Mini Shopaholic (3 page)

He shouldn’t feel guilty. I’ve told him so a million times. There was nothing he could do. But even so, I know he does. And now his dad is in Australia with his sister, so Luke can’t even make up by spending time with
him
.

As for his real mother … we don’t even mention her.

Ever.

Luke’s always had a pretty love-hate relationship with Elinor. It makes sense, since she abandoned him and his dad when Luke was tiny. But he was on fairly civil terms with her when she blew it, big time.

It was around the time of the funeral, when he’d gone to see her for some family business reason. I still don’t know exactly what she said to him. Something about Annabel. Something insensitive and probably downright rude, I’m guessing. He’s never told me exactly, or even referred to the incident again – all I know is, I’ve never seen him so white; so catatonic with fury. And now we never even mention Elinor’s name any more. I don’t think he’ll ever reconcile with her, his whole life. Which is fine by me.

As I look up at Luke I feel a little squeeze in my heart. The strain of this year has really hit him hard. He’s got two little lines between his eyes which he doesn’t lose even when he smiles or laughs. It’s like he can’t ever look 100 per cent happy.

‘Come on.’ I put my arm through his and squeeze it tight. ‘Let’s go and see Father Christmas.’

As we’re walking along, I casually steer Luke to the other side of the mall. No reason, really. Just because the shops are nicer to look at. Like the bespoke jewellers … and that shop with the silk flowers … and Enfant Cocotte, which is full of hand-made rocking horses and designer wenge cribs.

My pace has slowed right down and I take a step towards the brightly lit window, full of creeping lust. Look at all these gorgeous things. Look at the tiny rompers, and the little blankets.

If we had another baby, we could get all new lovely blankets. And it would be all snuffly and cute and Minnie could help to wheel it in the pram, and we’d be a real family …

I glance up at Luke to see if perhaps he’s thinking the same thing as me and will meet my eyes with a soft, loving gaze. But instead, he’s frowning at something on his BlackBerry. Honestly. Why isn’t he more tuned in to my thoughts? We’re supposed to be married, aren’t we? He should
understand
me. He should
realize
why I’ve led him to a baby shop.

‘That’s sweet, isn’t it?’ I point at a teddy-bear mobile.

‘Mm-hmm.’ Luke nods without even looking up.

‘Wow, look at that pram!’ I point longingly at an amazing-looking hi-tech contraption with bouncy wheels that look like they came off a Hummer. ‘Isn’t it great?’

If we had another baby we could buy another pram. I mean, we’d
have
to. The crappy old pram Minnie had is completely bust. (Not that I want another baby just to get a cool pram, obviously. But it would be an added bonus.)

‘Luke.’ I clear my throat. ‘I was just thinking. About … us. I mean … all of us. Our family. Including Minnie. And I was wondering—’

He holds up his hand and lifts his BlackBerry to his ear.

‘Yes. Hi.’

God, I hate that silent ring-mode. It gives you no warning at all that he’s getting a call.

‘I’ll catch up with you,’ he mouths to me, then turns back to his BlackBerry. ‘Yup, Gary, I got your email.’

OK, so this isn’t a great time to discuss buying a pram for a mythical second baby.

Never mind. I’ll wait till later.

As I hurry back to Santa’s Grotto, it suddenly occurs to me that I might be missing Minnie’s turn, and I break into a run. But as I skid round the corner, breathless, Father Christmas isn’t even back on his throne yet.

‘Becky!’ Mum waves from the front of the queue. ‘We’re next! I’ve got the camcorder all ready … Ooh look!’

An elf with a bright, vacant smile has taken the stage. She beams around and taps the microphone for attention.

‘Hello, boys and girls!’ she calls out. ‘Quiet now. Before Santa starts seeing all the children again, it’s Christmas wish time! We’re going to pull out the wish of one lucky child, and grant it! Will it be a teddy? Or a doll’s house? Or a scooter?’

The microphone isn’t working properly and she taps it in annoyance. Even so, excitement is rippling through the crowd, and there’s a surge forward. Camcorders are waving in the air and small children are swarming through people’s legs to see, their faces all lit up.

‘Minnie!’ Mum is saying excitedly. ‘What did you wish for, darling? Maybe they’ll choose you!’

‘And the winner is called … Becky! Well done, Becky!’ The elf’s suddenly amplified voice makes me jump.

No. That can’t be …

It must be another Becky. There must be loads of little girls here called Becky.

‘And little Becky has wished for …’ She squints at the wishing card. ‘ “A Zac Posen top in aquamarine, the one with the bow, size 10.”’

Shit.

‘Is Zac Posen a new TV character?’ The elf turns to a colleague, looking bemused. ‘Is that, like, a spinning top?’

Honestly, how can she work in a department store and not have heard of Zac Posen?

‘How old is Becky?’ The elf is smiling brightly around. ‘Becky, sweetheart, are you here? We haven’t got any tops, but maybe you’d like to choose a different toy from Santa’s sleigh?’

My head is ducked down in embarrassment. I can’t bring myself to raise my hand. They didn’t say they’d read the bloody Christmas wishes
out loud
. They should have
warned
me.

‘Is Becky’s mummy here?’

‘Here I am!’ calls Mum, gaily waving her camcorder.

‘Ssh, Mum!’ I hiss. ‘Sorry,’ I call out, my face boiling. ‘It’s … um, me. I didn’t realize you’d be … Choose another wish. A child’s wish. Please. Throw mine away.’

But the elf can’t hear me above the hubbub.

‘“Also those Marni shoes I saw with Suze, not the stack heels, the other ones.” ’ She’s still reading out loud, her voice booming through the sound-system. ‘Does this make sense to anyone? “And …” ’ She squints more closely at the paper. ‘Does that say “A sibling for Minnie”? Is Minnie your dolly, love? Aww, isn’t that sweet?’

‘Stop it!’ I cry out in horror, pushing forward through the crowd of small children. ‘That’s confidential! No one was supposed to see that!’

‘ “And above all, Father Christmas, I wish that Luke—” ’

‘Shut UP!’ In desperation I practically dive at the Grotto. ‘That’s private! It’s between me and Father Christmas!’ I reach the elf and try to wrench the paper out of her hand.

‘Ow!’ she cries.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say breathlessly. ‘But I’m Becky.’

‘You’re
Becky?’ Her mascaraed eyes narrow – then she looks down at the paper again and I see comprehension dawning. After a few moments her face softens. She folds the paper and hands it back to me.

‘I hope you get your Christmas wish,’ she says quietly, away from the microphone.

‘Thanks.’ I hesitate, then add, ‘Same to you, whatever it is. Happy Christmas.’

I turn to go back to Mum – and through the thicket of heads I glimpse Luke’s dark eyes. He’s standing there, near the back.

My stomach flips over. What exactly did he hear?

He’s coming towards me now, weaving his way through the families, his expression impenetrable.

‘Oh, hi.’ I try to sound casual. ‘So … they read out my Christmas wish, isn’t that funny?’

‘Mm-hmm.’ He’s giving nothing away.

There’s an awkward-ish little silence between us.

He
did
hear his name, I can tell. A wife has an unerring instinct for these things. He heard his name and now he’s wondering what I was wishing about him.

Unless maybe he’s just thinking about his emails.

‘Mummy!’ A shrill, unmistakable voice cuts through my head and I forget all about Luke.

‘Minnie!’ I turn, and for one frantic moment I can’t see her.

‘Was that Minnie?’ Luke is also alert. ‘Where is she?’

‘She was with Mum …
shit.’
I grab Luke’s arm and point at the stage in horror.

Minnie’s sitting on top of one of Father Christmas’s reindeer, holding on to its ears. How the hell did she get up there?

‘Excuse me …’ I barge my way between the parents and kids. ‘Minnie, get
down
!’

‘Horsey!’ Minnie kicks the reindeer joyfully, leaving an ugly dent in the papier mâché.

‘Would someone remove this child, please?’ an elf is saying into the microphone. ‘Would the parents of this child please come forward at once?’

‘I only let go of her for a minute!’ says Mum defensively as Luke and I reach her. ‘She just ran!’

‘OK, Minnie,’ says Luke firmly, striding up on to the stage. ‘Party’s over.’

‘Slide!’ She’s clambered up on to the sleigh. ‘Mine slide!’

‘It’s not a slide, and it’s time to get down.’ He takes Minnie round the waist and pulls, but she’s hooked her legs through the seat and is gripping on to the sleigh with superhero strength.

‘Could you get her off, please?’ the elf says, with barely restrained politeness.

I grab Minnie’s shoulders.

‘OK,’ I mutter to Luke. ‘You get the legs. We’ll yank her off. After three. One-two-three—’

Oh no. Oh … fuck.

I don’t know what happened. I don’t know
what
we did. But the whole bloody sleigh is collapsing. All the presents are falling off the sleigh on to the fake snow. Before I can blink, there’s a sea of children dashing forward to grab them while their parents yell at them to come back
now
, Daniel, or there won’t be any Christmas.

It’s mayhem.

‘Present!’ wails Minnie, stretching her arms out and kicking Luke’s chest. ‘Present!’

‘Get that bloody child out of here!’
the elf erupts in toxic rage. Her eyes range meanly over me and Mum, and even Janice and Martin, who have appeared out of nowhere, both wearing festive jumpers with reindeers on and clutching Christmas Discount Shop bags. ‘I want your whole family to leave at once.’

‘But it’s our turn next,’ I point out humbly. ‘I’m really, really sorry about the reindeer, and we’ll pay for any damage …’

‘Absolutely,’ Luke chimes in.

‘But my daughter’s been longing to see Father Christmas …’

‘I’m afraid we have a little rule,’ the elf says sarcastically. ‘Any child who wrecks Santa’s sleigh forfeits their visit. Your daughter is hereby banned from the Grotto.’

‘Banned?’
I stare at her in dismay. ‘You mean—’

‘In fact,
all
of you are banned.’ She points at the exit with a purple-lacquered nail.

‘Well, that’s a fine Christmas spirit!’ retorts Mum. ‘We’re loyal customers and your sleigh was obviously very poorly made, and I’ve a good mind to report you to Trading Standards!’

‘Just go.’ The elf is still standing there, her arm extended rigidly.

In total mortification, I take the handles of the buggy. We all trudge out in miserable silence, to see Dad rushing up in his waterproof jacket, his greying hair a bit dishevelled.

‘Did I miss it? Have you seen Father Christmas, Minnie darling?’

‘No.’ I can hardly bear to admit it. ‘We were banned from the Grotto.’

Dad’s face falls. ‘Oh dear. Oh, love.’ He sighs heavily. ‘Not
again.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘How many is that now?’ asks Janice, with a little wince.

‘Four.’ I look down at Minnie, who of course is now standing holding Luke’s hand demurely, looking like a little angel.

‘What happened this time?’ asks Dad. ‘She didn’t bite Santa, did she?’

‘No!’ I say defensively. ‘Of course not!’

The whole biting-Santa-at-Harrods incident was a complete misunderstanding. And that Santa was a total wimp. He did
not
need to go to A&E.

‘It was me and Luke. We wrecked the sleigh, trying to get her off a reindeer.’

‘Ah.’ Dad nods sagely and we all turn glumly towards the exit.

‘Minnie’s quite a
livewire
, isn’t she?’ ventures Janice timidly after a while.

‘Little rascal,’ says Martin and tickles Minnie under the chin. ‘She’s quite a handful!’

Maybe I’m feeling oversensitive. But all this talk of ‘handfuls’ and ‘rascals’ and ‘livewires’ is suddenly pressing on my sore spot.

‘You don’t think Minnie’s
spoiled
, do you?’ I say suddenly and come to an abrupt halt on the marble mall floor. ‘Be honest.’

Janice inhales sharply. ‘Well,’ she begins, glancing at Martin as though for support. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything, but—’

‘Spoiled?’
Mum cuts her off with a laugh. ‘Nonsense! There’s nothing wrong with Minnie, is there, my precious? She just knows her own mind!’ She strokes Minnie’s hair fondly, then looks up again. ‘Becky, love, you were exactly the same at her age.
Exactly
the same.’

At once I relax. Mum always says the right thing. I glance over at Luke – but to my surprise he doesn’t return my relieved smile. He looks as though some new and alarming thought has transfixed him.

‘Thanks, Mum.’ I give her a fond hug. ‘You always make everything better. Come on, let’s get home.’

By the time Minnie’s in bed, I’ve cheered up. In fact I’m feeling really festive.
This
is what Christmas is all about. Mulled wine and mince pies and
White Christmas
on the telly. We’ve hung up Minnie’s stocking (gorgeous red gingham, from the Conran shop) and put out a glass of sherry for Father Christmas and now Luke and I are in our bedroom, wrapping up her presents.

Mum and Dad are really generous. They’ve given us the whole top floor of the house to live in, so we have quite a lot of privacy. The only slight downside is, our wardrobe isn’t
that
big. But it doesn’t matter, because I’ve taken over the guestroom wardrobe too – plus I’ve arranged all my shoes on the bookshelves on the landing. (I put the books in boxes. No one ever read them, anyway.)

I’ve put up a hanging rail in Dad’s study, for coats and party dresses, and stacked some hat boxes in the utility room. And I keep all my make-up on the dining table, which is the ideal size, in fact it could have been
designed
for make-up. My mascaras fit in the knife drawer, my straightening irons go perfectly on the hostess trolley and I’ve put all my magazines in piles on the chairs.