep them bloody folded, because I’m not in the mood.

  I don’t think those aspirin I took earlier can have kicked in yet either. I still feel like I’ve got a very tight hat on.

  “Morning dear, I told him you wouldn’t like it.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I told him to talk to you about it, not just go booking it, but he wouldn’t listen. Mind you, it does look like a nice hotel, doesn’t it dear? In the brochure, I mean. Four stars and your dinner for that price, and it’ll do you good to get away for a weekend. And we can manage in the shop, it’s just one day really and I know Saturdays get busy but I’m sure we’ll be fine, and it’s not until November, make a nice break just before Christmas.”

  “Elsie, sorry, I’m not—”

  “I’ve always liked Brighton, and there’s some tree he wants to see, on the way, did he say? In a village, hundreds of years old, a yew tree I think he said. So you can have a break and he can look at it on the way back. So that’ll be nice, won’t it dear? Only I did tell him he should have checked with you before he went ahead and booked it.”

  “Right.”

  “I mean, it’s not that easy, is it, planning for a little holiday, it takes thinking about.”

  “Yes.”

  “He was in right old temper this morning; I couldn’t get a word out of him. I only got Jeffrey to drive me round with a bit of washing for him, a few shirts ready for this trip he’s doing for work; he’ll be in hotels all the time, and they charge a fortune, don’t they? He still hasn’t got that washing machine sorted out, you know. Stainless steel and flashing lights are all very well, but you need something to do the washing in. He says he’s still deciding, but you want to tell him to get a move on. Can’t cook a nice dinner without an oven, can you dear? Typical man he is; they never think of the practicalities, do they? His father’s just the same.”

  “Right.”

  “I only said he should get the washer sorted because I won’t always be around to do his laundry for him, and he nearly bit my head off. Not had a proper breakfast probably; he’s always terrible when he hasn’t had a breakfast. Shall I put that new silk mix out; it’s just arrived, and that pale pink has sold out again.”

  “Yes please.”

  “We’re a bit low on the mohair again, for the shawls. Shall I put it in the book?”

  “Thanks Elsie.”

  Damn. He must have been waiting for me to get home so he could tell me about Brighton and his big surprise. Damn. I call Ellen.

  “Silly sod, I hope you told him where to get off.”

  “Oh, I told him all right. But he had it all planned, Ellen. It’s such a shame, I feel awful now.”

  “Why? If he thinks he can start giving you lectures, it’s the beginning of the end. You don’t need that, or deserve it, come to that. Still, he’s gone up in my estimation if I’m honest. I didn’t think he had it in him. I mean obviously he was talking complete bollocks, but you’ve got to give him credit for being a bit assertive.”

  “He can be assertive, Ellen. Just not aggressive and domineering, which is a good thing; it’s one of the things I like most about him, well, usually. Actually, I think this might be more about Patsy than me, you know.”

  “Who?”

  “His ex-wife, Patricia, the one who ran off with his sales manager, where he used to work, and now everyone has to call her Patsy, and she wears an ankle chain. I think he was so humiliated by it all, it’s made him extrasensitive.”

  “Doesn’t sound very sensitive to me. I mean you’d told him you were out with me and he still went into one, didn’t he? And anyway, you can do what you like; you don’t have to stay indoors with boring old Martin every night, darling.”

  “He’s not boring, Ellen, he’s just, well, he doesn’t need to keep proving himself, he knows what he wants.”

  “Yes, and I bet it’s made of wood. Maybe this is a sign you should be taking a step back, keep your options open. Tell Martin to sort himself out or ship out. On that stupid bloody boat of his.”

  “He probably wouldn’t make it out of the harbor. Look what happened last time.”

  She laughs. “We can put the coast guard on alert, and find you someone new.”

  “No thanks, not unless they’re a grown-up. I don’t want anyone else with daft dogs and bits of wood everywhere.”

  “I think you’re wrong on that one, darling. You don’t need an older man moaning on about what time is his supper, and where have you been? You need a bright young thing, handy for Friday nights but not up for anything involving moving furniture, apart from in the bedroom.”

  “Ellen, please.”

  “No, seriously. A younger man would be perfect for you, and it would send out a very good signal to old Dovetail. Plenty more trees in the forest, that kind of thing.”

  “Where on earth do you think I’m going to find a younger man round here? I’d probably know his mother and she’d march into the shop and slap me silly. No thanks.”

  “I bet that Tom’s got some fit young friends. But if you’re sure, don’t say I didn’t offer. Look, I better go, darling. I’ve got a car waiting, but call me later, yes?”

  “Sure, and thanks Ellen. I was worried I was being unfair, but you don’t think I should ring him then?”

  “No, I bloody don’t. Definitely not. Leave him to calm down and apologize. Or bugger off. Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sure? If you get tempted to call, ring me first, promise?”

  “Yes. I’m going to sort out the orders for knitting kits, and then take the kids to the beach.”

  “Good. Talk later, darling.”

  I keep trying to decide whether to call him, or text, in between watching Pearl fill her paddling pool with sand while the boys build camps with their plastic soldiers. I don’t want to leave it like this, whatever Ellen says, and I finally crack in the evening and send him a text:

  HOPE YOU’RE OKAY. AM IN THE SHOP TOMORROW MORNING IF YOU FANCY BREAKFAST BEFORE YOU LEAVE FOR YOUR WORK TRIP.

  But there’s no reply.

  Bloody cheek. Well, he’s definitely off my list now.

  It’s Wednesday morning, and I’m in the shop upstairs in the office for a couple of hours before Cinzia brings the kids in and we go to the beach again. Martin’s in Glasgow according to Elsie, and I’m not sure he actually got my text because apparently Trevor buried his phone again, so he had to get a new one. But I’m not playing that game; if he wants to call, he can. He’ll have kept the same number, so he’ll have got my text, eventually. He hasn’t fallen down a crevasse; he can phone or text if he wants to. And he hasn’t, so he’s obviously still sulking, which is his problem, not mine. Ellen’s been giving me pep talks, but actually I’m fine about it. Surprisingly fine, to be honest. I’ve got enough on my plate trying to get through the last bit of the school holidays, and keep the shop going, and the café stocked with ice cream. We had our highest sales ever last week, but Connie’s mum has finally gone home, so Mark has been pretty full-on at the pub, and we’re running low on the sorbet and the vanilla and fudge. I haven’t got time to worry about stupid men who put two and two together and make fifteen. Either he gets over it or he doesn’t. It’s not something I can help him with.

/>   The phone rings. If it’s that rep who keeps trying to sell me horrible plastic needles I think he might be in for a surprise, because I’m really not in the mood.

  “Morning angel.”

  Bloody hell, what is it with Daniel? Either he’s turning up out of the blue or he’s ringing when I least expect it.

  “Hello Daniel.”

  “How do you fancy a few days in Devon?”

  “Sorry?”

  “I’ve got a job, some U.K. staycation thing, a magazine piece for next spring, how all the beautiful people are having holidays at home. You know the kind of thing, when you can’t face being stuck at the airport for three days, getting one bottle of water from British Airways and then being told to sod off and wait in the tent outside for further information. Bastards.”

  “Well I hope they’ve got anoraks.”

  “British Airways?”

  “No, the people staying at home for their holidays. I went to Devon once with Nick, and it rained the entire time.”

  “Christ, I hadn’t factored in rain. Right, Tony, she says it’ll be chucking it down, so let’s make sure we’ve got all the gear for that too.”

  There’s a pause and sounds of muttering. It doesn’t sound like Tony’s pleased.

  “Tony says thanks a lot, that’s just screwed up his whole budget.”

  “It might not rain.”

  “If we haven’t got all the gear, it bloody will. Tony’s always getting us stuck in the middle of bloody nowhere with half the kit we need and trying to blame it on the client. I don’t know why I have him on the payroll really; cost of his food is enough to make you weep.”

  There’s the sound of scuffling now.

  “She says you’re an idiot, Tony, and she doesn’t know why I don’t give you the old heave-ho, and neither do I frankly. Right, anyway, Devon. They want gorgeous people but in family groups, all bleached driftwood and trendy surfers. The campaign is for all-year-round holidays, so it won’t be a total disaster if the weather isn’t perfect. Tony’s got all the details, but I thought since we’ll be down there for a few days, you could join us and I could get to know my Pearly Queen a bit better.”

  “Not if you keep calling her your Pearly Queen you won’t.”

  “I’d like to spend some proper time with her.”

  There’s a pause. I know he knows that I’ll find this hard to resist.

  “We’ll be staying in a five-star hotel, overlooking some pretty epic beach; well, I say five stars, but Tony’s been wittering on about rosettes. What the fuck do rosettes stand for when they’re at home?”

  “It means they put parsley on your dinner.”

  “Christ, I haven’t stayed anywhere like that for ages. You’ll have to come, help us cope with the shock of partying with the parsley people.”

  “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

  “Seriously, I think you all need a little holiday. I could come and spend some time down there, but we’re so busy, and anyway that bloody Cinzano hates me.”

  “Cinzia does not hate you, she doesn’t hate anyone, she’s lovely.”

  “Not to me she’s not, she likes Forrest Hump.”

  “Martin has not got a hump. I told you, he sprained his shoulder.”

  I don’t think I’m going to mention that I’m not actually speaking to him right now, hump or no hump. It seems disloyal somehow.

  “Whatever. So, yes or no? You and the boys and my beautiful girl, and that horrible Italian girl if you have to. Just get in the car, turn up, and we’ll take care of everything else.”

  “Only a man who has no idea of how much kit three children need for a few days at the seaside could say that.”

  “All right, you, kids, horrible Italian, lorry following full of flip-flops and shorts. What do you say? We need to know now so we can sort out the suites.”

  “Suites? Daniel, I can’t afford that.”

  “Don’t worry about that, angel. The client won’t care how many rooms we book as long as we don’t go over budget, and thanks to Tony and his legendary scrooge act that won’t be a problem. Seriously, it won’t cost you a penny, or me either, before you start saying you don’t want me shelling out, so the cost of the hotel’s not a problem. You might need a few quid for ice creams, and that’ll be it.”

  “Can I think about it?”

  “Of course. Tony, give her all the details, she’s coming, so sort it out, would you? And try to persuade her not to bring that bloody Cinzano.”

  Christ, Martin would go nuts if he knew. But actually it’s got nothing to do with him, he’s off in a sulk, and anyway, this is just a few days by the sea in a hotel, where someone else is in charge of all the cooking for a change. I’d be mad not to go. It’ll be great for Pearl, and the boys, getting to know Daniel, even though he’ll be working, and surrounded by models and magazine people. So there’s no reason not to go. But still. Ellen’s all for it, of course, but the real clincher is when Gran says she thinks we should go and a break will do us all good. I haven’t told her that Martin and I have had what she’d call Words, but somehow she’s sensed something is up. And then she said she thinks it’s important for Pearl, and I can’t argue with that.

  The boys are so excited, partly about us having a proper holiday, but also at the prospect of finally going surfing. The beaches round here don’t have the right kinds of waves for surfing, so they’ve been longing to go somewhere and have a go. They’re practicing in the back garden on tea trays while Cinzia helps me pack; even Peter’s having a go. Gran and Betty are going to cover for me in the shop, with Elsie and Laura, and nobody’s asked me why we’re suddenly off to Devon, although Laura seems to think I’ve just spotted a last-minute bargain break and was asking me where I found out about it. Elsie was listening, so I wasn’t quite as forthcoming as I might have been and just said a friend had told me; so I wasn’t technically telling a fib but at the same time there are no snippets for her to tell Martin, if she ever actually gets to speak to him; she’s been moaning that he’s working so hard he never calls. I know the feeling.

  Cinzia staggers in with an enormous suitcase. She and Tom are back off again; she saw him having a coffee with that girl who follows his band around and threw a very Italian fit. Tom says it was only a coffee, but she says it doesn’t matter, he was already being boring, so it is over. Again. They both seem fairly relaxed about it, Tom’s doing a mild bit of moping but nothing serious, and Cinzia doesn’t appear bothered at all. I think they quite like all the drama, so I’m keeping well out of it because I don’t want to end up being the referee; I get enough of that with the boys.

  “Here, is my clothes. Do you think too many?”

  “We’re only away for four days, Cinzia.”

  “Yes, but I have some things for the Principessa too.”

  “Oh, right, great. What have you got so far?”

  It turns out she’s packed one sundress, which Pearl usually refuses to wear but is one of Cinzia’s favorites, and a couple of baby T-shirts. We unpack her case, repack it, and it seems fuller than before, and then we pack for the boys, and Pearl, and I end up with a small nylon bag for my stuff, as usual. Two pairs of jeans should do it, and maybe one dress, in case the hotel dining room is on the posh side, but apparently Cinzia thinks this is a joke, so we have to unpack her case all over again. By the time we’re done I’m exhausted, and we still have to get the bloody things downstairs.

  Cinzia grins. “I have a plan.”

  If it involves more repacking, she can count me out.

  She returns with one of our largest tea trays, which the boys have been using for their surfing practice.

  “Here, see.”

  She puts a case on the tray and slides it down the stairs.

  She’s thrilled, and so is Pearl.

  “Brava. But let’s carry the bag with all the toiletries in down, shall we? And let’s make sure the boys never see, or they’ll be shooting stuff down the stairs for weeks.”

  Crikey, what a diffe
rence a day makes. We’re in Devon, after a nightmare journey, in heavy traffic including an epic queue at Stonehenge, which as Archie so rightly said is just old rocks, so why are all these stupid people here? At one point I thought we’d have to get out and walk to Devon the queues were so bad. But we finally arrived, late last night, and found ourselves ushered up to a suite of interconnecting rooms, with a beautiful, sparkling white bathroom that is bigger than my bedroom at home. A very late supper magically appeared on trays, which fortunately nobody tried to slide down the hotel staircase. The boys have got bunk beds, which they love, in their own little bedroom, with a separate room for Cinzia, which had a cot for Pearl in it until I moved it into my room. We’ve got all the doors open between the rooms, and Pearl is wandering in and out, rearranging all our shoes. The view of the sea is beautiful; the hotel is perched on top of the cliffs, with a winding path down to the beach, and formal lawns, with loungers and umbrellas dotted about, and two swimming pools. Waiters are scurrying about serving coffee to people who are breakfasting outdoors. I think I may have died and gone to heaven.

  “Shall we go down to breakfast, Cinzia?”

  She’s wearing a miniature sundress; actually it may be one of Pearl’s.

  “Yes, I am having the full English I think.”

  I don’t think she’s going to have any trouble getting the waiter to take her order.

  “That sounds nice.”

  “I want that too, Mum, only I don’t want egg.”