Divas Don't Knit (27 page)

I’ve made a start on the packing for Venice so there are piles of clothes all over the spare bed, and Mum keeps texting me lists of extra things she’d like me to bring over, which is Vin’s fault because he should never have taught her how to text in the first place. But at least he realises what an epic mistake he’s made, because she’s currently got him on a mission to find Gentleman’s Relish, and some special kind of crackers which come in a pale yellow box, only she can’t remember the name,
which given that he’s still on a boat somewhere off the coast of Australia might be something of a challenge.

I’m in the shop doing a quick stock check with Elsie, before I go to the supermarket to try to find Dad’s favourite brand of marmalade, which mum thinks is called Extra Chunky Orange, only she’s not sure, when the door opens and Annabel Morgan walks in, with Gina Preston, who’s secretary of the PTA and always wears her hair up in a bun. They look around and smile at each other, in a superior kind of way, which has Elsie bristling before they’ve even put their bags down.

‘Such lovely colours, and your window display is so sweet.’

I think Annabel’s probably being sarcastic. I’ve got to admit I’ve gone rather overboard with the Christmas window, what with Elsie’s knitted Christmas tree, and the Nativity scene and the knitted Advent calendar, surrounded by cotton wool and swathes of net and Lurex, which all took ages to arrange, with the boys helping me by sprinkling large amounts of glitter everywhere, including inside my handbag. But the new fairy lights are lovely, and we’ve sold stacks of wool to people wanting to make their own Advent calendars, so I don’t really care what snooty people like Annabel think.

She gets a notebook out of her bag and writes something down; Dreadful Lack of Taste, probably. I bet she’s got everything beautifully colour co-ordinated at her house.

‘Mrs Chambers was telling us all about your little knitting project at the planning meeting last night, and I must say it sounds very ambitious.’

She smiles, but it’s not a very friendly smile.

‘I was rather wondering, though, and I do hope you don’t mind my asking, but do you have any formal training? We know you run your little group here, of course, but it’s not quite the same thing is it?’

She’s giving me a very determined look, and Gina Preston takes a step backwards.

‘I think I’ll just be helping out.’

‘Mrs Chambers said you’d be forming a working group to establish a programme for the whole school. As chair of the PTA, that does of course come under my remit. You’ll be meeting in the New Year, I take it? Do you have a date fixed?’ She opens her diary.

Oh God.

‘Not yet.’

‘Well, do feel free to call on me, because I am rather experienced with this kind of thing, and proper presentation is so important when it concerns the education of our children, don’t you agree?’

Gina’s nodding so vigorously I think her bun might fall down.

Elsie stands a bit closer to me behind the counter.

‘I’m sure Jo will manage. She used to be a top news producer on the television, you know, so I think she probably picked up a trick or two on paperwork and suchlike, don’t you?’

Top news producer? I must have missed that bit. I remember the frantic news producer running up and down corridors clutching bits of tape, but I think the top bit must have happened while I was in the canteen with Ellen.

Annabel’s clearly Not Happy. Very Not Happy as Archie would say.

‘Well, do let me know if you need any advice, because we must keep our standards as high as possible, and I’m always happy to help.’

In other words, she’s always happy to take the credit for other people’s ideas.

‘Now, there was one other little thing. I gather Grace Harrison shops here?’

Elsie seizes on her new Specialist Subject.

‘Would you like to see the pieces from the newspaper, I’ve got them in my bag?’

Annabel smiles. ‘No, thank you. My cleaning lady showed them to me.’

Elsie stiffens.

‘Does Miss Harrison come to your knitting group?’

‘She doesn’t really come into the shop.’

Annabel exchanges a triumphant glance with Gina.

‘No, I thought perhaps she didn’t.’

Elsie folds her arms.

‘No, Jo goes to her house, on a regular basis, for private consultations.’

There’s a small intake of breath from Annabel, and a distinct gleam in her eye as she turns to me.

‘And I suppose the house is absolutely gorgeous? Is the furniture very modern?’

I think I’m meant to deliver top details which she can trade on at her dinner parties, but luckily Elsie seems happy to continue in her new role as my official spokeswoman.

‘I’m afraid we can’t talk about it, because of confidentiality you know. We do have to protect the privacy of our celebrity customers – I’m sure you understand. Now, can I help you with anything? Only we are quite busy this morning.’

Blimey. Elsie’s smiling, and there’s a small silence, until Annabel says she’s written to Grace to ask her to open our Spring Fair, but she’s had a reply from some woman saying Grace can’t be available on that day, so if I could just mention it that would be excellent, and I nod vaguely and there’s an awkward silence until Gina rallies and says she’s thinking of making a cardigan for her daughter, Fleur.

‘Do you have any hundred per cent cotton?’

I show her where the cottons are. Fleur’s in the same class as Archie, and Horrible Harry, who’s recently taken up Nipping, but only when he thinks the teacher isn’t looking, although luckily he’s still giving Archie and Nelly a wide
berth so I’m hoping there won’t be any more pushing incidents.

Elsie’s standing guard by the till, while Annabel half-heartedly looks at some of the mohair.

‘This is a pretty colour.’

‘Yes, that’s the mohair we used for the shawls for Miss Harrison. You’ll need four balls, if you’re making one.’

Annabel pretends to ignore her, but starts looking at all the different colours in earnest. A courier van screeches to a halt outside the shop and a man in blue uniform bounds in, carrying a large padded envelope. I’m guessing it must be the shade cards that I ordered for new winter tweed, only they don’t usually send things by courier. There’s a flat white cardboard box inside the envelope, and Elsie watches as I open it, and then we both look at the set of beautiful black-and-white photographs of me sitting with Grace in the rowing boat, wrapped in my cardigan, with both of us laughing. There’s a scribbled note on thick cream card: ‘Thanks for supper. Thought you might like these. Daniel.’

‘What lovely photographs.’

Annabel’s leaning over the counter.

Elsie shuts the box.

‘Yes, aren’t they? So will that be four balls of the pink, then? It’s quite a complicated pattern until you get the hang of it, so do feel free to pop in if you get stuck or anything. We’ll be more than happy to help.’

‘Thank you but I’m quite an experienced knitter.’

She hands Elsie her credit card.

‘Well, we’re here if you need us. Jo’s often out with her private clients, of course, but I’m always here.’

Christ, they look like they might start slapping each other in a minute. I think I’ll go upstairs and look at the photos properly.

‘I’ll take these up, Elsie, and put the kettle on shall I?’

‘Right you are, dear.’

I look at them while the kettle’s boiling, and they’re fabulous; what a nice thing for him to do. I dial the number on the card, and the phone’s answered by someone sounding rather annoyed.

‘What?’

‘Daniel?’

‘Yes. Who is this? I’m trying to get some fucking work done.’

‘It’s Jo Mackenzie, I was just calling to say thank you for the photographs. They’re absolutely beautiful, but I’ll call back another time if you’re busy.’

‘No, sorry, I thought you were from the agency. Hang on a minute.’

There’s a muffled sound in the background, and then he comes back on the line.

‘Right, that’s better. I got your address from Maxine. I thought you’d probably be in the shop. So you like them?’

‘They’re amazing, I normally look terrible in photographs, you’ve got no idea. Grace looks very relaxed. I suppose that’s because she didn’t know you were taking them?’

‘Oh, she knew all right. She can spot a camera a mile off, and she’d have soon let me know if she wasn’t up for it.’

‘Well, that was nice of her. I’m really glad she didn’t tell me though, or I’d have been doing my special Photograph Smiles. I do one where I look like I’ve just had a big shock, and another one where I look like I’m about to vomit.’

‘And do you alternate?’

‘I try to.’

‘Good for you, it’s important to vary your look. Yes, I won’t be a minute. Christ, can I call you back, Jo? The models are getting humpy, and they’ve been a total nightmare all morning.’

‘Of course.’

‘Great. Talk to you later then.’

What a nice man.

I take the tea downstairs and let Elsie have a proper look at the photos.

She’s clearly itching to show them off.

‘We could put them up in the shop, like in those restaurants, where they put up paper napkins signed by all their famous customers. Wouldn’t that be lovely?’

‘Maybe.’

I’ve never really seen the point of the framed napkins thing; the signatures are always from people you’ve never heard of, or else they were in an episode of
The Bill
in 1984. Either way it always ends up looking slightly tragic. But she’s not giving up.

‘We could put up photos of all our famous customers.’

‘What, like Mrs Marwell?’

‘Well there’s your friend Ellen, and we could put other ones up, too. Your gran’s got a picture of you knitting, sitting on her settee, when you were little, she showed me when she was sorting through her albums, you’ve got your white school socks on, it’s ever so sweet, and there’s some of the shop, years ago.’

‘Actually you might be right, Elsie. A collection of pictures of the shop would be rather good, and I could take some of the kids at school, too, once we get started on the knitting, and the Stitch and Bitch group. And we could do with something on the walls upstairs, they still look too bare.’

She looks very pleased.

‘That Mrs Morgan’s a terrible woman, isn’t she? I don’t know who she thinks she is, I really don’t. Just because she’s got one of those big houses up on the Estate, she thinks she’s Lady Muck. She’s always upsetting people, and she’d hate it if there was a picture of you and Grace Harrison up in the shop.’

‘True.’

We both smile.

The supermarket doesn’t yield anything remotely familiar in the chunky marmalade department, and the boys attempt a
pasta boycott at supper, which is tricky since it’s macaroni cheese, so I’m sitting knitting flower brooches and feeling rather shattered when Ellen calls. She’s been out to another drinks party, and she’s got lots of gossip to share.

I tell her about the photos. ‘Wasn’t that kind of him? It really made my morning. Annabel Morgan was in, trying to put the frighteners on me again, although God knows why.’

‘Because you’ve shown up on her radar, that’s why. She’s just another playground bully and you know how to deal with them don’t you?’

‘Run away?’

‘Outflank, outmanoeuvre and then retreat to gloat.’

‘Yes, well thank you, Lucrezia Borgia.’

‘Darling, where’s the fun in letting her get away with it? She’ll just get worse and worse if you don’t stand up to her – people like her will knock you flat if you let them. The only way you’ll get her off your case is if you frighten her off. Now, talking of being knocked flat, what are you going to say to Fitzcarraldo when he rings back?’

‘Nothing. Thanks, that kind of thing. It’s no big deal, Ellen, he’s only being friendly.’

‘Christ, what does he have to do? Take out a full-page ad in
Knitting Weekly?
What will you do if he asks you out for a drink?’

‘What, next time he’s in Broadgate, as opposed to New York, or Milan, or wherever he’s off to next?’

‘We definitely should have played strip poker, and then we’d know.’

‘Yes well I already know, thank you very much, and I’m very glad we didn’t.’

‘We’ll see. How are the texts from your mum going?’

‘Hopeless. She’s got me searching for marmalade now.’

‘Mine wants to know if I want a wok, from Aunty Paula.’

‘Doesn’t she know you never cook?’

‘Yes, but she thinks that’s because I haven’t got the right equipment. She got me some steamer thing last year that I’ve never even had out of the box. It’s so annoying. You should try Fortnum and Mason for the marmalade, they’re bound to have something.’

‘I was rather hoping to avoid buying the world’s most expensive marmalade, but it might come to that.’

‘They’re a fucking nightmare, mothers, aren’t they?’

‘Yes. If I ever get like that with the boys I want you to promise you’ll shoot me.’

‘I promise. But Archie would soon put you straight, don’t worry, and anyway it’s different for daughters; they seem to save all the real madness for us girls.’

‘I’m not so sure about that. Mine gets pretty twilight zone with Vin too.’

‘Yes, but she’s an exceptional case, your mother. She’s always been barking mad. Now, let’s talk about something much more important: my Christmas present. Have you got it yet?’

‘No.’

‘You have, I know you have. Give me a hint.’

Ellen loves getting presents; it’s one of her favourite things. I’ve knitted her a shawl in sage green, which is one of her top colours at the moment, with tiny green beads around the edge.

‘It will keep you warm on long winter nights.’

‘Johnny Depp in his pirate costume?’

‘Yes.’

‘Excellent. Wrap him up and bike him straight over, would you? I could do with a treat, and Harry won’t be home for ages.’