Shopaholic & Baby

by Sophie Kinsella

  “I didn’t want to spoil the party.” I flush as everyone turns toward me. “Everyone was having such a lovely time….” I break off, realizing I still haven’t told him. “Luke…there’s something else. We’ve lost the house.”

  As I say the words I feel a wave of crushing disappointment again. Our beautiful family house, gone.

  “You’re kidding.” Luke’s face darkens in shock.

  “They’re selling it to someone else. But…it’ll be fine!” Somehow I force a bright smile. “We can rent a flat somewhere…. I’ve been looking on the Net—we’ll easily find somewhere….”

  “Becky…” I can see it in his eyes too. Our dreams, destroyed.

  “I know.” I blink back the tears. “It’ll be fine, Luke.”

  “Oh, Becky.” I look over, and Suze is practically in tears too. “Have our castle in Scotland. We never use it!”

  “Suze.” I can’t help a half-giggle. “Don’t be silly.”

  “You’ll come and live with us, love!” Mum chimes in. “You won’t rent any nasty flat! And as for you, young lady…” She turns on Venetia, her face pink with outrage. “How dare you upset my daughter when she’s in labor!”

  Shit.

  I’d forgotten about being in labor.

  “God, of course!” Suze claps a hand over her mouth. “Bex, you haven’t made a peep! You’re amazing!”

  “My darling, you are such a star.” Luke looks absolutely awestruck. “All this, and you’re in labor….”

  “Oh…er…it’s nothing!” I try to sound modest. “You know….”

  “It’s not nothing—it’s incredible. Isn’t it?” Luke appeals to the student midwives.

  “She is pretty special,” agrees Paula, who has been following the exchange with Venetia with a wide-open mouth. “That’s why we’re all observing her.”

  “Special, huh?” Venetia suddenly says. She comes over and looks me up and down, her eyes narrowed. “Becky, when exactly was your last contraction?”

  “Er…” I clear my throat. “It was…er…just now.”

  “She’s a Scientologist,” puts in Paula eagerly. “She’s managing the pain silently. It’s wonderful to watch.”

  “A Scientologist ?” echoes Luke.

  “It’s my new hobby!” I say brightly. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “I never knew you were a Scientologist, Bex!” says Suze in surprise.

  “Is that the Moonies?” Mum demands of Luke in alarm. “Has Becky joined the Moonies?”

  “Well, now.” Venetia’s eyes gleam. “Let’s have a look at you, Becky. Maybe this baby’s ready to be delivered!”

  I edge away. If she gets to examine me, I’m basically dead.

  “Don’t be shy!” Venetia is advancing on me, and in panic I hurry round to the other side of the bed.

  “Look at that mobility!” one of the student midwives is saying admiringly.

  “Come on, Becky….”

  “Go away! Leave me alone!” I grab the gas and air mask and start gulping it in. That’s better. God, we should have a tank of this stuff at home.

  “We’re here!” The door is thrust open and everyone looks up to see Danny bursting in, followed by Jess. “We’re here! Did we miss it?”

  Jess is wearing her She’s a Yummy Mummy and We Love Her T-shirt, to match Suze’s. Danny is wearing a blue cashmere tank with She’s a Red-Haired Bitch and I Hate Her printed in khaki on the front.

  “Where’s the baby?” Danny looks around the room with bright eyes, taking in the tense scene. His eyes alight on Venetia. “Hey, who invited Cruella de Venetia?”

  Luke is staring at the slogan on Danny’s tank top. He gives a sudden snort of comprehending laughter.

  “You’re so juvenile,” spits Venetia, who has also clocked the tank top. “All of you. And if Little Miss Becky is really in labor, then I’m—”

  “Oh,” I shriek. “Oh! I’m leaking!”

  God, that’s the weirdest feeling. Something somewhere has just burst, and a pool of water is gathering at my feet. I can’t stop it.

  “Jesus!” says Danny, shielding his eyes. “OK…way too much info.” He takes Jess’s elbow. “C’mon, Jess, let’s go get a drink.”

  “Your water has gone,” says Paula, looking puzzled. “I thought that happened yesterday.”

  “That could have been her forewater,” another student pipes up, looking all girly-swotty and pleased with herself. “This could be her hindwater.”

  I’m in a state of shock. My water has broken.

  That means…I’m in labor.

  I really, genuinely, truly am in labor.

  Aaaargh. Oh my God. We’re going to have a baby!

  “Luke.” I grab him in total panic. “It’s happening!”

  “I know, my darling.” Luke smooths my brow. “And you’re doing amazingly….”

  “No!” I wail. “You don’t understand—” I stop, suddenly breathless. What was that?

  It felt like someone squeezed my abdomen and then squeezed it some more and then squeezed it even tighter, even though I was begging them to stop.

  Is that what a contraction’s like?

  “Luke…” My breath is suddenly rather snatched. “I’m not sure I can do this….”

  It’s even tighter now, and I’m almost panting, my hands gripping Luke’s forearm.

  “You’ll be fine. You’ll be wonderful.” He’s stroking my back rhythmically. “Dr. Braine’s on his way. The red-haired bitch is just leaving. Aren’t you, Venetia?” He doesn’t take his eyes off mine.

  The contraction seems to have finished. The clenching sensation has died away. But I know it’ll be back, like that scary guy on Elm Street.

  “I think I’d like an epidural after all,” I gulp. “Quite soon.”

  “Of course!” says Paula, hurrying over. “I’ll page the anesthetist. You’ve done so well to last this long, Becky….”

  “…ridiculous.” I hear the last word of some muttered epithet of Venetia’s before she bangs the door closed.

  “What a cow!” says Suze. “I’m telling all my pregnant friends what a cow she is.”

  “She’s gone.” Luke kisses me on the forehead. “It’s over. I’m sorry, Becky. I’m so sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say automatically.

  And actually…I mean it.

  Already I feel like Venetia’s irrelevant, drifting away from us like smoke. It’s Luke and me that matters. And the baby.

  Oh God, another contraction’s starting already. This whole labor malarkey is a complete pain. I grab the gas and air mask and all the student midwives gather round, encouraging me as I start to inhale.

  “You can do it, Becky…stay relaxed…breathe….”

  Come on, baby. I want to meet you.

  “You’re doing great…keep breathing, Becky….”

  Of course you can do it. Come on. We both can.

  TWENTY-ONE

  IT’S A GIRL.

  It’s a little girl, with scrunched-up petal lips and a tuft of dark hair and hands in tiny fists, up by her ears. All that time, that’s who was in there. And it’s weird, but the minute I saw her I just thought: It’s you. Of course it is.

  Now she’s lying in a plastic crib beside my bed in a gorgeous little white Baby Dior babygro. (I wanted to try a few different outfits on just to see what suited her, but the midwife got a bit stern with me and said we both needed our sleep.) And I’m just staring at her, feeling fuzzy from the broken night, watching every rise and fall of her breath, every squirm of her fingers.

  The birth was…

  Well, it was what they call “straightforward and easy.” Which really makes me wonder. It seemed pretty complicated and bloody hard work to me. But anyway. Some things are best left a blur. Births and Visa bills.

  “Hi. You’re awake.” Luke looks up from where he’s been dozing in a chair and rubs his eyes. He’s unshaven and his hair is askew and his shirt is all rumpled.

  “Uh-huh.”


  “How is she?”

  “Fine.” I can’t help a smile licking across my face as I look at her again. “Perfect.”

  “She is perfect. You’re perfect.” His face has a kind of distant euphoria even as he’s looking at me, and I know he’s reliving last night.

  In the end, just Luke stayed in the room, and everyone else went out to wait. And then they went home, because Dr. Braine said it would be a long while before anything happened. But it wasn’t! It was one thirty in the morning when she was born, and she looked all bright-eyed and alert, straightaway. She’s going to be a party girl, I know it.

  She doesn’t have a name yet. The list I made is discarded on the floor beside the bed. I got it out last night when the midwife asked what we were going to call her—but all the names I’d thought about are wrong. They’re just…wrong. Even Dolce. Even Tallulah-Phoebe.

  There’s a gentle tapping at the door. It opens very slowly and Suze puts her head round. She’s holding a giant bunch of lilies and a pink helium balloon.

  “Hi,” she breathes, and as her eyes fall on the crib she claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, Bex, look at that. She’s beautiful.”

  “I know.” With no warning, tears spring to my eyes. “I know she is.”

  “Bex?” Looking anxious, Suze hurries over to the bed with a rustle of flowers. “Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine. I just…” I gulp, wiping my nose. “I had no idea.”

  “What?” Suze sits down on the edge of the bed, her face full of dread. “Bex…was it really awful?”

  “No, it’s not that.” I shake my head, struggling for the words. “I had no idea I’d feel so…happy.”

  “Oh yeah, that.” Suze’s face lights up as if in memory. “You do. It doesn’t last forever, mind you.” She seems to think again and gives me a tight hug. “It is amazing. Congratulations. Congratulations, Luke!”

  “Thanks.” He smiles. Even though he looks knackered, he’s glowing. He meets my eye and I feel a catch in my heart. It’s like we have a secret together, which no one else can quite understand.

  “Look at her little fingers.…” Suze is bending over the crib. “Hello, darling!” She looks up. “Does she have a name?”

  “Not yet.” I adjust myself on the pillows, wincing a little. I feel pretty mashed up after last night. Although the good thing is, the epidural hasn’t completely worn off yet, and they’ve already given me a stash of painkillers.

  The door opens again, and Mum appears. She’s already met the baby, at eight this morning, when she arrived with brioches and hot coffee in a flask. Now she’s laden with gift bags and Dad is following in her wake.

  “Dad…meet your granddaughter!” I say.

  “Oh, Becky, darling. Congratulations.” Dad gives me the hugest, tightest hug. Then he peers into the crib, blinking slightly harder than normal. “Well, then. Hello, old girl.”

  “Here are some clothes for you, Becky, love.” Mum heaves an enormous weekend bag stuffed full of garments onto a nearby chair. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I just rooted around….”

  “Thanks, Mum.” I undo the zip and pull out a chunky cable cardigan which I haven’t worn for about five years. Then I glimpse something else. A familiar pale blue glimmering, beaded, velvety softness.

  My scarf. My precious Denny and George scarf. I still remember the first instant I clapped eyes on it.

  “Hey look!” I pull it out, careful not to snag any of the beads. I haven’t worn this for ages, either. “Remember this, Luke?”

  “Of course I remember!” Luke’s face softens as he sees it. Then he adds, totally deadpan, “You bought it for your Aunt Ermintrude, as I recall.”

  “That’s right.” I nod.

  “Tragic that she died before she could ever wear it. Her arm fell off, wasn’t it?”

  “Her leg,” I correct him.

  Mum has been listening to this exchange, perplexed.

  “Aunt who?” she says, and I can’t help breaking into a giggle.

  “An old friend,” says Luke, tying the scarf around my neck. He looks at it for a moment in a kind of wonderment, then down at the baby. “Who would have thought…”

  “I know.” I finger the corner of the scarf. “Who would have thought?”

  Dad is still totally fixated by the baby. He’s put a finger into the crib, and the baby has wrapped her tiny hand around it.

  “So, old girl,” he’s saying. “What are we calling you, then?”

  “We haven’t decided yet,” I say. “It’s so hard!”

  “I’ve brought you a book!” says Mum, rootling in her holdall. “What about Grisabella?”

  “Grisabella?” echoes Dad.

  “It’s a lovely name!” says Mum defensively, pulling out 1,000 Girls’ Names and putting it on the bed. “Unusual.”

  “She’d get called Grizzle in the playground!” Dad retorts.

  “Not necessarily! She could be Bella…or Grizzy….”

  “Grizzy? Jane, are you mad ?”

  “Well, what do you like?” says Mum, affronted.

  “I was thinking…possibly…” Dad clears his throat. “Rhapsody.”

  I glance at Luke, who mouths Rhapsody ? with such an expression of horror, I want to laugh.

  “Hey, I have an idea,” chimes in Suze. “Fruit’s been done to death, but not herbs. You could call her Tarragon!”

  “Tarragon?” Mum looks appalled. “You might as well call her Chili Powder! Now, I’ve got some champagne to wet her little head…. It’s not too early, is it?” She pulls out a bottle, along with a piece of paper. “Oh yes, and I took a message from your real estate agent. He phoned while I was at your flat, and I gave him a piece of my mind, I can tell you! I said, ‘A newborn baby is homeless at Christmas because of you, young man.’ That stopped him in his tracks! He said he wanted to apologize. Then he started talking some nonsense about villas in Barbados! I ask you.” She shakes her head. “Now, who wants champagne? Where are the champagne glasses?” She puts the bottle down and starts searching in the cupboards under the telly.

  “I’m not sure they’ve got any champagne glasses,” I say.

  “Well, for goodness’ sake!” Mum clicks her tongue and stands up again. “I’ll speak to the concierge.”

  “Mum, there isn’t a concierge.”

  Just because they have posh menus and tellies, Mum seems to think this place is some kind of Ritz-Carlton.

  “I’ll find something,” Mum says firmly, and heads to the door.

  “D’you want some help?” Suze gets to her feet. “I’ve got to phone Tarkie anyway.”

  “Thank you!” Mum beams at her. “And Graham, you fetch the camera from the car. I forgot to bring it up.”

  The door closes behind Dad, and Luke and I are alone in the room again. With our daughter.

  God, that’s a weird thought. I still can’t quite believe we have a daughter.

  Meet our daughter, Tarragon Parsley Sage and Onion.

  No.

  “So.” Luke pushes a hand back through his rumpled hair. “In two weeks’ time we’re homeless.”

  “Out on the streets!” I say lightly. “Never mind.”

  “I guess you expected to marry someone who could put a roof over your head, didn’t you?”

  He’s joking, but there’s a wryness in his voice.

  “Oh well.” I shrug, watching the baby’s hand unfurl like a little starfish. “Better luck next time…”

  There’s silence and I glance up. Luke seems genuinely stricken.

  “Luke, I’m joking!” I say hastily. “It doesn’t matter!”

  “You’ve just had a baby. You should have a home. We shouldn’t be in this position. I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s not your fault!” I grab his hand. “Luke, we’ll be fine. We’ll make a home wherever we are.”

  “I’ll get us a home,” he says, almost fiercely. “Becky, we’ll have a wonderful house, I promise you.”

  “I know we will.”
I squeeze his hand tight. “But honestly…it doesn’t matter.”

  I’m not just saying that to be supportive.(Even though I am a very supportive wife.) It really, truly doesn’t seem to matter. Right now, I feel like I’m in a kind of bubble. Real life is on the other side, miles away. All that matters is the baby.

  “Look!” I say, as she suddenly yawns. “She’s only eight hours old and she can yawn! That’s so clever!”

  For a while we both gaze into the crib, awestruck, hoping she might do something else.

  “Hey, maybe she’ll be prime minister one day!” I say softly. “Wouldn’t that be cool? We could get her to do all the things we wanted!”

  “She won’t, though.” Luke shakes his head. “If we tell her to do them, she’ll do exactly the opposite.”

  “She’s such a rebel!” I run a finger down her teeny forehead.

  “She has her own mind.” Luke corrects me. “Look at the way she’s ignoring us now.” He sits back on the bed. “So what are we going to call her? Not Grisabella.”

  “Not Rhapsody.”

  “Not Parsley.” He picks up 1,000 Girls’ Names and starts flicking through it.

  Meanwhile I’m just gazing at her sleeping face. This one name keeps popping into my head every time I look at her. It’s almost as if she’s telling it to me.

  “Minnie,” I say aloud.

  “Minnie,” Luke echoes, experimentally. “Minnie Brandon. You know, I like that.” He looks up with a smile. “I really like it.”

  “Minnie Brandon.” I can’t help beaming back. “It sounds good, doesn’t it? Miss Minnie Brandon.”

  “Named after…your aunt Ermintrude, obviously?” Luke raises his eyebrows.

  Oh my God! That hadn’t even occurred to me.

  “Of course!” I can’t help giggling. “Except no one will know that except us.”

  The Right Honourable Minnie Brandon QC OBE.

  Miss Minnie Brandon looked radiant as she danced with the Prince in a floor-length ball gown by Valentino….

  Minnie Brandon has taken the world by storm….

  “Yes.” I nod. “That’s her name.” I lean over the cot and watch her chest rising and falling with each breath. Then I smooth back her tuft of hair and kiss her tiny cheek. “Welcome to the world, Minnie Brandon.”