Read Knit One Pearl One for Free Online Page B

think. He rang me last week from Spain. Well, I say me, but he likes to speak to Trevor too.”
    “Martin, you’re completely mad, you know that, don’t you?”
    “Trevor recognizes his voice.”
    “Well he bloody should do, he’s his dog. Which brings me to the question how come you’re stuck with him, with us as backup? It was only meant to be temporary, you know.”
    Mr. Pallfrey is visiting his daughter Christine, in Spain, ostensibly recuperating from his second hip operation, but I think he likes it so much he’s going to stay over there.
    “I still can’t work out how you’ve ended up adopting Trevor. A few weeks were fine, but it’s been ages now. And yes, I know you like dogs, and the boys adore him, and so does Pearl, although he does keep knocking her flat and sooner or later she’s going to get fed up with that. Even bloody Cinzia loves him. I know you wanted a dog, but do you really want such a huge mad one?”
    “I can’t get rid of him now, it wouldn’t be fair. I’m too nice, that’s my trouble.”
    “And an idiot.”
    I lean across the counter and kiss him, which is risky, because if Elsie comes back in with the tea there’ll be even more sniffing.
    He’s grinning now. “Anyway, enough of all that, I need to ask you something.”
    “No.”
    “You don’t know what it is yet.”
    “Can we have Trevor for the night next week while you go to London for a freelance job that’ll pay double your usual rate because their computers have all gone on the blink and you’re the only person who can unravel them?”
    “Crikey, that’s almost spooky, how did you— Oh, right. Mum.”
    Elsie puts the tray on the counter and sniffs again. “There’s only digestives.”
    “I thought you liked digestives, Elsie.”
    I’ve learnt from bitter experience that it’s pretty vital to keep Elsie supplied with the right kinds of biscuits, particularly if she’s already in a sulk.
    “I do, but I like those jam ones you got last week, I was hoping for one of those. Still, never mind. Now what were you saying, Martin?”
    “Nothing, Mum, just talking about Trevor.”
    She sniffs again.
    “Martin can go and get some Jammie Dodgers, Elsie. Can’t you, Martin?”
    “What? Well I—”
    “Yes. And I’ll think about that stupid dog.”
    “Right. Jammie Dodgers coming up. Is that right, Mum? Or are these some new biscuits with jam that I don’t know about?”
    “Don’t be cheeky, Martin, it doesn’t suit you.”
    It does actually.
    He kisses me on the cheek and then winks. Bugger. Elsie is definitely going to need those extra biscuits now.
    By the time I’ve got the boys home, and we’ve had baked potatoes and tuna with grated cheese for Jack, and sweet corn for Archie, and a bit of both for Pearl, although most of the sweet corn ended up on the kitchen floor as usual, because she insists on waving her spoon about, I’m exhausted. I’ve managed to get through bath time without shouting at anyone, but I’m beyond tired. Pearl conks out in her cot nice and early, but Jack and Archie are still keen for another half hour of cartoons.
    “It’s a school night, come on, up we go, and there might be time for a story.”
    “Mum, that’s just not fair. I’m the oldest; I’m nearly ten, so I should be allowed to stay up longer.”
    Archie is horrified. “You are not nearly ten, not for ages. You’re nine, and I’m nearly eight, and that’s only one littler than nine, so you’re not that bigger. Stupid.”
    “Tell him, Mum.”
    “You can keep your light on and read for a bit, Jack, you know that. But it’s bedtime now.”
    There is no way on this earth I’m falling for an extra half hour of someone sitting downstairs watching child-friendly telly every evening, thank you very much.
    “Yes, but I’m not tired, Mum, I’m really not.”
    Archie’s getting agitated now. “I’m not tired too, stupid.”
    “Well I am, so stop it, both of you. Or there won’t be time for any stories. At