Free Divas Don't Knit by Gil McNeil Page A

knackering them; and if they do start niggling Vin holds them upside down by their feet until they stop, which isn’t a technique I’ve seen in any of the books, but works pretty well, and I’d give it a go if I didn’t think I’d drop them on their heads.
    I’m trying to drape a piece of orange nylon fishing net over some driftwood when there’s a loud banging on the window which nearly gives me a heart attack. I’ve been having visions of crashing through the glass and ending up in a heap on the pavement for most of the morning, and it looks like this might be my moment. But it’s the boys, with Gran, and she’s very impressed with the window.
    ‘It looks so pretty. You’re very artistic, you know. I’d never have thought of anything like this. What are those purple things?’
    ‘They’re the starfish the boys made.’
    ‘Well aren’t you clever boys?’
    They nod.
    ‘Morning, Elsie. Doesn’t it all look lovely?’
    Elsie sniffs again. ‘I liked it the way it was, but this is nice, too, I suppose.’
    Gran turns to me. ‘I better be off, then, love. The match is due to start soon.’
    She’s wearing her special blazer and her white pleated skirt; they like to look smart at the Bowls Club, especially when they’ve got a match on, and if you turn up in a velour tracksuit like Mrs Chambers from the baker’s did they make you go straight home again and get changed.
    ‘Thanks, Gran, and I hope you win.’
    ‘We left Vinnie in bed, bless him, but we took them in a cup of tea, before we left.’
    We wave her off down the road.
    Archie starts giggling. ‘When we took Uncle Vin his tea,guess what, Mum? They were doing kissing, him and Aunty Lulu, they were.’
    He makes a series of very realistic retching noises.
    Jack puts his hand up, like they do at school.
    ‘Yes, and Uncle Vin said a swear word. And it was a really bad one. Shall I tell you?’
    ‘No, thank you, darling.’
    ‘It was the F word.’
    I’m pretty sure I can hear Elsie smirking.
    ‘I’m sure it wasn’t, Jack, and anyway, grown-ups are allowed to do different things to children, I’ve told you before. They can make their own minds up.’
    ‘Yes, and it’s not fair. I want to make my own mind up. I might want to do swearing.’
    He’s giving me his most determined look.
    ‘When you’re a big boy you can decide.’
    ‘Yes, but when will I be a big boy? How long?’
    ‘When you’re as old as Uncle Vin.’
    He gives me a stricken look. ‘I can’t wait that long. I can’t. It’s just ridiculous.’
    It’s just ridiculous is one of his new catchphrases.
    ‘Give me a few more minutes to finish the window and we can go to the beach, how about that? You could both go and stand outside and tell me where things need to go, if you like. That would be really helpful.’
    They have a lovely time standing outside gesticulating increasingly frantically while I tip shells into little piles and do another quick spot of net adjusting, until I hear them starting to recite their favourite rude words, presumably as a practice run for when they’re older and can unleash them on an unsuspecting public. Apart from the ubiquitous Willy and Bum, Bugger features pretty heavily in their list, which is probably down to me while I was painting the hall. Mrs Davis comes out from next door with a bucket of chrysanthemumsand gives me a little wave. Christ, she’ll be thinking we’re having a family Tourette’s moment; but she doesn’t seem to notice, and then I remember she’s got four grown-up sons and a staggering number of grandchildren, so she’s probably fairly familiar with the word Bugger.
    ‘I’ll be off, then, Elsie. I’ll see you tomorrow around one.’
    She’s standing behind the counter, pretending to sort through the patterns.
    ‘It’s no trouble to come in earlier, you know.’
    ‘No, it’s fine, you have a nice lie-in for a change.’
    ‘I don’t hold with stopping in bed, I don’t think it’s healthy. I like to be