Needles and Pearls (13 page)

‘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.

‘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.