Knit One Pearl One

by Gil McNeil

  Tom brings the cakes to the table, and Lord Denby practically claps he’s so pleased.

  “How long have you lived here, Lord Denby?”

  The grumpy woman judge finally seems to be enjoying herself a bit more; she’s had two slices of cake and is finishing off an almond macaroon.

  “Nearly six hundred years, give or take, couple of duds along the way, one got into a spot of hot water with one of the Henrys, forget which one, not the Eighth, too busy with all those wives, think it was the Sixth, anyway, picked the wrong side, nearly finished us off, but we managed to hang on. Had to be careful back then, make sure you knew what was going on. Important not to lose your head.”

  He pauses, so everyone can appreciate his joke.

  “Decent place to live though, wouldn’t live anywhere else, and you can still get a decent cup of tea. Can’t say that about some places I won’t mention, strong drink, yes, all the food you could possibly want to eat in a paper bag wandering about the streets, yes, but nowhere to get a decent cup of tea. I’d avoid them like the plague in the evenings if I were you, all sorts wandering about completely pickled. No harm in enjoying yourself of course, had a few adventures myself, old Teddy Barchester nearly landed us all in the clink on more than one occasion, he had terrible taste in women, that was his trouble, and—”

  Lady Denby puts her cup down. “Yes, thank you George, that’s quite enough of that. Shall we continue with our tour, if everyone is ready?”

  The judges look torn between staying here and seeing what other gems Lord Denby will impart and finishing their tour of the High Street.

  Lady Denby stands up. “We’re very proud of all our local shops; some of them have been in the same families for generations. This wool shop for example, three generations. Marvelous.”

  Lord Denby pipes up again. “Must go and see old Parsons. Ironmongers you know, family’s been here for years, saw a bit of action in the War, until he got shot in France, nice chap. Good bowler, when he had full use of his legs, not so good after that, of course, stick slowed him down a fair bit. Although he does make a very useful umpire, quite happy, standing there for hours. Decent chap, old Parsons. Salt of the earth.”

  They wander off up the High Street, with Lord Denby telling the lady judge about his exploits with Teddy Barchester.

  “The problem was his father; being an archbishop did rather complicate things.”

  I’m half tempted to follow them, and I can see Elsie is too.

  “Well, I think that went well, don’t you, dear?”

  “Yes, Elsie, or should I say Moira?”

  She smiles. “He’s a card, isn’t he?”

  “He is, Elsie.”

  “He was a handful when he was younger by all accounts.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I might just nip out to the baker’s if that’s all right, dear. I need a white loaf.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll only be five minutes.”

  She’s back half an hour later, without any bread. But apparently the judges are now heading toward the pier, and Lord Denby is telling everyone about the bombing during the War, and how much fun you could have in an air-raid shelter if you put your mind to it. Elsie says he’d got the lady judge in fits of giggles, so I hope that bodes well.

  “I’m off now, Elsie.”

  “Right you are, dear.”

  “I think I’ll plant out those flowers Grace sent. I keep meaning to do it, and they’re starting to wilt in the heat. Cinzia’s going out later on this afternoon, so I’ll be at home if you need me.”

  “They need to be in the ground, dear, not just those little pots. Well enjoy yourself, but don’t overdo it. You want to be sitting in the shade on a day like this; good day to dry your washing though.”

  “Yes, I put some out this morning.”

  “Gets your whites nice and bright does good strong sunshine.”

  “Yes.”

  Especially if you’ve washed them with a stray flip-flop.

  I’m kneeling in the back garden, covered in mud, digging holes in the bed by the terrace and trying to remove miles of bloody bindweed from the shrubs before I put the new plants in. I’m starting to wish I’d listened to Elsie and was sitting in the shade when the garden gate opens.

  Bloody hell, it’s Daniel. Dear God, he’s the last person I expected to see.

  “Hello angel. I’ve just been looking at locations near here, Tony’s gone on to look at the next lot, so I thought I’d call in, on the off chance, kill two birds with one stone. Sorry, that doesn’t sound right. I probably should have called first. That woman in the shop said you were at home. She’s not very friendly, is she?”

  “Elsie? She’s all right, once you get to know her.”

  Actually, I wish he’d called. At least I wouldn’t be wearing such tragic trousers. Not that it matters, but still. Bloody hell. We haven’t seen him since Christmas, when he brought all the presents down for the kids. Christ knows why he can’t pick up the phone like a normal person.

  “How’s my girl then, still bossing everybody around?”

  “Pretty much. Cinzia will be bringing her back any minute; they’re feeding the ducks.”

  “That’s the Italian girl I met at Christmas, right? Great, well, I’ll hang around then, if that’s okay?”

  “Sure. Do you want a drink? There’s water in the fridge, or juice?”

  “I’m fine. I didn’t know you were such a keen gardener.”

  “I’m not really; it’s just a few things to brighten up the terrace.”

  “Nice.”

  I make tea, and we sit in the shade.

  “Sorry I didn’t call first. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

  “It’s fine, Daniel. So how are things? How’s Liv?”

  “No idea. Thank God.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Yup, all over, so I left. Well, technically she dumped me. But I was about to leave.”

  “That’s a shame. I’m sorry, Daniel.”

  “It’s fine actually, she’s well and truly out of my system now, thank God. I should have known better. Actresses are a total nightmare, egos like canyons. So I thought I’d come and see my gorgeous girl, do something real.”

  “More tea?”

  He grins. “I’d forgotten about you and tea. Yes, please. What’s that, in the basket?”

  “Lavender, from the front garden. It’s been so hot, and the front garden is in the sun all day, so it blooms early. I dry it, to make lavender bags for the shop.”

  “It’s like something out of Jane Austen. Shouldn’t you have a muslin frock on?”

  “For digging the garden? Nice state that would be in after five minutes.”

  He grins. “I never thought of that. I wonder how they managed.”

  “Same way they did most things I guess; they took their time, didn’t do any heavy lifting, and employed hordes of servants.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Cinzia comes back with Pearl, asleep in her buggy, still wearing her tiara.

  “Christ, she’s grown.”

  Cinzia gives him a rather cool look. I’m not sure she entirely approves of Daniel. Which is fair enough, I suppose; she’s so besotted with Pearl I don’t think she approves of anyone taking such a hands-off approach to being her dad. Actually, I’m not sure I do either.

  “Why has she got a tiara on?”

  “She likes it.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Thanks Cinzia, and have a lovely time. Where are you going?”

  “Just Canterbury, with friends. There are boats, on the river, so we will see.”

  “Sounds lovely.”

  “Yes, so I’ll see you tomorrow. The Principessa, she will be hungry when she wakes up. She drank the juice, but she has not eated.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  She nods at Daniel as she leaves.

  We stay in the back garden, and I make sandwiches and crisps, which Pearl adores, and then I finish
planting out the flowers while Daniel watches Pearl, trotting round with her plastic watering can and getting in my way. It’s all rather peaceful until the stupid rabbit starts hopping round trying to eat all my new plants, so I have to put him back in his run, which involves a fair amount of diving about until I can catch the bloody thing using my soon-to-be-patented technique of chucking a tea towel over him. Daniel is finding this all very amusing and chats to Pearl as she retrieves her squirrel, one of her new favorite things, from the buggy.

  “Is that a squirrel?”

  “Yes. Mine.” Pearl holds it a bit more tightly.

  “And the rabbit is called Peter? Great name, angel.”

  “Yes, and it wasn’t my idea. Thank God she doesn’t call the squirrel Nutkin, or we’d have to start searching for a hedgehog, and look like a mad Beatrix Potter family.”

  “So you’re not a Beatrix nutter then?”

  “Nutter.” Pearl kisses her squirrel.

  “Great, now look what you’ve done, you’ve just taught her to say nutter.”

  “Happy to help, angel.”

  “Well in that case start digging a few holes with this trowel, would you, so I can get the rest of these planted before the boys get back.”

  “I don’t really do much digging.”

  “Well now is a good time to start.”

  “It looks great.”

  “It does, doesn’t it? Thanks Daniel. I better go and get the boys from their football camp in a minute. They’re loving it. Yesterday it was dribbling, and I think they’re doing penalties today, which is great, except I’m not that into football if I’m honest, and I have to be in goal. Sure I can’t persuade you to stay for tea?”

  He smiles. “I’d love to, but I’d better head back to the seafront. Tony will be back, and he’s hopeless with one-way systems, always going in the wrong direction and getting shouted at. Nearly got us shot in Rome. Idiot. Those carabinieri can get very irate, you know. I’ll see you on Sunday though.”

  “We’ll be on the beach around four; you won’t be able to miss us. It’s the last beach hut, and Gran will probably have balloons up, but bring a hat, it gets hot on the beach. I can lend you one if you like, because we all wear our hats in the sun, don’t we, Pearl?”

  “Nutter.”

  “No, Pearl, hat. We all love our sun hats.”

  He’s trying not to laugh now. “Sorry, angel. Hat. Definitely. See you Sunday.”

  As soon as I get the boys back from football, I ring Ellen.

  “Christ, Daniel Fitzgerald? What did old Fitzcarraldo want then?”

  “To see Pearl. He came to the house actually, and helped me plant out those flowers that Grace sent. It was nice, but, well, I don’t know. He’s split up with Liv.”

  “Has he? That’s very interesting. So is he going to be around more then?”

  “I don’t know, maybe, to see Pearl, and that will be great, obviously, but I’m not sure I want everyone to know that he’s her dad, not yet, not until we see how it’s going to work, if he’s around more. I mean Gran knows of course, and Vin, and Martin. Well, quite a few people, I suppose, but they’re all people I trust. But I don’t want everyone to know, especially not Mum; she thinks it was just a one-off with an old friend when I was still deeply grief-stricken and all that, which in a way it was. Nobody special.”

  “Oh yes, not special at all, apart from the international reputation, being surrounded by supermodels everywhere he goes, and him winning all the major awards, that kind of thing.”

  “I know, but that’s my point. She’ll drive me mad trying to get him to one of her bloody cocktail parties.”

  “True. But you can cope with that.”

  “Yes, but, oh, I don’t know.”

  “What?”

  “I’m worried about the kids.”

  “Surprise surprise.”

  “This might just be some kind of rebound thing, Ellen, to help him get over Liv, see if being a dad appeals, and announce to the world you have a daughter, and see how that goes. I want him to be just Daniel. I don’t want us using the dad word, not yet. The boys will find it hard, after Nick and everything, it’s a tricky word for them, and Pearl won’t care, not yet, she’s too little.”

  “Tell him that then, he’ll get it.”

  “I know, I sort of did, and he did get it.”

  “So what’s your problem then? Are you worried about how Dovetail’s going to react?”

  “No, he understands it’s important for Pearl to see him. We talked about it at Christmas, and he was fine about it. No, it’s not that. I just don’t want things getting complicated.”

  “Complicated is where all the fun is, darling.”

  “Not in my world. Anyway, he’s coming on Sunday, to my birthday thing.”

  “Bugger, I wish we were coming now.”

  “You’ll be in Italy, Ellen, at your luxury villa. I’ll swap, if you like.”

  She laughs. “No thanks darling, and I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just relax.”

  “I suppose.”

  I’m sure she’s right, but still. Bloody hell.

  We’re at the beach hut by half past three on Sunday afternoon, and Gran’s put up bunting and balloons, and a rather mortifying Happy Birthday banner. My birthday barbecue has become a bit of a tradition now, and everyone brings food, toward the end of the afternoon, when it’s getting cooler and the beach is less crowded.

  “Happy birthday, pet.”

  “Thanks Gran.”

  “Reg has got the cool boxes full of ice.”

  “Brilliant. There’s more fizzy water in the car if we run out.”

  Having the beach hut has been such a boon. I’d forgotten the level of kit you need with a baby; we were just getting to the stage where I could leave the house with only my keys and my purse, and now we’re back to bags of kits and buggies and spare hats. Not that Pearl will wear anything remotely resembling a sun hat unless she’s in the mood, and a summer balaclava seems a bit drastic, so it’s an ongoing battle. But having the beach hut means I can keep all sorts of spare kit ready, and the pink plastic paddling pool and a box of toys. She spends ages trotting backward and forward to the sea with her bucket, playing with the plastic cups and her collection of shells, which is exactly what she’s doing now.

  “Hi Jo. Happy birthday, love.”

  “Thanks Tina.”

  “Here, I’ve done you one of our vouchers, for a wash and blow-dry. It’s from me and Linda.”

  “Thank you, so much, but you really shouldn’t have. I thought we agreed no presents.”

  “I know, love, but it’s not a proper present, not really, I haven’t wrapped it up or anything. Where shall I put this? I’ve made a rice salad, like we said, and Linda’s done a tomato one.”

  “Perfect, just put them inside on the table, where it’s cool.”

  “Right you are.”

  “Christ alive, would you look at Cinzia.”

  “I know, Linda.”

  Cinzia’s wearing her new red and white polka-dot bikini. She’s wearing tiny denim shorts too, thank God, but she’s still attracting a fair amount of attention.

  “God, what I couldn’t do, if I looked like that. Just for a day.”

  Tina smiles. “Like what, Lind?”

  “Well, I would give my ex-husband a nasty moment, put it that way. Wipe the smile right off his face, that would.”

  Martin arrives with Elsie and Jeffrey, and with a large amount of Elsie’s epic Tupperware collection. Rather brilliantly, the local council has ruled that dogs are not allowed on the beach until after 6:00 p.m. in July and August, so we are Trevor free. Hurrah. He’s back at the barn, probably demolishing something.

  “God, Martin, what have you done to your knee?”

  He’s got a huge bruise, and an impressive collection of cuts and scratches.

  “I fell off the stepladder. I’ve sprained my shoulder too, I think. Just what I need when I was going to finish the roof of the porch while the weather hol
ds.”

  Elsie sniffs. “You shouldn’t be up ladders when you’re on your own, Martin, I’ve told you. What if you’d knocked yourself out or something? You should wait until your father’s around for jobs like that.”

  He ignores her and limps down the beach toward Graham and Mark, who’ve appointed themselves barbecue monitors, like they do every year.

  Poor thing, what with the limp, and one shoulder higher than the other, all he needs is an eye patch and a parrot and he’d be a dead ringer for Long John Silver. I’ll take him a beer, when Elsie’s not looking. He looks like he could use one.

  By five nearly everyone has arrived, and we’re sitting in a collection of beach chairs, chatting and eating while the kids race around. Baby Maximo is being handed round in a newborn version of pass the parcel, and getting lots of cuddles while Connie’s mum is proudly telling us how clever her newest grandson is. Mark has added his magic touch with herbs to the chicken and lamb, which I’ve marinated following his very detailed instructions, and Graham and Martin are busy cooking sausages and drinking beer. Reg is mixing up another jug of his killer Pimm’s, and we’re all starting to feel slightly soft around the edges.

  “Mum.”

  “Yes, Archie.”

  “When we’ve finished our tea, shall I do my magic show?”

  “I don’t think so, love. You haven’t got Peter here, have you?”

  Please don’t let him say he’s smuggled him along in his rucksack.

  “No, but I can do tricks with my cards.”

  He can do two tricks, neither of which is entirely convincing.

  “Yes, but not on a beach, love, they’d get all sandy. I thought we could have a castle competition. I’ve got prizes, for the winners.”

  He races back down the beach to recruit sand castle builders for his team.

  “Hello angel. This all looks very chilled out.”

  Christ, how does Daniel do that, keep appearing out of nowhere? Maybe he’s going in for magic tricks too.

  He kisses me on the cheek and hands me a large white shopping bag with black rope handles.

  “Just a few things from the last job I did, nothing special, but I thought you could use them more than me.”