Knit One Pearl One Read online

“Well don’t forget, come back in if you need a hand with anything.”

  “I will, thank you, dear.”

  Mrs. Bullen often gets confused with patterns, and the last time she made a cardigan she ended up with two left fronts and no right, so now she tends to pop in and check she’s on the right track. We’re always happy to help, and Elsie loves it; she can give top tips and catch up on all the latest gossip at the same time.

  “Here, Jo, try this, would you?” Mark hands me a glass dish and a spoon, and Laura’s already started on hers. Great; I love it when we do tastings. The ice cream is still our best seller. I thought it might slow down in the winter, and it has a bit, but since Mark keeps to his mantra of seasonal food, and introduces new flavors every couple of weeks, demand has stayed fairly steady.

  “Not too sweet?”

  We both shake our heads; too busy enjoying it to waste time speaking.

  He smiles. “Good. The first batch I made was too sweet. Clementines can be tricky like that. I’m glad it’s okay.”

  “It’s so much more than okay, Mark.”

  Each time he brings in a new flavor I end up revising my Top Ten List. Damson, blackberry, salt caramel, the peach one he made in the summer, lemon meringue, hazelnut, and the chestnut one he made at Christmas. The raspberry ripple with old-fashioned vanilla. And the gooseberry fool was pretty epic too. Actually, maybe I’ll just have a Top Twenty, because the honeycomb is lovely too, and the black currant. I think I might need another mini-scoop.

  “Looks like the sorbet is getting low too. I’ll do some more tonight, I’ve still got stacks of frozen berries in the freezer.”

  “Lovely.”

  “I’ll do some more sherbet too, shall I?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Right, well I better be off, we’ve got a big group in for dinner later, and Con’s on at me to pull out all the stops. Some family birthday, so they’ve ordered a cake.”

  “Lucky them.”

  Laura looks longingly at him as he goes out and sighs. “I wish I could meet someone like him. Maybe a bit younger. But basically just like him. The ice cream alone would make it worth it.”

  “Maybe you should check out the local catering college?”

  She smiles. “Have you seen them? Either they’re seventeen and nervous or they think they’re God’s gift. No thanks. Mark’s so clever with the new flavors, you know; some of our regulars come in just for that.”

  “Actually, I think that was Connie’s idea. They serve the ice cream at the pub too, and they like the menu to change so they can keep things seasonal. They’ve taken on a new apprentice now, just for the pastries and ice cream.”

  “I know, he was telling me. Actually, that’s the only thing I don’t like about him really.”

  “What?”

  “That he’s got such a lovely wife.” She grins.

  “Yes, that is a drawback, I can see that.”

  “It’s bloody typical. All the good ones are married, or gay.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  She laughs, and then we realize Elsie has come into the café and has heard me. She’s not pleased. Damn. Not only have I inadvertently cast aspersions on Martin, which is something only she’s allowed to do, but we forgot to call her in for the Tasting. Bugger.

  “You’ve got to try this, Elsie.”

  “I’ve just had my lunch, thank you.” She sniffs, clearly annoyed. Great.

  Laura winks at me as I follow Elsie back into the shop.

  Things are still pretty frosty when Martin arrives.

  “Hi, Jo. Hello, Mum. I’d love a coffee.”

  “I’m not using that silly machine; you can have tea and like it. Better for you.”

  “Okay.”

  She goes into the café, and Martin looks puzzled.

  “What’s up with her now?”

  “Mark brought some new ice cream in, and I forgot to ask her to help us taste it.”

  “Oh dear, I’m sure she’ll get over it.”

  “Yes, but how long will I be getting the sniffing routine?”

  “Well, she’s still not speaking to my aunty Doris over that shortbread.”

  “And when did that happen?”

  “Three years ago.”

  “Thanks, Martin, that’s very encouraging.”

  He grins. “Sorry. Look, have you got a minute? I’ve got something to show you.”

  Oh God, I hope it’s not another bit of floorboard. Or a kitchen brochure.

  Buying the wreck of a barn to renovate was definitely one of his better ideas. It combines his passions for carpentry and all things wooden with bargain hunting and reclaiming old materials, so it’s eco-friendly too. I’m sure it will be stunning if he ever finishes it. But it does seem to involve me in more conversations about oak versus walnut than I ever imagined possible.

  “I’ve got about fifteen minutes before I need to leave to get the boys. Can it wait?”

  “I’ve found a new book—well, an old one really—with patterns, for cabinets and cupboards, for the kitchen. I got it at the library.”

  “Great.”

  “Do you think I need a plate rack?”

  “Sorry?”

  “There’s one with a sort of rack, for plates, built into the cupboard. Would that be good?”

  “Depends on how many plates you’re going to have. You’ve only got three so far.”

  “Two actually, Trevor got a bit excited when the lorry turned up yesterday with the bricks, and he knocked the table over.”

  Trevor the bloody Wonder Dog is now fully grown, and even more enormous than when we first met him pulling our new neighbor Mr. Pallfrey up our garden path on the night we moved in.

  “How’s Mr. Pallfrey doing?”

  “Fine, I think. He rang me last week from Spain. Well, I say me, but he likes to speak to Trevor too.”

  “Martin, you’re completely mad, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Trevor recognizes his voice.”

  “Well he bloody should do, he’s his dog. Which brings me to the question how come you’re stuck with him, with us as backup? It was only meant to be temporary, you know.”

  Mr. Pallfrey is visiting his daughter Christine, in Spain, ostensibly recuperating from his second hip operation, but I think he likes it so much he’s going to stay over there.

  “I still can’t work out how you’ve ended up adopting Trevor. A few weeks were fine, but it’s been ages now. And yes, I know you like dogs, and the boys adore him, and so does Pearl, although he does keep knocking her flat and sooner or later she’s going to get fed up with that. Even bloody Cinzia loves him. I know you wanted a dog, but do you really want such a huge mad one?”

  “I can’t get rid of him now, it wouldn’t be fair. I’m too nice, that’s my trouble.”

  “And an idiot.”

  I lean across the counter and kiss him, which is risky, because if Elsie comes back in with the tea there’ll be even more sniffing.

  He’s grinning now. “Anyway, enough of all that, I need to ask you something.”

  “No.”

  “You don’t know what it is yet.”

  “Can we have Trevor for the night next week while you go to London for a freelance job that’ll pay double your usual rate because their computers have all gone on the blink and you’re the only person who can unravel them?”

  “Crikey, that’s almost spooky, how did you— Oh, right. Mum.”

  Elsie puts the tray on the counter and sniffs again. “There’s only digestives.”

  “I thought you liked digestives, Elsie.”

  I’ve learnt from bitter experience that it’s pretty vital to keep Elsie supplied with the right kinds of biscuits, particularly if she’s already in a sulk.

  “I do, but I like those jam ones you got last week, I was hoping for one of those. Still, never mind. Now what were you saying, Martin?”

  “Nothing, Mum, just talking about Trevor.”

  She sniffs again.

  �
��Martin can go and get some Jammie Dodgers, Elsie. Can’t you, Martin?”

  “What? Well I—”

  “Yes. And I’ll think about that stupid dog.”

  “Right. Jammie Dodgers coming up. Is that right, Mum? Or are these some new biscuits with jam that I don’t know about?”

  “Don’t be cheeky, Martin, it doesn’t suit you.”

  It does actually.

  He kisses me on the cheek and then winks. Bugger. Elsie is definitely going to need those extra biscuits now.

  By the time I’ve got the boys home, and we’ve had baked potatoes and tuna with grated cheese for Jack, and sweet corn for Archie, and a bit of both for Pearl, although most of the sweet corn ended up on the kitchen floor as usual, because she insists on waving her spoon about, I’m exhausted. I’ve managed to get through bath time without shouting at anyone, but I’m beyond tired. Pearl conks out in her cot nice and early, but Jack and Archie are still keen for another half hour of cartoons.

  “It’s a school night, come on, up we go, and there might be time for a story.”

  “Mum, that’s just not fair. I’m the oldest; I’m nearly ten, so I should be allowed to stay up longer.”

  Archie is horrified. “You are not nearly ten, not for ages. You’re nine, and I’m nearly eight, and that’s only one littler than nine, so you’re not that bigger. Stupid.”

  “Tell him, Mum.”

  “You can keep your light on and read for a bit, Jack, you know that. But it’s bedtime now.”

  There is no way on this earth I’m falling for an extra half hour of someone sitting downstairs watching child-friendly telly every evening, thank you very much.

  “Yes, but I’m not tired, Mum, I’m really not.”

  Archie’s getting agitated now. “I’m not tired too, stupid.”

  “Well I am, so stop it, both of you. Or there won’t be time for any stories. At all.”

  They both hesitate but recognize the signs of a mother close to the edge.

  “You can choose one book each, and no, Jack, not a long book, one of your bedtime picture books. Or not. And I’ll just have a nice rest and you two can sulk.”

  “Honestly Mum, there’s no need to be so grumpy. Great big grumpypotamus.”

  “Thanks, Archie, I love you too.”

  Archie falls asleep while I’m reading to him, but Jack’s sitting up looking anxious by the time I’m trying to tuck him in.

  “Lie down, love.”

  “Mum, you know Dad is in heaven.”

  Oh God, not again.

  “Yes love.”

  “If there is a heaven. That’s what we say, isn’t it?”

  “Yes love.”

  “Well, is there?”

  “What sweetheart?”

  “A heaven.”

  “I don’t know, Jack, nobody does. Not really. Some people think there is, but if you love somebody, like you love Dad, well, that never ends. They live in your heart forever.”

  “And that’s a kind of heaven, isn’t it, Mum?”

  “Yes love.”

  And a kind of hell too, if you happen to have been on the point of leaving them and sodding off to live with a bloody French nymphet called Mimi. And now you’re stuck floating about somewhere and watching your little boys trying to make sense of it all.

  “Yes, but he can’t see us, can he? Not all the time?”

  “No love.”

  Please don’t let him ask me any more tricky questions tonight, I’m too tired and I never feel I’m getting this right. I don’t want to trot out the lines about heaven and angels, because I’m really not sure what I think about all of that, and it seems important to be honest about something so important. But I want them to have the comfort of it, like fairies and Father Christmas; that sense that magic things can happen and there will always be a happy ending. Even if it doesn’t feel like it. Something that makes the darker moments a bit more bearable.

  He’s still thinking.

  “Snuggle down, love.”

  “I can’t see him now, Mum, when I close my eyes. Sometimes I can’t remember what he looked like.”

  He’s on the brink of tears now, silent crying in the dark while he tries to make sense of it all.

  Bloody hell, I hate this. It’s so incredibly unfair.

  “I know love, neither can I, sometimes. But we’ve got lots of photographs, and our holiday films.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “I know, but when you look at the photographs, you’ll see, you’ll feel it straightaway, love.”

  “Feel what?”

  “How much he loved you, more than anything in the whole world.”

  “Yes. More than anything in the whole wide world to infinity and back again.”

  There’s a small smile now.

  “Yes.”

  “Even more than Archie, because I was first, wasn’t I, Mum?”

  “He loved you both more than anything in the entire world; there just isn’t anything bigger than that. Now, what story do you want, love?”

  “Owl Babies. Just because it’s one of our favorites. I’m too big for it really.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Mum.”

  “Yes, Jack.”

  “If I have one of my dreams, can I come into your bed?”

  “Yes love. But very quietly. If you bring Archie or wake up Pearl, then the deal’s off.”

  He nods and snuggles down.

  So that’ll be him in my bed by the time I come back upstairs. Great.

  “Oh darling, poor Jack, he’s always been such a trooper about it all, and they’ve coped so well, you know, you’ve done an amazing job.”

  “No I haven’t, Ellen, I’ve done what any mum would do, muddled through the best you can and tried to keep the kids safe.”

  “Well, I think you’re amazing.”

  “I should bloody hope so. You’d be in real trouble if your best friend thought you were crap.”

  “True.”

  “He hasn’t had his bad dreams so much lately; I was hoping he might be getting over it. Well, not over it, obviously, but past worrying it was somehow his fault.”

  “Archie’s never really gone in for that, has he?”

  “No, nothing is ever Archie’s fault. He gets that from Nick. But he minds. He told me the other day, how much he misses him.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yes, but he wanted to play football in his pajamas, so I’m not sure he wasn’t just guilt-tripping me, to see if I might cave and let him out into the garden.”

  “Why should you feel guilty? You didn’t do anything. Christ.”

  “It’s never just one person though, is it? And anyway, haven’t you realized yet, the wonderful world of motherhood is one long guilt trip; it goes with the territory.”

  “True. I was looking at Eddie the other day, and he’s definitely got Harry’s nose, you know. You’d think I could have chosen someone with more aquiline features. Anyway, enough of all this guilt-tripping bollocks, tell me about you and Dovetail. What’s up? I thought it was working out really well.”

  “It was, I mean it is. It’s just. Oh, I don’t know, but sometimes it feels like we’ve been catapulted forward ten years.”

  “You mean you’re totally bored and you hate him?”

  “No, but I think maybe we’re in a bit of a rut, and it’s quite early for that, isn’t it? I mean, we haven’t actually been seeing each other that long, not really.”

  “By seeing you mean shagging, right?”

  “Ellen.”

  “Well, you do.”

  “I mean just the two of us, as opposed to with the kids, or in the shop, or with his mother.”

  “Kinky.”

  “Ellen, this is so not helping.”

  “Sorry darling. But seriously, maybe he’s not the one for you.”

  “I don’t want anyone who’s the one for me, I haven’t got the energy. The last thing I need is Mr. Right.”

  “Just Mr. Friday Night?”


  “Something like that. I just want everyone to be happy, and go to sleep on time. That’s about all I can cope with at the minute. And I do like him, you know, he’s really—”

  “Don’t say nice, darling. It’s the kiss of death.”

  “I know, but he is. A really decent, nice, kind man. He’ll never cheat or lie, and he gets how important the children are, they’re not just background noise for him.”

  “Stop it, I’m getting so jealous. The passion. I can’t bear it.”

  “Yes, but maybe that’s just the way it is, when it’s more than a brief affair, for most people anyway, and I can barely make it through the day as it is; the last thing I need is too much passion.”

  “You can’t have too much passion my darling, trust me. But I do know what you mean. Sometimes I look at Harry and I think, Really? This is it, forever? How’s that going to work?”

  “But it does.”

  “Not all the time.”

  “You say that, Ellen, but it does, with you and Harry.”

  “He’s all right, I suppose. Moans a lot, but when I watch him with our beautiful boy, well, it makes up for a great deal.”

  “Exactly. But that’s another thing. Martin’s great with the kids, better than Nick ever was, but they’re not his. He just doesn’t have that extra bit of connection, and I’m not sure about that, longer term.”

  “Well, you could soon fix that.”

  “How?”

  “Have another one, with him.”

  “Are you mad? I’m in enough trouble with the three I’ve got. Christ, four would finish me off completely. I don’t think Martin wants kids actually; he’s never said anything. And anyway, I’m too old.”

  “Forty isn’t old, darling, haven’t you heard?”

  “It bloody is if you’ve got three kids under ten, and no visible means of support that doesn’t involve you getting out there and working for it. And before you say it, yes, there’s still a bit of my rainy day money left, and the money for the boys from Nick’s work policy, and Daniel said he’d put some money aside for Pearl, when she’s bigger. But that’s up to him. I’ve told you, I don’t want to be beholden. Not to anyone. I never want to do that again. That way the world can’t come crashing down again. See, I’ve got it all worked out.”

  “Marvelous, darling. Talking of Daniel.”