The Great Christmas Knit Off (27 page)

‘Well, in that case, it’s a blooming good job that Sybs is staying with me for Christmas then!’ Cher bellows excitedly from behind the bar.

‘Really? Is this true?’ Lawrence asks, giving me a big hug. Hettie is staring at me, barely able to take it all in and I’m sure there’s a glimmer of a tear in her eye.

‘Yes!’ I nod and grin, before swallowing the last of my Baileys. And everyone starts cheering, then laughing, and then panicking and talking over each other really fast
.

‘But how are we going to do it all?’ I hear Marigold say to Edie.

‘Yes, I can knit fast, but not that fast, and what about the wool? Does Hettie even have enough stock to cover such a huge project?’ Edie then replies, turning to Louise with a look of sheer panic in her eyes.

‘OK, let’s all calm down,’ I interject, flapping my hands around for them to stop – I can see Hettie is getting anxious, she’s twisting a hanky around and around her left index finger.

‘Don’t you mean keep calm and carry yarn?’ smiles Leo. ‘I spotted it on your very gorgeous knitting bag,’ he explains.

‘Ha! Yep, that too.’ They all quieten down. ‘OK, it says here,’ I point to the laptop again, ‘that only fifteen jumpers need to be ready for when the tourists arrive; they want to wear them to the Christmas Fair on the village green, apparently.’ A collective ‘Awwwww, that’s nice,’ goes around the table. I scan the notes on the screen some more. ‘That’ll be why you thought the order was for just fifteen, Taylor.’

‘Phew. I can read properly after all,’ she says, inspecting one of her loom bands.

‘Of course you can!’ I smile at her, before addressing the group again. ‘And Hettie has more than enough yarn in stock so I really think we can do this,’ I say, truly hoping they’ll help out, and remembering Hettie’s stock cupboard under the stairs – even after I had finished filling the display unit, there must have been at least a billion balls still left in there. I’m convinced of it.

‘Oh, panic over! That’s definitely doable,’ laughs Marigold, ‘even with my appallingly slow knitting. I’m sure even I can manage a sleeve or two, if someone casts me on and starts me off.’

‘But, there is an additional request – very polite it is too,’ I continue.

‘Oh, yes, they’re always very polite,’ Lawrence says proudly.

‘Ah, here we go.’ I scroll further down the online order form. ‘They want the other sixty jumpers to arrive at the theme park near Tokyo, by Wednesday 24 December, for the staff to wear over the Christmas period.’

Cue another stunned silence.

‘In that case, I’d better call the chair of the bridge club, straight away,’ says Marigold, instantly getting involved, as she did when the bailiffs turned up. ‘And my friends in the Women’s Institute will help too, they owe me a favour after I persuaded Lucan to let them hold what’s become an annual summer fete on the estate. And they all love knitting, so I’m sure they’ll jump at the chance to help Hettie. And besides, it’ll be so much fun.’

‘But the kids break up from school soon, so I’m going to have my hands full with them.’ Molly sighs. ‘Oh well, they’ll just have to get on with it, the older ones can look after the little one.’ She puffs and pulls a diary from her bag, flicking through the pages, counting the days off one by one. ‘This is really important for Hettie’s livelihood,’ she raises her eyebrows to Marigold, who nods surreptitiously before glancing away. Ah, so word of the bailiffs’ visit has got around the village already then, I see. Molly continues, ‘And it’s important for Tindledale too, we need our small businesses to thrive or, before we know it, the heart and soul will have been ripped out of the village and replaced with a massive big housing estate or supermarket or whatever.’ Hmm, so they
do
all know about Hettie’s nephew’s plans. ‘And we certainly don’t want to let our Japanese friends down; their custom has been very good for the village over the years.’ They all nod.

‘Then we’ll all muck in and make it work,’ Lawrence summarises brightly. ‘I’ll have you know that I’m a very good knitter so I’ll gladly help out if I can – I’ll be busy with the pantomime but I’m sure I can squeeze in a few sleeves, they don’t take long, or I can do some sewing up or whatever. I need to make sure my Japanese guests are well looked after, so they come back next year, and the year after that and so on and so on and so on.’ He laughs.

‘And I could occupy the children for you Molly,’ Beth says.

‘No, you can’t. You’re needed for knitting,’ Hettie jumps in with a panicky look on her face. ‘But they can join us at the shop. There’s plenty of space now that Sybil has kindly cleared out all the rubbish, or there’s the garden around the oast if they want to play in the snow. It’s a pity I don’t have a TV, children like TV these days.’ She twists her hanky some more, obviously keen to make this work.

‘It’ll be fine Hettie, please don’t worry,’ I say, reassuringly. ‘I’ll draw up a list of knitters, once Marigold has roped everyone in, and then we can plan out the most efficient way to get the jumpers knitted in time. I’ll knit day and night if I have to.’ There’s a collective reply of ‘me too’ and lots of nodding around the table. It’s wonderful to see how keen they are to pull together and help their neighbour, Hettie, out.

‘And I can help too,’ Kitty joins in. ‘I won’t be able to leave The Spotted Pig to come and sit with you at Hettie’s, but I can knit, and it’ll give me something to do of an evening.’

Cher arrives with the panettone bread pudding.

‘Careful now, this is really hot,’ she says, lowering an enormous ceramic dish, with tea towels at either end, into the centre of the table. Clive comes over with a steaming jug of brandy custard, which smells divine, all homely and Christmassy and comforting, with the kitchen boy behind him who’s pushing a trolley with a big pile of bowls and spoons on.

‘You’re in for a treat, ladies and gents,’ says Clive. ‘Kitty has excelled herself with this pudding.’ They exchange nods.

‘And don’t be worrying about the kids,’ Cher says, looking at Molly. ‘We can set up a crèche in the games room at the back of the pub. There’s a TV and DVD player in there.’ She beams, slinging the tea towels over her shoulders.

‘And I’m sure my teaching assistant would be happy to help out,’ Beth jumps in. ‘She was just saying a few days ago that now her two grown-up sons are off gallivanting around Australia, she’s at a bit of a loss over the holidays and really not looking forward to being home alone just twiddling her thumbs.’

‘Oh, is that Pearl? Lives in Rose Cottage down near the station?’ Molly asks eagerly.

‘Yes, that’s her,’ Beth replies.

‘Lovely woman. My four boys adore her. And I know lots of other mums that knit, and would most likely jump at the chance to join in the knit off if their kids can play with my lot. They’ll be climbing the walls by day two of the holidays in any case, that’s for sure.’ She purses her lips and picks up a serving spoon to portion the pudding into bowls which she then hands to Amber to start passing around the table.

‘Well, that’s settled then. I’ll pop in and check with her on my way home,’ says Beth. ‘But I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

‘Now, will you please all get stuck into your puddings?’ Cher laughs. ‘You need to keep up your strength for the great Christmas knit off!’

T
he following morning, and we’ve wasted no time in casting on. Cher’s new beds arrived first thing, so after trying to help her put them together and failing miserably (she called Pete to help in the end, with promises of free beer until the end of the year), I managed to find the Ho Ho Ho pattern online, print off several copies on Lawrence’s printer, and brought them straight here to Hettie’s House of Haberdashery so we could all get started.

It turns out that Mr Tanaka, one of the Japanese tourists, has an uncle on the board of the English village theme park near Tokyo and they had a knitting factory lined up to produce sixty festive jumpers for the staff to wear over Christmas. But when the factory went into liquidation, and Mr Tanaka was browsing all things Tindledale and getting excited for his annual trip, he spotted Hettie’s new website, and my Ho Ho Ho jumper hanging in the window, and promptly told his uncle, who decided that a traditional handknitted Christmas jumper was exactly what was needed to replace the original order. Apparently, they had been trying to find another supplier and had almost given up hope because all the traditional British knitting companies they had contacted were already swamped with Christmas commissions. It seems wacky Christmas jumpers really are in great demand this year.

Half the payment was wired overnight, so Hettie immediately repaid the £500 she owed to Marigold, who was very reluctant to take it but finally caved in when Hettie threatened to expel her from the Tindledale Tappers if she refused, and seeing as this is the most fun that Marigold has had in years, she quickly accepted, and then called the bailiffs to clear some more of the arrears on the loan. The order has bought Hettie some much-needed time – we just have to knit the jumpers and get them to Tokyo so that Hettie has the rest of the money to be in with a chance of saving her home and the wonderful House of Haberdashery.

So it’s all hands on needles here in Tindledale, and there must be at least thirty people crammed into Hettie’s shop, every one of them knitting and nattering away, with every available chair, sofa and stool occupied. There are even a couple of guys sitting on the rug in front of the fire – fashion and textiles students home from university for the holidays, they saw Taylor’s postcard in the village store and came right away to join in.

The most experienced knitters are working on jumper fronts with the Ho Ho Ho pattern on, while everyone else has been assigned to either backs, sleeves, sewing together, stitching on the
Handmade by Hettie’s House of Haberdashery
labels or keeping the fire stoked and the biscuit barrel fully stocked – some of Taylor’s friends turned up, which is wonderful and they’ll get taught how to knit in time, but for now, it’s definitely all about the great Christmas knit off, as it’s now known in and around the village after everyone heard Cher christen the project accordingly in the pub.

The click-clack of the needles is deafening at times, but brilliant too, a real feeling of community, of neighbours and friends, and strangers until today, all pulling together and having a laugh in the process – Leo has had us all in stitches with his outrageous tales from last summer in Marbella, followed by Edie telling us about her time in the Fifties, when she worked as a waitress, or a Nippy as they were known, in a Lyons Corner House tea shop on the Strand in London. She still has a photo somewhere at home, of her in the iconic black-and-white uniform, which she’s promised to bring along tomorrow to show us all. Truly fascinating. And one of the WI ladies brought along a big silver tea urn (currently installed on the draining board in Hettie’s kitchen-cum-sitting-room) and her recently retired husband came too with instructions to ‘make himself useful and hand out hot drinks’, which worked very nicely with the delicious big bacon butties that Cooper sent down with Molly (minus the ferret) for our brunch break.

‘Oh, Cher’s here now,’ I say, on seeing her snow-covered car pull up outside the shop. She’s scraped the windows clear, leaving about a six-inch chunk of snow balancing precariously on the roof, half of which slides down the front, caking the bonnet and windscreen as she skids to a halt. I finish my row and place the knitting carefully into my bag, figuring I can easily get this section finished on the journey to Market Briar, and every moment of knitting time counts when you’re working on such a big project as we are right now.

‘Right you are, dear.’ It’s Hettie, who looks up from her knitting. ‘Will you call me on the phone, the very minute you know?’ she asks, anxiously. Ever since the order came in, Hettie has been panicking about getting the jumpers to Tokyo on time, especially as the last date for guaranteed delivery by Christmas with the Royal Mail is already long gone.

‘Yes, of course, I promise.’ I jump up to pull on my parka and scarf. Basil doesn’t even stir; he’s far too busy being tickled by Taylor’s friends.

‘Leave him here; poor thing doesn’t want to go out in this cold weather,’ Hettie says, seeing me looking his way. ‘He’ll be fine here with us.’

‘Thanks,’ I grin. ‘And Hettie, please don’t worry.’ It came to me in the early hours of this morning when I woke from a long, deep sleep, which is a welcome and regular occurrence now, regardless of my brandy consumption, and suddenly remembered Dolly’s import and export business, so Cher and I are calling in on our way to Market Briar. ‘And if Dolly can’t help then we’ll find another way – there are lots of courier companies who I’m sure will leap at the chance to take sixty Christmas jumpers to Japan for us.’

‘But won’t they be very expensive?’ Molly asks, before taking a sip of her tea. ‘Dolly might give us a discount,’ she adds hopefully.

‘Ah, we don’t need to worry about that – Mr Tanaka has already confirmed that he’s covering the shipping costs. I just need to let him know in advance so he can transfer the payment; it’ll all work out fine, you’ll see.’ I smile again at Hettie, wishing she wouldn’t worry, but it must be so hard for her – I saw the pile of ominous-looking post that arrived for her earlier and that hateful nephew of hers has been bothering her again; I overheard her on the phone saying, ‘I’m not ready to go into a home.’ And another time, Marigold heard her saying, ‘My home is here in Tindledale. Your father would turn in his grave if he heard you saying such things.’ It’s such a shame, but at least, hopefully, now Hettie can hold on to her House of Haberdashery for a while longer.