Needles and Pearls Read Free

she’s looking even more fabulous than before she had the baby, sort of glowing. I know it sounds like rubbish but she really is. And the baby’s gorgeous. I’m doing a new-baby window-display for the shop; I’ve been knitting baby things for days now. It’s been a bit weird – it reminds me of knitting when I was pregnant with Archie, which hasn’t exactly helped.’
    ‘You’ll be fine today – you’ll see. Now are you sure you don’t want me to come down?’
    ‘Sure. You’re right. It’ll be fine, and at least there’s been some good news today.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘My best friend’s getting married, and I’ll be in peach Vera Wang with gloves and a bobble hat.’
    ‘Call me when you get home, promise?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And if Elizabeth gets too annoying, just hit her. Pretend you’ve gone into widow hysterics and deck the old bag. You’ll feel so much better, trust me.’
    ‘I must just try that.’
    ‘Hurrah. God, I really wish I was coming down now.’
    *   *   *
    They’re just getting back from church when we arrive, and Elizabeth is having a light bicker in the kitchen with Fiona about how long the joint needs to rest before Gerald can start carving. It’s still pouring with rain, which doesn’t bode well for our graveside moment after lunch, and Gerald hands me a rather epic sherry; for some reason best known to himself he seems to think I’m likely to start kicking up if I don’t have a full glass in my hand at all times, possibly because Nick’s usual tactic for getting through a Sunday lunch with his parents was to get completely plastered. Which is a perfectly sensible plan if you’re not the person who has to drive home, and keep two small boys amused in a house full of china figurines and very pale carpet. Christ, this is going to be a long afternoon.
    Fiona, wearing her floral pinny, has found a documentary about chimpanzees for the children to watch, and she settles them on the sofa for a quiet ten minutes before lunch.
    ‘Now not too loud, girls, because Daddy’s reading his paper.’
    I feel like I’ve been catapulted back in time into the middle of a 1950s Bisto commercial.
    Lottie and Beth look rather anxiously towards James, who’s knocking back the whisky while he reads the papers and makes Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells noises whenever he comes across anything he doesn’t approve of.
    ‘Are there any cartoons?’ Archie’s doing his Best Smile.
    ‘No, Archie, but I’m sure you’ll find it interesting. We love wildlife programmes, don’t we, girls?’
    Lottie and Beth nod, although Lottie doesn’t look particularly enthusiastic.
    ‘I do try to ration cartoons, don’t you, Jo? Some of them are so violent, aren’t they? Awful. Now I must pop into the kitchen and see if Elizabeth needs a hand.’
    ‘Is there anything I can do?’
    She gives me the kind of look you’d give a teenager who’s just offered to re-wire your house. My domestic skills have always been awarded nil points by Fiona and Elizabeth; I just don’t think I pipe enough rosettes on things to meet their exacting standards.
    ‘It’s all under control. You just sit and have a rest after your drive.’
    James makes a choking noise, and reads us a few lines from his paper about a woman who’s suing her bosses for millions for harassment.
    ‘Just because they took a client to a club where she didn’t feel comfortable. Dear God, what is this country coming to?’
    James is in middle management in financial services, and slightly to the right of Attila the Hun.
    Fiona tries a little laugh, which sounds rather nervous and high-pitched.
    ‘Now, darling, don’t let’s get started on politics.’
    Oh dear. I just can’t resist.
    ‘What sort of club was it, James?’
    He looks at the paper, and reddens slightly.
    ‘Some sort of dancing one.’
    ‘Lap dancing, by any chance?’
    ‘Possibly, but for heaven’s sake, horses for courses and all that. Nothing to go to the lawyer’s about –