Divas Don't Knit

by Gil McNeil

  I’m peeling potatoes while Ellen and Daniel drink coffee and the boys watch cartoons, and it’s all going much better than I thought it would: Daniel seems oblivious to the state of the kitchen surfaces, and I’m almost starting to relax when there’s the unmistakable sound of Trevor at the back door and the boys race outside. Five minutes later Ellen’s making Mr Pallfrey a cup of tea and Daniel’s in goal.

  Mr Pallfrey’s brought me some more rhubarb, wrapped in newspaper.

  ‘I’ve just been up at the hospital, and they’ve given me a date for my operation. So I’ll be getting my new hip after Christmas.’

  He gives me a nervous look; I’d noticed he’s been limping more lately, but I thought it was just down to being dragged along behind Trevor twice a day.

  ‘I’ll be glad when it’s done, of course, but I wish they’d get on with it. And my Christine says she’ll come down for the week, after I’m out of hospital.’

  He smiles faintly, but I think he’s rather frightened.

  ‘Let me know if you need anything, won’t you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll be fine, but, well, there was one thing, and I wouldn’t ask, but since he’s so fond of you and your lads, well, I was wondering, would you take him out for his walks for me? Christine can only get a week off work and I think it might take a bit longer than that before I’m properly back up to scratch.’

  Bugger.

  ‘Of course we can, the boys will love it.’

  He looks very relieved. ‘It’ll be the end of January – they’re sending me a letter – so I thought maybe we could go out for a few practice runs, beforehand like.’

  ‘That would be good.’

  ‘Only he gets a bit overexcited sometimes.’

  ‘I’m sure we’ll be fine.’

  Ellen’s biting the side of her mouth and trying not to laugh.

  ‘Well I’d better take him home for his tea. But thank you, that’s really set my mind at rest, I was starting to fret about it.’

  ‘The boys will really look forward to it.’

  Unless it’s raining, of course. Or snowing. Or he pulls us into the bloody sea.

  He puts his cup in the sink and turns to Ellen.

  ‘Well it was lovely to have met you again, and you just keep up the good work. I always look out for you now on the news, and you do a proper job, not like some of them, balanced on sofas with their shirts half undone. Right then, I’ll see myself out.’

  Trevor takes a bit of persuading but finally succumbs, and Mr Pallfrey’s whistling as they go off down the road. The boys come in covered in mud, and Daniel’s dabbing at his jeans at the kitchen sink.

  ‘It’s a long time since I’ve had this much mud on my trousers.’

  ‘Welcome to my world.’

  He laughs, and I take the boys upstairs for a quick bath while the pie’s in the oven.

  When I get back downstairs Ellen’s pouring wine.

  ‘Cheers, darling, I put the potatoes on, like you said. Here, have a drink. It’s not every day you become an official dog walker as well as knitting guru to the stars.’

  ‘Just don’t, all right? He’s hopeless when he’s on his lead. I’ll have arms like an orang-utan by the time we’ve finished.’

  Ellen smiles. ‘Yes, but just think, you won’t need to go to the gym for weeks.’

  ‘I don’t even belong to a gym, Ellen, let alone go to one.’

  ‘I know, but I’m looking on the bright side.’

  ‘Well, bloody stop it, will you?’

  I tell the boys the good news about Trevor while we’re eating supper, and they’re thrilled.

  ‘But we’ll have to be very sensible, Archie, are you listening? No running or shouting, because we’ll be helping Mr Pallfrey after his operation, and it won’t be very nice if we lose Trevor for him, will it?’

  ‘We won’t lose him, Mum. He always comes right back if you let him go on the beach, Mr Pallfrey says he does. But sometimes he goes in the sea.’

  Daniel laughs.

  ‘And I can hold his lead, can’t I, because I’m the biggest?’ Jack smirks at Archie, who bristles.

  ‘Yes, but I’m the strongest. I’ve got big muscles, haven’t I, Mum? Look.’ He holds up his arm, which looks particularly puny in his pyjama top, probably because it used to be Jack’s and has gone rather baggy.

  ‘They’ll be even bigger if you eat up all your carrots.’

  Daniel puts his glass down. ‘You sound just like my mum. She was always telling me to eat up things – she still does, in fact.’

  ‘Mine used to make me eat fried liver and onions. To build me up.’

  Jack and Archie give Ellen a horrified look.

  ‘So thank your lucky stars it’s only carrots your mum’s forcing on you.’

  She winks at them, and Jack puts his fork down. Great. He’s never been that fond of carrots.

  ‘Less of the forcing, if you don’t mind, Aunty Ellen. We love our vegetables in this house. They’re very good for you, aren’t they, Jack?’

  He sighs. ‘Yes.’

  Daniel winks at him. ‘What other terrible things does she make you do, apart from eating vegetables?’

  ‘She makes us have apples for packed lunch, and not biscuits. And everybody else has biscuits.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  Archie puts his hand up, which makes Daniel smile.

  ‘We can only have Coke at the weekends.’

  Daniel chokes slightly, and Ellen laughs.

  ‘Actually, Archie, I bet Daniel knows quite a few people who only have Coke at the weekends.’

  Archie gives him a sympathetic look.

  Time to change the subject, I think.

  ‘Did Trevor like your new bow and arrows, Jack? And eat up please, love, or there won’t be any time for telly.’

  ‘Yes, although he bit one of my arrows right in half. But he didn’t mean to.’

  Daniel nods. ‘He scored a couple of pretty good goals too. You could make real money with that dog, you know.’

  Archie looks at him like he might be slightly retarded. ‘Dogs can’t play proper football. They’re not allowed.’

  ‘Oh, right, of course.’

  Ellen sniggers. ‘Fancy you not knowing that, Daniel.’

  ‘Have we got pudding, Mum?’

  ‘Yes. Rhubarb crumble and vanilla ice cream. Or just ice cream for people who don’t like rhubarb but ate up all their carrots.’

  Everybody claps.

  I make coffee and then we do ten minutes of reading books on the sofa before they turn the telly on, while Ellen and Daniel stay in the kitchen. They’re still sitting talking at the table, surrounded by dirty plates, when I go back in.

  ‘Archie’s reading’s coming on really well now. Did you hear him?’

  ‘Yes, and I love the way he does his special reading voice, and all that Annie Apple stuff, it’s so sweet. Here, have another drink.’ She passes me my glass.

  ‘I’ll just get these sorted out first. There’s another bottle in the pantry, if you want it.’

  I start putting the plates in the sink.

  Daniel stands up. ‘We’ll help. In fact, sit down and we’ll do it.’ He turns to Ellen, who looks rather unconvinced. ‘I’ll wash and you can dry, yes?’

  ‘Do we have to do it now?’

  ‘Actually there’s no hot water, I used it all for the bath. I was only going to put them in to soak.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’ Ellen celebrates by opening the second bottle of wine and giving us all refills.

  ‘Here’s to leaving things to soak.’

  Her phone beeps and she looks at the screen and sighs.

  ‘It’s my mother. She’s starting her annual Christmas manoeuvres early this year, and she’s driving me demented. She’s had my dad out shopping every day this week.’

  ‘Don’t mention Christmas, please. I’m trying not to think about it.’

  ‘Is this the first since it happened?’

  Daniel’s look
ing uncomfortable.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Since the accident?’

  ‘Yes, sorry, I didn’t realise what you meant. I thought you were talking about my mother – she’s summoned us to Venice and I’m trying not to think about it. But yes, this will be our first Christmas in this house and everything.’

  Actually the only advantage of going to Venice is we won’t have to spend our first Christmas here on our own. Nick really loved Christmas, he said it was the triumph of hope over experience, and anyone who didn’t like Christmas was a miserable bastard.

  But then it wasn’t him who had to do all the shopping.

  ‘Venice is fabulous at Christmas.’

  ‘I’m half looking forward to it, really, but my mother can be a bit of a handful sometimes.’

  ‘Mine too, but I go home every year, even though I always say I won’t. All of us go home, and there are always fights. I’ve got three brothers, and they all bring their kids. But it’s great.’

  Ellen smiles. ‘Are you the youngest?’

  ‘Yes, and my mum spoils me rotten, washes all my clothes and irons things no normal person would iron. I’ve tried hiding my stuff, but she always finds it.’

  She laughs.

  ‘You can mock, but let me tell you, never trust a man who doesn’t love his mum. It’s a dead give-away.’

  ‘But not if he’s propping her up in a rocking chair in the attic when she’s been dead for years, right?’

  ‘No, that’s not a terribly good sign, and if he’s got “Mother” tattooed somewhere, that’s not always good either.’

  We’re all giggling when Jack comes in, with Archie in his wake, to complain that Archie won’t stop singing.

  ‘And he’s doing it really loud. Tell him, Mum, because I can’t hear the telly.’

  ‘I can sing if I want. Mrs Berry says I’m a lovely singer, only I have to stand at the back, because I can go much louder than some of the others. I’ll show you, if you like.’

  He starts belting out I Can Sing a Rainbow, complete with arm movements, while Jack puts his hands over his ears, and we’re on the third chorus of red and yellow and pink and blue as I’m taking them up to bed, with Jack starting to whine.

  ‘Why can’t Aunty Ellen come up and read us a story?’

  Last time Ellen read bedtime stories she fell asleep on Jack’s bed, and when I went up to investigate the boys were both up, building a Lego castle in stealth mode, silently passing each other bricks in the darkness, like they were on a submarine and trying to avoid being picked up by enemy radar.

  ‘Not tonight, love. It’s too late.’

  ‘Well will you read one, just a little one, please?’

  ‘All right, but only five minutes, if you both do your teeth properly, with no pushing.’

  They race for the bathroom, and Archie spits on Jack’s hand by mistake, which prompts a stewards’ enquiry, and then Jack pulls the cord on the bathroom light so hard the little plastic toggle comes off. Again.

  By the time I’m back downstairs, after two encores of We’re Going on a Bear Hunt, Daniel’s talking on his phone and Ellen’s rather drunk.

  ‘He’s calling Tony, to come and pick him up. Who’s Tony?’

  ‘His assistant, I think.’

  ‘Oh, right. Is he good-looking?’

  ‘I’ve never met him.’

  ‘Shame.’

  ‘Shall I make some more coffee?’

  ‘No. Let’s play strip poker.’

  Oh God.

  ‘Sorry, the boys were playing snap at the weekend, and half the cards have gone missing.’

  ‘Well, I’ll make some more.’

  ‘Right. And how are you going to do that then?’

  ‘With my special pen.’

  Daniel finishes his call.

  ‘Tony’s on his way, but he drives like a total old git, so fuck knows how long it’ll take him. But I missed a treat at dinner, apparently; he says it was like the living dead. With baby sweetcorn.’

  ‘Get me some paper and I’ll make the cards.’

  ‘Ellen wants to play strip poker.’

  ‘Excellent news.’

  We both look at Ellen, who’s humming to herself.

  Daniel grins.

  ‘Won’t it be rather tricky playing poker with half the cards made out of bits of paper?’

  ‘No, it’ll be great, because I’ll be the only one that knows what they are, and then I’ll win.’

  ‘Top plan.’

  By the time Tony arrives Ellen’s still busy making her cards.

  ‘Do you have to go? I’ve nearly finished.’

  ‘Sorry, but I try to make it a rule not to do any stripping if I’ve got to work in the morning. Call me old-fashioned; it’s just the way I am.’

  We walk into the hall and I hand him his jacket. Ellen’s still humming.

  ‘Perhaps I should change my mind. I’m rather good at poker?’

  ‘She’s a terrible cheat.’

  He laughs.

  ‘I kind of guessed she might be. Well thanks, both of you, for an enchanting evening. And that was a great meal, Jo, you’re a lifesaver.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at Graceland, then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Night.’

  We wave him off and then go back into the kitchen.

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘No, more wine I think, and some water, so we can rehydrate. What a nice man.’

  I put the kettle on.

  ‘Actually, I think he fancied you.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Ellen.’

  ‘Or maybe it was me. I kept getting mixed signals.’

  ‘I didn’t get any signals at all.’

  ‘Yes, but your aerial’s been down for years, darling, so that’s not surprising. But I definitely think he was up for something, and so is Dovetail, if he can ever get shot of his terrible mother. Didn’t you see his face when she said she’d got her pothot in the oven?’

  ‘It’s hotpot.’

  ‘Whatever. There was definitely something, only I’m not sure what. Actually I think I might have drunk slightly too much.’

  ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘That’s why I thought the strip poker was such a good idea.’

  ‘Yes, brilliant – one of your best, I’d say. Let’s play strip poker with an international photographer who spends most of his time watching supermodels getting their kit off. I suppose you thought it would be a nice change for him to see a pair of M&S pants.’

  She laughs.

  ‘We wouldn’t have gone that far, you fool, I would have caused a diversion or something. And anyway I’d marked all the cards – well, most of them. And it would have been very valuable research.’

  ‘On Planet Loon maybe.’

  ‘Have you got any chocolate?’

  ‘Not really, only my emergency Kit-Kats.’

  ‘Well this counts as an emergency.’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘Me wanting some chocolate.’

  Ellen’s got such a terrible hangover in the morning that she stays in bed while I take the boys to school; and I’m not feeling exactly pristine myself. She’s planning a day on the sofa watching daytime telly with her sunglasses on, and I promise to call her if I need her to pick up the boys. Archie manages to smuggle the new bow and arrow into the back of the car while I’m searching for a spare set of keys for Ellen, so we have a frank exchange of views when we get out at school, which culminates in me wrestling the bloody thing off him just as Annabel Morgan walks past; still at least it’s nice to know that I’ve brought a smile to someone’s face this morning. After a thirty-eight-point turn which blocks all the traffic outside school, I’m halfway to Graceland when I realise I’ve forgotten to put any earrings on, and I’ve got a mayonnaise stain on the knee of my jeans due to rather over-hasty packed-lunch manoeuvres, which is great, obviously, since I’m going to be surrounded by media professionals for the entire day.


  Maybe if I put some lipstick on I might feel slightly more ready for a magazine shoot, and less like I should be going straight back to bed. I rootle around in my bag but the lid’s come off the tube and it’s covered in fluff. If I was a proper grown-up I’d have an emergency make-up bag in the glove compartment, full of pristine Clinique and Clarins and an atomiser filled with my favourite perfume. But since I’m not, I have to do my best with an old Chapstick and a tissue, which only manages to make the stain on my jeans look marginally worse. Christ.

  The collection of smart cars by the house has grown significantly when I arrive, so I’m assuming the magazine people are already here. There’s no sign of Daniel, but Maxine’s much more friendly than yesterday as she’s taking me up to see Grace.

  ‘It’s been bedlam all morning.’

  I know just how she feels.

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘We’re having a bit of a crisis because Grace hates all the clothes.’

  ‘Well I don’t want to get in the way, I can always come back later.’

  Possibly minus the mayonnaise stains.

  ‘She said to bring you straight up.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  God, I hope she’s not going to be throwing any Diva-like tantrums, because I’m not really in the mood. I wonder if Maxine’s got any Panadol.

  Grace is in one of the blue-and-white bedrooms we saw on our tour yesterday, sitting in front of a huge mirror, with massive foam curlers in her hair, and a woman dabbing powder on her cheeks.

  ‘Great, you’re here. I’m nearly done, and then we can grab ten minutes.’

  She’s wearing a bronze silk strapless evening dress, and a rather major diamond necklace, and the room is full of people unzipping black nylon bags and hanging up clothes. She turns to a woman who’s wearing a purple floral smocked dress over black leggings and gold stilettos – so I’m guessing she’s either the stylist or someone else Creative.

  ‘I’m just going downstairs, Gwen.’

  ‘Okay, darling.’

  ‘And I’m not wearing that blue thing, okay?’

  ‘Sure. I knew you’d hate it. I told them, but they always think they know best.’

  ‘And you can tell Sven if he tries to backcomb my hair I’ll have Bruno escort him off the premises. And trust me, Bruno’s not the kind of escort Sven’s used to.’