Knit One Pearl One (8 page)

He grins, and Mark nods. “Might be a good idea, mate; get her onboard, so to speak.”

And they’re off, using as much nautical phraseology as they can think of while Connie and I shake our heads and wander back into the house.

“I didn’t know Mark was so keen on sailing.”

“He’s not, but he loves cooking fish, and the price is so high at the markets.”

“Well I hope he’s not planning on changing the menu anytime soon, because it’s taken Martin two years just to get a roof on the barn. And even that’s not finished. So I wouldn’t be putting in orders for fresh fish just yet.”

“Elsie will like it so much, I think.”

“Oh yes, Con, she’s going to be completely thrilled. Just what I need, her in a mega-sulk.”

Mark finally rounds up everyone who speaks Italian and takes them home, and Martin manages to grab Trevor and drag him back down our front path. He goes off whistling, and promises to let me know when he’s breaking the news to Elsie. Christ, I bet she goes nuts.

Jack and Archie are still in the back garden getting more mud over their coats, with Pearl in goal in her plastic trousers and anorak, which she loves because it’s got a ladybird on the back. There’s one on the hat too actually, but the hat has been inevitably jettisoned in favor of the tiara, which is sparkling in the dusk. It’s really freezing now.

“It’s time to go in now. Come on, it’s getting really cold.”

“It’s not too cold for us, Mum; it’s just too cold for girls. Take Pearl in, she keeps letting in goals.”

“Pearl, don’t do that, it’ll hurt the plant.” She’s bashing one of the lavender bushes with a stick. And ignoring me.

I walk over and pick her up, amid rising levels of squawking.

“No.”

Precisely.

She tries a bit more wriggling. “More.”

“We can’t do more playing if you’re going to hit things.”

She drops the stick.

“Five more minutes, and then we’re going in, okay?”

She nods, and the boys pretend they haven’t heard me. And since Pearl’s concept of five minutes, or five hours, is still pretty shaky, I’m not sure anyone has really signed up to my five-minute warning.

Great. I’ve still got to give them supper, and get them into the bath before Gran arrives. Bloody hell. Perhaps a spot of bribery might be in order.

“There’s shepherd’s pie for tea, and if we go in now there might be time for jelly for pudding. But if you stay out here, there won’t be.”

Everyone races for the door.

Excellent. 1–0 to Mums United, and nobody sent off with a red card.

After a bath time blur of trying to stop Archie putting in so many bubbles they actually reach the ceiling while simultaneously trying to change Pearl’s nappy and detach the sodding tiara, and then get the jelly out of everyone’s hair after a rather lively supper, I finally get the boys downstairs and watching telly while I give Pearl her bedtime bottle and have a quiet cuddle. She’s half asleep, and her hair is still damp from the bath. I can’t resist nuzzling in and smelling the back of her neck, a combination of bath lotion and that indescribable smell of a newly washed baby. I’ve got no idea why this is so compelling, but it is. It’s my favorite smell in the world. She’s smiling now, a dreamy half-asleep smile as she snuggles in, back to her baby shape, with no angles, no elbows or knees digging in, all soft and round with little chubby wrists, and her fingers wrapped around her favorite blanket. I lay her in her cot and tuck her blankets in as she mutters her bedtime mantra.

“More.”

“Night night, sweetheart.”

“Mamma.”

“I’m here, sweetheart. It’s sleepy time now, time to go to sleep.”

“More.” But it’s fainter now, softer as she slips away.

“Time to sleep now, sweetheart.”

“No.”

And she’s off, fast asleep.

Hurrah. I love the way she falls asleep, fighting it until the very last second. I stand and watch her. My beautiful girl, my bonus baby, the one I thought I’d never have. But even so, like mums the world over, I can’t help loving her just that tiny bit more when she’s actually asleep. So far so good. Now for the boys. Although if I manage to get them into bed and fast asleep before Gran arrives, it’ll be a bloody miracle.

By the time I’m back in the shop, arranging the lemon shortbread on a plate on the workroom table, I’m way past knackered and entering the twilight zone. But I know as soon as everyone arrives it’ll be fine; it always is. I left Gran reading stories to the boys, and she promised she’d take them straight up to bed when she’d finished, so she can watch a bit of telly; the little swine have a habit of coming back downstairs when they know she’s there, Archie in particular. He had her making him a tuna sandwich a few weeks ago.

I’m bringing in the glasses and a jug of water from the kitchen when Tina and Linda arrive with a bottle of wine. We take it in turns to bring the booze now, and Angela even brought a bottle of gin a few weeks ago; she says she’s getting a taste for a gin and tonic in the evening, which is a pretty major transformation from when she first came along to the group and was so timid she hardly spoke, let alone had a drink.

Linda’s opening the wine. “No Connie tonight, Jo?”

“No, they’ve got a big booking at the pub.”

“She wants to start taking it easy, you know. Mind you, I saw her in the Post Office yesterday, and she looked lovely. She was wearing that new scarf she knitted, and her cream coat, and it really suits her. She always looks great though.”

“It’s a knack. Cinzia’s got it too.”

“Yes, well, tell her to keep it to herself a bit more, that’s my advice. Mrs. Dawes was in the salon last week, and she got very huffy when Tina asked her how Mr. Dawes was getting on with his knee.”

Tina smiles. “I was only trying to be friendly, mind you. If my Graham did something like that, I’d kill him.”

Linda smiles. “No harm in looking.”

“Yes, but they don’t stop at looking, do they, Lind? Not that Cinzia would waste her time with someone like my Graham. Sometimes I wonder why I do.”

“What’s he done now?”

“Nothing. Which is typical. The light outside our garage isn’t working, and it’s handy when I put the bin out, so I asked him if he could have a look at it, and he went into a right strop. Moaning on about how he spends all day up a ladder and he didn’t want to come home to be sent straight up another one. Silly sod. They spend most of their time sitting round the kitchen at that station anyway. Or driving too fast in that silly fire engine, when there’s no need. He shot past me the other day, blue lights, sirens on, everything, and when I asked him, do you know where they were going?”

“To a fire?”

Cath is trying to be kind, but she’s smiling as she takes off her coat and sits down next to Angela.

“Tesco’s, because they’d run out of milk.”

Linda laughs. “Yes, but they do put fires out, if there are any, Tina. Be fair.”

“I suppose, and he did say they’d just finished a nasty job on the motorway, but still. He’s so annoying sometimes.”

Angela nods. “Sometimes Peter is so infuriating, with all his committees and that silly Golf Club, I just want to poke him with one of his golf clubs. I think his sand wedge would be best; it has such a nice pointed end.”

She looks at Linda, and they both start to laugh.

Angela’s husband, Peter, is very straitlaced, and takes his role as our local estate agent and Parish Councillor terribly seriously. If they had uniforms on the Parish Council, he’d definitely wear his every day. Maybe they should have special armbands or something, he’d love that. Mind you, if they did, he’d probably have us all saluting him every morning.

“I’ve got the photographs from Penny’s wedding if you’d like to see them?”

Angela passes the photographs round, looking every inch the proud mother of the bride. I’m helping Cath with the cable pattern for the sweater she’s making for her husband for a surprise birthday present, but we both pause to look at the photos.

“Doesn’t Stanley look lovely at the wedding in his little suit, Ange? When’s the baby due?”

Linda passes a picture of Angela’s grandson, Stanley, looking adorable, standing holding his mothers’ hands. Penny looks beautiful, and very happy, as does Sally, who also looks very pregnant. Angela’s been knitting for the baby for a while now, a beautiful shawl and delicate tiny baby cardigans and hats, just like the things she made for Stanley when she first start coming along to the group.

“Next month. I’m so excited about it, and the wedding was such a lovely day. I was so proud of Penny.”

Linda hands her back the photographs.

“Let’s drink a toast to the happy couple. To Penny and Sally, and the new baby.”

Angela goes pink as we all raise our glasses—in my case an empty glass, which I quickly fill with water from the jug.

“Don’t you want some more wine, Jo?”

“I’d love some, but I’m driving Linda, so I better not.”

The last thing I need is to be banned for drunk driving; Annabel Morgan would probably get me thrown off the new bus even though we’re bloody walking.

“Talking of new babies, when is Connie due, Jo? I thought we could have another baby shower. I don’t know if they have them in Italy; actually, I don’t think they’re that traditional here either, but we can start a new Broadgate tradition.”

Maggie’s getting into local history in a big way since she started running the new archive section in the library. She gives talks with slides and notes full of tips on tracing your family tree, and she’s really enjoying it.

“June, I think.”

“Could we make something from all of us? A blanket maybe, where we all knit a square each? That was a local custom with patchwork quilts, for weddings or births; we could adapt that and do a knitted one, start a new tradition.”

“That’s a great idea, Maggie. I’ll sort out some patterns.”

Tina helps herself to another piece of the shortbread. “It’ll be handy her having the baby just before the school holidays, give her a chance to get back on her feet before she’s got the kids at home. Mind you, it won’t be great for your bus thing, will it?”

“Thanks, Tina, I’d almost forgotten about that.”

“What bus?”

“I told you, Linda. Jo and Connie are organizing a thing where they all walk to school, saves on pollution.”

“Was that the meeting where Mrs. Peterson stood up?”

“Yes.”

We all go quiet for a minute, and Tina puts her knitting down. “I’ll never forget her face, you know. People do tell you stuff in the salon; me and Linda are always saying it’s like they go into a trance when they’re in front of the mirrors. Some of the stuff they come out with, well, it’s hard to keep a straight face. But by the time she finished, I just wanted to run round to the school and give my Travis a great big cuddle.”

“Connie said the same thing at the meeting; she said it makes you want to hold your children in one big cuddling and never let go.”

Linda smiles. “I quite like the sound of one big cuddling. Poor woman, it just doesn’t bear thinking about it, does it? It makes me go all shivery.”

Mrs. Peterson, whose daughter Amy is in Jack and Marco’s class, sent a letter to Mr. O’Brien which she asked him to read out at our PTA meeting, where she said that anything that kept cars away from the school gates was a good thing, and the reason they moved down here was to get away from the school in London where her eldest daughter, Alice, was run over, and killed. Everyone at the meeting went silent, even Annabel.

Tina takes a sip of her water. “She said it was right in front of the school, and all the parents and children just stood there. It was raining, and she was kneeling down in the middle of the road, holding Alice. But she knew there was no hope. Even though the ambulance was there and they were putting drips in her arm and everything. She said she knew. I can’t imagine how you’d ever get over something like that, and please God none of us ever have to find out. Do you think it helps? Her knowing that we all know. What do you think, Cath? I’d hate it if it made it worse.”

Cath puts her knitting down and gives Tina a reassuring smile; she’s been a volunteer at the Citizen’s Advice center in Margate for nearly a year now, and she’s just started training to be a counselor.

“I think it’s important, for something so terrible, for it not to be a secret. She was obviously ready to tell people or she wouldn’t have said anything to you, Tina. And then writing to the PTA, well, that’s another step in her processing. I don’t think you ever get past something so terrible, but maybe, with time, she’ll be able to accept it. Don’t you think, Jo?”

Everyone’s looking at me now, like I’m some expert on tragedy. I think they’re worried I might find this upsetting because of Nick and the car crash, but it’s completely different. Completely.

“I’m not sure. I think the best you could hope for was to be able to carry on. Somehow. Not that you’d have a choice, if you had other kids, you’d just have to, wouldn’t you?”

Tina looks close to tears, and I’m not feeling that great myself.

Angela coughs. “I’m sure that’s right, Jo, but let’s not think about it anymore; it’s far too upsetting and there’s quite enough sadness around as it is. Let’s count our blessings instead, that’s what I try to do, there are so many. Tell us more about the walking bus, Jo. There was an article in the Sunday paper a few weeks ago, lots of councils have got schemes now, I cut it out for Peter to read. He’s in a terrible sulk now you’re doing it; he says he was going to propose something similar. Which is completely untrue, it’s just sour grapes. When will you start it?”

“Next month. Although March wasn’t my idea, it’ll still be cold. But once we got Annabel outflanked, we thought we’d better get on with it. So if you see me trudging up the High Street looking half frozen, give us a wave, would you?”

Angela smiles. “Well, I’ll be happy to help. Peter can get his own breakfast for once. It’s such a good idea, and we should all do our bit. If it helps cut down pollution, it safeguards the future of all our children and grandchildren.”

Linda nods. “Yes, Ange, but you can count me out; my mornings are bad enough trying to get my Lauren out of bed and into college, thanks. It’s a good idea though, be lovely seeing you all marching up the High Street. I’ll look forward to it.”