Knit One Pearl One

by Gil McNeil

  “Who wants a picnic for tea?”

  Everyone puts their hands up, even Martin.

  “Toasted cheese sandwiches?”

  I might sneak in some tuna, and a few slices of tomato, just so there’s something vaguely nutritious going on in among all the melted cheese.

  “I love picnickers, Mum, they’re my favorite.”

  “I know, Archie.”

  “Can we have one every day after school?”

  “No, we can’t. But today we can, okay?”

  “Have we got crisps?”

  “I think so.”

  “Peter likes crisps.”

  “No he doesn’t, and you mustn’t feed him stuff like that. Remember what the vet said when you went with Grandad Reg. He’s a very healthy rabbit, and we want to keep him that way.”

  “Yes, but salad is boring and he’s a magic rabbit, so you don’t know what he likes.”

  “He likes salad, however magic he is. And don’t be rude, Archie. Being rude isn’t magical at all. But it might make the crisps disappear.”

  He tuts.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Sorry.”

  He tuts again, when he thinks I can’t hear him.

  We’re sitting on the terrace at our rickety old wooden table when Mark arrives. The kids are finishing their yogurts.

  “Thanks for giving them their tea, Jo. I’ve brought you the bread, whole meal and some white rolls, is that okay?”

  “Perfect. I suddenly realized I’ve got nothing for their packed lunches tomorrow. Thanks, Mark. I’ll drive Con back when she wakes up. Or Martin will.”

  “Great, and the baby shower, that’s this Thursday, right?”

  “Yes, are you still bringing cake? I think she needs all the treats she can get now, poor thing, this last bit feels like forever.”

  “Tell me about it. She went tonto at me last night, just because I said I’d give her a hand to get out of the bath, if she got stuck.”

  “That was subtle.”

  He laughs. “I know, I thought that, as I was saying it, I thought, You total idiot, shut up, now, but it was too late. She hit me, with one of my big wooden spoons. Quite hard actually.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “I’m not getting much sympathy here, am I? Is this one of those sisterhood things?”

  “Definitely, so you better take the kids home quick, before she wakes up and we both hit you with our wooden spoons.”

  Jack wants to play more football, but it’s starting to get chilly.

  “Five more minutes and then it’s bath time. And we’ve got to be very quiet, because Aunty Connie is still asleep. Quiet like mice. There’ll be a prize for the quietest person.”

  “Because she’s having a baby?”

  “Yes, Archie.”

  “Is she going to the hospital to get it out, or will she do it in the kitchen, like you did with Pearly?”

  “I think the plan is to go to hospital to have the baby, Archie, but you never know. Babies sometimes arrive at home.”

  Martin grins and puts his cup down. “Remind me not to go to the pub for the next few weeks; I don’t think I could cope with another home delivery. Not that I coped all that well last time.”

  “You called the ambulance.”

  “Yes, and gibbered down the phone like a madman.”

  Actually, he was great when Pearl was born, pacing up and down the garden in a terrible panic, looking like he’d gone into some sort of proxy shock. It was sort of nice seeing someone else almost as freaked out as I was.

  “You were fine. Do you want more tea?”

  “Please. I’d forgotten how much I love picnics, well, the way you do them. Mum always used to make such a fuss, with Tupperware boxes for everything; I’m surprised she didn’t have some sort of box to pop me into for a quick wash before she got the sandwiches out. We never went anywhere without a damp flannel in her bag. But you don’t fuss about stuff like that, do you? They can get as grubby as they like.”

  “Thanks, Martin, that makes me sound like a very strong contender for Hopeless Mother of the Year.”

  “I like it, it’s relaxing. I put those new photographs up by the way, on the website. Are the new windows finished?”

  “Nearly. I’ve got some pictures on the camera, only Laura’s got it at the moment, for her college work. I’ll e-mail them to you, shall I?”

  “Sure. See, once you get into the habit, it’s easy to keep updating the site.”

  “Yes, as long as someone else does it for you. I did try, you know, but it went into a weird shape.”

  “I’ll fix that, it’s just the format. To be honest, you could do with a total redesign.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Trevor bounds over and licks Martin’s hands.

  “That’s not very hygienic, you know, talk about people getting grubby. Just think what your mother would say.”

  Jack giggles, and Martin winks at him.

  “Well, we better not tell her how he wakes me up in the mornings then, jumping on the bed. Better than any alarm clock.”

  “You shouldn’t let him do that. It might give someone a nasty surprise.”

  “Someone? I can’t think who.”

  “Yes, thank you, not in front of Mummy’s little helpers, if you don’t mind. Dogs jumping on beds is not a good thing, okay? Or rabbits. Who like living outside.”

  “Fair enough. But everyone loves Trevor, don’t they, boys?”

  “Yes. But I love Peter most, because he’s my magic rabbit, all of my very own. And he is magic; he can push his bowl right out the door now. And I’m going to teach him how to jump through hoops. And then I can set fire to them.”

  Oh God. Poor Peter. Just when you think you’ve got one thing sorted in the wonderful world of Pets, something else comes along.

  “Mum, can I wake Uncle Vin up yet?”

  “No Archie, they didn’t get here until really late last night. He’ll be awake when you get home from school though, love.”

  “It’s not fair.”

  “Today’s Thursday, Mum, isn’t it? We’ve got our special assembly.”

  “Yes Jack.”

  Archie’s not impressed. “I hate stupid assemblies.”

  “Well, I don’t, I’m reading a poem.”

  “Are you, Jack? You never said.”

  “Well, I am, my whole group are doing it. I say ‘And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, they danced by the light of the moon.’ And then we all say ‘the moon,’ twice. And then the whole class says ‘They danced by the light of the moon.’ We’ve done pictures too. I did a moon, and a green boat. I didn’t do the cat or the owl, because I don’t like drawing animals.”

  “Well, it sounds lovely, Jack, and you said it very well. We’ve got ‘The Owl and the Pussycat’ in one of your books I think.”

  He gives me a rather pitying look. “I know, Mum, it’s a very famous poem.”

  “Well, it’s very nice.”

  “What’s nice?”

  Both Archie and Jack launch themselves at Vin.

  “Steady on, chaps, give me a chance. Any coffee going spare, Jo?”

  “Sure. Does Lulu want one?”

  “No, she’s still in the Land of Nod. That girl can sleep through anything.”

  “Uncle Vin, I’ve got a rabbit, come and see, he’s called Peter.”

  Vin gives me a look.

  “Yes. Peter Rabbit. We like it. We’re getting a Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle next, okay?”

  “All right, calm down. Who rattled your cage?”

  The boys giggle. You can always count on their uncle Vin to say unsuitable things to their mother; it’s one of his many attractions.

  “Up. Up.”

  Pearl has decided she wants to join in the action, now she’s taken a long, hard look at Vin, who she’s only actually seen once when she was tiny.

  “All right love, come and say hello.”

  “Shoes.�
�

  “I know, he hasn’t got his shoes on, has he. Naughty Uncle Vin. We’ll have to get him some slippers.”

  “You will not.”

  “We might. Like the ones you had when you were little. What were they, Batman or Superman?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Up.”

  “Don’t encourage her, Vin. Do you want toast?”

  “Please. So does Mum know you were on the telly yet?”

  “No. I thought if I said anything, she’d come over and insist on a starring role.”

  “Well Gran will soon take care of that. Honestly, we could hardly get a word in last night.”

  “I bet. Look, are you sure you’re okay to collect Mum and Dad from Gatwick? Gran and Reg will do it, you know. They quite liked coming to pick you up, they got really excited about it. It’ll just take a couple of hours longer.”

  “A couple of hours? Even the caravans were overtaking us. No, as long as I can drive your car, I’d rather do it myself; that car Reg drives would probably blow up if you tried to get it over fifty. We’ll never hear the end of it from Mum if she has a slow journey in from the airport; you know what she’s like. Gran was very chirpy though; she was telling us they’re off on another cruise?”

  “Yes, next month, for a late wedding anniversary.”

  “Well, we might as well alert the traffic police now, so they know when he’ll be back on the M25 causing havoc.”

  “He’s not that bad, Vin.”

  “He is, and I want butter on my toast, nothing else thanks.”

  Great, it looks like I’ve got one more guest for my bed-and-breakfast operation. How marvelous.

  “You can have what you like. The butter dish is on the table, and the knives are in the drawer.”

  “You won’t get a tip.”

  “No, but you will. Don’t mess with a woman trying to make breakfast for three kids on a school morning.”

  “I’ll give you a Chinese burn in a minute.”

  “You will not.”

  “What’s a Chinese burn?”

  “Vin, don’t you dare, or you’ll be sleeping in the garden. He’s joking, Archie. Go and find your shoes, love.”

  He tuts; in fact they all do, even Pearl.

  Excellent.

  I’m tidying up the workroom for our Stitch and Bitch baby shower for Connie when Cath arrives with a beautiful parcel wrapped in silver tissue paper, followed by Maggie, who’s carrying a Tupperware box.

  “I’ve made some sausage rolls, nothing like Mark’s standard, but it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?”

  “Thanks, Maggie, I’m sure they’ll be lovely.”

  “Oh look, doesn’t the Moses basket look beautiful. Is that the one you had for Pearl?”

  “Yes, the one you gave me at my baby shower, so I thought I’d return the favor. I bought a new mattress, and Gran bought the sheets, and look, I’ve sewn up our blanket. It looks great, doesn’t it? She’s going to love it.”

  I hold up the blanket, with the pale cream brushed cotton sheet with little ducks on, and everyone strokes it, including Tina and Linda, who put their presents on the growing pile on the table.

  “Makes you want to have another one, doesn’t it?”

  “Not really, no.”

  Tina laughs. “What’s she done now?”

  “Who? My Lauren? Nothing, apart from driving me demented; if she tells me one more time to get a life, I think I’ll clock her one. I wouldn’t mind, but if she’d settle down I could get a bloody life instead of worrying myself sick about what she’s up to, out there with her skirts so short she might as well not bother wearing them.”

  “She does look nice though, Lind.”

  “I know, Tina, that’s what I’m worrying about. You’ve got all that to come with Pearl, you know, Jo.”

  “She already has views on what she’ll wear. If I try to dress her in the mornings in anything she doesn’t fancy, she just goes all stiff so I can’t move her arms. She’s so stubborn. That doesn’t bode well, does it?”

  Cath smiles. “Well at least she won’t be a doormat, Jo, and that’s got to be good. The only problem is the first person she’ll stand up to is you. Olivia is just the same. I know you think she’s lovely, and butter wouldn’t melt when she’s in the shop with you, but honestly, she says the most crushing things sometimes. She told me I had to walk behind her when we went to the supermarket last week, because my coat was too embarrassing.”

  “Archie and Jack already do that, all the time. They’re trying to get me banned from the walking bus because they think my tabard is too tragic. Mind you, I agree with them on that one.”

  “Girls are much better at it, trust me. My Lauren’s an expert. Last night she said if she thought she’d end up looking like me, she’d throw herself off a cliff. Just because I asked her to take her bag upstairs.”

  “Christ. There’s so much to look forward to in the wonderful world of mothers and daughters, isn’t there?”

  We’re arranging the presents on the table when Angela arrives. Mark’s bringing Connie in about ten minutes, and so far I don’t think she’s guessed. I can’t wait to see her face.

  “Is Mark doing one of his cakes?”

  “Yes, her favorite, chestnut meringue, with caramel and cream in layers, I’ve been thinking about it all day. Did you finish your shawl, Angela?”

  “Yes, it’s the same one I knitted for Stanley, and for Iris, so I’ve got a sense of the pattern now. I find them quite relaxing to knit.”

  We all admire the intricate pattern, and Angela goes pink. She’s been spending a fair bit of time with Penny and Sally and her new granddaughter, and Stanley’s apparently delighted with his new sister.

  “He’s so gentle with her; it’s lovely to watch him. He supports her head so carefully. He’s such a sweet boy.”

  I can’t help smiling. “Just wait until she touches his Lego, that’s all I’m saying.”

  Cath laughs, and tells us Olivia and Toby once fought so bitterly over a Monopoly game that she threw the board up in the air, and all the cards and the money went everywhere, and neither of them spoke to her for nearly a whole day. She said it was great. I must try it.

  “Didn’t you have to pick all the bits up though?”

  “Yes, Tina, I did, but it was worth it, just to see the looks on their faces.”

  Angela’s showing us her latest photographs when Connie arrives, takes one look at the pile of presents, and bursts into tears.

  “Oh, God, Con, it was meant to make you happy.”

  “I am. Happy. It is so kind. To have friends.”

  I give her a hug, and she calms down and starts opening her presents, and holding tiny cardigans and sleepsuits over her tummy. She’s completely delighted. Mark has stayed too, and gets quite emotional when she hands him the Moses basket to put in the car.

  “I’ll be back in an hour, love.”

  “Yes.”

  He kisses her, and Linda and Tina exchange glances as Linda raises her glass.

  “Look at them, picture of love’s young dream. Makes you sick, doesn’t it?”

  Mark laughs. “I think that’s my cue to leave, but I hope you like the cake.”

  “You know we will. God Connie, you’ve got a good one there, you know, looks half decent and he can cook too. You haven’t got a brother, have you, Mark?”

  “Sorry, and I’m definitely leaving now. But thanks, Linda, always nice to be appreciated.”

  I’m collecting up wrapping paper.

  “Everything is so lovely.”

  “Do you want more tea, Connie? Tina?”

  Tina’s on a new diet. Not that it’s stopping her having cake.

  “Yes please, and I’ve got top gossip. You know that Mrs. Churchill, the one whose husband ran off with the milkman—I’m not kidding, he did, they’ve got a bungalow now, outside Brighton—anyway, she was saying there were rows the other day, in the car park at Waitrose. Annabel Morgan and some woman in one of those g
reat big cars were arguing about a parking space and neither of them would reverse. They had to call the manager in the end. I wish I’d been there, I could have taken a photo on my phone and we could have put it in the next PTA newsletter. Be better than those stupid puzzles she does, which her Harry always seems to win. Mind you, people do get agitated in car parks, don’t they, Lind?”

  “I just told her what I thought.”

  “I know you did. We all heard you telling her.”

  “She was parked in a disabled parking space, and there was nothing the matter with her.”

  Angela puts her glass down. “Oh, good for you, Linda. It really annoys me when people do that. What did you say?”

  “I just said, I hope you can sleep at night, being so selfish, and if someone in a wheelchair needs that space, what are they meant to do, wait till you’ve done your shopping or what?”

  “She did. It was great, actually; the woman went bright red and everything.”

  “Well good for you, Linda.”

  “I know, I was quite pleased with myself, Ange. Normally you only think of it when you get home, don’t you?”

  We all nod, and Maggie puts her knitting down. “We should have badges. Like the white feathers they gave out in the war, although that was horrible, I don’t approve of that at all. But badges we could give to people being selfish would be useful. I could use stacks of them in the library.”

  “What, like a badge saying ‘Put That Book Back’?”

  She laughs. “No, Cath, more like ‘Stop Being So Rude.’ So when you saw someone behaving badly, you could just go up and give them a badge and walk away.”

  “Brilliant idea, Maggie. We could use them in the salon, couldn’t we, Tina?”

  “Yes, we bloody could. Especially with that Mrs. Collins. She comes in with pictures cut out of magazines and says, ‘Do it like this,’ but she’s sixty if she’s a day, with a face like a wet weekend, and then she gets all huffy and says I haven’t done it right when she doesn’t end up looking like Jennifer bloody Aniston.”