Mini Shopaholic (17 page)

‘Of course!’ I turn with a winning smile. ‘What’s up?’

‘Mrs Brandon.’ Kyla lowers her voice as she comes towards me. ‘Minnie’s a sweet, charming, intelligent child. But we had a few … issues today.’

‘Issues?’ I repeat innocently, after only the tiniest of pauses. ‘What kind of issues?’

‘There were moments when Minnie was a little stubborn. Is that normal for her?’

I rub my nose, playing for time. If I admit that Minnie’s the stubbornest person I’ve ever come across then that just lets Kyla off the hook. She’s supposed to
cure
Minnie’s stubbornness. In fact, why hasn’t she done it already?

And anyway, everyone knows you shouldn’t label children, it gives them a complex.

‘Stubborn?’ I wrinkle my brow as though baffled. ‘No, that doesn’t sound like Minnie to me. She’s never stubborn with me,’ I add for good measure. ‘She’s always a little angel, aren’t you, darling?’ I beam at Minnie.

‘I see.’ Kyla’s cheeks are flushed and she looks a bit beleaguered. ‘Well, I guess it’s early days for us, isn’t it, Minnie? The other thing …’ She lowers her voice. ‘She won’t eat any carrots for me. I’m sure she’s just playing up. You said she eats carrots, right?’

‘Absolutely,’ I say after another tiny pause. ‘Always. Come on, Minnie, eat your carrots!’

I head over to the high chair and look at Minnie’s food. Most of the chicken and potatoes have gone, but there’s a stack of beautifully cooked carrots, which Minnie’s eyeing as though they’re the Black Death.

‘I don’t understand where I’m going wrong.’ Kyla sounds quite hassled. ‘I never had this kind of problem with Eloise …’

‘Could you possibly get down a mug for me, Kyla?’ I say casually. As Kyla reaches up to the cupboard I whip a carrot off the plate, stuff it in my mouth and swallow it in one gulp.

‘She just ate one,’ I say to Kyla, trying not to sound too smug.

‘She
ate
one?’ Kyla whips round. ‘But … but I’ve been trying for fifteen minutes!’

‘You’ll get the knack,’ I say kindly. ‘Um, could you possibly get a jug down as well?’ As she turns away I stuff another carrot in my mouth. To give credit to Kyla, they
are
pretty yummy.

‘Did she just eat another one?’ I can see Kyla avidly counting the carrots on the plate. It’s a good job I’m a fast chewer.

‘Yes!’ I clear my throat. ‘Good girl, Minnie! Now eat the rest for Kyla …’

I hastily head across the kitchen and start making some coffee. Behind me I can hear Kyla, determinedly upbeat.

‘C’mon, Minnie! Lovely carrots. You ate two already, so let’s see how fast you can eat the rest of them!’

‘Noooooo!’ Minnie yells at her, and I turn to see her batting the fork away. ‘Nooooo ca-rrot!’

Oh God. She’s going to start hurling all the carrots across the room in a minute.

‘Actually, Kyla,’ I say quickly, ‘could you be a real star and take some shopping upstairs for me? All the bags in the hall. And I’ll supervise Minnie.’

‘Sure.’ Kyla wipes her brow. ‘No problem.’

The minute she’s gone, I hurry to Minnie’s high chair and start cramming all the carrots into my mouth. For God’s sake, why did she have to cook so
many
of the bloody things? I can barely get my mouth closed around them, let alone chew them—

‘Becky?’ I freeze in dismay as I hear Kyla’s voice behind me. ‘Your mom said to bring these bags into the kitchen, is that OK?’

I don’t know what to do. My cheeks are bulging with carrots.

OK, it’s fine. I’m facing away. She can’t see my mouth.

‘Mm-hmm,’ I manage, indistinctly.

‘Oh my gosh! Did she eat all the carrots?’ Kyla drops the shopping bags. ‘But that’s so quick! What happened? Did she just start wolfing them down?’

‘Mm-hmm.’ Keeping my head averted, I give what I hope is an expressive shrug.

Now Kyla’s coming over to the high chair. Hastily I back away till I’m at the window, facing away. God, this is hideous. My jaw is starting to ache from holding in all the carrots, and my face is growing hot with the effort. I risk a quick chew, then another—

‘No
way.’
Kyla’s voice comes out of nowhere. Shit! She’s about two feet away, staring at my face. How did she creep round there without me noticing? I sneak a quick glance at my reflection in the stainless-steel fridge.

Oh God. The end of a carrot is poking out of my mouth.

For a moment Kyla and I just stare at each other. I don’t quite dare push it back into my mouth.

‘Minnie didn’t eat any carrots, did she?’ says Kyla, politely but with an edge.

I stare back desperately. If I speak, will carrots fall on the floor?

‘I may have helped her out,’ I say indistinctly at last. ‘A little.’

I can see Kyla looking from me to Minnie and back again with increasing incredulity.

‘I’m getting the feeling she didn’t write a poem either, did she?’ she says, and now there’s definite sarcasm in her voice. ‘Mrs Brandon, if I’m going to work effectively with a family, I need full and candid lines of communication. I need honesty. And there’s obviously not much chance of that here. Sorry, Minnie. I hope you find a carer who works out for you.’

‘You can’t just
leave
—’ I begin in dismayed, muffled tones, and three carrots fall out of my mouth on to the floor.

Damn.

From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Tiny favour
Date: 8 February 2006
To: Becky Brandon

Dear Mrs Brandon

Thank you for your phone message. We’re sorry that things did not work out for you with Kyla.

Unfortunately, we are not able to issue Post-its to all our staff as you suggest, so that if your husband rings up, ‘the story is that Kyla broke her leg’. Regarding an instant replacement ‘who looks like Kyla’, I’m afraid this will not be possible either.

Perhaps you could telephone me if you wish to discuss this matter further.

With kind wishes

Cathy Ferris
Director, Ultimate Nannies

OXSHOTTMARKETPLACE.COM

The official website for people in the Oxshott area who
want to barter.

‘It’s fun, it’s free, it’s for everybody!!!’

GENERAL ITEMS

Ref10057
Wanted: big marquee for two hundred people (one night’s hire)
Offered: Two Marc Jacobs handbags, really cool, v.g. condition

Barterer: BeckyB
Click for more details including photos

Ref10058
Wanted: dance-floor which lights up (one night’s hire)
Offered: 20 assorted gift sets never used: Clarins, Lancôme, Estée Lauder, etc.

Barterer: BeckyB
Click for more details including photos

Ref10059
Wanted: organic hemp sleeping bag and tent
Offered: 16 bottles home-made peach wine

Barterer: JessWebster
Click for more details. No photos

Ref10060
Wanted: 100 bottles of champagne
Offered: Power Plate machine, unused, never tested, plus plastic abdominizer, Supermodel Stepper, and
Get Fit In Three Days!
DVD with skipping rope and book

Barterer: BeckyB
Click for more details including photos

Ref10061
Wanted: firework display (spelling out ‘Happy Birthday Luke’ at the end)
Offered: Original Art Deco cocktail cabinet, from Manhattan antique shop, cocktail shakers included

Barterer: BeckyB
Click for more details including photos

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CENTRAL DEPARTMENTAL UNIT
FOR MONETARY POLICY
5th Floor
180 Whitehall Place
London SW1

Ms Rebecca Brandon
The Pines
43 Elton Road
Oxshott
Surrey

10 February 2006

Dear Rebecca

Thank you for your letter of 8 February, and for all your suggestions.

Bartering is certainly one idea to aid the economy. However, I am not sure how practical it would be for the Chancellor to barter ‘some old stuff in museums that we don’t need’ for ‘loads of French cheeses that we could all share out’. I also fear it would be unfeasible to barter ‘a minor member of the Royal Family’ with the USA, in return for ‘enough J Crew clothes for everyone’.

Nevertheless I thank you for your continuing interest in our economy.

Yours sincerely

Edwin Tredwell
Director of Policy Research

TEN

Huh. Some nanny agency that is. I’m thinking of complaining to the Nanny Ombudsman. Nanny agencies should be
confidential
. They should be
discreet
. Apparently the story of the mother and the carrots has been forwarded to every single nanny agency in town. Suze rang up apologetically and said everyone at St Cuthbert’s was talking about it and it’s the new urban legend, except the way the story goes now, it ends up with me and Kyla throwing carrots at each other.

Luke wasn’t impressed, no matter how many times I explained that Kyla was totally unsuitable for us anyway. And apparently, the agency might find it ‘difficult’ to find a replacement Ultimate Nanny. So I’ve had to ask Mum to step in and she got all huffy and said, ‘Oh, I’m good enough for you now, am I?’

And to make things worse, last night I finally looked properly at my bargain party supplies from the pound shop. I opened the place cards first of all – and they were personalized with ‘Happy Birthday Mike’. Two hundred of them.

For a while I considered introducing ‘Mike’ as a nickname for Luke. I mean, why shouldn’t he have a little nickname? And why shouldn’t it be Mike? I reckoned if I started sending him little emails calling him ‘Mikey’ and got Mum and Dad to call him ‘Mike’, and maybe even gasped ‘Oh Mike, Mike!’ a couple of times during sex, I could probably get him used to it before the party.

But then the napkin holders had ‘Congratulations Lorraine’ all over them, so I gave up on that plan.

At least there are
some
positives at the moment. My bartering venture is already a triumph – in fact, Jess is right, it’s amazing! Why on earth do people ever buy things when they could barter? I’ve had loads of responses to my ads and I’ve got several appointments this evening. At this rate I’ll have the whole party sorted out in no time, for no money!

Jess sent me links to some eco-decorating websites as well, and although most of the ideas are rubbish, I did find one that was quite cool. You cut old plastic bags into strips and make pom-poms – and they look really good. And they’re free! So I’ve started making those, whenever Luke isn’t around. Luckily, I have quite a large supply of plastic bags already. The Selfridges pom-poms look amazing, all bright and yellow, and the green Harrods ones are really smart, too. Now I just need a few white ones. (I might have to go and stock up at Harvey Nichols Food Hall. I mean, it’s quite expensive there, but then that’s the price of being green.)

And the other big plus is our new house, which is all still going forward. I’ve come here in my lunch-hour to show it to Suze – and it looks even better than it did before.

‘Bex, I love it!’ Suze comes clattering down the stairs, her face bright. ‘It’s so
light!
And the upstairs is massive! All those bedrooms! They seem to come out of nowhere!’

‘It’s incredible, isn’t it?’ I beam proudly.

‘It just shows what architects can do.’ She shakes her head wonderingly. ‘And no glitches? No problems?’

Poor Suze has heard the saga of every other house we’ve tried to buy.

‘Nothing! We’re exchanging next week and completing two weeks after that. We’ve booked the van and everything.’ I beam at Suze. ‘This one is meant to be.’

‘You must be so
relieved.’
Suze gives me a hug. ‘I can’t believe you’ve finally got a house!’

‘I know.’ I tug at her arm. ‘Come and see the garden!’

We head outside and across the lawn to the back, where there’s a huge spreading oak tree and a swing and a load of climbing equipment on bark chippings.

‘All your kids will be able to come and play here,’ I say proudly.

‘They’ll love it!’ Suze gets on the swing and starts pushing herself back and forth.

‘How’s Ernie?’ I suddenly remember. ‘How was the meeting at school?’

‘We haven’t had it yet.’ Suze’s face falls. ‘I’m dreading it. I’ve got to go to school for an event next week, and I know the headmistress will collar me …’ She suddenly breaks off. ‘Hey, Bex, will you come too? You could be my buffer. She can’t be mean to me if you’re standing there, can she?’

‘Of course I’ll come!’ I can’t wait to have a go at this headmistress, to be honest.

‘It’s an art exhibition. All the kids have done paintings and we go and have a cup of coffee and look at them,’ says Suze. ‘And then we have to make a donation to the school.’

‘I thought you paid fees,’ I say, puzzled. ‘Why do you need to make a donation?’

‘The fees are only the
beginning
,’ says Suze, as though I understand nothing. ‘Then there’s the fund-raising and the school charity and the collections for the teachers. I spend my whole life writing out cheques.’

‘And then, on top of that, they’re mean to you?’

‘Yes.’ Suze suddenly looks a bit miserable. ‘But it
is
a very good school.’

God, this whole school malarkey sounds a nightmare. Maybe I’ll find an alternative. Maybe I’ll educate Minnie at home. Or at least, not at
home
. That would be boring. We could do our lessons in … Harvey Nicks! God, yes. Perfect. I can just see myself now, sitting at a little table, sipping a latte and reading Minnie interesting bits of culture from the paper. We could do sums with the sugar cubes and geography in the International Designer Room. People would call me The Girl Who Teaches Her Child in Harvey Nicks and I could start a whole international trend of in-shop schooling—

‘Hey, Bex.’ Suze has stopped swinging and is squinting suspiciously at my velvet top. ‘Is that my top? Is that the one I lent you when we first moved in together?’ She’s getting off the swing. ‘And I asked you for it back and you said it got burnt accidentally in a bonfire?’

‘Er …’ I automatically take a step backwards.

That story’s ringing a bell. Why did I say I burnt it? I can’t remember now, it’s so long ago.

‘It is!’ She’s examining it closely. ‘It’s that Monsoon top! Fenny lent it to me and I lent it to you and you said you couldn’t find it and then you said it had got burnt! Do you know what a hard time Fenny gave me about that?’

‘You can have it back,’ I say hastily. ‘Sorry.’

‘I don’t want it back
now.’
She peers at me incredulously. ‘Why are you wearing it, anyway?’

‘Because it was in my wardrobe,’ I say morosely. ‘And I’ve agreed to wear everything in my wardrobe three times before I go shopping for clothes again.’

‘What?’
Suze sounds staggered. ‘But … why?’

‘It was after the bank went bust. We made a deal. Luke’s not buying a car and I’m not buying any new clothes. Not till October.’

‘But Bex.’ Suze looks really concerned. ‘Isn’t that bad for your health? I mean, isn’t it
dangerous
to go cold turkey? I saw this TV show once. People go shaky and have blackouts. Have you felt shaky at all?’

‘Yes!’ I stare at her, riveted. ‘I felt really shaky when I walked past the Fenwick sale the other day!’

Oh my God. It never occurred to me that by giving up shopping I could be jeopardizing my
health
. Should I see a doctor?

‘And what about Luke’s party?’

‘Sssh!’ I say fiercely, looking around the empty garden in paranoia. ‘Don’t
tell
everyone! What about it?’

‘Aren’t you going to get a new dress?’ mouths Suze silently.

‘Of course I am—’ I stop dead.

That hadn’t even occurred to me. I can’t get a new dress for Luke’s party, can I? Not while our deal is still on.

‘No,’ I say at last. ‘I can’t. I’ll have to wear something out of my wardrobe. I promised him.’

Suddenly I feel a bit flat. I mean, not that I was holding the party just so I could have a new dress. But still.

‘So … how
is
the party going?’ asks Suze after a pause.

‘Really great!’ I say at once, in a brushing-off way. ‘All fine. I’ll send you an invitation when they’re ready.’

‘Good! And you don’t need any help or anything?’

‘Help?’ I say a bit sharply. ‘Why would I need help? It’s all totally under control.’

I’ll show her. Wait till she sees my shopping-bag pom-poms.

‘Excellent! Well, I look forward to it. I’m sure it’ll be brilliant.’ She starts swinging again, not meeting my eye.

She doesn’t believe me, does she? I
know
she doesn’t. I’m about to challenge her when a shout draws my attention.

‘There they are! There are the devils!’ A middle-aged man with a red face is coming out of the house next-door to this one, gesticulating at me.

‘Who’s that?’ murmurs Suze.

‘Dunno,’ I say in an undertone. ‘We’ve never met the neighbours. The estate agents said an old man lived there. They said he was ill and never left the house … Can I help you?’ I raise my voice.

‘Help me?’ He glares at me. ‘You could help by explaining what you’ve done to my house! I’m calling the police!’

Suze and I exchange wary glances. Am I moving in next to a nutter?

‘I haven’t done anything to your house!’ I call back.

‘Well, who’s stolen my bedrooms then?’

What?

Before I can answer, our estate agent bustles out into the garden. He’s called Magnus and wears chalk-striped suits and has a very low, discreet voice.

‘Mrs Brandon, I’ll deal with this. Is there a problem?’ he says, ‘Mr …’

‘Evans.’ The man approaches Magnus and they have a conversation over the garden fence, which I can only hear tiny snippets of. But since those snippets include the words
sue, outrageous
and
daylight robbery
, I’m agog.

‘You don’t think anything’s
wrong
, do you?’ I say anxiously to Suze.

‘Of course not!’ she says at once in reassuring tones. ‘It’s probably just some little neighbourly misunderstanding. One of those things you can clear up over a cup of tea. Maybe it’s about … the hedge!’ she adds hurriedly, as Mr Evans starts shaking his fist at Magnus.

‘Do you get that upset about a hedge?’ I say uncertainly.

The conversation is getting louder and the snippets are bigger.

‘…
take a sledgehammer myself … evil devils need punishing …’

‘Very well.’ Magnus looks deathly as he comes hurrying over the grass to us. ‘Mrs Brandon, a small matter has arisen, involving the bedrooms of your property. According to this neighbour, several of them have been … appropriated from his property.’

‘What?’ I stare at him blankly.

‘He believes that someone has knocked through the adjoining wall and … stolen his bedrooms. Three of them, to be precise.’

Suze gasps. ‘I
thought
it looked too big!’

‘But you told us it had eight bedrooms! It was on the house details!’

‘Indeed.’ Magnus is looking more and more uncomfortable. ‘We were informed by the developer that this was an eight-bedroomed house and we had no reason to dispute this—’

‘So he just bulldozed into next door’s upstairs and stole all the rooms and no one even
checked?’
I stare at him incredulously.

Magnus looks even more worried.

‘I believe the developer obtained the proper permissions from the Council …’

‘How?’ Mr Evans looms up, clearly bored of waiting. ‘By forging documents and greasing palms, that’s how! I come back from the States and go upstairs for a kip and what do I find? Half my top floor missing! Blocked up! Someone’s come in and stolen my property!’

‘Why didn’t someone notice?’ says Suze robustly. ‘Wasn’t it a bit careless of you to let them do that?’

‘My father’s deaf and nearly blind!’ Mr Evans looks even more incensed. ‘His carers pop in and out, but what do they know? Preying on the vulnerable, that’s what it is.’ His face is almost purple and his yellowing eyes are so menacing I quail.

‘It’s not my fault! I didn’t do anything! I didn’t even know! And you can have your bedrooms back,’ I add rashly. ‘Or … we could buy them off you, maybe? It’s just, we’re pretty desperate. We’re living with my parents and we’ve got a two-year-old …’

I’m gazing desperately at Mr Evans, willing him to soften, but he looks even more axe-murderery than before.

‘I’m phoning my lawyer.’ He wheels around and stalks back to the house.

‘What does this mean?’ I demand. ‘What happens next?’

Magnus can’t even look me in the eye.

‘I’m afraid this will be complicated. We’ll have to consult the deeds, take legal advice, the house may have to be put back the way it was, or perhaps Mr Evans will come to an arrangement … I think you will be able to sue the vendor successfully and indeed, there may be a fraud prosecution …’

I’m staring at him in growing dismay. I don’t care about a fraud prosecution. I want a house.

‘So we won’t be able to exchange next week?’

‘The whole deal is off for now, I’m afraid.’

‘But we need a house!’ I wail. ‘This is our fifth house!’

‘I’m sorry.’ Magnus takes out his phone. ‘Please excuse me, I need to alert our legal team.’

As he walks away, I look at Suze. For a moment, neither of us speaks.

‘I don’t believe it,’ I say at last. ‘Are we
jinxed?’

‘It’ll all work out,’ says Suze hopefully. ‘Everyone will just sue each other and you’ll get the house in the end. And on the plus side, if you
do
have to stay with your mum a bit longer, think how thrilled she’ll be.’

‘She won’t!’ I say in desperation. ‘She’ll be livid! Suze, she doesn’t have empty-nest syndrome after all. We got it all wrong.’

‘What?’ Suze looks shocked. ‘But I thought she was going to really miss you and get suicidal.’

‘It was all an act! She can’t wait for us to go! The whole
neighbourhood’s
waiting.’ I clutch my head in despair. ‘What am I going to do?’

There’s silence as we both look round the wintry garden.

Maybe we could be squatters, I find myself thinking. Or set up a big tent in the garden and hope no one notices us. We could be alternative-lifestyle people living in our yurt. I could call myself Rainbow and Luke could be Wolf and Minnie could be Runs-On-Grass-In-Mary-Janes.

‘So what are you going to do?’ Suze breaks me out of a fantasy where we’re sitting by a campfire and Luke is chopping wood in old leather trousers with ‘Wolf’ tattooed on his knuckles.