5
THE LITTLE KNITTING BOX, WEST VILLAGE, NEW YORK CITY
Since her chat with Grandpa Joe, Cleo still hadn’t made any decisions, and almost a week later it was business as usual. After hours, in the back room of the store, Cleo opened up the foldaway chairs and positioned them around the room. She dragged the table into the centre of the room and put out a display of various yarns in different colours and textures. Often, as they chatted in the group, members would reach for something they hadn’t used before so these gatherings often gave the Little Knitting Box a small boost in sales. She made sure there was still plenty of room for everyone to unload the knitting bags at their feet and dump knitting patterns, needles and yarns on the table ready to grab as necessary.
With the first knock soon after she’d finished setting up, Cleo opened the door to the store and the cold night air made straight for any exposed bit of skin. ‘Come in out of the cold,’ she told the first two arrivals. This evening, Cleo was particularly glad of the familiarity and welcome distraction of the knitting group, because Dylan still hadn’t called or texted, and she was determined to shrug off any disappointment and put it down to experience. It would make her decisions about the store a whole lot clearer too, if her head wasn’t clouded with feelings for a man she barely knew.
There were five members in this group: a married couple, Cecelia and Cecil—how two people with so similar names existed together she had no idea—the young Darcy and her friend Clementine, and this week they’d brought along Clementine’s mother, Glenda, who was visiting from Philadelphia.
‘Are you new to knitting?’ Cleo asked Glenda.
‘I’m afraid I am.’
‘Not a problem.’ Cleo found a basic yarn from the collection she had out in the back room for this very reason. It had a smooth texture and medium thickness, so was easy to learn with.
‘The hardest part is getting used to how the yarn and the needles feel and learning how to make them do what you want in your hands.’ Cleo handed Glenda the needles. ‘Relax your arms a little, that’s it. I know it’s awkward at first but you’ll get the hang of it. We’ll soon have you knitting away and you’ll wonder why you’d never done it before.’ It was certainly the way she’d felt when she’d come to the hobby herself.
As the others chatted, Cleo talked Glenda through some basics. ‘The first stitch I’ll teach you is the basic knit stitch. Once you’ve mastered it…’ She watched Glenda insert the right needle through the yarn on the left needle and motioned for her to wrap the yarn around, ‘…anything is possible. Every other stitch in knitting is a variation on this one. Keep practising, you’re doing well.’
After the initial guidance, she left Glenda practising and went through a new pattern with Darcy. They went out to the front of the store and chose six hanks of a gorgeous yarn that Darcy had spotted from the selection on the table and couldn’t wait to purchase. The soft, charcoal-grey yarn would be a perfect match for this project, a woolly hat for her younger brother.
When the group was settled and chatting and working away simultaneously, Cleo went out to the kitchen area to assemble a plate of fancy cookies plus teas and coffees. Each member took turns to bring the treats and tonight was her turn so she’d provided chocolate chip, and oatmeal and raisin varieties. They’d break in five minutes’ time and carry on their banter out here in the kitchen while their yarn waited for them to continue afterwards for another forty-five minutes.
As the coffee brewed in the pot, Cleo looked at the discoloured ceiling above that had needed painting for as long as she could remember. The cornices were tatty, the light fittings were dated, and the wooden floor was dull. But all of it added to the character of the store and Cleo wasn’t sure the Little Knitting Box would work anywhere else but here. The regulars were used to it, she was used to it, and she didn’t want that to change.
The Little Knitting Box sat in a row of stores along with the café next door, a bakery, a toy store, wedding gown store, and another that sold vintage clothes. The entire row was elegant in its originality and the same faces passed by each day, some she knew, some she didn’t. Some were locals, some tourists, others out to explore the wonders of Manhattan they hadn’t had a chance to find before. None of the stores were brand new, the frontages hadn’t been touched in years according to Grandpa Joe, and somehow it worked perfectly.
Cleo took the coffee and cookies to the group and excused herself for five minutes. She wanted to see if she could catch Rita in the café and finally talk with her.
Rita was wiping down the table nearest the counter when Cleo knocked on the door.
‘Hello, come to tell me all the gossip about the other night, have you?’ Rita smiled. The woman wore far too much make-up but she carried it off beautifully, with oodles of confidence and an outgoing personality.
‘Not exactly.’
‘Oh that’s a shame. I could use some excitement around here.’
‘I’ve come to talk about the letter.’
From the look on Rita’s face, she knew exactly what Cleo was talking about.
‘What can we do?’ Cleo asked. ‘We can’t let this happen, can we?’
Rita shrugged, one hand on her hip, red lips pouting. ‘Honey, I think we have to accept change.’
‘You’re not fighting it?’ Seeing everyone at the knitting group tonight had made something tug inside Cleo’s heart, her head, wherever. Something that said this wasn’t right. Not for anyone.
Rita exhaled hard, as if it could blow away the problem. ‘I haven’t got it in me to fight it, and I know I’ll lose.’
Cleo frowned. ‘It kills me to say it, but we could negotiate with the buyer, perhaps offer higher rent. I’m sure the other stores would be in agreement, I bet nobody wants to see their business close.’
‘Honey, I can’t afford the rent as it is, let alone pay any more. When I first got the letter I panicked, but thinking about it, it’s time for me to move on anyway, maybe go back to California to be nearer to family.’
‘Right.’
Rita put an arm around Cleo’s shoulder. ‘It’ll be a sad time for us all.’
‘It will,’ said Cleo glumly. ‘I’d better get back to the knitting group.’
