Shopaholic & Baby (7 page)

“I’ve got something for you too, Becky.” Jess delves into her backpack and produces a bunch of grubby rags. Janice recoils with a little cry of dismay.

“What’s that, dear?”

“Becky and I are going to make baby wipes,” says Jess.

“
Make
baby wipes?” Mum looks uncomprehending. “But love, Boots do them. You can get them in the three-for-two.”

“They look a little…used,” ventures Janice.

“We just need to boil them and soak them in a solution of oil and soap,” Jess informs her. “It’s far kinder to the environment. And to the baby’s skin. And they’re reusable. You’ll save pounds in the long run.”

“Er…fab.” I gulp, and finger the rags, one of which has HM WANDSWORTH PRISON printed faintly down the side. There is no way on earth I’m having a bucket of grotty old rags in my baby’s nursery. But Jess seems so enthusiastic. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.

“I’ll help you make a baby carrier too,” she says. “Out of a pair of Luke’s old jeans. It’s really simple.”

“Good idea!” I manage. I daren’t look at Luke.

“And I’ve had another idea.” Jess swivels on the ottoman to face me. “You don’t have to say yes, but maybe you could think about it?”

“Right,” I say nervously. “What is it?”

“Would you give a talk?”

“A talk?” I’m taken aback. “On what?”

“On how you kicked your spending addiction.” Jess leans forward, her face all warm and sisterly. “I have a friend who’s a counselor and I was telling her about you and how much you’ve changed. She said she thought you’d be an inspiration to a lot of the addicts in her group.”

There’s silence in the room. I can feel my face going puce.

“Go on, Bex.” Suze nudges my foot. “You’d be great!”

“I’ll come,” says Luke. “When is it?”

“It wouldn’t need to be formal,” says Jess. “Just a friendly chat about resisting consumer pressure. Especially now that you’re pregnant.” She shakes her head. “It’s
ridiculous
, the amount of rubbish people feel compelled to buy for their children.”

“I blame the catalogs,” says Luke gravely.

“So, what do you think, Becky?” persists Jess.

“I don’t really…” I clear my throat feebly. “I’m not sure…”

“Don’t be embarrassed!” Jess gets up from the ottoman and comes to sit beside me on the sofa. “I’m really proud of you, Becky. And you should be proud of yourself—” Her expression changes and she shifts on the sofa. “What am I sitting on? What’s this?” She reaches behind her and pulls out two glossy catalogs, with all the corners folded down.

Shit. And she
would
have picked out Luxury Baby, which has a cover picture of a baby dressed in Ralph Lauren, holding a Dior bottle and sitting in a miniature Rolls-Royce.

“Becky wasn’t looking at those,” says Suze in a rush. “They’re not even hers. They’re mine. I brought them.”

I really love Suze.

Jess is leafing through Luxury Baby and flinching. “It’s shocking. I mean, what baby needs an inflatable bath? Or a designer crib?”

“Oh, I know.” I try to match her tones of disdain. “It’s terrible. Although I probably will buy, you know, a
few
things….”

“Have a look, Jess, love!” says Mum helpfully. “Becky’s already found a super crib for the baby!” She rummages among the catalogs. “Where is it, now? It’s got a light show…and vibrating action….”

I stiffen in horror.

Do not show Jess the
£
1,200 crib
.

“Here it is!” Mum holds out Funky Baba.

“Jess doesn’t want to see that!” I try to grab the catalog, but Jess gets there first.

“Which page?” she says.

“Mum?” A voice interrupts us and we all look round. Standing in the doorway is a frowning guy with disheveled dark hair and stubble. He’s tall and rangy and he’s holding a beaten-up old paperback and I have no idea who he—

Hang on. Is that Tom?

Blimey. I barely
recognize
him. Mum’s right about the shaving: he doesn’t seem to have seen a razor for days.

“Dad needs help with one of his magic tricks,” he says abruptly to Janice. “The rabbit’s got stuck or something.”

“Oh dear!” says Janice, putting down her cup. “I’d better go. Tom, say hello nicely, love.”

“Hi, everyone.” Tom shoots a cursory glower round the room.

“You know Suze, Becky’s friend, don’t you?” twitters Janice. “And have you ever met Becky’s sister, Jess?”

“Hi, Tom!” says Suze cheerfully.

“Hi,” says Jess.

I glance nervously over at her, all ready for some lecture about how spending a thousand pounds on a crib is a mark of the evil, decadent times we live in. But to my surprise she’s not even looking at the catalog. She’s let it drop onto her lap and is gazing at Tom, transfixed.

And Tom is staring back at her.

Her eyes drop to the book he’s holding. “Is that
The Consumer Society: Myths and Structures
?”

“Yeah. Have you read it?”

“No, but I’ve read some of Baudrillard’s other work.
The System of Objects
.”

“I have it!” Tom takes a step toward her. “What did you think?”

Hang on a minute.

“His concept of simulacra and simulation is pretty interesting, I thought.”

Jess fiddles with the Tiffany bean I gave her. She never fiddles with that Tiffany bean. Oh my God. She fancies him!

“I’m trying to apply the collapsing of hyperrealities to my thesis of postmodern capitalistic entropy.” Tom nods intently.

This is fantastic! They’re good-looking and there’s chemistry and they’re talking English, only with weird in-words that no one else understands. It’s like an episode of
The OC
, right here in Mum’s living room!

I shoot a glance at Luke, who raises his eyebrows. Mum nudges Suze, who grins back. We’re all totally agog. As for Janice, she looks beside herself.

“Anyway.” Tom shrugs. “I should go….”

Like a whirlwind, Janice springs into action.

“Jess! Dear!” she exclaims, leaping up from the sofa. “We’ve never really got to know each other, have we? Why don’t you come back for tea, and you and Tom can carry on with your little talk?”

“Oh.” Jess looks taken aback. “Well…I’ve come to see everyone here….”

“You can see them later at the party!” Janice takes a firm grip on Jess’s tanned arm and starts chivvying her toward the door. “Jane, Graham, you don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” says Dad easily.

“Well, OK.” Jess glances at Tom and a faint rosy color appears on her cheeks. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye!” we all chorus.

The door closes behind them and we all look at each other in suppressed glee.

“Well!” says Mum, picking up the teapot. “Now, wouldn’t
that
be nice! We could take down the fence and have a marquee across both lawns!”

“Mum! Honestly!” I roll my eyes. That is just like her, getting ahead of herself and imagining all sorts of ridiculous—

Ooh. The baby could be the ring bearer!

While Jess is next door, Luke is reading the paper, and Tarquin is bathing the children, Suze and I take over my old bedroom. We turn on the radio loudly and run deep, sudsy baths, and take turns perching on the edge of the tub to chat, just like in the old days in Fulham. Then Suze sits on the bed, feeding the babies in turn while I paint my toenails.

“You won’t be able to do that for much longer,” says Suze, watching me.

“Why?” I look up in alarm. “Is it bad for the baby?”

“No, you dope!” She laughs. “You won’t be able to reach!”

That’s a weird thought. I can’t even
imagine
being that big. I run a hand over my tummy and the baby bounces back at me.

“Ooh!” I say. “It kicked really hard!”

“You wait till it starts poking knees out and stuff,” says Suze. “It’s so freaky, like having an alien inside you.”

You see, this is why you need a best friend when you’re pregnant. Not a single one of my baby books has said “It’s so freaky, like having an alien inside you.”

“Hi, darling.” Tarquin is at the door again. “Shall I put Wilfie down?”

“Yes, he’s finished.” Suze hands over the sleepy baby, who nestles into Tarquin’s shoulder as if he knows he belongs there.

“Do you like my nails, Tarkie?” I say, wriggling my toes at him. Tarquin is so sweet. When I first knew him he was totally weird and geeky and I couldn’t even hold a conversation with him—but somehow he’s got more and more normal as the years have gone by.

He looks blankly at my nails. “Marvelous. Come on, old chap.” He pats Wilfie gently on the back. “Up to Bedfordshire.”

“Tarkie’s such a good dad,” I say in admiration as he disappears out of the room.

“Oh, he’s great,” says Suze fondly as she starts feeding Clementine. “Except he keeps playing Wagner at them all the time. Ernie can sing Brunnehilde’s aria from start to finish in German, but he can’t speak much English.” Her brow crumples. “I’m getting a bit worried, actually.”

I take it back. Tarquin is still weird.

I get out my new mascara and start applying it to my lashes, watching Suze make funny faces at Clementine and kissing her fat little cheeks. She’s so lovely with her children.

“D’you think I’ll be a good mother, Suze?” The words pop out of my mouth before I even realize I’m thinking them.

“Of course!” Suze stares at me in the mirror. “You’ll be a brilliant mother! You’ll be kind, and you’ll be funny, and you’ll be the best-dressed one in the playground….”

“But I don’t know anything about babies. I mean, honestly,
nothing
.”

“Nor did I, remember.” Suze shrugs. “You’ll soon pick it up!”

Everyone keeps saying I’ll pick it up. But what if I don’t? I did algebra for three years, and I never picked
that
up.

“Can’t you give me some parenting tips?” I put away my mascara wand. “Like…things I should know.”

Suze wrinkles her brow in thought. “The only tips I can think of are the real basics,” she says at last. “You know, the ones that go without saying.”

I feel a twinge of alarm.

“Like what, exactly?” I try to sound casual. “I mean, I probably know about them already….”

“Well, you know.” She counts off on her fingers. “Things like having a bit of first aid knowledge…making sure you’ve got all your equipment…You might want to book a baby massage class….” She hoists Clementine onto her shoulder. “Are you doing Baby Einstein?”

OK, now I’m freaked out. I’ve never
heard
of Baby Einstein.

“Don’t worry, Bex!” says Suze hastily, seeing my face. “None of that really matters. As long as you can change a nappy and sing a nursery rhyme, you’ll be fine!”

I can’t change a nappy. And I don’t know any nursery rhymes.

God, I’m in trouble.

It’s another twenty minutes before Suze finishes feeding Clementine and hands her over to Tarquin.

“Right!” She closes the door behind him and turns with sparkling eyes. “No one’s about. Give me your wedding ring. I just need some string or something….”

“Here.” I rummage in my dressing table for an old Christian Dior gift-wrap ribbon. “Will this do?”

“Should do.” Suze is stringing the ribbon through the ring. “Now, Becky. Are you
sure
you want to know?”

I feel a flicker of doubt. Maybe Luke’s right. Maybe we should wait for the magical surprise. But then—how will I know what color pram to get?

“I want to know,” I say with resolution. “Let’s do it.”

“Sit back, then.” Suze knots the ribbon, meets my eye, and grins. “This is exciting!”

Suze is the best. I
knew
she’d have some way to find out. She dangles the ring above my stomach and we both stare at it, transfixed.

“It’s not moving,” I say in a whisper.

“It will in a minute,” Suze murmurs back.

This is so spooky. I feel like we’re at a séance and all of a sudden the ring will spell out the name of a dead person while a window bangs shut and a vase crashes to the floor.

“It’s going!” hisses Suze as the ring begins to sway on its ribbon. “Look!”

“Oh my God!” My voice is a muffled squeak. “What does it say?”

“It’s going round in circles! It’s a girl!”

I gasp. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! You’re having a daughter! Congratulations!” Suze flings her arms round me.

It’s a girl. I feel quite shaky. I’m having a daughter! I knew it. I’ve been having girl vibes all along.

“Becky?” The door opens and Mum is standing there, resplendent in purple sequins and matching lurid lipstick. “People will be here soon.” Her eyes shoot from Suze to me. “Is everything all right, love?”

“Mum, I’m having a girl!” I blurt it out before I can stop myself. “Suze did the ring test! It went in a circle!”

“A girl!” Mum’s whole face lights up. “I
thought
it looked like a girl! Oh, Becky, love!”

“Isn’t it great?” says Suze. “You’re going to have a granddaughter!”

“I can get out your old doll’s house, Becky!” Mum is suffused with delight. “And I’ll have the spare room painted pink….” She comes close and examines my bump. “Yes, look at the way you’re carrying it, love. It’s definitely a girl.”

“And watch the ring!” says Suze. She lifts the ribbon above my stomach again and steadies it. There’s utter stillness—then the ring starts moving back and forth. For a moment no one speaks.

“I thought you said a circle,” says Mum at last, puzzled.

“I did! Suze, what’s happening? Why’s it going back and forth?”

“I dunno!” She peers at the ring, her brow wrinkled. “Maybe it’s a boy after all.”

We’re all staring at my stomach as though we’re expecting it to start talking to us.

“You are carrying high,” says Mum eventually. “It could be a boy.”

A minute ago she said it looked like a girl. Oh, for God’s sake. The thing about old wives’ tales is, they’re actually total crap.

“Let’s go down anyway, loves,” Mum says, as music suddenly blasts from downstairs. “Keith from the Fox and Grapes has arrived. He’s making all sorts of fancy cocktails.”

“Excellent!” says Suze, reaching for her sponge bag. “We’ll be down in a sec.”

Mum leaves the room, and Suze starts applying makeup at speed while I watch in astonishment.