Authors: Gil McNeil
I cast on Ellen’s scarf for her, and we sit chatting while we knit, which is exactly how I want the group to be, only maybe with slightly less swearing: relaxed and friendly, and just the kind of thing you’d fancy after a long day at work, or at home with the kids.
‘Wasn’t Mr Pallfrey sweet last night, when we were playing football? Although that goal was definitely a foul.’
I think Lulu’s still rather aggrieved about scoring an own goal, with a little help from Trevor.
Ellen laughs.
‘It’s nice to know you’ve got such mad neighbours to keep you busy down here, darling.’
‘He’s not mad, it’s just Trevor’s a bit too lively for him. Anyone fancy another coffee?’
‘Yes please. And a brandy if you’ve got any; I’m still feeling a bit fragile.’
‘Sorry, I’m a bit low on brandy at the moment.’
‘How low?’
‘Very. We don’t get much call for it, funnily enough, not with this being a wool shop.’
‘There you are, then, that’s a perfect job for Trevor the Wonder Dog; he’s the size of a fucking St Bernard. He can trot around doling out restorative shots. You’d make a fortune, and it would knacker him out.’
‘I’ll mention it to Mr Pallfrey.’
While I’m upstairs waiting for the kettle to boil I realise Ellen’s right; I’ve had more neighbourly moments down here
in a few weeks than I had in all the years we lived in London. I think I only spoke to the people next door once, when the water main burst in the high street and our water was turned off. They weren’t very friendly, and both drove matching silver Audis and got very annoyed when I parked my car in what they liked to think of as their second space, even though it was right outside our house. Apart from them and Mrs Parrish I never got past the occasional wave with any of the other people in the street. In fact I think I was rather lonely, which isn’t something I’m going to have to worry about down here, since I couldn’t be lonely if I tried, what with Trevor popping round, and Gran, and Elsie keeping me on my toes in the shop.
Ellen’s managed to drop a couple of stitches by the time I get back downstairs, so I sort them out for her, and then we sit trying to work out what to put on the Stitch and Bitch postcard for the window. I’ve got some pale-pink postcards from the art gallery, and lots of shiny silver stars, and I’ll do one for the newsagents and the library noticeboard as well.
‘What day are you going for?’
I hand Ellen the card, since she’s doing the writing with her posh fountain pen.
‘Thursday. Gran doesn’t have anything that night, so she can look after the boys.’
We try out different lines, and discard most of Ellen’s because they sound slightly rude, before we finally settle on:
Absolute Beginners
Want to learn to knit?
Join our Stitch and Bitch Group
Here every Thursday, 7-9pm
I’ve just finished sticking the card in the window when Elsie arrives, with a tall man with very short hair, who looks like he’s just got out of the army; he’s pale and looks a bit shell-shocked,
but that may be because Elsie’s gone into pursed-lips mode again.
‘I see you’re going ahead with your group then; I still don’t like the name – our ladies are very polite, you know, and I don’t think that sort of thing will appeal to them. I hope you won’t be too disappointed when nobody turns up. Anyway, I’ve brought my Martin along to look at upstairs for you. He’s ever so good at carpentry, always has been, and it’s turning into quite a nice little sideline for him, as well as his computers job. Isn’t it, Martin?’
She gives him a slight nudge.
‘You remember Jo? You used to play together in the summer when she came down to stay with her gran, with her brother Vincent.’
‘Yes, of course I do, Mum. You look completely different from the last time I saw you, Jo, much bigger – I mean taller, more grown-up.’
He’s gone red.
‘I suppose it must have been at least twenty years ago?’
‘Yes, that sounds about right.’
There’s an awkward silence while he looks at his feet.
‘So you’re after some shelves?’
‘Yes. I want to turn upstairs into a workroom, with more shop space. I got a quote from the man who did Gran’s roof, but it was way more than I can afford. I thought I might just go to Ikea and get something cheap.’
He flinches at the mention of Ikea. ‘I’m sure we can do better than that. What sort of wood were you thinking of?’
‘Sorry?’
‘For the shelves.’
‘Something cheap that I can paint white I suppose. Chipboard?’
He flinches again.
‘I’ve got some lovely oak in the shed – it’s been drying for years
so it’s ready now. Or there’s pine if you prefer. I could stain it, or wax it. I prefer wax, myself. It respects the wood more.’
I’d forgotten he and Jeffrey collect wood in the big shed in their garden. It used to be Jeffrey’s workshop, but I suppose it’s Martin’s workshop too now.
‘That sounds lovely, but won’t it be really expensive?’
‘No. Dad got it for free when the builders were gutting somewhere. He always keeps an eye out for good timber, and I do the same, so we’re running out of space. I saw some lovely floorboards in a skip the other week but we haven’t got the room. It’s a terrible shame what people throw out; with just a bit of work they’d have been beautiful.’
‘Well, if you’re sure, that sounds great. I’d pay you for your time, of course.’
Elsie looks pleased. ‘I’m sure you’ll find his rates are very reasonable.’
He gives her a pained look.
‘It’s more of a hobby, really. I wouldn’t want to charge you – if you could just cover the cost of anything I need to buy, that’ll be fine.’
Elsie tuts.
‘Don’t be silly, Martin. I’ve told you, there’s no point in selling yourself short all the time, letting people walk all over you, like someone we won’t mention. I’ll take you up and show you the room while I put the kettle on, I’m gasping for a cup of tea. Would anyone else like one? Miss Malone?’
Ellen’s doing her Britain’s Favourite Broadcaster smile.
‘No, thank you, Elsie, we’ve just had one. What a fabulous cardigan.’
‘It was quite a lot of work, but I’ve had lots of comments.’
‘I’m sure you have.’
I think I notice a flicker of a smile on Martin’s face, but he covers it up very well as they go upstairs.
‘Quick, let’s run away before she comes back.’
Lulu laughs.
‘She seemed quite keen on you.’
‘Yes, but that soon wears off. Trust me, she’ll be banging on about too much sex on the telly any minute, like I’ve got anything to do what they get up to on Planet Drama. So that was Martin, the man with the tragic haircut. And who is the someone we won’t mention? The wife, I suppose.’
‘Probably. Elsie always hated her. And what was the matter with his haircut?’
‘It looks like his mother does it for him. Gorgeous eyes, though, and great jeans. I love a man in old Levis, and if he’s into carpentry he’ll be good with his hands, which is always useful for helping you get through those long winter evenings.’
‘I’ve known him for years, Ellen, he’s like a cousin or something. It would be too weird, and anyway he’s in the middle of a divorce.’
‘Well, you could help take his mind off it then. Let me give him the third degree and I’ll let you know.’
‘Don’t you dare; he’d probably go into shock, and anyway a dalliance with Elsie’s nearest and dearest is the last thing I need: she’s bad enough already.’
‘True. Oh God, here she comes.’
Elsie brings her tea down with her and starts telling Ellen about a play she watched which was full of Bad Language, and then Martin comes back and starts talking to me about wood and obsessing about shelf widths and drawing me pictures of dovetail joints. I’m practically in a coma by the time he’s finished, and Ellen’s pulling faces behind his back while Elsie serves Mrs Davis, who’s ostensibly come in for some navy double knitting for a school jumper for one of her grandsons who’s got very long arms, but actually so she can tell Ellen she’s seen her on the telly and she thinks she’s very clever, and to tell us that she’s seen the postcard in the window about the Stitch and Bitch Group.
‘My daughter-in-law Tina’s in the shop with me today, Graham’s wife, nice girl even if she can’t cook to save her life, and we were just talking about her wanting to learn to knit, so she might come to your group, dear. I can look after Travis for her, although I’ll have to put my bits and bobs away, because last time he was round he broke two of my glass donkeys.’
Elsie’s standing with her arms folded.
‘Well, I better be off, then, but lovely to meet you all.’
She nods at Elsie and goes out.
Elsie tuts again.
‘I’m sorry about that; I might have known she’d be in. Never misses out on anything, that one.’
‘I thought she was lovely.’
Elsie gives Ellen a disbelieving look.
Lulu starts putting her knitting away.
‘Can we have some lunch soon? I’m starving.’
‘Good idea. Let’s go back and see if the boys are hungry. Have you got everything you need, Martin, all the measurements?’
‘Yes, thanks. I’ll get home and do some preliminary sketches, so you can see the sort of thing I mean, shall I?’
Oh God. Preliminary sketches? I just want some simple shelves, not something that requires technical drawings.
‘That would be great. I’ll see you on Monday, Elsie. I’ll drop the boys at school and be in around ten. Mrs Brook might be in later for that blue cotton, it’s all ready in a bag, behind the counter.’
Elsie’s looking happier as we’re leaving, and Ellen does her Grand Exit routine and kisses her, and Martin, who looks as if he might pass out.
‘Lovely to have met you.’
He mumbles something and starts backing towards the stairs.
‘Bye, Elsie.’
We walk along the high street giggling like nutters.
‘You shouldn’t have done that, Ellen. The poor man, it’ll probably take him all day to get over it.’
‘What, kissed Dovetail, do you mean? It was very useful research, if you ask me, and he smells very nice, sort of pine with a hint of lemon. You should definitely reconsider, darling.’
‘Stop it. He’s doing preliminary sketches of shelves. You heard him.’
‘He was a bit Rain Man I suppose. Shame. Nice eyes. I like green eyes on a man. But what with the tragic hair thing maybe you’re right. Bugger. I thought I’d found you someone to play with. Let’s go to the pub for lunch and see if we can’t dredge someone else up. I’m still thinking Captain Birds Eye – there must be someone under sixty around here who goes fishing.’
‘Well if there is I don’t want him dredged up, thank you very much. I’ve got quite enough on my plate without any mad fishermen. God, you’re like some demented matchmaker trying to pair everyone off.’
Lulu laughs.
‘I wonder what the boys will be doing when we get home?’
‘Lying on the sofa surrounded by chaos and trains, probably. Although you never know, maybe they’ll have prepared a light but nutritious lunch and the magic fairies will have tidied up all the train track.’
Ellen puts her arm round my shoulders. ‘How long have you been having these delusions, darling?’
‘Well, they might. I’m looking on the bright side. The Stitch and Bitch Group might be a huge success and Elsie might stop tutting, and Martin might make the shelves without giving me any more Top Wood lectures. And there might be so many customers in the shop we have to get a second till.’
‘Yes. But in the meantime I think the pub’s a top plan. I’m craving a vodka and tonic with lime and lots of ice.’
‘Okay, let’s go home and see the extent of the damage, and then adjourn to the pub.’
‘Finally, a plan I can really get behind.’
‘Where’s your book bag, Archie?’
He gives me a puzzled look, like I’ve asked him to find the lost city of Atlantis.
‘You had it last night, love, when we did your reading. Where did you put it after that?’
Another blank look. Brilliant; we’ll have to play Hunt the Book Bag while I covertly try to finish making two packed lunches without anyone realising it’s cheese again.
‘Go and look by the coats, and hurry up with your Weetabix, Jack, for heaven’s sake.’
‘I hate cheese. I really do.’
Bugger. Archie’s crept up behind me again.
‘Just find your bag, will you please.’
He wanders down the hall, muttering, looking for all the world like he’s got hours to spare, whereas in fact we’re on the verge of being late. They’ve only been at the school for a month and we’ve already been late twice, three times if you include the morning it was foggy, but everyone was late that day so I don’t think it counts. But they’re much more relaxed about red-faced parents running in as the bell’s ringing than our old school was, thank God, although it still makes me feel like a crap mother, especially when the head, Mr O’Brien, is in the playground, looking young and perky in his corduroy trousers
and baggy jumpers, being trailed by a gaggle of children. He’s always surrounded by children, he’s like the Pied Piper, only without the rats.
So far the new school’s been a big success. The teachers are lovely, especially Archie’s Mrs Berry, who goes in for dangly earrings and lots of bangles, and clinks when she walks. Her classroom’s pretty chaotic, but all the kids seems happy, and Archie’s reading is definitely improving, so she gets top marks as far as I’m concerned. Jack’s Mrs Chambers is less clinky, but she seems just as popular, and she does art for the whole school so her room’s full of paintings and tin-foil sculptures, and she’s got clay in her room, which Jack adores. So all in all they’ve both settled in remarkably quickly, which is a big relief.
Archie’s finally tracked down his book bag and is sitting on the stairs, waiting for me to do his shoes up, even though they’ve got Velcro straps which he can do himself. There’s a mini scuffle as Jack starts up the stairs to brush his teeth, and then the yelling starts.
‘He did that on purpose, he did, Mum, tell him, he treaded on me on purpose.’
‘I did not, he won’t let me get past, stupid fat baby. Move.’