by Gil McNeil
Ellen gives her one of her Britain’s Favorite Broadcaster smiles. “Good morning, I’m Ellen Malone.”
“Are you? Marvelous. So exciting, putting Broadgate on the map, do carry on.” She gives Ellen a dismissive wave and goes inside.
“Is she the mad old bat who showed up at the knit-in when they were threatening to close the library?”
“Yes.”
“Great. Well, if your Diva doesn’t turn up I can always interview her. I bet she’s got a few stories to tell. Barking old aristocrats always do.”
“True, but it would probably be something about the Prince of Wales in 1913. Or a special moment during the Blitz.”
“We’ll meet again? I love all that. Great, that’s my backup story sorted.”
“Maybe I should ask her to bring the dogs along after all, and Lord Denby. He calls everyone Moira, and the dogs like licking people’s shoes. That way you can get the full experience. ”
“Well, they better not bloody try it with these. They’re Stella McCartneys.”
“Well give them back to her and you can borrow a pair of mine.”
“Highly amusing. Will you be cracking duff jokes on air, darling, only I’m not sure—”
“Stop it. I’m nervous enough already.”
“I know you are, but I’m here now, it’ll be fine and anyway, get a grip, darling, you worked in news, you know how to handle yourself on camera. We did all those bloody training sessions, it’ll all come flooding back.”
“The ones where you and Nick were brilliant and I fell right off that swivel chair?”
She kisses my cheek. “You only did that once, and you did it very beautifully. Come on, get me a coffee. We need caffeine.”
I think I might be needing more than caffeine, but I’ll give it a go.
Scott is busy setting up in the workroom upstairs, rearranging the furniture and moving the wicker baskets, which I’ve filled with a selection of wool in the nicest colors. Elsie’s standing by with her duster in case anything needs another polish, and Al, the cameraman, has filmed Cinzia until Scott made him stop, so now he’s wandering around outside taking shots through the café windows, with everyone looking very bright-eyed over their teas and coffees. Lady Denby has even put on extra lipstick. Gran and Betty are having a lovely time with Reg, who’s wearing his best suit, giving me the occasional wink. And Tom’s behind the counter, with his white apron wrapped tightly round what look like new jeans, and a clean gray T-shirt, which also looks a bit tighter than the ones he usually wears. He’s making coffees like his life depended on it. Laura is sitting at one of the tables with Tina, knitting and chatting like they’ve got all the time in the world. I just hope to God they use a second or two of the footage of Elsie behind the counter, or I’ll never hear the end of it.
“You didn’t tell me he was so gorgeous, darling.”
“Who?”
“Your Tom, very nice.”
“He’s not my Tom. And anyway, he’s pining; he’s got a crush on Cinzia.”
“Bless. Well, you could soon take his mind off that. They say every man needs an older woman in his life at that age, show them the ropes, that kind of thing.”
“Only if someone shows me first.”
“I can get you a book, darling.”
“Do shut up, Ellen.”
“Suit yourself, but I’m just saying, gorgeous, right under your nose, can make a decent cup of coffee. The words gift horse and mouth come to mind.”
“Only to your mind. He’s just a few years older than Jack.”
“Oh stop it, he’s got to be twenty if he’s a day.”
“He’s nineteen. Jack is ten this year. See what I mean?”
“Haven’t you heard of MILF, darling? Very popular amongst teenage boys.”
“No, and I don’t want to know what it stands for. They don’t go in for things like that round here.”
“I bet they bloody do. Mothers I Would Like to—”
“Go Fishing with?”
“I give up.”
“Good.”
Oh, God, I’m never going to pull this off. Ellen can snap into broadcast mode effortlessly, but I haven’t been near a studio in years. I’ll sit there dumbstruck, and look like a nutter. Oh God.
We’re sitting upstairs now, and I’ve practically inhaled two chocolate croissants, which strangely seems to have helped. Grace has arrived, and looks breathtakingly beautiful, in full Screen mode, although Maxine is a very calming presence. She’s been very fierce about reminding Ellen what the agreed parameters are: knitting, the new film, no personal life questions, nothing about Lily, no follow-up questions to anything Grace might say. But just seeing her standing there is strangely comforting. Ellen’s looking at her notes, and then suddenly we’re sitting down, with Ellen and Grace on the old leather sofa I found in a junk shop in Margate, and I’m sitting in the armchair. The sun is in my eyes, but I daren’t move after Scott spent so long setting everything up. The chair is quite slippy actually, so I’m sliding forward while Ellen and Grace seem to manage to stay beautifully upright. I’ll probably slide onto the floor at some point. Bloody hell.
“Remember to breathe, darling. Okay, here we go.”
Ellen winks at me, and Grace gives me one of her Diva smiles. Oh God.
“So here we are in beautiful Broadgate, with Grace Harrison. You live nearby, don’t you, Grace?”
“Yes, Ellen, we love it here. The light is so beautiful.”
And they’re off, chatting away like old friends, with Grace saying that the British coastline is such a treasure she feels very lucky to be so near to it.
“We used to get the bus and go for days at the seaside, me and my mum, so it brings back lots of happy memories. She used to knit, and sew, she made most of my clothes, so when I saw this fabulous shop, I just couldn’t resist. It makes me feel closer to her somehow, making things for Lily. Mum did try to teach me, but I didn’t have the patience back then. But now I’m a mum myself I love it, and Jo is such a great teacher; it makes all the difference having someone to call on when you get in a muddle, although that happens less now. But knowing she’s nearby means I can tackle more complicated patterns. I love sitting by the fire in the evenings with my knitting. I know it’s not very Hollywood, but then I’m not really a Hollywood kind of girl. And there’s something so timeless about it. It puts things into perspective. There’s a danger when you work in the film business that you can start to take yourself a little bit too seriously. Connecting to something so elemental is very important to me.”
Bloody hell she’s good. It’s like she’s got a script in her head, which Maxine and Ed have worked on for her, so it covers all the messages she wants to get across, and she just delivers it, perfectly. Actually, that’s exactly what she’s got, but, God, she’s good.
They move on to talking about the film, with amusing snippets about costars and filming car chases and what it was like being suspended by wires to film the diamond robbery scene. I’m meant to be sitting knitting, presumably with a relaxed smile on my face, but I seem to have forgotten how to knit. I manage a series of random stitches, on the cotton square for Connie’s blanket, before I drop a stitch entirely and have to try to surreptitiously pick it up. So that’s obviously terribly impressive for someone who’s meant to be a knitting guru. God, I hope nobody writes in to complain.
“So, Jo, how does it feel to have such a famous customer? Actually darling, why are you slumped like that? Sit up, can’t you? Cut. Scott, sort her out with a cushion. For God’s sake don’t just stand there. Help her out. She’s my best friend, I’ve told you, I want her to look fabulous, not like she’s deformed, for fuck’s sake.”
Grace looks like she might be about to laugh.
“Jo.”
“Yes, Grace.”
“Talk to me. Just forget everybody else and talk to me and Ellen. Actually, do you all need to be here? It is rather oppressive. Bruno, go downstairs, you’re putting Jo off.”
A
ctually it’s the camera and the soundman and the sight of Scott looking anxious which is putting me off, not poor Bruno, but never mind.
“Jo.”
“Yes Grace.”
“What am I meant to be doing now with this, casting on or casting off?”
“Just increase a stitch at each end of each row.”
“In the knit stitch, in the border, yes?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a shame. I’ve been doing it on the purl stitch.”
“It’s fine, it won’t matter, as long as you do it in the same place, so it forms a pattern. It’s quite loose, that’s why the needles are so big.”
“Are you sure? I love this color, I want to get it right.”
“I’m sure.”
Grace gives me one of her biggest smiles and then looks down at her knitting as Ellen leans forward slightly.
“So, Jo, how does it feel to have such a famous customer?”
“It’s lovely.”
“And why do you think knitting is making such a comeback?”
“Well, once you’ve got the hang of the basics, it can be very relaxing.”
“And you sell kits, with everything you need to make a simple project, is that right? So if people don’t live nearby, they can still have a go? Blankets for babies, and your lovely shawls. Like the one Grace is knitting?”
“Yes. We write our own patterns, and try to keep them as simple as we can. And people can phone us, if they get stuck.”
Grace smiles, a major Diva smile that makes everyone look at her.
“Jo is absolutely right, it is relaxing, and you’re also reconnecting to a traditional craft which women have perfected over the centuries. So you feel part of a long line of women, knitting to keep their families warm, and that’s very special.”
Bloody hell, that’s a good answer. Even Ellen looks impressed.
“There’s something so special about making things for the people you love. Jo has helped me make so many things for Lily. I knitted blankets for her when she was tiny, and toys. The little duck I knitted for her is one of her favorites, and I’m terribly proud of that. And when I’m working, well, as you know, Ellen, there’s a fair amount of hanging around when you’re filming, so it’s great to have something productive to do.”
“And is being part of the local community important to you, Grace?”
“Very. There’s such a wonderful atmosphere, I love living somewhere so normal.”
“So no plans to move to Hollywood just yet?”
“Never. I’m a Kentish girl and proud of it.”
“So what’s next, Grace?”
“Well, Jo and I are looking at some beautiful new yarns, from British producers, I’m keen to support that, it’s so important that we keep our rare breeds, and they produce beautiful tweeds and organic wools in natural colors. Great for when it’s chilly.”
Ellen smiles. She meant what’s the next film project, and Grace knows it.
“And I’m working on a new film I’m very excited about, I’ll be producing this one too, we’re working on the script now. I can’t say too much, but I get to knit. So that’s a good start.”
“Can you give us a hint?”
“Upstairs Downstairs, with a twist. I think it’s going to be fabulous, at least I hope it is. People are always so lovely about my work, so I really hope they’re going to like it.”
I can see Maxine is moving forward now. I think she’ll probably stand in front of the camera if Ellen doesn’t finish soon.
“Well thank you, Grace, and Jo, this has been lovely. Who knows, maybe I’ll get my knitting needles out again.”
“Not at all, and thank you, Ellen, this has been such a treat. I’m sure Jo can find you the perfect project, you’ve got a little boy, haven’t you? Why don’t you make him something in this blue? It’s such a beautiful color, just like a pale seaside sky.”
She picks up a ball of wool from the basket on the table and hands it to Ellen. “It would make a beautiful blanket.”
“I might just do that. Thank you, Grace.”
She smiles.
There’s a silence.
“Thanks, Grace, that was great.”
Maxine steps forward. “Can you turn the camera off, please?”
Al tuts but puts the camera down. Clever Maxine.
“There’s a photographer downstairs, from the local paper. I said we’d do some shots of you leaving.”
“Thanks, Max, was that okay?”
“Perfect.”
“Jo?”
“Amazing. I don’t know how you do it.”
She smiles and turns to Ellen. “It’s all part of the job. Thanks, Ellen, that was nice, lovely to see you again. And Jo, I’ll see you later in the week.”
A few of the photographers who lurk outside Graceland have turned up, and there’s a flurry of cameras flashing as she leaves, and then she stops by the car so the local reporter, who looks about twelve and doesn’t seem that confident with his camera, can get a decent picture. Gran and Elsie are waving through the café window, and he takes their photo too.
“Can I have a quote, from Grace Harrison? What did she say?”
Ellen fixes him with a very beady look.
“If you’re asking me did she say anything during my exclusive interview with her, well, funnily enough, yes, she did. Am I going to give it to you? No, I’m bloody not.”
He’s looking rather terrified now.
“I tell you what, though. I’ll give you a quote, will that do?”
“Oh, would you? That would be great.”
“Sure. Ellen Malone said she was thrilled to have such a major guest for the launch of her new series next week, and she was very impressed that, what’s the paper called?”
“The Whitstable and Broadgate Gazette.”
“Very impressed that the Gazette were waiting outside the shop. It just shows that local journalism is alive and kicking.”
“Oh, thanks, that’s great.”
“My pleasure. Now bugger off.”
“Right you are. And thank you, Miss Malone. I really appreciate it. People are so rude sometimes.”
“Are they, darling? What a shocker.”
We’re still giggling when Tom brings us a coffee.
“That was great, Jo. She’s a total star, isn’t she? Thanks, Tom. If you ever want a job in town, let me know, great coffee. We could use you at the studio.”
Tom looks pleased. And rather interestingly, Cinzia does not. Which is probably a good sign for Tom.
“No, you’re all right, but thanks, I’ve got my band, you see, we’re starting to get a few bookings, so this is just to tide me over. Oh, sorry Jo.”
“It’s fine, Tom. I didn’t think this was the height of your ambitions.”
“Did it go all right then?”
“Well, apart from me nearly sliding off my chair, and getting completely tongue-tied, yes, it was great.”
Ellen laughs. “You weren’t that bad, darling. Trust me, I’ve had worse. At least you didn’t say fuck. Or throw up. Or both.”
“It was a close-run thing, that’s all I’m saying.”
“I might knit one of those blankets, you know. She’s right, that was a great color. Can you sort me out with all the stuff?”
“Sure. Don’t you fancy knitting a duck then?”
“No, sounds too tricky. Did she really knit one for Lily?”
“No comment.”
“Oh stop it.”
“I signed a confidentiality clause. Of course she did. It was lovely.”
“And if she hadn’t?”
“Of course she did. It was lovely.”
“Great. You’re meant to be my best friend you know, darling. Don’t let the Diva dazzle you.”
“I’m not. But I do like her.”
“I do too. She’s pretty normal, for a megastar. And her skin, Christ, not a trace of anything toxic. It must be natural, lucky cow. Beautiful eyes too.”
“I know
. It’s amazing she’s not in films really.”
• • • 5 • • •
From Here to Maternity
May and June
It’s ten past two on Monday afternoon, and I’m wedged in the window with cramp in one arm and sand up both my sleeves. I’m finally changing the Easter display to our summertime seaside one, after the chaos of the last couple of weeks. Ellen’s interview caused a sensation locally, and we’ve had loads of new customers coming in. The website’s gone mad, and we’ve had so many orders for knitting kits we’ve had to set up a mini–assembly line in the workroom. I’ve put in an order for more of our McKnits boxes, and I’ve even been able to push the suppliers for a much higher discount. It’s all been completely brilliant.
“That looks lovely, pet.”
“Thanks Gran.”
“You should ring the paper and tell them about the new window, now the shop is so famous. I bet that they’d come back.”
“I think we’ve had enough excitement for a while, don’t you, Gran?”
The local paper sent another would-be reporter round last week, a young woman this time, and Elsie wore her multicolored cardigan for the photographs, which was a shame as I wasn’t really aiming for Nutter as our design motif. But Gran and Laura looked lovely, sitting knitting in the café with Tom in the background, and the reporter bought some wool before she left, so that was encouraging. “You’re probably right, pet. If she tells me one more time what she said to the reporter, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Elsie’s been in seventh heaven, giving media snippets to anyone who shows the slightest interest. She’s even got a scrapbook of cuttings, which she keeps under the counter. It’s her afternoon off today, but I’m guessing she’s probably out getting more prints made for her album.
“To hear her talk, you’d think none of us were there; she’s always been the same, taking center stage when there’s no call for it, she’s always been a—”
“Bugger.”
Gran giggles. “She means well, pet.”
“No, it’s just I’ve just stapled the cuff of my shirt to the bloody partition again.”
“Shall I put the kettle on? Let’s see if Madam has left us any biscuits, shall we? But I wouldn’t hold your breath if I were you.”
