Boys Don't Knit (21 page)

‘Junior category,' I said. ‘And I don't expect to win, there's some really tough competition out there. I hear Marian Joyce is a bit of a demon, and Harriet Evans won the Welsh championship at fifteen.'

‘I'm sure you'll do great,' Alana said. ‘Now, sorry to have to ask you this, but why do you think it is that so few men decide to involve themselves  … '

But I'd lost track of her question. I'd seen something which made my blood run cold and my bile run dry. A dozen yards away, walking along through the crowds with his dumb gang, was Lloyd Manning.

Oh Jesus, I thought. Just when I thought my life couldn't be any more stressful, along comes Psycho Manning to show me just how wrong I could be. This explained who'd taken the other three tickets.

‘Ben?' Alana was saying. ‘Why is it do you think, that boys don't knit?' I looked at her, panicked. I wanted to run. Suddenly, the pressure was just too much. On top of everything, I couldn't deal with Manning and his gang.

My vision swam and I felt hot and cold at the same time. Please don't faint, I told myself, please don't faint.

I couldn't run. I'm not my father. I had an interview to finish. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Manning point me out to his gang and they swaggered towards us, laughing.

I took a deep breath and turned back to Alana.

‘I don't know why boys don't knit,' I said loudly. ‘Perhaps they think it's effeminate. Perhaps they think that it's women's work, beneath them.'

I was aware of Manning and his gang standing close now, listening to me.

‘But to me knitting is many things. A creative outlet, a mental challenge. I can knit on my own, losing myself in the work, in the pattern. Or I can knit with friends, chatting and putting the world to rights. I don't think it makes me less of a man. It's no different to carpentry or being a painter or an architect or a chef. It's using your hands with skill and creativity. It just needs some better PR,' I told her.

‘Well said,' Alana responded.

I looked up to see Manning take a step forward, a nasty smirk on his face. He wouldn't assault me here, while I was being interviewed for a knitcast, would he? But I never found out, because someone stepped in between him and me. Three people, in fact. Gex, Joz and Freddie, to be precise. I'd never been so glad to see them before. In fact I'm not sure I'd ever been glad to see them at all. The cavalry had arrived.

‘So, Ben, what are you working on at the moment?' Alana was saying. I dragged my eyes away from the stand-off and concentrated on the interview again.

‘I've recently completed quite a complex sweater, inspired by the Ocean Spray design,' I told her. ‘I have a small business selling garments on Etsy, mostly tank tops, so that keeps me quite busy and I've developed a new style of loose hoodie, which I call the Hoopie.'

We carried on for a bit. I talked more about my page on Etsy and the pictures of star striker Joe Boyle. She asked me for the address, which I think I got right. I was just about able to ignore the scuffling and raised voices offstage as the confrontation continued. Hold them off, lads, I thought. Just a few minutes more.

And then it was over. Alana thanked me for my time and promised they'd be watching the final later on. Then she was gone. I spun quickly, just in time to see Manning lunge at Gex and knock him flying into the Australian Wool Marketing Board stand.

‘Strewth!' someone yelled from inside.

Then it properly kicked off, with Jermaine punching Joz and Freddie leaping, screaming, onto the other one's back. I stepped forward to help, but Gex, now covered by a sheepskin, had just managed to extricate himself from the melee.

‘Go,' he told me. ‘You can't get involved. You've got to get to that fin— oof!'

The last word was cut off as Manning slammed into him and they went rolling across the aisle into the stand of the South-West Wool Dyers Association. I watched a large pot tumble lazily off a shelf, flip over and liberally douse both Gex and Manning in a bright green liquid. Joz was still on the ground, rubbing his jaw, and I saw Jermaine stepping towards me menacingly. He has this ridiculous bow-legged walk because his trousers hang so low and it make him look like he's just got off a horse. Behind him, three fat security guards were rushing towards the scene.

Gex was right. I had to go. It was time to run after all.

3.43pm – The Cauldron

Things have quietened down out there.

Gex texted me to tell me they'd got away from the security guards, but that both he and Manning had been covered in a green dye which was making him cough. It also made them readily identifiable to security so he was keeping a low profile and assumed Manning would be as well. It worries me that Manning and his gang are still out there somewhere, but I'm safe here, for now.

I've taken refuge in the Cauldron and have had a good look at it for the first time. Just by the entrance is a huge fake plastic yarn ball and two giant needles. The arena is surrounded by partitions and beyond those, raised grandstands for the audience. The finalists sit in a ring in posh black leather seats like on
Mastermind
. There is a little table beside each one for the needles and yarns.

Mrs Hooper explained there are two sections to the final. First we have to knit to a pattern; marks will be given for accuracy, speed and technique. Extra points if we manage to improve on the pattern, marks taken away for dropped stitches or other mistakes.

Round Two is Free Knitting. We can knit anything we like. The temptation is to do something complex, something that will wow the judges. But that's a risky option, I think. Complex patterns can go very wrong very quickly. I might be better off sticking to something simple, but do it well and quickly. My advantage is my speed. In an hour, I could complete a sock, or a small cushion cover. That would impress them. Having to keep just a simple pattern in my head will decrease the chances of me being distracted by Angular Jeanette, as well.

Hold on, someone's coming.

4.16pm – Café

It was Megan.

‘Hello,' she said.

‘Hello,' I said.

‘I just came to  …  wish you luck, for later.'

‘Thanks,' I said.

There was a pause.

‘Did you know your friend Gex is covered in camouflage paint?'

‘It's dye,' I said.

‘He looks like he's in the SAS.'

‘He's here to protect me from Lloyd Manning,' I told her, without shame.

She came and sat next to me. I could hear the hubbub of the fair outside and smell the sheep pen. Megan looked beautiful, I thought. She had a little make-up on and her hair was tied up in a sort of double-purl stitch.

‘They're quite protective of you really, your friends.'

I shrugged. ‘I suppose so.'

‘We're all fond of you, Ben,' she said.

Fond. She's fond of me. Like my gran is fond of Quality Street.

‘Thanks,' I said stiffly.

‘You know what I like about you most?' she asked.

‘My cabling technique?'

‘No. It's that you don't know how great you are,' she said, smiling shyly.

‘Great, in an effeminate way?' I suggested.

‘I don't think you're effeminate!'

‘So why did you run off after I won the heat? How come you've hardly spoken to me since you found out I like to knit?'

She stared at me, squinting in confusion.

‘That had nothing to do with your knitting. I think it's amazing how talented you are.'

‘So why did  …  why did you go cold on me?'

‘It was you who started kissing other girls.' She sniffed.

‘Natasha kissed me, I didn't want her to. And anyway, what about you and Sean?' I said quickly before I could stop myself.

She frowned sadly. ‘Sean was just there,' she said. ‘And you didn't seem interested.'

But I barely heard her.

‘Is he your boyfriend?'

‘Is Natasha your girlfriend?'

I was just about to say no, when Megan's mum turned up.

‘It's all happening out there,' she said. ‘The goats have escaped and there are security guards running all over the place.'

Megan and I looked at each other, both thinking the same thing I expect – that Lloyd Manning was responsible for releasing the goats. He was trying to sabotage the final, ruin everyone's day. The only thing that could save us now was Gex.

So basically we were doomed.

We had a quick look around the fair after that, occasionally being bowled over by a rampant goat or a sprinting security guard.

‘I expect the security guards thought this might be quite an easy gig,' I said.

‘Just goes to show,' Megan replied as we watched a sweating guard wrestling with an enormous billy goat, which was chewing on his walkie-talkie.

We inspected the rabbits, who were very sweet, and we looked with interest at a display of looms through history. I wanted to carry on my ‘talk' with Megan but there wasn't the chance.

As the time for the final approached I began to grow more nervous. I kept looking back towards the Cauldron worrying about what the fixed pattern was to be.

We ran into Miss Swallow, who seemed to be having a lovely time, and Joe, who looked as if he'd rather be anywhere but here. I didn't see Gex, or Joz, Freddie or Lloyd either, though I thought I spotted Jermaine at one point, skulking behind a pot plant between two stands.

We had a lemon Fanta each at the cafe where I'm writing this, scribbling quickly. I'll go back over it tomorrow and write it all out properly. I can't really manage much to eat. I've had half a muffin, and a few sips of my drink. My tummy is churning. So much depends on this.

Mrs Hooper's just told me to put away the notebook. It's time.

I feel bad that it's taken me so long to write this next entry. It's been a strange week. This is the first time I've really felt able to write about what happened. I felt I needed to do it justice so I've been going over everything in my mind. Writing the story, re-reading my notes. Creating the 3D pattern in my head.

Just before we left the café to go back to the Cauldron, I got a text from Ms Gunter:

We're here. Sorry we're late. Do you have time for a quick IV?

I'd totally forgotten about Ms Gunter, what with everything else going on.

Mrs Hooper said there was time, as long as I was quick, and soon Ms Gunter turned up at the table with a cameraman and the lady from the Home Office.

My head was whirling with so many things as I was talking to the Home Office lady that I have no idea what I said. I was bricking it about the final, about Lloyd Manning, about the Incident Report, about Megan, about whether Mum was going to make it. I tried to talk about how helpful I'd found the probation period, about meeting Mrs Frensham and Giving Something Back. I told her that I'd started my own business and had found a potential career in knitting.

She asked me if I'd been tempted to go back to a life in crime and I shook my head firmly, which Ms Gunter seemed to appreciate.

After it was over they all thanked me, and Ms Gunter and Mrs Hooper gave me warm smiles, which I took as a good sign.

Then it was down to the Cauldron for the final. I checked my phone again on the way. A text from Mum!

Have left the venue. On the motorway now.

She'd sent that at 4.12pm. There was no way she was going to get here in time. But at least she'd be back tonight. There was no text from Dad. But there was one from Gex.

Manning's gone to ground. I've diverted security by releasing animals. Joz with girl but has said will be in grandstand keeping look out. Freddie AWOL, but don't worry, we've got your back.

Was I reassured? Hmm, on the one hand it was good to know they were around, keeping an eye out for Manning and his gang, but I was a bit concerned to hear that it was Gex who'd released the goats. I just needed everything quiet for two hours. After that, they could pull the place apart for all I cared.

I met up with the other contestants in a side area, blocked off by partitions. There were twenty-two of us. I spotted Jeanette Fairbanks, looking cool as a cucumber. I nodded briefly to her and she totally blanked me.

Julie stood up on a chair to address us. I was too nervous to really hear much of what she said, but the gist was that we were to go in one by one, our names being read out as we entered the Cauldron. As if I wasn't petrified enough without having to endure that. I saw Bush Baby peeping out from behind a partition, looking even more terrified than I felt.

The pattern we had to follow for the first section wouldn't be revealed until we were all seated. We'd have five minutes to choose needles, yarn and to plan our approach. We had one hour to work on the fixed pattern. Then there'd be a ten-minute break before we'd go back in for the freestyle section. I was still uncertain what I was going to do in the freestyle. To a certain extent it depended how I went with the pattern. If I was feeling confident, I might do something more complex. If the first section had been a disaster, I would probably just stick with a sock. Or scarf. That's if I hadn't slit my wrists in the toilets during the break.

I don't remember much about the next few minutes. Just noise, the smell of the goats, the bright lights overhead hurting my eyes, the sweat rolling down my back. I was not confident.

Then I heard my name being called and Mrs Hooper said, ‘You're on,' and pushed me gently towards the entrance to the Cauldron. I walked in to a blaze of light and a smattering of applause. Camera flashes were going off, presumably from the Home Office photographer, and I heard a few whoops of support from my posse. I stumbled towards an empty seat, my mind a muddle, my vision blurred.

I sat and scanned the stands. At first I couldn't see anyone I knew. I blinked to clear my vision and saw Ms Gunter, with the Home Office lady, who was gazing at me intently. The cameraman was at the back filming everything. I carried on looking and saw Megan, waving at me. I waved back. Then I saw Miss Swallow, looking ravishing; Joe was next to her playing on his phone. She waved, elbowing Joe to make sure he did the same. He gave me the thumbs-up and went back to his phone. Then I saw Joz, and next to him was Amelia and next to her Natasha and there was Mrs Frensham, right at the front, arms folded, looking grumpy. Even Rob the bus driver had turned up to watch, and had sat himself next to Mrs Frensham.

I suddenly felt much better. Everyone was here. I turned to my neighbour to wish her luck, and it was only then that I realised it was Jeanette Fairbanks. The Lance Armstrong of the knitting world. She eyed me coldly, perhaps wondering why I'd chosen to sit next to her. My heart skipped a beat and I considered moving seats, but it was too late. The last of the contestants had taken her seat now and the circle was complete. Oh well, what did it matter? She wouldn't try anything here, I told myself, not with so many people watching.

‘You may turn over your patterns now,' Julie called out. Taking a deep breath, I flipped my paper over and my heart sank.

It was a tea cosy. With stranded colourwork – a green tea leaf. The worst possible combination. My bête noir. I sat staring straight ahead, feeling the colour drain from my face. A tea cosy? A bloody tea cosy?

Everyone else had begun rummaging through their boxes of yarn, inspecting needles, flipping them like drummers flip sticks. I sat there, slowly, gently panicking.

But then I looked up into the stands and saw Mrs Hooper working her way along the aisle towards Megan. Further back, at the top of the stand, in the dark, I saw a merino sheep sitting texting. It coughed. That had to be Gex. Then I saw Mrs Frensham give me the thumbs-up. I couldn't let them down, I thought to myself. I could do this. I just had to visualise the pattern, get it fixed in my head. Handle hole, spout hole, base hole, lid hole, green wool for the leaf. This was not impossible. I had to smash the mental block. Get over myself.

‘You may begin knitting  …  now!' Julie called. Everyone else sprang into action, needles clicking like a monkey on a typewriter. I didn't move.

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine against-the-odds success. Frank Lampard wandered through my consciousness. I moved him gently aside and replaced him with Mo Farah. Then I thought of the pattern. I didn't need to look at the sheet again. I had taken what I needed from it. I just had to knit it in my head first.

I cut everything out, the noise of the clicking needles, the more distant hubbub of the fair. I cut out the lights and the smell and focused on nothing but the pattern.

And slowly it came, weaving itself together. The tea cosy formed itself, spinning slowly, growing inside my mind. I could see the rows, the columns, the stitches. I could see where I needed to increase and where to decrease. I saw where I needed to change wool, where to add in the holes. I knew what yarn I needed, what needles. I had it. I had it!

I grabbed the needles and yarn, cast on and I was away, lost in my own world, content, sure of myself. Calm and relaxed for the first time in weeks.

That lasted about ten minutes, at which point I became aware of something in front of me and a rippling of laughter from the crowd. My concentration was broken immediately. I tutted and looked up to see a goat staring at me. I stared back, hypnotised. Then the goat trotted forwards and began to eat my yarn.

‘Get off,' I yelled, kicking at it just as a security guard arrived and crash-tackled the beast. It went down with a thump and a truncated bleat.

‘Sorry about that,' Julie said, rushing up. ‘I'll get you some more yarn.'

By the time she came back the tea cosy had disappeared from my mind. I risked a quick glance at Jeanette, who was still knitting as if nothing had happened, but did I notice a tiny smile on her angular features?

I sighed, closed my eyes again and tried to re-capture the vision. It took longer to come this time. I was unsettled and angry. But come it did, and after a few minutes I was back into it. A deathly silence had fallen across the audience; they were engrossed in this, watching twenty-two people sitting in a circle, knitting.

Then someone's mobile phone went off. An N-Dubz song played at top volume.

I looked up in annoyance.

‘Sorry!' the merino sheep called, fumbling with his phone.

Jeanette tutted.

‘Please turn off your mobile phone,' Julie shouted out.

‘S'off, s'off now,' Gex yelled back.

‘Give me strength,' I muttered.

Again I had to re-capture the vision. I tried breathing exercises to calm myself and after a while found myself back in it, knitting furiously. After fifteen minutes I was going at a fair rate, and didn't think I'd made many mistakes so far. If only I could get through the next half-hour uninterrupted, then maybe  … 

Crash!

We all leaped a mile as a partition wall fell inwards, revealing the scaffolding that supported the grandstands. Also revealed were three figures who'd been crouching behind it. One of them was covered in green dye. The other contestants stared in alarm at the intrusion.

‘Oh, crap,' I muttered, standing. ‘Not now.'

‘KNITTING TOSSER!' Manning's gang screeched in unison and rushed towards me. I heard a yelp of terror from Bush Baby and a gasp from Jeanette.

Time slowed. Julie stood watching, open-mouthed, apparently at a loss at what to do. The security guard had disappeared, wrestling the goat back to its pen, no doubt. I stood alone as the gang rushed towards me, Lloyd's face gurning with twisted malevolence.

I braced myself, ready to meet the charge, my sword an 8mm acrylic needle, my shield a half-finished tea cosy. There was no way I was backing down. It was time to face the bullies.

But the charge of the shite brigade never reached me, for over the sides of the Cauldron came the cavalry. Joz was there first, followed by Freddie, who'd apparently sprung from nowhere. Then finally came the merino, landing heavily and nearly tripping over his ill-fitting fleece. They came roaring, cheered on by the crowd, and Manning's gang stopped in surprise.

And so battle was joined. The details are hazy in my mind, but I remember Joz performing an extraordinary barrel-roll to knock Jermaine's legs out from under him. Freddie grabbed the other one around the neck and hung on, being flipped from side to side like a puppy biting a walrus. Manning and Gex went mano-a-mano. Chief vs Chief. It turned out neither of them was very good at fighting. Lots of slaps and face-protection.

‘Stop this, stop this!' Julie was yelling, to no effect. Bush Baby had disappeared.

‘Where's security?' someone else called. I stood, clutching my knitting, wondering if I should get involved, but conscious there was a cameraman and a lady from the Home Office in the audience. Unfortunately, it looked like Manning's gang were getting the better of the good guys. Gex was by now on the ground, with Manning on top of him, banging his head into the AstroTurf flooring. Freddie was walking unsteadily, dazed, having been thrown from the other one's shoulders. The other one was approaching him now to finish the job, growling. And Joz? Well, he hadn't actually recovered from the initial spectacular roll into Jermaine's legs. He was writhing on the floor, clutching his shoulder and looking pale.

Jermaine looked up at me and grinned. I was next, clearly. He took a couple of steps towards me.

But then there was the sound of someone clearing their throat behind me and Jermaine stopped, looking over my shoulder with an expression of horror. I turned, expecting to see the security guard had returned.

It wasn't security. It was someone better. Mrs Frensham, in full warrior-queen mode, ready for battle. She walked over to the giant knitting display and seized her weapon, one of the 8-foot-high needles. Lifting her lance, she pointed it towards Jermaine and roared like St George.

‘You go, girl,' Alana cried from the audience.

Jermaine's eyes bugged and his jaw dropped. Manning was still banging Gex's head on the AstroTurf and hadn't registered this new development, or the fact that Mrs Frensham had by now received back-up. Joe stood beside her, and on her other side was Rob the bus driver, looking mean.

‘It's the lollipop lady!' Jermaine cried, finding his voice, which sounded like an eight year-old's. ‘It's Mrs crapping Frensham!'

Manning looked up, alarmed. He got to his feet. Suddenly, his gang didn't look so hard. They huddled together in the centre of the arena, like Christians surrounded by lions.

Then Mrs Frensham charged.

Manning's gang stood for half a second, momentarily frozen in terror before they were able to get their legs moving. They turned and sprinted for the gap in the partition wall, Mrs Frensham and her two brave knights following.

Once they'd gone, the Cauldron was suddenly quiet, as everyone tried to get their heads around what had just happened. Except it wasn't entirely quiet. To my left I could hear the unmistakeable sound of needles clicking. I turned to see Angular Jeanette knitting away, as if nothing had happened. She glanced up at me, and smirked as her eyes flicked over to the giant clock.

I knew she was low, but to do this? To take advantage of a pitch invasion to get an advantage over the rest of us? Katniss would never have done that. As the rest of the contestants realised what was going on, they too began to resume their knitting. Julie looked surprised at first, but then she called, ‘The clock is still running, please carry on.'

I sat back in my seat, heavily, closed my eyes and tried to re-visualise.