Knit One Pearl One (33 page)

“Where do you want me, darling?”

The man on the next table chokes all over again.

“In makeup. They’re all down on the beach, and put a vest on next time you’re floating around the hotel, darling. Bit too much information first thing in the morning, don’t you think?”

She laughs. “You’re the boss.”

She kisses him again and turns to look at the small crowd of hovering waiters. “Would one of you be a complete star and show me the way down to the beach?”

They all step forward until the headwaiter barges through and says he will be more than happy to show her himself, if everyone else could just get on with the jobs they are actually meant to be doing.

“Doesn’t she want any bacon?”

“No Archie, I think she probably had hers earlier on.”

Daniel laughs. “I doubt it. She’s not really a full English kind of girl, Archie.”

Pearl starts throwing toast.

“Quite right, Queenie.”

“Daniel, don’t encourage her, and Pearl, stop that right now or you can’t have bacon.”

“Bit of bacon?”

“Yes, I’m cutting it up, see, nearly done, but no throwing things. Here, eat it nicely, love.”

“More.”

Daniel laughs. “She knows what she wants, doesn’t she?”

“Oh yes.”

“Good, I like that in a girl.”

“Great, well you can be in charge of her breakfast then. She’ll want some fruit any minute. So get peeling and cutting up, or she’ll be throwing toast at you.”

Tony laughs.

The beach is lovely, with literally miles of sand, and wonderful rock pools at the base of the cliffs. We don’t really have any decent rock pools in Broadgate, so the boys spend a happy hour with buckets and nets, fishing for tiny crabs and little fish, while Pearl paddles in the shallows. She’s loving the beach and her new pink bucket. She’s also rather brilliantly decided that she’s far too grown-up for nappies anymore. After a few attempts from me with trainer pants, which she point-blank refused to wear, she suddenly insisted on wearing a pair of Archie’s underpants last week, and that was it. Done. Even at night. And so far not a single accident; Connie says Nelly did the same thing, but I’m still rather amazed, because it took ages with Jack and Archie. But she’s very determined, my gorgeous girl, so part of me isn’t surprised that she’s done it her way. She’s getting so tall now, maybe she’ll be a model one day; they all seem to have legs like giraffes. She’s also quite fond of wandering around naked given half a chance, which will come in handy if the antics on the beach during the photographs this morning have been anything to go by. They’ve put up a large white gazebo-size tent for outfit changes and hair and makeup, but it’s so hot, one side of the tent is permanently open, and none of the models seem the slightest bit interested in shuffling about inside towels. They simply stand there, in full view of the beach, while clothes are taken off and new ones put on. It’s all rather mesmerizing, and there’s a growing collection of young surfing gods who always seem to be wandering past with their boards at crucial moments.

The male models are less convincing on the surfing front than the locals, but undeniably bronzed and gorgeous, so there’s always something diverting to watch, and the children for the various family scenes arrive in a minibus along with their mothers, who all seem very determined to get their children into the shots. I’m trying to keep out of the way as much as possible, which isn’t easy since Pearl’s taken a bit of a shine to the silver umbrellas Tony and the other assistants keep putting into crucial places to reflect the light. Cinzia’s busy flirting with the male models, but everyone’s fairly relaxed, and there’s a huge amount of hanging about with nothing much seeming to happen, so I can easily retrieve Pearl and take her for a paddle when she starts being a nuisance, leaving Cinzia to hone her flirting skills.

After lunch the boys have their first surfing lesson, and Cinzia takes Pearl for a swim in the baby pool. The surfing instructor, another bronzed Adonis called Ted, is incredibly patient with them, and seems to be able to leap through the waves and retrieve anyone who is the wrong way up in the surf in about five seconds, which is reassuring.

“Mum, did you see me? I nearly stood up.”

“Yes, you did, love.”

“And I did too.”

“Yes Archie, I saw, you were both great.”

“Tomorrow I definitely will.”

“I’m sure you will.”

We’re renting wet suits, which are a bugger to get on, and off, but they’re so thrilled with it all they don’t go into the usual meltdown of wriggling and fussing, and the really fabulous thing is it exhausts them so much they can hardly speak by the time they get out. Archie’s so tired we barely make it back up the hill to the hotel. I give them both a quick bath, and order pasta on trays since there’s no way they’re going to last until suppertime, and Archie actually falls asleep in the middle of eating. It’s absolutely brilliant. They’re both spark out, by seven. Tucked into their bunk beds like poster children for the Perfect Outdoor Life. Even Pearl’s fast asleep by half past seven, after a rather mammoth tantrum when I try to wash the sand out of her hair and inadvertently remove her tiara without permission. I put the bloody thing on the top shelf of the wardrobe until people stop screaming, and then after a tearful sorry, and a reunion with the tiara and half a bedtime story, she conks out, clutching her squirrel.

I’m totally knackered, and it turns out the hotel’s idea of a baby listening service is for you to leave the phone off hook in your room, and reception come and find you if they hear yelling. Which isn’t my idea of a foolproof system, and anyway Archie would simply put the receiver back down and set about trying to get unsuitable channels on TV. So Cinzia and I are taking it in turns to go to dinner.

“You go tonight, I’m fine, Cinzia. I’m so tired I’ll just have a sandwich. And maybe some hotel chips. I love those little baskets of chips you get in hotels. I’ll see you later, but don’t be out too late, all right?”

She grins.

Dear God. She’s wearing a tiny white dress I haven’t seen before. I hope the man that choked at breakfast isn’t in the dining room, or his wife will be banging him on the back again for sure.

“Is that a new dress?”

“Yes, today, Emma, she said I can borrow.”

Emma is the woman in charge of the wardrobe. Clever Cinzia has clearly made a useful friend.

“Well it’s lovely.”

“It is Armani.”

That explains it; it’s somehow classy while being teeny. Not an easy combination.

“Do you want a shawl, in case it gets cold later on?”

“Please.”

“There’s a blue one, in my wardrobe, or that pink one you like.”

She kisses me, and goes down to dinner in a cloud of perfume. My Chanel No. 5 if I’m not mistaken.

But I’ve got room service, three sleeping children, a balcony with table and chairs, and a beautiful view of the sea. So I really don’t care.

Bliss.

It’s our last day today at the hotel, and I think they’re going to have to remove me by force tomorrow morning. We’ve all had such a lovely time. Even the weather has been perfect, hot in the mornings but cooler in the afternoons; it was almost cloudy yesterday after lunch, which was perfect for the photographs apparently since they were doing a family picnic scene, with beach huts in the background, or rather the façades of the beach huts, since they had to bring in pretend ones. Lots of beautiful people with old-fashioned picnic hampers and children skipping happily about, with fake beach huts that weren’t nearly as nice as ours back in Broadgate. These were too freshly painted, and too pastel; ours are much jollier—so that’s one thing to look forward to when we get home. It feels like we’ve been away for weeks. And while I could definitely do with another week here, I’m also missing home, which is great; there’s nothing worse than being on holiday and dreading going home.

I think I’ll start saving up and try to bring us back here next year; the kids’ve had such a great time and they do family rooms, which while still being astronomically expensive, are just about affordable if I save something each month. There’s a big barbecue on the beach tonight, for all the hotel guests, and the magazine people have invited all the models to join us, so Cinzia’s in seventh heaven deciding what to wear.

The boys have had their last surfing lesson with Ted, and nobody has tried to winch me into a wet suit, thank God, so I’ve been able to stay on the shoreline making sure all my small people kept their chins above the waves, while Pearl and Cinzia have been having a marvelous time flirting, with pretty much everyone. They’ve taken to going swimming in the sea with the waiters on their morning breaks, with Pearl wearing her armbands and being surrounded by a gaggle of bronzed surfers who keep a close watch on her and boost her up onto their shoulders whenever the waves get a bit too big. She’s adored every moment of it.

We’re walking back up the hill for an afternoon nap so everyone is awake for the barbecue later.

“Can we go for a swim later, Mum?”

“Yes Archie, once we’ve all had our sleeps, but in the pool, yes, not back down to the sea or we won’t have time to get ready for the barbecue.”

He doesn’t even have the energy to tut.

Who knew surfing would be so brilliant?

Everyone is half asleep watching
Toy Story
after sandwiches and crisps in our room.

“I’m off to the spa, Cinzia, okay?”

Words I never thought I’d hear myself say.

“Yes, we will see you later, she is asleep. And Archie too, in a minute.”

He mumbles something along the lines of “No I Am Not,” but he’s definitely dozy.

“See you in a bit.”

I’m not sure the hotel’s Driftwood Salon is what Ellen would call a spa; it’s more like Tina’s salon with a few side rooms for facials, but I’m loving it. The girls are all local, and lovely, and I get my hair washed and dried, which is a huge treat. All the salt and chlorine from the past few days have left it decidedly frizzy, but Denise puts some special conditioner on it, and spends ages drying it into soft curls, so it looks much better than it usually does. I have a mini-manicure and pedicure too; it’s all very relaxing, and I’m feeling very pleased with myself as I walk back through the hotel lobby, admiring my new shiny nails.

“Hello angel. Nice hair. Do you fancy a coffee?”

“Lovely.”

“Where are the kids?”

“Asleep, upstairs, with Cinzia. I’m really going to miss those surfing lessons, you know. Archie is so much less trouble when he’s completely exhausted. They’ll be down in a bit, for a swim. Have you finished all the photographs?”

“Yes, thank God. Finally done, and everyone happy. The light’s great here, so when they’re around later come and find me and I’ll take some more snaps.”

“Shall I find Tony too?”

He grins; I’ve been teasing him about how he can’t take a single photograph without Tony on standby with a selection of alternative lenses, and someone else hovering with a light meter and adjusting various umbrellas.

“No thanks, I think I can cope. I quite like this family holiday lark you know.”

“That’s good.”

“It’s pretty easy, isn’t it?”

“Daniel, you’ve got Tony, and God knows how many other assistants from the magazine, and a PA in your office, and I’ve got Cinzia here too.”

“I don’t think Cinzano counts; she’s still giving me filthy looks.”

“Only when you bring Pearl back covered in sand and hand her over for someone else to de-sand.”

“Yes, but I explained, that wasn’t my fault, one minute she was fine, playing with her bucket, and the next minute she tipped it over herself and rolled around in the sand like a girl possessed. I don’t know what came over her.”

“That’s what being a toddler is all about, doing daft things when people least expect it. Especially if they’re annoying.”

“Well apart from the sand thing, I’m enjoying it.”

“Yes, so am I, and thank you, Daniel, it’s been such a treat. But it’s not always such fun, what with the washing and the cooking and the homework for school and finding all their kit.”

“Okay, okay, don’t go into one. Christ, no wonder all the men go bald.”

“Is this another Daniel Fitzgerald Observation?”

“Yes, you only have to look at them, not the young just-got-married-and-sprogged ones, but the older ones, especially the ones with wife number two. They’re all sucking in their stomachs, and going bald.”

“Nice.”

“There was a perfect example today on the beach. Never plays with his kids, you could tell, no idea how to chill out and spend time with them. He lasted about half an hour before he marched them back to the mum. Twat. Fancy missing out on something so precious.”

“Yes, it’s especially precious when they wake up at three a.m. and want a light snack. Preferably a bit of bacon.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Who knew her catchphrase from this holiday would be ‘bit of bacon’?”

I smile. “It’s better than
nutter.
”

“True. She knows her own mind though, doesn’t she? I like that in a girl. And she’s going to be a stunner, you can tell. I can’t wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For when she’s a bit bigger and I can take her places, without that bloody bag full of stuff I don’t really know how to use. Wet wipers, special cups with tops that won’t undo, all that baby kit that they design to make men look like prats.”

“I’m not sure that’s part of the design brief you know.”

“No, but it’s an added bonus that all you mummy mafia enjoy.”

“True. There have to be some perks; it’s a crap job otherwise: on call twenty-four/seven, no days off unless you spend hours arranging cover, and even then you spend most of the time worrying about them. And inbuilt redundancy.”

“What’s inbuilt redundancy when it’s at home?”

“The whole point of being a mum is that you bring them up so they can bugger off. Unless you can pull off that extended family thing where you all live in one big house.”

“Will you do that then?”

“Not unless I can afford a much bigger house, no I bloody won’t. Jack will be fine, but Archie is going to go straight for the kinds of girls no mother would want him to bring home. And God knows what Pearl will be like, but I’m betting it won’t be quiet and shy and making lovely pastry.”