Needles and Pearls Read online

  ‘Liv, yes, I heard. Who’s a total bitch, by the way; kept trying to steal shots off me when we did the girls in space film.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘I won all the awards, though. Still, she’s a piece of work. He’ll have a job keeping up with her, and serve him right. So you’re over it then?’

  ‘Oh yes. It was nice, lovely actually, but it wasn’t real.’

  She looks at me, and gives me one of her Megastar Smiles and I feel like I’ve just won some sort of prize.

  ‘Good for you, darling, and you’re spot on: it’s never real with men like him. They want to be swept off their feet, overcome by beauty, creative types like him always do. She’s perfect for him, she’s always posing. But she’ll totally fuck him over, in the end.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She’ll get bored. Trust me. Been there, done that, got the diamonds. And pearls.’

  She moves her head slightly and her earrings jingle.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘They arrived this morning. I think he was just checking I’m not about to hit him with the daddy of all paternity suits. And before you ask, no, I’m not talking about Jimmy. And that’s all I’m going to say on the subject.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Nice though, aren’t they?’

  ‘Beautiful.’

  ‘You’ve got to keep them guessing. And know when to move on. Timing is everything, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So if he’s here doing snaps, you’ll be OK with that?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good. Now then, what do you think of moss stitch, for my blanket? I’m getting bored with just plain knit and purl.’

  ‘Lovely. Or maybe a moss-stitch border, and then squares? You could do plain ones, and some with bobbles. You said you wanted to do bobbles, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, and that other one. What was it called? The one you showed me on that little hat.’

  ‘Seed stitch. You can try out some of the other ones we were looking at too if you like, do little squares in different stitches.’

  ‘Sounds perfect.’

  It’s pouring with rain on Friday morning, and I feel like I’m wearing a very tight invisible hat, which is particularly unfair since I didn’t drink anything last night at the Stitch and Bitch group because I was too busy. Everyone was agog about Gran’s wedding, and how Grace is doing and how beautiful the baby is. Apparently one of the photographers tried to push past PC Mike yesterday afternoon, so he arrested him, and now the thin blue line has some extra reinforcement and PC Mike is in bliss. They’re doing a piece on it for the local paper, according to Tina, and they took his photograph, only he’s a bit worried about what his sergeant will say, because he likes to be centre-front in any photographs.

  We spent most of the evening talking about our top wedding moments, and Tina Davies told us all about her honeymoon with Fireman Graham – his Watch from the fire station filled their honeymoon caravan with foam, which must have been nice. Linda told us about her hen night too, which culminated in her being handcuffed to a lamp-post in a basque and suspenders, although I can’t see Gran going in for that kind of thing, so all in all it was a really good evening.

  The group feels relaxed now, which is just what I wanted; like friends meeting up, catching up on the latest news, with no need to make direct eye contact if you’re sharing anything a bit embarrassing or the conversation moves on to freesias versus bloody carnations again. That’s the great thing about knitting: you can look at your stitches if you’re bored, or someone needs a bit of space, like last week when Maggie started talking about her mother, who sounds like a total cow, and we just let her talk until she’d finished, and then Linda got her a tissue while Connie cut her another slice of cake.

  Last night it was fabulous almond tarts, which Connie says Mark is experimenting with for the restaurant, where they’ll be served with home-made apricot sorbet; it’s no wonder they’re getting booked up at weekends really. The pudding menu alone should have people queuing down the street.

  I sorted out Tina’s poncho for her, which was going a bit rectangular, and we chose the wool for Linda’s new cardigan, and Tina had us all in fits about her recent run-ins with Annabel Morgan, who keeps sending her increasingly rude notes about getting Graham to bring his fire engine into school. He’s not that keen on assorted mixed infants swarming all over it pressing buttons and trying to climb up the ladder, and I don’t really blame him.

  Maggie’s started on a complicated cable pattern on a jumper, but she’d gone wrong on the first repeat, which had put the second one out of kilter, so I showed her how to fix it while Connie made a start on the cardigan she’s knitting for Mark’s birthday. She’s chosen a lovely flecked felted tweed, with dark green for the neckband and cuffs, and I’ve promised to do the sleeves for her since they’re so busy in the pub. Mark’s celebration-cakes sideline is really taking off, and he’s cooking seven days a week now, so Connie’s trying to get some more help in; she found him fast asleep by the big mixer last week, with marzipan stuck to his forehead.

  Archie’s re-launching his campaign for the kind of breakfast cereal that makes the milk go an unusual colour; although why he thinks I need a six-year-old with a massive sugar high on the school run is anybody’s guess.

  ‘It’s not fair. We never have proper cereal. We always have rubbish ones.’

  ‘Shreddies are proper, Archie, and please stop shouting, I’ve got a headache.’

  ‘Yes, stop screeching like a baby. It’s just ridiculous.’

  Archie glares at Jack; they’ll be nudging and shoving each other any minute. Sometimes I think I should just buy a whistle and a set of red cards.

  ‘Jack, go up and do your teeth, and Archie, stop fussing and finish your Shreddies.’

  He tuts, but starts eating, albeit in slow motion.

  ‘Hurry up, love, I think you’ve got music this morning.’

  ‘Damn.’

  ‘Archie.’

  ‘I hate music. And I hate Mrs Nelson, she’s so stupid. She makes you sit with your arms crossed all the blimming time, and I can’t sing in my proper voice with my arms crossed.’

  ‘I bet you can. You’ve got a lovely voice.’

  He starts belting out ‘If You’re Happy and You Know it Clap Your Hands’. Lovely.

  Apparently we’re still Happy and We Know It while we’re in the car on the way to school, but we’ve substituted clapping for stamping our feet and jabbing our brother so I have to reluctantly launch a ‘Ten Green Bottles’ counter-manoeuvre. We’re down to two green bottles by the time we reach the safety of the playground, and my invisible hat feels significantly tighter than it did half an hour ago.

  Connie’s standing by the fence, with a selection of bags slung round her neck, while the kids run round for a final five minutes of yelling before the bell goes. There’s some sort of tag game going on, and Nelly appears to be It. She’s racing round looking frantic, trying to catch Marco and his friends, who are much faster than her.

  ‘He knows she can’t run so fast. She’ll be crying soon. Marco, vieni qui.’

  He ignores her, and just as Connie predicted Nelly starts to cry. Archie trots over to her and whispers something, and they both grin.

  ‘Oh dear, this isn’t going to be good.’

  Connie laughs.

  ‘She’ll be fine now with Archie on her team.’

  ‘Yes, but will Marco?’

  Sure enough, Archie appears to have come up with some cunning pincer-movement plan where they both circle Marco and Jack and there’s a flurry of darting and shoving until Marco and Jack are It, and Nelly belts straight back to her mother for a quick cuddle, with Archie puffing along behind her looking triumphant.

  ‘We got him, we got him.’

  ‘Yes, you did. Well done, love, but that’s enough now. Time to calm down – the bell will be going in a minute.’

  ‘But, Mum …’

  He looks past me towards Jack and
Marco, who are now standing a few feet away from the safety of the mummy zone, looking menacing while they wait to tag Nellie and Archie back.

  ‘Jack, come here a minute love.’

  He saunters over, but can’t resist giving Archie a filthy look as he passes him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just need a hug before school, that’s all.’

  ‘Right now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He sighs.

  Connie smiles and beckons Marco over.

  ‘We can do a group hugging.’

  The kids look horrified.

  ‘Or you can play, but with no more games with the big ones chasing the little ones, yes?’

  They nod, clearly relieved to be escaping a group hug.

  ‘Brava.’

  They race off to the other side of the playground, no doubt to commiserate with each other about the horrors of having mothers who go in for public hugging, as Mrs Chambers comes out with the bell and everyone starts to line up. Excellent: nobody going into school in tears, or vowing revenge at morning break.

  We’ve just reached the gates when Horrible Harry arrives with Annabel, looking flustered. She’s usually here bustling about with her clipboard for ages before us, so she must have had a Domestic Moment. I’m hoping for a dodgy washing machine, because there’s nothing like gallons of water sloshing all over your terracotta tiling to start you off with a bang on a Friday morning. But whatever it was, Harry’s definitely sulking as he walks to the front of the line and tries to push in. The kids all close ranks, and as he reaches Archie and Nelly he takes a sudden and dramatic dive and hurls himself to the ground, just like an Italian footballer only with less convincing hand gestures.

  Mrs Berry comes out of the classroom as he starts rolling around yelling, but she’s obviously been watching because she doesn’t fall for any of it. He’s standing at the back of the line in no time, and seems fine. Unlike Annabel, who marches straight over to Mrs Berry, who Stands Firm, which is rather brave of her, and before we know it Annabel’s barrelling across the playground towards us, looking very thin-lipped. Christ. Quite a few parents are lingering now, and she’s in full Presidential mode.

  ‘I hope you saw that, Mrs Mackenzie. Your son just pushed poor Harry to the ground. I really do think you need to speak to him. It’s not the sort of behaviour we want to encourage in school. I’m sure you agree.’

  Bloody hell. I’m trying to work out what to say that doesn’t involve the words ‘off and ‘fuck’ when Connie steps forward, looking pretty thin-lipped herself.

  ‘Archie did not push, he wasn’t even near him. So how can he be apologised for something he didn’t do?’

  Annabel gives her a particularly condescending look.

  ‘Perhaps you didn’t see the incident quite as clearly as I did, Mrs Maxwell.’

  Connie mutters something in Italian, and there’s an intake of breath from some of the other parents. They’ll be chanting ‘Fight Fight Fight’ in a minute if we’re not careful.

  I try to smile, to calm things down, but I’m not sure it’s working.

  ‘I was watching them too, Annabel, and I don’t think Archie did push Harry. I know they’ve had their differences in the past, but I think they’re over that now. So perhaps you need to have a word with Harry. I think he tripped when he tried to get to the front of the line.’

  Tina Davies is now standing next to us, nodding.

  ‘He’s always pushing in. Actually.’

  Annabel glares at her.

  ‘My Travis was just the same, but you’ve got to tell them, haven’t you? They can’t always be first, can they?’

  Annabel is looking Tense now; a playground mutiny was probably the last thing she expected, and quite a few of the parents are smiling. I think it’s starting to dawn on her that she may have misjudged things a tiny bit.

  She seems to falter for a moment, and then rallies.

  ‘Well, I’m so glad we had this little chat. So important to nip things in the bud, and we all need to do our best to keep our school a happy place, I’m sure you agree. Now I really must get on, so much to do, as usual, but thank you for raising it with me; that’s what I’m here for, to keep things running smoothly. Always happy to help. Good morning.’

  She nods at the other parents and turns sharply on her medium-heeled court shoes and marches towards the main doors.

  Connie mutters something under her breath and Linda laughs.

  ‘What was that, Connie?’

  ‘I can’t translate, it’s too rude.’

  ‘Oh go on, whisper, I used to collect rude words when I was little. Drove my mum mad.’

  I do like Tina, she’s a real trooper, and her Travis is a sweetheart too, only he’s the kind of sweetheart you’re very glad isn’t one of yours. Last time he was in the shop he was telling me all about electricity and circuits, and even though he’s only seven and three-quarters he’s going to make a motor in the garden shed that will power a light so bright it can burn paper. So having a fireman dad will probably be coming in very handy any day now.

  ‘Do you want a lift, Tina? I’m dropping Connie off and then I’m due in the shop.’

  ‘Yes please love – it looks like it’ll be chucking it down again any minute. I think I might nip in the baker’s and get myself a bun to celebrate. I’ve been wanting to tell that Annabel where to get off for ages.’

  We cross the road and walk towards the car.

  ‘Well, we’d better keep an eye on those PTA letters, or we’ll be down for holding the sick bucket on every coach trip from now until the end of time.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, I’ve got her number. We do her hair in the salon, so if she pushes it I can always do her a poodle perm, and she won’t need her velvet hairband for quite a while after that. Stuck-up cow. Anyway, that’s enough about her. What are you wearing tonight?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘For your dinner with Martin. A little bird told me.’

  I look at Connie, who shakes her head.

  ‘Which little bird was that then, Tina?’

  ‘Quite a big one actually, Betty. She was in the salon yesterday, and between you and me I don’t think Elsie’s that keen.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  I did notice Elsie seemed extra stroppy yesterday: it’s quite hard to bang balls of wool down on to shelves, but she was definitely giving it her best shot.

  ‘It’s not really a dinner dinner. It’s just to say thank you for making the shelves in the shop.’

  Tina raises her eyebrows.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I’ve known him for years, Tina, ever since we were kids. It’s just a friendly supper.’

  ‘Shame. He could put my shelves up any day.’

  Connie laughs.

  ‘And me. Mark is hopeless.’

  ‘So’s my Graham. He’s put up two rolls of wallpaper upside down in our lounge, honestly he has. All the birds look like they’re diving towards the floor. Every time I look at them it upsets me. Silly sod.’

  Connie’s planning to paper her spare bedroom in honour of her mum and dad coming over at Easter from Italy, so she’s keen on getting wallpaper tips from Tina, and the subject of my supper with Martin is thankfully dropped.

  *

  When I get to the shop Elsie is even more narky than yesterday. She’s dusting, and she only ever dusts when she wants to make a point.

  ‘Morning, Elsie, I’m just putting the kettle on. Do you want a cup of tea?’

  ‘No thanks, I want to get this done and then there’s more stock to get out.’

  ‘Oh good, it’s arrived. We were running low on the tweed and the chunky mix at the weekend.’

  ‘Yes, well, I wish you’d tell me when you put new orders in.’

  ‘It was in the book, Elsie.’

  ‘Well that’s as may be, but I used to do all the ordering for your gran, you know.’

  Yes, and that’s why the shop was stuffed full of horrible pastel four-ply.
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br />   ‘I know how busy you are, Elsie, and anyway I like doing it – it helps me keep track of things. I’ll give you a hand in a minute. Are you sure you don’t want anything? I got some more biscuits yesterday, Hobnobs and digestives.’

  She hesitates.

  ‘Oh go on then, I need something to give me a bit of a boost, I’ve been at it since six. I did all my nets before I came out. It feels like I’ve done a full day already.’

  I know just how she feels.

  After a busy day in the shop, with Elsie niggling away and a dribble of customers including Mrs Dent, who brings in her tangled knitting for us to sort out, again, and a group of women from Tonbridge who look at a huge range of colours before they all buy mohair for shawls and chunky tweeds for jumpers, I’m back at home, standing in front of my wardrobe and hoping for inspiration when Ellen rings.

  ‘How are you doing, darling? Found your killer outfit yet?’

  ‘Not really. My black jeans are pretty lethal though: if I do the zip up I can’t breathe.’

  ‘Totally not breathe, or just have to sit up very straight to breathe?’

  ‘Passing out, face-down-in-your-soup not breathe.’

  ‘Go for the velvet skirt then, but wear a tight top.’

  ‘That won’t be a problem, trust me.’

  ‘You’re meeting him at the pub, and Connie’s fully briefed, right?’

  ‘She knows we’re having supper, if that’s what you mean. I haven’t booked under a false name or anything. It’s no big deal, Ellen.’

  ‘Unless you kiss him again.’

  ‘Look, I’ve told you, it wasn’t a kiss kiss. He’d just found Archie – that was different. It was a Thank God kiss.’

  ‘Whatever. Just ring me later with a full debrief.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And darling –’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘If you feel like not kissing him again, just go for it.’

  Great. That’s made me feel so much calmer.

  Gran’s reading stories when I leave, and promises not to get conned into reading past eight-thirty; although we both know she’ll cave. It’s a ten-minute walk to the pub, and I’m feeling rather grown-up being out in the evening without the boys. I can’t remember the last time I had supper without a small person in tow, keeping an eye on my chips for any extra-crispy ones.