by Gil McNeil
‘Thank you. So much.’
‘Crikey.’
‘She’s been annoying me all week. She’s a total cow.’
‘So shall I get the knitting then?’
‘No. When she comes back you can give her the keys and she’ll get it. Now she thinks you’re a VIP she’ll be all over you like a rash. There’s something else I wanted to mention to you, actually.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Grace is in London tomorrow afternoon, for a photo session. Vanity Fair are sending Daniel Fitzgerald over to do a piece on the film.’
‘Oh.’
‘He won’t be coming here.’
‘Right.’
‘But I thought you’d like to know.’
‘Thanks, Max.’
‘Have you sorted things out with him? Sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but Grace mentioned the letter. Have you spoken to him since then?’
‘No.’
‘Bastard. Well, just tell me, if you want me to give him a message or anything.’
‘Thanks, Max, but I’m fine, really.’
‘Good for you. But let me know if you change your mind. Oh, here she comes with the coffees. Have you got your car keys handy?’
Christ, Daniel, in London. With Grace. It feels a bit weird knowing he’ll be in England. I’m used to thinking of him in airports off to exotic locations. But nothing’s changed. He’ll get in touch if he wants to, and if not, then that’s fine too.
There’s a fleet of black people carriers to ferry everyone to the river where they’re filming this afternoon. Maxine tells me the scene involves Grace sitting under a tree knitting while the three evacuee children are trying to fish, but since they’re not having much luck she says some magic words and they catch a trout. And then Professor Jean-Luc arrives.
There are people everywhere, and cameras and lights, and a man climbing up the tree to saw one of the branches off because Tom doesn’t like the shape of it. Everyone’s here except Grace and Jean-Luc, who are still in make-up. We nipped in to see them just before we left, and Grace was wearing a lovely tweed suit and having her hair put up into a bun. But there’s no sign of her now.
The woman with the earpiece is giving Maxine a very frosty look, while giving me the occasional hesitant smile until a black car with tinted windows arrives, and Grace gets out, looking amazing. She’s in full Diva mode, and sits down under the tree looking very relaxed, and breathtakingly beautiful.
‘Quiet, everybody, please.’
A young man steps forward and raises his hand and everyone falls silent as he raises an electronic version of a clapperboard. There’s beep as he presses the button and the clock starts.
‘Scene Fourteen, take One. Action.’
God, this is so exciting. I’m frightened I’m going to make a noise or trip over something and ruin it, just like when you’re buying second-hand furniture at an auction and you’re terrified you’ll end up buying a set of pottery owls by mistake.
I’m trying to keep completely still while they’re filming the children mucking about by the edge of the river. It’s weird, because even though you know it’s not real, and there are all sorts of lights and big white screens and people standing out of the way of the cameras, for a minute or two all you see are the kids standing with their fishing rods in the sunshine and Grace smiling at them.
* * *
We’re on what seems like the hundredth take of the kids fishing and not catching anything.
‘Right, get the fish in, and can it look as natural as possible, please, no hey presto – we’re not making bloody Bewitched here. Grace darling, divine, as usual. Love the knitting.’
Grace laughs, but she really does look divine. The light through the leaves is falling on her hair, and Tom is kneeling down talking to her, and she’s smiling.
Maxine hands me a bottle of water.
‘This shouldn’t take long. She only has to look at the kids again and then Jean-Luc arrives. An hour tops.’
An hour. God.
‘But let me know if you need a loo break or a rest or anything – there’s a car on standby.’
Thank God for Maxine being so good at her job.
‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind a sit-down.’
‘The car’s just at the end of the track. Would you like to go now and then come back?’
‘Perfect. You stay here – I’ll be fine.’
‘Sure?’
‘Of course. You need to be here, and I won’t be long. Shall I bring you back a coffee?’
She looks surprised, and rather pleased.
‘That would be great. Thanks, Jo.’
‘So, did you enjoy it?’
‘It was great, Grace, fascinating. Thanks so much for inviting me. I can’t wait to see it at the cinema.’
‘I think it’ll be OK. He’s great, Tom. Genius, actually.’
‘The bit with Jean-Luc was good. Well, it looked good to me.’
We got to watch the close-up bits on the monitor, and there was a lot more sexual tension going on than I remember in the Angela Lansbury version, particularly the moment, after he’d sat down next to her on the blanket, when he touched her arm, and she sort of froze, and then looked at him. And even standing thirty foot away, peering at a monitor and desperate for another wee, you could feel it.
‘Glad you liked it. We’re off to Cornwall next week, I think.’
‘Maxine told me.’
‘Bit far for you to come, I guess. Not long until the baby now, is it? Are you all set?’
‘No.’
She smiles.
‘Lily adores babies – I can’t wait for her to see yours; and rabbits, actually more the rabbits, to be honest. I thought I might knit one for her. Can you get me a pattern?’
‘Sure.’
‘Did Max tell you we’re seeing Mr Fitzgerald tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK?’
‘Fine.’
‘I know nothing, yes?’
‘Please.’
‘No problem. Take care, darling, and we’ll see you soon.’ She stands up and gives me a hug. A real hug. And then she snaps back into film-star mode. ‘Where’s Prince Charming, Max?’
Maxine looks confused.
‘I thought you didn’t know about that.’
‘I know everything, Max darling. You should know that by now.’
‘He’s having a swim.’
‘Is he? God, where does he get the energy? Right, I’m going to see Lily and then can you get Sam to sort me out a salad, and some rice, but not that brown stuff, OK? I hate that now.’
‘Sure.’
Maxine walks me back to my car.
‘All the research was great, Jo. I’ll chase the money for you – they always take ages to pay anything.’
‘Thanks, Maxine.’
‘Drive safely and call me when anything happens, yes? We’ll probably see you before, but if not, call me.’
‘Sure.’
‘You’re trying not to think about it, right?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘OK. I’ve sent something from us, for your baby shower.’
‘How did you know about that?’
‘Elsie, the woman from your shop. She was telling me all about it at the beach party.’
We’re standing by my car now.
‘I’d better go and find Bruno. She wants to go out to dinner with Jean-Luc tonight; there must be a Michelin-starred place somewhere round here.’
‘Good luck. All I saw on the way down was a series of Little Chefs.’
‘Now that’s a front-page picture I’d pay money to see.’
I’m having tea with the boys on Thursday night before Stitch and Bitch and the official baby shower, which we’re doing tonight because Angela’s going to be away next week and then Maggie’s got a holiday booked. There’s been no news from Daniel, which I sort of knew there wouldn’t be. Although Maxine did ring to say he was being more of an arse than usual about being a creative-genius pho
tographer, and he’s got two assistants now, and is wearing much trendier clothes so Liv is obviously having an impact. It was kind of her to call, though, not that I really expected anything to happen, but it was nice to know they’d finished and there hadn’t been any Conversations.
Archie’s sulking.
‘I hate pasta, you know I do. Why do we always have pasta?’
‘We had fish pie last night, Archie.’
‘Yes, and I hate that too. And I don’t want sauce on mine.’
‘Just plain spaghetti?’
‘Yes.’
‘No cheese?’
‘A bit.’
‘You have to have sauce if you want cheese.’ He throws his fork on the floor.
Time for a bit of diversionary attention, I think.
‘Archie, I’ve been meaning to ask you, well, both of you, actually – pick your fork up, love, and put it in the sink; I’ll get you a clean one, but please don’t be silly like that again – I wanted to ask you about presents, from the baby.’
‘From the baby, not for the silly baby?’
‘No, definitely from. When you were born you helped me get Jack a big present.’
‘What was it?’
‘The playmobil zoo.’
‘That’s only for babies.’
‘Yes, but Jack was only two when you were born. I thought this time we could choose together.’
‘Not clothes. Gran says everyone’s bringing clothes for the baby at the party tonight.’
‘It’s not a party, Archie. It’s only people giving us things for the baby.’
‘It’s called a shower.’
‘Yes, Jack.’
‘Which is stupid.’
‘Well, maybe, but it’s nice of people to want to give us presents, don’t you think? Only they’ll all be quite boring, clothes and things, so why don’t you think about what you’d like, and I can see if I can find it ready for when the baby comes.’
‘I’ll go and get my catalogues.’
Jack loves looking at toy catalogues and has got quite a collection in his bedroom.
Archie nods.
‘Yes, and then we can write a list.’
Martin brings the cups down from upstairs: he’s fitting the shower with Kevin, which hasn’t been quite as straightforward as they thought. They’ve been here all day, and Martin’s got the soaking-wet trouser legs to prove it.
‘Sorry to interrupt. You haven’t got a bucket, have you?’
‘In the cupboard under the sink – I’ll get it for you. How’s it going?’
‘We couldn’t get the level right but it’s sorted out now. We should be able to turn the water back on soon.’
‘Great.’
‘The pump’s all fitted.’
Reg will do the tiling when they’re done, so that’ll be him spending hours wandering about with tubs of grout tomorrow. God, I wish I’d never started this.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Please.’
‘It’s two sugars for Kevin, right?’
‘Yes, and he says if there’s any more biscuits he’d be grateful; they keep him going.’
I know the feeling.
‘Are we still on for roast-chicken practice on Sunday?’
‘Sure.’
‘Shall I bring anything?’
‘Just your pinny.’
‘My what?’ He’s grinning.
‘Don’t worry. You can borrow one of mine.’
I’m late getting to the shop and Elsie’s already arrived and opened up, and is helping Connie put out cups and saucers when Tina and Linda arrive.
Tina’s carrying a Tupperware box.
‘I’ve done a few sausage rolls. Shall I put them in the kitchen?’
‘Please, Tina.’
Connie’s got a large white cake box.
‘Don’t look. It will be a surprise.’
Elsie’s got the kettle on.
‘Why don’t you go and sit down and we’ll make the tea, dear.’
‘OK.’
I lit the fire earlier; it’s getting chilly in the evenings now, so I’m sitting watching the flames when Cath and Olivia come upstairs with Polly, who’s wearing the new grey-tweed skirt she knitted, over black leggings with ballet shoes and a stretchy black top. She looks fabulous, and everyone is admiring the skirt when Maggie arrives.
‘I remember wearing something like that years ago. Of course there was a lot less of me then.’
Linda laughs.
‘There was a lot less of all us, Maggie, but me and Tina are on this new diet now, the plate one.’
Tina nods.
‘It’s ever so simple – you eat like normal, but on a small plate. I’ve lost three pounds.’
Linda pokes her tongue out at Tina.
‘And I’ve put on two. It’s amazing how much you can fit on a small plate if you’re really trying.’
Elsie’s busy bustling about. I think she’s quite excited; she doesn’t usually come to the group, which is probably why they’re so relaxed. She’s already given Connie a shocked look when she started pouring out glasses of wine.
Cath sits down next to me.
‘Are we waiting for Angela?’
Linda passes her a glass of wine.
‘She said to start. She’ll be along soon. She’s had to go into Maidstone to drop Peter off at some council thing. Open this one first.’ She hands me a parcel wrapped in shiny silver paper. ‘It’s from me and Tina.’
Half an hour later there’s wrapping paper all over the table, and all sorts of gorgeous baby kit in a pile in front of me. They’ve really thought about it all, and Connie’s gone out to her car and returned with a Moses basket with a white cotton frill, and two sets of soft flannel sheets, one with ducks on and one with elephants. It’s perfect, and she’s knitted a sweet little blanket in soft cotton to go on top, in caramel-and-cream squares. I’ve got vests and sleepsuits and more knitted blankets and cardigans and hats than one baby could possibly need, and Elsie’s spent hours on a beautiful shawl, and a peach pram set with satin ribbon rosettes, which I think we might be saving for our first trip into the shop. Maxine and Grace have sent a very smart blue-and-white-striped changing bag, with the pockets full of little tubes of posh baby cream and wipes and two tiny old-fashioned flannelette baby nightgowns with lambs embroidered on the front.
I’m pretty close to tears by the time we’re finished.
‘It’s all so lovely. Thank you so much, I’m –’
Linda gets up.
‘Don’t start, love, or you’ll have us all going. And anyway, I’ve been waiting for the cake and I don’t think I can last much longer. Connie?’ Connie nods and goes into the kitchen as Linda turns the big light off. ‘We thought we’d start a new tradition, and do you a Happy Nearly Birth Day cake. You’ve got to blow the candles out and make a wish, love.’
Everyone leans forward as Connie puts the cake, covered in flickering candles, on the table in front of me.
‘Let’s all make a wish.’
Chocolate and chestnut with bits of meringue, my absolute favourite.
‘Tell him thanks for me, Connie – it’s lovely.’
‘He didn’t put the amaretto in, so there’s something else, only I’ve forgotten.’
We spend a happy ten minutes eating cake and trying to identify the mystery ingredient, until Connie remembers it’s home-made quince jam, which sounds like it wouldn’t be nice but is absolutely delicious, as the conversation moves towards babies. Cath annoys Olivia by remembering bringing her home from hospital and staying up all night to make sure she was still breathing, and Linda tells us about the time she left baby Gemma outside the shop when she was a few weeks old.
‘I’d got right back home before I realised. It was awful; I’d bought some buttons for a cardigan and I put them on the kitchen table and then, God, I’ve never run so fast in all my life. And your gran was so nice about it. I was beside myself and there was your gran walking her up and dow
n inside the shop, standing by the window so she could see me, patting her on the back, and Gemma was loving it, looking round at everything, and your gran just said thanks, that was kind of you, I’ve been wanting a cuddle, and then she handed her back to me, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Made me feel like she didn’t think I was the worst mother ever. I’ve never forgotten it.’
‘I did that with my Travis too. I left him in his car seat in our porch and I was halfway down the road before I remembered. Thank heavens there wasn’t anyone behind me. I’ve never been that good at reversing, but I was back up our drive in about three seconds.’
Linda pours Tina some more wine. Actually, the only time I really miss a glass of wine is at our Stitch and Bitch groups.
‘I did something similar with Jack once. He was teething and we hadn’t had much sleep, and Nick thought I’d put him in his car seat, and I thought Nick had, so we’d got halfway down the road before we realised he was still in his playpen in the living room. And Nick just got out of the car and ran back, down the middle of the road. He left the engine running and everything.’
Olivia and Polly seem slightly shocked by our tales of maternal malfunctions.
‘Does everyone do it then, forget they’ve got a baby?’ Polly’s licking her finger and dabbing it into the cake crumbs on her plate.
Tina smiles.
‘No, love, not really, but you get so tired you’d forget your own head if it wasn’t on your shoulders.’
Linda nods.
‘You were a terror for sleeping – never went more than an hour until she was eighteen months. Oh, sorry, Jo.’
‘It’s fine, Linda. Archie was the same. So if everyone could keep an eye out, outside shops, that would be great.’
Gran’s thrilled when Connie and I get home and show her all the presents.
‘Well, isn’t that lovely, and look at Elsie’s shawl. It must have taken her hours.’
‘I know, and look, there’s blankets for the Moses basket and a baby bath and everything.’
‘Well, thank heavens you’ve got a few bits to start you off. I was beginning to think this baby would be wearing a sheet for the first few days, and sleeping in a drawer. Mind you, your mum slept in the bottom drawer of my big bedroom set and it didn’t do her any harm. So I expect we’d have managed.’
‘Did she? Why?’
‘She was early, and I was trying to get old Mrs Butterworth to let me swap bedrooms. We were in the back one, freezing cold it was, and she was keeping the big front one for her spare room, miserable woman. I hated her so much by the end, you know. I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I did. Anyway, by the time I’d got my way and moved my things into the room there wasn’t time to buy a cot. I was moving a wardrobe the day before she was born.’