Late Night Shopping

by Carmen Reid

  Annie turned off the row after row of ceiling lights that gave the personal shopping suite its glamorous dazzle, then, handbag and carrier bags slung over her shoulders, she walked down the escalator, already silent and still because it was after 9 p.m. and The Store was closed.

  As she rounded the corner from the bottom of the escalator into Accessories on the ground floor, Annie didn't exactly mean to look, she really didn't. She'd intended to keep walking towards the front door, where she was meeting her sister in about three minutes' time, but then there was a movement which forced her to turn her head.

  There, in the designer handbag corner, with its golden wooden shelving still lit from above and the new season's patent bags glowing like works of art, Sandra the sales consultant was dusting the scrunchy, slouchy, violet slice of handbag heaven which Annie couldn't seem to get out of her mind.

  'Oh babes!' Annie couldn't stop herself from walking over now. 'No one's bought it today then?'

  Sandra, an elegant blonde in her forties who'd spent five years in Accessories and knew everything there was to know about selling arm candy, turned to her and smiled: 'No, Annie, not yet. There was a very close call today. A woman was in here for over twenty minutes looking at it, handling it and trying it on. She said something about maybe next week when her pay cheque comes in.'

  'Maybe next week!' Annie spluttered. 'It won't be here next week! Why didn't she just take it? Hasn't she heard of credit cards? Some people are just strange . . .'

  'Which means it's still here.' Sandra, on tiptoe, took the bag down from its plinth and handed it to its most fervent admirer.

  Ooooh, the weight, the softness, the substance, the crackle of patent leather, the gentle jangle of quality fittings. How could anyone ever think about buying a fake bag when the real thing was so very, very stunningly good? Annie herself had occasionally succumbed to the lure of the cheap, fashionable fake but it was always so woefully disappointing compared to the real thing.

  And this was such a great piece! If she bought this bag, she could dress it up, dress it down. She couldn't think of an occasion that would be inappropriate for the bag. It was big, but not too big, soft but with structure . . .

  Annie slipped it over her shoulder, caught a glimpse of herself in a mirrored column, then quickly took it off and handed it back to Sandra.

  'I have to go,' she said sharply, more to herself than to Sandra, or indeed the handbag.

  'A stunning investment piece,' Sandra, began, only for Annie to chime in with her so they said together: 'It will go with absolutely everything.'

  'Definitely not tonight, my love,' Annie called, walking away from the source of temptation as quickly as she could, 'Night-night.'

  She passed the Chanel counter, scooped a blob of £120 a jar face cream from the tester pot and rubbed it into her hands, then blasted herself thoroughly with the No. 19 tester bottle.

  Spotting her sister on the other side of The Store's locked glass doors, she hurried over.

  Outside the two hugged hello, then looked each other over approvingly for fashion pointers. Whereas Annie was labelly and slightly 'glam conservative', Dinah at the age of thirty-three was still a high street shopper, totally dedicated to fashion.

  'Not just a pinafore, but a tulip-shaped pinafore, now that is very on-trend. Totally wouldn't work with my boobs though,' was Annie's first comment as she stroked the material of her sister's mustard-coloured dress and admired the bravery of teaming it with striped tights, a flowery blouse and a blue beret. But then Dinah did work at an art college. There were certain standards of zaniness which had to be maintained.

  'Lovely material, really good quality and the exact colour of your shoes.' These things did not escape Annie's notice.

  'Aha, yeah, I bought them together, matching set, at Barnardo's for twenty-five pounds.' Dinah gave a smug little smile. She just loved to subvert Annie's mantra that great quality only came at a price.

  'Bargain,' Annie had to agree: 'possibly because you are the only person in the Western world who suits mustard yellow.'

  'Mmmm . . . I'm liking your necklace.' Dinah was now homing in on the ornately coloured and twisted brown, black and golden whorls round Annie's neck.

  'Totally plastic, Brixton market, £4. It's yours for £3,' Annie offered.

  'Hand it over and I'll buy you a drink,' was Dinah's offer.

  'OK. Where are we going by the way?' Annie asked, 'and is the Dry One meeting us there?'

  'Oh yeah. I've made sure there's a selection of mineral waters available,' Dinah replied, rolling her eyes.

  'To think, we used to really like him . . . and what very, very good times we used to have,' Annie said with mock sadness, as arm in arm, heels clicking rhythmically together, the sisters set off down the street in the direction of one of the more secluded wine bars in Kensington.

  'It can't go on for much longer, surely?' Dinah asked.

  'Who knows?'

  They were talking about Connor, their long-term friend. Once gay, vivacious and hilarious, a highly successful TV actor with a starring role in a prime time Sunday series, he was now a far too highly successful TV actor, about to renegotiate his contract, still gay but, instead of vivacious and hilarious, stone cold sober and almost as obsessed with his health as his career.

  Both Annie and Dinah were convinced if they could just force one tiny little chilled Chablis into him he'd be back to his old self. Unfortunately, in Connor's opinion, 'That's just the booze talking, you're all just as dependent on it as I used to be.' Which was just totally irritating and boring.

  The sisters were already settled down with large glasses of wine when Connor arrived, looking even more tall, dark and utterly knicker-droppingly gorgeous in real life than he did on the box.

  After greeting, kissing and hugging them with plenty of fuss, Connor found a barman, who obviously recognized him, hovering at his elbow offering to take his order and bring his drinks to the table.

  'Perrier with plenty of ices and slices,' Connor told him with a dazzling smile. 'Anything for you, girls?'

  When Annie and Dinah shook their heads, Connor took off his slinky black raincoat and pulled up a chair.

  'Service, girls,' Connor beamed at them, his newly whitened smile splitting his beautifully boned face: 'That's what we want.'

  Pushing back his luxurious black hair, he stretched out his muscular arms (well, he did have a daily personal trainer) and, hands clasped behind his head, he leaned back.

  'So what's the news? What's happening? How many handbags has Annie bought this week?'

  Annie snorted in reply to this.

  'Is Dinah still married to Bryan?' Connor asked next, teasingly because there was only one answer to this question.

  Dinah gave a nod and smile.

  'Is Billie still their only child? Not the slightest hint of another?'

  'Yes!' Dinah insisted, 'and no!'

  'Are Annie and Ed still happy?'

  'Oh yeah,' Annie said, flicking up an eyebrow.

  'Owen and Ed?'

  'Likewise.'

  'Most importantly then, is Lana still going out with Andrei and is Andrei still driving Mummy Annie up the wall?'

  Gossip of a romantic nature was the kind Connor did best.

  Annie nodded, groaned and took a sip of wine.

  'Oh dear, oh dear, drowning our sorrows,' Connor noted snugly, 'looking for support from our faithful old poisons. You really should come to AA with me Annie, there are so many good-looking people there these days.'

  'Good-looking people no longer matter to me,' she reminded him, 'unless they're wanting makeovers, babes.'

  'What exactly is wrong with Andrei?' Dinah wondered.

  'Oh let me see,' Annie said irritably. 'He's tall, really good-looking, very polite, speaks fluent French, helps and encourages Lana with her homework . . . erm . . . does athletics, doesn't believe in under-age drinking . . . need I go on?' she added with another groan. Dinah just looked more confused.

 
'Somebody's jealous,' Connor teased. 'Somebody's grumpy that their little girly-wirly has a new role model in her life taking Mummy's place.'

  'Oh, I know, I know. I have to get a life,' Annie grumbled. 'I'm planning to go into business—'

  'Again?' Dinah interrupted. 'I thought you were so pleased to get your job back at The Store?'

  There had been a time last year when, all because of evil floor manager Donna, Annie had had to leave The Store and work for herself, just until Donna finally left – probably in a puff of smoke.

  'I thought you didn't like all the stress and hassle of being self-employed,' Dinah reminded her sister.

  'No . . .' and that was true, she hadn't, but, 'I'm thinking of a different kind of thing, this time. I want to sell a range, my own products, be a brand. I've got a really good idea, which I can't tell you anything about yet,' she added quelling the interested look on their faces, 'because it's just way too early, but unfortunately Ed is totally against anything like this.'

  'Why?' Connor asked.

  'He's risk-averse,' Annie replied, 'and that's putting it mildly.'

  'No bloody wonder,' was Connor's jokey response; 'he's with you, that's enough risk for anyone to be getting on with.'

  'Connor!' she treated him to an elbow in the ribs for being so unsupportive, 'I don't want to be a shop assistant for ever.'

  'You're not a shop assistant!' Dinah insisted.

  'You're a personal sales consultant,' Connor teased.

  'People from all over London flock to The Store for your priceless advice,' Dinah added.

  'That is sweet,' Annie told her, 'but the advice is not priceless, it costs The Store just a glorified shop assistant's salary and a bit of commission every month and I'd like to do something more. Don't you think I'd make a good businesswoman?' she asked them.

  'I already thought you were,' Dinah answered. 'Don't you still do the eBay thing? And the home makeovers?'

  'Yeah, but I want to import!' Annie insisted, 'I don't just want to sell little bits and pieces here and there, I want to flog things in the thousands. Have a marketing department, a PR budget, suppliers, buyers, movers and shakers.'

  'Have to deal with Revenue & Customs and the VAT man,' Dinah reminded her.

  'Yes, but I want a change!' Annie insisted, trying to ignore the shiver that the words Revenue & Customs sent down her spine. 'Connor, you're self-employed,' she suddenly remembered: 'can you ever get a bit of a time extension to pay your tax bill?'

  'Oh no, Annie!' Dinah rushed in with immediate concern. 'How much do you owe them?'

  'I've never found the tax people terribly accommodating about anything,' came Connor's reply. 'Just borrow the money on your mortgage,' he advised, 'that's what I do every year. I can't stand saving. Saving is for nerds.'

  'No, Annie!' Dinah was horrified, 'your mortgage is huge!'

  But Annie's mind was already whirring: borrow against her portion of the house? Maybe she could borrow enough to pay off the tax bill and a credit card or two and start up her own business! It would be much easier than trying to get a business loan, surely?

  The barman was hovering at their table again; he picked up the Perrier bottle and topped up Connor's glass although he'd only taken a sip: 'Anything else I can get you?' he asked.

  'No, no, we're fine thanks,' Dinah told him sweetly. 'So, still single then?' she asked Connor, once the barman was out of earshot. 'I don't think we're going to get any peace anywhere until you find yourself a new man.'

  'Oh, I know, it's a jungle out here and I am the prey,' Connor said, so camply that Annie snorted wine out of her nose.

  'Did you know that it's our tenth wedding anniversary in September?' Dinah asked, then added gloomily, 'and Bryan is planning a surprise party.'

  Everyone perked up at this news. Even Annie managed to forget about her tax bill momentarily.

  'A surprise party? But I think if you know that's not technically a surprise,' Annie told her sister.

  'I know,' Dinah began, 'I mean, I know that if I know . . . Well, he doesn't know I know.'

  'What do you know?' Annie cut in.

  'I found a list of catering companies, florists and bands lying beside the telephone.'

  'Oh my God!' was Annie's reaction. 'Men are so subtle! And I suppose if he was having an affair he'd just leave pants, suspenders and a condom in his trouser pockets?'

  'I know, he would. There's no way Bryan could ever have an affair,' Dinah agreed, 'I'd know as soon as he was even thinking about it. He'd blush every time someone said her name, go to incredible lengths to avoid mentioning her . . . I can read him like a book.'

  'So he's trying to surprise you with a tenth anniversary party. That is really sweet,' Annie had to admit.

  'I know, but if I leave it up to him,' Dinah said, 'it'll be—'

  'Like your wedding,' Annie finished the sentence for her.

  'And that was?' Connor wanted to know.

  'Tragic,' the sisters agreed.

  'Marylebone Registry Office, then across six lanes of traffic to get to the Stag's Head pub for a finger buffet. We were just lucky and grateful that no actual fingers were served,' Annie summarized.

  'Amen,' Connor lifted his Perrier glass, 'What did you wear?'

  'Oh, a really nice dress,' Dinah told him, 'but Annie had to get it back to the film set she was working on by Monday morning, minus the wine stain. So it was a little bit stressful.'

  'Ah well, we were in our twenties, nothing mattered so much back then,' Annie chipped in, 'but now we're grown-ups, we can't have Bryan putting on a crap surprise tenth. I mean TEN years. He owes you. He owes you a really decent ding-dong by now. Not to mention a proper engagement ring.' Annie cast her eyes down tragically, first towards her own jewel-less fingers and then over to Dinah's. 'We haven't got a decent diamond between us. Connor probably has more bling on his blooming shirt cuffs.'

  'Annie!' Dinah warned, 'I'm perfectly happy with this.' She twisted at the little silver sliver on her fourth finger which had served as both her engagement and wedding ring. 'If I change rings now, I'll probably jinx us.'

  'Awww,' Annie smiled at her, 'that is sweet. I can't believe it's really ten years! Well done!' and she raised her wine glass at her sister.

  Connor held his glass up too. 'Good grief, I've never even made it to ten months.'

  'How is Hector?' Annie asked. 'He's not too cut up about it, is he? I have to say, I really liked Hector,' she added.

  'Yeah, so did I,' Dinah chipped in. 'Why was he given the heave-ho?'

  'Couldn't handle the pressure,' Connor said and, for once, he didn't seem to be joking.

  'The pressure of what?' Annie had to ask.

  'Fame. He couldn't cope with my career.'

  Both Annie and her sister struggled to keep straight faces at this revelation.

  'But not much has changed since he started going out with you . . . has it?' Dinah asked.

  'Not much has changed?!' Connor looked horrified. 'My contract's up! It's renegotiation time. Time to decide if I want to go back to The Manor and if I do, how much will lure me. Plus, I'm meeting a very, very important new film director from Over There, who is Over Here soon looking for a British star for his next picture. Sam Knight,' he revealed in a reverential whisper.