Knit One Pearl One (9 page)

I poke my tongue out at her, and she laughs. “Is that a heart you’re making, Jo? Feeling in need of a bit of romance, are you?”

“Yes, and before you ask, it’s not mine, it’s Tom’s, from the café; he’s making it for Valentine’s Day and I said I’d sew the backing on for him. He made it earlier, and honestly, I’ve never seen anyone so hopeless in all my life, knit one, drop one, drop the needles, get the wool in a knot. The wool rolled under the ice cream fridge at one point, and he had to lie on the floor and poke it out with the pole we use to put the awnings up.”

There’s a chorus of “Bless his heart,” and Tina says she’d love it if Graham made one for her, although the idea of him trying to knit makes her laugh so much she nearly chokes and Linda has to bang her on the back.

“Elsie thinks he’s making it for his mum, but it’s for some girl he’s got his eye on, only he wouldn’t say who.”

We spend a happy ten minutes trying to work out who she might be. Linda’s determined to keep a lookout, and then we move on to discussing the bed-and-breakfast on the seafront which has been bought by two men from London. Apparently they’ve nearly finished the renovations, and it’s all stripped floorboards and rolltop baths in the middle of the bedrooms.

“Although why anyone would want a bath in the middle of their bedroom is beyond me, just think of the mess. And where would you put all the towels, that’s what I’d like to know. Be very nice sleeping next to a load of wet towels, won’t it?”

Linda picks up a piece of shortbread. “It’s all the rage you know, Tina; meant to be romantic, wandering about stark naked, although they better watch out in those rooms facing the sea. I was on the bus the other day and you can see right in from the top deck. So that’ll be something to look forward to.”

“Trust you to spot that. And I’m not sure if I want to get an eyeful of people wandering about starkers when I’m off out shopping, thanks all the same. Not anyone from round here anyway. I see quite enough of most of them in the salon.”

“Yes, but that’s the point. It’s for weekend breaks, isn’t it, so they’ll all be down from London, new, fit people who go to the gym and everything. Could be a real eye-opener. I wonder if it’ll just be gay couples.”

Everyone looks at Linda. “Mrs. Parsons saw them having a smooch, the two blokes that own it, down by the bandstand, and I think it’s lovely, just what we need round here. Make a change from Mrs. Salter and her B and B, all rubber eggs and out by ten-thirty in the morning even if it’s chucking it down with rain. I can’t see any of the London types putting up with that.”

Maggie nods. “It’ll be a bit more expensive, though, won’t it?”

“Yes, but it’ll be worth it if you get to put on a show for all the people on the bus. Spread a little happiness, that’s my motto. And anyway, it means we’re going up in the world, doesn’t it, what with Jo’s shop and the new café, and Connie and the pub, and the new art gallery in the High Street. We’re getting more like Whitstable every day. Property prices will go up, you mark my words, and we’ll all be able to retire. Stands to reason. And we’ve got Grace Harrison, she’s a local too, and Whitstable haven’t got any big film stars like her, have they? So we’re one up on them on that front. When is she back, Jo? They had that new film of hers in the papers again; it looks great, full of special effects and car chases.”

“It’s a thriller I think, an international diamond robbery and a huge budget and a cast packed full of A-listers. I can’t wait to see it. I’m not sure when they’re back, soon I think, I had an e-mail from Maxine the other day. I must call her and find out.”

“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.”