Needles and Pearls

by Gil McNeil

  ‘It’s just, well, I’ve always wanted grandchildren.’

  Christ, now I’m feeling guilty that this baby isn’t going to be her first grandchild.

  ‘So what were you whispering about when I came back from lunch the other day then?’

  ‘He was showing me the papers for the barn.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Well, good, because I don’t want him mixed up in any unpleasantness, not that I mean, well, that didn’t come out right, but he’s had enough to cope with over the past year with Madam. Would you like a cup of tea, dear, or a biscuit? I might as well stop now I’m here. I could pop out and get some ginger ones – they’re meant to be just the job if you’re feeling a bit sick. Are you feeling sick? I was terrible with Martin. Couldn’t keep anything down for weeks.’

  ‘I’m fine, Elsie, thanks, but I’d love a cup of tea. There’s some new tea bags in the cupboard under the sink, decaff ones.’

  ‘Isn’t that just coffee?’

  ‘No, tea has a fair bit of caffeine in it too.’

  ‘Fancy. Well, I’ll nip up and put the kettle on then, shall I?’

  ‘Please.’

  She pats my arm as she goes past.

  ‘And then you can tell me all about it.’

  Christ. Between her and Betty, and Tina in the salon, I think we can safely say the whole town will now be in the picture; so there’ll be no need for a notice after all. So much for trying to keep a low profile.

  It’s Friday morning and I’m having a last-minute dash round Sainsbury’s, trying to get everything ready for Archie’s party tomorrow, before I’m due at school for knitting with the reception class. And my jeans keep sliding downwards because I can’t do the zip up any more: I’ve rigged up a bit of elastic as a temporary measure but it’s not really working. I’ll have to get changed when I drop the food off. Unstable trousers are the last thing you need when you’re in with mixed infants.

  Things have started to calm down on the baby breaking-news front, though, thank God, now that everyone within a five-mile radius seems to have popped into the shop to congratulate me, or smiled at me in the playground. Apart from Annabel, of course, who’s been perfecting her superior and disapproving look. It does feel like I’ve been entered into some sort of competition, and I’m now representing the Pregnant And Not A Man In Sight category, but the excitement is definitely on the wane: not least because Mrs Taylor from the chemist’s has finally run off with the man who sells the multivitamins. Mr Taylor has retaliated by throwing most of his stock out in the street, so everyone’s been stocking up on Evening Primrose and picking up snippets of who said what to who, which has knocked me off the lead item and into the And Finally slot, thank God.

  Even Mum was all right about it, which I’m pretty sure is because Vin had already called her and told her to be nice. She did say she thinks I’m far too old and why on earth I want another one is beyond her, but then she moved on to trying to winkle out the name of the father. She knows I met Daniel in Venice at Christmas, and since she also knows he’s a famous international photographer she’d go into overdrive if I let her think he might be involved. So I’ve put her off the scent by hinting that we were talking about someone local, who has now disappeared, and she completely lost interest and put Dad on the line. And then she came back on again to tell me she’d bought a marvellous outfit for the wedding in shades of orange, so that’s something to look forward to. I spent far too long traipsing round after her while she was wearing clogs and artistic outfits when I was growing up and everyone else’s mum was wearing proper skirts and court shoes, so I should be used to it by now. But I can’t help hoping that it’s not too bright orange or she’ll look like one of those adverts for Tango.

  I’m pushing my trolley round, with fairly frequent waistband adjustments, while I call Connie on the mobile to find out if Mark really wants to make mini pizzas as well as the cake for Archie’s party, or if she was just volunteering him to be kind. She keeps trying to do things for me, and she’s been so sweet about the baby.

  Her mum came with her to Stitch and Bitch last night, and she’s everything I knew she would be: lovely, with lots of arm-waving and hugging, sort of the opposite of mine really. She kissed everyone goodbye and gave me an extra-long hug, so I can see why Connie misses her so much.

  Her dad Salvatore was at home with Mark teaching him the secret family recipe for some special kind of fish soup that takes days to make, after spending hours at the fish market in Whitstable poking things and walking off in feigned horror at the prices. Connie was telling us Mark got so embarrassed he ended up sitting in the car, while Salvatore continued negotiating. They’re such a sweet couple, and they arrived with so many presents they had to bring an extra suitcase.

  By the time I’m home and trying to wedge stuff into the fridge I’m starting to panic. Mark might be heroically doing the cake and the pizzas, but there’s no getting away from the fact that I’ve got ten small boys coming for a birthday tea, followed by hordes of adults for the bonfire, and I haven’t even started on tidying up the house yet. I’ve changed into my black stretchy skirt, which is at least likely to stay up throughout this afternoon in school, but I’m no further forward on the clean-kitchen front when the phone rings.

  Bugger.

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Fine, thanks, Maxine.’

  ‘It’s the birthday party this weekend, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Grace wants to book a time for you to come over.’

  ‘Lovely, only can it be next week? I’m a bit tied up today.’

  ‘Sure. I gather you’ve been pretty busy all round. Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks, I was going to tell you when I saw you.’

  ‘Bruno beat you to it. He and PC Mike are new best friends. Yes, I’m on the line to her now … yes, I was just going to –’

  ‘Jo, it’s Grace. Congratulations. Get me a juice, would you, Max, and not that mango crap, I hate that. Thanks. There, she’s gone. So this is a late Christmas present from Venice, yes ?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Brilliant. Have you told him?’

  ‘Yes, and I don’t think he was exactly thrilled.’

  ‘Don’t worry, give it a few months. Liv will probably have finished with him by then, and who knows what might happen.’

  ‘I think I know, Grace.’

  ‘And do you mind?’

  ‘Not at all, I thought I might, before I rang him, but no, not really.’

  She laughs.

  ‘Good. Max is sorting out dates for Paris.’

  ‘Paris?’

  ‘We’re doing the Simone de Beauvoir thing, and it looks like the Bedknobs and Broomsticks is on too, only that’ll be the UK. So I’ll want you around for that, however pregnant you are.’

  ‘I’d love to. How exciting. What would I do exactly?’

  ‘Be my knitting coach. You can help me knit my way through the endless bloody hours of hanging about. Although neither of them are costume, which will also help.’

  ‘Are costume things tricky then?’

  ‘They’re a total nightmare. All that corset stuff really gets to me after a while and I’m nowhere near back to my normal size yet.’

  ‘You looked amazing last time I saw you.’

  ‘Yes, but my arse wasn’t up on a big screen then, darling. Trust me. It’s still huge. I’m seriously thinking about Botox.’

  ‘For your bottom?’

  ‘Sure. Best place for it – I don’t want one of those dead faces. I’m thinking of doing Bruno too; he’s been looking very weather-beaten lately. It’s probably all the time he spends outside with those bloody dogs.’

  ‘Won’t he mind?’

  ‘Not if we jab him while he’s asleep. Now, the birthday party. It’s this weekend, right? And I know we said we couldn’t make it, but it looks like we can now.’

  Bugger.

  ‘Oh, right, well, that’s brilliant.’

  ‘I’ll get Max to sor
t out a present, tell her what he wants, and we’ll see you tomorrow. It’ll be Lily’s first party. I can’t wait.’

  Double bugger.

  Maxine comes back on the line.

  ‘We thought four-thirty, if that’s OK?’

  ‘Lovely. You do know it’s only local kids and cake, and then a bonfire party with a few people from the shop though, don’t you? Nothing remotely glamorous. And it’ll be chaos.’

  ‘Sure. It’ll just be me and Bruno with her, and I shouldn’t think there’ll be much press.’

  ‘Press?’

  ‘We released the official photograph of Lily on Monday.’

  ‘I saw, she looked beautiful.’

  ‘So now we’re just being a normal mum, going to birthday parties with local friends, part of the local community. Yes? Not at all the superstar hiding her baby from the world.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’

  ‘So if there’s a few snappers at your gate, you’ll be OK with that?’

  ‘Sure, but the house is a bit of a tip.’

  ‘I’m sure it isn’t, and anyway Our Gracie has normal friends, not just people with big houses.’

  ‘Right, of course.’

  ‘Good. We’re not handling it, so they’ll probably only run a few pictures. Jimmy’s about to do his piece on how Grace has turned into a recluse and won’t let him see the baby. Not that he’s ever tried, of course. Bastard.’

  ‘How awful.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Ed’s got the lawyers on to it. Now, presents, what does Archie want?’

  ‘A dog, but if you bring him one I’ll kill you with my bare hands.’

  She laughs.

  ‘Something I can wrap up?’

  ‘Lego, anything from the Star Wars range, or the Knights, but small so Jack’s not too jealous, or paints and paper, that kind of thing. He loves painting.’

  ‘I’ll sort that now and we’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Lovely.’

  ‘And don’t worry about food. She won’t eat. Bruno will, if you let him. Actually, I can bring extra for Bruno; I’ll get Sam to bring some patisserie over, or jellies? He does great vodka jellies.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m not sure getting them drunk is going to help. But thanks for offering.’

  Christ. A Superheroes fancy-dress tea party, with bonfire, and God knows how many adults, and a megastar with snappers and her own pastry chef. So no pressure at all then. And now I’m late for knitting with Reception class.

  Excellent.

  Mr O’Brien is walking across the playground with a small boy when I get to school.

  ‘We’re just going for a walk. Stephen and I find it helps when we’re getting cross.’

  Stephen nods, with rigid little shoulders and clenched fists.

  ‘Stephen is one of my best boys. I shouldn’t really have favourites, but I have to admit I do. And Stephen is one of them.’ Mr O’Brien winks at me, and there’s a flicker of a smile on Stephen’s face.

  ‘Do go in, we won’t be long. Mrs Chambers is in the staff room, I think.’

  ‘Great.’

  I walk down the corridor looking at the wall displays.

  I’ve already done mini training sessions with most of the staff and lots of them already knew how to knit, which is a bonus, and they’ve all been really enthusiastic, apart from Miss King, who’s been at the school for centuries and isn’t keen on anything that involves staying after three-thirty. And Mrs Nelson, who’s a friend of Annabel’s so she doesn’t really count. Their husbands play golf together, and will bore you rigid about it if you stand too close to them at school barbecues. She’s only in part-time to do music, but it’s surprising how many children you can upset even if you’re only in two days a week; especially if their dads don’t play golf.

  The top class have already started their knitting project; recycling plastic carrier bags by cutting them into strips and then knitting them into mats and bags, and they’ve all done lovely notes for their project folders, writing about the Van Gogh Sunflowers jumper I brought back from Venice and coming up with alternative pictures they’d like to knit for sample squares. Mrs Chambers is going to start the squares with them today, I think, while I’m in with reception, so I’ve definitely drawn the short straw on that one.

  The staff room is full of boxes of wool alongside the usual piles of papers and half-drunk cups of coffee. Mrs Chambers wrote off to all the wool manufacturers, and I asked a few of the reps, and now we’ve got all the wool we could possibly need, and lots of sets of small plastic knitting needles in bright colours.

  She’s sorting through the wool and looking very chirpy.

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Please.’

  Mr O’Brien comes in, smiling.

  ‘He’s such a nice boy, that Stephen. He’s just been telling me the best way to deal with drunks. His dad drives the night buses in Margate and by all accounts it can get pretty nasty out there with fights and all sorts, but the crucial thing is to have a laugh with them. I must remember never to catch a night bus in Margate. I’m terrible in fights, I tend to faint.’

  Mrs Chambers giggles.

  ‘I do, and it’s a very good tactic. In my old school in London, if a particularly threatening parent arrived promising to sort me out, I’d go all dizzy and do my slow-motion crumple. It worked every time.’

  ‘I must remember that.’

  ‘Do, but I wouldn’t do it with the children. They tend to just climb all over you, particularly the smaller ones. Now then, Mrs Mackenzie, how’s Operation Knitting going? I’ve seen the recycling one, such a brilliant idea, and the project folders, fascinating – I never knew Egyptians invented knitting – and the photographs from the war that Mrs Chambers was showing me are wonderful. Are socks tricky to knit?’

  ‘They can be if you want heels. But scarves are easy.’

  ‘My grandmother was telling us at the weekend about knitting scarves for air crews in the war. She said the pilots had to have silk ones, though, because the only way you survived was if you kept turning your head looking for fighters, and wool used to rub their necks raw. Can you imagine? It must have been so terrifying. There was a base round here somewhere, I think.’

  ‘Yes, my gran remembers it too.’

  ‘We must look into that. It could link into history and geography. We could do maps, and a field trip. I liked all the ideas about textures too, string and raffia – so useful to key maths skills, how different materials make different widths. Anyway, well done on all the planning. I’ll give you one of my sweets for excellent work if you like.’

  ‘Mrs Chambers has done most of the work. But thank you.’

  ‘And I hear congratulations are in order. Another name for our registers on the way – marvellous. We’ll look forward to welcoming him or her into our reception class in due course.’ He’s beaming now, as is Mrs Chambers. ‘You must let us know if you need to take a rest or anything. Feel free to pop into my room if you need to. Or the staff room.’ He hands me a box of biscuits.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Yuk.’

  We both turn to Mrs Chambers, who’s looking through one of the knitting magazines I’ve brought in.

  ‘There’s an article here about how you can spin hair from your pets and knit it into hats.’

  ‘I know, I saw that too. Probably not one for us, though?’

  Mr O’Brien grins.

  ‘God no; not unless we want to get blamed for a lot of bald hamsters.’

  Mrs Chambers puts the magazine down.

  ‘True, and I don’t think Sooty would be that keen either. He’s our school cat, Jo. Well, he belongs to our school-keeper but he lets us stroke him. Sometimes. Although I’m sure that would change if we were trying to make Sooty hats.’

  ‘I’m sure it would.’

  Mr O’Brien sits down.

  ‘So tell me more about this new school banner. Won’t a picture of the school be quite difficult to knit?’

  ‘We’re only planning on everyon
e knitting a small shape, brown squares for the school building, white for the windows, different greens for the trees, that kind of thing. And then we’ll sew on little matchstick children.’

  ‘Like a woolly Lowry?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Well, I’d better get cracking then. If I can cope with rock climbing, I’m willing to give it a go.’

  ‘Rock climbing?’

  ‘On our school trip, with the leavers, last year. Absolutely appalling. But they loved it, and the centre were very good: they winched me back down when they realised I wasn’t joking, which the children enjoyed a great deal. In fact I think it was the highlight of the day for some of them. Anyway, let’s not dwell on that. How do I start?’

  Mrs Chambers hands him a pair of pink plastic needles.

  ‘Here you go, Jim. Jo will start you off. It’s ever so easy once you get going.’

  ‘Oh Lord, me and my big mouth.’

  By the time I’m heading down the corridor towards Mrs Tindall’s reception class Mr O’Brien has knitted a small green square, which I’ve promised to turn into some sort of bush for the banner, and he’s in his office with three rows of silver lurex on his needles. Mrs Pickering, everyone’s favourite dinner lady, is helping him with increasing so they can make a bell shape for the top of the clock tower.

  I’ve been into the hall and briefly seen Archie not eating his packed lunch, and had a beaker of water spilled over my feet, and a quick hug from Jack on his way back to his classroom, but I’m still not feeling anywhere near ready for reception.

  Mrs Tindall’s got her painting apron on, and a small boy holding on to her hem.

  ‘We’re just getting into our groups, Mrs Mackenzie. Michael, I think you can probably let go now, dear, and Trent Carter, we never run with paint pots. Walk slowly, there’s a good boy, or you’ll get paint everywhere, yes, just like that. Go and wash your hands, dear. Now then, let’s have fingers on lips, shall we?’

  The class seems to ignore her.

  ‘FINGERS ON LIPS, EVERYBODY.’

  Everyone clamps a finger, and in some cases a whole hand, over their mouth, including Trent Carter who now has an orange chin. The noise level reduces to muted scufflings.