Knit One Pearl One

by Gil McNeil

  “That’s a lovely scarf you’re wearing, Trent.”

  “It’s crap, but my mum said I’ve got to wear it or I’ll get one of my chests. Is the baby’s face meant to be like that?”

  Pearl is woolen-faced again. Fortunately without her tiara this morning. Although the balaclava-with-tiara look is one she’s definitely working on.

  “No, not really.”

  I lean forward and adjust her balaclava, amid shrieks which make Trent laugh. “She don’t like that.”

  He wraps his scarf over his face, and then drops it, which Pearl thinks is hilarious.

  Archie is watching Trent, who’s one of the tougher boys, and someone he’d usually steer clear of.

  “She does that with her hat all the time, and she takes her socks off and throws them away when she hasn’t got her wellies on.”

  Trent’s obviously rather impressed by Archie’s fraternal boasting. “She can throw my scarf away if she likes. I don’t think boys wear scarfs, they’re more for girls, but my mum makes me wear it.”

  Archie tuts and Trent grins at him, and whispers something which makes them both giggle.

  Jane’s looking anxious. “We’re going to run out of armbands if we get many more.”

  She’s got a stash of fluorescent armbands in her bag for every child who joins the bus, so we can spot the ones we’re meant to be shepherding.

  “I never thought we’d get this many.”

  “I know. It’s great, though, isn’t it?”

  She nods and starts counting her armbands again.

  There’s another group of parents waiting by the bandstand, including Mrs. Peterson and Amy. I stand up straighter, trying to look like the kind of überefficient person you’d trust to walk your child to school, and there’s a round of applause as we stop and Connie and Jane start counting again. Angela is waiting with Peter, who’s looking very pleased with himself, like this is all down to him and the Parish Council; he’s got his suit on and looks like he’d make a Speech given half a chance. Bob’s taking photographs with his digital camera for the school newsletter, and Peter’s making sure he gets into every shot, much to Angela’s obvious annoyance.

  “It all looks marvelous, Jo, I’m quite looking forward to Wednesday.”

  Angela’s volunteered to be on the rota for Wednesdays, with Tina and Sophie Lewis’s mum.

  “Thanks, Angela, and it’s very kind of you to help out.”

  “Not a bit of it, it’s helping me really. I always mean to go out walking, but somehow I never do, so this will be the ideal opportunity.”

  Connie blows the whistle again, and we start counting; it’s vital we don’t linger here, as there’s a slide and swings beckoning in the playground by the fountain, and if we let them start wandering off, we stand no chance.

  Jane lifts her flag. “Fifty-six.”

  Crikey. That’s nearly a third of the whole school.

  Connie shouts “Fifty-six,” and we start moving and Mrs. Peterson suddenly looks very anxious, like she’s changed her mind and wants to walk with us. I think this is an important moment for her, letting Amy go. Oh, God.

  “Would you like to help me push the baby, Amy?”

  She nods and puts her hand on the buggy handle as we start to walk, while her mum stands still, clearly willing herself not to race after us and retrieve her child. Jane’s noticed too, and we both smile at her encouragingly, and she tries to smile back. Just when I think she’s not going to be able to bear it, Angela steps forward and puts her hand on her arm, and she turns, with one last look at Amy, and starts talking. Good for Angela. Amy seems oblivious, but I put my hand on her shoulder, just in case her mum’s having one last look.

  Jane starts singing “The Wheels on the Bus” as we walk through the gates and down the road to the school. We’re not going to sing every morning—we don’t want to annoy the entire town—but we thought on the first day we’d indulge ourselves. The playground is lined with parents and teachers, and Mr. O’Brien rings the bell and says how pleased he is to see the bus arriving right on time, and how every car journey we avoid will help save our planet, and while there won’t be a walking home bus after school just yet, he hopes parents will get into the habit of walking. He asks the kids to give themselves a round of applause, which they do, so enthusiastically he has to ring the bell again to get them to stop.

  “And now everyone is warmed up and ready to learn, let’s all line up, quietly please.”

  There’s a bit less enthusiasm for this, but it’s starting to drizzle, so we divest ourselves of book bags and PE kits and packed lunch bags as quickly as we can. I’ll have to get some of those plastic clips you put on the handles of buggies or I’m going to look like a luggage porter. We’re not really meant to carry things according to the guidelines we got from the local Education Department, but some of them are so little it seemed mean not to. Maybe we should get a trolley. Or a donkey. The kids would love that, or we could train Trevor, he’d be perfect for a couple of panniers full of kit. I might mention it to Martin.

  Annabel Morgan is standing by the main doors, looking Annoyed. She’s talking to her usual coterie of Gina Preston and Mrs. Nelson; I think we were supposed to crawl in with a dozen kids, preferably having lost one of them in the sea. Not fifty-six with nobody gone AWOL.

  Jane’s very pleased. “That was brilliant.”

  “Yes, largely thanks to your organizing it all, and thank Bob too, for the flag and the whistle.”

  “I’ll have to get him new ones, I’m keeping these. I draw the line at the hat though; he was still trying to get me to wear it this morning.”

  Connie smiles. “A hat, it might be good, for the rain?”

  “Yes, but not one with STATIONMASTER on it. Oh, and I meant to say, Mr. O’Brien’s found a bit of money in the budget and he’s giving me a promotion. It’s not much, but still, I’m really pleased. It’ll be after Easter, and I’ll be office manager and school secretary, isn’t that great? And I know doing the bus helped, so thanks, Jo, it was such a good idea.”

  “Don’t thank me, I just mentioned it at the meeting. I didn’t think we’d end up doing it.”

  “Be careful what you wish for?”

  “You’re telling me. Trust me; being fluorescent in the mornings was never top of my list. Do you want the tabards, for tomorrow?”

  “Please, and can we have your sign, Connie, it was really handy. We could have hit that idiot in his Range Rover with it if we’d needed to.”

  “Sure, but it is, how do you say, it is not straight, in the wind. It bends.”

  “No problem, Bob will soon sort that. I better get in, no rest for the wicked. See you later. I’m going to order some more armbands just in case.”

  Annabel gives her a very haughty look as she walks past holding the lollipop and the tabards, but Jane is fearless.

  “Morning, Annabel. Isn’t it marvelous? Such a huge success, Mr. O’Brien says the governors are really pleased.”

  Jane shakes the lollipop and smiles at Annabel, which completely infuriates her. Just like she knew it would.

  “She’s a brave woman, that Jane, I’ve always liked her. Come on, Con, I’ll race you to the café. There’s one of your lovely husband’s croissants waiting for me. I can hear it calling. Here, give me your bag and I’ll put it in the buggy.”

  The atmosphere in the shop is rather fraught: Elsie’s furious about Martin getting a boat; he told her at the weekend, and she’s still not speaking to him, or her husband, Jeffrey, who made the mistake of saying he thought it wasn’t such a terrible idea and he’d help with some of the carpentry. Big mistake. She’s barely speaking to me either, since she thinks I should have stopped him.

  “I think I’ll change the window, Elsie. I thought we could do something for Mother’s Day.”

  As soon as I’ve said it, I realize this is a pretty stupid thing to say with her in tragic mother mode.

  She sniffs. “Nice Mother’s Day I’m going to have, worrying myse
lf sick about him on that silly boat. He was sick on the ferry that time we went to the Isle of Wight, he never liked boats. I don’t know what’s got into him, I really don’t.”

  “Well, it’s got nothing to do with me, Elsie, but he can spend his money on what he likes, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, but how would you feel if your Archie bought himself a great big boat?”

  “Not that thrilled, but he is only seven, Elsie. Martin’s thirty-eight.”

  “Yes, so it’s about time he grew up and got that barn finished; there’s still a hole in the middle of that kitchen floor.”

  “I know, but he’s still working out the plumbing, it’s not going to stay like that.”

  “He’s always been the same, starts things and never finishes. Just like his father. I don’t know how I’ve put up with it for all these years, I really don’t.”

  “Because you love them?”

  She sniffs again, but she doesn’t look quite so cross.

  “It could be worse, you know, Elsie.”

  “How?”

  “They could be into morris dancing or something.”

  There’s a trace of a smile.

  “Well, I will say they’ve never been drinkers, and they can make your life a misery. I was talking to Mrs. Marwell the other day, and she said she saw that Mr. Nelson coming out of the Star and Garter along by the pier, and he could hardly walk straight he was that far gone.”

  “Oh dear.”

  Actually, if I was married to Mrs. Nelson, I might have the occasional tipple.

  “Yes, they’d had one of their silly meetings, that Navy thing they all belong to, and they always come out three sheets to the wind after one of those.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Mind you, for all I know my Martin will join them now he’s got a boat. And his father will go along too. Hasn’t got the sense he was born with.”

  “I can’t see them sitting around with a load of old codgers getting legless.”

  “Well, maybe not. I’m just saying I wouldn’t put it past him, that’s all. Do you want a hand with the window? We’ve got those baby cardigans we hung up last year on that little washing line upstairs in one of the boxes in the stockroom, shall I bring them down?”

  “Thanks Elsie. And if you see the flags, bring them down as well, would you?”

  We knitted a set of little flags last year, in pretty colors with initials on, to spell out MCKNITS, so I’ll hang them up too. The flag kits are selling quite well now, with the gingham ribbon and the pattern for each initial, so you can knit the name of your child. Short names are easiest, of course. Christopher takes quite a few flags; Mrs. Hirst said she wished she’d gone for James, her other top name, by the time she’d finished knitting all the flags for him. But it did look lovely. The kits are popular on the website too, so people obviously like them. They’re one of the things I’m most pleased with, the beach bag kits in summer and the shawl kits, in the mohair made famous by Grace, and the easier crepe one, which is lovely and warm. We do a cotton one too, and a simple baby cardigan, all knitted in one so you only have to sew up the sides, with no tricky shoulder seams or neckbands. But the best sellers so far are our blanket kits; we do a cot-size one, and smaller ones for the buggy or car seat. We sell quite a few ready-made too, and Mrs. Collins is knitting for us now, as well as Elsie and Laura, and Gran and Betty if we get busy, so we’re just about keeping up.

  I’m ready to start on the window when Maggie comes in to collect the wool for Connie’s blanket.

  “I’ll take Tina and Linda theirs, and Angela’s coming into the library later on. They’re such lovely colors, Jo. Butterscotch and vanilla, it sounds delicious. How may squares do we need?”

  “I thought twenty, with hearts and stars knitted into each square; it’s all in one color, so it’s pretty easy. I’ll sew them together and do the border once everyone’s finished.”

  “I’ll copy the pattern at lunchtime. I can’t wait to see her face. I hope she likes it.”

  “All her friends knitting a blanket for her baby? She’ll love it, Maggie.”

  Elsie’s nipped out to get some shopping for supper while I’m behind the counter untangling flags when Maxine calls.

  “Hi Jo. Have you got your final invite list?”

  “Sure, I’ll e-mail it over. I thought Connie and Mark with Nelly and Marco. Tina and Graham Davis, he’s the local fireman I told you about, and their son, Travis; and Jane and Bob Johnson and Seth; and Laura from the shop and her little girl, Rosie.”

  “Perfect.”

  “I can think of more if you want me to?”

  “No, that sounds about right. What about your friend Ellen?”

  “I was going to ask you about that. She’ll kill me if I don’t get her an invite, but you know she works in telly?”

  “That’s fine, as long as she knows it’s a private event. Although it’ll be full of people from London and they all gossip like mad, so we’ll be on our best behavior. Anyone else you’d like to add?”

  “Gran and Reg obviously, if you’re still sure that’s okay, and Cinzia, and Martin, and I was going to ask you, could we invite his mother, Elsie, from the shop? Only it would save me no end of bother if she can come.”

  “Sure.”

  “She’s quite annoying.”

  “So are most of the other guests, don’t worry about it.”

  “Thanks, Max.”

  Excellent. I think I might have a way to get Elsie out of her Sulk.

  I think I’ll text Martin first, just to gloat.

  HAVE JUST WANGLED INVITE FOR YOU AND YOUR MUM TO GRACELAND MOTHER’S DAY PARTY. YOU NOW OWE ME BIG-TIME.

  My mobile rings.

  “I always knew you were brilliant, although Dad and I are getting the hang of the silent thing and we quite like it.”

  “How ungrateful. Well, I’ll just leave it then, shall I?”

  He laughs. “No, sorry, it’s great. I wish I could see her face when you tell her. Say I asked you to fix it, would you? I seriously need to get back in her good books.”

  “Sure, and by the way, it’s fancy dress.”

  “Bloody hell. Do I really need to go? I’m hopeless at parties, and if it’s fancy dress it’ll be even worse.”

  “It’s fine. Just rent a sailor suit.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “No, you twit.”

  “So it’s not fancy dress then?”

  “No, well, apart from you. Look, I’ll call you later, I can’t talk now, we’re just about to sort the window display.”

  “Is that Mum?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t forget, tell her I asked you specially, whatever it takes.”

  “I think I’ve got it covered, speak later.”

  Elsie’s thrilled.

  “Isn’t that nice of her, asking local people. Fancy. And just a few of us; put some noses out of joint, that will. I’ll get Martin’s suit to the dry cleaners.”

  “It’s just people with children really, Elsie, and a few friends.”

  She nods. “I know, dear, but just think, that Mrs. Morgan’s going to be so annoyed.”

  We both smile.

  “Either she invited hundreds or it had to be just a select few.”

  She mutters “select few” to herself as she hands me the box for the window.

  “I’ll go and make us some tea, shall I, dear? I’ll just put these chops in the fridge; my Martin loves chops for his tea.”

  “Great.”

  Mission accomplished.

  Half an hour later I’m still balanced in the window pegging cardigans on the washing line with the little wooden pegs, and hanging the flags across the partition. Gran and Betty have arrived and are sitting in the café talking about what Gran will wear to Graceland, with Elsie joining in and then nipping back into the shop whenever anyone comes in. Tom’s looking lovesick, mainly because he hopes Cinzia might be coming in; it turned out his knitted heart was for her, so that’s somethi
ng else for me to worry about. She seemed delighted, but I’ve got visions of half of Connie’s family descending on me to complain that I’ve encouraged a dalliance with a would-be musician-waiter, and they’ve probably got enough of those at home. Connie’s pretty relaxed about it, and so far they’ve only been for a walk, with Nelly and Marco as chaperones. But you never know. He’s doing a fair bit of lovesick lolling about, so I’m predicting Trouble.

  “It all looks lovely, pet.” Gran’s peering over the partition.

  “It’s getting there.”

  “The colors are so pretty.”

  I’ve chosen some of the nicest pastels, buttermilk and caramel and blush pink and powder blue, with peppermint and primrose, and none of the nasty sickly green that Elsie’s always trying to order, or the acrylic peach four-ply. And there’s an old-fashioned layette, with a fancy shawl, and a tiny sleepsuit with mittens and bootees. I’ve swathed white and cream muslin over the partition so everything looks fresh, but it’s still a bit sparse. I’ve got a few cardigans in brighter colors to fold on the shelf at the side, in the baby cotton, a lovely bright pink, and one with navy and white stripes, and one in damson, so that’ll help. And then the blankets, in creams and pale coffee colors, with borders of nutmeg, and a pretty oatmeal one with a catkin border.

  “I’ll put the knitted animals in too, Gran, and can you and Betty make a few more, they sell really well. I’ll save the ducks and rabbits for Easter, but a few more of the little teddies and the elephants would be great. Oh, and the penguins, with proper beaks this time.”

  She smiles. I knitted one of the penguins a few months ago, but I managed to get the decreasing for the beak wrong, so it ended up a bit more like a puffin than a penguin.

  “Of course we will. I like to have a bit of knitting on the go in the evenings, you know that, pet.”

  “I’m going to play around with some new blanket designs for Grace; she wants something a bit bigger, so I might need your help with that.”

  “Right you are.”

  For larger blankets I prefer knitting squares; it’s so much less daunting than casting on vast numbers of stitches on a circular needle. I usually sew a flannel sheet to the back to help keep the shape, or thinner cotton or muslin for a newborn blanket. I’ve already got one to sew onto Connie’s blanket when it’s ready, in pale yellow brushed cotton with little ducklings on it.