Needles and Pearls (9 page)

‘Or be popping round every five minutes with a hotpot.’

He laughs.

‘There is that too. I know she’ll fuss, and I hate it when she fusses. She comes over so bossy but she’s as soft as anything underneath, you know, she really is. But she worries. And then she gets bossy, and I want to kill her. Which isn’t good.’

‘Of course I’ll help, if I can. How bad is this barn? Has it got electricity?’

‘Oh yes, all mod cons. Well, not gas, but there’s water. Quite a lot of water, actually. Mostly in puddles all over the floor.’

Elsie’s going to throw a fit.

‘But there’s a tap, and a loo?’

‘Not exactly.’

She’s going to freak out. Big time.

‘So it’ll be more like camping then, for a while?’

‘Yup. I knew being marched along to Scouts every week
would come in handy one day. I can toast marshmallows round the fire while I try to work out how to stop the whole place falling down.’

Four napkins later I know exactly where he’s going to put the new biodegradable cesspit, because the barn’s not on mains drainage, and where the solar panels will go, and the woodburner, and how beautiful the old beams will be once he’s cleaned them, apart from the rotten ones, which he’ll replace with some green oak he’s been saving. And why ash is such a great wood, and what design he’s going to use on his chair legs.

Connie brings the coffee over and he shows her his drawings too, and then he starts telling me about yew, and how pliable it is, which is why they used to make longbows from it, which requires another napkin for illustrations.

He’s telling me about the two-hundred-year-old yew tree in the churchyard, which apparently is practically a teenager in yew terms, as we walk back to the house.

‘There’s one in Ireland that’s over a thousand years old. I’ve only seen pictures, but I’d like to get over there to see it. Not that I’m obsessed or anything. I wouldn’t want you to think I was like a train spotter. I haven’t been boring you, have I?’

‘Not at all.’

Actually, this is strangely true; not that I knew I wanted to know quite so much about Wood, but he’s so passionate about it I’ve really enjoyed listening to him.

‘Thanks again for the meal, although I still think we should have gone halves with the bill.’

‘It was my treat, Martin, to say thank you.’

‘Well, let me know if you need any more shelves. I’d be more than happy. I like having a project on the go.’

‘It sounds like the barn might be keeping you busy.’

‘If I get it, yes. But that’s a big if.’

‘I’ve been thinking about some more shelves downstairs by the shop door, if you’re sure, but only if you’ll let me pay you this time, especially if you’re going into business. You can give me a proper quote. Would that work?’

‘That would be great. You can be my first official customer. But I enjoyed doing the last lot, I really did. It took my mind off things. Divorce can be a tricky old business.’

‘I was so sorry when I heard, Martin. It must have been very difficult for you.’

‘Me too … I mean about your husband. Not that it’s the same.’

There’s a silence.

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine, Martin. In some ways I think it was probably easier: when something like that happens you get lots of sympathy but with a divorce everyone takes sides. And it’s not always that simple, is it?’

‘No. It was a bit humiliating at first, what with him being my boss and everything. But now, to be honest, it’s all a huge relief. We should never have got married; I was never the right sort of husband for her. I’m too fond of wandering off to my workshop and she really hated all that – she wanted everything chrome and glass. We had to have a glass dining-room table you know. God, I hated it. It was mainly my fault. She was so keen to get married, and I wanted to leave home and get away from Mum, get my own place, so I let myself get rushed into it. Anyway, I’m sure she’s much happier now.’

‘And what about you?’

‘Me? Oh a hundred times. A thousand, if I can get my offer in on the barn before anyone else spots it. I’ve already
talked to the agent, and I’m trying to sort out a mortgage. I just hope nobody beats me to it.’

‘Well, I’ll cross my fingers for you.’

He seems very pleased with this, and starts whistling, just as we turn into our road, which unfortunately attracts the attention of Trevor, who’s bringing Mr Pallfrey home after their evening promenade. There’s a brief tangle of dog leads and legs, and lots of hand-licking, and Mr Pallfrey tells us about his latest plans for the Seaside in Bloom competition as we reach my gate, and there’s an awkward pause while Mr Pallfrey wrestles with Trevor, who seems intent on nipping into my garden to see if he can wake the boys up.

‘Goodnight then, dear. Come on, Trevor my lad, let’s get you indoors – it’s getting a bit parky.’

‘Night, Mr Pallfrey.’

Martin is hesitating by the gate.

‘Thanks again for supper, Jo. I’ll try to get into the shop tomorrow to measure up, shall I?’

‘That would be great.’

‘Night then.’

‘Night.’

He leans forward to kiss me goodnight; I think he’s going for a peck on the cheek but he ends up kissing my ear. It’s quite nice, actually, but he’s mortified.

‘Oh God, sorry. I’m a bit out of practice. Sorry.’

‘It’s fine, Martin. It was quite nice.’

Even though it’s dark I can see he’s blushing.

‘So I’ll see you tomorrow then, at the shop?’

‘Great. And I’ll keep my fingers crossed for the barn.’

I turn to kiss him goodnight, but while I’m aiming for something light and friendly it all goes a bit mouth-to-mouth. Christ, I’ve done it again.

‘Crikey.’

His voice has gone all gruff.

‘Sorry, Martin. Maybe we should practise on mirrors.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Didn’t you do that, practise kissing on the bathroom mirror?’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’

‘Sounds like fun, though.’

‘You feel like a bit of a twit, actually.’

He laughs.

‘We must do this again sometime, supper I mean. We must have supper, or lunch. Or tea. No, not tea. Sorry. Supper. We must have supper.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘Would you? Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘Crikey.’

‘I’ll look forward to it. Only, there is one thing.’

‘Yes. I know. I’ll give the mirror thing a go if you think it will help.’

‘Actually, I meant your mother.’

‘Oh, right. Well, just ignore that. I really don’t care.’

‘That might be because you don’t have to work in a shop with her all day.’

‘Point taken. Righty-ho, let’s keep this secret squirrel, shall we?’

‘Secret squirrel?’

‘Yes. Low-profile, for now, don’t you think? No need for her to be going into one.’

‘Absolutely.’

Secret-squirrel suppers, with potential kissing practice. Who’d have guessed? I’m so pleased I could skip.

‘Night, Jo.’

‘Night, Martin.’

He hesitates, and then very slowly and deliberately kisses me on the cheek before he walks back up the road, whistling.

Crikey.

Gran’s got the front door open before I’m halfway up the path.

‘I thought you might ask him in. I’ve had a little tidy-up in the living room, just in case. Not that I meant any funny business, only I thought you might want a coffee or something.’

‘Funny business?’

She goes pink.

‘You know what I mean, nice-looking man like him. Nobody would blame you if you wanted a little fling, you know, pet. Only natural, after all.’

Dear God. Now my gran’s telling me to go for it.

‘Gran, it’s very early days, and it was only supper. I’ve got quite enough on my plate without starting on flings.’

She smiles.

‘You’re a good girl, but there’s no harm in having a bit of fun, you know.’

‘I’m having lots of fun, Gran.’

‘Are you, dear? Well, that’s all right then. Life’s too short, that’s what I say. Now then, I’ll just ring Reg and he’ll be here in five minutes. He’s watching snooker tonight. Boring game if you ask me, but he seems to like it. Now where did I put my glasses?’

I ring Ellen for a debrief as soon as Reg has collected Gran.

‘God, what will his mother say?’

‘I’d rather not think about it. I didn’t do it on purpose, Ellen. Still, it’s rather nice.’

‘Rather nice? For Christ’s sake, darling, it’s fucking brilliant. Exactly what you need, a man who’s good with his hands.’

‘Well, let’s see how it goes – I’m not going to rush into anything. And neither is he. Which is perfect.’

‘I love a man who knows how to take his time.’

‘Stop it.’

‘When are you seeing him again?’

‘Tomorrow at some point, in the shop. He’s coming to measure up.’

She makes a rude noise.

‘Try not to snog him in front of his mother, darling, or she’ll probably stab you with a knitting needle.’

‘I know. Actually, we’ve already agreed to keep a low profile on that front.’

‘Sounds like a plan. So you’re still on for tomorrow night then?’

‘Of course.’

‘Sure? No Saturday-night plans with Dovetail?’

‘No. And stop calling him that.’

‘Well, if you change your mind, ask him round and we can all play strip poker. That always sorts the men from the boys. And Harry’s great at male bonding. He’ll home in on any secrets.’

‘I don’t think Martin has secrets, Ellen.’

‘Well, he has now.’

I’m driving to Sainsbury’s on Saturday morning to stock up on food for the weekend while Gran keeps an eye on the boys at home. I’m trying to decide on roast chicken or lamb for tonight’s supper with Ellen and Harry, scribbling on my list every time I get to traffic lights, and a woman comes on
the radio and starts talking about her husband who died last year, in a car crash that sounds weirdly similar to Nick’s. There’s something about the way she’s talking, very quietly, and with fairly long pauses like she’s completely exhausted, that really gets to me, and suddenly I’m crying. And I can’t seem to stop. I’m in the car park at Sainsbury’s, sobbing, and I can’t stop. Bloody hell, this is getting ridiculous. And it doesn’t feel like this is really about Nick at all; it’s more like something else, like when I was pregnant with Archie and I kept bursting into tears all the time for no reason. And there’s no way I can be pregnant, so it can’t be that. Unless. Oh. My. God.

Oh. My. God.

My hands are shaking now. Bloody hell. I can’t be. I’m just panicking. It must be some kind of hormonal echo because I’ve been seeing Lily over the past few weeks. It must be some sort of newborn bounce-back. I can’t be pregnant – it’s too ridiculous. I’ll go in and get a test, and it’ll be fine. I’ll get a trolleyful of shopping and do the test and it’ll be negative. And everything will be fine. No surprises from a Christmas moment in Venice, definitely. Christ.

I’m sitting in a Formica cubicle in the loo in Sainsbury’s, looking at a plastic stick, and even though I know it’s going to be negative, I’m still feeling like I’m dangling off a bit of rope from a very tall building, and I daren’t look down. Or up. It’s exactly the same make of test that I bought when I was pregnant with Archie. Only last time it was positive, and this time it’s going to be negative and I’ll feel like a total fool. Actually, I’m going to feel like a total fool whatever the result. Jesus. I’m holding my breath, which probably isn’t a very good idea since I really don’t want to be discovered by the Customer Services team passed out on the floor still
clutching my plastic wand. Maybe I should try breathing into a paper bag or something. But I’ve only got a carrier bag and I’m not sure that would have quite the same effect.

There’s a blue cross in the window.

Fuck. It’s positive. I read the leaflet again.

Fuck.

I call Ellen.

‘What’s the matter? You sound really weird. Where are you?’

‘In the loos in Sainsbury’s. And I need to see you.’

‘Sorry, what did you say? I can’t hear you properly.’

‘Ellen.’

‘Yes?’

‘I need to see you.’

‘I’ll be there by five, darling. What’s the matter?’

‘I think I might be pregnant.’

‘What?’

‘Venice.’

‘Fucking hell.’

‘I know.’

There’s a silence.

‘Have you done a test?’

‘Yes.’

There’s another silence.

‘So it wasn’t the custard creams then.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Why you can’t fit into your jeans.’

‘Apparently not.’

‘Fucking hell.’

Oh God, I’m crying again.

‘Sweetheart, please don’t cry. Look, I’ll come down early; we’ll be there as soon as possible, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘God, darling, just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water. I can’t believe it.’

‘I know.’

‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

By the time I’ve got back home and unpacked the shopping I’m due at the shop. Gran’s taken the boys for a walk on the beach with Reg, and Trevor, and I’ve almost managed to calm down, mainly by trying not to think about it.

I’m sorting through the mohair and silks, and trying to pretend everything’s normal when Martin arrives, and starts trailing a tape measure about, whistling.