Knit One Pearl One Read Online Free PDF Page B

now, and what I really like is being with you and the boys, and our Pearl. I never thought it would be so lovely you know, stuck in this shop for all those years with old Mrs. Butterworth making my life a misery, I never dreamed it would all turn out like this. I’m so glad I stuck it now. Reg was saying the same thing only the other day. And when you get to my age, if you haven’t worked out what makes you happy, then it’s too late. And for me, it’s stopping right here.”
    “I know Gran, but—”
    “I’ll think about it, pet, that’s all I’m saying. Anyway, it’s not like I haven’t been before, we had our lovely honeymoon cruise, which I still think is silly at our age, calling it a honeymoon. It was different with your grandad Tom, but we were so young we couldn’t afford a proper honeymoon, just a night in a hotel in Margate. Terrible place, got bombed flat later in the war, and a good thing too. No, my holiday with Reg was luxury compared to that. And he does look nice in his blazer; I’ll say that for him. So I’ll think about it, I promise. Now then, when do you need me this week? I’m happy to come in, you know, or sit with the children, whatever you need, just say. Shall we have a cup of tea, love? I’m parched.”
    “Lovely.”
    “And then we can run through the next few days. I’ve brought my diary, Reg got me one, did I show you? Lovely leather one.”
    “Yes, you did, Gran.” About ten times actually.
    “I’ll just put the kettle on then.”
    It’s like a military exercise, keeping track of our week. Cinzia has her English classes in Canterbury, so Gran has Pearl on Monday mornings, and they go to baby music, which Pearl enjoys, particularly the drums apparently. Reg sits cross-legged on the floor with her because his knees are better than Gran’s, while she catches up on the gossip with Mrs. Nesbit, who makes the tea. But all in all, despite the tricky timetabling, we seem to manage, unless anyone is ill, or the kids are on holiday, when it all goes pear-shaped and I have to make it up day by day. But Elsie is always happy to do extra shifts in the shop, and Gran’s friend Betty helps out too, so we usually get there. And it’s not quite as overwhelming as I thought it would be in those first few weeks after Pearl was born. Although there was one morning when I’d finally got her off to sleep, and I was sitting by the till, with her Moses basket by my feet, looking at the order book, and then I woke up nearly an hour later to find Elsie had draped a blanket over my shoulders and was making the customers tiptoe past while I was facedown on the counter, still holding the order book. Which wasn’t a perfect example of entrepreneurship, but people seemed to like it.
    “Right then, pet, you’ve got me for half an hour or so, what needs doing?”
    “You could help me with the windows.”
    Gran loves doing the window displays with me. “Lovely.”
    We rearrange the hot-water-bottle covers, and adjust the little wooden figures that are meant to look like they are skiing down the cotton wool slopes, while I drape hats and scarves over the partition along with a couple of mohair shawls in dark forest green and apple green, with white fairy lights in the cotton wool snow. I’m knitting another shawl in soft cotton, in a dark orange marmalade color, but I haven’t quite finished it yet.
    By the time Reg has collected Gran, and we’ve talked about cruises again, and whether they do or do not want a balcony, and I’ve talked to Mr. Prewitt and put in orders for more cotton and the chunky tweed, it’s nearly half past one and I’m knackered. The café’s busy, so I sit upstairs in the workroom and light the fire. People often bring a drink and a slice of cake up with them from the café while they look through the pattern books; Elsie’s convinced we’ll end up with sticky balls of wool from people browsing while they’re eating; she keeps a packet of wipes behind the till