Knit One Pearl One (26 page)

Elsie stiffens; I think she’s finally worked out what’s going on.

“Thanks again for coming in, but we must get on.”

“I think it was Lily. She looked so sweet, she had a little cardigan on, I remember thinking how gorgeous it was. I bet Grace made it for her. If you’ve got the pattern, I’d buy that too, and the wool, my niece would love it. I could buy loads of stuff, if you’d like to make some suggestions?”

Actually, sod this. I’ve had enough.

“Which paper do you work for?”

“What?”

“I just wondered.”

She glares at me. It’s quite scary actually.

“All that stuff on the telly, about you being friends, that was all fake, was it? I might write my piece on that, how you were lying and she doesn’t know you, just another wannabe. Or you could tell me your side of the story.”

“There’s no story, no side. We’re delighted with the happy news. But aren’t you supposed to say your name and the name of the newspaper you work for, if you’re asking for a quote?”

“Fuck off.”

That’ll definitely be one of the tabloids then.

“I don’t think you know her at all, and that’s what I’m going to write. You’ll seriously wish you’d given me a quote. I’ll make you a laughingstock.”

“Good luck with that.”

She hesitates. “Good luck with what?”

“Writing a libelous piece. I think Ms. Harrison’s lawyers are pretty fierce, aren’t they? And so are mine. My friend Ellen Malone has sorted me out with some firm in London. Always suing the papers for a fortune. So you go for it. Only do it from outside my shop, would you?”

She slams the door as hard as she can as she goes out, and one of the teddy bears falls off the shelf in the window.

Charming.

“Good heavens.”

Elsie’s very shocked. Actually, I’m a bit wobbly too. It’s years since I’ve had to deal with people like her. I’d forgotten how stroppy they get when they don’t find what they want; they seem to think the whole world is just waiting for them to write their grubby little pieces.

“How did you know, dear?”

“She was far too pleased with herself, that kind of journalist always is, they think they’re superior to the rest of us. The good ones are much cleverer than that though, or busy writing real stories. This isn’t that big a deal or they’d have sent someone senior. Not unless the dad turns out to be someone interesting.”

“And
is
he someone interesting, dear? I mean, of course, don’t say if you—”

“Elsie, if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you, and I don’t. Can’t you see how it’s better not to know? Even if you do.”

“Yes, I suppose I can. Well, I call that shocking, coming in here and lying like that. She was like butter wouldn’t melt, and all the time— Well, just think, if we’d said anything, Lord alone knows what she would have written. I’m so glad I didn’t show her my album now.”

So am I.

“I think I’ll go upstairs now, if you’re sure you can cope for a bit.”

“Of course dear. They’ll be back outside on the pavement very sharpish if any more of them come in.”

I think she’s got it now.

“Thanks Elsie.”

Great. So far, so good on Operation Custard Cream. I’ll call Max and report in later, but I think we’ve handled it fairly well so far and nobody will be demanding their squirrel back. Christ.

Clare and Nicky are full of the news about Grace.

“I think it’s lovely. Tell her, Jo, if she wants to join our group, we’d love to see her.”

“Thanks Clare, I will.”

She grins. “We can hold the baby for her, while she gets on with her knitting. Although she probably has staff for things like that, doesn’t she?”

We all agree that having a full complement of domestic staff would make our lives a great deal better, and Nicky says her mum comes round once a week, at half past seven in the morning so she can have a lie-in, and we all decide she deserves a Top Mother of the Year award and if someone doesn’t give her one we’ll knit one for her. Be far more useful than a badge with “Get a Life” on it. Helena is slightly irritated by all the talk about Grace and tries to move on to a conversation about the wonders of having a compost heap, but then Dylan gets bored and starts yelling.

“I better go. He’s finding group activities rather challenging at the moment.”

Clare and Nicky exchange amused glances.

“I’ll take the buggy down for you, Helena.”

“Thanks Jo.”

“Anyone want more cake while I’m downstairs?”

There’s a chorus of “Yes please,” including what sounds like a yes from baby Ava.

Clare smiles, looking very proud. “She loves cake.”

Great. That’s another new customer sorted then, and hopefully with better language skills than the last one who I’ve just thrown out of the shop. You win some, you lose some, I suppose. And to be honest, Ava is much more my kind of girl.

It’s Saturday morning, and we’re officially launching Martin’s boat.

“I name this boat the
Broadgate Belle.
”

Everyone claps as Harry sprays Martin with fizzy apple juice. Elsie stands well back. She’s worn her best navy suit, with a hat, and she’s loved doing the Regal thing naming the boat; it’s all we’ve heard about, for days.

We’re standing on the dockside in the harbor, and Martin’s strung bunting up and polished everything so the whole boat looks gleaming in the sunshine. Elsie’s made new blue and white striped cushions for inside the little cabin, and new curtains in the same material, and Martin’s looking very pleased with himself, wearing the new captain’s hat I bought for him as a joke. Even Trevor’s behaving himself, looking every inch the nautical dog, with a blue and white spotted scarf tied round his neck.

“Right, come on, Mum, let’s get you onboard.”

He holds out a hand, and Elsie steps across.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right, Ellen?”

The thought of Pearl and Fast Eddie on the deck of a small boat is too much for all of us, so Ellen and Harry are taking them for a tour round the shops.

“Of course. Pearl, sweetheart, do you want to come with your aunty Ellen and see if we can find some ice cream?”

Pearl claps her hands. “More.”

“Thanks Ellen, we’ll see you later. Come on, boys, and hold Martin’s hand.”

“I’ve got the lifeboat on speed dial, darling.”

“Very funny.”

It’s lovely chugging round the bay on a dead calm day. It’s warm in the sunshine, and Martin’s letting the boys have a go at steering, while Elsie and I sit watching.

“So what do you think, Mum?”

“It’s very nice, Martin, and you’ve made a proper job of it, I’ll say that for you. The boys look very smart in their life jackets. Sensible of you, to think of that.”

Actually, that was me, but never mind. I’m putting more sunscreen on Archie while Martin tries to fend off a rather persistent wasp. In fact, there’ve been quite a few wasps buzzing round him since we left the dock.

“You don’t normally get wasps at sea, do you, Martin?”

“No, not usually.”

He’s waving his arms about, which is making Trevor bark.

“Maybe it’s all that apple juice you’re wearing?”

“Well, I wish they’d bloody pack it in.”

Archie’s thrilled. “Martin said bloody.”

“I know, Archie, he’s very naughty. Let’s have a mutiny and make him walk the plank.”

Martin laughs, and even Elsie’s smiling.

“There’s no need for language, Martin. I’ve got some wipes in my bag; here, use one of these.”

I wonder how old your son has to be before you can stop carrying wet wipes in your handbag; if Elsie’s anything to go by, it looks like I’ve got a few years yet.

“Thanks Mum. And nobody is going to make me walk the plank on my boat, thanks very much.”

“Don’t you be so sure, my boy. If anyone can it’s our Jo; you should have seen her with that horrible woman from the papers.”

Elsie’s still telling everyone about the journalist in the shop, even if they’ve heard the story before, quite a few times. She didn’t write anything in the end; none of them did really, apart from a few wool-shop-owner-delighted lines in the local paper. Maxine was very impressed.

Martin grins. “I know, Mum, she’s a marvel. How was Grace when you saw her, Jo? There were still quite a few photographers parked outside when I drove past last night.”

“Very happy, and they’re doing something this weekend, I think, so they’ll all get their pictures and then they’ll leave her alone. Oh, and that reminds me, Elsie, we’ll need to get a move on with that order, for the Italian silk and cashmere, because she’s off soon, for a couple of weeks in France, I think, or maybe Italy, she hasn’t decided yet. Anyway, she wants to take some knitting with her, she’s really getting into it again. We’ll have to call that company in Milan again.”

“I’ll call them first thing on Monday. Will your Cinzia be around, so she can do the talking?”

“Yes, she should be, good plan.”

“Can’t it go any faster, Martin?”

“No Arch, it’s not a speedboat, it’s a fishing boat.”

“Can we come fishing with you, later?”

Martin is taking his dad and Harry fishing this evening, but I’d quite like to see how he manages the boat on longer trips before he takes the boys out. Heading out to sea in the dark is a bit different from a tour of Broadgate Bay when it’s dead flat and sunny.

“No Archie, he can’t. Not tonight, but soon, okay? Does anyone want a drink?”

Elsie stands up. “I’ll make us a cup of tea. I’ve brought fresh milk in my thermos, and there’s water in the kitchenette, isn’t there, Martin?”

“Yes Mum, and it’s a galley.”

“I won’t be a minute.” She goes into the cabin, humming.

“She’s loving that galley, Martin.”

“I know. She’s even given me a special washing-up brush, and I haven’t even got one of those at the barn.”

“You haven’t really got a sink yet though, have you?”

“True, but that old tin bath is brilliant; it’s multipurpose. I even gave Trevor a bath in it last night. And I’ll be starting on the kitchen soon, now the boat is sorted.”

“Well, it is lovely, the boat, and she’s right, you’ve done a great job. I’ll knit you a proper fisherman’s sweater if you like. I was looking in one of my books, and they used to make them with special family designs on, so they could recognize them if— Well, never mind. But they looked very nice.”

He laughs. “Recognize the body if they got washed overboard. Lovely. For God’s sake, don’t tell Mum.”

“I could knit you one with a message of my very own.”

“Like?”

“I told him not to get a boat.”

“Oh ye of little faith.”

He leans forward and kisses me, and Archie makes pretending-to-be-sick noises. “Yuck.”

“Sorry, Arch.”

He grins. “It’s okay; everyone has to do kissing sometimes.”

Jack shakes his head. “No they don’t. I’m never going to. And that’s final.”

They have a mini-duel with their fishing nets until I threaten to snap any bamboo poles that are wielded in anger.

“Would you like a biscuit?”

“Yes please, Elsie.”

“I’ve got custard creams, and there’s Ribena for the boys. I got those little cartons they like.”

Perfect. And we’ve still got the Summer Fayre at school to look forward to; there might be a cake I can buy for tea, one of Mrs. Pickering’s coffee cakes, if Jane Johnson has remembered to put one aside for me. Even more perfect.

The Summer Fayre is heaving by the time we arrive, and everyone’s having a marvelous time, particularly Annabel Morgan, marching round with her clipboard, barking out orders, in a floral outfit with matching hat that makes her look like she’s in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot rather than a school playground. Ellen wins a plastic duck in the tombola, which Eddie loves, particularly the squeak, and the Auction of Promises goes particularly well. Mrs. Peterson bids a hundred pounds for the flag knitting kit that I donated, and Cath bids seventy-five pounds for one of Mark’s cakes.

“She was trying to get me to put you in the auction, so watch yourself.”

Ellen laughs. “Bloody cheek. I’m not reduced to renting by the hour, not yet anyway.”

Harry grins. “What was she meant to be doing, if you bid for her?”

“God knows.”

“Well, I’d have put in a bid, my darling. Just to see the look on your face would have been worth a hundred quid of anyone’s money.”

She pushes him, and he laughs.

“I could have put in a bid to stop you doing that for a start.”

“Hang on, look out, here she comes.”

Ellen has been attracting the usual amount of sideways looks and nudging, and a few people have told her how much they love her new series. But Annabel hasn’t formally greeted us yet, although I knew it was only a matter of time.

“Good afternoon, I’m Annabel Morgan, President of the PTA; I just wanted to welcome you to our little school. I do wish I’d known you were available this afternoon”—she pauses, to give me a furious look—“I would have asked you to perform our opening ceremony. We’re all enjoying your new series, so super.”

Ellen gives her one of her Britain’s Favorite Broadcaster smiles.

“People do seem to like it. Nice to have met you, Mirabelle. Come on, Jo, you promised to show me that banner you knitted with the kids.”

It’s times like these when I remember why I love Ellen so much.

“So that’ll be Mirabelle giving me the evil eye again on Monday.”

Ellen laughs. “Just tell her to bugger off. Women like her are terrible bullies, but they always back right off if you stand up to them. It’s the ones like Connie or Tina, or that other one?”

“Linda?”

“Yes, they’re the ones you have to watch out for. They stand their ground, if it’s something they believe in, and nothing gets past them if they’ve made their minds up.”

“That’s true.”

“I know, darling, I’m a very clever woman.”

Harry snorts, and she pushes him, again.

“Shame I didn’t get that bid in while I had the chance.”

We find Connie, and Ellen cuddles Maximo, who’s attracting a fair amount of attention too, so there’s a slight lull in the hubbub as people watch Ellen and the Baby. Someone even takes a photo, which I think is a bit much until I realize it’s Tina.