Divas Don't Knit (35 page)

It’s seven in the morning and the boys are still asleep, so I’m calling Ellen while I’ve got the chance.

‘God, you total trollop. How fabulous.’

‘I know.’

‘When will you see him again?’

‘God knows. Probably never. But I don’t care. It’s weird but it feels like a one-off. It’s like I’m still married and this is just a mad moment. I don’t know, it’ll probably end in tears, but it was worth it.’

‘Everything ends in tears, darling. It’s the beginnings that count. And the middle bits.’

‘I felt so grown-up, Ellen, I can’t tell you.’

‘I’m so pleased for you.’

‘It was lovely, just being with someone else.’

‘By being, I assume you mean shagging, right?’

‘Trust you to lower the tone. Yes, and it was great. And I wasn’t embarrassed or anything.’

She laughs. ‘Why would you be embarrassed?’

‘Oh, you know, my thighs, supermodel thighs, spot the difference, that kind of thing.’

‘And we don’t have to have the condom conversation, do we?’

‘No, we do not, thank you very much.’

‘Good. Boys like him usually travel equipped.’

‘Ellen, please!’

‘I don’t think you’re in any position to go all coy on me, darling, not with what you’ve been up to.’

‘I keep getting flashbacks. It’s very disconcerting.’

‘Don’t worry, they’ll wear off after a bit. Now, it’s vital you don’t call him, you know that, don’t you?’

‘Ellen, I don’t think this is going to turn into anything serious. I mean, think about it. What on earth do I want with a photographer who’s surrounded by the most beautiful women in the world, flying off at a moment’s notice? It’d be like Nick, only ten times worse, and I wouldn’t just be worrying about UN workers.’

‘Right. So this is about Nick, then, is it?’

‘No.’

‘It bloody is. You meet a drop-dead gorgeous man who most women would give their right arm for, and you’re too scared to go for it because your husband cheated on you.’

‘I went for it, Ellen, trust me.’

‘I know, darling, but why not see him again?’

‘I might. I’m not saying I won’t, but I’m not holding my breath, either. He’s thirty-two, Ellen, and he’s free and single, and I’m not. I’m thirty-eight with two kids and a life, and anyway he’s in love with someone else, we talked about it.’

‘Really? Who?’

‘Someone, nobody, it doesn’t matter. The important thing is I’m fine about it, I really am, and this way I won’t be waiting for him to call and wondering what he’s doing and getting all involved, because I really don’t want that. We can be friends, proper friends maybe. Not because I’m some tragic wounded person still in mourning, although funnily enough I feel like I’ve got past a point on that front, somehow. It’s like I’m
moving forward, and not just making the best of what’s left. But more importantly I’ve realised how happy I am, for the first time in ages. And I don’t want to change that.’

‘Bloody hell. Good for you, darling.’

‘Of course it might all change.’

‘Of course.’

‘But for now I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself, I can tell you.’

‘I bet. What’s the plan for today then?’

‘Nothing much. I’ve seen a nice shirt in a second-hand shop near the house which I might get, and the boys want to try out more ice-cream shops. But nothing too strenuous, because I’m totally knackered.’

She laughs. ‘One-night stands I can take, but vintage shopping is too much. I think you’re having a breakdown, and you need international rescue. I’ll be on the first plane.’

‘Or I could see you next weekend, if you fancy Sunday lunch?’

‘All right, but promise me you’ll take it easy. It’s a lot to get used to, and you might have overload issues going on.’

‘I promise. If I find myself by the till in Gucci by mistake, I’ll call you, okay?’

‘Great. Or you could just buy a present for your best friend. Pretty much anything in Gucci would be fine.’

‘I’ve already got your present.’

‘Tell me.’

‘No.’

‘Tell me:’

‘It’s a gondola that lights up and plays a tune.’

‘Fabulous. “Just One Cornetto”, right?’

‘How did you guess?’

I’m kneeling in the window of the shop, humming I’m a Little Teapot and trying to de-glitter before I put the tea cosies in; I’ve already put the teapots in and the cups and saucers, and the hot-water-bottle covers and the scarves are on the shelves at the side, but this bloody glitter is really slowing me down. I’ve borrowed one of Gran’s tablecloths, a floral cotton one I remember from birthday teas when I was little, and I’ve left a string of white fairy lights up, because I think January’s exactly the kind of month when you need fairy lights. It’s bloody freezing today, and we had sleet for most of yesterday, mixed in with thick fog, so maybe the lights will lure people into the shop for a quick warm by the fire and a small purchase. It’s been pretty quiet since Christmas, so we need all the help we can get.

Gran and Betty are upstairs knitting fairy cakes, while Gran runs through her cruise highlights with Betty for the umpteenth time. She’s got four packets of photographs and enough anecdotes to last her all year, and they’re already talking about going on another one in the summer, and she’s trying to persuade Betty to come with them. Reg came home with a light tan and a new sailor’s cap because the other one blew off somewhere outside Funchal, and he won a trophy for playing quoits, whatever they are. He’s going to ask his friend William
to join them next time so they can make up a four for bridge, not that Betty actually plays bridge, but Gran’s got a book from the library so they’re going to learn together.

The phone starts ringing, but by the time I’ve managed to clamber back out of the window Gran’s already answered it, and is telling Ellen all about her cabin.

‘They keep everything spotless you know, you really should try it and they go all over, Greenland if you like whales, or hot places, everywhere really and they’re so big you hardly know you’re moving. They do all sorts of classes you know; bridge or flower arranging or painting. A woman at our table did a lovely one of a sunset. Oh, here she is now, dear.’

She hands the phone to me and mimes ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ I nod and she goes back upstairs humming ‘I’m a Little Teapot’. It must be catching.

‘Bloody hell, I think she’s just booked me in for a week cruising round Wales.’

‘She’s a born-again cruiser now, she wants everyone to have a go.’

‘In the non-swinging sense of the word, I hope?’

‘Ellen, please. This is my grandmother we’re talking about.’

‘What’s sauce for the gander, darling.’

‘What gander?’

‘The light’s green: drive, you moron, for fuck’s sake.’

‘Are you in the car by any chance?’

‘Yes, so speak up, darling, I can hardly hear you. This handsfree thing is complete crap. Has he called yet?’

‘No, and the photographs haven’t arrived yet, either, but it’s fine. Actually, I think I’d almost prefer it if he didn’t ring, in a way.’

‘Oh yes? And what way is that? The tragic I Have No Life way?’

‘No, the I Have a Lovely Life and I Don’t Want to Fuck It Up way.’

‘You might be right. I think he could be a tiny bit too high-maintenance for you, arty types always are. You want a nice background boy, off making shedloads of money, who’s a bit shy, but brilliant when he gets going.’

‘Oh yes, and do you know anyone like that?’

‘Not really, and if I do spot one I’m ditching Harry and keeping him for myself. But if he’s got a friend I’ll let you know.’

‘What’s Harry done now?’

‘Gone off to Dublin for a two-day jaunt with his mate Pat. He rang last night and he was so pissed I thought he was a heavy breather at first. Fucking taxis, same to you, wanker.’

There’s the sound of a car horn being pressed repeatedly.

‘You know, what I really need is an air horn like lorries have, the ones that are so loud they make your seat vibrate. Do you know where I can get one?’

‘No, but I’m pretty sure they’re illegal in cars.’

‘I won’t use it on police cars, darling, although I’d like to see their faces if I did, bastards. Forty-two miles an hour in a thirty, like there’s nothing more important going on in London at ten o’clock at night. Talk about wasting police time. I should have made a citizen’s arrest.’

‘I don’t think citizens’ arrests are for traffic policemen when they stop you for speeding.’

‘Well they bloody should be. God, I wish I’d thought of it at the time. The papers would have loved it, and I’d have probably got a one-hour special out of it.’

‘True. And Jeremy Clarkson could be your new best friend.’

‘There is that. Still, every silver lining has its cloud.’

‘Talking of which, Mum rang me last night.’

‘How was she?’

‘Still sulking. She’s talking about coming over for a visit in the summer, because she says she misses the boys, not that she’s ever missed them before, and Vin’s still not speaking to her. So that’ll be ten years with half the family not talking.’

‘Oh dear.’

Vin and Mum had a huge row on the last day, and he stormed off to the airport straight after breakfast, because Mum had started having little digs at Lulu.

‘She’ll never change, you know. Mothers don’t. They just get worse and worse. What am I meant to be, fucking psychic? Indicate, you wanker.

‘I’m sure your mum didn’t mean it.’

‘She bloody did. She spent the whole time going on about how much she’d like a grandchild before she was too old to lift the fucker up, and then when I told her she was really freaking me out she pretended she didn’t know what I was talking about. There’s a bus lane, you wanker. Bloody go in it and stop blocking my lane.’

‘Ellen, wouldn’t it be better to get a cab to work?’

‘No, it bloody wouldn’t. If I want to sit in a car with some man droning on for hours, I can go out for a drive with Normal Neil. At least I won’t be paying the bastard.’

Neil is Ellen’s latest co-anchor, who crawls round management all the time and gets lot of fan mail from middle-aged housewives who think he’s lovely, although perhaps not quite as lovely as his boyfriend does. His wife seems oblivious, or maybe she just doesn’t care, which is Ellen’s theory.

‘So how’s it going with Mr Smarm, then?’

‘We’re putting espressos in his decaff now, so his hands keep going shaky. It’s really freaking him out, it’s brilliant. What time do you want us on Saturday?’

‘Any time that suits.’

‘Great, because I’m really knackered, so I want to have a lie-in and then go for a swim.’

‘You want to go shopping, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s fine. Will Harry be back from Dublin?’

‘Yes, although God knows what state he’ll be in.’

‘Does he know I’ve got the in-laws for lunch on Sunday?’

‘No, I thought that could be a nice little surprise for him. Oh, and if I bring his jumper down with me, could you fix it? One arm’s definitely longer than the other, it’ll make him look deformed.’

‘Sure.’

‘Great. Lift the fucking pole up. Yes, I’m talking to you. Thank you. God knows where they get these security people from, they’re all morons. Talk later, darling.’

Blimey, I’m almost feeling sorry for poor old Neil.

Betty comes downstairs with another fairy cake and a cup of tea.

‘Here’s another one finished, love. The tea cosies look nice, don’t they? That blue one’s like the one my mum used to have. We always had a proper tea on Sundays, you know, with cake, and we’d sit and listen to the radio in the front room. I can remember it like it was yesterday.’

Gran’s made a blue-striped tea cosy, and Elsie’s just finished one with ruffles in pink and cream, and I’ve made a couple of more minimalist ones in cotton. They hardly took any time to knit but they look rather fetching, especially the one with pompoms.

‘I’m nearly ready to start putting them in the window.’

She puts the fairy cake next to the others on the counter, on one of the glass cake stands from Venice.

‘These plates are pretty, and these cakes would make nice little pin cushions you know, not that there’s much call for pin cushions nowadays.’

‘The Victorians used to make them as presents for new mothers, but they didn’t put the pins in until the baby had arrived safely. Isn’t that sweet? I’ve been reading about it as part of my research for the school knitting thing.’

She smiles. ‘Your gran says you’re off to see Grace Harrison later. Is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought I might knit something for her, for the baby, but I wasn’t sure what to make. I don’t expect she’d think much to a pin cushion though, would she?’

‘Probably not, but what about one of your shawls? Although she’s got quite a few things already.’

Betty makes lovely baby shawls, and she knows all the patterns off by heart, just like Gran does.

‘I’d like to make her something, it can’t be easy for her, being on her own like that, with everyone wanting to know what she’s doing, it doesn’t matter how rich she is. I’ll get some wool before I go; I like having a bit of knitting on the go, it keeps me busy in the evenings.’

‘Well don’t forget you get staff discount now, so it’ll be a third off. And I can always sell them in the shop, if you want to make more. I’ll give you the wool, and I’d pay you for your time.’

‘Elsie won’t like it, you know.’

‘Let’s not tell her, then.’

She smiles.

‘You’re a good girl. Now, drink your tea while it’s still hot, love.’