Knit One Pearl One Read online

  “I bet you’ve missed her.”

  “I have, Linda, but we’ve spoken on the phone a few times.”

  Being knitting coach to our local Diva has been one of the nicest things that have happened since we moved down here. And I have missed my regular tastes of glamour when I nip over to Graceland with the latest patterns and new yarns.

  “Be a bit quiet for her round here after all that excitement, won’t it, Jo?”

  “Oh I don’t know, Tina. Mrs. Palmer at the Post Office says someone has nicked her parcel tape off the counter again. She was keeping a very close eye on me when I was in yesterday sending off an order, I can tell you.”

  Cath smiles. “I wonder if Crime Watch will come down and do a program.”

  “I wouldn’t hold your breath, Cath, but you never know.”

  By the time I’ve sorted out a pattern for Tina for a new sweater for Travis, and helped Cath work out where she’s gone wrong on the increasing for the sleeve of hers, it’s time to go home. I hope Gran’s had a nice peaceful evening and everyone’s fast asleep. Either that or I’m sleeping on the sofa downstairs, because I’m really not in the mood for a repeat of last night, when I ended up with all three of them in my bed, and about two inches of mattress and no bloody duvet. I seriously need to buy a bigger bed. Something else to add to my list. I’ll have to save up. Mind you, by the time I’ve saved up, they’ll probably all be teenagers, and wanting new double beds of their own. Actually, I’m not going to think about that.

  It’s Sunday morning, and we’re finally heading to the churchyard. I’m feeling pretty close to slapping someone, possibly Fiona. I did manage to persuade her we didn’t want to take a forty-five-minute detour to see Beth’s pony, but her light buffet lunch was a bit of a trial, what with the boys avoiding the anchovy and olive salad like it was radioactive and Pearl throwing an epic tantrum when I couldn’t find her pink juice cup. Fiona’s in full Stepford Wife mode, and James has been even more annoying than usual, and given me a lecture about pensions and how to be clever about tax, even though he knows I haven’t got the kind of money where worrying about tax is really an issue. We’ve had countless dramatic interludes from Elizabeth, the artist formerly known as my Mother-in-Law, including two tearful moments where she told us all that Nicholas was the perfect son, which James particularly enjoyed, since he was always pretty competitive with Nick. We’ve also had a major sulk when Archie announced he didn’t like her special spinach quiche even if it was his daddy’s favorite. Which it bloody wasn’t, but never mind. Nick hated spinach, and his dad, Gerald, is semi-plastered as usual, after helping himself to an extra glass of wine while everyone was fussing over Elizabeth.

  Christ. This is going to be a long afternoon.

  Lottie and Beth are walking ahead across the field toward the church with Jack and Archie. Pearl’s insisting on walking too, so I’m holding her hand and trying to encourage her not to pick up sticks while dragging the buggy along with my other hand. It would be nice if someone offered to help, instead of just giving me top housekeeping tips or lectures about tax evasion.

  “Jack, don’t go so fast, love; you too Archie, wait for us.”

  I really don’t want them to get to the grave without me. Jack will need a cuddle. Actually, I think we all will.

  They wait for us to catch up, and Lottie, who is rather mesmerized by Pearl, particularly the fact that she’s wearing a tiara, holds her hand and walks very slowly, while Jack tells us all how important it is to be a good big brother.

  Archie nods. “Yes, and I’m her big brother as well, so she’s got two.”

  He’s hopping now, showing off another brotherly skill.

  Pearl’s impressed and has a go, but it’s quite tricky in wellies, and thankfully a rather marvelous leaf catches her eye, and she picks it up and solemnly hands to me, like she’s giving me a tremendous treat.

  “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  She smiles, and I put it with the others on the hood of the buggy. I draw the line at muddy sticks, but collections of leaves seem pretty harmless to me, despite the worried looks from Fiona; I know she’s desperate to whip out a tissue and clean Pearl’s hands, but she’s just going to have to get over it. Leaf collecting is one of Pearl’s new passions.

  We’re at the gate now, and Jack’s looking anxious.

  “Which one is it, Mum? I’ve forgotten.”

  “Just over there, love, by the big tree.”

  “Oh. Yes. I think our pictures are silly, you know, Mum, because he can’t see them, can he? So what’s the point?”

  He’s getting tearful now, and Archie’s very quiet.

  “You don’t have to leave them, if you don’t want to, but I think they’re lovely, sweetheart.”

  Archie nods. “Yes, and it shows you remember. We did it at school.”

  I don’t think how to behave at family graves is now part of the National Curriculum, and Jack’s looking a bit confused too. “With the soldiers, and the war, and we have to remember so they don’t go down with the sun. That’s right, isn’t it, Mum?”

  “Yes love.”

  That special Remembrance Day assembly last year must have really struck a chord.

  We walk forward, more slowly now, and I kneel down to arrange our flowers. Elizabeth has already put hers in the marble vase, so we’re relegated to the plastic one, but at least it’s not raining, so I won’t end up with muddy knees like I usually do. I’m wearing jeans today, in contravention of Elizabeth’s preferred dress code, but I’m fed up with wearing black skirts and dark tights every time we visit. It makes the whole thing too formal. And muddy knees in tights feel so horrible.

  “I make sure there are fresh flowers, every week.”

  “Thanks, Elizabeth, they’re lovely.”

  She sniffs, a rather tragic sort of sniff.

  I think I’m meant to feel guilty that we don’t come every Sunday, but tough. We come as often as the boys need to.

  “He always loved daffodils. They were his favorite.”

  I’m just going to ignore her. I can’t remember Nick ever expressing a preference on flowers, except for not liking carnations. And buying me a huge bunch of tulips, actually about ten bunches; there were tulips all over the house when Archie was born, because Nick said they were so beautiful he just couldn’t resist.

  We’ve brought tulips today actually, and a little pot of hyacinths and drawings, in envelopes, so Jack doesn’t fret if it starts to rain. They’ve both written “Dad” on the front of their envelopes, and Jack’s drawn a heart.

  Okay, I’ve got to stop this now. Take a deep breath. This is about the boys. This is about what they need, not for me to indulge myself and get upset, they need me to be calm.

  “I’m not sure she should be doing that.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever heard Elizabeth use Pearl’s name. She’s either the Baby or She.

  “Perhaps she should go for a walk.”

  “We’re fine, Elizabeth.”

  Pearl’s picking up leaves in between the graves. Not exactly forbidden behavior in a country churchyard.

  “Yes, but people might not like it.”

  I’m definitely going to ignore her. Silly old bat.

  Jack puts his envelope down by the hyacinths and then stands holding Archie’s hand, both of them silent.

  Oh God.

  “I just feel—”

  “Elizabeth, can we have a minute, please.”

  “Of course, but I do think—”

  “Elizabeth. We’d like a moment. On our own.”

  Actually, that came out a bit louder than I meant it to.

  Fiona steps forward. “Perhaps we could go and say a prayer?”

  “I don’t see why I can’t say something, I was only pointing out; he was my son, after all.”

  She’s doing the Tragic Sniff again, and Fiona looks rather panicky; Elizabeth is definitely gathering momentum for one of her little Speeches, which will end in tears and us all making a fuss of her.
Again. Or possibly not. Not today anyway.

  I turn to face her, trying to channel Lady Denby. “Thank you, Elizabeth, the flowers are lovely. We’ll come and find you when we’re ready. We just need a moment on our own.”

  Pearl hands her a leaf, which she pretends not to notice.

  I pick up my gorgeous girl and kiss her cheeks.

  “Thank you darling, another lovely leaf.”

  Elizabeth falters, but she’s not done yet. “Perhaps you’d like to come into the church and we can all say a prayer.”

  Bloody hell, what is it with her and trying to get us into the church? We’ve been a few times, and she just starts crying and making a huge fuss about lighting candles and showing off the flowers, and the boys get totally left out. She’s on the flower rota, and we have to examine every display and make suitable comments. It doesn’t leave any space for them at all. They just have to stand there and let her take center stage like he wasn’t their dad and this isn’t hard for them.

  “No thank you. You go in, and we’ll see you later.”

  “More.” Pearl wants to be down.

  I turn back to the boys. Time for a strategic retreat, I think, before I really lose it.

  “Shall we go and sit on the bench for a minute, let Gran have some peace, and then we’ll come back, when she’s gone into the church. I need a cuddle. I don’t know if anyone else does.”

  Archie smiles, a small, pale smile, but it’s a start.

  “Come on, the last one to sit down is a squashed tomato.”

  They both start to run.

  “She did not.”

  “She did, Gran. And then she sent the bloody vicar out, poor man, although that backfired a bit; I think she’d ordered him to tell us off for not going in to pray, but he was lovely. He said he was pleased to meet us, and Archie shook his hand, and then he said people had different ways of remembering their loved ones, and it was what was in people’s hearts that mattered. And then he winked at the boys.”

  “He sounds lovely, pet.”

  “I know. It almost made me wish we’d gone in.”

  “Not with her carrying on like she does, terrible woman.”

  “It was good though. When she finally came out with Fiona and the girls, the vicar said good-bye, and then he turned to Pearl and said thank you so much for my leaf, I will treasure it. It made Archie giggle. Elizabeth was seriously miffed.”

  “Nasty woman. I’ve got a good mind to ring her and tell her just how lovely her son was, leaving you in a right old mess with two boys to bring up and a second mortgage he hadn’t bothered to tell anybody about. You were lucky you had a penny left after selling that house you know.”

  “I know, Gran, but don’t, please?”

  “I know you’re right, pet. Losing your son is a terrible thing, even if you aren’t as nice a person as you should be. But that’s no excuse to go trampling over other people’s feelings.”

  “Yes, but whatever gets you through the night?”

  “I suppose so. Only next time I’m coming with you, and that’s final. I told Reg, I knew I should have come today. She spends so long in that church you’d think she’d have learnt a bit about Christian charity by now, but they’re often the worst ones. I’ve noticed that before, too busy being holier-than-thou to bother with being decent or kind.”

  “Okay.”

  “I thought you’d say no.”

  “I think you might be right. Having you as backup would make it so much easier.”

  “Yes, well, grandmother to grandmother, if she starts kicking off, she’ll get a piece of my mind and make no mistake about it.”

  “I know, Gran. And thanks.”

  “Good, well, that’s decided then. I might get to meet your lovely vicar.”

  “If Elizabeth hasn’t worked out a way to get him defrocked or whatever they do to naughty vicars now. If fraternizing with unmarried mothers and their illegitimate babies is still a hanging offense, that is.”

  “No, pet, they got past all that nonsense a while back, thank goodness. It used to be terrible. But that’s all changed. Just look at that Robin Williams.”

  I think she might mean Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, although I’m sure Robin Williams takes a pretty tolerant line on unwed mothers too.

  “He’s a lovely man, you can tell just by looking at him. If they were all like him, I’d go every Sunday. Far more important things to worry about than who is married or isn’t, or who is gay and who is, what’s that other thing they say?”

  “Straight.”

  “Yes, straight, silly word if you ask me, but still, thank heavens times have changed. People can choose now, and as long as they’re not hurting anybody, it’s nobody’s business but their own, is it, pet?”

  “No, Gran.”

  “Night, pet.”

  “Night, Gran.”

  I always feel better when I talk to Gran. Not that she won’t tell you if she thinks you’re wrong about something. But deep down I know she loves us all, pretty much unconditionally. There’s something terribly reassuring about knowing you have someone like her in your corner, come what may. I really want that for the kids, that certainty that I’m there for them, come what may. Only preferably not at 3:00 a.m.

  I’m in the kitchen on Friday morning at the crack of bloody dawn, and Pearl is on saucepan patrol again when the phone rings.

  “Morning, Jo.”

  “Maxine, are you back yet? I was going to call you.”

  “Yes, we got back last night, and she wants to see you. Yes, Grace, I’m just on the line to her now, yes.”

  “Hello Jo. It seems ages since we’ve seen you. Come round, and bring the kids; Lily’s really getting into playing with other children.”

  “I still can’t believe she’s two now.”

  “I know, and she’s much taller than when you last saw her. She must get that from Jimmy. Let’s hope that’s all she gets.”

  There hasn’t been much activity on the Jimmy Madden front for a while: he’s busy on a World Tour, with a series of the kinds of young women who usually hang around rock stars. So hopefully there won’t be any repeats of him turning up and wanting a paternal moment with Lily. I’m sure Grace is right and that was more to do with the launch of his new album. She handled it really well, but I could see she was upset. Thank God Bruno was there to escort him off the premises.

  “Fix a time with Maxine. Oh, and bring some of the new colors, would you? I want to be inspired.”

  “Sure.”

  The line goes dead, and then there’s a click and Maxine comes back on. “Sorry about that. I think she’s missed you.”

  We both laugh, but it’s an affectionate sort of laugh. That’s one of the things I like most about Maxine, she’s so loyal. However demanding Grace is being, Maxine always behaves as if she’s being completely reasonable, with only a faintly raised eyebrow or the occasional mild aside to me when she’s sure Grace can’t hear. It makes me feel like I’m part of the team and I really like that.

  “What time works for you today?”

  “Well, it’ll have to be after school if you’re sure you want me to bring the boys.”

  “Great, I’ll get Sam to make snacks, and they can have a swim if that works for you?”

  “That would be lovely.”

  Sam’s food is always fabulous; being personal chef to Ms. Harrison means his version of snacks is everyone else’s version of a four-course meal.

  “See you around four then.”

  “Perfect.”

  Bugger. So that’ll be me in my tragic swimsuit making sure nobody drowns their brother while Grace will be looking divine. And Martin’s coming round for supper later on, and I’d hoped I’d be looking halfway decent, rather than with my hair all tufty like it goes after swimming. Brilliant.

  By the time I’m driving to Graceland after school, I’m seriously thinking of canceling. We were unusually busy in the shop with a group of women from Maidstone who’d come over specially
to stock up, and then the till in the café jammed, and one of the reps came in to show me their new catalog and I had to spend ages haggling to get anywhere near a decent price. Jack’s got a special sticker for Good Helping, and Archie always hates it when Jack gets stickers.

  “Mum, can we have ice cream, on the way home?”

  “No, love, it’ll be too late.”

  “Yes, but you said when we had an ice cream shop we could have ice cream every day and we don’t and that’s a lie. It’s not fair.”

  “I did not, Archie, and stop whining. You’re very lucky to be going swimming after school.”

  “I hate stupid swimming.”

  Excellent.

  There are a couple of cars parked on the shoulder of the road as we get close to the gates for the house, and some bored-looking snappers who don’t even bother to lift their cameras; they probably reckon exciting people don’t drive such tragic old cars. Bruno is waiting by the gates to buzz us in, with Tom and Jerry standing by his side, looking every inch the perfectly trained guard dogs. I must get him to have a word with Martin. He waves at us as we drive in, suddenly transformed from the scary security person keeping a beady eye on the photographers. The gardens are even more manicured than usual, presumably in honor of Grace’s return, as I park at the side next to a huge dark green Jeep and a silver Mercedes with tinted windows. They both look brand-new, sparkling in the last of the afternoon sunshine, and making ours look even worse than usual.

  “Now remember, be polite, and no running, or shouting. Or singing, Archie. Let’s just have a lovely swim.”

  He tuts.

  Maxine opens the side door.

  “Hi, Jo, Grace is on the phone, but Lily’s in the pool with Meg, so go straight through. Gosh, hasn’t she grown?”

  I hand Pearl to Maxine, who looks pleased. She’s got a soft spot for small people, even though she pretends she hasn’t.

  “Hello, Pearl, how are you?”

  “More.”