Needles and Pearls

by Gil McNeil

  ‘Come on then, Trevor. And behave, walk okay, no pulling. I mean it.’ He’s whistling as he walks back up the steps from the beach.

  The casserole is at the perfect sticky-and-soft stage by the time we’re home and de-sanded. I’ve lit the fire in the living room, and I’m having a calming moment with The Antiques Roadshow before I start on another quest for missing PE kit. I seem to have become lost-property monitor again, endlessly rounding up jettisoned socks, but I’ve already made the packed lunches for school tomorrow so all systems are go for a painless school run tomorrow, if I can track down Archie’s PE shirt.

  I’ll give them ten minutes before I go up and start tucking them in. I might even get an early night with the rest of the papers. I’ve got a magazine I haven’t read as well, and my feet are sore and my back’s aching, so a bath and then an early night might be my best bet. The baby can have its nightly stretching session while I catch up on what I could be wearing if I still had a waist. Perfect.

  Chapter Nine

  October

  Needles and Pearls

  It’s the first week of October and my list of vital things to do before D-Day and my hospital date is getting longer. I’m trying to keep Calm, but the nesting thing still hasn’t kicked in yet, although I did manage to get the cot up at the weekend, with Jack and Archie ‘helping’. And I’m knitting like a woman possessed; it’s about all I can manage at the moment. Baby blankets and teeny tops with extra-wide necks so we don’t have too many of those newborn screaming fits when you try to get something over their heads, and they try to stop you by shrieking so loudly you think you must be traumatising them for life.

  We’re walking back from school, and Connie’s telling the kids all about her uncle’s ice-cream parlour in Florence.

  ‘So we’ll have our own ice-cream shop, Mum?’

  ‘Yes, Archie.’ He’s skipping. ‘And we can have ice cream every day?’

  ‘Maybe not every day.’

  ‘But nearly every day.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  I wonder if you can go off ice cream, like people who work in sweet factories go off chocolate. Although as far as Archie’s concerned, probably not.

  ‘When will it be ready?’

  ‘What, love?’

  ‘The ice-cream shop.’

  ‘A while yet; we’ve got to finish all the tidying up, and get the shop fixed first.’

  ‘At the weekend maybe?’

  Possibly a bit longer than that.

  ‘After Christmas.’

  ‘Well, hurry up, Mum, I can’t wait. What’s for tea?’

  ‘Omelettes.’

  ‘Yuck.’

  It’s just past midnight and I’m having one of my I’m-very-pregnant-and-it’s-only-going-to-get-worse panic attacks; I can’t do all of this, not with the shop and everything, I know it will all end in tears, and I still haven’t heard anything from Daniel, so God knows if he’s told Liv yet. And Christ knows what I think I’m doing trying to expand in the shop; I can barely cope as it is. I need to find somewhere quiet, and hide, that’s what I need. Somewhere safe and dark and quiet.

  ‘Mum.’

  Great. That’s all I bloody need.

  ‘Yes, Jack.’

  ‘I had my bad dream again.’

  ‘Did you, love? Well, come and tell me.’

  ‘It was horrible.’

  ‘Say it out loud and it’ll go away.’

  ‘I was looking for you, in a sort of forest, and I couldn’t find you, and Archie was being really silly and shouting.’

  So no change there then.

  ‘And then there was a wolf.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘Yes, but then it was Trevor and it was all right. But it was still scary.’

  ‘Never mind – it won’t come back now.’

  ‘Can I stay here?’

  ‘Yes, if you’re very quiet.’

  ‘Mum.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I think the ice-cream shop will be brilliant.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Mum.’

  ‘Jack. Go to sleep.’

  ‘It’s much better here than when we lived in London, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Because we’ve got all our friends.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And now we’re going to have an ice-cream shop.’

  ‘Yes, now go to sleep or you’ll have to go back to your own bed. Think about all your favourite flavours of ice cream and go all floppy. You’ll be asleep in no time.’

  Actually, I might give it a go myself.

  Coffee and hazelnut. Proper raspberry ripple, with real vanilla. Orange sorbet. And that honey one, with bits of crunchy honeycomb. Maybe I can do this after all. Maybe the boys will grow up to be Broadgate’s answer to Ben and Jerry and they’ll transform the family ice-cream business and go global. What was that one I had in Venice? Pistachio – that was lovely, and the pale creamy peach one, with bits of meringue in it.

  I’ll add it to my list.

  It’s Wednesday evening and I’m sitting knitting a soft Aran jacket with a hood for the baby while the boys watch telly and I try to summon up the energy for bathtime when Mum calls.

  ‘I just wanted to check you hadn’t changed your mind about Christmas.’

  ‘No, Mum, sorry, especially not now with the shop.’

  ‘Best thing that could happen, if you ask me – burn it down and start again in a proper job, something more suitable.’

  ‘Mum, we’ve had this conversation.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can be so selfish, Josephine, I really don’t.’

  ‘I’ve got to go now, Mum. I’ll call you later.’

  ‘Mum.’

  ‘Yes, Archie?’

  ‘Can we have toasted cheese now? You said we could.’

  ‘Yes, we can, and then baths.’

  ‘And, Mum, you know I’m being an aubergine in the play. Not tomorrow, tomorrow is just stupid singing.’

  Christ, I’d forgotten about the Harvest Festival at school tomorrow and I’m meant to be taking fairy cakes in, for the PTA stall afterwards. Damn. I think I’ve got flour and eggs. I’ll make them while Mummy’s little helpers are asleep. Bugger.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Yes, I’m listening, Archie.’

  ‘Well, I’m not being an aubergine any more, because I broke it. I’m being a carrot.’

  ‘Okay.’

  The phone rings at just after one in the morning. Bloody hell, if this is another emergency fire or flood moment I’m asking for my sodding money back. And if it’s Mum on about Christmas again I’m putting the phone down on her.

  ‘I’ve left Harry.’

  ‘Ellen, where are you?’

  ‘Outside.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Wake up, darling – I’m outside and I need you to let me in. This is my hour of need.’

  Ellen was always turning up in the middle of the night when we lived in London and she’d had a fight with the latest man. Nick used to pick the phone up and hand it to me without even waking up. But this is different. God, I wonder what’s happened? I hope Harry’s not having an affair. Or maybe she is? No, I’d know if she was.

  She’s cold, and a bit shaky.

  ‘Tea, or hot chocolate? I think there’s some left.’

  ‘Tea, please.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’m bored, that’s all. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am. I wanted the big wedding, I pretended I didn’t, but I did, and now I’m bored. It’s all so fucking boring. He’s not right for me – he’s always off with his bloody mates. It’s like nothing has changed.’

  There’s something else, I know there is. But she’ll tell me when she’s ready.

  ‘It can’t be that bad.’

  ‘It is. God knows why I married him; I’m hopeless. What was I thinking?’

  ‘Ellen, you’re the opposite of hopeless.’ />
  ‘And I’m really sorry I haven’t been around much lately, over the fire, and everything.’

  There’s definitely something else going on here.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I was good over Nick, though, wasn’t I?’

  ‘You were brilliant.’

  ‘And that time you thought Jack had something hideous and we took him to the hospital at midnight and it turned out to be chickenpox – I was good then, wasn’t I? So two out of three isn’t bad.’

  ‘What do you mean, two out of three?’

  ‘I haven’t been there for you, about the baby, or the fire, not really. I’m too selfish. That’s the problem.’

  ‘Ellen, stop it. Tell me what’s really bothering you.’

  ‘I was jealous.’

  ‘Jealous of a fire?’

  ‘Things are always happening to you. Nothing happens to me. God, I’m so fucked, what am I going to do? It’s not his fault, you know. He loves me, in his own low-maintenance kind of way. And if you say something crap like happiness comes from within I’ll hit you.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Happiness comes from within.’

  ‘Thanks, that’s great.’

  ‘It’s down to you to make it happy; that’s what you said to me, when Nick died.’

  ‘Well, it was crap.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t.’

  ‘Remember when we moved down here and you said how much you envied me, having a new start?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, if that’s what you want, chuck in the job and do something else. It’s got to be worth a try.’

  ‘I like the job. It’s my life I don’t like. I miss having a new man on the horizon, all the flirting and wondering what he’ll look like with his clothes off. Same old same old.’

  ‘Are we talking about Harry now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ellen, you love him, you know you do.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s part of the problem. Christ, what are we going to do?’

  ‘Muddle on, like we always do?’

  ‘With our knitting?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Great. No news from Daniel, I suppose?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Wanker.’

  ‘What else is the matter, Ellen?’

  ‘Nothing. Just my life. You’re definitely opening this café then? You don’t want to run away with me and live in a vineyard in France or something? Set up a farm? We could have sheep and you could spin the wool. Keep the knitting thing going.’

  ‘No, thanks. Sheep are very stupid, you know.’

  ‘So are most of the people who work in television, darling, you know that. And your ice-cream parlour will probably have one or two dull moments.’

  ‘I know. But I’ll be able to have a cornet to cheer myself up.’

  ‘God I need a drink.’

  ‘Have one then. There’s some of that vodka you left in the cupboard, I think.’

  ‘No, you’re all right.’

  I think I may have just guessed what’s put her into such a tailspin.

  ‘Ellen, you’re not pregnant, are you?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Oh my God, that’s brilliant. Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘Because I’m bolting, that’s why. It’s all too real for me, and I’m terrified.’ She starts to cry.

  ‘Sweetheart, it’ll be fine.’

  ‘It might not be.’

  ‘Then I’ll be there and we’ll get through it somehow, just like we get through everything else.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  She puts her cup down.

  ‘Don’t you ever feel trapped?’

  ‘No, not trapped. Panicked sometimes. Actually, quite a lot of the time.’

  ‘Panicked about what?’

  ‘Money, keeping the kids safe, stuff like that. But nothing that makes me feel trapped.’

  ‘That’s because you’re happy.’

  ‘I suppose I am, yes.’

  ‘So you think I should go back to Harry and muddle through?’

  ‘When did I say that? No, I think you should be honest, and if it’s not what you want then don’t waste your time, or his. Life’s too short.’

  ‘How will I know?’

  ‘I’ve got no idea.’

  ‘Thanks, that’s brilliant. We should get you a bloody column.’

  ‘I didn’t say I’ve got all the answers.’

  ‘But you can help me knit a jumper while I’m trying to work it out for myself?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘It’s a start.’

  ‘It’s a bloody good start.’

  ‘Pass the fairy cakes.’

  ‘They’re for the Harvest Festival.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘At school, tomorrow. Come, if you like. Actually, please come – it would really piss Annabel Morgan off if I swan in with Britain’s Favourite Broadcaster.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll probably still be bolting then anyway.’

  ‘Does Harry know where you are?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ring him.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ellen, ring him. He’ll be worried. Or I’ll ring him.’

  ‘Christ, you’re bossy.’

  ‘Ring Harry, and I’ll put the kettle on.’

  I’m lying in bed listening to the sound of the waves; it’s stormy tonight and my back is throbbing. Nothing serious, just niggling throbbing. God, I’m so looking forward to being able to knock back a couple of Panadol again, without worrying that the baby will have six legs due to a drug-abusing mother. Actually, even half an aspirin would be a treat. The midwife at the clinic said my blood pressure was up a bit this week so I’ve got to try to relax. Although it’s easier said than bloody done. Right. Back to inventing new ice-cream flavours. So far I’m thinking bread-and-butter-pudding ice cream would be good, and I’ve got high hopes for chocolate and walnut.

  ‘Mum.’

  Jesus.

  ‘Yes, Archie.’

  ‘I’m starving hungry.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘And I need a drink.’

  ‘Archie, please, it’s sleep time. Go back to bed, and be quiet – Aunty Ellen’s here tonight.’

  ‘Okay, but it’s not fair, Mum. I’m really hungry.’

  ‘Stop fussing, Archie.’

  ‘Is Archie sleeping in your bed, Mum?’

  Great. A full house.

  ‘No, he’s not, and neither are you.’

  ‘I might have my dream.’

  ‘You won’t. Now listen, both of you, back to bed, and be quiet. Quiet as a mouse, and no squeaking, Archie. Promise.’

  He tuts.

  Gran and Reg are taking the boys for a walk while I’m in the shop on Saturday morning when Mum calls.

  ‘I need to talk to you about Christmas.’

  Oh dear.

  ‘Can we do it later, Mum? I’m a bit busy.’

  ‘I think it would be so much better if you came here for Christmas, darling, I really do.’

  To a dilapidated palazzo with no proper heating or hot water, which they only get to use because the Milanese banker owner uses them as free caretakers. Perfect choice with a new baby.

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘We had such fun last year; it was lovely having you all here. You can ring Vincent and tell him, and lots of my friends want to see the baby. I thought I could have a series of little drinks parties.’

  In other words the baby will get passed round like a parcel while I act as a waitress.

  I don’t bloody think so.

  ‘No, thanks, Mum. I think we’d –’

  ‘Sorry, darling, I can’t hear you – this line is terrible. Let me know what flight you’re on and your father will meet you. Or shall I book for you?’

  ‘I really think we’d all prefer a family Christmas here this year. Yo
u and Dad are welcome to join us, though.’

  ‘Honestly, Josephine, how selfish; it’s not as if I ask for much and it would mean a great deal to me. I’ve told people you’re coming now. Why can’t you be helpful for once in your life?’

  Right. That does it. Time for a bit of call my bluff.

  ‘Maybe you’re right, Mum. Gran will need a rest and I suppose all I need to do is get there and then you can take care of everything else. Look after the boys for me, and make all their meals, and help me with the night feeds and nappy changes, while I get some rest, and have a few lie-ins – that would be great. If you’re really sure? I’m sure I could manage to get up for a drinks party or two, as long as I’d slept all day.’

  There’s a silence.

  I think she might have just gone off the idea.

  ‘I’ll have to talk to your father, darling. You know what he’s like. And of course the flights might be booked. Leave it with me and I’ll look into it, shall I?’

  ‘Great.’

  Excellent. Problem sorted.

  I think I’ll celebrate with a doughnut.

  My phone beeps. I didn’t think she’d get back so quickly. I’m guessing the flights are all booked, but let’s see.

  It’s from Daniel.

  Sorry. Still not had chance to talk. Work been crazy. Hope all well. Call me when anything happens. Daniel.

  I’m not going to make a big deal about this. I haven’t got the energy. But a text? How pathetic is that? Somehow I’m not terribly surprised.

  I text back.

  All fine. Call me if you want update. Jo.

  ‘Mum.’

  ‘Yes, Jack? Did you have a lovely walk?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m starving. Can we have doughnuts?’

  ‘Yes, love, we can.’

  Oh God. It’s Tuesday morning and it’s D-Day tomorrow, which I still can’t quite believe. I’m due in at nine at the hospital, and the Caesarean is booked for eleven and I’m finishing packing my bag. It’s all so unreal. I’m half looking forward to not being so huge any more. I want to be able to bend down to pick things up without having to think about it; get in the bath without worrying that I might not be able to heave myself out again. It was bad enough with Jack and Archie, but this time I feel even bigger, and much slower, somehow. All I’ve really been able to manage for the past few days is knitting and waddling.

  But part of me wants to stay like this; I can do this. God knows how I’m going to cope with a new baby – I’ve forgotten what they’re like. All those midnight moments and walking them up and down. I’ve never done that on my own. Not that Nick did much, but he was there, some of the time, even if he was asleep. Christ, I’m so not ready. Ellen’s due down first thing and she’ll come in with me, and I’ve been shopping and stocked up the fridge for Gran, so in theory I’m all set. Or I would be if I could get to the end of my bloody list.