How Not To Shop

by Carmen Reid

  Dinah's wine bar look:

  Brown and blue long-sleeved minidress (T-Bags, via Annie)

  Brown belt (Topshop)

  Blue beads (jewellery box)

  Bright blue tights (Topshop)

  Funky brown boots (Camper sale)

  Total est. cost: £90

  'Stay away from the hairdresser's until

  you're feeling better.'

  'And so, to recap,' Dinah began as she snuggled in a little closer to her sister, happy that they'd managed to snag their favourite booth seat in their favourite wine bar, 'you've been unceremoniously sacked from your TV star job. You're going to be edited out of the programme. You've got no money. You've got to drum up your own business from scratch all over again. Your partner is in a baby frenzy and you're not going there. Our mum is possibly beginning to lose it. Your daughter's hanging out with a Russian supermodel/hooker in waiting—'

  'Ten p.m.!' Annie broke in, 'They finally came home at ten o'clock last night, only after we phoned them four times. And they smelled of smoke. If Elena starts Lana smoking, I will kill her. I'll kill both of them!'

  'Then we have your son,' Dinah went on, 'who is totally in love with a hideous dog you'd like to destroy.' Dinah raised her eyebrows, rolled her eyes and couldn't resist a smile. 'Hey, I'm only doing IVF. And I am feeling so much better about it, already,' she added.

  At least this made Annie laugh briefly.

  'And I hate my hair,' Annie added.

  'Your hair?' Dinah turned to take a look at the offending ponytail. 'The colour looks fine. What's to hate about it?'

  Annie ran her hands grumpily over the ponytail: 'This!' she said, 'Do you know how many years I've been wearing my hair like this?'

  'No,' Dinah had to admit.

  'Twelve years!'

  'Well, it's a trademark hairstyle. Everyone knows you're the one with the bouncy blonde ponytail.'

  'Trademark? No, I think you mean rut.'

  'Well some people just have trademark hair: Anna Wintour's bob, Jerry Hall's blonde mane, Annie Valentine's ponytail.'

  'Do you know what I would do to a client who'd been wearing the same hairstyle for twelve years? I would take her by the arm and frog-march her to a new hairdresser.'

  'Well . . .' Dinah sipped at the glass of sparkling mineral water in front of her. Obviously she wasn't drinking, she was in the state of pre-pregnancy purity recommended by the clinic. 'Could it be that with so much going on and so much to stress about you're transferring all that angst onto your hair?'

  'Oooooh,' Annie elbowed her gently in the ribs, 'get you, Dr Dinah. Yeah, you're probably right.'

  'I would stay away from the hairdresser's until you're feeling better. Remember when you got that mullet, when we were still at school?'

  Both of them snorted at the memory.

  'And it took sooo long to grow out,' Annie lamented.

  'Seriously,' Dinah picked up her water as Annie drank another mouthful of wine, 'Mum first. Is she OK?'

  'Well, you saw her. Tonight she seemed totally fine, yesterday she seemed fine. Well, apart from turning up out of the blue. I said I'd go to the doctor's with her when he gets back from his Caribbean cruise or whatever.'

  'I can go if you can't,' Dinah added.

  'Yeah, I know. Maybe we should both go. See what he thinks.'

  'So what are you going to do for cash?' was Dinah's next question.

  'Same old, same old,' came Annie's reply: 'phone up all my trusty old girls, tell them to take me shopping with them for a "seasonal refresh", phone up my friend Mr Timi Woo, see if he'll sell me some of his fancy shoes to flog on eBay – all that kind of thing. Been there, done that, scraped by on it before . . .'

  Despite Annie's best attempt at enthusiasm, Dinah could tell that this time her heart wasn't really in it.

  'Bummer about the TV,' she commiserated.

  'I know,' Annie admitted, 'I thought there was something really new, really exciting starting there. I didn't like Finn and I wasn't wild about the Wonder Women idea . . . but something about it was great, fired me all up. Now it's over before it even began.'

  'Is it worth going to some TV agents?' Dinah ventured, 'talking it through with them?'

  'I don't even have a showreel!' Annie wailed, 'but maybe I could ask Bob . . . oh I don't know,' she grumbled, 'all that knocking on doors and begging for a chance. Don't you think there are twenty-five younger, blonder, showier Miss Marlise wannabees for every saggy old Annie?'

  'Oh cheer up.' It was Dinah's turn to prod Annie in the ribs now: 'you're really good at your personal shopper job, just work your clients, work your eBay shop and something good will come up. Do you want to go back to The Store?' she ventured.

  'Go back again? For the second time, with my tail well and truly between my legs?' Annie took a swig at her wine, 'I don't know,' she admitted.

  'The staff discount,' Dinah reminded her.

  'I know . . . without that staff discount, I'll be shopping in chain stores for ever.'

  'What does Ed think?' Dinah asked.

  'Well, as you can flipping imagine, last night's pillow talk was mainly about the dog,' Annie told her. 'We didn't get round to what I was going to do next, because I think Ed still imagines I'm going to be on maternity leave any moment now, having succumbed to his persuasive charms.'

  When Dinah made something of a grimace at this, Annie had to apologize: 'I'm sorry, I feel like such a cow talking about how much I don't want a baby, when here you are shoving drugs up your nose and into your bum cheeks desperate to have one.'

  'Ah well . . . each to their own,' Dinah said heroically.

  'How was Nic when you saw her?' Annie remembered to ask about their older sister, who was now in charge of a four-month-old baby.

  'Very happy,' Dinah reported. 'She was really very, very happy. You should do it,' Dinah added, surprising herself, 'do it for Ed. He absolutely loves kids, he's obviously going to make the best hands-on Dad ever. Give him his baby, Annie. Let him be the house husband, then you get out there and start working on that handbag empire you were desperate to set up last year.'

  Annie looked at her sister in surprise. She had not expected this. She only ever got totally loyal and unwavering support for everything from Dinah.

  'I don't want you and Ed to break up,' Dinah added, trying to explain her outburst. 'People break up over babies. All the time.'

  'Oh no – are you and Bryan?' Annie asked, suddenly concerned.

  'No,' Dinah shook her head, 'we're fine. We've been through all this before to get Billie. Our eyes are wide open. But Ed . . . he deserves a baby, Annie, and there are plenty of other women out there who would trample you in the rush to get their hands on a caring, sharing, broody man like him.'

  'Yeah, now that I've made him over,' Annie grumbled, 'now that I've bought him new clothes and tidied his hair and his eyebrows and domesticated him. Now they come. Now they see the dream man. So much for the sisterhood!'

  'Annie Valentine!' Dinah scolded, 'the man was dating gold dust even before you got your hands on him.'

  'Dating gold dust,' Annie smiled.

  The phone in her bag began to ring and when she pulled it out she was delighted to see Connor's number on the screen.

  'It's Connor,' she told Dinah, 'he must know we're having a girls' night out without him.'

  'Babes!' she said into the receiver enthusiastically.

  'Mzzzzzzz Valentine, this is your agent speaking,' he schmoozed back down the line, 'how are you coping? Are you detoxing, exercising and grooming yourself for your next role?'

  'Yes, my love, I am in the pub with Dinah on my second large red and I may even stop for a kebab on the way home, just for you,' Annie told him.

  'No Annie, no!!' he moaned theatrically. 'She is so hard to keep on the rails this one, she tortures me . . . after all I've done for you. Right, listen, girlfriend. This is what Screentalk's Gossip Roundup will be printing about you mañana, thanks to your friend Connor. Yes, I phoned Screent
alk myself, because I knew you were far too wussy to do it.'

  'No!' Annie shrieked, genuinely horrified, 'no, you shouldn't have, I didn't want to stir up any trouble.'

  'Donnie Finnigan's star find,' Connor began to read, 'Annie Valentine, former personal shopper at The Store has walked off the set claiming the show is trite and demeaning.'

  All Annie could do was scream.

  'Shut up,' Connor instructed. 'Ms Valentine . . .' he read on, 'who has years of hands-on makeover experience, a client list and a wardrobe to die for, was described by set insiders as "an absolute natural on television" and, according to long-standing friend, Manor star, Connor McCabe: "She won't wait long for another plum job".'

  Connor paused for a moment before he delivered the last line of the story: 'Ms Valentine's late husband was the well-known stage and television actor, Roddy Valentine.'

  'Oh,' Annie felt sobered by that. 'You told them about Roddy?'

  'Well . . . me phoning up, the name Valentine, she put two and two together. But it will help – something to talk about when you do press.'

  'What?' Annie swallowed hard. 'If I did an interview I'd have to talk about Roddy?'

  'Well yes. Personal tragedy . . . the mags love all that stuff. Nothing worse for them than being a happily married mother of two. But, let's not worry about that. We're not exactly there yet,' he blustered on. 'I've told Emma if anyone phones Screentalk to find out about you, she's to give them my agent's number.'

  'Rafie boy?!' Annie had to laugh at this. Connor couldn't stand his agent – real name Ralph Frampton-Dwight, nickname Rafie Frightful-Twit.

  'He's a good agent . . .' Connor defended himself. 'I've not actually told him about you yet, but I don't think he'll mind too much.'

  'You're very nice,' Annie said, 'very, very nice to me. I wish I could do something as helpful for you.'

  'Well you can't, especially now that you can't get me cheap things from The Store.' Connor sounded almost huffy.

  'Cheap things! I think movie stars can afford to pay full price, can't they? Maybe you'll start getting things for free now that you're so famous.'

  'Oh ha, bloody ha.'

  'How's work going for you anyway?'

  'I am as brown as a bunny and twice as buff . . . in other words, no work, bored shitless,' Connor confessed with a sigh.

  'Really? What's happened?'

  'Oh don't go feeling sorry for me. The Manor starts shooting in a few weeks. I'll be back in Britain with my pockets full of wodge.'

  'Ooh, when are you back?' Annie wanted to know. 'I need to clear my diary.' She snorted, because really there was absolutely nothing in her diary now. 'Just make sure I get to see you first.'

  'I will,' Connor promised her.

  'And how's Hector?' Annie asked.

  'Good. Still on about a baby. How's Ed?'

  'Good. Still on about a baby.'

  'How's Dinah?'

  'Good . . . trying for another baby.'

  'We're all mad, aren't we? Must be a mid-life crisis or something,' Connor said, unusually serious for a moment, before reverting to type. 'Send her my hot and sticky man-love.'

  When the call was over, Dinah told Annie with a smile, 'I know what we have to do. I have a plan. You have to have twins, Annie, give one baby to Ed and one to me. Then you go out and found the twenty-first-century's Louis Vuitton and we all live happily and fabulously wealthily ever after.'

  'Oh yeah,' Annie agreed, jauntily raising her wineglass, 'of course! Why didn't I think of that? Twins and a handbag empire. No problem.'

  'Annie!' Dinah exclaimed, putting her glass down with a jolt, 'I nearly forgot!' She rummaged vigorously in her handbag: 'for Ed's birthday . . .'

  Annie watched as she pulled out a chunky white envelope.

  'I've booked the two of you into the luxury Lullworth Hotel in the Cotswolds for two nights. Friday and Saturday,' Dinah announced.

  'This Friday and Saturday?' Annie asked in astonishment.

  'Yeah! All paid. Mates' rates because Bryan did work for them. I'll babysit. You're going on a minibreak!'

  Annie's mouth hung open with surprise.

  'You'll look after Lana and Owen?' she repeated, 'and possibly Elena? Dinah, do you have any idea what kind of a saint you are?' Anne reached over and gave her sister a big hug.

  Dinah hugged her back. 'And you two will drive off into the countryside and be pampered and reconnect and make love in front of a roaring fire . . .'

  'Yeah: me, Ed and my two diaphragms.'

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Bettina at home:

  Wide-legged jeans (Notify)

  Short-sleeved blouse (Paul & Joe)

  Flat brown sandals (Jimmy Choo)

  Gold watch (Gucci)

  Total est. cost: £760

  'My husband has slashed my budget.'

  Annie looked at Dave.

  Dave looked at Annie.

  Then the dog cocked his head ever slightly to the side and winked.

  It winked? Did dogs do that? Did they mean to do it, or was it just a reflex action? It must be another one of their stupid strategies for trying to get you to like them. Like leaving warm puddles of pee in unexpected places, hiding under the duvet just before you got into bed and snuggling up with the cashmere in your hand-washing basket.

  'What?' she asked the dog. 'You've just been out. You can't need to go out again.'

  She was talking to a dog. She couldn't believe this. I'm talking to a dog, ED! I'm talking to your stupid dog!

  Dave just sat on the floor of her office and continued to stare at her.

  Ed, Lana and Owen had all gone to school, as this was a Thursday morning. Elena had gone out to meet a Ukrainian friend who'd just arrived in London. And now Annie – the Dave hater – was home alone, with Dave.

  She had expected Dave to have the sense to go and curl up in his basket in the kitchen and leave her alone. But no, he was evidently lonely and had come into the office to see what she was doing.

  What was she doing? she asked herself, looking across her desk at her laptop, her telephone, the pot of pencils and stack of magazines.

  What she was trying to do was brace herself for the rest of her life. She might as well face it, unless Frightful-Twit suddenly phoned completely out of the blue with an unbelievable offer (and quite frankly what were the chances of that) then she was Annie Valentine, personal shopper and eBay entrepreneur, starting up all over again.

  With a deep sigh, she switched on her computer and opened up her file of contacts. Then she logged onto her eBay account and clicked through to her little shop front.

  AnnieV's Trading Station had been completely neglected of late. For the first time in years, there was nothing for sale. Just her eBay name and beside it the blue star of a power seller and the number of items she'd sold in brackets (14,521).

  Selling off her unwanted wardrobe items, plus discount buys from The Store, plus all the things her clients parted with every season, had been a lucrative sideline for Annie for many years. Last year, she'd flirted with the idea of going into business full time and had begun something interesting, importing Chinese shoes and Italian bags. There had even been a meeting with the shoe buyer from Fraser's. If the TV offer hadn't come up, she would probably be running her own small shoe business by now.