Mini Shopaholic

by Sophie Kinsella

  Mum’s already gathering her things together and picking up Minnie’s mittens. This isn’t good. I need to keep everyone contained in Café Rouge.

  ‘I’m not sure exactly where it is,’ I say hastily. ‘Really, it would be much better to wait. Let’s have another coffee—’

  ‘No problem!’ Janice has produced a little A–Z bound in red leather. ‘I never travel anywhere without it,’ she explains brightly. ‘Now, what’s the name of your new road, Becky? I’ll be able to locate it in a trice!’

  Shit.

  Everyone’s looking at me expectantly. The minute I say the name of the road they’ll walk there and find out the truth.

  ‘I … um …’ I rub my nose, playing for time. ‘I … can’t remember.’

  ‘You can’t remember?’ says Janice uncertainly. ‘Your own address?’

  ‘Love,’ says Mum with barely concealed impatience. ‘You must know where you live!’

  ‘I just don’t remember the exact name of the street! I think it begins with … B,’ I add randomly.

  ‘Well, ring Luke!’

  ‘He’s not answering,’ I say hastily. ‘He must be busy.’

  Mum and Dad are exchanging looks, as though they never realized they had such a half-wit for a daughter.

  ‘I’m not sitting here any longer!’ Mum clicks her tongue. ‘Becky, you said it was only a few streets away from the shops. We’ll just walk around and you’re bound to recognize it when we come to it. Graham, you wait here for Luke.’

  She’s standing up. There’s nothing I can do. I shoot an agonized glance at Alf, and call, ‘Just going for a walk!’

  ‘Now, think, Becky,’ says Mum, as we all pile on to the street except Dad. ‘Which direction is it?’

  ‘Er … that way, I think.’ I immediately point in the opposite direction to the house, and we all start trooping along.

  ‘Is it Barnsdale Road?’ Janice is running a finger down the A-Z index. ‘Barnwood Close?’

  ‘I don’t think so …’

  ‘Becky, love!’ Mum suddenly erupts. ‘How can you not remember the name of your own street? You’re a home-owner. You have to take responsibility! You have to—’

  ‘Daddy!’ says Minnie in sudden joyful tones. ‘Daddeee!’

  She’s pointing inside the nearby glass frontage of the estate agent’s office. There’s Luke, right in the window, laying into Magnus, who looks absolutely terrified.

  Shit. Why did I come this way?

  ‘Is that your estate agent?’ Mum glances up at the ‘Ripley and Co’. ‘Well, that’s all right! We can go in, find out the address and get the keys from them! Well done, Minnie, darling!’

  ‘Luke seems rather cross about something,’ Janice observes, as Luke starts making savage gestures at Magnus. ‘Is it the fixtures and fittings, love? Because my advice is, it’s not worth it. Let them take the shower curtain. Don’t end up in court, like my brother did—’

  ‘Come on, Becky!’ Mum is halfway towards the door. ‘What’s wrong?’

  I’m rooted to the spot.

  ‘Mum …’ My voice is a bit strangled. ‘There’s … something I need to tell you. About the house. The truth is … I haven’t been totally honest.’

  Mum stops dead. As she turns, there are little spots of pink on her cheeks.

  ‘I knew it. I knew there was something. You’ve been hiding something from us, Becky! What is it?’ Her face drops as though with a sudden horrific thought. ‘Is there no off-street parking?’

  I hear sharp inhalations from both Janice and Martin. In Surrey, parking is practically a religion.

  ‘It’s not that. It’s …’ My breath is coming so quickly I can barely talk. ‘It’s …’

  ‘Mrs Brandon.’ A man in a suit whom I don’t recognize is hurrying out of the estate agent’s on to the pavement. ‘David Ripley, managing partner.’ He holds out a hand. ‘Please don’t stand out here in the cold. Let me offer you a cup of coffee at least. I’m well aware of your unfortunate situation, and believe me, we are doing everything in our power to find you a home, as soon as possible.’

  I can’t look at Mum. I can’t look at anyone. The only thing that can save me now is a freak tornado.

  ‘Find Becky a home?’ Mum echoes uncertainly.

  ‘We’re devastated about the rental property mix-up,’ David Ripley continues. ‘Your deposit will be refunded immediately—’

  ‘Rental property?’

  The sharpness in Mum’s voice even gets through to David Ripley, who turns at once.

  ‘I’m so sorry, is this your mother?’ He extends a hand. ‘How do you do. Let me assure you, we’re doing everything we can to house your daughter.’

  ‘But she’s got a house!’ says Mum shrilly. ‘She’s bought a house! We’re here to pick up the keys! Why else do you think we’re all here in Maida Vale?’

  David Ripley looks from Mum to me in confusion.

  ‘I’m so sorry – is there something I haven’t been told?’

  ‘No,’ I say, hot with mortification. ‘My mother hasn’t quite got … the whole picture. I need to talk to her.’

  ‘Ah.’ David Ripley lifts his hands with a delicate gesture and backs off towards the office. ‘Well, I’ll be inside if you need me.’

  ‘Mum …’ I swallow hard. ‘I know I should have told you …’

  ‘Martin,’ murmurs Janice, and they discreetly move away to look at a travel agent’s window. Mum is just standing there, her brow contorted with incomprehension and disappointment.

  Suddenly I feel like crying. My parents were so proud of me, buying my first-ever house. They told all their friends. And here I am, screwing everything up, as usual.

  ‘There was a delay with the house,’ I mumble, staring at the pavement. ‘And we couldn’t bear to tell you because you were so hassled with us cluttering up the place at home. So we rented somewhere – except then that house fell through too. So … we’re homeless.’ I force myself to raise my head. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘We’ve driven all this way … and you haven’t got a house?’

  ‘Yes. I mean, we will get one, but—’

  ‘You mean … you deliberately misled us? You let Dad make his little speech? You let us give you the painting? And it was all lies?’

  ‘It wasn’t lies exactly …’

  ‘Well, what else was it?’ Mum suddenly explodes and I flinch. ‘Here we all are, traipsing around Maida Vale; Janice and Martin have made all this effort; we’ve all bought house-warming presents—’

  ‘I told you not to come!’ I say defensively, but Mum doesn’t seem to hear.

  ‘Everything you do, Becky, is a fiasco! Everything is a fantasy! What’s your father going to say? Do you know how disappointed he’ll be?’

  ‘We will get a house!’ I say desperately. ‘We will, I promise! And you can have the painting back until then.’

  ‘This is just like George Michael—’

  ‘It is not!’ I cut her off, stung. ‘It is not George Michael all over again.’ I furiously brush away a sudden tear. ‘It’s just … a little hitch.’

  ‘It’s always just a little hitch, love! Always!’ Mum sounds beside herself. ‘The party will be just the same—’

  ‘No it won’t!’ I almost roar. ‘And I never asked you to drive all this way, did I? Or buy me presents. And if you don’t want to come to Luke’s party, Mum, then you needn’t! In fact, please don’t!’

  Tears are streaming down my face by now, and I can see Janice and Martin studiously staring in at the special offers to Morocco as though they’re gripped by them.

  ‘No!’ Minnie’s gazing up at me in distress. ‘No cry!’

  ‘OK.’ Luke’s voice suddenly rings out, and I look up to see him striding towards us. ‘I’ve sorted it. They’re putting us up—’ He breaks off and looks from face to face. ‘What’s up? What’s happened?’

  Mum says nothing, her mouth just tightens.

  ‘Nothing,’ I mutter miserably. ‘We were just … tal
king.’

  ‘Right,’ says Luke, clearly flummoxed. ‘Well, I’ve negotiated a two-bedroom serviced apartment at The West Place until they find us alternative accommodation.’

  ‘The West Place!’ Janice turns round from the travel agent’s window. ‘We saw that on TV! Remember, Martin, that lovely new hotel with the rooftop spa? With all the mosaics?’

  ‘Yes, well, I wasn’t taking any shit.’ Luke flashes her a brief smile. ‘We can move in today, the stuff will go into storage …’ He trails off, clearly aware of the tension in the air. ‘So … is that OK by you? Becky?’

  ‘Mum should take it.’ The words come out of my mouth even before I’ve properly thought them through. ‘Mum and Dad should have it.’

  ‘O-kaay,’ says Luke hesitantly. ‘Well, that’s certainly one way to do it …’

  ‘We’ve put Mum and Dad out for all this time, and now we’ve let them down. We should let them enjoy the luxury apartment. And then … regroup.’

  I’m staring into the middle distance; I can’t bring myself to look at Mum. Luke’s head is swivelling between us as though for clues; I can see Janice mouthing something urgently at him.

  ‘Jane?’ Luke says finally. ‘Would that suit you? To stay in The West Place for a little while?’

  ‘It would suit very well,’ says Mum in clipped, unnatural tones. ‘Thank you, Luke. I’ll just call Graham and tell him.’

  Mum obviously can’t look at me either. Well, good thing we won’t be living together any more.

  ‘I’ll take Minnie to look at the shops,’ I say, taking Minnie’s hand. ‘Let me know when it’s time to go home.’

  We eventually make it home by four o’clock. Mum and Dad went back first, and packed some things, and Luke settled them into the serviced apartment, which apparently is amazingly swanky. Not that I want to hear about it.

  I’ve made Minnie her tea and put on Peppa Pig and am sitting by the fire, staring morosely into the flames, when Luke arrives back. He heads into the room and just watches me for a moment.

  ‘Becky, come on. What’s up between you and your mum?’

  ‘Sssh!’ says Minnie crossly and points at the TV. ‘Peppa!’

  ‘Nothing.’ I turn away.

  ‘Something’s going on,’ Luke persists, crouching down beside my chair. ‘I’ve never known you and your mum like this before.’

  I look at him silently as answers crowd into my mind.

  She thinks I can’t throw you a party. She thinks it’ll all be a failure. And deep down, I’m petrified she might be right.

  ‘Just mother-daughter stuff,’ I say eventually.

  ‘Huh.’ He raises a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Well, I’m glad we’ve got some time alone. There’s something I want to talk to you about.’

  He draws up a chair and I watch a little apprehensively.

  ‘You were right, Becky,’ he says frankly. ‘I was keeping something from you. And I’m sorry. But I wanted to be sure before I said anything.’

  Instantly my mood lifts. He’s going to tell me about Sage Seymour! Yes! Maybe we’re all going to meet up tonight! Maybe he wants to take us out for dinner at the Ivy or somewhere! I know she’s filming at Pinewood Studios at the moment, because I Googled her. (Simply because I take an interest in my husband’s career like any supportive wife would.)

  Oh, this will totally make up for a shitty day. And I can wear that Nanette Lepore dress I’ve never worn, with my pink Vivienne Westwood shoes.

  ‘Don’t worry, Luke.’ I beam at him. ‘I know you have to be discreet.’

  Maybe she’ll ask me to be her personal shopper! Maybe Luke has recommended me! I could dress her for the Golden Globes. I could go to the Golden Globes. I mean, she’ll need someone to make sure her hem’s straight—

  ‘I’ve recently been in touch with a contact I have. A guy who represents … celebrities,’ Luke says slowly.

  ‘Really?’ I try to sound off-hand. ‘What sort of celebrities?’

  ‘Have you by any chance heard of someone called …’

  Have I heard of her? Is he nuts? She’s got an Oscar, for God’s sake! She’s one of the most famous women in the world!

  ‘Of course I have!’ I blurt out excitedly, just as he says ‘… a woman called Nanny Sue?’

  For an instant we stare at each other in confusion.

  ‘Nanny Sue?’ I echo at last.

  ‘She’s a childcare expert, apparently.’ Luke shrugs. ‘Has a show on TV? I hadn’t heard of her myself.’

  I’m so frustrated I feel like slapping him. Number one, obviously I’ve heard of Nanny Sue, and he only hasn’t because he doesn’t watch enough TV. Number two, why are we talking about her and not Sage Seymour?

  ‘Yes, I have,’ I say grudgingly. ‘I’ve got her book. What about her?’

  ‘Apparently she’s planning to start a new private enterprise. A kind of …’ He hesitates, not meeting my eye. ‘A children’s behaviour-management camp.’

  He can’t be serious.

  ‘You want to send Minnie to a boot camp?’ The words almost stick in my throat. ‘But … but … that’s ridiculous! She’s only two! They wouldn’t even take her!’

  ‘Apparently in exceptional cases they will accept children as young as that.’

  My mind is swirling in shock. There I was, sitting there happily, thinking he was about to tell me we’re having cocktails with a movie star tonight. And instead he’s saying he wants to send our daughter away.

  ‘Is it …’ I swallow hard. ‘Residential?’

  I feel hollow at the thought. He wants to send her to a boarding school for naughty children. I have a sudden image of Minnie in a braided blazer, her head bowed, sitting in the corner holding a sign saying ‘I must not order sixteen coats off the internet.’

  ‘Of course not!’ Luke seems shocked. ‘It’ll simply be a programme for children with particular behavioural issues. And it’s only an idea.’ He rubs the back of his neck, still not looking at me. ‘I’ve already spoken to this Nanny Sue. I explained the situation and she seemed very understanding. She’ll come and assess Minnie for us if we like, and make a recommendation. So I made an appointment.’

  ‘You what?’ I can’t believe this. ‘You’ve already spoken to her?’

  ‘I was just finding out what the options were.’ At last Luke meets my gaze. ‘Becky, I don’t like the idea any more than you do. But we have to do something.’

  No we don’t! I want to yell. And we especially don’t have to invite strangers into our home to tell us what to do!

  But I can tell he’s set on this. It’s just like that time on honeymoon when he decided we should take the train to Lahore, not fly. He’s not going to budge.

  Well, fine. He can hire all the childcare gurus he likes. No one’s taking Minnie away from me. Let Nanny Sue come and do her worst. I’ll see her off. Just watch me.

  D R J AMES L INFOOT

  36 H ARLEY S TREET

  L ONDON W 1

  Rebecca Brandon

  The Pines

  43 Elton Street

  Oxshott

  Surrey

  3 March 2006

  Dear Rebecca

  Thank you for your letter of 1 March.

  I have never heard of ‘sleep-shopping’. I therefore cannot give you the Latin name for it, nor write to your husband and tell him he must ‘respect your medical condition’.

  I suggest you visit your local GP if symptoms persist.

  Kind regards

  James Linfoot

  FIFTEEN

  So now I’m not talking to Mum and I’m barely talking to Luke, either.

  It’s over a week later. Nanny Sue’s coming today, and I’m totally prepared. I feel like a gladiator, ready to go into the arena with all my swingy metal spikes and bludgeons. But I’m still livid with Luke. In fact, the more time goes on, the angrier I feel. How could he have arranged all this without consulting me? We’re at breakfast and we’ve hardly spoken two words to each other. Certainly neither of
us has mentioned Nanny Sue.

  ‘Do you want some more milk, Minnie?’ I say in chilly tones, and reach past Luke for the jug.

  Luke sighs. ‘Becky, we can’t go on like this. We have to talk.’

  ‘Fine. Let’s talk.’ I shrug. ‘What about? The weather?’

  ‘Well … how’s your work?’

  ‘It’s OK.’ I stir my coffee noisily.

  ‘Excellent!’ Luke sounds so hearty I want to cringe. ‘Things are good for us, too. Looks like we’ll be finalizing a meeting with Christian Scott-Hughes any day now. The client’s been wanting to line something up with him for more than a year, so they’re thrilled.’

  Whoopee-doo. Like I’m interested in some boring old meeting with Christian Scott-Hughes.

  ‘Great,’ I say politely.

  ‘Unfortunately I’m going to have to bollock my personal assistant today. Not so good.’ He sighs. ‘Didn’t see that one coming.’

  What? He’s doing what?

  I raise my head, unable to keep up my distant demeanour any more. He’s going to bollock Bonnie? How can he bollock Bonnie? She’s perfect! She’s lovely!

  ‘But … I thought you loved her,’ I say, trying to sound only mildly interested. ‘I thought she was the best assistant you’ve ever had.’

  ‘I thought so, too. But recently, she’s become …’ Luke hesitates. ‘I can only describe it as “inappropriate”.’

  I can’t imagine Bonnie being inappropriate for one moment.

  ‘What do you mean? What’s she done?’

  ‘It’s odd.’ Luke passes a hand over his brow, looking perplexed. ‘Most of the time she behaves with impeccable discretion and tact. And then all of a sudden she’ll lurch into territory that frankly is none of her business. Like commenting on my shower gel, of all things.’ Luke frowns. ‘I really think that’s unprofessional behaviour, don’t you?’

  I feel the colour creep into my cheeks. ‘Er … I suppose …’

  ‘There have been other comments, too, even more intrusive and personal. Quite frankly, I haven’t hired her to give me opinions about my family or house. Or choice of ties.’

  Shit. Shit. This is all my fault. Except I can’t exactly say that, can I?