Knit One Pearl One (12 page)

I’m ready to start on the window when Maggie comes in to collect the wool for Connie’s blanket.

“I’ll take Tina and Linda theirs, and Angela’s coming into the library later on. They’re such lovely colors, Jo. Butterscotch and vanilla, it sounds delicious. How may squares do we need?”

“I thought twenty, with hearts and stars knitted into each square; it’s all in one color, so it’s pretty easy. I’ll sew them together and do the border once everyone’s finished.”

“I’ll copy the pattern at lunchtime. I can’t wait to see her face. I hope she likes it.”

“All her friends knitting a blanket for her baby? She’ll love it, Maggie.”

Elsie’s nipped out to get some shopping for supper while I’m behind the counter untangling flags when Maxine calls.

“Hi Jo. Have you got your final invite list?”

“Sure, I’ll e-mail it over. I thought Connie and Mark with Nelly and Marco. Tina and Graham Davis, he’s the local fireman I told you about, and their son, Travis; and Jane and Bob Johnson and Seth; and Laura from the shop and her little girl, Rosie.”

“Perfect.”

“I can think of more if you want me to?”

“No, that sounds about right. What about your friend Ellen?”

“I was going to ask you about that. She’ll kill me if I don’t get her an invite, but you know she works in telly?”

“That’s fine, as long as she knows it’s a private event. Although it’ll be full of people from London and they all gossip like mad, so we’ll be on our best behavior. Anyone else you’d like to add?”

“Gran and Reg obviously, if you’re still sure that’s okay, and Cinzia, and Martin, and I was going to ask you, could we invite his mother, Elsie, from the shop? Only it would save me no end of bother if she can come.”

“Sure.”

“She’s quite annoying.”

“So are most of the other guests, don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks, Max.”

Excellent. I think I might have a way to get Elsie out of her Sulk.

I think I’ll text Martin first, just to gloat.

HAVE JUST WANGLED INVITE FOR YOU AND YOUR MUM TO GRACELAND MOTHER’S DAY PARTY. YOU NOW OWE ME BIG-TIME.

My mobile rings.

“I always knew you were brilliant, although Dad and I are getting the hang of the silent thing and we quite like it.”

“How ungrateful. Well, I’ll just leave it then, shall I?”

He laughs. “No, sorry, it’s great. I wish I could see her face when you tell her. Say I asked you to fix it, would you? I seriously need to get back in her good books.”

“Sure, and by the way, it’s fancy dress.”

“Bloody hell. Do I really need to go? I’m hopeless at parties, and if it’s fancy dress it’ll be even worse.”

“It’s fine. Just rent a sailor suit.”

“Are you serious?”

“No, you twit.”

“So it’s not fancy dress then?”

“No, well, apart from you. Look, I’ll call you later, I can’t talk now, we’re just about to sort the window display.”

“Is that Mum?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t forget, tell her I asked you specially, whatever it takes.”

“I think I’ve got it covered, speak later.”

Elsie’s thrilled.

“Isn’t that nice of her, asking local people. Fancy. And just a few of us; put some noses out of joint, that will. I’ll get Martin’s suit to the dry cleaners.”

“It’s just people with children really, Elsie, and a few friends.”

She nods. “I know, dear, but just think, that Mrs. Morgan’s going to be so annoyed.”

We both smile.

“Either she invited hundreds or it had to be just a select few.”

She mutters “select few” to herself as she hands me the box for the window.

“I’ll go and make us some tea, shall I, dear? I’ll just put these chops in the fridge; my Martin loves chops for his tea.”

“Great.”

Mission accomplished.

Half an hour later I’m still balanced in the window pegging cardigans on the washing line with the little wooden pegs, and hanging the flags across the partition. Gran and Betty have arrived and are sitting in the café talking about what Gran will wear to Graceland, with Elsie joining in and then nipping back into the shop whenever anyone comes in. Tom’s looking lovesick, mainly because he hopes Cinzia might be coming in; it turned out his knitted heart was for her, so that’s something else for me to worry about. She seemed delighted, but I’ve got visions of half of Connie’s family descending on me to complain that I’ve encouraged a dalliance with a would-be musician-waiter, and they’ve probably got enough of those at home. Connie’s pretty relaxed about it, and so far they’ve only been for a walk, with Nelly and Marco as chaperones. But you never know. He’s doing a fair bit of lovesick lolling about, so I’m predicting Trouble.

“It all looks lovely, pet.” Gran’s peering over the partition.

“It’s getting there.”

“The colors are so pretty.”

I’ve chosen some of the nicest pastels, buttermilk and caramel and blush pink and powder blue, with peppermint and primrose, and none of the nasty sickly green that Elsie’s always trying to order, or the acrylic peach four-ply. And there’s an old-fashioned layette, with a fancy shawl, and a tiny sleepsuit with mittens and bootees. I’ve swathed white and cream muslin over the partition so everything looks fresh, but it’s still a bit sparse. I’ve got a few cardigans in brighter colors to fold on the shelf at the side, in the baby cotton, a lovely bright pink, and one with navy and white stripes, and one in damson, so that’ll help. And then the blankets, in creams and pale coffee colors, with borders of nutmeg, and a pretty oatmeal one with a catkin border.

“I’ll put the knitted animals in too, Gran, and can you and Betty make a few more, they sell really well. I’ll save the ducks and rabbits for Easter, but a few more of the little teddies and the elephants would be great. Oh, and the penguins, with proper beaks this time.”

She smiles. I knitted one of the penguins a few months ago, but I managed to get the decreasing for the beak wrong, so it ended up a bit more like a puffin than a penguin.

“Of course we will. I like to have a bit of knitting on the go in the evenings, you know that, pet.”

“I’m going to play around with some new blanket designs for Grace; she wants something a bit bigger, so I might need your help with that.”

“Right you are.”

For larger blankets I prefer knitting squares; it’s so much less daunting than casting on vast numbers of stitches on a circular needle. I usually sew a flannel sheet to the back to help keep the shape, or thinner cotton or muslin for a newborn blanket. I’ve already got one to sew onto Connie’s blanket when it’s ready, in pale yellow brushed cotton with little ducklings on it.

“I thought we could do some new motif patterns for the squares too, like the seaside blanket I knitted for Jack when we first moved down here. Ice cream cones and lollipops, flowers, boats, the letters of the alphabet, that kind of thing.”

“Well, let me know if you need a hand.”

“Thanks Gran.”

Gran and Elsie often help me write the patterns, and then we make up the kits in our posh new McKnits boxes, with bright pink tissue paper. And unlike the bigger companies, who make you buy a ball of every different color you need, we divide up balls into smaller skeins: Elsie loves winding them onto our new little McKnits contrast cards. So we can keep the prices reasonable and still make a decent profit.

I’m just about finished when Mrs. Peterson comes in. She smiles at me over the partition as Gran comes through from the café. “Do you need any help, dear?”

“I was just, I’m not sure, I used to knit, I made things for both the girls and they loved them.”

She hesitates.

“Did you? And now you’re thinking of starting up again, are you? I think that’s a lovely idea.”

“I see the colors, in the window. I often stop to look when I walk by, and they’re so pretty. And Amy’s friend Nelly, at school, she’s got a lovely cardigan her mum made for her, so I thought I’d try to knit one for Amy, if it’s not too difficult?”

“It’s the pattern with the flowers on the pockets, Gran, the one Connie made, in the cashmerino; we’ve got most of the colors on the shelves, just over there. Hang on a minute and I’ll show you.”

I show her the pattern, and the wool, and help her choose the colors and make sure they’re from the same dye lots.

I’m putting the wool and needles into one of our shopping bags while she looks at the pattern book.

“I can’t wait to get started. I just hope I can manage it, I’d hate to disappoint her. She’s been so good, and, well. It’s been difficult.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, but why don’t you sit in the café and I’ll help you make a start. Have a coffee, and we can read through the pattern together?”

“Oh, would you? That would be so kind.”

“Of course, no problem, that’s what we’re here for.”

“It’s hard, when children are so young, and they have to cope with such terrible things, isn’t it?”

She looks at me, and I know she’s trying to say something, about Nick; Tina will have told her, and she’s trying to let me know that she knows, about Jack and Archie, losing Nick, as well as her Amy, losing her sister. So much loss, for such little people.

“Yes. But they cope, somehow. It doesn’t stop you minding, though, does it?”

“No.”

She puts the pattern book into the shopping bag.

“Shall I sit anywhere, in the café?”

“Yes, I’ll be through in a minute, I just need to take these boxes back up to the storeroom. And I can highly recommend the cake, if you’re in the mood for a treat.”

Gran and Betty have got her sitting with them when I get back downstairs, and Betty’s reading the pattern, and explaining how healthy our smoothlies are.

It doesn’t matter how many times I say smoothies, they just nod and then carry on calling them smoothlies. Even I’ve started doing it now.

“They’re very good in the mornings, if you don’t eat much breakfast. I often pop in for one, you should give them a try, dear. Shouldn’t she, Mary?”

Gran nods and pours me a cup of tea and tops up Mrs. Peterson’s cup.

“Tell Jo about your Valentine’s card, Betty. She got ever such a lovely one, with a big red satin heart on it.”

“Yes, only I haven’t worked out who it’s from yet, and it’s driving me demented, I can tell you. I think it’s that Ted Mallow from the Lifeboats, but I’m not sure. Silly to send one and then not make yourself known if you ask me, just making a nuisance of himself, but then he’s always been like that.”

Mrs. Peterson is smiling at Gran.

“Did you get one this year, dear?”

She looks surprised. “Er, yes, from my husband.”

“Isn’t that lovely? Nice when they still bother. Mind you, lovely-looking girl like you, you can’t blame him, dear.”

Gran winks at me. “Has Her Majesty calmed down about the boat yet? She seems a bit happier.”

“Sort of, but don’t mention it.”

“It’ll cost him a fair bit, I shouldn’t wonder, and he’s got that barn to do as well. He’ll have to be careful.”

“He’s taking on extra consultancy work, in London.”

“Is he? Well, that won’t go down well. She was just saying she’s going to ask him to drive her into Canterbury for late closing on Thursday, see if she can find a new frock.”

“Right.”

“What will you be wearing, pet?” Gran turns to Mrs. Peterson. “We’re off to a special tea party at the weekend, only I’ve got no idea what to wear.”

“I don’t know, Gran. Something that won’t show stains? It’s a tea party with children. There’s not a lot of point in wearing anything too special.”

“Yes, but that’s half the fun, isn’t it, getting a new outfit. Have you been into Debenhams? They’ve got some lovely things. Have you been in lately, dear?”

I hope Mrs. Peterson’s not going to regret coming in today. But once Gran and Betty have got you in their sights, there’s little chance of escape.

“No, not lately.”

Betty puts her cup down. “You should do, love. You’ve got such a lovely figure, and they’ve got some pretty spring colors in now. We saw a nice blue blouse that would suit you. What would you call that color, Mary?”

“What color?”

“That blouse we saw in Debenhams.”

“Petrol blue?”

“Yes, although why do they call it petrol? Petrol isn’t a color.”

“I think there’s a bird with that color plumage, a seabird I think.”

Betty gives Mrs. Peterson a very approving look. “Is there, dear? Fancy that. Did you hear that, Mary? It’s a bird. Well, I bet it looks very smart when it’s flapping about, it’s a smart color. They had it in pink too. But it wasn’t a very nice pink. More salmon than you’d want in a blouse.”

Mrs. Peterson appears to be trying not to laugh now.

Oh God. I think I might go back in the window.

Ellen and Harry arrive at lunchtime on Saturday with Eddie asleep in his car seat.

“He’s so much bigger, Ellen, I can’t believe how much he’s grown.”

“Never stops eating, that’s why. Total little porker.”

“He’s gorgeous.”

Harry grins.

“Can I park him upstairs? He usually has a couple of hours around now, and if he wakes up he’ll be hell on wheels.”

“Sure, you’re in the same room as last time. I’ve moved Pearl’s cot into my room and put the travel cot up, I’ve put a sheet in and a couple of blankets. There are more on top of the chest of drawers if you need them.”

“Thanks, Jo.”

“So what’s the plan for today, darling?”

“Lunch, and then I need to go into the shop. So I thought we could all go, and then maybe a walk on the beach?”

“In this weather, are you joking?”

“It’s warmer than it’s been all week, Ellen, and it’s not pouring. That’s top weather round here. And anyway, I’ve got to take the kids out for a run; it’s a bit like having dogs; lots of fresh air and exercise or they break the furniture.”

“Okay, a bit of fresh air, dump the kids and go out clubbing later, yes?”

“Or come home, make supper, do bath time, and then collapse in a heap by the fire?”

“And then we go out clubbing?”

“Sure.”

She grins. “This motherhood thing is rubbish, isn’t it?”

“Totally.”

We’re enjoying a cold but sunny walk along the beach, and I’ve even remembered to bring a carton of milk and the keys to the beach hut, so we can have a cup of tea while the kids race about and Eddie gets to look at the sea, which he seems to find completely mesmerizing. Pearl has let Ellen wear her tiara, for about thirty seconds. All in all, it’s going very well indeed, until Trevor bounds toward us. Great.