Needles and Pearls (30 page)

The food has all worked beautifully, mainly because Mark arrived early and arranged rosemary twigs on the barbecue and did something clever to the chicken with olive oil and herbs. But the best bit is how relaxed it all is: everyone seems to be having fun, without me feeling like I’m in charge. People are sitting on blankets they’ve brought with them, chatting or wandering down for a paddle, or in Tina’s case trying to stop Travis from swimming off into the sunset.

Fireman Graham is helping with the barbecue too, and Maxine and Bruno have arrived with a beautifully wrapped bottle of Calèche, which is my favourite perfume, as Maxine cleverly winkled out of me ages ago, and Bruno’s sharing dog tips with Martin while Tom and Jerry and Trevor dash in and out of the sea with the kids. It’s perfect, and I can’t believe we’ve only been here a year, because it feels like we’ve lived her for ever.

I’m having a paddle when Maxine says she and Bruno have to get back to Grace.

‘But thanks, Jo. This was great.’

‘You’re welcome, and thanks so much for the perfume.’

‘No problem. I haven’t been to a beach party where people actually eat anything for years. It was great – nice normal people, really relaxing.’ She turns to smile at Ellen, who’s been busy trying to bond with her in the hopes of landing an exclusive with Grace. ‘Good to meet you again,
Ellen, and if she decides to do an interview you’ll be the first to know.’

‘Really?’

‘No.’

Ellen laughs.

‘Fair enough. But I promise I wouldn’t do a hatchet job.’

‘I know, and I’ll add you to the list, I promise. Jo, I’ll call you.’

She kisses me, and we walk up the steps with them and wave as they drive off, with Bruno tooting.

‘Nice woman. Always a good sign when the PAs aren’t desperate to tell you what bitches their bosses are. And Dovetail seemed to be getting on really well with Bruno.’

‘They like sharing dog tips, and stop calling him Dovetail. He doesn’t talk about wood nearly so much now.’

‘He does if he’s telling you all about his bloody barn conversion. What’s it like?’

‘Very muddy at the moment, but I think it’ll be beautiful.’

‘You should get a move on. I was watching him earlier – where did he get that tan?’

‘Working on his roof.’

‘Well, take him out, get him drunk, and see what happens. At least you won’t have to worry about getting pregnant.’

‘Ellen, please.’

‘Please what? Nice bit of flirting won’t do you any harm. I know, let’s dump the kids and go out clubbing. What are the choices round here?’

‘Bingo.’

‘Or?’

‘Going home and making hot chocolate.’

‘Dear God. I should have brought my slippers.’

‘You haven’t got any.’

‘I have. Mules. With feathers on. Harry bought them for me. One of his guilt presents after one of his disappearing acts. Let’s bring Dovetail home with us and play strip bingo then.’

‘Mum, tell Jack to stop bossing me. Boss, boss, boss. That’s all he does.’

‘Ignore him, love. You’re not spoiling his game, are you?’

‘No, me and Nelly are doing our own boat, in the sand. And it’s much better than his. Come and see.’

Ellen’s talking to Gran as I collect up the bowls from the barbecue. She looks very pleased with herself.

‘Right, that’s all sorted.’

‘What is?’

‘Your gran will take the boys home, and we can go off for a drink. I thought we’d head to a bar in Whitstable. There’s bound to be somewhere there.’

‘I suppose, but –’

‘It’s fine, the kids are fine. Shut up.’ She turns to Martin. ‘Do you fancy joining us?’

‘I’d love to, but I’ve got Trevor. I could ask Dad if he’ll take him home for me though.’

‘Great.’

Ellen winks at me.

Oh God. Poor Jeffrey.

Whitstable’s pretty busy when we arrive, at least the wine bars and restaurants are, but Ellen somehow manages to wangle us an outside table on a terrace overlooking the beach; being Britain’s Favourite Broadcaster definitely has its advantages.

She’s introducing Martin to a selection of her favourite cocktails while Harry tells me how much he wants to move out of London.

‘What are the prices like round here? Maybe we could get a weekend place, something with a view of the sea.’

‘It would set you back a fair bit in Whitstable, but there are still a few villages near by that are pretty reasonable.’

‘I’ve always wanted to live by the sea. What do you think, darling? Shall we buy a house down here?’

‘No, I’m trying to get Jo to move back to London, not the other way round.’

‘I’ve told you, Ellen, I like it down here.’

‘See? She’s not moving, so what do you say, light of my life? Fancy a weekend cottage?’ He starts kissing her shoulder.

‘No way.’

‘We could get something to do up, like Martin.’

‘Yes, except DIY isn’t exactly your strong point, is it, my darling? Unlike Martin, who knows what he’s doing.’

‘Well, we’ll get the experts in then, and I’ll have you know I sanded my uncle’s boat one summer, and that went all right. And we varnished it as well. It took bloody days.’

Martin puts his glass down.

‘What kind of wood was it?’

They’re off, talking about boats and special deck wax as Ellen shakes her head.

‘Let’s order something else.’

Ellen turns to look for the waitress as a woman comes over and stands staring at her, swaying slightly.

‘Are you that one off the telly?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

She goes back to her friends.

‘Bloody hell. I definitely need another drink now.’

The waitress comes over, and returns with something involving vodka in three tall glasses.

‘Are you sure you don’t want anything? Another juice?’

‘Actually, what I’d really like is tea, but I don’t suppose –’

‘Sure, no problem.’

Brilliant. I’m out on a Saturday night in my best frock, being a grown-up, and I can still have a cup of tea.

Ellen’s laughing.

‘Cheers, darling.’

‘Christ.’

‘What’s the matter, Martin? Is the vodka starting to hit home? Drink it slowly and you’ll be fine, darling – Aunty Ellen will take care of you.’

‘No, it’s Patricia.’

‘Who?’

‘My ex-wife. With Phil.’

Ellen and I exchange glances, and turn towards the doors on to the terrace. There’s a tall woman in a minuscule dress, with dark hair. I always thought she’d be blonde. She’s hesitating, looking for a table, and then she sees him, and so does Phil, in his casual shirt and jeans with slightly too high a waist.

Martin seems to be shrinking into his seat.

‘Oh no, she’s coming over.’

Ellen laughs.

‘Let me handle this, darling. Just follow my lead, OK?’

I give her a warning look. Which she ignores.

‘OK. Bandits at ten o’clock. This is going to be fun. Harry, put your arm around me.’

‘Why?’

‘For fuck’s sake, just do it. Christ, you really can’t get the help any more.’

He smiles and puts his arm across her shoulders as she moves her chair a bit nearer to his.

‘Just watch it, OK? I don’t want anything kicking off – I’m too knackered.’

She smiles.

Oh God.

‘Martin.’

‘Hello, Patricia.’

‘Fancy seeing you here.’

Ellen’s giving her a long hard look, the kind of look that would make most women want to rush home to change their outfits.

‘Aren’t you going to introduce us, darling?’

‘Sorry, this is Patricia, and Phil.’

Phil nods, looking uncomfortable.

‘Nice to meet you. Ellen Malone, and this is Harry. You’re the first wife, I take it?’

Patricia looks rather shaken.

‘I’ve seen you on the telly.’

‘Possibly. But I’m trying to keep a low profile tonight. People get so over-excited. I’m sure you understand.’

Patricia looks impressed, but is clearly trying to hide it as she turns to me, giving me a quick glance that suddenly stops at my stomach.

Ellen smiles.

‘I know, so exciting, isn’t it? And not long now, is it, Jo? We were just talking about it, actually, wondering if Martin will get the barn conversion finished in time.’

Patricia doesn’t look happy.

‘What barn?’ She looks furious as she turns to Martin. ‘Christ. You didn’t waste much time, did you?’

‘It’s –’

‘So lovely to have met you, Trish. And you, Phil. Have a lovely evening.’ Ellen gives them one of her Big Smiles, and then fixes Patricia with one of her killer you-are-now-dismissed looks.

‘Come on, Patsy. Just leave it, babes.’

But she can’t. She’s glaring at me, looking as hostile as you can in a skimpy shift dress and high-heeled sandals.

‘When’s it due?’

Suddenly I get a flash of inspiration, and reach across and take hold of Martin’s hand.

‘Not long now.’

She turns and walks back towards the doors, with Phil nodding at Martin before following her.

Martin can’t stop smiling.

‘Thanks so much, both of you – that was so brilliant. I know it’s petty, but the look on her face. God, it was so brilliant.’

‘Can I have my hand back now?’

‘What? Oh yes, sorry. It was just so great.’

He kisses me on the cheek.

‘Thanks, Jo.’

‘I don’t think she’s looking any more, Martin.’

‘I didn’t do it for her benefit.’

Ellen clinks her glass with Martin, and winks at me.

The drive home takes ages, mainly because I get lost. And Martin’s drunk so much vodka he’s barely coherent on the back seat next to Harry, who’s fast asleep.

‘Are you sure it’s down here?’

‘Yes. You turned left when I said right. Or it might be the other way round. Anyway it’s bound to be down here. Or not.’

‘Shut up, Martin.’

He laughs.

I finally find the barn, mainly by going back into Broadgate and then out again, so I don’t have to try to follow Martin’s daft directions.

‘Here we are.’

‘Who wants to see my barn?’

Harry wakes up.

‘I do, I want to see it.’

Ellen sighs.

‘Well, hurry up then … Christ, I hope that’s your bloody dog or we’re in big trouble.’

There’s a great deal of barking before Trevor appears and goes into a frenzy of jumping and tail-wagging, nearly knocking Martin over.

‘Night, Martin.’

‘Night, Ellen. We must do this again some time.’

‘What, completely piss off your ex-wife?’

He laughs.

‘No. Well, yes. But I meant a drink or something. I could make supper, when I’ve got a kitchen.’

‘Great. Fix it up with Jo, and we’ll be there.’

Harry walks up the path with Martin to see the barn, while Ellen and I wait in the car.

‘You should have gone in with him, fixed up a second date.’

‘Ellen, this was hardly a first date. And anyway I can’t be doing dates when I’m seven and a half months pregnant. It’s too … something – I don’t know what exactly, but there definitely isn’t a chapter on it in What to Expect When You’re Bloody Expecting.’

‘Well, there should be. Welcome to the real world. Pregnant by one man, out with another, and neither of them your husband. My baby girl has finally grown up. I’m so proud of you, darling.’

‘Piss off.’

‘I like him.’

‘So do I. But I’m so hormonal I can’t tell what’s really me and what’s not.’

‘Well, he’s definitely got potential, that’s all I’m saying. Don’t cross him off your list.’

‘What is it with you and lists?’

‘You’re a fine one to talk.’

I’m drifting off to sleep a few hours later feeling tired but happy; it’s been my best birthday in ages. Ever, really. Nick was always hopeless at presents. He got me a new ironing board one year, until Ellen found out and took him shopping. But this year has been completely different. The kids are happy, and I’ve got a fabulous new handbag and enough perfume to last me for years, and Ellen’s invented a new recipe for hot chocolate with vodka that she swears is going to make her a multimillionaire. So it’s been a top day all round really.

And seeing Martin vanquish the dreaded Patricia was pretty good too. And Ellen’s right, I do really like him. But I’m not going to get into a panic about any of that now. I’m not. I’m going to think about it tomorrow. Or in a few months’ time. Not now. I’ve got too many other things to worry about. Like how to head Gran off Operation Decorate before she goes into overdrive, and how I’m going to sort out the shop and get all the autumn stock in before the baby. My back’s starting to ache again, and the baby’s moving a lot tonight.

Actually, maybe I’d better make a list.

The boys are back at school, after a last-minute flurry of new school shoes and trousers, and things are feeling slightly calmer, thank God. Martin’s been busy working on some freelance job so he can afford his new kitchen, and we’re talking about fixing up supper with Ellen and Harry in a few weeks’ time; which Ellen is insisting on calling a double date, because she knows it gets me into a panic. I’ve decided heavily pregnant people don’t do dates, it’s unseemly, so I’m thinking of it as supper, and that’s fine.

Actually, I can’t believe how quickly time is passing; they’re even starting to talk about the Christmas play at school, and Archie’s landed himself the role of an aubergine, although thankfully not in the Nativity; I don’t think I could cope with Annabel’s smugness at wangling a better role for Harry, and let’s face it pretty much every part has got to be better than the aubergine. Each class is singing or acting out a poem, and Archie’s class are making giant papier-mâché models to wield on stage. Jack’s class are doing ‘Slinky Malinky’, which Archie’s already renamed ‘Stinky Maplinky’, and I’m supposed to be knitting him a black chenille
cat, which I could do without, but Mrs Chambers was so keen I didn’t really have the heart to say no.

‘Now, are you sure it’s all right? I can always re-book, you know.’

Elsie’s got an appointment at the chiropodist’s because her corns are playing her up.

‘No, you go, Elsie.’