by T. S. Easton
I swallowed. What was she getting at?
‘Er. I’m in with a chance, I suppose.’
‘Good, good,’ she said, glancing over to where Mr Hollis was chatting with Mrs Hooper. ‘It would be excellent if you won, of course. It would certainly be a huge boon for the school, and for Mr Hollis.’
‘How?’ I asked, trying to ignore the threatening tone to her voice.
She sighed and gave me an intense look. ‘Look, Ben, I really shouldn’t be discussing this with you, but Virilia are in a bit of trouble. There’s talk of them being bought out; the share price is suffering.’
‘OK,’ I said.
‘They’re considering selling the school,’ she said.
‘Is that bad?’
‘It could be very bad,’ she said. ‘We need a great deal of investment, and we need it right now. We can’t afford to be waiting around for a new owner.’
I waited for her to go on. She licked her lips nervously and dropped her voice.
‘If you win this thing, you’re virtually guaranteed to be nominated for the short-list of the Young Entrepreneur Awards. If that happens, there’s no way they will be able to sell the school. It would be a PR disaster for them. Mr Hollis is very much on our side, but he needs your help.’
‘I see,’ I said as my stomach slowly filled with cement. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Thanks, Ben,’ she said. ‘I know you will.’ And then she was off in the direction of the lecture theatres, collecting Mr Hollis on the way.
No pressure then. Thanks a bunch, Mrs Tyler.
Mrs Hooper introduced me to Julie, a potato-faced lady, who was organising the Junior final. Behind her was a tiny, frightened-looking woman with enormous eyes who reminded me a bit of the bush babies in Madagascar.
Then there were forms to fill in and IDs to be checked and fingerprints to be taken and irises to be scanned. Honestly, what a palaver. As I was writing my name on one list, I had a quick look down the page and a name jumped out at me.
Jeanette Fairbanks (Surrey)
Miss Angular! Knitting for Surrey! Could she do that, after registering in Hampshire? The scheming little … But hey, I’d beaten her once. I could beat her again. No problem.
Better go, Mrs Hooper and Megan keep clearing their throats.
1.57pm – Café
Megan’s gone shopping in nearby Kensington High Street. So, after lunch Mrs Hooper and I went back down to have a wander around. The first thing we noticed was a huge kerfuffle around the Singer stand. I hurried over to check it out, only to find an outraged Gex being questioned by a suspicious security guard. Gex was wearing half a jumper. Strands of wool coiled everywhere and some harassed Singer employees were tidying up, shooting black looks at Gex.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked Freddie, who was standing to one side, grinning with delight.
‘They’ve got this amazing machine in there, it knits an entire jumper in fifteen minutes,’ Freddie said. ‘Gex decided he couldn’t wait that long and tried to put the jumper on before the machine was finished. It got messy.’
‘For crying out loud! You’d better not get me thrown out,’ I said, hoping neat Mr Hollis wasn’t around to witness this. ‘It’ll look bad for me. And for the school.’
‘Since when do you care about the school?’ Freddie asked.
‘Just try not to get arrested, OK?’ I said, ignoring the question.
‘OK, Miss,’ he said in a high-pitched voice. ‘Sorry, Miss.’
‘Where’s Joz, anyway?’ I said, exasperated.
‘Saw a girl, went after her.’
‘Fantastic,’ I muttered. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t try and do anything illegal with her.’
Gex managed to get away from the security guard and he and Freddie headed off to cause more chaos.
I turned around, wondering what to look at first. I saw potato-faced Julie talking with two girls wearing Knitwits! T-shirts. I sidled over, my heart pounding. This could be my chance, I thought.
‘Excuse me,’ Julie said to the girls, noticing me standing there. ‘This is Ben Fletcher, one of the finalists of the Junior Category of the AUKKC.’
‘Wow!’ Alana cried in her sexy Midwest accent. I recognised her voice immediately. ‘It’s so great to have a guy who loves knitting. And so cute too.’
I nearly collapsed then and there. Alana is actually quite pretty, in a big-boned, big-haired American way.
‘I’msuchahugefan,’ I mumbled, shaking their hands.
‘We’re so overwhelmed by the reception we’ve had here,’ Alana gushed. ‘We knew we had listeners in Britain, but we never expected everyone to be so nice.’
‘And your teeth aren’t nearly so bad as we expected,’ Marie added.
‘Cheers,’ I told them.
‘Ben is representing Hampshire,’ Julie said.
‘Is that near Edinburgh?’ Alana said.
‘Near Basingstoke?’ I suggested. Alana shrugged.
‘Well, good luck today, Ben,’ Alana said. ‘Maybe we could get a quick interview with you?’
‘Right now?’
‘Sure, why not?’
Alana pulled out a microphone attached to her e-reader.
‘I’d be lost without this,’ she said. Then she held the mic up to her mouth. ‘I’m here with Ben Fletcher, finalist in the junior category of the All-UK Knitting Championship. Hi, Ben. Good to have you with us.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. Then, realising something else was needed, added, ‘I love your podcast.’
‘Thank you, your accent is so cute. So tell me, how long have you been knitting?’
‘Oh, not very long at all,’ I replied. ‘Less than six months.’
‘Really? And you’re already in the final of the All-UK Knitting Championship?’
‘Junior category,’ I said. ‘And I don’t expect to win, there’s some really tough competition out there. I hear Marian Joyce is a bit of a demon, and Harriet Evans won the Welsh championship at fifteen.’
‘I’m sure you’ll do great,’ Alana said. ‘Now, sorry to have to ask you this, but why do you think it is that so few men decide to involve themselves … ’
But I’d lost track of her question. I’d seen something which made my blood run cold and my bile run dry. A dozen yards away, walking along through the crowds with his dumb gang, was Lloyd Manning.
Oh Jesus, I thought. Just when I thought my life couldn’t be any more stressful, along comes Psycho Manning to show me just how wrong I could be. This explained who’d taken the other three tickets.
‘Ben?’ Alana was saying. ‘Why is it do you think, that boys don’t knit?’ I looked at her, panicked. I wanted to run. Suddenly, the pressure was just too much. On top of everything, I couldn’t deal with Manning and his gang.
My vision swam and I felt hot and cold at the same time. Please don’t faint, I told myself, please don’t faint.
I couldn’t run. I’m not my father. I had an interview to finish. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Manning point me out to his gang and they swaggered towards us, laughing.
I took a deep breath and turned back to Alana.
‘I don’t know why boys don’t knit,’ I said loudly. ‘Perhaps they think it’s effeminate. Perhaps they think that it’s women’s work, beneath them.’
I was aware of Manning and his gang standing close now, listening to me.
‘But to me knitting is many things. A creative outlet, a mental challenge. I can knit on my own, losing myself in the work, in the pattern. Or I can knit with friends, chatting and putting the world to rights. I don’t think it makes me less of a man. It’s no different to carpentry or being a painter or an architect or a chef. It’s using your hands with skill and creativity. It just needs some better PR,’ I told her.
‘Well said,’ Alana responded.
I looked up to see Manning take a step forward, a nasty smirk on his face. He wouldn’t assault me here, while I was being interviewed for a knitcast, would he? But I never found out, because
someone stepped in between him and me. Three people, in fact. Gex, Joz and Freddie, to be precise. I’d never been so glad to see them before. In fact I’m not sure I’d ever been glad to see them at all. The cavalry had arrived.
‘So, Ben, what are you working on at the moment?’ Alana was saying. I dragged my eyes away from the stand-off and concentrated on the interview again.
‘I’ve recently completed quite a complex sweater, inspired by the Ocean Spray design,’ I told her. ‘I have a small business selling garments on Etsy, mostly tank tops, so that keeps me quite busy and I’ve developed a new style of loose hoodie, which I call the Hoopie.’
We carried on for a bit. I talked more about my page on Etsy and the pictures of star striker Joe Boyle. She asked me for the address, which I think I got right. I was just about able to ignore the scuffling and raised voices offstage as the confrontation continued. Hold them off, lads, I thought. Just a few minutes more.
And then it was over. Alana thanked me for my time and promised they’d be watching the final later on. Then she was gone. I spun quickly, just in time to see Manning lunge at Gex and knock him flying into the Australian Wool Marketing Board stand.
‘Strewth!’ someone yelled from inside.
Then it properly kicked off, with Jermaine punching Joz and Freddie leaping, screaming, onto the other one’s back. I stepped forward to help, but Gex, now covered by a sheepskin, had just managed to extricate himself from the melee.
‘Go,’ he told me. ‘You can’t get involved. You’ve got to get to that fin— oof!’
The last word was cut off as Manning slammed into him and they went rolling across the aisle into the stand of the South-West Wool Dyers Association. I watched a large pot tumble lazily off a shelf, flip over and liberally douse both Gex and Manning in a bright green liquid. Joz was still on the ground, rubbing his jaw, and I saw Jermaine stepping towards me menacingly. He has this ridiculous bow-legged walk because his trousers hang so low and it make him look like he’s just got off a horse. Behind him, three fat security guards were rushing towards the scene.
Gex was right. I had to go. It was time to run after all.
3.43pm – The Cauldron
Things have quietened down out there.
Gex texted me to tell me they’d got away from the security guards, but that both he and Manning had been covered in a green dye which was making him cough. It also made them readily identifiable to security so he was keeping a low profile and assumed Manning would be as well. It worries me that Manning and his gang are still out there somewhere, but I’m safe here, for now.
I’ve taken refuge in the Cauldron and have had a good look at it for the first time. Just by the entrance is a huge fake plastic yarn ball and two giant needles. The arena is surrounded by partitions and beyond those, raised grandstands for the audience. The finalists sit in a ring in posh black leather seats like on Mastermind. There is a little table beside each one for the needles and yarns.
Mrs Hooper explained there are two sections to the final. First we have to knit to a pattern; marks will be given for accuracy, speed and technique. Extra points if we manage to improve on the pattern, marks taken away for dropped stitches or other mistakes.
Round Two is Free Knitting. We can knit anything we like. The temptation is to do something complex, something that will wow the judges. But that’s a risky option, I think. Complex patterns can go very wrong very quickly. I might be better off sticking to something simple, but do it well and quickly. My advantage is my speed. In an hour, I could complete a sock, or a small cushion cover. That would impress them. Having to keep just a simple pattern in my head will decrease the chances of me being distracted by Angular Jeanette, as well.
Hold on, someone’s coming.
4.16pm – Café
It was Megan.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘I just came to … wish you luck, for later.’
‘Thanks,’ I said.
There was a pause.
‘Did you know your friend Gex is covered in camouflage paint?’
‘It’s dye,’ I said.
‘He looks like he’s in the SAS.’
‘He’s here to protect me from Lloyd Manning,’ I told her, without shame.
She came and sat next to me. I could hear the hubbub of the fair outside and smell the sheep pen. Megan looked beautiful, I thought. She had a little make-up on and her hair was tied up in a sort of double-purl stitch.
‘They’re quite protective of you really, your friends.’
I shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’
‘We’re all fond of you, Ben,’ she said.
Fond. She’s fond of me. Like my gran is fond of Quality Street.
‘Thanks,’ I said stiffly.
‘You know what I like about you most?’ she asked.
‘My cabling technique?’
‘No. It’s that you don’t know how great you are,’ she said, smiling shyly.
‘Great, in an effeminate way?’ I suggested.
‘I don’t think you’re effeminate!’
‘So why did you run off after I won the heat? How come you’ve hardly spoken to me since you found out I like to knit?’
She stared at me, squinting in confusion.
‘That had nothing to do with your knitting. I think it’s amazing how talented you are.’
‘So why did … why did you go cold on me?’
‘It was you who started kissing other girls.’ She sniffed.
‘Natasha kissed me, I didn’t want her to. And anyway, what about you and Sean?’ I said quickly before I could stop myself.
She frowned sadly. ‘Sean was just there,’ she said. ‘And you didn’t seem interested.’
But I barely heard her.
‘Is he your boyfriend?’
‘Is Natasha your girlfriend?’
I was just about to say no, when Megan’s mum turned up.
‘It’s all happening out there,’ she said. ‘The goats have escaped and there are security guards running all over the place.’
Megan and I looked at each other, both thinking the same thing I expect – that Lloyd Manning was responsible for releasing the goats. He was trying to sabotage the final, ruin everyone’s day. The only thing that could save us now was Gex.
So basically we were doomed.
We had a quick look around the fair after that, occasionally being bowled over by a rampant goat or a sprinting security guard.
‘I expect the security guards thought this might be quite an easy gig,’ I said.
‘Just goes to show,’ Megan replied as we watched a sweating guard wrestling with an enormous billy goat, which was chewing on his walkie-talkie.
We inspected the rabbits, who were very sweet, and we looked with interest at a display of looms through history. I wanted to carry on my ‘talk’ with Megan but there wasn’t the chance.
As the time for the final approached I began to grow more nervous. I kept looking back towards the Cauldron worrying about what the fixed pattern was to be.
We ran into Miss Swallow, who seemed to be having a lovely time, and Joe, who looked as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. I didn’t see Gex, or Joz, Freddie or Lloyd either, though I thought I spotted Jermaine at one point, skulking behind a pot plant between two stands.
We had a lemon Fanta each at the cafe where I’m writing this, scribbling quickly. I’ll go back over it tomorrow and write it all out properly. I can’t really manage much to eat. I’ve had half a muffin, and a few sips of my drink. My tummy is churning. So much depends on this.
Mrs Hooper’s just told me to put away the notebook. It’s time.
23rd February
I feel bad that it’s taken me so long to write this next entry. It’s been a strange week. This is the first time I’ve really felt able to write about what happened. I felt I needed to do it justice so I’ve been going over everything in my mind. Writing the story, re-reading my notes. Creating the 3D patt
ern in my head.
Just before we left the café to go back to the Cauldron, I got a text from Ms Gunter:
We’re here. Sorry we’re late. Do you have time for a quick IV?
I’d totally forgotten about Ms Gunter, what with everything else going on.
Mrs Hooper said there was time, as long as I was quick, and soon Ms Gunter turned up at the table with a cameraman and the lady from the Home Office.
My head was whirling with so many things as I was talking to the Home Office lady that I have no idea what I said. I was bricking it about the final, about Lloyd Manning, about the Incident Report, about Megan, about whether Mum was going to make it. I tried to talk about how helpful I’d found the probation period, about meeting Mrs Frensham and Giving Something Back. I told her that I’d started my own business and had found a potential career in knitting.
She asked me if I’d been tempted to go back to a life in crime and I shook my head firmly, which Ms Gunter seemed to appreciate.
After it was over they all thanked me, and Ms Gunter and Mrs Hooper gave me warm smiles, which I took as a good sign.
Then it was down to the Cauldron for the final. I checked my phone again on the way. A text from Mum!
Have left the venue. On the motorway now.
She’d sent that at 4.12pm. There was no way she was going to get here in time. But at least she’d be back tonight. There was no text from Dad. But there was one from Gex.
Manning’s gone to ground. I’ve diverted security by releasing animals. Joz with girl but has said will be in grandstand keeping look out. Freddie AWOL, but don’t worry, we’ve got your back.
Was I reassured? Hmm, on the one hand it was good to know they were around, keeping an eye out for Manning and his gang, but I was a bit concerned to hear that it was Gex who’d released the goats. I just needed everything quiet for two hours. After that, they could pull the place apart for all I cared.
I met up with the other contestants in a side area, blocked off by partitions. There were twenty-two of us. I spotted Jeanette Fairbanks, looking cool as a cucumber. I nodded briefly to her and she totally blanked me.
Julie stood up on a chair to address us. I was too nervous to really hear much of what she said, but the gist was that we were to go in one by one, our names being read out as we entered the Cauldron. As if I wasn’t petrified enough without having to endure that. I saw Bush Baby peeping out from behind a partition, looking even more terrified than I felt.