The Woolly Hat Knitting Club

by Poppy Dolan

The group natter and nibble on, happily excited and unaware that I’m keeping watch, like a crafter’s CCTV. My legs are jiggling under the desk. Come on, come on…

  Then I see Stan get up and go to the double doors with a puzzled frown. Three men in black polo shirts have pushed their way through, pulling a large, shiny coffee cart behind them. Grab Your Beans is painted on the side. Stan is waving his arms in a friendly but firm fashion, until one of the men shows him a clipboard with an A4 printout, pointing at the names. Stan looks back to JP who shrugs and comes to join them. But as they’re talking the two other polo-shirted guys are nipping outside again and soon come back with stacked baker’s trays. The kind that could have buns or bread rolls lined up neatly within. But the kind that, I know, today has row upon row of sticky iced doughnuts in them.

  Now the whole knitathon team are forming a huddle around the cart, all looking at the printout. Save for Ben. He’s looking over JP’s shoulder, straight down the camera. At me.

  So Grab Your Beans are here. What about the massage team? Ah, here we go.

  Two lithe but strong-looking women in turquoise tunics come in next, footstools tucked under each arm. Now all we’re waiting for is the string quartet.

  JP’s blinking rapidly and shaking his head, pointing at the clipboard from the barista. He looks a little panicked. Oh, no, this isn’t what I had in mind. I thought he’d be smiling! Please say I haven’t read this all wrong, not again!

  But Ben takes JP by the shoulders and turns him so they’re face to face. He’s talking clearly and calmly, with half a smile. And as he finishes, he points at the live-feed camera. Here we go then.

  JP tucks the clipboard under his arm and marches over towards my spy cam. He’s chewing the inside of his lip, his face otherwise unreadable. He’s searching the coffee table for something and then shouts rapidly to the crowd behind him. One of the massage duo steps forward to hand him a biro. He flips the printout over and scrawls something on the back, holding it up to the camera.

  YOU’RE LATE, SIS. GET OVER HERE.

  * * *

  By the time I arrive, having waded through the eager crowd by the gates, the string quartet have pipped me to the post and have set up in one corner, playing jaunty ABBA covers and filling the room with a beautiful harmony. I pop my head round the corner of the gym doors. It’s a relief that my contributions towards the knitathon have gone down well but I’m still a bit nervous that the team are going to think I’m buying my way back in. Not that I bought these services, mind you – they were favours from old clients that I called in via the little weasel Clive. I knew he must have taken all my client contacts with him when he left – and he had. Well, if you’ve had no moral qualms over getting someone fired, why would you mind exporting their contact list? So part of his karma-sorting task list was to call them up, set the record straight about me and ask for a freebie for old times’ sake. Plus, great free PR. When I dob him in to his new boss next week, I will mention that he’s tried to put things right. But only briefly. I hope he gets canned in a heartbeat.

  So now we have all the caffeine, sugar, shoulder rubs and chilling tunes any speed knitter could ask for. I might have made a room full of crafters happy, but is it enough to make JP happy with me?

  I swallow what feels like a ball of angora in my throat. If Richard Curtis has taught me anything, it’s that a grand gesture can rescue even the biggest of berks. So I fish my GiganKnit project out of my shoulder bag. It’s only half finished, but it should serve its purpose.

  Holding the huge needle in front of me, the thick cream knitting like my own crafty version of a white flag, I walk into the hall, giving the flag a little wave as I do.

  ‘Stupid sister coming through!’ I call, hoping the giant wool will absorb the wobble in my voice.

  When I bring it down from in front of my face, I see JP looking back at me, and the backs of all the others awkwardly shuffling off to leave us to it.

  ‘Not technically stupid,’ he says, scratching his wrist. ‘Man, it feels good to do that.’

  ‘To scratch yourself or to forgive me?’ I ask.

  He sighs. ‘Both. Now, what poor granny did you mug to get this?’ He takes the half-knitted cream cushion cover from me and examines the needle as thick as a broom handle.

  ‘I did it,’ I say, a puff of pride straightening my shoulders out. ‘I was actually trying to finish it for today, for you. I’ve had a few sleepless nights recently, done a bit of soul-searching…’ My voice peters out into a squeak and I take a deep breath in order to carry on. ‘Turns out that knitting is pretty perfect for those times when your head is reeling and your hands need something to do other than crazy googling. You were right. I think my stocking stitch isn’t half bad.’

  JP appraises it and nods.

  ‘And I wanted to say that I get it now. Properly. I get what this whole shebang means to you. It’s not just a way to put money in the bank. It’s how you live your life, it’s your community. It’s what makes you happy. And I’ve realized that if something makes you happy, it makes me happy. So I want to be a real part of it.’ JP opens his mouth, a crease appearing above his eyebrows. ‘I don’t want to change it,’ I barrel on, ‘I want to preserve it. Like… the National Trust for Brothers.’

  He lets out his schoolboy laugh and I feel myself relax properly, for the first time in ages.

  Behind me, Mags and Patti are placing their orders with the baristas, but I know they are also massively earwigging.

  ‘Are you telling me you’d be actually, truly, “Chris Hemsworth on a motorbike” happy working at the shop with me, full time?’

  I scuff my trainers against the worn parquet floor. ‘I was thinking two days a week? And then I’m going to find another part-time role that speaks to the other skills I have. I don’t actually know what that looks like right now but I know what I don’t want – I don’t want to be consumed by my job anymore. I want it to be a part of me, not the whole enchilada. When my old work instincts kicked in with MCJ, I couldn’t see the wood for the trees. Now I want to keep what makes me really happy in the middle of everything. Work has to fit around that.’

  ‘Oh! Your mum will be so happy!’ Mags bursts out behind me. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t listening but…’

  ‘It’s fine, Mags. I’ll give Mum the full story on Skype tonight, promise. If you tell her about Stan,’ I whisper this last part.

  JP slings his arms around my neck. ‘I think the plan sounds cracking. And I’ve missed you, Dee, if truth be told. It’s not nearly as much fun without you. Or as well organized. Sorry for shutting you out.’ He leans his head against mine.

  ‘Speaking of organized,’ I check my watch. ‘We need to open those doors soon! Much as I love this wholesome vibe we’ve got going here.’ I poke him in the ribs. ‘If we’re going to take the knitathon nationwide next year, we really need to kick some woolly butt today.’

  ‘Nationwide?’ JP rubs his chin.

  ‘Well, only if you’re happy with that.’

  ‘A nationwide campaign,’ he mutters mostly to himself, ‘a coast-to-coast charity project…’

  Patti sidles up beside me. ‘I think he’s keen.’ She smiles which puts dimples into her pixie cheeks. ‘Macchiato, right?’

  I take the warm cardboard cup from her. ‘Thank you! Ready to knit like the wind?’

  ‘As I’ll ever be!’

  ‘Open the doors!’ I yell to no one in particular. ‘Unleash the crafting hordes!’

  Chapter 22

  ‘You’ve gone a bit wrong on your moss stitch, there.’

  Ben’s hand suddenly appears in my line of vision and touches on mine, then points to a spot on the cherry-red hat I’ve been trying to knit all day. Giant knitting is definitely my thing. Tiny, baby knitting is still too fiddly and slow for my fumbling fingers.

  ‘I wasn’t even doing moss stitch. Which one is that again?’

  Ben rolls his eyes and takes the needles from me firmly. ‘You knit one, yarn forward, purl one, yarn
back. And so on.’ After smoothly completing four stitches he hands the yarn over and then his face drops.

  ‘How do I suddenly know this?’

  ‘Ah, Beginner Ben! You’re all grown up! You’re graduating knit school.’

  Ben shoves me over so he can take a spot on the bench where I’ve been perched. The knitting frenzy has been going on for three solid hours now so most of the craft collective are starting to flag. Mags has gone round advising everyone to take a break, drink some fluids and wait for the pizza delivery currently en route. She’s our Florence Nightingale, applying handcream and tea top-ups to anyone with wool blindness. I catch Stan watching her talk to a gaggle of teens who each bought a carrier bag full of completed hats, and there’s almost a Ready Brek glow around his profile as he does so.

  It’s been amazing so far and the buzz is still really strong – bursts of natter followed by comfortable silences as the knitters get busy. Hats being finished and sewn up and pegged to the bunting. Hundreds of pounds being written up on the board. And – just as JP always dreamed – a real community coming together because we put out the call for help, and they answered. Like Ben – going above and beyond to help out.

  ‘If we could drop the Beginner Ben thing, I wouldn’t mind.’ He studiously avoids eye contact with some teen knitters giggling in his direction by the crash mats.

  ‘But then your fans would have to come up with a whole new group name. You know they call themselves the Benedicts, right? As in Ben-addicts, get it?’

  He hides his face in his hands. ‘You have a vision of yourself as you approach 32 – together, grounded, established. Being perved on by pre-teens, surrounded by mountains of wool, was not actually in my vision, funnily enough.’

  I put down my knitting, very happy to abandon it and its twiddly complications for now, and swig from my water bottle. ‘But JP so appreciates it. He really likes you being around and oddly enough you two are a great pair.’

  ‘But what about you?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Do you like me being around?’ Ben leans back slightly so he can take me in.

  I feel that funny tingle move up my neck again. ‘Um, yes. You’ve really helped with this project. And I’ve always got on with JP’s mates.’

  Ben blows out a lungful of air through his mouth. ‘Gah, Blackthorn! For someone with the sharpest mind I’ve ever come across, you can be an almighty tool. You think I’m here for JP? You think I learned to knit for JP?!’

  My palms go sweaty and I rub them against my jeans. ‘Er… well… he did teach you…’

  ‘I’m going to say this very care-ful-ly and slow-ly,’ Ben over-exaggerates each vowel, like I’m an OAP who’s forgotten which way is up. ‘I used to hang around your desk. I used to shadow your work. I came to see you. You. When you got fired and you seemed to hate me, I wanted to put that right. Because I like you. You, Blackthorn. You bloody idiot. I didn’t hang around for free pattern books and cups of tea. Or for your brother, though he is really cool. And I’m a bit fed up of being polite about the whole thing. Do you want to go out sometime, or not?’

  I don’t think anyone has been so angry with me while also asking me out.

  I nod, dumbstruck. Ben’s arms, Ben’s arms, a voice whispers. So my hands shoot out and they’re on his forearms. I just wanted to feel them, see if they were as solid as I’ve been imagining.

  Ben looks down at my hands gripping his arms, and then he leans in and kisses me.

  * * *

  I’m not sure how long we kiss for actually, it’s one of those world-spinning, colours-blurring moments where it could have been ten seconds or ten years, but a yelp of happiness finally pulls us apart.

  ‘Get in, girl!’ Becks calls from her armchair, grinning.

  Ben laughs. ‘Maybe, ah, another time?’ He nods towards three iPhones which are all pointed in our direction by 15-year-olds. One who looks like she might cry, actually.

  ‘Definitely. Definitely another time. Are you, um, free tonight?’ I can feel my heart thrumming in my chest.

  ‘Yes,’ he replies quickly. ‘As long as you mean for something other than knitting. So… yeah. See you later?’

  My lips still feel red hot and a little bit delicate. I press them together and nod happily.

  * * *

  Becks wastes about three seconds before hurrying over. Ben is now queuing up at the coffee cart, his back to us.

  ‘OK,’ she half-whispers. ‘Just pretend I’ve come over to show you the baby or something. But, oh my God.’ Her eyes go as wide as the doughnut she’s clutching in one hand. ‘Finally! I would hug you but then he’d know we’re talking about him. So?’

  I can still feel a tingle around my lips. ‘So?’

  ‘Don’t play coy with me, Blackthorn. You’re not that girl. Tell me. I am the mother of a small baby. I need to live vicariously! Did he ask you out? Or did you ask him? When? Where?’

  Chester seems oblivious to the coating of icing sugar he’s getting as Becks eats and talks at an incredible speed.

  I do my best to keep my expression level and not shoot a grin from ear to ear. ‘We’re going to go out tonight. He sort of asked me, but angrily. It was good, though.’

  Becks leans in closer. ‘It looked good, from where I was sitting.’ Her hiss of swallowed laughter makes Chester flinch a little but he quickly recovers.

  I clock all the eyes around the room who are sorry-not-sorry checking me out right now, probably hungry for more gossip about my Phoenix-like love life. JP is thankfully out of the room, I think on a stock run with Patti for more double knitting yarn. Mags and Stan look deep in conversation over a travel guide he’s holding: Cambodia and Vietnam.

  ‘Please tell me Mags didn’t see.’

  ‘I think you’re safe for now. And I won’t say a word. Mate’s honour. Not as long as you keep me fully informed. Any chance you could take that live-feed camera with you on your date?’

  ‘Perv! So… we are mates again, then? I mean, I want to say, I’m so sorry about that whole investor thing, what they tried to do. And for what I said in the cafe. It came out all wrong. I should have thought that it would upset you, someone trying to use him for profit. I promise you I don’t see Chester as anything other than the gorgeous miracle he is.’ I chuck him under his chin and come away with a small serving of drool.

  Becks rubs the sugar off his fuzzy head. ‘It’s OK. Hormones and zero sleep and a good helping of usual battiness didn’t exactly make me the most rational person that day. I blew up without giving you a chance to give your side of things. But with these back rubs and doughnuts I can safely say I know your heart is in the right place! Sucks that you couldn’t get some investment for JP, though.’

  I shake my head. ‘It wasn’t the right deal for him. There’s better out there. And I can find it, in good time. But right now I’m just focusing on getting myself happy, here at home. I might not have a big nest egg anymore, but at least I’ve got a nest.’

  ‘So you’re staying in Fenwild?’ Her eyes light up instantly.

  ‘Yes. I mean, I’ve got to stick around in case JP breaks anything else or does a public striptease again. And to plan Mags’s wedding by the look of it. And I’ve only just started to act like a proper best mate again. I’ve still got a lot of rusty friend skills to improve on.’

  ‘You’re getting there.’ She nudges me in the ribs.

  ‘Phew. Besides, when I do find a new job I can always commute. Can’t bear to miss one second of this chap. Can I?’

  ‘Oh, thank God, thought you’d never ask.’ Becks gently hands Chester over and he is a lovely, warm weight in my arms. ‘Now,’ she claps her hands together, ‘I’ve got seriously bad knitting to do!’

  Epilogue

  About a (Knitting) Boy

  Blog post

  26 October, 11.57 p.m.

  WE DID IT!

  Guys, I am too knackered to get on camera tonight, so I’m bashing out this post with my newly flexible fingers! Feels good to b
e digitally mobile again… And I even managed a gentle knit today. Back in the saddle. Oh, yeah.

  So, the knitathon. If you came: we love you. If you watched: we love you. If you donated or sent in hats or shared our message: we love you too. We have now knitted a total of 457 hats for premature babies in the South-East. RIGHT?! Incredible!!! Plus, we raised nearly £800 in sponsorship, which we’re sending to a special charity, Early Days. Our Knitting Baby Mamma, Becks, phoned our contact at the charity and she had to repeat the numbers because the lady couldn’t quite believe it. We all had a bit of a cry, I’m not too manly to say. This, people, is the power of communities, and craft. Awesome.

  If you couldn’t make it, keep your eyes peeled for this time next year. We might be coming to a town near you…

  And a bit of a downer to share: Beginner Ben wants me to tell you all he’s retiring from the vlog life. I think I might be able to sneak him into a few vids but right now he’s adamant that if I don’t need a knitting stunt double then he’s OK to step back. We shall see. He’s actually going out with my sister now, so that plus giving up knitting? I think he might need some medication. (Dee: I’m kidding. Mum: sorry if I have spoiled this news for you. Oooops. Ben: better not hurt my sis, ya hear?!)

  So now my arms are mine again, I can’t wait to get back to proper vlogging and seeing you guys in the shop again. Bring me your lacework nightmares: I’m here to help.

  And never hang bunting alone.

  JP x

  * * *

  From: Guy at TechBank

  To: Dee.Blackthorn@yahoo.co.uk

  Subject: Re: Charitable partnership opportunity

  Dear Delilah,

  Thanks so much for the pictures of your charity event and details of its social media reach. Looked like great fun all round! And what a very worthy cause, indeed. You’re exactly right that we have been looking to get involved with a UK charity. And to be honest, we’ve missed your work since you left your former role. It was a complete surprise to us, and we registered our shock and frustration with Devon and the board. Though from his out-of-office bounce-back, I gather he’s not currently in the office at this time. Our contract with them is soon to expire and between us, we’re looking elsewhere.