Knit One Pearl One

by Gil McNeil

  “I thought we could do some new motif patterns for the squares too, like the seaside blanket I knitted for Jack when we first moved down here. Ice cream cones and lollipops, flowers, boats, the letters of the alphabet, that kind of thing.”

  “Well, let me know if you need a hand.”

  “Thanks Gran.”

  Gran and Elsie often help me write the patterns, and then we make up the kits in our posh new McKnits boxes, with bright pink tissue paper. And unlike the bigger companies, who make you buy a ball of every different color you need, we divide up balls into smaller skeins: Elsie loves winding them onto our new little McKnits contrast cards. So we can keep the prices reasonable and still make a decent profit.

  I’m just about finished when Mrs. Peterson comes in. She smiles at me over the partition as Gran comes through from the café. “Do you need any help, dear?”

  “I was just, I’m not sure, I used to knit, I made things for both the girls and they loved them.”

  She hesitates.

  “Did you? And now you’re thinking of starting up again, are you? I think that’s a lovely idea.”

  “I see the colors, in the window. I often stop to look when I walk by, and they’re so pretty. And Amy’s friend Nelly, at school, she’s got a lovely cardigan her mum made for her, so I thought I’d try to knit one for Amy, if it’s not too difficult?”

  “It’s the pattern with the flowers on the pockets, Gran, the one Connie made, in the cashmerino; we’ve got most of the colors on the shelves, just over there. Hang on a minute and I’ll show you.”

  I show her the pattern, and the wool, and help her choose the colors and make sure they’re from the same dye lots.

  I’m putting the wool and needles into one of our shopping bags while she looks at the pattern book.

  “I can’t wait to get started. I just hope I can manage it, I’d hate to disappoint her. She’s been so good, and, well. It’s been difficult.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine, but why don’t you sit in the café and I’ll help you make a start. Have a coffee, and we can read through the pattern together?”

  “Oh, would you? That would be so kind.”

  “Of course, no problem, that’s what we’re here for.”

  “It’s hard, when children are so young, and they have to cope with such terrible things, isn’t it?”

  She looks at me, and I know she’s trying to say something, about Nick; Tina will have told her, and she’s trying to let me know that she knows, about Jack and Archie, losing Nick, as well as her Amy, losing her sister. So much loss, for such little people.

  “Yes. But they cope, somehow. It doesn’t stop you minding, though, does it?”

  “No.”

  She puts the pattern book into the shopping bag.

  “Shall I sit anywhere, in the café?”

  “Yes, I’ll be through in a minute, I just need to take these boxes back up to the storeroom. And I can highly recommend the cake, if you’re in the mood for a treat.”

  Gran and Betty have got her sitting with them when I get back downstairs, and Betty’s reading the pattern, and explaining how healthy our smoothlies are.

  It doesn’t matter how many times I say smoothies, they just nod and then carry on calling them smoothlies. Even I’ve started doing it now.

  “They’re very good in the mornings, if you don’t eat much breakfast. I often pop in for one, you should give them a try, dear. Shouldn’t she, Mary?”

  Gran nods and pours me a cup of tea and tops up Mrs. Peterson’s cup.

  “Tell Jo about your Valentine’s card, Betty. She got ever such a lovely one, with a big red satin heart on it.”

  “Yes, only I haven’t worked out who it’s from yet, and it’s driving me demented, I can tell you. I think it’s that Ted Mallow from the Lifeboats, but I’m not sure. Silly to send one and then not make yourself known if you ask me, just making a nuisance of himself, but then he’s always been like that.”

  Mrs. Peterson is smiling at Gran.

  “Did you get one this year, dear?”

  She looks surprised. “Er, yes, from my husband.”

  “Isn’t that lovely? Nice when they still bother. Mind you, lovely-looking girl like you, you can’t blame him, dear.”

  Gran winks at me. “Has Her Majesty calmed down about the boat yet? She seems a bit happier.”

  “Sort of, but don’t mention it.”

  “It’ll cost him a fair bit, I shouldn’t wonder, and he’s got that barn to do as well. He’ll have to be careful.”

  “He’s taking on extra consultancy work, in London.”

  “Is he? Well, that won’t go down well. She was just saying she’s going to ask him to drive her into Canterbury for late closing on Thursday, see if she can find a new frock.”

  “Right.”

  “What will you be wearing, pet?” Gran turns to Mrs. Peterson. “We’re off to a special tea party at the weekend, only I’ve got no idea what to wear.”

  “I don’t know, Gran. Something that won’t show stains? It’s a tea party with children. There’s not a lot of point in wearing anything too special.”

  “Yes, but that’s half the fun, isn’t it, getting a new outfit. Have you been into Debenhams? They’ve got some lovely things. Have you been in lately, dear?”

  I hope Mrs. Peterson’s not going to regret coming in today. But once Gran and Betty have got you in their sights, there’s little chance of escape.

  “No, not lately.”

  Betty puts her cup down. “You should do, love. You’ve got such a lovely figure, and they’ve got some pretty spring colors in now. We saw a nice blue blouse that would suit you. What would you call that color, Mary?”

  “What color?”

  “That blouse we saw in Debenhams.”

  “Petrol blue?”

  “Yes, although why do they call it petrol? Petrol isn’t a color.”

  “I think there’s a bird with that color plumage, a seabird I think.”

  Betty gives Mrs. Peterson a very approving look. “Is there, dear? Fancy that. Did you hear that, Mary? It’s a bird. Well, I bet it looks very smart when it’s flapping about, it’s a smart color. They had it in pink too. But it wasn’t a very nice pink. More salmon than you’d want in a blouse.”

  Mrs. Peterson appears to be trying not to laugh now.

  Oh God. I think I might go back in the window.

  Ellen and Harry arrive at lunchtime on Saturday with Eddie asleep in his car seat.

  “He’s so much bigger, Ellen, I can’t believe how much he’s grown.”

  “Never stops eating, that’s why. Total little porker.”

  “He’s gorgeous.”

  Harry grins.

  “Can I park him upstairs? He usually has a couple of hours around now, and if he wakes up he’ll be hell on wheels.”

  “Sure, you’re in the same room as last time. I’ve moved Pearl’s cot into my room and put the travel cot up, I’ve put a sheet in and a couple of blankets. There are more on top of the chest of drawers if you need them.”

  “Thanks, Jo.”

  “So what’s the plan for today, darling?”

  “Lunch, and then I need to go into the shop. So I thought we could all go, and then maybe a walk on the beach?”

  “In this weather, are you joking?”

  “It’s warmer than it’s been all week, Ellen, and it’s not pouring. That’s top weather round here. And anyway, I’ve got to take the kids out for a run; it’s a bit like having dogs; lots of fresh air and exercise or they break the furniture.”

  “Okay, a bit of fresh air, dump the kids and go out clubbing later, yes?”

  “Or come home, make supper, do bath time, and then collapse in a heap by the fire?”

  “And then we go out clubbing?”

  “Sure.”

  She grins. “This motherhood thing is rubbish, isn’t it?”

  “Totally.”

  We’re enjoying a cold but sunny walk along the beach, and I’
ve even remembered to bring a carton of milk and the keys to the beach hut, so we can have a cup of tea while the kids race about and Eddie gets to look at the sea, which he seems to find completely mesmerizing. Pearl has let Ellen wear her tiara, for about thirty seconds. All in all, it’s going very well indeed, until Trevor bounds toward us. Great.

  “Hi Jo. Mum said you were down here. Look, I’ve brought a new ball, to replace the one we broke.”

  Ellen smiles. “Hi Martin, or should I say Morning, Captain? How did you manage to break a beach ball?”

  “Trevor bit it, by mistake.”

  “Naturally.”

  I think I’ll make the tea now. We may be here for quite a while.

  Harry’s carrying Eddie in what looks like a baby rucksack and playing football with the kids; Eddie seems delighted to be part of the action, though less convinced about Trevor. Martin’s in goal, and Pearl is digging a small tunnel. I don’t really blame her.

  Ellen and I are sitting in the loungers, covered with bright orange parrot fabric, with jaunty flip-top sunshades with orange fringing.

  “I hope to God nobody sees me.”

  “I’ll have you know Gran’s very proud of these loungers, and you’ve got to admit they’re comfy.”

  “They’d have to be, darling.”

  “Tea?”

  “Sure, unless you’ve got something stronger?”

  “Black currant?”

  I call halftime in the football match and make everyone have a hot drink.

  “Thanks Jo, and I’m really sorry, but I can’t make it tomorrow, to the tea thing. That insurance client wants me in all day tomorrow, the whole system has crashed.”

  “On a Sunday?”

  “I know, but they’re paying double time, and I really need the money. Dad’s going to go in and feed Trevor, and I should be back by late Monday, but if you could pick Mum up, on the way to the party?”

  “My car will be full, but I’ll ask Reg, or I’ll see if Max can add your dad to the guest list, would that be better?”

  “That would be great.”

  “Such a shame, when you rented your fancy dress outfit.”

  He smiles. “I know.”

  “Fancy dress? Christ darling, you didn’t tell me it was fancy dress.”

  “It’s not, that was just for Martin.”

  “It’s a shame, I was looking forward to it.”

  Harry laughs. “You don’t need a hand, do you, mate? Not that I know anything about computers, but it’s got to be better than a tea party with the Diva and a load of media types. I get enough of that in town.”

  “Harry. I’ve told you, you’re coming. Someone’s got to hold our beautiful boy while I network. Get over it.”

  He pokes his tongue out at her, then asks Martin about the boat, and before we know it they’re talking about rope and special kinds of varnish, and Eddie starts getting fed up, so Ellen takes him down to watch the waves before coming back quite quickly and handing him back to Harry.

  “It’s even colder down there. Why don’t you finish your game? He loved it when you were running around.”

  Harry sighs. “Girls can play football now, you know, darling, if you fancy a game.”

  “In these shoes? Go on, before he starts yelling.”

  I’ve made a fish pie for supper, which is Ellen’s favorite, and after a fairly lively bath time, where I de-sand Pearl, she conks out with her bottle really early, and the boys do too, after so much running around on the beach. Archie’s battling to stay awake, but he’s in bed, with only his night-light on, so he won’t last five minutes. Ellen’s giving Eddie a bath and brings him downstairs wrapped in a baby towel with a hood, looking angelic.

  “Here you are, one gorgeous boy. Ready for his good night kisses.”

  I kiss him as she hands him to Harry.

  “I don’t know if he’ll settle, he had quite a long sleep today. I’ll give it a go though. Come on, my boy; let’s see if your old dad can work his magic once again. Good night, ladies. I may be some time.”

  “God, I need a drink. I love giving him his bath, he’s so adorable, but it’s knackering, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, especially if you made the supper and are now doing the washing up.”

  I hand her a tea towel.

  “Are you serious, darling? What am I meant to do with this?”

  “Dry the dishes?”

  “And you haven’t got a dishwasher because?”

  “There isn’t room, without moving all the cupboards around, and I haven’t got the money for that, or the time. I needed to get the shop and the café sorted first.”

  “Fabulous ice cream today, darling; that blackberry sorbet was seriously good. That Connie’s a very lucky woman. I wish Harry could cook like that; maybe I can send him on a course or something. He is good with our boy though.”

  “He’s great.”

  “He wants us to get some backup child care sorted. He keeps on about how his life’s not his own anymore, and he needs to do the occasional freelance cameraman gig just to keep his eye in. Any views on au pairs versus nannies?”

  “Au pairs are much cheaper, but they usually live in, and I don’t think you’d like that, would you?”

  “If we had a bigger house maybe, and yes, before you say it, I know the new house has five bedrooms, but I think you need a special servant’s wing to really pull off having staff living in.”

  “You’d only want someone part-time, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, but still. I might delegate it to Harry. If he wants a nanny, he can call the agencies and come up with a short list, and I can just meet the ones he likes.”

  Sometimes I’m amazed at how different Ellen is to me; I’d never have let Nick choose a nanny, if we’d ever had one. But then Nick would have just picked the most attractive one, whereas Harry is much more in tune with his boy. And actually, I don’t think there’s a law that says mums are responsible for sorting out the child care.

  “Then if we have another one, we’ll be all set.”

  “Two nannies?”

  “No, you twit, another baby. Harry thinks we should; he thinks they work best in matching sets.”

  “Do you want another one?”

  “To be perfectly honest, no, not really. I adore him, obviously, more than life itself and all that, but I feel like I’ve done it now. I’ve got my motherhood badge. I’d quite like to be working on something new.”

  “It’s not like the Girl Guides, Ellen.”

  “It bloody is. There’s the Have a Proper Career badge, tick, Live Somewhere Smart, tick, Partner You Can Take to Dinner Parties, Not the Size of a House, Produce an Infant, tick tick tick. Now I want something new.”

  “What about a Learn to Dry Up with a Tea Towel badge?”

  She laughs. “Not really what I had in mind, darling.”

  “If you go by those rules, I’ve hardly got any badges at all.”

  “I know, darling, but you don’t care.”

  “True.”

  “It’s very annoying, actually.”

  “What is?”

  “How you always make the best of things, like a maternal version of fucking Pollyanna.”

  “Well, there’s not much point in making the worst of things.”

  “There you go again. When life gives you lemons, some of us hit the gin and tonic and use the lemons as a garnish, but not you, you’re off making bloody lemonade every time, aren’t you, darling?”

  “I don’t like lemonade.”

  “Do try to keep up. I mean you’re genuinely happy, aren’t you, and the kids are central to that.”

  “Yes, I suppose I am. I love living here, being part of things and close to Gran. I felt so invisible when we lived in London, and I definitely didn’t have all my badges. Well, apart from a husband you could take to dinner parties, but we didn’t go to any.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Yes, but it takes two.”

  “Oh not that again, it does not take two. It
takes one to be doing the right thing, and one to be a bastard.”

  “Maybe, but I did get stuck in a comfy little rut, and I really don’t want to do that again. I hardly thought about whether I was happy, let alone Nick. You’re much happier too now though, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I’m not sure I’d spend the rest of my life with Harry if we didn’t have Eddie, but we do. And it’s great, brilliant actually, but it is strange, you know, how we’ve all gone right back to staying together for the children.”

  “Not all of us. Nick and I would have been divorced by now, for sure.”

  “I know, darling, he was such an idiot. But what I meant was when did we miss out the bit where we got to choose? It was meant to be so liberating, but most of us just have to do three jobs now, the day job, and the wife and perfect bloody networker and hostess, and then we get to do the motherhood thing on top of all that. Most women I know are either stuck with some master of the universe, terrified he’s going to leave them, or they’re earning more than the boys, faintly bored but putting up with it because he does all the child care. My friend Liz, you remember the one who had that fling with that actor, she’s got two kids now, and her husband is such a prat. She’s not allowed to put anything in their dishwasher, he’s totally OCD about domestic stuff, practically washes your glass before you’ve taken your first sip.”

  “But Harry’s not like that.”

  “No, of course not, I’m not completely hopeless. The day I shack up with Domestic Demigod, who makes his own bread and won’t let you open the fridge in case you put the milk back on the wrong shelf, well, just shoot me. But I sometimes hanker, that’s all.”

  “For?”

  “I don’t know, that’s the point, something new. Don’t look at me like that. I work bloody hard, and sometimes I think, Is this it? Don’t you?”

  “Of course.”