Needles and Pearls

by Gil McNeil

  Ellen’s giving her a long hard look, the kind of look that would make most women want to rush home to change their outfits.

  ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us, darling?’

  ‘Sorry, this is Patricia, and Phil.’

  Phil nods, looking uncomfortable.

  ‘Nice to meet you. Ellen Malone, and this is Harry. You’re the first wife, I take it?’

  Patricia looks rather shaken.

  ‘I’ve seen you on the telly.’

  ‘Possibly. But I’m trying to keep a low profile tonight. People get so over-excited. I’m sure you understand.’

  Patricia looks impressed, but is clearly trying to hide it as she turns to me, giving me a quick glance that suddenly stops at my stomach.

  Ellen smiles.

  ‘I know, so exciting, isn’t it? And not long now, is it, Jo? We were just talking about it, actually, wondering if Martin will get the barn conversion finished in time.’

  Patricia doesn’t look happy.

  ‘What barn?’ She looks furious as she turns to Martin. ‘Christ. You didn’t waste much time, did you?’

  ‘It’s –’

  ‘So lovely to have met you, Trish. And you, Phil. Have a lovely evening.’ Ellen gives them one of her Big Smiles, and then fixes Patricia with one of her killer you-are-now-dismissed looks.

  ‘Come on, Patsy. Just leave it, babes.’

  But she can’t. She’s glaring at me, looking as hostile as you can in a skimpy shift dress and high-heeled sandals.

  ‘When’s it due?’

  Suddenly I get a flash of inspiration, and reach across and take hold of Martin’s hand.

  ‘Not long now.’

  She turns and walks back towards the doors, with Phil nodding at Martin before following her.

  Martin can’t stop smiling.

  ‘Thanks so much, both of you – that was so brilliant. I know it’s petty, but the look on her face. God, it was so brilliant.’

  ‘Can I have my hand back now?’

  ‘What? Oh yes, sorry. It was just so great.’

  He kisses me on the cheek.

  ‘Thanks, Jo.’

  ‘I don’t think she’s looking any more, Martin.’

  ‘I didn’t do it for her benefit.’

  Ellen clinks her glass with Martin, and winks at me.

  The drive home takes ages, mainly because I get lost. And Martin’s drunk so much vodka he’s barely coherent on the back seat next to Harry, who’s fast asleep.

  ‘Are you sure it’s down here?’

  ‘Yes. You turned left when I said right. Or it might be the other way round. Anyway it’s bound to be down here. Or not.’

  ‘Shut up, Martin.’

  He laughs.

  I finally find the barn, mainly by going back into Broadgate and then out again, so I don’t have to try to follow Martin’s daft directions.

  ‘Here we are.’

  ‘Who wants to see my barn?’

  Harry wakes up.

  ‘I do, I want to see it.’

  Ellen sighs.

  ‘Well, hurry up then … Christ, I hope that’s your bloody dog or we’re in big trouble.’

  There’s a great deal of barking before Trevor appears and goes into a frenzy of jumping and tail-wagging, nearly knocking Martin over.

  ‘Night, Martin.’

  ‘Night, Ellen. We must do this again some time.’

  ‘What, completely piss off your ex-wife?’

  He laughs.

  ‘No. Well, yes. But I meant a drink or something. I could make supper, when I’ve got a kitchen.’

  ‘Great. Fix it up with Jo, and we’ll be there.’

  Harry walks up the path with Martin to see the barn, while Ellen and I wait in the car.

  ‘You should have gone in with him, fixed up a second date.’

  ‘Ellen, this was hardly a first date. And anyway I can’t be doing dates when I’m seven and a half months pregnant. It’s too … something – I don’t know what exactly, but there definitely isn’t a chapter on it in What to Expect When You’re Bloody Expecting.’

  ‘Well, there should be. Welcome to the real world. Pregnant by one man, out with another, and neither of them your husband. My baby girl has finally grown up. I’m so proud of you, darling.’

  ‘Piss off.’

  ‘I like him.’

  ‘So do I. But I’m so hormonal I can’t tell what’s really me and what’s not.’

  ‘Well, he’s definitely got potential, that’s all I’m saying. Don’t cross him off your list.’

  ‘What is it with you and lists?’

  ‘You’re a fine one to talk.’

  I’m drifting off to sleep a few hours later feeling tired but happy; it’s been my best birthday in ages. Ever, really. Nick was always hopeless at presents. He got me a new ironing board one year, until Ellen found out and took him shopping. But this year has been completely different. The kids are happy, and I’ve got a fabulous new handbag and enough perfume to last me for years, and Ellen’s invented a new recipe for hot chocolate with vodka that she swears is going to make her a multimillionaire. So it’s been a top day all round really.

  And seeing Martin vanquish the dreaded Patricia was pretty good too. And Ellen’s right, I do really like him. But I’m not going to get into a panic about any of that now. I’m not. I’m going to think about it tomorrow. Or in a few months’ time. Not now. I’ve got too many other things to worry about. Like how to head Gran off Operation Decorate before she goes into overdrive, and how I’m going to sort out the shop and get all the autumn stock in before the baby. My back’s starting to ache again, and the baby’s moving a lot tonight.

  Actually, maybe I’d better make a list.

  Chapter Seven

  September

  Lights Camera Action

  The boys are back at school, after a last-minute flurry of new school shoes and trousers, and things are feeling slightly calmer, thank God. Martin’s been busy working on some freelance job so he can afford his new kitchen, and we’re talking about fixing up supper with Ellen and Harry in a few weeks’ time; which Ellen is insisting on calling a double date, because she knows it gets me into a panic. I’ve decided heavily pregnant people don’t do dates, it’s unseemly, so I’m thinking of it as supper, and that’s fine.

  Actually, I can’t believe how quickly time is passing; they’re even starting to talk about the Christmas play at school, and Archie’s landed himself the role of an aubergine, although thankfully not in the Nativity; I don’t think I could cope with Annabel’s smugness at wangling a better role for Harry, and let’s face it pretty much every part has got to be better than the aubergine. Each class is singing or acting out a poem, and Archie’s class are making giant papier-mâché models to wield on stage. Jack’s class are doing ‘Slinky Malinky’, which Archie’s already renamed ‘Stinky Maplinky’, and I’m supposed to be knitting him a black chenille cat, which I could do without, but Mrs Chambers was so keen I didn’t really have the heart to say no.

  ‘Now, are you sure it’s all right? I can always re-book, you know.’

  Elsie’s got an appointment at the chiropodist’s because her corns are playing her up.

  ‘No, you go, Elsie.’

  ‘My Martin might be in. I took him round a bit of fish last night on that new thermal plate I got in my catalogue. Ever so good, it is. And he said he might drop it in later.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘He’s always been fussy about fish. I had the devil of a job to get him to eat it when he was younger.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I did him a nice bit of cod in parsley sauce – he likes that. Lord, look at the time – I’d better be off.’

  ‘OK.’

  Dear God. Although cod in parsley sauce sounds quite nice, actually; maybe I could make some tonight. Archie will pick all the parsley out, but cod in parsley-chopped-very-fine sauce might work. Gran and Reg will probably be around. Operation Decorate is well under way, and after an
initial bumpy start when we had to spend all day in the garden while Reg and Martin sanded the floor, closely followed by Gran in a face mask wielding the hoover and a damp cloth, it’s all been fairly painless. And the floor looks fabulous. Jack’s room is finished and he loves it, especially the fluorescent glow in the dark moons and stars, and Archie’s room just needs the wallpaper border of space ships and it’s done. I might try to stick it up today if Reg doesn’t beat me to it.

  I’ve been worried they’d overdo it, and I’d have someone from Age Concern showing me a red card, but they’re both much better at pacing themselves than I am. There are lots of cups of tea and little rests, and Gran seems just as chirpy at the end of the day as she did in the morning. We’ve chosen new material at the market for curtains, so the spare room now has buttermilk walls, and white cotton curtains with yellow daisies, with blackout linings to encourage new small people to learn to sleep. And in between painting they’ve been having trips up to John Lewis at Bluewater so they can haunt the baby department and make the assistants demonstrate all the different prams and cots.

  I’ve promised to go up with them soon for the final decision, but I’m trying to put it off for a bit longer because I’ve still got a few weeks yet and I’m nowhere near ready for pram rehearsals. I’ve booked my slot for my C-section, but I’m trying not to think about it. The midwife at the doctor’s says everything’s fine so I’d really like a bit more normal life before everything goes into baby mode.

  I’m finishing off the tea-time window, which Olivia helped me with on Saturday. Polly was in too; she’s taken to coming in early before the rest of the group arrive, and sitting knitting with Olivia. So far they’ve knitted themselves short skirts and now they’re knitting bags, which is great because Polly’s definitely the trendsetter girl in their year, so a few of the others are bound to follow suit. Even Elsie’s been impressed at how well the group is working: it’s like we’re opening up the shop to a whole new generation, which reminds me, I’d better order in some more of the grey flecked tweed, which seems to be their current favourite.

  Martin arrives with the thermal plate and matching lid twenty minutes after Elsie’s left.

  ‘You timed that well.’

  He grins.

  ‘She’s driving me mad. She’ll be doing me boiled eggs and soldiers next if I let her.’

  ‘I love boiled eggs and soldiers. I haven’t had them for ages.’

  ‘I hate parsley sauce, and she knows it. Trevor liked it, though, but he’ll eat anything. How’s the new floor?’

  ‘Lovely. We’ve moved the bed up against the wall now so the room looks much bigger.’

  ‘Mum was saying you want a new shower, for the baby.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘A new shower.’

  He must mean the baby shower. Trust Martin to think a baby shower involves plumbing.

  ‘Actually –’

  ‘So I’ve had a word with Gary – he’s helping me out with the plumbing at the barn – and he’ll give me a half-day free if I help him with his kitchen cabinets. So I thought I could do it for you, if you like. What sort of shower were you after?’

  ‘I hadn’t really thought.’

  ‘I noticed the base was cracked when I was in doing the floor, but they’re easy to replace. But if you want it ready for the baby we’d better get a move on.’

  I can’t tell him it’s not that sort of shower now or he’ll feel like such a twit.

  ‘Well, that would be great, but only if you let me pay.’

  ‘Sure – you could teach me to cook. I can’t keep living on tins of soup and I’d like to learn how to do a few simple things.’

  ‘Like boiled eggs and soldiers?’

  He grins.

  ‘Yes. And roast chicken, is that difficult?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Great. Well, you give me cooking lessons and I’ll sort the shower out. Shall I bring you some brochures in? I’ve got a few at the barn. Some of them are very pricey but there are a few good basic ones. You’ll probably need a pump, though. What’s your water pressure like?’

  ‘Fine, I think.’

  ‘Right. Well, I’ll bring the brochures in and we can start from there, yes?’

  ‘Great. Thanks, Martin.’

  ‘No problem. I’d like to do one actually – give me a clearer idea of what’s involved for when I do mine at the barn.’

  A proper shower that produces more than a tepid trickle wasn’t exactly top of my list, but I’m sure it’ll come in handy, especially since I’m going to be needing as much help as I can get in the waking-up-in-time-for-the-school-run department. And there’s still a bit of money left over from the curtains, and I’ve got the money coming from the film people.

  Actually, I’d better call Maxine and check what time they want me on Friday. I’m due to visit them on location, which is exciting; Ellen’s still trying to come along as my helper, like anyone would fall for that. But the press interest in Jean-Luc hasn’t really subsided, even though they’ve all run photographs of him and Grace kissing in a Paris bistro.

  ‘Maxine?’

  ‘Hi, Jo, how are you? Still baby on board?’

  We were joking about those silly car stickers last time we talked: she’s seen a Baby I’m Bored one which we both think is much better, so she’s getting one for Ed, to put in his Porsche.

  ‘So far so good. I wanted to check what time I should get there on Friday.’

  ‘Around lunchtime, or earlier if you like.’

  ‘Do you need me to bring anything?’

  ‘Not unless you’ve got any Valium.’

  It’s a three-hour drive to the hotel in Sussex that the film people have taken over as their base, four if you keep having to stop for loo breaks. But it’s a treat being away from Broadgate for the day, and I feel rather glamorous, off to meet my film-star client. That’s one of the things I miss most about working on the news: feeling like a real grown-up, with a high-pressure job. If I order the wrong wool nobody really cares except me, and Mr Prewitt when he sees the books, and I do miss the pace sometimes, and the drinks after work and all the in-jokes. Not that I’d really change things, but still, it’s nice to be out and about for a change.

  Everyone’s having lunch when I arrive, queuing up at a canteen trailer and sitting at a variety of tables in the car park. Maxine had already warned me it would be a bit shambolic, but I didn’t think it would look like something the WRVS might have set up during the war: lots of people seem to be wearing Dad’s Army costumes and there are boxes and piles of equipment all over the place. At least with news you only get a cameraman, or a van at most; this is more like an invasion.

  I’m supposed to find one of the assistant producers called Rick, who will take me to Grace, but Maxine spots me first.

  ‘Hi, Jo. Do you want some lunch?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thanks. This is so exciting. How’s it going?’

  ‘OK, the weather’s been hopeless but we’re getting there. Let’s have some lunch. Grace is a bit busy, rehearsing with Jean-Luc’ She raises her eyebrows.

  ‘Oh, right, well, yes, please then. Lunch would be great.’

  * * *

  I’m sitting on a plastic chair eating chicken salad while a series of men in black-nylon-padded jackets check things with Maxine or hand her bits of paper.

  ‘A quarter to five – I’m not telling her a quarter to five.’

  ‘Tom wants to get the light.’

  ‘Well he can tell her then.’

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  A small, slightly dishevelled-looking man is smiling at Maxine.

  ‘Jo, this is Tom, our director. This is Jo, Grace’s knitting coach.’

  ‘Her what?’

  ‘Jo helps Grace source patterns and materials for her knitting, and she runs masterclasses too.’

  I must remember that, it sounds so efficient and professional.

  Tom smiles.

  ‘What a great way to mak
e a living; better than this madness. So Maxine darling, I gather Grace is having a run-through with Prince Charming. Is she going to be long, do you think?’

  ‘Yesterday was my fault, Tom. I didn’t give her the right time. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Of course, no problem. Lovely to meet you, Jo. We’ll see you later, I expect.’ He wanders off, trailed by a gaggle of the black-nylon boys and a woman wearing an earpiece.

  ‘Grace was late yesterday and he’s still furious about it.’

  ‘He seemed very nice.’

  ‘He’s a brilliant director, and not such an arse as the rest of them, but he’s in his own head most of the time. He emerges occasionally to give everyone a bollocking, apart from Grace, of course. He fired two assistants yesterday, but they were doing a crap job so I don’t really blame him. This business is full of assistants who think they’re Special. Oh, and we don’t call Jean-Luc Prince Charming in front of Grace. It’s a joke the crew have got going, what with him being a Frog. They think it’s very witty.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Have you got all the wool and stuff?’

  ‘Yes, it’s in the car. Shall I get it?’

  ‘No, have a coffee first. Decaff, right?’

  ‘Please. I’ve half-knitted a few versions, so she can choose, in air-force blue; is that right?’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Where’s Lily? I thought she’d be here.’

  ‘She is. We’ve set up a playroom for her next to Grace’s suite. She’s loving it.’

  The woman with the earpiece comes over while Maxine gets the coffee.

  ‘You’re the knitting woman, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, get me the stuff then – I need to take it to where we’re setting up. And hurry up, would you, please – I haven’t got all day.’

  ‘I’ll just –’

  Maxine has come straight back over, without the coffees.

  ‘Good, you’ve met Jo, VIP friend of Grace. We’ll bring the knitting props over in a minute. We’re having a quick drink first. OK?’

  ‘Right. Sure, of course.’

  ‘Actually, could you get us two coffees? There seems to be a queue. Both white, no sugar, decaff for Jo. Got that?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll do that right now.’