‘And the smiley face emoticon?’ I ask, raising an eyebrow at Ben.
‘Oh, um, well, I didn’t want you thinking I was some kind of weirdo – a stalker,’ he laughs, resting sideways on the bar, seemingly more relaxed as well now. Hmm, it’s a nice answer, but it doesn’t really tell me very much. I know my flirtometer is a bit off-kilter, but he must be interested, why else would he have asked me to come to the pub with him? And held my hand on the way over here? I take a deep breath.
‘So is that why you added a kiss as well?’ I swallow the last of my brandy and will my cheeks to stop flushing. Ben opens his mouth; he closes it again, and downs another brandy before looking directly at me with a slightly awkward, but very endearing grin on his face. He’s just about to reply, I’m convinced of it, when Clive flicks the switch on the karaoke machine and Pete leaps on to the stage, singing a very loud and very tongue-in-cheek version of Madonna’s ‘Like a Virgin’. Ben hesitates.
‘Sorry, I can’t hear you.’
I open my mouth to try again, but another villager comes over, desperate for the doctor’s opinion on his suspected hernia, and the moment is lost.
It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m in Hettie’s House of Haberdashery with the granddaddy of all hangovers, but Ben was right, I had a brilliant night’s sleep, the best I’ve had in ages.
My hair is scooped up into a big ponytail and I’ve opted for the fresh, natural countryside look, kind of; the lashes are still in place, so with a hint of tint on my cheeks and a slick of clear lip gloss that I found in the bottom of my handbag, I look OK. I didn’t want to bother Lawrence by using his make-up again, and besides, there really is no need as I’ve noticed that none of the women here in Tindledale seem to wear very much make-up at all, apart from Ruby – but then, she is a bone fide burlesque dancer; she told me all about it in the pub last night. Pete was halfway through his third, or maybe fourth song when she arrived. She even asked if I had ever danced inside a giant martini glass, or perhaps I imagined that bit, to be honest it’s all a bit of a blur now.
I take a sip of the super sugary hot tea that Marigold made for me. And they’re all here – Hettie of course, and Marigold’s friends Louise, Edie, Sarah and Vi. Cooper’s wife, Molly (who thankfully left the ferret at home today, but that hasn’t stopped Basil from sniffing and foraging through her handbag on the scent of him), Beth, a teacher at the village school, and her friend Leo from university days who’s staying with her over the Christmas holidays while his boyfriend is trekking in Nepal (he didn’t fancy it). Pam from the surgery is here, and Taylor. She had heard about the knit and natter group on the village grapevine, no surprise there, and was keen to join in too. Especially after having seen a picture in a magazine of the model, Cara Delevingne, knitting backstage at a fashion show! Taylor had got straight on to YouTube and watched lots of knitting know-how films covering the basics through to more complicated stuff like turning corners, rib stitch, moss, basket weave and stocking. And she now knows that knitting is, ‘Sick! Unless you live in smallsville Tindledale, which is like a whole century behind the rest of the entire world’ (followed by a sulky teenage pout). So she got the bus down here and was standing outside when Hettie opened up this morning. I’ve already shown her how to cast on and do a basic knit stitch so she’s now busy knitting a dog blanket to use in the pet parlour. And thoroughly enjoying it she is too, I even spotted her iMessaging her mates, telling them knitting is like loom bands for adults and to see if they wanted to come and join in as well. And they’re planning to yarnbomb Tindledale, Stoneley and Market Briar, just as soon as their knitting skills are up to it.
Between us all we managed to lug a couple more armchairs in from Hettie’s oast house next door and then Lord Lucan turned up with an extremely comfy, faded floral sofa from the Blackwood House orangery piled into his sheep trailer with a couple of the farm labourers to help unload it. So now, with the extra tables dotted around, Hettie’s House of Haberdashery looks more like a trendy shabby chic coffee house that you might find in somewhere like Shoreditch, instead of this quaint little village deep in the English countryside. And we even have music – Hettie brought an old cassette player in from next door so we’re now working our way through an entire collection of Rock & Roll Christmas hits. Brenda Lee is belting out a tune about rocking around the Christmas tree with pumpkin pie and doing some carolling, creating a gorgeous cosy Christmas atmosphere, and despite my fragile state I feel really happy and content right now. Perhaps my broken heart is finally on the mend.
I cough. Ouch. I really need to keep my head still now the last dose of paracetamol and Diet Coke has worn off.
‘Finished!’ I yell excitedly, holding Ruby’s Christmas pudding jumper up in the air, and instantly regretting it when the pneumatic drill that’s currently hanging out inside my head starts hammering again. I groan as I reach across for the scissors to snip the end of the wool used to sew up the seams. Hettie certainly is a fast knitter – she had finished the back and made a start on the front by the time I had dragged myself out of bed and got myself here, after wolfing down Lawrence’s full English breakfast complete with extra fried bread to soak up all the alcohol (in theory).
‘Ooh, now that is a beauty!’ It’s Marigold who takes it from me to have a closer look before passing it around the group. ‘But I’m surprised you have the energy to knit after your romantic rendezvous wandering around the village green with our dashing doctor last night!’ She smiles, digging me in the ribs. I try not to smile as I marvel at how, yet again, word sure gets around quickly here in Tindledale.
‘Mmm, it wasn’t really like that. We just had a few drinks, that’s all!’ I will my cheeks to stop reddening as they’re all leaning forward, eager to hear the gossip about their doctor first hand.
‘And the rest.’ It’s Leo now. He stops knitting his snowflake patterned bobble hat and takes the pudding jumper from Marigold; he turns it inside out to study the back of the pudding design. ‘So, did he move in for a snog?’
‘Leo!’ Edie says, patting her grey bob. ‘You mustn’t ask a lady such things.’
‘Hmm, well I bet he did, it’s always the shy ones,’ Leo quips, before turning his attentions back to the jumper. ‘I’m impressed, sweetie. Someone will pay top dollar for this online, guaranteed,’ he adds, nodding in my direction.
‘I can’t take the credit. Hettie here did all the hard work.’ She’s sitting beside me on the sofa, so I turn my head towards her. ‘Thanks so much.’ She nods and pats my arm before popping a square of peppermint cream into her mouth – I picked up a few bars, along with some party ring biscuits, a tin of Roses and a couple of Terry’s Chocolate Oranges from the village store for us all to nibble on while we knit. ‘And for everything else,’ I add, so wishing I could stay here with her for ever.
‘And thank you my dear. You certainly had your hands full this morning transforming this place, I hardly recognise it.’ She casts her eyes around the shop, which is shaping up very nicely now. I made a start right away despite my poor head, buoyed up by my big breakfast, and Marigold helped me clear all the old, musty, damaged stock into an empty bedroom in the oast house, and then we artfully reorganised the display tables so there are now defined sections for knitting, needlecraft, quilting, crocheting and general crafting. The floor was swept and the old Silver Cross pram stored in one of the outbuildings and then we replaced the old-fashioned sun-damaged wool with the beautiful rainbow assortment of lovely new yarn from the stock cupboard.
I take a moment to admire the now gleaming, shabby chic interior of Hettie’s House of Haberdashery. Lawrence let me bring his laptop, explaining that it’s already hooked up to the village broadband hub so should work fine in here, and it does, so after taking some pictures using Marigold’s iPad, I emailed them to myself so I could access them from the laptop and then Taylor utilised her GCSE in computer studies and created a three page website called www.hettieshouseofhaberdashery.co.uk.
‘And you know what
?’ Taylor stops knitting and we all turn to look at her. ‘I reckon we should knit a whole stack of jumpers for Hettie to sell online.’
‘Now that is very good idea young lady,’ Hettie says to Taylor before leaning forward and addressing Leo directly. ‘Do you really think someone will pay “top dollar” as you say?’ she scrutinises his manscaped face.
‘Deffo. Honestly, honey, trust me,’ he says flirtatiously, clasping a dramatic hand to his chest. Hettie pats her bun before doing a very girlish giggle. I nod in agreement, and smile; it’s so nice to see her looking relaxed and far less anxious.
‘In that case,’ she turns back to look at me, ‘take it off!’
‘Pardon?’
‘You heard. Take off your jumper.’
‘Oh,’ I manage, wondering where she’s going with this.
‘Well, if Ruby is having a sweater in her window display then I need one too. Right away. And that Ho Ho Ho jumper is just the thing!’ Hettie points a bony finger at my chest before leaping up and dashing across the shop floor to the table nearest the roaring log fire. Basil stirs from his bed – a pile of granny patch blankets that Hettie stacked inside an old wooden fruit crate – and wags his tail at her, knowing it must be playtime or petting time; they clearly adore each other. After giving Basil a long, lingering stroke, Hettie gestures to a beaten-up old brown suitcase on the table.
‘Here, I have a whole trunk of those vintage blouses that you like. Dresses, too. Pick one to put on and then give me the pullover. And don’t dilly-dally. I want to get it in my window before you take the Christmas pudding one up to Ruby.’ And she flings open the lid of the suitcase revealing a Taylor Utility stamp in old-fashioned gold swirly letters on the inside. The scent of sandalwood and stale perfume bursts into the air all around us as I giggle inwardly at this, as yet unseen, side of Hettie. Competitive entrepreneur. How amazing, and in her twilight years too.
I jump up from the sofa, closely followed by Leo and Beth, and we all race over to see inside the suitcase, me clutching my head, but I don’t care, I’m not missing out on this opportunity. Everyone loves vintage clothes.
‘Ooh, did you used to wear these?’ I ask, rummaging through the contents – exquisite floaty silks, tailored cotton shirts and a beautiful red gingham Fifties’ off-the-shoulder dress with a wide black belt and the biggest, swirly, whirly, froufrou net petticoat I think I’ve ever seen.
‘Yes, most of the clothes came back with me from America.’ And for some reason, Hettie drops her voice and casts a furtive glance in Marigold’s direction, but she’s busy chatting to Edie, so doesn’t appear to notice. How strange. But there’s no time to ponder as Leo is now holding up a gorgeous pair of silk stockings that have an actual seam down the back.
‘You can’t have those.’ Hettie blushes and swipes them from his hand, quickly tucking them into her cardigan pocket.
‘What about these? Name your price, Hettie,’ Leo swoons, happily swapping the stockings for a pair of beautiful mink-suede Roger Vivier stiletto heels. Hettie touches the tip of her left index finger to the toe of one of the shoes and then lets out a long sigh.
‘I loved those heels, and there are so many memories attached to them – dancing, dating, doing all the things that young girls love to do …’ Her voice trails away. ‘But you can have them,’ she then adds briskly, and in a very matter-of-fact, almost cold, way.
‘Oh my God! Are you sure?’ Leo can barely contain himself and hugs the shoes to his chest as if they’re priceless diamonds.
‘I’m sure. But you must promise to cherish them,’ Hettie smiles wistfully.
‘In that case, I’ve died and gone to heaven. Let me find out how much to pay you for them, I wouldn’t dream of just taking them.’ Hettie looks surprised, as if she hadn’t even considered actually selling the contents of the suitcase. ‘Marigooooold, can I use your iPad to see how much these shoes are worth please?’ And Leo runs off with his treasure.
‘Ahh, look at this,’ I say to Beth, lifting up an intricately embroidered hanky with the initials GHM on.
‘Gosh, it’s exquisite. Silk too by the looks of it,’ she coos, touching the corner.
‘Gorgeous, isn’t it,’ I say, admiring the detail and effort that’s obviously gone into creating it.
‘Put it back!’ Hettie swipes the hanky from my hands and snaps the case shut, before bowing her head and rushing out the back to the kitchen-cum-sitting-room. I’m shocked, Beth too. She gives me a look before beetling off to rejoin the others. I dash after Hettie, but when I pop my head around the curtain, she’s staring at the photo frame with a papery hand clasped at her neck, and I sense right away that she wants to be alone. I let the curtain sweep silently back into place and leave her be.
A few minutes later and Hettie returns to the shop floor, seemingly composed and stoic as always – as if nothing had just happened.
‘And make sure you put a picture of the Christmas pudding sweater in the online shop,’ she instructs sharply. ‘If Ruby sells it then I want to too – not that exact one, clearly, but I can easily make some more to order.’
‘Yes, yes of course, no problem, I’ll make sure it’s there,’ I say, feeling a little taken aback. I smile gently and try to make eye contact but she flicks her eyes down and focuses on the pattern of the rug instead.
‘Right you are.’ Hettie glances back up and stares at the dress still clutched in my hands. ‘Well, are you going to put it on then?’
‘If that’s OK?’ I say, not daring to disagree with her, even though my legs will freeze when I go out in the snow to take the jumper up to Ruby’s shop.
‘Of course it is, dear,’ Hettie says in a very pleasant voice now, and it throws me, the complete contrast in her manner from just a few seconds ago, and as if reading my mind, she adds, ‘And you can keep your jeans and plimsolls on. Just put the dress on over the top.’ She points to my fetid Converses. ‘You’ll catch your death of cold otherwise.’
So that told me!
‘Um. Great,’ I mutter. ‘And thank you.’
‘And you can take the suitcase up to Ruby too. See if she’ll buy the contents for her shop,’ Hettie says with a determined look on her face now.
‘Are you sure? Hettie, you don’t need to do that,’ I say softly. ‘You’ll have online orders in no time. Honestly, there really is no need. Your mother’s bone knitting needles have already exceeded the reserve on eBay.’
‘I’ve made up my mind. Take the case.’
‘OK. If you’re absolutely sure.’ She nods, but I notice her handwringing starts up again.
‘I am. Now will you please put that pullover in the window! I’m off next door to hunt for the box of Christmas decorations in my back bedroom. I’m sure that’s where they’re stored.’ And she pads off to go in search.
Marigold comes over to me.
‘You OK?’ she asks, kindly. ‘She doesn’t mean to be …’
‘Oh, I know,’ I shrug, ‘but I’m worried about her.’
‘We all are.’ Marigold shakes her head in concern. ‘There’s some gaffer tape in the glove box,’ she adds, dangling the key for the Land Rover in front of me. ‘For the suitcase.’
‘Ahh, yes, it is a bit battered, I’ll bind it up,’ I say, taking the key. ‘Thank you.’
*
I’ve just found the gaffer tape and closed the car door behind me, when a white van swerves up at the kerb on the other side of the lane and two men in black bomber jackets and Doc Marten boots jump out and stride towards the shop.
‘Oh, hello. Can I help you?’ I ask, quickly stuffing the gaffer tape into my jeans’ pocket. I can’t imagine they’re here for some yarn and a nice pattern or two. They look very menacing. ‘Who are you?’ I add, more forcefully.
‘We’re here to see the owner of this establishment,’ one of them growls as they march past me.
‘Um,’ I open my mouth, but they keep on going. Pushing my elbows out, I immediately charge after them, catching up just as the meane
st-looking one of the pair pushes a hand out to open the door to Hettie’s shop. ‘Can I help you?’ I blurt again, swiftly pinning my body between them and the door.
‘Not unless you are,’ the one with a clipboard snarls, before pausing to scan his list, ‘Henrietta Honey!’ he announces.
‘Gentlemen!’ Marigold suddenly appears at the door behind me. I swivel my head and see that she has an extremely gracious smile on her flushed face. ‘How may I help you?’ she says with impeccable diction, shooting me a look and offering a regal hand to one of the men who, after staring at his mate, shakes her hand so gingerly, anyone would think it was coated in arsenic.
‘Are you Henrietta Honey?’
‘Would you mind if we discuss this matter away from the shop? Bad for business, you see. And with all these customers? Oh now, that would never do.’ Marigold shakes her head and gestures to the window where Louise, Taylor, Edie and the rest of the gang are busy knitting and nattering away, totally oblivious to whatever it is that’s going on out here. She steers the two men towards the bus shelter just along the lane and I go with her, wondering if they’re something to do with Hettie’s horrible nephew – could they have come to turf her off to an old people’s home or something? Surely not – wouldn’t they send nurses? Or at least kindly men in white uniforms with soft voices and a blanket or a wheelchair, perhaps, not that Hettie needs one, far from it, but these two look like total thugs. The one with the clipboard has H-A-T-E stamped across his knuckles. ‘That’s better,’ Marigold says, sounding like a mother placating a pair of whiny toddlers. The two men stare at her, both breathing heavily through their slack-jawed open mouths. ‘Now, what’s this all about?’ Marigold tilts her head to one side and I stare at the ground, thinking she’s good, very convincing. Lawrence needs to sign her up to the Tindledale Players right away, as she’s an exceptionally talented actress. These two thugs are totally buying it that she’s Henrietta Honey.
The Great Christmas Knit Off Page 15
