The Great Christmas Knit Off (35 page)

*

‘Sooo, I’ll shut up now,’ Cher says, and after a smile and subtle nod of encouragement from Clive, she turns and cuts the ribbon. ‘I hereby declare Sybs’ and Hettie’s magnificent House of Haberdashery well and truly re-open!’ Clasping my hands together up under my chin, I can bear it no longer and let out an enormous whoop of joy. It’s been a long time coming, but I’ve finally achieved my dream, albeit in a different way to the one I’d imagined. There’s an enormous cheer from the crowd – most of the villagers, people from the parish council, plus Dolly, with Bill in a wheelchair, Molly, Cooper, Marigold, Lord Lucan, Taylor, Louise, Edie, Beth, Leo and all of the Tindledale Tappers, and of course my dear friends Lawrence and Ruby, who between them well and truly helped me heal the broken heart that I had when I first arrived here in Tindledale.

Smoothing down my sundress – it has a fitted bodice with a swishy dirndl skirt, mint green and creamy white, and I made it myself from one of Hettie’s old Forties’ Butterick patterns so it’s a walking advertisement for my new sewing classes that start next week. I leave my guests chatting and enjoying a scrumptious selection of Kitty’s cakes, and head into the shop. Which reminds me. I grab the parcel from the low table just inside the door and call Kitty over.

‘A gift for you,’ I say, handing her the present.

‘For me?’ Kitty smiles, but creases her forehead. ‘Honestly, there’s no need – you’ve already paid for today’s cakes.’

‘Please, this is different,’ I say, a wave of nerves sweeping right through me.
What if I got it wrong? What if it upsets her?
Spotting us together, Lawrence comes over and slips his arm around Kitty’s shoulders in support, before giving me a wink of encouragement. I take a deep breath. Kitty peels off the paper and unfolds the gift. Silence follows as her eyes take it all in, and then she knows. She sees what it is – a memory quilt made from carefully cut pieces of Ed’s clothes. That’s what she had wanted Lawrence’s help with that day in the pub, to clear out Ed’s wardrobe, which Lawrence did, and then we came up with this idea. Kitty presses the quilt to her face and inhales hard, before handing it to Lawrence and flinging her arms around my neck.

‘Sybs, it’s amazing. I love it. Thank you so much, my friend,’ she says, softly in my ear.

‘Phew. I’m so pleased you do,’ I say, clasping her hands and smiling as she lets me go. ‘I thought it might be a comfort, something for Teddie to treasure too.’

‘And she will. But Sybs, there’s someone here who has a present for you,’ she says, looking a little nervous now.

‘Oh.’ And Adam appears from the crowd. I’ve seen him a couple of times in the High Street, but he’s always avoided making eye contact, and I didn’t dare confront him to explain, for fear of getting another mouthful of abuse.

‘Sybs, I wanted to give you this,’ he starts, before sweeping a hand nervously through his blond hair. I take the Tindledale Books carrier bag from him and peep inside. ‘It’s a vintage knitting book, very rare. I, um,’ he coughs to clear his throat, ‘thought you might like it – a peace offering – to say sorry for bawling at you that day. It won’t ever happen again. I was, am, well … going through a nasty divorce and I jumped to conclusions.’ He looks at the ground.

‘Forget it. I have. And thanks so much for this,’ I say, waggling the carrier bag in the air, and he visibly relaxes. ‘Sorry to hear about your divorce though.’ And his shoulders stiffen again. ‘So, seeing as we’re all exchanging presents today, I have one for you too, Lawrence,’ I add, to lighten the mood.

‘Ah, you don’t have to give me a gift,’ Lawrence smiles.

‘Yes I do, after all that you did for me. It’s the least I can do.’ And after placing the carrier bag on the side, I point to a framed picture stored behind an armchair.

‘What is it?’ he asks.

‘Take a look.’ I slide the frame out and he gasps.

‘Studio 54! Oh Sybs, I adore it,’ he says, pulling me in for a big hug. I found it on the internet, a black-and-white print of people queuing up to get in, and I’m sure there’s a guy in the picture wearing peach cord flares. ‘I’ll treasure this for ever,’ he adds, his eyes going misty.

Leaving Kitty, Adam and Lawrence together, I walk on into the shop, smiling as I pass the framed picture on the wall of the sixty Japanese staff at the English village theme park, all lined up doing
Wayne’s World
thumbs ups, and looking resplendent in their wacky Ho Ho Ho Christmas jumpers. I wander through to the kitchen-cum-sitting-room and stand quietly, taking it all in, remembering my very first day here, meeting Hettie, both of us heartbroken and sad. I smile, thinking how amazing it is, the way things happen in life, how they turn out, how sometimes they’re just meant to be.

I turn to the mantelpiece and lift a finger to the framed picture – Hettie’s picture signed by Gene Kelly. No way was I ever going to keep it for myself, or even sell it, no, it’s far too precious for that. It was taken all those years ago when she was young and carefree and full of dreams, before fate tore it all away and broke her heart. But she’s come full circle and is happy now, with the chance to live out the rest of her life in her beloved oast house surrounded by a community that loves her and the memories she holds so dear.

And I got my dream too! My own broken heart has healed and I can knit and sew and quilt and crochet all day, and all night long if I want to, here in the picture-postcard village of Tindledale. It really doesn’t get much better than this. I feel at home, happy, and surrounded by friends too.

Footsteps break my reverie, and Ben appears.

‘You made it,’ I smile, leaning in to him for a kiss.

‘I wasn’t missing this for the world, not even Tommy Prendergast’s imagined hernia,’ he laughs, pulling a pretend face of despair, before looking around the shop. ‘Sybs, this is so amazing. And to think you’ve transformed it on your own.’

‘Well, not entirely on my own, I had a lot of help from my fellow knitting addicts, the Tindledale Tappers,’ I tell him, remembering the countless evenings, when, after lots of knitting and nattering and party ring biscuits and bars of Fry’s Peppermint Cream, they got stuck in, rolling up the old threadbare rug, painting the stripped wooden floor a gorgeous shade of shabby chic grey, the walls too. Even the furniture has had a makeover, so now the comfy armchairs and sofa have a gloriously eclectic mix of floral, knitted and crocheted covers, with deliberately mismatched cushions and throws, creating a lovely, cosy, welcoming place for fellow crafters to come and relax. And they do. The last few months have been so busy, with villagers joining in the various knitting, sewing and quilting courses, residents from Stoneley and Market Briar too. We even had a coach load of knitters from Clapham who couldn’t get enough of the wonderful new stock ranges and they’ve been ordering online ever since.

‘Well, I still think you’re incredible,’ Ben says. ‘And I would have helped. I know I’m a clumsy doctor geek, but I can decorate and hump furniture around with the best of them,’ he grins, flexing his muscles like the strong man in a Vaudeville circus act, making me laugh.

Through the window, I can hear Mum chatting in her too-loud voice to the reporter from the
Tindledale Herald
.

‘Oh yes, Sybil has always had an eye for the creative things in life, and she’s a spectacular seamstress. You know she used to spend hours helping me sew and hem, um,’ Mum pauses and pats her hair, ‘things! You know, just watching to see how it was done. Takes after me. In fact, I’ve won awards for my embroidery. Third place at last year’s summer fete and …’

Smiling and rolling my eyes, I glance at Ben. He smiles and steps closer to me, pushing a stray hair away from my cheek. Turning together, we peep through the side of the blind, eavesdropping like a pair of cheeky children, well, not children
exactly
,
as Ben is standing behind me with his hands underneath my dress, his feather-soft fingers stroking the tops of my thighs. Mum waves a magnanimous hand around.

‘And I’m not sure if you know already,’ Mum continues, ‘but she has a new boyfriend. All very discreet at this stage, with him being such a prominent pillar of the community, a doctor and all, saving lives every day.’ She taps the reporter’s notepad, ‘Make sure you put that in,’ she instructs. ‘Yes, he’s very eminent and has won awards for his pioneering work in, um, er …’ She pauses, and her cheeks flush as she realises she’s caught herself out. ‘And he comes from a very good family in Ireland.’ Mum beams as she scans the crowd looking for me. I shake my head, and Ben and I both crack up laughing, but I guess Mum can relax now that I’m suitably paired up with a man, and a doctor, no less.
What will the neighbours think?

After kissing the back of Ben’s hand, I drop it gently and wander outside to be with my friends, and to find Basil too – last time I spotted him, he was sitting underneath the cake table, sweeping his tail and doing his usual feed-me-I’m-starving (hardly) face. A van pulls up and Lucy, from the florist in Tindledale High Street, leaps out and runs over to me.

‘Flowers for you,’ she beams and hands me a beautiful bouquet of pink and white roses, then adds, ‘Good luck, Sybs, I’ll be down next week to sign up for your new crochet class. I’ve a new granddaughter on the way so the perfect pram blanket will be just the thing. Cheerio.’ And she’s back in her van, waving with her arm sticking out from the open window as she drives off to do the rest of her deliveries.

‘Mmm, they’re beautiful.’ Hettie comes over with Basil under her arm. He leans around the flowers for a quick stroke, and I duly oblige by giving his black velvety head a good rub. ‘But who’d waste their money on such an extravagance, when we have a field full of flowers right here?’ Hettie sniffs in disapproval, before sticking her nose into the bouquet. I shake my head and smile. Typical Hettie, she may have mellowed, but she’s still as outspoken as ever. I pull out the card. Ah, it’s from my old neighbour, Poppy, in London. She couldn’t be here today as she’s on holiday with her new boyfriend, a QC from the law firm where she works – they’re staying at his beach house in Nantucket.

To Sybs and Basil, and their bright new beginning in Tindledale.

Keep calm and carry yarn.

Love Pops xxx