Needles and Pearls (26 page)

‘I’m not surprised. That wool-shop woman’s always thought she’s better than the rest of us with her fancy friends. Of course illegitimate babies are obviously all the rage, so normal standards of decent behaviour don’t apply to her, apparently.’

Christ. Mrs Chambers looks terribly embarrassed as I stand up and walk towards the doorway carrying my bouquet of flowers.

Actually, as Ellen would say, fuck this.

‘Hello, Annabel. I thought it was you.’

Mrs Chambers is standing behind me, as Annabel falters;
I think she’s desperately trying to work out if I’ve heard her, or more importantly if Mrs Chambers has.

‘I bet you’re pleased with how well everything’s gone today. You must remember to thank Connie.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Thank Mrs Maxwell. She did most of the work on our stall and her husband made the brilliant cakes. Such an important part of being the President of the PTA, thanking people for all their hard work. Don’t you think?’

Mrs Nelson looks positively frightened now as Annabel tries to rally.

‘Yes, of course. I always thank my team.’

‘Do you? I must have missed that bit. Anyway, I’d better go and find the kids. Oh and by the way, Annabel, nobody says illegitimate any more, unless they’re a total bigot, of course. Great outfit, although you do look a bit hot. That’s one advantage of dressing like a slut; it’s wonderfully cool.’

I walk back along the corridor towards the hall, feeling very very pleased with myself. I’m feeling shaken, but not really stirred, and for once in my life I’ve managed actually to say what I wanted to say, instead of thinking of it ten minutes later. And serve her right.

Mrs Chambers is smiling.

‘That was wonderful. Well done you.’

‘Cow.’

‘Precisely. I can’t wait to tell Mr O’Brien. It’s made my day.’

‘Mine too.’

We’re laughing as Annabel storms past us, looking livid, with Mrs Nelson trotting along behind her.

Shame.

*   *   *

Mark has to head back to the pub to get ready for the evening rush, so Martin and Reg walk home with the kids and Trevor, and I drive back with Connie and Gran. She’s made a summer pudding, and I’ve got cold chicken in the fridge so I’ve only got to make salads and boil some potatoes and we’ll be set.

‘Shall we eat in the garden?’

‘Lovely, pet – it’ll be nice and cool under the big tree.’

The boys are having a lovely time in the garden while Nellie plays in the tent, and we drink tea in the kitchen and make the salads.

I’ve rinsed out the cool bag back we had at school and I’m putting it back in the boot of the car when I notice Martin is tied to a tree in the front garden, with what looks like Trevor’s extendable dog lead.

‘Having fun?’

‘I’m a hostage.’

‘Right.’

‘Only I can’t actually move my hands, and I think they’ve sort of forgotten I’m the hostage. You couldn’t untie me?’

‘Why didn’t you shout?’

‘They were only playing.’

‘Martin.’

‘I was too embarrassed. I thought I’d undo it and slope back into the house, but I’ve only made the knot tighter.’

The little swines have wrapped the lead round his legs and the tree trunk, and then round his hands before knotting it.

Archie comes thundering through the side gate.

‘Mum, don’t let him free – he’s our prisoner.’

I carry on unravelling dog lead.

‘Don’t be silly, Archie. You can’t leave people tied to trees.’

Trevor’s running round us now, barking.

‘We’ll tie you up next.’

‘Oh no you won’t, not if you want any pudding tonight.’

He tuts.

‘Tea, Martin?’

‘Please. Or possibly something stronger.’

‘What, like for shock? Being taken hostage must have taken its toll.’

‘I think I’d prefer it if we never mentioned this again, if you don’t mind.’

‘I’ll think about it. What’s it worth?’

‘Sorry?’

‘For me not to tell your mum horrible big boys tied you to a tree?’ He shakes his head.

‘I’m never going to live this down, am I?’

‘All right, I promise, subject closed.’

‘Great.’

‘Come on, Houdini. You can help me lay the table.’

He sighs.

Supper is a triumph. We carry an odd assortment of chairs out into the garden, or rather Connie and Martin do, while Reg supervises. I’ve even found some candles, which we’ve stuck in plant pots, and Connie’s sprinkled rose petals on the tablecloth.

There’s an impromptu game of football after supper, and I’m having a quiet five minutes on the sofa before I make coffee; two helpings of summer pudding have put paid to there being any chance of me even managing to stand in goal.

When I wake up Gran’s sitting knitting, and it’s nearly dark.

‘The boys are in bed, pet – we didn’t like to wake you. Reg has gone back with Martin to see the barn. Sounds like it’s coming on a treat, doesn’t it? And Connie says she’ll call
you tomorrow. I gave the boys a quick bath. Our Archie had ever so much ice cream in his hair – I don’t know how he does it.’

‘Thanks, Gran.’

‘Do you want a drink, pet?’

‘Please. What are you knitting?’

‘A blanket for the baby.’

‘Who’s had a baby?’

She looks at me.

‘Oh, right. Great.’

‘I’m making a few little things, so I can get ahead of myself.’

‘That sounds good.’

That’s what I need to be doing, getting ahead of myself instead of falling asleep on sofas when I’ve got people round for supper.

‘Tea?’

‘Lovely. I’ll do it. You stay there.’

Tea, at the end of a perfect day, when I finally got to tell Annabel Morgan to piss off, without actually using the words piss off. How perfect is that?

The first week of the school holidays heralds the end of the heatwave, so I’ve been trying to think of things to do in the rain that don’t involve spending money or watching twelve hours of television every day. Olivia’s doing more days in the shop, and Betty’s standing in for Elsie when she has her week in Spain, so it’s all getting pretty complicated; and proper mothers have action-packed itineraries all worked out, with trips to museums with bloody worksheets prepared in advance, and all I’ve got is a new straw hat and some jelly shoes for the boys to wear in the sea. Still, we’ve made bread, and a rather disastrous fruit cake, and taken Trevor for damp walks on the beach, and by yesterday I was so desperate I even agreed to a treasure hunt, and had to spend ages writing out clues, which I’m crap at, followed by a mammoth post-treasure-hunt-putting-things-back-in-drawers session after Archie got a bit overenthusiastic. But at least all the towels are now neatly folded in the airing cupboard and Jack’s favourite
Batman
pyjamas have resurfaced.

Today is almost sunny, so we’ve got high hopes for today. Archie’s already wearing his snorkel: one of the great things about having a beach hut, or rather Gran having one, is that
you can head off for a picnic without having half a hundredweight of assorted bags slung round your neck, while you try to carry fishing nets and buckets and spades without poking anybody’s eye out. Jack’s filling a carrier bag with plastic soldiers but everything else we need is already in the hut, apart from lunch, which I’m about to make: polenta and sun-dried tomatoes in a balsamic dressing anybody? Or possibly Babybels and KitKats.

Ellen calls while I’m buttering rolls.

‘How’s it going, darling?’

‘It’s the school holidays – how do you think it’s going?’

‘On a scale of one to ten?’

‘A hundred and forty-eight.’

‘What are you doing for your birthday? Shall I come down?’

‘I thought a picnic on the beach and a barbecue.’

‘In Broadgate?’

‘Don’t sound so shocked.’

‘What if it rains?’

‘Then it’ll be a picnic and barbecue in my kitchen.’

‘I can’t wait. Okay, count me in. I’ll bring Harry, if he’s around. He’s feeling pretty pleased with himself at the moment, now he’s passed all his tests.’

‘What tests?’

‘Didn’t I say? We had our appointment with the fertility guru, and everything’s fine.’

‘That’s brilliant.’

‘He says we should give it a year, relax and he’s sure we’ll get pregnant. God I hate the way they say that, we’re pregnant. It’s total bollocks. Or, we can start treatment now, and he’ll relieve me of the ten grand and we can buy one instead.’

‘That sounds hopeful.’

‘I know, but a year, they’ve got to be joking. And now I don’t know if I want one because I can’t have one, if you know what I mean. What if I get pregnant and have it and then realise I’m not really up for it? Christ, I don’t want to turn into a breeder just because I can. And trying to talk to Harry’s a complete waste of time. He just says he wants what I want. As if I knew – I’m so busy at work there’s never time to think properly about anything. They’re talking about me doing thirty-minute specials now.’

‘That’s great, Ellen.’

‘Yes, but not if I’m in a fucking smock, it won’t be.’

‘Why don’t you think about it when you’re on your sailing week?’

‘Luxury yachting, darling, please. I’m not climbing ropes, at least I hope I’m not.’

‘Well, you’ll have plenty of peace and quiet then.’

‘I hate peace and quiet, but maybe. I’ll have to do something – it’s driving me crazy. Oh, and see if you can get the Diva along to your birthday thing, and I can get an exclusive on Jean-Luc, would you?’

‘Okay.’

‘Really?’

‘No.’

She laughs.

‘Talk later, darling.’

The chances of Grace appearing on Broadgate Beach at my birthday picnic with the man she’s brought back from Paris, according to all the papers, who I haven’t even clapped eyes on yet, are pretty slim, but I’ll tell Maxine about the party when I see them next week; they were so sweet about Archie’s birthday, and I wouldn’t want to offend her or
anything. But hopefully they won’t be able to make it, because apart from the prospect of us all being filmed in our non-A-list beachwear, and trying to restrain Ellen, who’s not very good at backing off and leaving people alone when there’s a big story at stake, I wouldn’t know what to do about food. I was thinking mixed salads, and maybe some home-made potato salad, but if we’re entertaining people with their own chefs then it will probably involve tricky stuff like quinoa, whatever that is. I bet it’s a bugger to cook. Mark will probably know. Actually, maybe I won’t mention anything to Maxine after all.

We’re finally ready to leave for the beach, now Jack has rounded up all his soldiers.

‘Can we go swimming, Mum?’

‘Probably. Let’s see how warm it is.’

‘But have you got your swimming costume on, Mum? Because last time you forgot it.’

‘It’s in my bag, Archie; and take that off, darling – I can’t hear you properly.’

He starts to skip.

Bugger. I was hoping to avoid appearing in public in my new pregnant-person’s swimsuit, which is seriously voluminous. I quite liked the look of the silver one with the little skirt, but I was worried it might float upwards and cover my face mid-swim, so I’ve gone for giant black Lycra with extra-wide shoulder straps, which manages to be baggy and yet not quite long enough at the same time, so I have to hunch slightly when I stand up. Please let there not be anyone from school on the beach. Or anyone from Whale Rescue, or I’ll be in danger of ending up covered in wet towels while they try to refloat me.

‘I want to get some rolls at the baker’s on the way to the shop.’

They both groan.

‘Only for a minute.’

I need to check how Olivia’s doing, and pick up some more cotton for another shawl; they’re selling really well at weekends now, so I’m knitting fairly speedily to keep up.

Olivia’s in the middle of serving Mrs Bishop when we arrive, who’s doing her usual thing of dithering and fussing but in a particularly snooty kind of way.

I take the boys upstairs for a carton of juice and a quick check through the post: the new stock’s in for the beach-bag kits, and Olivia’s made a start on unpacking it, so the table in the workroom is covered in half-assembled McKnits carrier bags, all neatly arranged with a pattern and a pair of needles.

I’m looking at the new autumn-shade cards for chunky wool and trying to decide which will be the most popular when Olivia comes upstairs.

‘She’s finally gone. Six balls of that horrible fuzzy stuff. I’m sorry about the mess.’

‘No, it looks like you’ve got a good system going here. Don’t let me interrupt. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.’

‘Actually, I wanted to ask you something, about Saturday afternoons, only some of my friends would like to come into the shop, for a group, like the one you do on Thursdays, only not with our mums. We want our own. I could show them how to cast on and stuff, and it’d be great. Could you help with the first one, though? We’d be ever so quiet.’

‘I was thinking of starting a Saturday group after the baby, actually. Can it wait until then? Only I’m not really sure I can manage it now, with the boys being on holiday and everything.’

She looks very disappointed.

‘I suppose, only it’s so boring round here.’

‘How many of your friends would come, do you think?’

‘About five or six. Sophie and Lauren definitely, and Gemma, and probably Anna Maddox too and Polly. They’re all really nice, and we’d be really quiet. Please.’

Since they’re my future customers I should probably try to make this work.

‘How about we try for a week and see how it goes? If they like it Elsie might be willing to help out, if you get stuck or anything. She’ll be downstairs anyway if we go for Saturday afternoon.’

‘That would be great. Thanks, Jo. And it’ll be brilliant. Usually there’s nothing going on round here – it’s so crap.’

Archie’s heard the word crap, and is now trying it out for size by mumbling inside his snorkel.

‘Archie, stop being silly.’

There’s a muffled sigh, and then he breathes out quickly into the tube, making a series of very satisfactorily rude-sounding noises that make Jack giggle.