The Great Christmas Knit Off (14 page)

‘Knitting and natter! As you saw on your way past, exactly that. Hettie kindly offered to help me with a knitting project that I need to have finished in record time,’ I say brightly, and Hettie stops clasping.

‘Knitting! Ooh, I’d love to see. I haven’t knitted for years, but I always loved it as a girl. What are you making?’ Marigold pulls her mac off and wanders over to pick up the pattern from the low table between mine and Hettie’s armchairs. ‘Ah, a splendid Christmas jumper. What a jolly idea. Lucan would love one, the grandchildren too. How much do you charge?’ Marigold looks first to Hettie and then to me.

‘Oh, we, er, well, we haven’t really got that far.’ Hettie pats her bun and glances in my direction.

‘Yes, we’re still working out the prices for the bespoke knitwear but you’re more than welcome to join our new knit-and-natter group if you wanted to knit a jumper of your own,’ I say, taking a chance on this being OK with Hettie – they are friends after all, and the more the merrier. Besides, it’ll be nice for Hettie to have the company after I go home.

‘I’d love to, but I’m not sure my knitting skills are up to a whole jumper,’ Marigold says.

‘Then you can make yourself useful and knit the scarf to go with this set,’ Hettie says, in her usual brusque way, but Marigold doesn’t seem fazed.

‘Oh, what fun. When can I start?’ She looks around the shop for somewhere to sit.

‘No time like the present. Here,’ Hettie lifts a pile of old newspapers to reveal yet another armchair. Smiling, I jump up and push it over to the window next to the other chairs to form a cosy semi-circle.

‘In that case, I’ll fetch in some mince pies from the car. I just picked up a batch from The Spotted Pig and can’t wait to sample one. Kitty’s cakes are always exceedingly good, as that Mr Kipling would say. And I’m sure you two could do with a cake break.’ Marigold claps her hands together and does her roar, seemingly pleased with the plan, before turning towards the door.

‘And I’ll put the kettle on,’ Hettie beams, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze. Once Marigold has closed the shop door behind her, Hettie leans into me and whispers, ‘She’s not much of a knitter you know, I used to babysit her when she was a child, and I tried my best to teach her. But you can hardly go wrong with a scarf now, can you?’ I smile as confirmation. ‘You should have seen the flock of sheep she made for the church nativity scene one year, shocking they were.’ Hettie purses her lips and bats a bony hand in the air. ‘Only managed to knit two lambs and her sewing together was so atrocious, the seams unravelled within minutes.
Minutes
. Even the vicar was aghast.’ Hettie does a snort of disapproval and I have to stifle a giggle. ‘But she has a good heart; her father was a pig farmer and she married well,’ Hettie rushes to finish, barely drawing breath as Marigold comes back through the shop door with a cake box tucked under her arm and a bulging net of logs swinging in her left hand.

‘Is the chimney open in here, Hettie?’ Marigold yells out to the back where Hettie has scarpered, before dumping the logs by the grate of the little fireplace set in the wall next to the old yarn section. Hettie pops her head around the curtain, her cheeks flushed.

‘Yes, I think so, but I don’t have any coal …’ Hettie’s voice trails off, not having seen the logs in her rush to scoot away after gossiping. I have to suppress another giggle. ‘I have firelighters and matches though,’ she adds quickly, before ducking back behind the curtain to retrieve them.

‘Marvellous! It’s perishing in here so let’s get a fire going and then someone can cast me on; I’ll be fine to knit away if you can help me with that – it’s the bit I struggle with,’ Marigold roars, assembling the firelighters and logs around some scrunched up sheets of old newspaper she’s taken from a pile. In no time at all, the logs are crackling and the shop starts to warm up nicely. Basil, seizing the opportunity, repositions himself on the tiled hearth to bask, yet again, in the heat. He’s going to be ruined for ever now when he has to make do with dull, inanimate radiators back home in the flat in London.

Hettie returns with the tea tray, which she sets down on the table and then busies herself with sorting out wool and needles for Marigold. I stifle a yawn.

‘Oh dear, keeping you up are we?’ Hettie says, casting on for Marigold before handing her the needles and wool to continue. ‘Knit one purl one. Simple,’ she says to Marigold before looking back to me.

‘Yes, sorry, I’ve not been sleeping well—’

‘Then why don’t you dart off up to the village?’ Hettie says, giving me a knowing look. I’d told her about the message on the newspaper and she agrees with Lawrence. ‘Oh, how exciting. An illicit rendezvous,’ is what she said then. But now ‘Perhaps a nice
book
will help you to sleep,’ Hettie adds suggestively, making very big eyes, and Marigold cottons on – her knitting face (steely concentration, complete with poking-out tongue) freezes.

‘What’s going on?’ She stops moving her needles and looks first at me and then to Hettie with a quizzical look on her face now. I inhale sharply.

‘You can tell her,’ Hettie nods reassuringly. So I do.

‘Then you absolutely must get up to the village. Oh my, this is so romantic!’ Marigold practically squeals in delight. ‘Get into the bookshop before it closes. Oh, I’m so glad I popped in; this is the most fun I’ve had in ages. Just between us girls,’ she pauses to do illicit left-then-right eyes as if someone might be listening, while I smile at her calling us girls, ‘the bridge club can be
very
stuffy, but Lucan likes me to be involved, says it’s nice for us to show an interest in village life and the other members expect it now after all these years,’ she sighs, then takes a big bite of a mince pie, carefully cupping her hand underneath so as not to get crumbs on the scarf before pulling a hanky from her sleeve to wipe her fingers and mouth.

‘And we’ve made good progress on the pullover so I’m sure we can spare you,’ Hettie says, reaching for her cup of tea. ‘If you go now, you can hop onto the next bus.’ We all glance at the wall clock and see that it’s nearly four o’clock. On the hour, every hour.

‘But Hettie, I can’t just abandon you to knit on without me, not when you’re doing me a favour in the first place,’ I say, feeling very cheeky.

‘Nonsense. I’m here to help out now, and you’ll be back tomorrow,’ Marigold insists. ‘I’ll rope in some of the other girls too, for the mittens, and I’m sure Ruby won’t mind a few extra items – hat and scarf sets make very nice stocking fillers.’ Cue her roar again. ‘My neighbour, two fields over, is a very keen knitter.’

‘Is that Louise?’ Hettie asks.

‘That’s the one. Mrs Zass-Bangham, do you know her?’

‘She used to pop in for her wool, but not for a while now …’ Hettie’s voice trails off.

‘I think she buys from online these days.’

‘Online? Where’s that?’ Hettie asks suspiciously, as if there’s a mysterious competitor sprung up in Tindledale somewhere, which might account for her lack of customers in recent years.

‘It’s in the computer. Lucan does all the banking there too.’

‘It has a bank?’

‘Well, not an actual bank like the HSBC Portakabin next to the parish council office where Dolly’s sister in Stoneley works,’ Marigold says earnestly, while I can’t help thinking that this is just like watching a live episode of
Mrs Brown’s Boys
. Mind boggling.

‘Dolly with the younger husband?’ I chip in, hazarding a guess that there aren’t two women called Dolly who live in Stoneley.

‘Yes, that’s the one. Lovely lady. And a very lucky one too with that devilishly handsome new husband of hers,’ Marigold roars. ‘Do you know her?’

‘Well, not really, we just met on the train from London.’

‘Oh,
from London?
’ they both chime at the same time, whilst exchanging inquisitive glances, their interest very obviously piqued.

‘What was she doing up there?’ It’s Marigold who asks, but Hettie is leaning forward, eager to hear my answer too.

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Didn’t you ask?’ Hettie quizzes.

‘Um, no.’ They both look deflated now, so I immediately add in a, ‘sorry,’ for good measure, and they resume knitting with disappointed looks etched all over their furrowed faces. I try not to smile. Silence follows, bar the click-clack of Marigold’s needles and a huffing noise from Hettie as she tries to read the pattern.

‘You better get your coat on then,’ Hettie says a few minutes later, as if to dismiss me. She puts the pattern back down on the table and turns to Marigold. ‘So, tell me about the online shop.’

‘Well, it’s all the rage. Hettie, if you opened one then you could have worldwide customers,’ Marigold tells her in a very impressed voice as I haul myself out of the armchair and lift up my parka.

‘Do you know about it, Sybil?’ Hettie asks with a baffled look on her face.

‘Oh yes, I can organise it for you if you like,’ I say, figuring I can use Lawrence’s laptop to set up a
Hettie’s House of Haberdashery
account on Etsy where she can sell handknitted items and crochet and needlecraft stuff too. Those lemon lace weight shawls are bound to sell well. And perhaps an eBay account for all the haberdashery paraphernalia she has piled up in here; most of it is vintage and will probably sell for a phenomenal amount. People love this stuff – in Clapham they would be beating a path to the door of Hettie’s House of Haberdashery. ‘All you need to do is select some items to sell and then I can list them for you.’ I smile enthusiastically, remembering my thoughts from earlier about achieving my dream in a different way. It may not be my shop, but I reckon it’ll be just as rewarding to set it all up for Hettie, especially if it means her House of Haberdashery doesn’t have to close down and she gets to avoid having to drink tea from a child’s sippy cup. ‘Those whalebone knitting needles are worth a lot of money, easily two to three hundred pounds.’ Hettie looks stunned. ‘So we can auction them with a decent reserve to maximise your return,’ I say and I wonder if Lawrence would be up for helping Hettie out with processing the orders once I’ve gone home? Even if it’s just packaging and popping them up to the village store for posting – Hettie might struggle to lug them all that way on the bus on her own (I make a mental note to ask him). Then Marigold, as if reading my mind, says,

‘Oh, what fun. And I’ll help you out Hettie; I can be your logistics girl – post the knitwear off to your worldwide customers to save you traipsing out to post them. And besides, you’ll be busy knitting away to keep up with all the new commissions that will come, you wait and see.’ She makes big, impressive eyes. ‘You’ll have to get some of those embroidered labels to stitch in too, they could say
Handmade by Hettie’s House of Haberdashery.’

‘Fancy that.’ Hettie shakes her head, trying to take it all in. ‘Do you really think it might take off?’

‘I’m certain of it. Sybil is such a clever girl, Hettie, and she knows how to set it all up for you.’ Marigold gives me a wink, and I really wish I could stay here and be a part of this exciting new adventure. But I’ll be back, I quickly decide, as there’s nothing now to stop me from coming to Tindledale every weekend, if that’s what I want to do, and I can always keep an eye on the online store from my flat in London during the week, that’s the beauty of the internet.

‘Do you really think the needles are worth that much? In the online shop?’ Hettie turns to me, smiling eagerly, and it makes me feel happy as I seem to have been exonerated now from having failed to ask Dolly what it was
exactly
that she was doing up in London. ‘And to think, they’re only cluttering up the place.’ Hettie shakes her head in disbelief.

‘I truly do,’ I grin. ‘Do you have a camera?’

‘No.’ Hettie’s face drops.

‘I do!’ Marigold interjects excitedly. ‘On my mini iPad – never used it, mind you. Lucas got it for me last Christmas, heaven knows why, blasted thing keeps going upside down.’

‘Upside down?’ Hettie creases her forehead, clearly confused.

‘Yes, unless you keep it absolutely still, the picture on the screen moves around on its own. Causes havoc with my migraines,’ Marigold groans.

‘Well I never.’ Hettie shakes her head in disbelief. ‘It’s a marvel what they can do these days.’ There’s a short silence while the two women ponder on this technological phenomena. ‘What is a mini iPad?’ Hettie eventually pipes up.

‘It’s a miniature computer that you can keep in your pocket,’ Marigold tells her.

‘Your pocket? But why would you want to do that?’ Hettie frowns.

‘An iPad would be perfect,’ I jump in, figuring their comedy double act could go on all day at this rate. ‘Would you be able to bring it with you tomorrow?’

‘Consider it done,’ Marigold says firmly. ‘And it can roam!’ she adds proudly, pausing her knitting needles for added impact.

‘Roam? On its own?’ Hettie’s baffled look is back in place. ‘Is that why you have to keep it in your pocket?’

‘Yes, I think so, but let’s not worry about it now. I’ll bring the iPad with me and then Sybil can sort it all out. She’ll know what to do. We need to get on with the knitting while she goes off on her romantic adventure,’ Marigold takes charge. ‘You must tell us all about it tomorrow.’

‘Wonderful. I will do, I promise. And you’re sure you don’t mind me going?’ I beam, feeling a tingle of excitement from the curiosity of seeing Adam. ‘I’ll take some yarn with me and make a start on the matching mittens tonight; I won’t need to take the pattern just for those.’

‘We insist,’ Hettie says. ‘There’s plenty of time to get this sweater finished and it’s a good idea to leave the pattern here as I’ve started the back already.’ Hettie lifts her knitting up as proof, and I’m impressed. She really is a
very
fast knitter. ‘Marigold will read the pattern for me, won’t you, dear?’

Marigold nods.

‘In that case I’ll see you both later. Come on Basil,’ I say, pulling his knitted coat on over his head and legs before clipping his lead onto his collar.

‘Shan’t be a minute, Hettie, I’d better fetch my glasses from the car,’ Marigold says, putting her knitting on the table, then getting up and walking out with me. She grabs her mac on the way and swings it around her shoulders as we close the door behind us.