Divas Don't Knit Read online

  ‘There’s a table in the garden, if that’s all right, or you can be inside if you prefer.’

  Connie puts her arm round me, like we’re old friends, which is nice.

  ‘Oh, no, outside would be perfect.’

  There are candles in glass lanterns and comfortable wooden seats with cushions, and the food’s fabulous. Even Ellen’s impressed, and she’s a hard girl to please when it comes to restaurants. She tends to order things that aren’t officially on the menu, or in different combinations with different sauces, or no sauce at all, and she usually takes so long to order you can tell the waiters want to stab her with their pencils, but Connie’s very patient with her, and only winks at me once. The homemade burgers go down very well with the boys, and the chips are perfect, and there are great salads, and pasta with clams, or a creamy sauce that’s so delicious Harry almost licks his plate. Connie comes to sit with us while we’re having coffee, which arrives with a plate of dark chocolates and little cubes of quince jelly.

  ‘That was so brilliant. Can we go into the kitchen and congratulate the chef?’

  Lulu’s obviously been very well brought up.

  ‘Oh, good, I’m so pleased. He wasn’t happy with the sauce for the orecchiette but I told him it was fine.’

  ‘What do you mean, fine? It was bloody brilliant.’

  Connie smiles at Harry.

  ‘I’ll bring him out later and you can tell him, please. We’ve been quite busy tonight, and it’s our first week being properly open, so it’s good, I think. I’ll get you some more coffee, and amaretto, yes?’

  We sit sipping and chatting. Connie takes the boys up to watch Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and Archie’s so tired he’ll fall asleep as soon as the film starts, which will be a bonus for Jack and Marco. Nelly’s supposed to be asleep, too, but keeps appearing in the garden in a long white cotton nightie, like a little fairy, flitting about under the trees in the twilight and talking to the chickens until Connie chases her back upstairs. It’s still warm and everything feels rather magical.

  Ellen’s asking Vin about Mum and Dad.

  ‘Venice was great, but Mum’s still as mad as ever, and she’s got a special plan to get us all over there for Christmas, which my clever sister was meant to get us out of, but she blew it.’

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘But she’d already got Dad to get the tickets, and she knows Gran used to close the shop until after New Year, so I couldn’t use my best excuse. And then she started going on about getting sodding capons and I was out-manoeuvred, as usual.’

  ‘I still think you could have thought of something.’

  ‘I’m quite looking forward to it, actually.’

  We both look at Lulu like she’s mad.

  ‘Well I am, and if you’d had as many boring Christmases in Chipping bloody Maiden as I have, with your grandmother trying to stop you eating brandy butter while your mother force-feeds you mince pies behind her back, you’d be looking forward to it, too. I think she’s a laugh, your mum. At least she’s not all twinsets and boring like mine.’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.’

  Vin shakes his head. I think Lulu’s trying to be diplomatic, which is sweet of her, because Mum can be a bit full on when you first meet her: actually she can be a bit full on when you’ve known her for years. Her latest nonsense is insisting on being called Mariella, instead of Mary, which will infuriate Gran when she finds out. They’re living in a collapsing palazzo because Mum’s met some count, who sounds as mad as a bucket, but far less useful; she’s restoring his frescoes while Dad runs around trying to catch bits of marble before they fall into the canal, and Vin says he’s invented some new kind of mix of lime mortar and superglue, only you have to be careful not to get stuck to pillars or you have to chisel yourself off.

  Mum’s always been a bit of a challenge: not content with turning up at school in tie-dyed clothing and throwing off the yoke of domesticity by making embarrassing phallic-looking pottery, she started Doing Courses, and now she’s a proper picture restorer and she’s been dragging Dad round Europe ever since he retired from teaching. He was the deputy head at Vin’s school, which was pretty terrible for Vin, especially on parents’ evenings when Mum used to go round with all the other parents, making sarcastic comments and pretending she didn’t know Dad.

  ‘If she starts calling me bloody Vincenzo again, I’m pushing her in a canal. And she wants us to get Gran over too? Fat chance of that.’

  Gran’s one of the few people who can ever stand up to Mum. The only person, really. Which is another reason why we all love her so much.

  Ellen puts her coffee cup down.

  ‘You’re both being big babies, Venice is fabulous and the shops are amazing. You’ll have a brilliant time.’

  ‘Yes but not with Mum, Ellen, honestly. She bargains for everything, even in the supermarkets, it’s awful. Anyway it’s all right for you, you only do a couple of days with yours before you escape to somewhere glamorous: Barbados again this year, is it?’

  ‘I’m working. But after that I’ll be off somewhere hot on the first plane I can find. With Harry, if he’s still around. Or his replacement, if he’s fucked off looking for croissants again.’

  ‘Charming, darling. Nice to know I’m irreplaceable in your life.’

  ‘Oh, but you are; it would take me ages. Hours, at least.’

  Connie comes out with Mark, who’s finally managed to get out of the kitchen, and is looking knackered. He’s very tall, and rather shy, until he starts talking about food.

  ‘I want to keep it simple, and not have to keep reinventing things. I’m not interested in pomegranate salsa and all that bollocks. Slow food is more my thing. Simple food in season, and time with my kids, otherwise there’s no point.’

  While he’s talking to us Nelly appears and climbs up his leg, like he’s one of those practice climbing mountains, with different-coloured hand holds for increasing degrees of difficulty, and he moves her around his back rather absent-mindedly, finally draping her across his shoulder and stroking the back of her neck with his thumb as she settles in for a cuddle. She’s half asleep by the time he carries her back inside, and we’ve all gone into a sort of trance watching him.

  Ellen looks at Connie.

  ‘God, he’s gorgeous. Does he stroke the back of your neck like that?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Then you’re a very lucky woman. Christ, he can cook supper for me any time he likes.’

  Connie stiffens slightly; I don’t think she’s entirely warmed to Ellen, who can be a bit overpowering when you first meet her, especially if she’s had a couple of pink zombies and is flirting with your husband.

  ‘You might have to book a table, because we’re getting very busy.’

  Harry laughs.

  ‘Well, he’s right about the Slow Food thing, anyway. Eating local stuff and not flying kiwi fruit three thousand miles has got to be right when you think about it. Jo, you could start the same thing with your shop. Slow Food, Slow Clothes.’

  ‘It doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, though, does it?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, I think it sounds rather good.’

  Ellen nods. ‘Sounds very chilled out, as long as we don’t have to wear Slow Shoes too; I’d definitely draw the line at hippy sandals.’

  ‘I love mine.’

  Lulu holds her leg up so we can all admire her Birkenstocks.

  I think she must have done ballet at some point, because she can get her leg up very high. It’s quite impressive, until she loses her balance and falls off her seat. Actually, I think we may all have had slightly too much to drink.

  Ellen helps her up. ‘Yes but the surfer girl thing works for you, darling, mainly because you do actually surf. Right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well there you are then. The rest of us just look we’re shuffling along in our slippers, like little dumpy shuffling people, which
is not a good look. I need my heels, preferably with Prada written on them somewhere, or Jimmy Choo, or Gucci, with little snakeskin straps.’

  ‘Christ, she’s starting on about bloody shoes again. Stop her, someone.’

  ‘Shut up, Harry.’

  ‘Three bloody hours, that’s all I’m saying. I bet you’ve never spent three bloody hours buying a pair of boots, have you, Jo?’

  ‘Not recently, no, but that’s mainly because Archie starts rearranging the displays after about five minutes.’

  ‘What a brilliant idea.’

  ‘Harry darling, if you try rearranging the stock in Gucci they’ll call security and have you thrown out.’

  ‘This plan’s getting better by the minute.’

  ‘Talking of security, I’d better go and make sure the boys aren’t trashing Connie’s living room.’

  Connie gives me a mini-tour on the way up. She’s particularly proud of the kitchen, which has been refitted with huge stainless-steel ovens and a walk-in cold room, so I know where to come when our fridge finally gives up. She says she’d like to redecorate and put a new bathroom in, but they’ve blown all their money on the new ovens.

  ‘Mark doesn’t notice, he’d live in a tent if the kitchen was good, but I’ve told him, for one year, yes. Then we have to make changes, or I will go back home.’

  ‘He was so sweet with Nelly. Is he always that relaxed with them?’

  ‘Oh yes, they can do anything with him. It’s only the difficult things, the things they don’t like, that I have to do.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I asked Nick to get them new school shoes once, and all three of them came back with new trainers, with flashing lights on the back. They were thrilled.’

  She smiles.

  ‘And where is he now, your Nick?’

  There’s an awkward pause while I try to work out what to say.

  ‘Oh, you are divorced, yes?’

  Bugger. She’s really going to mind this next bit.

  ‘No, although we were going to, I think. I mean he’d just told me he wanted a divorce, but then there was an accident, a car crash. And he died. In February. Just after Valentine’s Day actually.’

  She’s gone rather pale, and I give her a weak sort of smile. She’s the first person I’ve managed to say this to all in one go, and I’m quite pleased with myself; usually I only get the car-crash bit done and they go all sympathetic and I feel like I’ve somehow given them the impression that we were the perfect happy couple, tragically torn apart by fate.

  For someone who talks so much she seems very comfortable with long silences, which is rather nice.

  She takes my hand.

  ‘And now you cannot be angry with him, because he is died. Yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How very terrible.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She squeezes my hand again.

  God. At last. Someone who gets it, without me having to explain.

  We check on Nelly as we pass her room and she’s fast asleep, clutching a fairy wand with a silver star on top, looking angelic, and then we walk along the corridor to the living room and Archie’s asleep, too, but he surfaces as soon as Connie turns the telly off.

  ‘I was watching that, I was. We’ve been doing oompah loompah dancing, and stupid Jack said I’d got a wonky willy, so I hitted him with a cushion.’

  Marco starts giggling.

  ‘Well never mind, it’s home time now.’

  They all start trying to prove how Not Tired they are, and Jack treads on Archie’s hand while he’s trying to find his shoes, so Archie shoves him and he falls over. Connie’s trying to get Marco into bed, and failing, as I shepherd my two back downstairs.

  I’m dreading the walk home because Archie gets pretty explosive when he’s tired, but it’s surprisingly painless, mainly because they get piggybacks from Harry and Vin; Archie’s sitting on Harry’s shoulders patting him on the head and yelling Faster as we get to the house, and it’s all going rather well until we spot Trevor on the horizon, pulling poor Mr Pallfrey along at quite a pace, and before we know it he’s joining in the fun and they’re starting an impromptu game of nocturnal football. Mr Pallfrey looks mortified, but Trevor’s having a lovely time.

  ‘Does anyone want a drink? Tea, Mr Pallfrey?’

  ‘Oh, well, if you’re sure, that would be lovely.’

  Bloody hell.

  Mr Pallfrey ends up in goal, with Lulu in the other goal by the tree, and Ellen doing her cheerleader routine.

  ‘I need pom-poms.’

  ‘Sorry, I’ve just run out.’

  ‘Well can’t you knit some quick, because I need something to shake?’

  ‘Ellen.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Five minutes, all right, and then it’s bedtime.’

  ‘Fair enough, darling. I’ll be the ref. Have you got a whistle?’

  ‘Not on me, no.’

  It’s nearly an hour later when I’m finally tucking the boys into bed. Archie’s on the blow-up mattress in his room so I can sleep in his bed, and let Ellen and Harry have mine. He’s exhausted and falls asleep almost immediately, but Jack’s still got things to Share.

  ‘I scored three goals, Mum.’

  ‘I know, darling. Lie down now.’

  ‘And Trevor nearly scored as well, Mum, if he’d stopped running he would have. Dogs don’t really know how to play football, do they?’

  ‘Not really. Now lie down properly.’

  ‘But we could teach him though, couldn’t we?’

  Great. We can have football training for dogs in the back garden every day; we’ll probably end up with a pack of them popping round for a bit of penalty practice.

  ‘No more talking now, Jack, it’s sleep time.’

  ‘I had a piggyback all the way home, didn’t I?’

  ‘I’m turning the light off now, love.’

  ‘But Dad used to give me the best piggybacks, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, darling.’

  ‘And he used to play football with me sometimes, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, lots of times.’

  Actually he didn’t; he wasn’t a playing-games-in-the-mud kind of dad. He’d shout encouraging things from the sidelines in the back garden while he was reading the papers – but only if he was in the bloody country, of course.

  ‘And he used to take me swimming.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Once. And he lost one of Archie’s armbands.

  ‘He was the best dad in the whole world, wasn’t he, Mum?’

  ‘Yes, darling.’

  ‘And when I go to heaven he’ll have seen me getting my goals, won’t he?’

  ‘Yes, sweetheart, I’m sure he will.’

  I’m standing outside his bedroom door now doing silent crying again. Fuck it. Double fuck it. I’m so angry, and if there is a heaven I hope he’s stuck up there watching, and feeling guilty, except I suppose that would be hell really, watching your children struggle to make sense of it all, building up their memories as they turn you into the best dad in the world. And I don’t even believe in heaven or hell, I just thought it might help them if they could think of him as being in heaven. Archie seems to mix it up with all the other things that he half knows are make-believe, like Father Christmas and the tooth fairy, and he doesn’t seem worried that he’ll forget Nick, or that his dying had something to do with him. But Jack’s more complicated; he went through a heartbreaking phase in the first few weeks, asking me if Nick was angry with him for all sorts of half-forgotten things like breaking the towel rack in the bathroom, or putting plasticine in the dishwasher – like Nick even knew, or would have remembered. He seems more settled about it now, though, like he did when he first went to school; he’s resigned himself to it, but it has left him that little bit more anxious, and more fragile. And I can’t fix it for him, so I end up feeling guilty. Nick dies and I feel guilty. It’s absolutely bloody typical.

  ‘What are you doing up there, darling?’

&n
bsp; Ellen’s whispering from the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Nothing. Just checking they’re asleep.’

  ‘Well hurry up. Vin’s opening another bottle of wine and we’re going to play strip scrabble. And Harry’s practically dyslexic. He can’t spell to save his life.’

  ‘I’ll be right down.’

  I’m opening up on Saturday morning at ten past nine, with the help of two Panadol and my sunglasses. God, I never realised the seaside was such a terrible place for hangovers, but there’s just too much light and I’ve got a terrible crick in my neck; Archie climbed back into his bed at about three so I ended up on the blow-up mattress and spent the rest of the night feeling slightly seasick and having my shipwreck dream again. The boys are at home with Vin, who heroically staggered downstairs as I was leaving, so they’ll be watching telly for most of the morning, while Vin drapes himself somewhere dark and tries to recover from not knowing how to spell rivet.

  By the time I’ve had my first cup of coffee I’m feeling slightly more human: opening up the shop is definitely one of my favourite times of the day now. Mrs Davis is putting her buckets of flowers out while I wind out the awning, and our postman, Sam, stops to tell us about his six-week-old baby, Jackson, who sleeps all day but is awake all night. We commiserate and say they grow out of it, which isn’t strictly true but we’re trying to be encouraging because he’s got dark circles under his eyes and looks exhausted, and then I make a start on moving the last of the horrible pastels in between serving a dribble of customers. I’m starting to think about another cup of coffee when Ellen and Lulu arrive, both wearing dark glasses, and bearing croissants. Hurrah.

  Lulu puts the paper bags on the table in the back room.

  ‘We thought we’d bring you breakfast; the boys are watching cartoons at full blast and Vin and Harry are playing trains and we couldn’t stand the racket.’

  Ellen nods, very slowly.

  ‘She’s not kidding. They’ve got train track all over your living-room floor and they’re bickering about where to put the tunnel. There’s boxes of the stuff everywhere.’