'Good. Max is sorting out dates for Paris.'

'Paris?'

'We're doing the Simone de Beauvoir thing, and it looks like the Bedknobs and Broomsticks is on too, only that'll be the UK. So I'll want you around for that, however pregnant you are.'

'I'd love to. How exciting. What would I do exactly?'

'Be my knitting coach. You can help me knit my way through the endless bloody hours of hanging about. Although neither of them are costume, which will also help.'

'Are costume things tricky then?'

'They're a total nightmare. All that corset stuff really gets to me after a while and I'm nowhere near back to my normal size yet.'

'You looked amazing last time I saw you.'

'Yes, but my arse wasn't up on a big screen then, darling. Trust me. It's still huge. I'm seriously thinking about Botox.'

'For your bottom?'

'Sure. Best place for it I don't want one of those dead faces. I'm thinking of doing Bruno too; he's been looking very weather-beaten lately. It's probably all the time he spends outside with those bloody dogs.'

'Won't he mind?'

'Not if we jab him while he's asleep. Now, the birthday party. It's this weekend, right? And I know we said we couldn't make it, but it looks like we can now.'

Bugger.

'Oh, right, well, that's brilliant.'

'I'll get Max to sort out a present, tell her what he wants, and we'll see you tomorrow. It'll be Lily's first party. I can't wait.'

Double bugger.

Maxine comes back on the line.

'We thought four-thirty, if that's OK?'

'Lovely. You do know it's only local kids and cake, and then a bonfire party with a few people from the shop though, don't you? Nothing remotely glamorous. And it'll be chaos.'

'Sure. It'll just be me and Bruno with her, and I shouldn't think there'll be much press.'

'Press?'

'We released the official photograph of Lily on Monday.'

'I saw, she looked beautiful.'

'So now we're just being a normal mum, going to birthday parties with local friends, part of the local community. Yes? Not at all the superstar hiding her baby from the world.'

'Oh. I see.'

'So if there's a few snappers at your gate, you'll be OK with that?'

'Sure, but the house is a bit of a tip.'

'I'm sure it isn't, and anyway Our Gracie has normal friends, not just people with big houses.'

'Right, of course.'

'Good. We're not handling it, so they'll probably only run a few pictures. Jimmy's about to do his piece on how Grace has turned into a recluse and won't let him see the baby. Not that he's ever tried, of course. Bastard.'

'How awful.'

'Don't worry. Ed's got the lawyers on to it. Now, presents, what does Archie want?'

'A dog, but if you bring him one I'll kill you with my bare hands.'

She laughs.

'Something I can wrap up?'

'Lego, anything from the Star Wars range, or the Knights, but small so Jack's not too jealous, or paints and paper, that kind of thing. He loves painting.'

'I'll sort that now and we'll see you tomorrow.'

'Lovely.'

'And don't worry about food. She won't eat. Bruno will, if you let him. Actually, I can bring extra for Bruno; I'll get Sam to bring some patisserie over, or jellies? He does great vodka jellies.'

'Thanks, but I'm not sure getting them drunk is going to help. But thanks for offering.'

Christ. A Superheroes fancy-dress tea party, with bonfire, and God knows how many adults, and a megastar with snappers and her own pastry chef. So no pressure at all then. And now I'm late for knitting with Reception class.

Excellent.

Mr O'Brien is walking across the playground with a small boy when I get to school.

'We're just going for a walk. Stephen and I find it helps when we're getting cross.'

Stephen nods, with rigid little shoulders and clenched fists.

'Stephen is one of my best boys. I shouldn't really have favourites, but I have to admit I do. And Stephen is one of them.' Mr O'Brien winks at me, and there's a flicker of a smile on Stephen's face.

'Do go in, we won't be long. Mrs Chambers is in the staff room, I think.'

'Great.'

I walk down the corridor looking at the wall displays.

I've already done mini training sessions with most of the staff and lots of them already knew how to knit, which is a bonus, and they've all been really enthusiastic, apart from Miss King, who's been at the school for centuries and isn't keen on anything that involves staying after three-thirty. And Mrs Nelson, who's a friend of Annabel's so she doesn't really count. Their husbands play golf together, and will bore you rigid about it if you stand too close to them at school barbecues. She's only in part-time to do music, but it's surprising how many children you can upset even if you're only in two days a week; especially if their dads don't play golf.

The top class have already started their knitting project; recycling plastic carrier bags by cutting them into strips and then knitting them into mats and bags, and they've all done lovely notes for their project folders, writing about the Van Gogh Sunflowers jumper I brought back from Venice and coming up with alternative pictures they'd like to knit for sample squares. Mrs Chambers is going to start the squares with them today, I think, while I'm in with reception, so I've definitely drawn the short straw on that one.

The staff room is full of boxes of wool alongside the usual piles of papers and half-drunk cups of coffee. Mrs Chambers wrote off to all the wool manufacturers, and I asked a few of the reps, and now we've got all the wool we could possibly need, and lots of sets of small plastic knitting needles in bright colours.

She's sorting through the wool and looking very chirpy.

'Coffee?'

'Please.'

Mr O'Brien comes in, smiling.

'He's such a nice boy, that Stephen. He's just been telling me the best way to deal with drunks. His dad drives the night buses in Margate and by all accounts it can get pretty nasty out there with fights and all sorts, but the crucial thing is to have a laugh with them. I must remember never to catch a night bus in Margate. I'm terrible in fights, I tend to faint.'

Mrs Chambers giggles.

'I do, and it's a very good tactic. In my old school in London, if a particularly threatening parent arrived promising to sort me out, I'd go all dizzy and do my slow-motion crumple. It worked every time.'

'I must remember that.'

'Do, but I wouldn't do it with the children. They tend to just climb all over you, particularly the smaller ones. Now then, Mrs Mackenzie, how's Operation Knitting going? I've seen the recycling one, such a brilliant idea, and the project folders, fascinating I never knew Egyptians invented knitting and the photographs from the war that Mrs Chambers was showing me are wonderful. Are socks tricky to knit?'

'They can be if you want heels. But scarves are easy.'

'My grandmother was telling us at the weekend about knitting scarves for air crews in the war. She said the pilots had to have silk ones, though, because the only way you survived was if you kept turning your head looking for fighters, and wool used to rub their necks raw. Can you imagine? It must have been so terrifying. There was a base round here somewhere, I think.'

'Yes, my gran remembers it too.'

'We must look into that. It could link into history and geography. We could do maps, and a field trip. I liked all the ideas about textures too, string and raffia so useful to key maths skills, how different materials make different widths. Anyway, well done on all the planning. I'll give you one of my sweets for excellent work if you like.'

'Mrs Chambers has done most of the work. But thank you.'

'And I hear congratulations are in order. Another name for our registers on the way marvellous. We'll look forward to welcoming him or her into our reception class in due course.' He's beaming now, as is Mrs Chambers. 'You must let us know if you need to take a rest or anything. Feel free to pop into my room if you need to. Or the staff room.' He hands me a box of biscuits.

'Thanks.'

'Yuk.'

We both turn to Mrs Chambers, who's looking through one of the knitting magazines I've brought in.

'There's an article here about how you can spin hair from your pets and knit it into hats.'

'I know, I saw that too. Probably not one for us, though?'

Mr O'Brien grins.

'God no; not unless we want to get blamed for a lot of bald hamsters.'

Mrs Chambers puts the magazine down.

'True, and I don't think Sooty would be that keen either. He's our school cat, Jo. Well, he belongs to our school-keeper but he lets us stroke him. Sometimes. Although I'm sure that would change if we were trying to make Sooty hats.'

'I'm sure it would.'

Mr O'Brien sits down.

'So tell me more about this new school banner. Won't a picture of the school be quite difficult to knit?'

'We're only planning on everyone knitting a small shape, brown squares for the school building, white for the windows, different greens for the trees, that kind of thing. And then we'll sew on little matchstick children.'

'Like a woolly Lowry?'

'Exactly.'

'Well, I'd better get cracking then. If I can cope with rock climbing, I'm willing to give it a go.'

'Rock climbing?'

'On our school trip, with the leavers, last year. Absolutely appalling. But they loved it, and the centre were very good: they winched me back down when they realised I wasn't joking, which the children enjoyed a great deal. In fact I think it was the highlight of the day for some of them. Anyway, let's not dwell on that. How do I start?'

Mrs Chambers hands him a pair of pink plastic needles.

'Here you go, Jim. Jo will start you off. It's ever so easy once you get going.'

'Oh Lord, me and my big mouth.'

By the time I'm heading down the corridor towards Mrs Tindall's reception class Mr O'Brien has knitted a small green square, which I've promised to turn into some sort of bush for the banner, and he's in his office with three rows of silver lurex on his needles. Mrs Pickering, everyone's favourite dinner lady, is helping him with increasing so they can make a bell shape for the top of the clock tower.

I've been into the hall and briefly seen Archie not eating his packed lunch, and had a beaker of water spilled over my feet, and a quick hug from Jack on his way back to his classroom, but I'm still not feeling anywhere near ready for reception.

Mrs Tindall's got her painting apron on, and a small boy holding on to her hem.

'We're just getting into our groups, Mrs Mackenzie. Michael, I think you can probably let go now, dear, and Trent Carter, we never run with paint pots. Walk slowly, there's a good boy, or you'll get paint everywhere, yes, just like that. Go and wash your hands, dear. Now then, let's have fingers on lips, shall we?'

The class seems to ignore her.

'FINGERS ON LIPS, EVERYBODY.'

Everyone clamps a finger, and in some cases a whole hand, over their mouth, including Trent Carter who now has an orange chin. The noise level reduces to muted scufflings.

'Well done, everyone. Matthew, please sit down and get a tissue if you must do that. Now here's Mrs Mackenzie, come to help us make lovely pom-poms for our Sammy Snake. And then we're all going to knit things for our new school banner. We talked about it this morning, remember?'

Some of them nod, but quite a few look blank, or mildly panicky.

'Let's all sit nicely on our chairs and show her how sensible we can be, shall we? Ellie, is that being sensible?'

Before I know it I'm trying to fit on a tiny chair, with six children at my table, pom-pomming like my life depends on it while Mrs Tindall sorts out the paint and the glue and the classroom assistant Mrs Channing makes a start on knitting small brown squares with her group. We've already worked out that if we cast on for them, and take it slowly, most of them can cope. But that was with the older ones, so who knows what'll happen with the littlest ones. I've shown my lot how to wind their wool around the plastic semicircles we got in the pom-pom kits, and Finlay and Connor are busy winding away, while Natasha and Laura watch my every move as I start Kyle and James off with some thick blue cotton.