Needles and Pearls (2 page)

‘You could always wear your bobble hat.’

‘So they look like they’re off to Ascot and I look like a tramp?’

‘Just wear what you feel comfortable in.’

‘You don’t think turning up in my pyjamas will look a bit odd?’

‘Not if you top it off with a woolly hat; very bohemian and deconstructed: Bjork, with a hint of grieving widow. What about your black trousers, the ones you wear with your boots?’

‘I’ve already tried them, but I can only get the zip done up if I lie on the floor. I think they must have shrunk.’

‘Shrunk?’

‘I think I may have been overdoing it slightly on the biscuits when I’m in the shop. And it’s bound to rain. Do you remember how much it rained at the funeral? I thought the Vicar was going to fall in at one point, or Archie, and Christ knows how much therapy you’d need after falling headfirst into your dad’s grave. Quite a lot, is my guess.’

‘The bastards would probably make you sign a direct-debit form before they let you in the door.’

‘Do you think I should take flowers? The boys have written letters and drawn some pictures.’

‘Sweet.’

‘They spent hours on them. Jack’s done one of the new house, to show him where we’re living now, and Archie’s done one of Trevor, and a boat. But I haven’t got anything to take.’

‘Darling, you should have reminded me. Look, I can drive down. What time are you leaving?’

‘No, it’s fine, I’m just fussing, Flowers will be fine. I’ll get some at Sainsbury’s on the way, and you have a lovely day celebrating with Harry. I’ll call you when I’m back.’

‘Sure?’

‘Definitely.’

‘But?’

‘Nothing. It’s just I feel such a fraud. I should be the grieving widow, but I’m still so furious with him. I thought I’d be into the acceptance thing by now, or maybe even forgiveness, but I’m not. I mean I forgive him about the affair. It’s weird, but I’m really past that. Maybe my mini-moment in Venice with Daniel helped me with that one, sort of put everything into perspective, and stopped me feeling like a total reject.’

‘I’m sure it did, darling.’

‘But I still can’t forgive him for planning to leave the boys. I’m nowhere near closure on that one. Nowhere near.’

‘Of course you’re not. Why would you be? Christ, he finally gets promoted and you think you’re off to a new life as the Wife of the Foreign Correspondent, but it turns out he’s having an affair and wants a divorce, and the night he tells you he manages to kill himself in a car crash. Why would you have closure on something like that? It’ll take years.’

‘Thanks, that’s very encouraging.’

‘Darling, you’re doing great, fantastic, actually. Instead of going under you’ve got on with it, with all the debts and the second bloody mortgage he didn’t even bother to tell you about. You’ve sold up and moved to the back of bloody beyond so you can work in your gran’s wool shop, and before you say it, yes, I know it’s your shop now, and you’ve made a brilliant job of it and you’re new best friends with the Diva and everything. Official knitting coach to Amazing
Grace, but still. I’d be fucking furious with him. In fact it’s a good job he crashed that car because I’d have killed him myself if I’d got my hands on him. Bastard.’

That’s one of the best things about Ellen: she’s so brilliantly partisan. She never sees both sides of the argument, or tells you to calm down and think about it from someone else’s point of view. And she was so great last year, with the funeral and everything. Christ knows how I’d have got through it without her.

‘I know, Ellen, but it was partly my fault, you know.’

‘Oh please, not the guilt-trip thing again. How could it possibly have been your fault?’

‘I should have known, about the money. I should have worked it out. And if I’d been less wrapped up in the boys maybe I would have noticed how bored he was getting. When I think about it I could see he was unravelling, but I tried to ignore it. He got so furious when I tried to talk to him about it, so I left it.’

‘And I suppose it was your fault he was shagging the teenage UN worker, was it?’

‘She was twenty-six, Ellen.’

‘Twenty-six, sixteen, makes no difference, just better clothes. Now pull yourself together, darling. He fucked up, big time. And it wasn’t your fault, but you’re left picking up the pieces. It’s bollocks whichever way you look at it.’

‘I suppose so. Although I love living here now.’

‘I know you do, Pollyanna. You’ve always been good at seeing the bright side … what’s that lemon thing again?’

‘If life deals you lemons you just make lemonade.’

‘Christ.’

We both start to giggle.

‘What a load of rubbish – it sounds just like something
your Diva would say, like her line about how people can only turn you over if you let them; it’s all in your karma.’

‘Yes, but I think there’s some truth in that, you know.’

‘Oh definitely. It’s very good karma if you’re incredibly rich and freakishly thin and your last three movies were hits. Not quite so easy if you’re working in Burger King and the onion rings have just got flame-grilled into oblivion.’

‘True.’

‘How is our Amazing Grace, by the way? Is motherhood suiting her?’

‘Very much, last time I saw her. And she’s looking even more fabulous than before she had the baby, sort of glowing. I know it sounds like rubbish but she really is. And the baby’s gorgeous. I’m doing a new-baby window-display for the shop; I’ve been knitting baby things for days now. It’s been a bit weird – it reminds me of knitting when I was pregnant with Archie, which hasn’t exactly helped.’

‘You’ll be fine today – you’ll see. Now are you sure you don’t want me to come down?’

‘Sure. You’re right. It’ll be fine, and at least there’s been some good news today.’

‘What?’

‘My best friend’s getting married, and I’ll be in peach Vera Wang with gloves and a bobble hat.’

‘Call me when you get home, promise?’

‘Yes.’

‘And if Elizabeth gets too annoying, just hit her. Pretend you’ve gone into widow hysterics and deck the old bag. You’ll feel so much better, trust me.’

‘I must just try that.’

‘Hurrah. God, I really wish I was coming down now.’

*   *   *

They’re just getting back from church when we arrive, and Elizabeth is having a light bicker in the kitchen with Fiona about how long the joint needs to rest before Gerald can start carving. It’s still pouring with rain, which doesn’t bode well for our graveside moment after lunch, and Gerald hands me a rather epic sherry; for some reason best known to himself he seems to think I’m likely to start kicking up if I don’t have a full glass in my hand at all times, possibly because Nick’s usual tactic for getting through a Sunday lunch with his parents was to get completely plastered. Which is a perfectly sensible plan if you’re not the person who has to drive home, and keep two small boys amused in a house full of china figurines and very pale carpet. Christ, this is going to be a long afternoon.

Fiona, wearing her floral pinny, has found a documentary about chimpanzees for the children to watch, and she settles them on the sofa for a quiet ten minutes before lunch.

‘Now not too loud, girls, because Daddy’s reading his paper.’

I feel like I’ve been catapulted back in time into the middle of a 1950s Bisto commercial.

Lottie and Beth look rather anxiously towards James, who’s knocking back the whisky while he reads the papers and makes Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells noises whenever he comes across anything he doesn’t approve of.

‘Are there any cartoons?’ Archie’s doing his Best Smile.

‘No, Archie, but I’m sure you’ll find it interesting. We love wildlife programmes, don’t we, girls?’

Lottie and Beth nod, although Lottie doesn’t look particularly enthusiastic.

‘I do try to ration cartoons, don’t you, Jo? Some of them are so violent, aren’t they? Awful. Now I must pop into the kitchen and see if Elizabeth needs a hand.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’

She gives me the kind of look you’d give a teenager who’s just offered to re-wire your house. My domestic skills have always been awarded nil points by Fiona and Elizabeth; I just don’t think I pipe enough rosettes on things to meet their exacting standards.

‘It’s all under control. You just sit and have a rest after your drive.’

James makes a choking noise, and reads us a few lines from his paper about a woman who’s suing her bosses for millions for harassment.

‘Just because they took a client to a club where she didn’t feel comfortable. Dear God, what is this country coming to?’

James is in middle management in financial services, and slightly to the right of Attila the Hun.

Fiona tries a little laugh, which sounds rather nervous and high-pitched.

‘Now, darling, don’t let’s get started on politics.’

Oh dear. I just can’t resist.

‘What sort of club was it, James?’

He looks at the paper, and reddens slightly.

‘Some sort of dancing one.’

‘Lap dancing, by any chance?’

‘Possibly, but for heaven’s sake, horses for courses and all that. Nothing to go to the lawyer’s about – it’s only a bit of fun.’

‘So if all your bosses were women, and they took you to a club where the boys were dancing about in leather trousers, with a finale that involved lots of baby oil, you wouldn’t mind?’

Fiona’s gone rather pale, and tries another little laugh.

James gives her an irritable look.

‘I think women should realise that it’s a big tough world
out there, and we all have to do things we don’t particularly enjoy. I had to take a load of Japanese clients to dinner a few weeks ago, sitting cross-legged on the floor for hours, but you don’t see me suing anybody.’

‘And he had terrible trouble with his knees the next day, didn’t you, darling?’

He turns to glare at her, as Archie wanders over for a cuddle.

‘What’s lap dancing, Mum?’

‘A rather sad sort of dancing, love.’

‘Do they do it at discos?’

‘Not really.’

‘We have discos at our school.’

‘I know, love.’

Please don’t let him ask me for lap-dancing tips. I’m not really sure it’s what the PTA had in mind.

‘I can do all sorts of dancing. Sometimes I go round and round until I get dizzy.’

‘I know. But don’t show us now, all right? You might break something.’

He giggles and Fiona looks relieved to be back on safe territory.

‘I meant to tell you, Jo. The girls are doing so well at their ballet classes, Beth was chosen to do one of the solos in the last concert, actually, weren’t you, darling?’

Beth simpers and nods.

Lottie rolls her eyes.

‘And I was a toadstool.’

‘Were you? That sounds like fun.’

She grins.

‘I’ll show you, if you like, Aunty Jo, but you’ll have to take your boots off.’

Fiona doesn’t seem keen.

‘Not now, darling. Lunch is nearly ready.’

Archie sighs.

‘I’d like to be a toadstool. Can you show me too?’

Beth makes a sniggering noise.

‘Toadstools are only for people who aren’t very good at ballet. I was a deer. I can show you, if you like, Jack.’

Jack looks rather panicked.

‘A what?’

‘A deer. Like in
Bambi.’

Archie’s delighted.

‘Yes. And then we can shoot him.’

After a last-minute crisis with the Yorkshires, which seem perfectly fine to me but apparently haven’t risen properly, Elizabeth calls us in to lunch, looking rather tense. Gerald’s swaying slightly as he carves the joint: perhaps that second sherry wasn’t such a good idea after all.

‘Would you like horseradish, Jo?’

‘Thank you.’

Elizabeth passes me a small china jug.

‘I do think proper horseradish is so much nicer than those terrible jars, don’t you? Fiona made this. It’s one of our WI recipes.’

‘Lovely.’

Fiona smiles.

‘It’s ever so easy really.’

‘I don’t like horseradished.’

Jack’s looking rather anxious; he’s already had two Brussels sprouts launched on to his plate against his will.

‘You don’t have to have any if you don’t want it. Just eat up your lovely carrots. And try a sprout, love; you might like them now. But if not, just leave them, OK? Nobody will mind as long as you try a mouthful.’

Actually, Elizabeth will mind, since she’s definitely from the You Have To Eat Whatever Is Put On Your Plate school of thought, but I don’t really go in for force-feeding children, not least because it’s totally counter-productive.

‘Christ almighty.’

We all turn to look at James, who’s started coughing.

‘Horseradish. Bit strong.’

His eyes are watering.

We all taste our horseradish, and then wish we hadn’t. Bloody hell, the tip of my tongue’s gone completely numb.

Fiona’s looking totally stricken.

‘I’m sure I followed the recipe.’

Gerald coughs and pours himself some more wine.

Time to change the subject, I think.

‘The beef is delicious, Elizabeth. Archie, don’t lean back on your chair like that, or you’ll tip over.’

‘No, I won’t.’

‘Archie.’

‘I never tip over. Jake Palmer fell right off his chair at school when we were having our lunch, and he spilled his water. But I never do.’

‘Archie, just sit properly, please. Do you want your meat cut up?’

He gives me an outraged look.

‘No, I do not. I’m not a baby.’

‘Well, eat properly then, please.’

Elizabeth smiles at him encouragingly.

‘There’s jelly and ice cream for boys who eat up all their lunch. Nice clean plates, that’s what Granny likes to see.’

I think she’s trying to be helpful.

Archie looks at her.

‘And girls too?’

‘Sorry, dear?’

‘And Beth and Lottie can have ice cream, if they eat up?’

‘Yes, dear.’

He looks at his plate.

‘And can you just have ice cream, if you don’t eat all of it?’

Gerald laughs.

‘Good point, my boy, excellent. Negotiate, that’s the thing. Now then, who’s for more wine?’

‘Nicholas loved jelly and ice cream when he was little. It was his favourite pudding.’ Elizabeth is looking tearful now, and I don’t think it’s just the horseradish.