Needles and Pearls

by Gil McNeil

  ‘Good idea, pet.’

  The strawberry ice cream goes down very well, and they’re both remarkably calm about the idea. In fact they’re both much more interested in getting back to their cartoons, although they are unanimous that under no circumstances am I to have a girl. Apart from that, they seem fine about it. But I’m still bracing myself for Questions later.

  Gran shows me her cruise brochures and goes off to tell Reg the good news, and it’s nearly half-past eight by the time I’m getting them into bed.

  ‘Night, Archie.’

  ‘Night, Mum. And Mum?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘If you have a baby, will we get presents? When Seth Johnson’s mum had their baby he got a present. He got a bike.’

  ‘Did he? Well, we’ll have to see about that.’

  He claps his hands.

  ‘And I won’t be the baby so Jack can’t call me a baby any more, can he? Ever. And I already know what I want for my present.’

  ‘Oh yes, what’s that?’

  ‘A dog. Just like Trevor.’

  ‘Night, Archie.’

  ‘Night, Mum. And will I get my fish for my birthday, do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know, Archie. We’ll have to wait and see.’

  I’ve already got him two goldfish in a small tank, which Gran’s keeping in her kitchen. I’ve been telling him one of the reasons we can’t have a dog is because we need to practise on smaller pets first, so he’s added goldfish to his birthday-wish list after I vetoed a snake or anything with fur. I’ve bought him a starter tank, and a little pirate’s chest that bubbles air through the water, so I’m hoping the fish will survive at least a few weeks.

  ‘I really want them, more than anything, I do, and then you can see how sensible I am and we can have a dog.’

  ‘Night, Archie.’

  Jack’s fussing with the knitted blanket I made for him when we first moved here as I’m tucking him in. He likes it folded over his duvet, but only a couple of inches.

  ‘Put it on again properly, how you do it, please, Mum.’

  ‘Better?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Night, love.’

  ‘Mum?’

  Here we go again.

  ‘Yes, Jack.’

  ‘You know the new baby?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, is it leftover, from when Dad was alive?’

  Christ, I wasn’t expecting that one.

  ‘No, darling.’

  ‘So it’ll have a different dad then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But not living with us. Not like Dad?’

  ‘No.’

  He’s very quiet.

  ‘I’m sorry, love. Does it all feel a bit confusing?’

  He starts to cry, silently like he does, as I kneel down by his pillow and put my arms round him.

  ‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’

  ‘It’s just I thought he might be coming back. Not really. You know. Just. Well, a bit.’

  I hold him, and stroke his back.

  ‘But he’s not, is he?’

  ‘No, love. If I could fix it, I would. You know that. But some things can’t get fixed.’

  ‘I know. It’s a bloody bugger.’

  ‘Jack!’

  ‘That’s very rude, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. But you can say it one more time if you like. Just once though, and then never again.’

  ‘Bloody bugger.’ He giggles. ‘If Archie knew it, he’d probably say it at school. But I never say it at school because I’m your best boy, aren’t I, Mum?’

  ‘My best big boy.’

  ‘And I always will be. For ever and ever?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will you stay here, until I’m asleep, and do my arm, in circles? Please. Very please.’ He snuggles into his pillow and drapes his arm over his blanket so I can stroke the back of his arm, in circles.

  ‘OK, but not for hours or my knees will go numb.’

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can, but promise to stay until I’m proper asleep.’

  ‘I promise.’

  * * *

  I tidy up the bathroom and go downstairs, but I can’t settle; I keep thinking about Daniel, and how it feels wrong that I’ve got a scan picture and he doesn’t know anything about it. Maybe I should call him, but then again perhaps I should wait, I don’t really need him to know, not for me. And I could definitely do without any more stress right now. I’m going through my Filofax writing in all my hospital appointments, but I keep looking at his number. Right. I’ll have a cup of tea and make a decision. Perhaps biscuits might help. I’ll write myself a script, and see how it feels; that always helps when you’ve got a tricky call to make. And then I’ll decide.

  Christ.

  The biscuits haven’t really helped, but if I want to call him I’ll have to get on with it, before it gets much later. I dial the number, feeling sick. But that might be the biscuits.

  ‘Hello, Daniel, it’s Jo.’

  There’s a pause.

  ‘Jo? Oh, Jo, great. How’s it going, angel?’

  ‘Fine, thanks.’

  ‘Boys all right?’

  ‘They’re great.’

  ‘I was thinking about you the other day. Liv was knitting and it reminded me of your shop. How’s business?’

  ‘Pretty good, thanks.’

  Oh God, this is much harder than I thought it would be. And we’ve already gone off my script. I glance down at my piece of paper.

  ‘Daniel, is this a good time to talk?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

  There’s a silence.

  ‘It’s, well, it’s … I’m going to have a baby.’

  ‘Are you? Well, congratulations, angel – that’s great, if you’re pleased. Which I guess you are or you wouldn’t be telling … oh fuck.’

  ‘Yes, but I really don’t want you to feel –’

  ‘You mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Fucking hell.’

  ‘I know, and I’m sorry, well, not sorry exactly, I’m really pleased, of course, but –’ Now I’m sounding like a nutter. I look down at my paper again. ‘Even though this wasn’t planned and I’m perfectly happy to go it alone. I want you to understand that, perfectly happy. But I thought you should know, so you can be as involved as you want to be, or not at all. Either way, the baby has to be the important one in all this, but I wanted you to know.’

  ‘When’s it due?’

  ‘October.’

  ‘So is it too late not to go through with it?’

  Christ.

  ‘Yes. And anyway, I’m sure I’ve made the right choice.’

  ‘For you, maybe.’

  ‘Look, I know this is a shock, Daniel, but once you’ve had a chance to think about it, I’m sure we can sort something out that works for everyone.’

  ‘There’s no we.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  He’s sounding much more hostile now.

  ‘The only we in this is me and Liv. We’re talking about getting married. So the last thing I need is something like this fucking dumped on me. You’re a hundred per cent sure, right, that it’s mine?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want Liv to know, OK? Not until I’ve had a chance to think about this.’

  ‘That’s up to you, Daniel.’

  ‘What do you mean by that? Is that some sort of threat?’

  Damn, I don’t think I’m handling this very well.

  ‘No, of course not, for heaven’s sake. I only meant that it’s your business. I’m only telling you because I thought you had a right to know. I don’t want anything from you, Daniel – we’ll be fine, all of us. The boys are quite excited. I just wanted you to know, that’s all. I thought you should have a choice.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t feel like much of a fucking choice.’

  ‘I meant a choice about how you want to handle it.’


  ‘I don’t. Christ, if Liv finds out she’ll throw me out, for sure. Jesus fucking Christ. Look, I’ll have to call you back.’

  ‘Of course.’

  The line goes dead, and I feel strangely calm.

  Christ, what a relief. I’m not keeping anything secret any more. And talking to him again has reassured me that somewhere deep down I’m not secretly hoping for a hearts and flowers moment. I was worried that when I spoke to him I’d mind if he wasn’t pleased. But I don’t, not really. Hopefully he’ll call back and want to visit when the baby’s here or something, but if he doesn’t then that’ll be fine too. Actually, I feel a bit sorry for him; I think I’ve got a good idea of how his relationship with Liv is working out, and it’s just like it used to be with me and Nick, where everything is filtered through them and what they’ll think. But I’ve told Daniel now, so I can get on with it, and not feel like I’m somehow cheating not telling him.

  Great. I call Ellen.

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘You were right – Gran’s thrilled, and the boys are fine about it.’

  ‘Told you.’

  ‘I’m not sure Daniel’s going to be rushing to Mothercare, though.’

  ‘Christ. You called him.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He wasn’t pleased. Pretty hostile, actually. I think it’s all about Liv, and what she’ll think. Which I can understand.’

  ‘Tough. He’ll just have to get over it. It’s not like you planned this.’

  ‘I know, I said that.’

  ‘You never know, he might discover some hidden paternal instinct, give him time.’

  ‘I doubt it. But that’s fine. I can do this on my own. I always knew I would really. I’m sure I can make it work, if I’m careful.’

  ‘You’re not still worrying about money, are you?’

  ‘Ellen, I’m pregnant with two chocoholics to support. It’s a tad worrying, yes.’

  ‘I know, but Daniel can cover some of it and at least you haven’t got a mortgage to support as well.’

  ‘They’d probably have repossessed the house by now if I did. I barely make enough to keep us going as it is, without adding a baby into the mix. And I don’t want Daniel’s money.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘We’ve had this conversation, Ellen. Either he’s around, or he’s not, but it can’t be about money. I’ll manage.’

  ‘Use Nick’s life insurance.’

  ‘That’s my rainy-day money.’

  ‘Surely this counts as a spot or two of rain, darling?’

  ‘Not yet it doesn’t, and I’ve still got a bit left over from selling up in London, so if I’m careful I must be able to manage. The shop’s starting to do quite well, you know – I just need to make it do better.’

  ‘Darling, you can’t double your business and do the mum thing and be pregnant with number three all at the same time.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you’ll be completely knackered.’

  ‘Well, that’ll make a nice change then.’

  I’m in the shop the next morning, trying to pluck up the courage to ring Mum. I couldn’t face it last night, although I did call Vin, after I spoke to Ellen, and he was lovely, and Lulu came on the phone and got very excited, which was nice. But I’m pretty sure Mum’s going to be less enthusiastic. She was distinctly underwhelmed when I told her I was pregnant with Jack, and with Archie she gave me a lecture about wasting my life changing nappies. So I’m not holding out much hope for this time.

  I’m changing the till roll as a diversionary tactic when Tina comes in, looking very excited.

  ‘Maggie’s just been in to tell us we’ve won – the library’s staying open. They had a meeting last night, and it’s official.’

  ‘That’s brilliant.’

  ‘I bet our Knit-In helped, and the petition.’

  ‘I’m sure it did.’

  Actually, I think Grace arriving and giving a megastar interview to Ellen about how local libraries are vital, with us all sitting knitting in the background, is probably what swung it, but never mind.

  ‘We’ll have to celebrate at Stitch and Bitch tonight.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  She smiles.

  ‘And we’ll have something else to celebrate, by all accounts?’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Betty was in the salon this morning. She was so excited she couldn’t help herself, and your Gran’s tickled pink, apparently. But of course we won’t talk about it, if you don’t want everyone to know.’

  ‘So who knows then?’

  ‘Everyone.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And your Gran says you’ll be on your own. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, good for you. But if he’s from round here we’ll make sure he does the right thing, don’t you worry. My Graham can be very persuasive when he wants to be.’

  ‘Thanks, Tina, but it’s fine, honestly.’

  ‘You know how people talk. They’ll be trying to guess who he is if you don’t put them straight.’

  Christ, it’ll be like a guess-the-weight-of-the-cake competition.

  ‘Maybe we could do a raffle for our white-elephant stall at the Summer Fayre. I’ll probably be looking like an elephant by then anyway.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘Or I could put a notice in the shop window. Do you think that would stop them?’

  ‘It might do. Or you could just tell Betty and leave it for an hour or two; she’ll make sure word gets round. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you about the library, and say congratulations, I think it’s lovely. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Thanks, Tina. And he’s not a local, OK?’

  ‘Right you are. Leave it with me.’

  Betty and Gran are in next. Gran looks flushed and Betty looks sheepish.

  ‘I’m ever so sorry, Jo. Mary made me promise not to say anything, but I was that excited, only I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. And I’m very sorry.’ She looks really upset; actually, I think she may have been crying. Gran can be very forthright when she wants to be.

  ‘People were going to find out sooner or later, Betty. Don’t worry about it.’

  Gran tuts.

  ‘Yes, but it could have been later, couldn’t it, if someone had been able to keep a secret.’

  ‘It’s not like it was a proper secret, Gran, not with the boys knowing; you know what Archie’s like. He’s probably making an announcement in assembly.’

  She laughs as Betty hands me an envelope.

  ‘It’s only those snaps I was telling you about. I’ve been meaning to bring them in for ages. I got some copies done for you.’

  There are two black-and-white photographs of Betty and Gran in the war, one of them sitting knitting on the seafront, and another of Betty looking rather glamorous in a summer frock and sandals, standing in front of the shop with a soldier.

  ‘And I just want to say I think it’s marvellous, and I’d have done the same thing, if I was you. Well, I nearly did, I expect your Gran’s told you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It was a long time ago, and things were different then, of course. He was American; he was killed before I knew I’d fallen for a baby, but I was that happy I didn’t care. Only it wasn’t to be.’ She’s close to tears now.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Betty.’

  ‘It was long time ago now, love, and I married my Ted a year later, and then we had our Simon, so it all worked out in the end. Although I do wonder sometimes. I’d have loved another one. Anyway, I keep telling my Simon he needs to get a move on and have some grandchildren for me, because I’m not going to last for ever.’

  Gran pats her on the arm.

  ‘You’ll see us all out, Betty. Come on, we’ll be late if we don’t get to that bus. Bye, pet.’

  ‘Bye, and thanks for the photographs, Betty. They’re lovely.’

  ‘I’m due at the Lifeboats this afternoon, but I’ll probably
pop in later.’

  ‘Thanks, Gran.’

  She’s got a long-standing feud with Mrs Oakley over who gets to operate the till in the Lifeboat tea room, and Betty tends to go in with her when she’s on duty, for moral support.

  ‘Don’t you worry, Mary, I’ll soon put her right. I’m not in the mood for her today, I’m really not.’

  I’ve got quite a collection of photographs in the shop now. Maggie took some black-and-white ones of us at the Stitch and Bitch group, and there’s one of the magazine ones that Daniel took of Grace sitting knitting in a rowing boat wearing a ballgown. And a lovely one of Gran, with me aged about eight, sitting next to her on the settee knitting a doll’s blanket with pink sparkly wool I remember loving. I’ll put these ones from Betty in frames too, and they can go up behind the till with the others.

  * * *

  I’m knitting a sleeve for Connie’s jumper when Elsie bustles in, looking pretty narky. She doesn’t even wait to take her coat off.

  ‘I gather we’re to expect a happy event.’ She’s standing with her arms folded, looking furious.

  Maybe I should put that notice in the shop window after all.

  ‘Yes, sorry, Elsie. I was hoping to tell you myself, but –’

  ‘You should have told me first.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I already know all about it, you know.’

  ‘All about what, Elsie?’

  ‘You and my Martin, having supper. I suppose the barn will have to go on hold now.’

  ‘I think you should talk to Martin about that.’

  ‘Well, he can’t go wasting his money on a dirty old barn with a baby on the way, can he? And before you say anything, just you let me finish. I can’t say I’m pleased about the way it’s all been handled. Not at all. I should have been told first, properly, and I’ll be having words with him, you can count on that. But what’s done is done.’

  Bloody hell.

  ‘Elsie, you don’t think the baby has got anything to do with Martin, do you?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘Well, it hasn’t.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  I give her what I hope is a firm look.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  She looks rather deflated, and a tiny bit sad.

  ‘Oh. Right. Well, I’m sorry I spoke then.’

  There’s a silence.