Mini Shopaholic (7 page)

‘So, do you have any news, Tom?’ Janice blurts out in sudden desperation. ‘Has anything happened? Anything to tell? Big, small … anything? Anything at all?’ She’s leaning forward on her chair like a seal ready to catch a fish.

‘Well, yes.’ Tom gives the tiniest of grins. ‘As it happens, we do.’ And for the first time, he and Jess exchange one of those ‘Shall we tell them?’ looks.

Oh my God.

They really are! They’re engaged!

Mum and Janice have both stiffened on the sofa; in fact, Janice looks like she’s about to implode. Suze winks at me and I grin back happily. We’ll have such fun! We can start buying
Brides
and I’ll help Jess choose her wedding dress, and she’s
not
wearing some dreary old recycled hemp thing, even if it is greener—

‘Jess and I would like to announce …’ Tom looks happily around the room. ‘We’re married.’

FOUR

Everyone’s still in a state of shock. I mean, obviously it’s great that Tom and Jess are married. It’s fab. It’s just we all feel like we’ve missed a step.

Did they
have
to do it in Chile in some tiny registry office with only two witnesses and not even let us watch on Skype? We could have had a party. We could have toasted them. Jess says they didn’t even have any champagne. They drank some local beer, apparently.

Beer
.

There are some things I don’t understand about Jess and never will. No wedding dress. No flowers. No photo album. No champagne. The only single thing she got out of her wedding was a husband.

(I mean, obviously the husband is the main point when you get married. Absolutely. That goes without saying. But still, not even a new pair of
shoes?)

And poor old Janice! As they announced the news, her face rose and fell like a rollercoaster. You could tell she was trying desperately to look happy and supportive, as if a distant wedding in Chile that she wasn’t even invited to was exactly what she’d hoped for all along. Except that a tiny tear in the corner of her eye gave her away. Especially after Jess said they didn’t want a reception at the golf club, or a wedding list at John Lewis, and refused point-blank to dress up in a hired wedding dress and pose for photos with Janice and Martin in the garden.

Janice looked so miserable, I nearly volunteered to instead. It sounded quite fun, actually, and I saw some amazing wedding dresses in the window of Liberty the other day …

Anyway, I suppose that wouldn’t exactly have been the point.

I finish doing my lipgloss and stand back to survey my reflection. I just hope Janice is more cheerful today. It’s supposed to be a celebration, after all.

I smooth my outfit down and do a little twirl in front of the mirror. I’m wearing this amazing deep-blue dress with a fake-fur hem, long button boots and a fake-fur muff. Plus I’ve got a long coat edged with braid, and a huge fake-fur hat.

Minnie’s sitting on my bed trying on all my hats, which is her favourite occupation. She’s in a little fur-trimmed dress, too, and white boots that make her look like a skater. I am
so
into this Russian theme – in fact, I’m toying with getting Reverend Parker to christen her Minska.

Minska Katinka Karenina Brodsky Brandon.

‘Come on, Minska!’ I say experimentally. ‘Time to go and get christened! Take off that hat.’

‘Mine.’ She clings on to my red Phillip Treacy with the big feather.
‘Mine
hat.’

She looks so cute, I can’t bring myself to drag it off her. Plus I might rip the feather. And does it really matter if she wears a hat?

‘OK, darling.’ I relent. ‘You can wear the hat. Now, let’s go.’ I hold out my hand.

‘Mine.’ She instantly clings on to the Balenciaga bag which was lying on the bed. ‘Mine.
Miiiine.’

‘Minnie, that’s Mummy’s bag,’ I point out reasonably. ‘You’ve got your own little bag. Shall we find it?’

‘Miiiiine! Miiiiine bag!’ she cries furiously and backs away from me. She’s holding on to the Balenciaga bag like it’s the last lifebelt in the ocean and she’s not about to relinquish it to anybody.

‘Minnie …’ I sigh.

To be fair, she does have a point. The Balenciaga bag is way nicer than her own little toy bag. Put it this way, if I were being christened,
I’d
want a Balenciaga bag too.

‘Well, OK. You have it and I’ll take the Miu Miu. But just for today. Now give me those sunglasses …’

‘Miiiine! Miiiine!’

She clings on to the vintage Seventies shades which she swiped from my dressing table earlier. They’re pink hearts and keep slipping down her nose.

‘Minnie, you can’t go to your christening in sunglasses. Don’t be so silly!’ I try to sound severe.

Although actually, she’s rocking quite a good look, what with the hat, the pink shades and the Balenciaga bag.

‘Well … fine,’ I say at last. ‘Just don’t break them.’

As we stand in front of the mirror in our Russian dresses, I can’t help feeling a swell of pride. Minnie looks so gorgeous. Maybe Suze is right. Maybe today
will
change Luke’s mind. He’ll see her looking adorable and instantly soften and decide he wants a whole brood of ten.

(Actually, he’d better not. There’s no
way
I’m doing the birth thing ten times. Even twice is asking a lot and the only way I’ll get through it another time is by focusing on the matching pom-pom hats.)

Speaking of Luke, where is he? He popped into the office this morning, but he swore he’d be back by eleven. It’s quarter to, already.

How are u doing?
I text him quickly.
On way back I hope?
Then I pop my phone into my bag and take Minnie’s arm.

‘Come on,’ I beam at her. ‘Time for your special day.’

As we head downstairs I can hear the bustle of the caterers, and Dad humming to himself as he does his tie. There are flower arrangements in the hall, and glasses being arranged on the hall table.

‘I’ll call you from the church …’ Mum is saying to someone as she comes out of the kitchen.

‘Oh, hi, Mum.’ I look at her in surprise. She’s wearing the Japanese kimono that Janice brought her back from Tokyo, her hair is scraped back into a bun and her feet are in little silk slippers. ‘What are you doing in that outfit? Shouldn’t you be changed by now?’

‘This is what I’m wearing, love.’ She pats it self-consciously. ‘Janice gave it to me, remember? Pure silk. Such good quality.’

Have I missed a step here?

‘It’s lovely. But it’s Japanese. The theme’s Russian, remember?’

‘Oh.’ Mum looks vaguely around as though distracted by something. ‘Well, I don’t suppose it really matters …’

‘Yes it does!’

‘Oh, love.’ Mum makes a face. ‘You know fur irritates my skin. I’ve been
longing
to wear this. And Janice has the most exquisite Japanese wedding coat, you’ll love it—’

‘What, you mean Janice is coming in a Japanese outfit as well?’ I cut her off in indignation.

I should have
known
this would happen. Mum’s been pushing a Japanese theme ever since Janice came back from her holiday to Tokyo and started holding sushi-and-bridge evenings. But the point is, I’m in charge, and I said the theme was
Russian
.

‘Sorry to interrupt!’ A cheerful woman from the caterers comes past with a covered silver tray. ‘Where shall I put the Asian platters, Jane?’

What?

‘Excuse me.’ I whip round to the caterer. ‘I ordered Russian food! Caviar, smoked salmon, little Russian cakes, vodka …’

‘Plus Asian platters, sushi and sashimi.’ The woman looks alarmed. ‘Isn’t that right? And sake.’

‘Quite right,’ says Mum hastily. ‘Take them into the kitchen. Thanks, Noreen.’

I fold my arms and glare at Mum. ‘Who ordered sushi?’

‘I may have added a few items to the menu,’ says Mum, looking a bit evasive. ‘Just for variety.’

‘But it’s a
Russian theme
!’

I feel like stamping my foot. What is the point of having a theme if people ignore it and set up their own totally different theme, without even telling you?

‘We can have
two
themes, love!’ suggests Mum brightly.

‘No we can’t!’

‘It can be Japanese-Russian fusion.’ She nods triumphantly. ‘All the celebrities do fusion these days.’

‘But—’ I halt, mid-stream.

Japanese-Russian fusion. Actually, that’s quite cool. In fact, I wish I’d thought of it.

‘You can put some chopsticks in your hair. You’ll look lovely!’

‘Well, OK,’ I say at last, a bit grudgingly. ‘I suppose we could do that.’ I get out my phone and quickly text Suze and Danny:

Hey. New theme for today is Russian-Japanese fusion. C u later! xxx

Immediately I get a ping back from Suze:

Japanese?? How do I do that??? Sx

Chopsticks in hair?
I reply.

Mum has already produced some black lacquer chopsticks and is trying to stick them into my hair. ‘We need a kirby grip,’ she says, tutting. ‘Now, what about Luke?’

‘He won’t wear chopsticks in his hair.’ I shake my head. ‘Whatever the theme is.’

‘No, silly!’ Mum clicks her tongue. ‘I meant, is he nearly here?’

We both instinctively glance at our watches. Luke has sworn he won’t be late for the christening about sixty-five times.

I mean, he won’t. He wouldn’t be.

God knows what this mammoth, mega work crisis is. He won’t say anything about it, or even which client it is. But something must have gone fairly pear-shaped, because he’s barely even been home in the last couple of days, and when he’s called he’s only spoken for about three seconds before ringing off again. I take out my phone again and text him:

R u nearly back?? Where r u????

A moment later a reply pings back:

Doing best. L

Doing best? What’s that supposed to mean? Is he in the car or not? Don’t say he hasn’t even left the office. I feel a sudden pain under my ribs. He can’t be late for his own daughter’s christening. He
can’t
.

‘Where’s Luke?’ Dad comes past. ‘Any sign of him yet?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Cutting it a little fine, isn’t he?’ Dad raises his eyebrows.

‘He’ll be here!’ I muster a confident smile. ‘There’s still plenty of time.’

But he doesn’t arrive and he doesn’t arrive. The caterers have finished setting up. Everything’s ready. By twenty to twelve I’m standing with Minnie in the hall, staring out at the drive. I was texting him every five minutes but I’ve given up now. I feel a bit dreamlike. Where is he? How can he not be here?

‘Love, we need to go.’ Mum has come up softly behind me. ‘Everyone will be arriving at the church.’

‘But …’ I turn to see her face all creased up anxiously. She’s right. We can’t let everyone down. ‘OK. Let’s go.’

As we leave the house I get out my phone and start to text yet again, my vision a little blurred.

Dear Luke, we are going to church. You are missing christening.

I buckle Minnie into her little seat in Dad’s car and slide in beside her. I can tell that Mum and Dad are almost killing themselves with restraint, not laying into Luke.

‘I’m sure he’s got a good reason,’ says Dad at last, as he pulls out of the drive. There’s silence, as obviously none of us can think of what that reason might be.

‘What was it again, love?’ ventures Mum. ‘Some crisis?’

‘Apparently.’ I’m staring rigidly out of the window. ‘Something huge. But it might not happen. That’s all I know.’ My phone suddenly pings.

Becky, so sorry. Can’t explain. Still here. Will take helicopter asap. Wait for me. L

I stare at my phone in slight disbelief. Helicopter? He’s coming by
helicopter?

All of a sudden I feel a bit cheered up. In fact, I almost forgive him for disappearing off and being so mysterious. I’m about to tell Mum and Dad (very casually) about the helicopter, when the phone bleeps again.

May be a little while yet. Shit about to hit fan. What shit?
I text back, feeling prickles of frustration.
What fan?

But there’s no reply. Aargh, he’s so annoying. He always has to be so mysterious. It’s probably just some boring old investment fund that made slightly fewer zillions of pounds than it was supposed to. Big deal.

The church is already full of guests as we enter and I wander around, greeting Mum’s bridge friends, half of whom are in Japanese outfits. (I am
so
having it out with Mum later.) I hear myself saying about fifty times, ‘Actually, it’s a Japanese-Russian fusion theme’ and ‘Luke’s just on his way by helicopter,’ then Mum leads Minnie off by the hand and I can hear everyone cooing over her.

‘Bex!’ I turn to see Suze, looking amazing in a purple embroidered coat, fur-trimmed boots and her hair pinned up with a couple of wooden coffee stirrers from Starbucks.

‘This was the best I could do,’ she says, gesturing at them crossly. ‘You said Russian! How did Japanese suddenly enter the picture?’

‘It was Mum’s fault!’ I’m about to launch into the whole story when the Reverend Parker approaches, all smart in his swishy white robes.

‘Oh, hi there!’ I beam. ‘How are you?’

Reverend Parker is fab. He isn’t one of those super-holy, make-you-feel-bad-about-everything vicars. He’s more of a Do-have-a-gin-and-tonic-before-lunch vicar. His wife works in the City and he’s always got a tan and drives a Jaguar.

‘I’m very well.’ He shakes my hand warmly. ‘Lovely to see you, Rebecca. And may I say, it’s charming, your Japanese theme. I’m quite a sushi fan myself.’

‘It’s Japanese-Russian fusion, actually,’ I correct him firmly. ‘We’re having blinis, too, and vodka shots.’

‘Ah, indeed.’ He beams. ‘Now, I gather that Luke’s been held up?’

‘He’ll be here very soon.’ I cross my fingers behind my back. ‘Any minute now.’

‘Good. Because I am a
little
pressed for time. And presumably you’ve decided on your daughter’s middle names? Could you possibly write them down for me?’

Oh God.

‘Nearly.’ I pull an agonized face. ‘I’m so nearly there …’

‘Rebecca, really,’ says Reverend Parker a tad impatiently. ‘I can’t baptize your daughter if I don’t know her names.’

Honestly, talk about pressure. I thought vicars were supposed to be
understanding
.

‘I’m planning to finalize them once and for all during the prayers,’ I explain. ‘While I’m praying, obviously,’ I add hastily at his frozen expression. ‘You know. I might get inspiration from the Good Book.’ I pick up a nearby Bible, hoping to get a few Brownie points. ‘Very inspirational. Maybe I’ll go for Eve. Or Mary.’

The trouble with Reverend Parker is, he’s known me for too long. He just raises his eyebrows sceptically and says, ‘And are the godparents here? Suitable types, I hope?’

‘Of course! Here’s one.’ I shove Suze forward, who shakes his hand and immediately starts talking about the church ceiling, and whether it’s late nineteenth century?