Knit One Pearl One Page 30

  “It’s like my poem, Mum.”

  “What is, Jack?”

  “ ‘Hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, they danced by the light of the moon.’ Let’s do dancing, by the light of the moon, can we, Mum?”

  “Yes love.”

  Daniel looks at me and winks. He’s been reading stories to Pearl, and the book of nonsense rhymes is one of her current favorites.

  “We haven’t had slices of quince yet though, have we Jack?”

  “No, but eat a fair amount of mince though, don’t we Jack?”

  Jack giggles as Daniel stands up.

  “Come on, let’s dance. We’ve got the honey, and plenty of money, but God knows where I’ve put the runcible spoon, Queenie has probably buried it somewhere. Actually, what is a runcible spoon?”

  “We did it at school, and people think it’s like a fork and a spoon all in one, but I think it’s a special golden spoon like Kings and Queens have.”

  Daniel lifts Jack up and twirls him round, and he laughs, and then he gives Archie a twirl too and they end up dizzy and delighted, and then one of the waiters turns the music up and the Beach Boys’ “Surfing USA” booms across the beach and everyone starts dancing. The waiters form into a line, loosening their ties and taking off their rather shiny black jackets as “Help Me, Rhonda” starts playing, and they go into what seems like a well-practiced routine, which is brilliant and very funny, and also quite rude, but in a way that none of the kids will pick up on. Pearl is dancing, and is picked up by our breakfast waiter and twirled around for a quick jive, and Cinzia and Amber, one of the models from the photo shoot, are in the middle of the circle, dancing with all the waiters simultaneously. It’s so perfect you almost want to clap. Actually, Pearl is clapping.

  By eleven the kids are half asleep, despite pretending they’re not, so we carry them up the hill, with Tony and Daniel carrying the boys and Cinzia carrying Pearl while I carry the bags.

  “Are you coming back down, angel?”

  “I don’t know. Someone needs to stay with the kids, and I’m pretty tired.”

  Actually I’m still feeling a bit dizzy from all the dancing. I may have slightly overdone it on the gin and tonics, but I really don’t care.

  “Cinzia will stay with the kids. Come back down and have another drink.”

  Cinzia doesn’t look that pleased. I think she’s got plans with one of the waiters, which come to think of it is probably just the kind of thing her mother is hoping I’ll be watching out for. Tom too, not that it’s any of my business. But I have stayed in the room for the past two nights.

  “Maybe, just for one more drink.”

  After a sleepy round of putting pajamas on, and tucking them into bed, we walk back down to the beach, and sit chatting and drinking and watching the fire, while people dance and melt away into the dunes.

  “Fancy a dance, Jo?”

  “Thanks Tony, but I’m fine.”

  “Have a dance with me, love, celebrate the holiday?”

  “Okay.”

  He’s so sweet, Tony. He puts his arms on my shoulders and we sway along to “No Woman No Cry.” Which always makes me want to cry.

  He kisses my hand as the music finishes.

  “Thank you Tony, that was lovely.”

  “My pleasure, sweetheart. You’ve made this week a total treat. We should have you and the kids on all our jobs, makes him behave himself. No walking off in a huff if he doesn’t get his own way.”

  “I heard that.”

  “You were meant to, guv.”

  “Charming. I bring you to all these nice places, and all you ever do is moan.”

  “Nice places? I was up at five yesterday sorting those fucking huts out.”

  “Yes, and they still looked like crap.”

  “Watch out, guv, she’s coming over.”

  One of the models, Tanya, the one who wore the see-through muslin shirt to breakfast, comes and drapes herself across Daniel.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to dance with me, darling.”

  “Have you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a shame; I’m all danced out, but thanks.”

  Tony’s staring at his feet and trying not to laugh.

  We sit watching the fire, and I realize I’m nearly asleep.

  “I think I’ll go up.”

  “I’ll walk up with you, angel, make sure you don’t fall off that bloody cliff path.”

  We start up the hill, which seems much longer now.

  “Bloody hell, angel, I’m way too tired for this. They should have a lift.”

  “Or one of those golf carts. I quite like the idea of whizzing up and down in one of those. The boys would love it too.”

  “I wanted to say thanks, angel.”

  “What for?”

  “These past couple of days. Tony’s right, bringing the kids and everything, it’s made a real difference. I’ve loved it.”

  “Good, because we’ve had a brilliant time.”

  “You’re a total sweetheart, you know that, don’t you?”

  And then he kisses me. A nice friendly kiss, which suddenly turns into something else.

  “Sorry angel, I didn’t mean to do that.”

  We’re both smiling now as he moves a strand of my hair behind my ear and kisses me again. And I kiss him back.

  Oh God.

  “I think I should—”

  “Yes.”

  “Cinzia will be waiting for me.”

  “Let her wait. Let’s just stand here for a minute, look at the moon; it’s so close you could almost touch it. Fancy a dance?”

  He’s smiling as I look up at the moon, and he kisses me again.

  “Daniel.”

  “I know. But just for tonight, angel, just you and me?”

  Oh God.

  Bloody hell. It’s half past two.

  “Daniel, I’ve got to go.”

  “I know, just stay a bit longer. It’s usually me who creeps out of hotel bedrooms in the middle of the night, and this is the second time you’ve done this to me, first Venice and now Devon. Takes a bit of getting used to. Stay a bit longer.”

  “But Cinzia will—”

  “She’ll be fast asleep, dreaming of waiters, and so will Queenie, and the boys will be dreaming of waves. Come here.”

  It’s half past four by the time I get back to the room, with my hair in a total tangle and a strange mark on my neck.

  Bloody hell.

  Bloody bloody hell.

  • • • 8 • • •

  Diamonds and Pearls

  September and October

  It’s ten o’clock on Tuesday morning and we’re all still in our pajamas. The traffic on the journey home from Devon was so terrible we had to stop three times, and each motorway service station was worse than the last.

  Archie’s busy reuniting himself with Peter Rabbit, who seems have enjoyed his mini-break with Gran and Reg. I’m pretty sure Reg has cleaned out his hutch too, and put in fresh straw, so that’s one thing off my list, which is a bloody good job because I’ve just finished writing it, and it was so long I needed a second sheet of paper. Jack and Pearl are watching telly, in between Pearl lining up all our shoes in the hall, so I put the second load of washing on and call Ellen.

  “What time did you get back?”

  “Really late. The journey was a nightmare; I got so desperate I almost let Cinzia drive, and she’s only got a license for a scooter. I’m so knackered I feel like I need another holiday.”

  She laughs. “Well, if you will go having magic moments, darling. What did he say in the morning?”

  “Nothing really. We were busy with the kids at breakfast, and then with all the packing we didn’t really get a chance to talk. But it was okay; it didn’t feel too shameful or anything.”

  “Of course not, darling, it’s brilliant actually, but you do need to know what he’s thinking.”

  “I don’t even know what I’m thinking, Ellen, and anyway, he’s off to New
York. He said he’ll call when he’s back and fix a time to come down to see Pearl.”

  “Yes, but don’t you want some time with him, just the two of you? Why don’t you leave the kids with Cinzia and see him in town when he gets back? See how you go. Call him tonight and arrange it.”

  “Because I don’t want to, not really. It felt right to be coming home. This isn’t the start of anything, Ellen, I’m sure it isn’t, and there’ll be loads to do in the shop. I haven’t even got their school uniforms sorted and they’re back next week. And anyway, Cinzia’s sulking.”

  “Why?”

  “She had a hot date lined up.”

  “Not as hot as yours by all accounts. She’ll get over it.”

  “I know, but I don’t want to push it. She’s got the day off today, so I’m hoping she’ll be a bit happier tomorrow. Gran will be around, but I really need some proper time in the shop. God knows what they’ve got up to while I’ve been away, but I bet Elsie’s ordered all sorts of tragic stuff.”

  “You’re not feeling guilty about Martin, are you? Because you shouldn’t, you know. All bets are off if he’s too stupid to call you.”

  “It’s weird, but I’m okay about that. I think because I know it’s not real. If I thought it was the start of something, I’m sure I’d feel really guilty. Look, I better go, we’ve got to get to the bloody supermarket if we want any lunch.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “I know. I’m so looking forward to it. I’ll call you later.”

  “Well done darling, just what you needed, a nice little fling, and I still think it might be more than that.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Actually, what I’d really like is not to think about Daniel or Martin or anyone over ten. I want a nice calm few days doing what Nick used to call my ostrich act. I can’t cope with all this drama. I haven’t got the time to go into a meltdown about me and my complicated life, not unless food is going to magically appear in the fridge and someone else is going to finish the unpacking and sort all the washing and work out where Pearl’s hidden her sandals.

  We finally get to the supermarket just before lunch, when everyone is hungry, so that’s a great start. But Jack and Archie are luckily in helpful mode and find items on the list quite chirpily, which gains me a few admiring glances from other mothers busy wrestling unsolicited food off their kids. Pearl sits in the seat in the trolley, wearing her tiara and waving breadsticks in a rather regal fashion. It’s all going quite well until we get to the dairy aisle. The boys are fed up and start bickering about whether we do or do not like chocolate milk, which we’re not buying anyway, and then they both start lobbying me to buy cheese strings, which are so revolting I refuse to buy them on principle. And before I know it all three of them are yelling and Pearl throws down her tiara, as a prelude to a serious tantrum. It skitters across the floor and disappears under one of the freezer cabinets.

  “Stop it, right now, all of you. Jack, get the bloody tiara, would you?”

  Jack and Archie pause, midshove.

  “Mum, you said bloody.”

  “I know I did. I’m very cross.”

  “Yes but—”

  “No buts, Archie, just be quiet.”

  Jack’s lying on his tummy, retrieving the tiara, and even Pearl has gone silent, although she’s clearly considering whether to go into a Full Monty meltdown.

  Jack hands me the tiara, and I put the sodding thing back on her head.

  “Thank you, Jack. Pearl, no more shouting, we just need a few more things and we can go home. We can get chocolate mousse, for people who are not doing shouting, but there can’t be any for people who are being silly.”

  Jack and Archie nod, recognizing the signs of a mother about to ban television for the rest of the day, but Pearl is oblivious and slowly removes her tiara and chucks it. Thankfully this time it lands in among the frozen peas.

  “She’s done it again, Mum.”

  “Thanks Archie, I did notice. Just ignore her.”

  I pick the tiara up and put it in my bag as she goes into a full screaming strop. She’s kicking her legs and could probably propel the trolley round the shop all by herself. I move to the back of the trolley and push it from the side, a trick I learned with Archie, which attracts another admiring glance from a mum, but for a different reason obviously.

  We move into the household supplies section, and the boys find washing-up liquid and fabric softener, and each time I put anything in the trolley there’s another round of shrieking and kicking. Jack and Archie, after initially quite enjoying the spectacle of their sister looping out, are now trudging along looking unhappy. I think they’re genetically programmed to sympathize with whichever member of the family is having a strop with their mother. They quite enjoy someone getting a mini-telling-off, but anything more protracted than that and their allegiances definitely shift.

  “I think you’re being very cruel, Mum.”

  “Do you, Archie? Get a box of Shreddies please, love.”

  “I don’t like—”

  “I don’t care, just get a box, and get Weetabix too please, and no, we’re not having chocolate anything.”

  He tuts.

  “Mum.”

  “Yes Jack?”

  “Can I give her a breadstick, she’s lost her others.”

  Pearl pauses, to listen to my response.

  “She hasn’t lost them, Jack; she’s thrown them on the floor, which was silly. So no, I’ve got better things to spend my money on than food for people to throw on the floor. When she stops yelling, and says sorry, we can have a cuddle. But people who yell and kick and throw things can’t have breadsticks. Or tiaras.”

  We get into another round of yelling and I’m starting to think I might have to cave and give her the bloody tiara when Annabel Morgan appears, pushing a trolley with Horrible Harry trotting along beside her. How absolutely bloody perfect. Harry and Archie glare at each other as Annabel scans the contents of my trolley and gives me one of her special condescending smiles. Thank God I didn’t let them have the cheese strings.

  “Supermarkets are so ghastly, aren’t they? We usually shop at the farmers’ markets, so super, aren’t they? But we’re just back from two weeks in France; Harry’s French has improved so much. I suppose with your little shop it must be so difficult for you. Did you manage to get away at all?”

  “We’ve just got back from Devon.”

  Archie nods and steps forward. Oh, God.

  “Yes, and we stayed in a big hotel, with swimming pools and everything, it was brilliant, and we had fridges in our rooms, with chocolate in, and nuts. And Coke. And we did surfing, and Ted said I was very good, so I might be a surfer when I grow up, or a magician, I haven’t decided yet.”

  He smiles, and gives Harry a rather menacing I-can-do-magic-so-you-better-watch-out kind of look.

  Pearl has stopped yelling and is busy watching Archie, so I think this might be the perfect time for a quick exit before she starts up again. “Lovely to see you, Annabel, but we must get on.”

  I risk pulling the trolley from the front, while Pearl glares at me and then turns her head away, so she practically ends up facing backward, and we head into the biscuits and cakes aisle, which was very poor planning on my part because Jack and Archie start agitating for all sorts of packets of biscuits which we don’t usually buy, and since I’m trying to be placatory, we end up with marshmallow teacakes and peanut cookies and a giant pack of Kit Kats, along with the digestives and custard creams for the shop, while I take the opportunity to solicit the magic word sorry from Pearl and reunite her with the bloody tiara, along with a large chunk of baguette. And then we’re into the sweets and crisps aisle and things get even worse. Still, I’m sure they’ll come in handy at some point, and I need all three of them out of full-strop mode so we can look at new school shirts and trousers in the clothing aisles at the back of the store.

  After the usual scramble to find the right sizes, which are miraculously on the racks, we h
ead for the till, and the end is in sight. Hurrah. Thirteen shopping bags later, I’m about to put my credit card into the machine when the till beeps and goes blank.

  “The till’s gone down. You’ll have to go to another till and put it back through again.”

  The girl behind the till seems to find this amusing; she’s about nineteen, and presumably child-free. Charm-free too.

  “Sorry?”

  “There’s nothing I can do, you’ll have to go through another till.”

  She’s definitely smirking now. There are long queues at all the other tills, and Pearl’s nearly finished eating her bread.

  Actually, I don’t bloody think so.

  “Can you call the manager for me please?”

  She presses a button, and a supervisor wanders over. Pearl is definitely moments away from another strop, and I’m about to join her.

  “Sorry, there’s nothing we can do, you’ll need to go through another till.”

  “But we’ve got the total, it’s still on the credit card machine, here’s my card, just put it through and I can go.”

  “You need a till receipt.”

  “I really don’t.”

  “We can’t let you take things like that. How would we know what things you’ve bought? We need it for stock control. I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to rescan everything.”

  “I think I need to speak to the manager.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “The duty manager then. Now please.”

  She looks at me, and takes a mobile from her apron pocket as she walks away a few feet and turns her back.

  “He says he’s very busy, sorry.”