Mini Shopaholic Page 7

  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 w
ith 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?

  Suze is so great. She always knows what to say to everyone. Now she’s talking about the stained glass. Where does she get this stuff? She must have learned it at finishing school, after meringue lessons. I’m not very interested in stained glass, to be honest, so I flick aimlessly through the Bible.

  Ooh. Delilah. Now that’s a cool name.

  ‘Jesus H. Christ, Becky!’ A familiar American accent hits my ears. Behind me I can hear a bit of a mild kerfuffle amongst Mum’s friends and someone exclaiming, ‘Who in God’s name is that?’

  This can only mean one thing.

  ‘Danny!’ I whirl round in joy. ‘You’re here!’

  It is so long since I’ve seen Danny. He’s looking skinnier than ever and is wearing a Cossack-style swirly coat in leather, with tight black vinyl trousers and Army boots. Plus he has a tiny white dog on a lead that I’ve never seen before. I make to hug him, but he lifts up a hand as though he has some momentous announcement to make.

  ‘This theme?’ he says incredulously. ‘Japanese-slash-Russian-fucking-fusion? How much more fucking inspired can you get? My new dog is only a fucking shih-tzu!’

  ‘No way!’ Suddenly I remember Reverend Parker, standing a foot away. ‘Er … Reverend Parker … this is Danny Kovitz. Another of the godparents.’

  ‘Oh Jeez.’ Danny claps a hand over his mouth. ‘I apologize, Reverend. Loving the church,’ he adds generously, gesturing around. ‘Loving your décor. Did someone help you with these colours?’

  ‘You’re very kind.’ Reverend Parker gives him a stiff smile. ‘But if you could keep down the fruity language during the service?’

  ‘Danny’s a famous fashion designer,’ I throw in hastily.

  ‘Puh-lease.’ Danny gives a modest laugh. ‘Not famous. More … renowned. Notorious. Where’s Luke?’ he adds to me in a lower voice. ‘I need him. Jarek’s been calling me every day. He’s threatening to, like, come round.’ Danny’s voice rises in alarm. ‘You know I don’t do confrontation.’

  Jarek is Danny’s former business manager. We met him last year and soon realized he was taking a massive cut of Danny’s money for basically doing nothing except wearing Danny’s clothes for free and having lots of lunches on expenses. Luke was the one who arranged his termination and lectured Danny about not giving people jobs just because you like their haircut.

  ‘I thought you changed all your numbers?’ I say, puzzled. ‘I thought you weren’t going to take any more of Jarek’s calls.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ he says defensively. ‘At first. But he had great tickets for this festival in Bali, so we went to that, and that meant he had my new cell number, so …’

  ‘Danny! You went to a festival with him? After you’d fired him?’

  Danny looks caught out.

  ‘OK. I fucked up. Where’s Luke?’ He peers plaintively around the church. ‘Can Luke talk to him?’

  ‘I don’t know where Luke is,’ I say, more snappily than I meant to. ‘He’s on his way in a helicopter.’

  ‘A helicopter?’ Danny raises his eyebrows. ‘Quite the action man. Is he going to drop down on a wire like the SAS?’

  ‘No.’ I roll my eyes. ‘Don’t be silly.’

  Although come to think of it, maybe he will. I mean, where else are they going to find a place to land a helicopter?

  I get out my phone and text Luke:

  R u in helicopter yet? Where r u going to land? On roof?

  ‘Oh my God. Have you seen his lordship?’ Danny’s been distracted by the sight of Tarquin. ‘Be still my beating crotch.’

  ‘Danny!’ I hit his arm and glance at Reverend Parker, who thankfully has moved away. ‘We’re in church, remember?’

  Danny has always had a bit of a thing about Tarquin. And to be fair, Tarquin looks pretty extraordinary today. He’s wearing a white billowy shirt with black breeches and a heavy, military-style coat on top. His dark hair is all ruffled from the wind, which is a great improvement on his normal non-style, and his bony, stoaty face looks almost chiselled in the gloom of the church.

  ‘That’s my next collection, right in front of me.’ Danny’s sketching Tarquin on some old book or other. ‘English lord meets Russian prince.’

  ‘He’s Scottish,’ I point out.

  ‘Even better. I’ll throw in a kilt.’

  ‘Danny!’ I giggle as I catch a glimpse of the sketch. ‘You can’t draw that in church!’

  That picture of Tarquin is not accurate. In fact, it’s obscene. Although actually, I did hear once from Suze’s mum that all the Cleath-Stuart men were very well endowed. Maybe it’s more accurate than I realize.

  ‘So where’s my god-daughter?’ Danny rips off the page, folds it up and begins another drawing.

  ‘She’s with Mum somewhere …’ I look around for Minnie and suddenly spy her about ten yards away, standing with a group of Mum’s friends. Oh God, what’s she been doing now? She has about five handbags looped over her arms, and is now tugging hard at an elderly lady’s shoulder bag, yelling, ‘Miiine!’

  ‘So sweet!’ I hear the lady tinkle with laughter. ‘Here you are, Minnie, dear.’ She drapes the shoulder strap around Minnie’s neck, and Minnie staggers off, determinedly clutching all the bags.

  ‘Nice Balenciaga,’ comments Danny. ‘The perfect accessory when one’s being christened.’

  I nod. ‘That’s why I let her borrow it.’

  ‘And you settled for the Miu Miu, which I know for a fact you’ve had for a year, whereas the Balenciaga is new …’ Danny gives a melodramatic sigh. ‘I can’t think of a more beautiful example of motherly love.’

  ‘Shut up!’ I give him a push. ‘Keep drawing.’

  As I watch him sketching, a sudden thought occurs to me. If Danny really does
base his next collection on Tarkie, then maybe they could join forces somehow. Maybe they could do a tie-in promotion with Shetland Shortbread! I am such a business brain. Luke will be so impressed. I’m about to tell Suze my great idea, when Reverend Parker’s voice booms out.

  ‘Perhaps everyone could take their seats?’ He starts ushering us towards the pews. ‘And then we can start.’

  Start? Already?

  I tug anxiously at his white robe as he swooshes past. ‘Um, Luke isn’t here yet. So if we could just delay a little longer …’

  ‘Dear, we’ve delayed twenty minutes already.’ Reverend Parker’s smile is a little chilly. ‘If your husband isn’t going to make it …’

  ‘Of course he’s going to make it!’ I feel a bit stung. ‘He’s on his way. He’ll be here—’

  ‘Miiiiiiiiine!’ A high-pitched, gleeful shriek fills the air and my whole body stiffens in alarm. My head whips round towards the front of the church and my stomach seems to drop.

  Minnie has climbed over the altar rail and is standing right by the altar, turning each handbag upside-down and shaking out the contents. Behind me I can hear the dismayed little shrieks of Mum’s friends as they see all their things tumbling out and rolling along the floor.

  ‘Minnie!’ I yell, pegging it up the aisle. ‘STOP THAT!’

  ‘Miiiine!’ She’s joyfully shaking a Burberry shoulder bag, and coins are cascading out of it. The whole altar is a mess of purses and money and make-up compacts and lipsticks and hair brushes.

  ‘This is supposed to be your christening,’ I say furiously in Minnie’s ear. ‘You’re supposed to be on your best behaviour. Or you’ll never get a brother or sister!’

  Minnie looks totally unrepentant, even as all Mum’s friends arrive and start exclaiming and tutting and scrabbling for the bags and money.

  On the plus side, at least the kerfuffle delays proceedings. But even so, Reverend Parker is soon herding everyone into the pews.

  ‘If everyone could please sit down? We really need to get on …’

  ‘What about Luke?’ whispers Mum anxiously as she takes her seat.

  ‘He’ll make it,’ I say, trying to sound confident.

  I’ll just have to spin things out till he arrives. There’ll be loads of prayers and talking, surely. It’ll be fine.