Mini Shopaholic Page 6

  Exactly.

  I head downstairs and find Suze with Luke and Tarquin in the sitting room. There’s an empty coffee pot and a massive mound of paperwork on the table. They’ve obviously been hard at it.

  ‘You have to think of Shetland Shortbread as a brand,’ Luke is saying. ‘You’re sitting on something that could be a huge global success, but you need to raise its profile. Find a story, a personality, a USP, an angle. Establish your brand values.’ He looks all fired up and enthusiastic, the way he always does when he can see potential in a new project.

  Tarquin, on the other hand, looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

  ‘Absolutely,’ he says nervously. ‘Brand values. Ahm … Suze, darling, Luke’s been terribly helpful. We can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘Really, it’s nothing.’ Luke claps him on the shoulder. ‘But you need to sort yourself out, Tarquin. Build an effective business team, strategize, and go from there.’

  I stifle a giggle. Even I know that Tarquin isn’t the strategizing sort.

  ‘I’ll read those contracts for you and give you my take on them.’ Luke picks up his BlackBerry. ‘I know your people have approved them, but as I said, I think you can do better.’

  ‘Really, Luke,’ protests Tarquin feebly. ‘You’ve given me far too much time and expertise already …’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Luke shoots him a brief smile and switches his BlackBerry back on.

  Tarquin’s bony face is growing flushed. He shoots an agonized glance at Suze, twists his hands and clears his throat.

  ‘Luke, I know you have your own company,’ he suddenly blurts out. ‘But I’d be delighted to offer you a job. Business manager of the entire estate, all my concerns. Any salary. Any terms.’

  ‘A job?’ Luke looks taken aback.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Suze claps her hands with enthusiasm. ‘Brilliant idea! That would be amazing. We could provide accommodation, too, couldn’t we?’ she adds to Tarkie. ‘The little castle in Perthshire would be perfect! I mean, not nearly as nice as your house in Maida Vale,’ she adds loyally. ‘But as a second home?’

  ‘Any terms?’ says Luke slowly.

  ‘Yes,’ replies Tarquin after only a moment’s hesitation. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘I’ll do it for 60 per cent of all gross revenues,’ Luke shoots back.

  There’s a stunned silence. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Is Luke seriously considering giving up Brandon Communications to run the Cleath-Stuart estate?

  Would we live in a castle?

  Oh my God. We’d be a clan. We could have our own tartan! Hot pink with silver and black. It would be the ‘McBloomwood of Brandon’ tartan, and we’d do Scottish dancing and Luke would wear a sporran …

  ‘I … ahm …’ Tarquin glances wildly at Suze. ‘Ahm. That seems … reasonable …’

  ‘Tarquin!’ Luke practically explodes. ‘Of course 60 per cent is not bloody reasonable! And that is why you need a new business adviser you can trust, and that is why I’m setting up a meeting for you with some consultants I can highly recommend, and I’m coming along to make sure you understand everything …’ He taps at his BlackBerry – then stops as it starts buzzing like an angry bee. ‘Sorry, a few messages coming in …’ He peers at the screen, his face jolts in surprise and he taps something back.

  ‘I knew Luke would never really say yes.’ Suze makes a rueful face at me. ‘He’d never abandon his business.’

  ‘I know.’ I nod, although secretly I feel a bit let down. I’d already mentally moved into a Scottish castle and called our second baby Morag.

  ‘Well, you must please let me buy you a titchy,’ Tarquin is saying to Luke in those posh, stilted tones of his. ‘Or lunch? Or could I offer you a weekend’s shooting? Or … or … a summer in our house in France? Or …’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Luke suddenly says in a low voice. He seems stunned by whatever he’s reading on the BlackBerry.

  ‘What?’ I say, alert. ‘What is it?’

  Luke looks up and for the first time seems to realize that we’re all watching him.

  ‘Nothing.’ He puts on the smooth smile which means he’s not about to discuss it. ‘Becky, I must go. I’ll be late tonight, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You can’t go!’ I say in dismay. ‘What about our second Christmas? What about Jess and Tom?’

  ‘Give them my love.’ He’s already out of the room.

  ‘What’s up?’ I call after him. ‘What’s the crisis?’ But he doesn’t answer, and a moment later I hear the front door bang.

  ‘Who’s that at the door?’ Mum’s voice travels down the hall. ‘Is somebody there?’

  ‘It’s only Luke,’ I call back. ‘He’s got to go into work, there’s been an emergency—’

  ‘No it’s not!’ I can hear the front door opening and Dad’s voice raised. ‘Jess! Tom! Welcome!’

  Jess is here? Oh my God!

  I hurry into the hall, followed by Suze, and there she is. As tall and thin and toned as ever, with a deep tan and cropped hair bleached by the sun, in a grey hoody over faded black jeans.

  ‘Becky.’ She hugs me, dropping her mammoth rucksack. ‘Good to see you. We just saw Luke rushing off. Hi, Suze.’

  ‘Welcome back! Hi, Tom!’

  ‘Has anyone texted Janice?’ Mum hurries out of the kitchen. ‘Does Janice know?’

  ‘I’ll call over the fence,’ says Dad. ‘Much quicker than sending a text.’

  ‘Quicker than a text?’ retorts Mum. ‘Nonsense! Texts are instant, Graham. It’s called modern technology.’

  ‘You think you could send a text more quickly than I could call over the fence?’ replies Dad, scoffingly. ‘I’d like to see you try. By the time you get your phone out—’

  ‘By the time you’ve walked across, I’ll have sent the text!’ Mum’s already whipped her phone out.

  ‘Janice!’ Dad yells as he hurries across the drive. ‘Janice, Tom is here! You see?’ he calls back triumphantly to Mum. ‘Good, old-fashioned, instant communication. The human voice.’

  ‘I’d forgotten what your parents are like,’ says Tom in an amused undertone to me, and I grin back. He’s looking good. Edgier than before, unshaven and leaner round the cheeks. It’s as though he’s finally grown into his face. Plus he’s chewing gum, so the breath isn’t an issue. ‘Jane,’ he adds, ‘I’m heading home anyway, so you really don’t need to text my mum—’

  Mum ignores him. ‘You think texts are quicker, don’t you, Becky love?’ she says firmly as she taps at her phone. ‘You tell your father to stop living in the Dark Ages.’

  But I don’t reply. I’m too transfixed by Jess’s left hand as she undoes her hoody zip. She’s wearing a ring! On her fourth finger! OK, it’s not exactly a Cartier solitaire. It’s made of bone or wood or something, with what looks like a tiny grey pebble set in it.

  Still, it’s a ring! On her engagement finger!

  I catch Suze’s eye, and she’s obviously noticed it too. This is so cool. Another family wedding! Minnie can be a bridesmaid!

  ‘What is it?’ Mum looks alertly from Suze to me. ‘What are you – Oh!’ She suddenly clocks the ring too.

  Tom has disappeared and Jess is bending over her rucksack, oblivious of us. Mum starts mouthing something long and elaborate above her head. She repeats it several times, looking frustrated that we can’t understand. Then she starts gesturing, and I get a fit of the giggles.

  ‘Come into the sitting room!’ I manage to say to Jess. ‘Sit down. You must be exhausted.’

  ‘I’ll make some tea,’ Mum nods.

  Trust Jess to get engaged all discreetly and not say a word. If it were me I’d have run straight in saying ‘Guess what? Look at my pebble ring!’

  ‘Jess!’ Janice’s high-pitched voice greets us as she arrives at the front door. Her hair is freshly dyed a virulent auburn, and she’s wearing mauve eyeshadow which matches her shoes and her bracelet. ‘Love! Welcome back!’

  Her gaze falls instantly on
Jess’s ring. Instantly. Her chin jerks up, and she inhales sharply, then catches Mum’s eye.

  I’m going to erupt with laughter if I don’t get away. I follow Mum into the kitchen, where the children are all sitting in front of The Little Mermaid. We make the tea and cut the children some ham sandwiches, all the time whispering about the ring and when Jess and Tom are going to tell everyone.

  ‘We must all act naturally,’ Mum says, putting two bottles of champagne in the freezer to cool down quickly. ‘Pretend we haven’t noticed. Let them tell us in their own time.’

  Yeah right. As we enter the sitting room, Jess is on the sofa, apparently unaware of Janice, Martin, Dad and Suze sitting in a semi-circle opposite, all staring at her left hand as though it’s glowing radioactive. As I sit down I glance out of the window and see Tarquin with Ernie in the garden. Tarkie’s making weird lunging gestures with his arms, which Ernie is copying beside him. I nudge Suze and say in an undertone, ‘I didn’t know Tarkie did t’ai chi! He’s really good!’

  Suze swivels round and peers out of the window. ‘That’s not t’ai chi! They’re practising fly-fishing.’

  Both Tarkie and Ernie look totally absorbed – in fact, they make a really sweet sight, like a father bear teaching its baby cub to hunt on a TV nature documentary. (Except for the tiny fact that they’re trying to catch imaginary fish. With nonexistent rods.)

  ‘You know, Ernie’s already caught a trout in our river!’ says Suze proudly. ‘With only a teeny bit of help.’

  You see. I knew he was talented. He’s obviously at the wrong school. He should be at fish-catching school.

  ‘So!’ says Mum brightly. ‘Tea, Jess?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ Jess nods. We pour out tea and there’s a little pause. A little ‘Does anyone have any announcements to make?’ kind of pause. But Tom and Jess say nothing.

  Janice puts her cup to her lips, then puts it down again, then breathes out shakily as though she can’t bear the tension. Then her face lights up.

  ‘Your present! Jess, I made you a little something …’ She practically gallops to the tree, picks up a parcel, and starts ripping off the wrapping paper herself. ‘Home-made honey hand cream,’ she says breathlessly. ‘I told you I’ve started making cosmetics, all natural ingredients … Put some on!’

  Janice thrusts the hand cream at Jess. We all watch, mesmerized, as Jess takes the ring off, applies hand cream, then puts the ring back on, without saying a word.

  Nice try, Janice, I feel like saying. Good effort.

  ‘It’s great.’ Jess sniffs her hand. ‘Thanks, Janice. Good for you, making your own.’

  ‘We’ve all got you eco things, love,’ says Mum fondly. ‘We know how you are, with your chlorine dyes and your natural fibres. It’s been quite an education for us, hasn’t it, Becky?’

  ‘Well, I’m glad.’ Jess takes a sip of tea. ‘It’s amazing how Western consumers are still so misguided.’

  ‘I know.’ I shake my head pityingly. ‘They have no idea.’

  ‘They’ll fall for anything with the word “green” in it.’ Jess shakes her head. ‘There’s apparently some vile, irresponsible company that sells yoga mats made of toxic computer parts. Trying to peddle them as “recycled”. Guatemalan kids are getting asthma, making them.’ She bangs the sofa with her hand. ‘How can anyone be stupid enough to think that’s a good idea?’

  ‘God, yes.’ I swallow hard, my face hot, not daring to look at Mum. ‘What total utter morons they must be. Actually, I’ll just tidy up the presents a bit …’

  Trying to look casual, I head towards the Christmas tree and shove the Guatemalan yoga mat behind the curtains with my foot. That’s the last time I’ll believe that so-called bloody ‘green’ catalogue. They said they were helping people, not giving them asthma! And what am I going to give Jess now?

  ‘My present for you hasn’t arrived yet,’ I say to Jess as I resume my seat. ‘But it’s … er … potatoes. A great big sack. I know how much you like them. And you can use the sack afterwards as organic recycled luggage.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jess looks a bit taken aback. ‘Thanks, Becky.’ She takes a sip of tea. ‘So, how are preparations going for the christening?’

  ‘Brilliantly, thanks.’ I seize on the change of subject with relief. ‘The theme is Russian. We’re going to have blinis with caviar and vodka shots, and I’ve got the most gorgeous dress for Minnie to wear—’

  ‘Have you decided about middle names yet?’ Mum chimes in. ‘Because Reverend Parker was on the phone yesterday, asking. You really have to come to a decision, love.’

  ‘I will!’ I say defensively. ‘It’s just really hard!’

  We couldn’t quite choose Minnie’s middle names when we went to register her birth. (OK, the truth is, we had a slight argument. Luke was totally unreasonable about Dior. And Temperley. And no way was I agreeing to Gertrude, even if it is from Shakespeare.) So we just put her down as Minnie Brandon and decided we’d finalize the other names at the christening. The trouble is, the more time goes by the harder it gets. And Luke just laughs whenever he reads my choices and says, ‘Why does she need any middle names, anyway?’ which is really unhelpful.

  ‘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.’