Hooked on You Read online

  The shop was small, but Ollie tried to keep it well stocked with colourful things stacked high. She had a collection of regular customers who wanted a whole variety of activities, usually involving yarn. She was not going to call it “wool” as most of her products didn’t contain ingredients from a sheep. Acrylic and nylon were easy to wash and cheap to purchase; cotton and mohair were more luxurious, but a little more expensive. Ollie had even heard of yarn being made from ostrich feathers, but had never been inclined to buy any.

  She went back to watching the woman, who seemed to be about Ollie’s age, as she looked around the shop. Ollie smiled at the curiosity that seemed to have ignited.

  The woman turned full circle and caught Ollie’s eye. Ollie widened her smile and tried to appear approachable until it got awkward and she broke the woman’s gaze and attached a price tag to the hedgehog. When she looked back up, the woman was still standing there, one eyebrow cocked at the hedgehog.

  “The kids go nuts for these.” She stood, her hands flat on the desk. Time ticked by, and the woman still didn’t speak. Come on. I haven’t got all day. She tapped her finger against the desk. “What can I help you with?”

  “I wanted some wool.”

  Ollie pushed away a grimace at the word. “Hundred percent or a blend?”

  The woman blinked.

  “What’s it for?”

  “Knitting,” the woman said. “I want to make a present for someone.”

  “Okay.” She rounded the counter and stopped next to her. While they both looked up at the shelves, Ollie snuck another glance at the woman and noted her tense stance. “Colour? Project?” she asked with growing curiosity. Why does choosing yarn make her stressed?

  “Red,” the woman said. “Maybe a scarf. Would that be easy?”

  “Have you knitted before?”

  The woman shook her head. “Figured it can’t be that difficult. Was just going to find a how-to on YouTube.”

  Ollie held back her opinion on that idea “I prefer crochet myself. Bit more flexible.”

  “Is it easier?” The woman started to play with her fingers.

  “I think it is, but I’m biased.”

  The woman eyed the hedgehog amid the collection of various other small animals with key rings sticking out of their heads. “Maybe I’ll do that, then.” She fingered a ball of yarn at eye level.

  Ollie nodded. “That one would work for a scarf,” she said. “Hooks?”

  “Excuse me?” The corners of her mouth pulled upwards.

  “D’you have a set of hooks? You’d need a five, maybe a five-and-a-half, for that thickness.”

  “No. I don’t have hooks.”

  “This just going to be a one-project event, or are you planning on making a hobby out of it?”

  The woman shrugged but took the ball of yarn and squished it with her fingers. “Not sure. My daughter is trying to push me into developing a hobby. She said crafty things are very in at the moment.” She smiled. “I’m not sure I’m that bothered about what’s in exactly.”

  Ollie snorted and shrugged. “Me neither. I just do things I enjoy.”

  “Well apparently I don’t have too many of those. I like to garden, read books. Wine. I like wine. But a woman cannot live on wine alone.” She continued to squish the ball. “Bethany says I need a hobby, something I can do when I’m not guzzling Merlot. Or perhaps instead of.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Ollie said. “Crochet, then?”

  “Okay.” She took another ball in the same colour from the little cubbyhole shelf and brought them to the till. “These, then. You think?”

  “Great choice,” Ollie replied. “Hooks, though?”

  “Hmm. Suppose I’d better.”

  “Any trouble using your hands? Arthritis?”

  Her arms folded with an indignant air.

  “I have a regular customer in her thirties that uses padded hooks because her knuckle joints are painful.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case, no.”

  “I’d be out of a job if I couldn’t use my hands.” Ollie held out the pack of crochet hooks.

  The woman took out her purse.

  She rang through the items and put them in a paper bag. Money was exchanged. “What do you do?” Ollie asked.

  “English teacher. Reams of marking and lesson planning. Book clubs after school.”

  “Ah. Yes, I can’t imagine having arthritis with that career.”

  “No.”

  “YouTube, though?” Ollie’s lips squished into a tight O shape.

  The woman nodded.

  “No good. You should learn properly. Face-to-face lessons.”

  “Are you offering?” Her eyebrows flicked up.

  Olli smiled at the obvious tease. Is she flirting with me? No, she couldn’t be. “Well, I run a couple of classes. Tuesdays and Thursdays. Only a fiver a pop, and you get free cups of tea.”

  The woman tilted her head to one side.

  “No need to decide now,” Ollie said, grabbing one of her business cards from the counter. “Give me a ring if you’re interested.”

  The woman took the card and looked at it for a moment. “I’ll have a go with YouTube first. If I need you, I’ll call.”

  Ollie held a finger to her forehead in a tiny salute. “Speak to you soon, then.”

  The woman pursed her lips but then smiled as she took her bag to the door.

  Ollie allowed the grin she was holding back to spread.

  Anna put the paper bag beside the sofa and opened the box containing her dinner. The aroma set her mouth watering.

  Chicken chow mein. How naughty. Her stomach made an impolite noise as she plated the food up and put Timothy’s portion in the microwave for later. She sat at her large oak table to eat, a glass of red wine set close by as she stared into space. That woman is wrong; I’ll be fine with YouTube. The Internet was an endless resource for things like crochet, how to re-grout the bathroom, how to wire a plug…

  The first finished, she poured herself another glass and brought it into her cosy living room. Timothy was out at chess club and Bethany was out with friends—who knew what time that one would be home? Arthur was curled up in the other chair, his eyes closed in a content sort of way, his bushy tail twisted around his feet. On occasion, his pointy ears swivelled at some noise or other that she couldn’t hear.

  Peace and quiet for once. Anna sighed deeply, fired up her laptop, and tapped how to crochet into the search bar on the YouTube website. While it loaded, she took out her ball of wool and fingered the softness.

  Arthur lifted his head and wandered over. She scratched his ears as he purred. “Don’t even think about chasing my wool, mister.”

  He purred some more.

  She got out a hook and held it like a pen. “Right. Here goes.”

  An hour later, she was about to throw the wool, hook, and laptop across the room. “What? What do you mean?” she shouted at the American woman on the screen. “Do what with what?”

  Arthur was hunkered down with his backside in the air, his back legs ready. He sprang, but she managed to pull the wool and hook away just in time. She swept the back of her hand into his face. He hopped backwards. “No,” she said firmly.

  His eyes were wide, as if he were admonishing her, not the other way around.

  “This is not yours.”

  He sat down, but his gaze snapped back to her wool. She huffed and closed the computer window. So far she had managed to make a very sloppy-looking knot in the soft red yarn. Well, that’s no good.

  With his tail primly around his paws again, Arthur lifted one of them and patted Anna’s hand.

  She pushed him away, then spent a while trying to unpick the mess on her hook before tying it tightly into a ball before snapping the end off and then throwing it to the floor. “Fine. Here.”

>   He chased the knot for a moment, then, when it didn’t move by itself, sloped indignantly back to his armchair.

  “There’s just no pleasing some people.”

  The woman on YouTube made it look so easy. Why can’t my brain communicate the information to my fingers? Anna couldn’t even keep the yarn straight, and she kept dropping the strand.

  She drank a large amount from her glass, then plopped it down on the coffee table. Her handbag was calling to her. The business card was still inside. Darn That Yarn. She got the card out and placed it on the table. Did everyone feel like this when they started to learn?

  Arrogant woman. She opened another window on her computer, searching for the same thing, but this time in Google. Maybe written instructions will be easier.

  They weren’t.

  She picked up her phone and found the number she wanted.

  Liam answered. “Hi, Anna.”

  “Do you happen to know of anyone who knows how to crochet?” she asked without preamble. “Or knit, for that matter?”

  He chuckled. “I don’t think so. Odd question, though. How are you?”

  “Frustrated. Annoyed. Trying to teach myself to crochet but failing miserably.”

  He hummed, which made her smile. “Want me to come over? I have a bottle that is just begging to be drunk.”

  “Tempting offer.” She snuggled into the cushions of her sofa. “But I do have marking to do. And Timothy will be back in a while. Just needed to offload. Sorry.”

  “No probs. Always here for you if you need me.”

  “Thanks. So, how’s your day been?”

  They chatted for a while until he said he had to go: the football was about to begin. Her stomach felt warm at that—he would have missed it for her had he come over. He would have enjoyed a visit with me much more than football. Maybe she should have just invited him. An orgasm always made her feel less frustrated.

  She put the TV on. A period drama was running but couldn’t really hold her interest. What was it with most TV shows being so boring nowadays? She put her wine down and snuggled deeper into the sofa.

  The next thing she was aware of was a noise waking her up. When she opened her eyes, Timothy was staring down at her. Wow, must have fallen asleep.

  “Are you ill?”

  Anna shook her head. “No, I’m just tired.”

  “Why aren’t you in bed, then?”

  She smiled up at him. “I was trying to learn to crochet. But I suppose it’s simply not going to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  Arthur meowed, so Timothy went over to stroke his back.

  “Maybe I don’t have a crochet brain. Or something.”

  “What’s that?” He pointed at the card on the coffee table.

  “The lady at the wool shop does classes,” she said. “It’s her card.”

  “Are you going?”

  “No.”

  “Is it too expensive?”

  “No.”

  “Will you be working on the day it is scheduled?”

  “No. She does them in the evening. Thursdays. No book clubs on Thursdays.”

  “You should go to a class, then.”

  Not for the first time, Timothy’s way of seeing the world made her think more clearly. She nodded and sighed. I really did want to prove the woman in the shop wrong. Damn. “Okay.”

  He went into the kitchen, and the sliding noise of the bread bin opening carried through into the living room.

  She took out her phone and stared at it for a while before dialling the number on the card.

  “Hello?” said the woman on the other end, the last vowel drawn out.

  Her shoulders relaxed somewhat. “Hi. My name’s Anna. I’m… I came into the shop? Today?”

  “Ah, yes.” There was a pause. “Have you given up with YouTube, then?”

  Anna laughed a bit and nodded even though the other woman couldn’t see her. “I have. Could I book in for this Thursday coming?”

  “Of course.” The noise of shuffling and the click of a pen echoed in the background. “So you’re Anna?”

  “Anna Rose. Like the flower.”

  “Right. Okay. I’m Ollie, by the way. Williams. The class starts at seven. Well it’s more a group, really. Some people bring in their own stuff to do. Most do actually.”

  Ollie sounded more friendly than arrogant now.

  “And we’re hoping to make a huge throw for the church hall. Everyone’s started bringing in squares to contribute. We have a new project each week on top of that. But don’t worry about that, not when you’re a new starter. You’ll be my only beginner, so I’ll have plenty of time to go through everything.”

  “Great. Thanks.” Anna touched the end of her chin with her finger. I’d better be a good pupil.

  The greasy-spoon café was somewhere simple and neutral to meet. It didn’t serve alcohol. No need to make them think I have more problems than I already do. She tapped her fingers against the table. Could do with a beer, though, to settle my nerves. She shook her head vigorously until her brain felt like it was waggling around in her skull. No. I just need to be calm, collected, and honest.

  When Helen and Kieran entered, Ollie sat up straight and then started to stand. Kieran laid a hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine, Mum. Stay sitting down.”

  Ollie’s chest tightened, and she hesitated but stood anyway. “No, that’s okay.” She stepped up to Kieran and held one arm open for him. “I was hoping for a hug. That too much?”

  Kieran glanced at his sister with worry in his eyes but stepped into Ollie’s arms despite Helen’s hard look. “‘Course not.”

  At her son’s clean and familiar scent, Ollie’s whole body surged. It’s been so long since I’ve held him this close. Since he was a kid, really. He never let me hug him when he was a teenager, and then all the business with the divorce. She sank into him and tried not to cry when his long arms enclosed her.

  Patting her back, he chuckled and moved away. “All right, no need to overdo it.” Ollie was glad he was nervous, because she felt like she was going to vibrate out of her boots any minute.

  “It’s wonderful to see you both, really it is.” Her mouth clamped shut, and she inwardly rolled her eyes. Calm and collected.

  Helen eyed her with a blank expression. She was an adult now, and Ollie could barely believe it. Apart from passing greetings, she’d last properly spoken to her daughter when she was fifteen. Ollie’s stomach clenched as she remembered the summer holiday she’d tried to take them both on three years ago. Images of Helen folding her arms and turning her back on her still haunted her every now and then.

  I can’t believe they’re both here.

  Ollie held out a hand to Helen, realising that a hug was too much to ask. Helen stared at her for a moment but then rolled her eyes and gripped Ollie’s hand firmly. They shook hands like business acquaintances.

  Better than enemies, I suppose.

  The kids sat, and Ollie went to the counter to get them cups of tea. She splashed out on a slice of cake for each of her children and a granola bar for herself.

  Back at the table, she sat with her back like a plank of wood. Her hands stayed clasped on the table. “So…h-how are you both?”

  Kieran, always the more talkative of the two, dived right into a story about his work. Then he complained about his new flat and how much his father had had to fix. Things I could have fixed for him. Ollie bit her lip and chose not to comment. Her ex-husband deserved the privilege of being able to help their son. He hadn’t caused all the mess—she had.

  A stone of cool expression, Helen sat silently until the waitress arrived. Ollie watched her nervously as the waitress slid the chocolate cake in front of her. Helen looked down at it, and something resembling warmth passed across her face.

  Ollie took a slow breath. �
�You always liked chocolate.”

  It took a long moment, but Helen’s eyes lifted to her own. She said nothing, however.

  “Aren’t you going to speak to me?” Ollie asked, the pressure in her throat making the words sound like a plea.

  Helen’s shoulders sagged. “I am. I just…” She picked up her fork, her gaze intently on her cake. “I’m just not sure what to say.”

  She hates me. “I’m sorry about everything,” Ollie whispered and blinked back the tears that gathered.

  “You’ve said it a hundred times, Mum.” Helen shook her head. “I just don’t think it’s worth saying it anymore. I know you’re sorry. It doesn’t mean anything yet.”

  “I know. I know.” Ollie picked up her teacup, if only for something to do that didn’t involve crying. She felt like she was breaking. This isn’t going to work. I’m never going to be the kind of mum I’ve always wanted to be, not now. “I wish it would just all go away.”

  “What I don’t understand,” Helen said slowly, “is why you stayed with Dad for twenty years if you didn’t love him.”

  “I did, sweetheart.” Ollie sighed. “I did love him, whatever anyone thinks. I certainly did in the beginning.”

  “But then you fell in love with someone else?” Kieran asked carefully.

  Ollie nodded. “It was over, romantically, with your father, before that. But yes.”

  Helen’s head rocked from side to side, and her eyes darted about the space between her nose and her cake, as if Ollie’s words were too much to process. “Why did you stay with him, though?”

  “It was easy.” Ollie decided to be honest. There have been too many lies. “I was away so much, it didn’t seem to matter. When we were together, we were great, weren’t we? Like a happy family.”

  Kieran smiled at her and placed his big hand over hers. She smiled back, and he squeezed her fingers.

  “Reasonably.” Helen was still staring at her cake. She hadn’t taken a bite yet.

  “I wanted to be home, but I wanted to be at work too. You know what my job meant to me.”

  “You were always there, though. Never with us.” Helen picked up her fork and stabbed at the cake as if it might be alive.