Christmas Shopaholic

by Sophie Kinsella

  Although, having said that, Janice has mentioned about a hundred times how keen she is to start visiting Mum more and going to “workshops and events” and “Maybe Martin and I will look at an apartment in Shoreditch too!” So I have no idea how that might pan out. As for Flo, the subject hasn’t even been mentioned. It’s as though she never existed.

  The star of the show, of course, is Santiago. We’re all pretending to be interested in one another’s stories and jokes, but, really, no one can keep their eyes off him. Right now he’s playing with all the others in some new game of Clemmie’s involving pictures of hats. And the other children are being so sweet and careful to include him that it melts my heart.

  “He’s amazing,” I say to Jess every five minutes, because he is. He really is.

  He’s also the most ethically dressed child I’ve ever seen, in bamboo and recycled cotton and vegan leather shoes. Plus he’s been the only child to show any interest in my eco-tree, so he gets extra points, unlike my godson, Ernest, who just said flatly, “What’s that? Shall I take it to recycling?” To be fair, it’s not the most impressive sight. It’s a branch from the garden decorated with three spoons. But Santiago stroked the spoons and smiled—he’s got the most ravishing smile—and I could tell, as Jess watched him, she’s absolutely besotted.

  In fact, she must be on some sort of cloud nine, because an hour ago we all realized Minnie had decorated a beaming Santiago in wreaths of tinsel and fairy lights. But when I rushed in horror to rip them off him, thinking, Oh God, evil plastic, evil tinsel, Jess will get totally offended and leave, she put up a hand to stop me. And, looking sheepish, she said, “Wait. He looks so sweet. Let me take a quick photo.”

  She actually took a photo of her son adorned with plastic decorations! Jess, who hates plastic! It’s being a new mother, I reckon. It’s addled her brain.

  I’m about to tinkle a fork in my glass and suggest we open some presents, when Suze arrives by my side breathlessly and says, “Bex. Come here a sec.”

  She leads me into the hall and shows me a large cardboard box, covered in rain stains and bird droppings. “This was in your front garden!” she says. “I just took out some recycling, and I spotted the corner of it behind your rosebush. I think it must have been dumped there a few days ago.”

  “Oh God,” I say guiltily. “It must be something I bought online.”

  “What?” says Suze expectantly. “It’s quite big.”

  “No idea. Don’t tell Luke.”

  I hastily rip it open, so that I can go and hide whatever it is under the bed—but the sight that greets me makes me momentarily freeze. It’s leather. Dark brown leather. As I tear the cardboard further, my heart thumping, I see a handle. A brass “LB” charm. I rip the rest of the covering off in a frenzy—and it is. It’s the portmanteau. I can’t believe it.

  “Wow!” exclaims Suze. “That’s phenomenal! Where did you get that from?”

  I can’t speak. I’m searching for an envelope, a note, something—and suddenly I see it. I rip open the expensive lined envelope and find myself looking at a correspondence card with a handwritten note:

  Dear Mrs. Brandon (née Bloomwood),

  I gather that you have pioneered women’s membership at the London Billiards Club. My husband, Sir Peter Leggett-Davey, is most put out.

  As a result of his rage, I have been wishing heartily that I had done the same thing many years ago, and I admire your courage and determination.

  Simon Millett told me that you had set your heart on winning this item in the raffle. I am delighted to send it to you with my very best wishes and congratulations.

  Lady Rosamund Leggett-Davey

  (née Wilson)

  “Who’s it from?” says Suze, and I lift my head, feeling almost giddy.

  “Just…someone,” I say at last. Then, as I hear the sound of Luke laughing, I snap into action. “Quick. Suze. Help me wrap this up.”

  Within five minutes we’ve got it wrapped and manhandled under the tree, and I’m tinkling my fork in my glass.

  “Let’s do some presents before lunch!” I say, as everyone gathers around the tree. “And, Luke, I want to start with this one. Happy Christmas.”

  “But I’ve seen my present,” says Luke, looking confused. “The box is a lot smaller.”

  “That was…a decoy,” I quickly improvise. “Ha! Fooled you!”

  It’s fine. I’ll give him the sweater for his birthday.

  Luke tears off the paper and I watch, biting my lip, as he stares, blinks, then looks more closely, rubs his hand over the leather, opens and shuts it, takes in the lining, the “LB” charm, the sheer amazingness of it…then finally lifts his eyes to mine. He looks quite overcome.

  “Becky,” he says at last, and comes over to kiss me. “This is incredible. Where on earth did you get it from?”

  “Er…” I hesitate. Maybe I’ll tell Luke the whole story one day—but not right now. “I just saw it in a window,” I say, which is true. “And it was so perfect, I had to get it. So!” I hastily move the conversation on. “Let’s all give Janice her presents, to say thank you for the lovely makeovers she’s given us.”

  I can’t help glancing around at the others with a grin, because the truth is, we’ve coordinated on this. In fact, we’ve had our own secret WhatsApp group called Janice’s presents—and I can’t wait to see her face.

  Suze’s present is an insulated carton of fresh crabmeat. “I know you love crab, Janice,” she says earnestly. “But it’s very perishable, so you must eat it very soon.”

  Mum’s present is a flat parcel, and Janice opens it to find a drawing of her house in Oxshott. “Look, love!” says Mum cheerfully. “It’s got every detail. I do hope you and Martin enjoy it!”

  My present is a hairbrush with Janice engraved on the back. Tom gives her a personalized Janice teapot, while Jess gives her a box of chocolates printed with To my mother-in-law, Janice.

  “Goodness,” says Janice, looking quite flustered. “What lovely presents. Absolutely super.”

  “But, Janice,” says Martin, the penny clearly dropping, “what about your cupboard? You can’t regift any of these.”

  “Martin!” snaps Janice, her cheeks coloring.

  “Oh, Janice!” I say, clapping my hand to my mouth. “I guess you’ll have to enjoy your presents instead.” I grin at her to show I’m teasing, and Janice’s color deepens.

  “Yes!” she says, fluffing out her hair, looking embarrassed. “Well. Thank you. Thank you all.” She picks up the teapot and suddenly looks delighted. “I will enjoy using this,” she says. “I really will.”

  “So, next up, my present for Suze,” I announce. “Jess told us how she was giving everyone a zero-waste present, and we were inspired. So we’re giving each other things from our own possessions. Only I just couldn’t decide, so…wait a sec…”

  I head out of the room, grab the sack I’ve tied with a big red bow and hidden in the coat cupboard, and drag it back into the room.

  “Suze, here’s a load of my stuff. Just have what you want. Honestly. I think it would all suit you.”

  “Bex!” gasps Suze. “I did the same!” She reaches behind the sofa and hauls out three bin bags, and I stare at them in excitement. Three bin bags full of Suze’s stuff? This is the most perfect Christmas present ever! I can’t resist reaching into one of them, and I pull out her pale pink slouchy cashmere sweater.

  “I’ve always loved this,” I say in elation.

  “I’ve always loved this!” rejoins Suze, pulling out my Ally Smith cardigan with the signature button. “Oh my God, Bex, are you sure?”

  “Of course! Put it on! Let me see!”

  “Maybe you should sort it all out after lunch,” says Luke hurriedly. “Or…after Christmas, even. Is it lunchtime perhaps? Shall we do the rest of the presents later?”

/>   “Yes,” I say reluctantly, putting back a feather boa. “Or, actually…no!” I sit up, struck by an idea. “I think Jess and Tom should give out their presents before lunch. Are you still giving us all words?” I say curiously to Jess.

  “Yes,” says Jess, flushing faintly. “We have a word for each of you.”

  I can’t wait to hear these words. I’ve never been given a word before in my life.

  “Well…fab,” I say. “Bring it on.”

  Jess and Tom stand up and walk over to Dad, who says, “Me?” and laughs nervously—then lapses into silence under the steady gaze of Tom and Jess. They look at him quietly for a few more moments, and I start to feel prickly. This is quite magical. As I glance around the room, I think everyone feels the same way—kind of overawed and wondering what’s going to happen next. It’s as though we’re at some special ceremony all of a sudden.

  At last, Tom says seriously, “Graham, we would like to give you the word…‘Wise.’ ”

  “Goodness,” says Dad, looking taken aback. “Well…thank you. Thank you very much!”

  As if they’ve practiced this (which they probably have), Tom and Jess move in sync toward Clemmie and give her the same grave look.

  “Clemmie,” says Jess softly, “we would like to give you the word ‘Nightingale.’ ”

  Nightingale! That’s genius, because Clemmie has actually got a lovely singing voice.

  “Thank you,” says Clemmie, looking a bit nonplussed, then Tom and Jess move to Tarkie.

  “Tarquin,” says Tom, “we would like to give you the word ‘Dynamic.’ ”

  That’s really clever for Tarkie, too, because I can see how chuffed he is. And now they’re heading toward me, their faces intent—and in spite of myself I feel a giant spasm of nerves. Please not “Overdraft.” Or “Flaky.”

  “Becky,” says Jess seriously, “we would like to give you the word ‘Joy.’ ”

  Joy? I got joy? I feel ridiculously pleased and shoot a delighted smile at Luke. I got joy!

  As Jess and Tom move around the room, I’m mesmerized—in fact, everyone is. Janice gets “Beauty,” which makes her pinken with pleasure. Luke gets “Integrity,” which I know will make his day. At last, everyone has received a word, and Tom and Jess face each other, with Santiago standing between them, his eyes huge.

  “Tom,” says Jess, her face solemn. “I give you ‘Strength.’ ”

  “Jess,” says Tom, “I give you ‘Resolute.’ ”

  Then they both turn to Santiago and start doing what I guess is sign language, while he watches, wide-eyed. They finish and there’s a tiny pause before they draw breath and say gently, in unison, “Santiago. Our son. We give you ‘Cherished.’ ”

  Cherished. Oh my God. My throat is all choked up, and I decide instantly that I never want anything for Christmas again except a word. Words rock. Words rule. Words are the best present ever.

  * * *

  —

  As we gather around the table twenty minutes later, everyone is still a bit bowled over by their amazing words.

  “My word is ‘Valiant,’ ” Ernie keeps telling everyone proudly. “It means brave. It means I’m very brave.”

  “Oh, Becky!” Janice suddenly exclaims. “I nearly forgot. I’ve got another tiny thing for you. Nothing much, really, but I picked it up at the Christmas Style Fair. I meant to give it to you on the day as a thank-you, but I forgot. Quite fun, I thought.” She pops out to the hall, then hands me a little gift bag. “As I say, it’s just a tiny thing….”

  I reach into the gift bag, expecting a lip gloss or something—but my hand closes over a soft object wrapped in tissue paper. I pull it out and see a flash of silver. And my heart catches.

  No way, no way…

  I rip off the remaining tissue—and it is! It’s the silver llama! I can’t believe it. Janice had one all the time?

  “As I say, it’s not much,” Janice is saying apologetically, “but it did catch my eye….”

  “Janice!” I fling my arms around her. “I love it!”

  “Well!” she says, looking pleased. “Goodness. Happy Christmas, love!”

  I can’t resist hurrying to the sitting room and hanging the llama on the tree that very moment. I put it right at the front, then stand back and regard it admiringly. Our entire tree is transformed!

  Then I head into the kitchen, to find Luke standing motionless, staring at his phone.

  “How’s the turkey?” I say. “Does it look well rested? Luke?” I add, as he doesn’t seem able to respond. “Luke?”

  Finally, Luke raises his head and gazes at me for a few seconds.

  “Becky,” he says in an odd voice, “I’ve just had an email from someone called Simon Millett, wishing me happy Christmas and filling me in on a few things.”

  What? He emailed Luke? That sneak.

  “Oh,” I say hastily. “Well, I wouldn’t listen to him—”

  “According to him, you did a bit more than just ‘see my present in a window.’ He’s sent me a link to the London Clubs’ newsletter. Which, actually, I do receive,” he adds, in an even odder voice, “but never bother to read. Because I never expected to see a picture of my wife in it.”

  He turns around his phone, and I see a photo of me addressing the ninety-three-year-olds, my hands aloft and my mouth wide open. Who chose that awful shot? I bet it was Sir Peter.

  “Oh, right,” I say, as Luke seems to be expecting an answer. “Yes. I’ve joined a club.” I try to sound casual. “I was going to mention it. You can come along as my guest, if you like.”

  “Becky…” Luke trails off, appearing almost speechless. “A billiards club?”

  “Well, I wanted the portmanteau!” I say defensively. “It had your initials on it.”

  “So you changed the laws of one of the oldest clubs in town,” Luke says, gazing at me as though there are a thousand other things he wants to say but doesn’t know where to start. “You swept the floor with them, according to this chap Simon Millett. I wish I’d been there.”

  “Well, you know.” I shrug. “I wasn’t just going to get you boring old aftershave—”

  And then I can’t speak, because Luke has enveloped me in a tight hug. In fact, so tight I can hardly breathe.

  “There’s no one like you, Becky,” he says against my neck, his voice husky. “No one in the whole wide world.”

  This is something Luke says to me quite a lot. And sometimes I’m not sure if he means it in a good way or a bad way. But right now I’m fairly sure it’s in a good way.

  At last we draw apart and take a few deep breaths and remember what we’re supposed to be doing, which is serving Christmas lunch. Luke carries in the turkey and I follow him with Peppa Pig the vegan turkey. The whole dining room erupts into cheers, and Tarkie exclaims throatily, “And so say all of us!”

  The next few minutes are a blur of carving and spooning and passing dishes along. But at last everyone has a plate of food and we’ve pulled the crackers (sustainable, hand-block-printed by Nepalese women) and everyone’s wearing a paper hat—and Christmas lunch is under way. The table looks fab, with its highland ribbons and neon table confetti and Scandi candlesticks. (My theme in the end was “eclectic.”) Martin has piled his plate with sprouts, Suze has piled hers with broccoli, and everyone has taken at least one doughnut. Peppa Pig is a massive hit—I think we might have to have a vegan-doughnut turkey every year now.

  “Well!” says Mum, whose word was “Source” and has just revealed to me she thought at first Tom and Jess meant “Sauce” and was quite confused and had to have it explained. “What a wonderful Christmas!” She rises to her feet and bangs her pudding spoon on her plate until there’s quiet around the table. “Everyone! I would like to make a speech. We all know that Becky hasn’t had it easy these last few days, what with one thing and anothe
r. But here we are, enjoying a wonderful Christmas, in this beautifully decorated house, and I would like to say to you, Becky and Luke and Minnie: Thank you!” She raises her glass. “To the Brandons!”

  “The Brandons!” everyone echoes, rising to their feet, and Suze chimes in, “Née Bloomwood!” and everyone bursts into laughter and then sits down again to dig happily into their food.

  I sit back in my chair and watch everyone for a moment, just absorbing the happiness of it all—Mum cutting up Minnie’s turkey, and Suze checking out her paper hat in the mirror, and Jess suspiciously reading the leaflet about the sustainable credentials of the crackers. Christmas is the best. Even if it goes wrong, it’s the best. Then I turn to Luke, who’s sitting on my left, at the head of the table.

  “What did you think of the words, by the way?” I say to him, under the cover of conversation. “Tom and Jess’s presents, I mean.”

  “Pretty impressive,” says Luke. “Not what I expected, somehow.”

  “Me neither.” I nod, before adding in my most casual manner, “So…what word would you give me?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” says Luke, with an easy laugh.

  “Go on, Luke, give me a word. Give me a word for Christmas.” I’m half-joking—but half serious too. I suddenly want to hear his word. The word he would choose for me.

  As though sensing this, Luke puts down his knife and fork. He turns to me, and his dark eyes lock on to mine for what seems an endless span of time before he says, quietly, “Beloved.”

  My face flashes hot and I feel a prickle in my nose. Beloved. That’s his word for me, beloved.

  I love my new dress. Of course I do. But this is the present I’ll always remember.

  “That’s a good one,” I say, trying to keep my composure. “Thank you.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” Luke takes his knife and fork back up and resumes eating. “Now you give me a word,” he adds. “Something good, mind.”

  I’m silent for a moment, thinking hard. Then I draw a slightly shaky breath and say, “OK. I’ll give you a word.”