“Oh…just a bit of negotiation,” I say airily, and glance back at the front door. Fabia has already kicked off her gold ballet pump and thrust her jean-clad leg into the boot. Now she’s turning it from side to side, fixated. “If you call the agent in the morning, I think you’ll find it’s a deal.”
We don’t even need to wait until the next morning. Less than two hours later, we’re sitting in the car on the way to Mum’s, when Luke’s phone rings.
“Yes?” he says into his headset. “Yes. Really?”
I’m making faces at him, trying to get him to tell me what’s going on, but he’s keeping his eyes firmly on the road, which is really annoying. At last he switches the phone off and turns to me with the tiniest of smiles. “It’s ours.”
“Yes!” I squeal in delight. “I told you!”
“They’re relocating to New York and want to move as soon as possible. I said we could complete by December.”
“We’ll have our new baby in our gorgeous new house in time for Christmas.” I hug myself. “It’s going to be perfect!”
“It’s pretty good news.” His face is glowing. “And all down to you.”
“It was nothing,” I say modestly. “Just good negotiating.” I get out my mobile phone and am about to text Suze the good news, when all of a sudden it rings.
“Hello?” I say joyfully into it.
“Mrs. Brandon? It’s Diane from Venetia Carter’s office here.”
“Oh!” I stiffen, and glance at Luke. “Er…hello.”
“We just wanted to let you know that the vacancy has arisen on Dr. Carter’s books. She would be very pleased to see you—and your husband if you wish—on Thursday at three P.M.”
“Right,” I say, a little breathless. “Um…yes, please. I’ll be there! Thank you very much!”
“Not at all. Good-bye, Mrs. Brandon.”
The line goes dead and I switch the phone off with trembling hands. I’ve got a place with Venetia Carter! I’m going to meet celebrities and have holistic Thai massage!
Now I just have to break the news to Luke.
“Who was that?” says Luke, turning on the radio. He frowns at the digital display and presses a couple of buttons.
“It was…um…” I drop my phone accidentally-on-purpose on the floor and bend down to retrieve it.
It’ll be fine. He’s in a good mood about the house and everything. I’ll just tell him and that will be that. And if he starts objecting, I shall point out that I’m a grown-up mature woman who can choose her own medical care. Exactly.
“Er…Luke.” I sit up again, a bit red in the face. “About Dr. Braine.”
“Oh, yes?” Luke pulls into another lane. “By the way, I told my mother we’d organize a dinner with him and David.”
A dinner ? Oh God, this gets worse. I have to tell him, quick.
“Luke, listen.” I wait until he slows down behind a truck. “I’ve been thinking very hard and doing some research.”
Research sounds good. Even if it was just reading a piece about Hollywood baby trends on fashionmommies.com.
“And the thing is…” I swallow. “I want to go to Venetia Carter.”
Luke makes an impatient noise. “Becky, not this again. I thought we’d agreed—”
“I’ve got a place with her,” I say in a rush. “I’ve made an appointment. It’s all fixed up.”
“You’ve what ?” He brakes at a traffic light and turns to face me.
“It’s my body!” I say defensively. “I can see whoever I like!”
“Becky, we are lucky enough to have one of the most respected, renowned obstetricians in the country looking after you, and you’re messing around with some unknown woman.”
“For the millionth time, she’s not unknown!” I exclaim in frustration. “She’s huge in Hollywood! She’s modern and she’s in touch, and she does these amazing water births with lotus flowers….”
“Lotus flowers? She sounds a total bloody charlatan.” Luke angrily jabs his foot down on the accelerator. “I won’t have you risking the health of yourself and the baby.”
“She won’t be a charlatan!”
I should never have mentioned the lotus flowers. I might have known Luke wouldn’t understand.
“Look, darling…” I try a different tack. “You always say, ‘Give people a chance.’”
“No, I don’t.” Luke doesn’t even miss a beat.
“Well, then, you should!” I say crossly.
We stop at a zebra crossing and a woman walks across with a really cool green space-age-looking pram on high wheels. Wow. Maybe we should get one of those. I squint, trying to see what the logo is.
It’s amazing, I never used to even notice prams before. Now I can’t stop checking them out, even when I’m in the middle of a row with my husband.
Discussion. Not row.
“Luke, listen,” I say as we move off again. “In my book it says the pregnant woman should always follow her instincts. Well, my instincts are saying really strongly, ‘Go to Venetia Carter.’ It’s nature telling me!”
Luke is silent. I can’t tell if he’s frowning at the road or at what I’m saying.
“We could just go once to check her out,” I say appeasingly. “One little appointment. If we hate her we don’t have to go back.”
We’ve reached Mum and Dad’s drive. There’s a big silver banner over the door, and a stray helium balloon reading Happy 60th Birthday, Jane! lands lightly on the bonnet as we pull in.
“And I got us the house,” I can’t help adding. Even though I know it isn’t strictly relevant.
Luke parks the car behind a van with OXSHOTT SPECIAL EVENTS printed on the side and finally turns to face me.
“OK, Becky.” He sighs. “You win. We’ll go and see her.”
FOUR
TO SAY THAT MUM IS EXCITED about the baby is a bit of an understatement. As we get out of the car she flies across the drive, her hair blow-dried for the party, her face all pink with excitement.
“Becky! How’s my little grandchild!”
She doesn’t even bother looking at my face anymore. Her attention is straight on the bump. “It’s getting bigger! Can you hear Grandma?” She bends closer. “Can you hear Grandma?”
“Hello, Jane,” says Luke politely. “Maybe we could come in?”
“Of course!” She snaps up again and ushers us inside the house. “Come in! Put your feet up, Becky! Have a cup of tea. Graham!”
“I’m here!” Dad appears down the stairs. “Becky!” He gives me a tight hug. “Come and sit down. Suze is here with the children—”
“Already!” I exclaim in delight. I haven’t seen Suze for ages. I follow my parents into the sitting room to find Suze on the sofa next to Janice, Mum and Dad’s next-door neighbor. Her blond hair is up in a knot and she’s breast-feeding one of her twins. Meanwhile Janice is wriggling uncomfortably, clearly trying very hard not to look.
“Bex!” Suze’s face lights up. “Oh my God! You look fantastic!”
“Suze!” I give her a great big hug, trying not to squash the baby. “How are you? And how’s darling little Clemmie?” I kiss the blond little head.
“This is Wilfrid,” says Suze, going a bit pink.
Damn. I always get it wrong. And to make things worse, Suze is totally paranoid that Wilfrid looks like a girl. (Which he does. Especially in that lacy romper thing.)
I quickly change the subject. “Where are the others?”
“Oh, Tarkie’s got them,” says Suze, looking vaguely out the window. I follow her gaze and see her husband, Tarquin, pushing my godson, Ernie, around the marquee in a wheelbarrow, with Clementine strapped to his chest.
“More!” Ernie’s shrieking voice comes faintly through the window. “More, Dada!”
“That’ll be you in a few months, Luke,” I say with a grin.
“Mmm-hmm.” He raises his eyebrows and gets out his BlackBerry. “I need to send some e-mails. I’ll do it upstairs, if that’s OK?”
He heads out of the room and I sit on a squashy chair near Suze. “So, guess what? We’ve had an offer accepted on the most perfect house! Look!” I get the property details out of my handbag and pass them to Mum for admiration.
“How lovely, darling!” exclaims Mum. “Is it detached?”
“Well…no. But it’s really—”
“Is there off-street parking?” Dad squints over Mum’s shoulder.
“No, there’s no actual parking, but—”
“They don’t need parking, Graham,” Mum interrupts. “They’re Londoners! They take taxis everywhere.”
“Are you telling me no Londoners drive?” says Dad scoffingly. “Are you telling me that in our entire capital city, not a single resident ever gets in a car?”
“I would never drive in London.” Janice gives a little shudder. “You know, they wait until you stop at the traffic lights…and then they knife you.”
“‘They’?” exclaims Dad in exasperation. “Who’s ‘they’?”
“Marble floor. Ooh, dear.” Mum looks up from the details and pulls a face. “What about the little one when it’s learning to walk? You could carpet it over, perhaps. A nice Berber with flecks in so it doesn’t show the dirt.”
I give up.
“And my second piece of news is…” I say loudly, trying to haul the conversation back on track, “I’m changing doctors.” I pause for effect. “I’m having Venetia Carter.”
“Venetia Carter?” Suze looks up from Wilfrid in amazement. “Are you serious?”
Ha. I knew Suze would have heard of her.
“Absolutely.” I glow with pride. “We’ve just heard we’ve got a place with her. Isn’t it fantastic?”
“Is she good, then, this Dr. Carter?” Mum looks from me to Suze.
“They call her the A-list obstetrician.” Suze expertly starts to burp Wilfrid. “I read an article about her in Harper’s. She’s supposed to be wonderful!”
A-list obstetrician! That makes me A-list!
“She does all the supermodels and film stars,” I can’t help boasting. “They have tea parties and designer goodie bags and everything. I’ll probably meet them all!”
“But, Becky, I thought you had a well-respected doctor.” Dad looks perturbed. “Is it a good idea to be changing?”
“Dad, Venetia Carter’s in a different league!” I can’t help sounding impatient. “She’s the absolute best. I had to beg to get a place with her.”
“Well, don’t forget us, love, when you’re famous!” says Mum.
“I won’t! Hey, do you want to see the scan?” I fish in my bag, produce the roll of pictures, and hand it to Mum.
“Look at that!” she breathes, gazing at the blurry image. “Look, Graham! Our first little grandchild. It looks just like my mother!”
“Your mother?” retorts Dad incredulously, grabbing the prints from her. “Are you blind?”
“Becky, I’ve knitted a few bits and pieces for the baby,” Janice puts in timidly. “Some little matinee jackets…a shawl…a Noah’s Ark set…I made three of each animal, just in case of mishap….”
“Janice, that’s so kind of you,” I say, touched.
“It’s no trouble, love! I enjoy knitting. Of course, I always hoped that Tom and Lucy might…” Janice trails off with a brave, bright smile. “But that wasn’t to be.”
“How is Tom?” I ask cautiously.
Tom is Janice’s son. He’s about the same age as me, and got married three years ago, in this big, fancy wedding. But then it all went a bit wrong. His wife, Lucy, got a tattoo and ran off with a guy who lived in a caravan, and Tom turned very weird and started building a summerhouse in his parents’ back garden.
“Oh, Tom’s very well! He lives mainly in the summerhouse now. We leave him food on trays.” Janice looks a little beleaguered. “He says he’s writing a book.”
“Oh, right!” I say encouragingly. “About what?”
“The state of society.” She swallows. “Apparently.”
There’s silence as we all digest this.
“What sort of state does he think society’s in?” asks Suze.
“Not very good,” whispers Janice.
“Have another cup of tea, Janice, love.” Mum pats her hand comfortingly. “Or a sherry?”
“Just a small sherry,” says Janice after a pause. “I’ll help myself.”
As she heads across the room to the drinks cabinet, Mum puts down her cup. “Now, Becky,” she says. “Did you bring all your catalogs?”
“Here!” I reach for the bag I brought in with me. “I’ve got Blooming Marvellous, Great Little Trading Company, The Little White Company….”
“I brought JoJo Maman Bébé,” chimes in Suze. “And Italian Baby Cashmere.”
“I’ve got all of those.” Mum nods, reaching for a stack of catalogs in the magazine rack. “Have you got Funky Baba?” She waves a catalog bearing a picture of a baby in a clown costume.
“Ooh!” says Suze. “I haven’t seen that one!”
“You take that,” I say. “I’ll take Petit Enfant. Mum, you do Luxury Baby.”
With a happy sigh we all settle down to flicking through images of infants on playmats and wearing cute T-shirts and being toted in stylish baby carriers. Honestly, it’s worth having a baby just for all the gorgeous stuff.
“I’ll turn down the corner of the page if I see something you should get,” says Mum in a businesslike way.
“OK, me too,” I say, fixated on a spread of babies dressed up as animals. We have to get the baby a polar bear snowsuit. I turn down the corner and flip to the next page, which is full of adorable miniature ski-wear. And look at the tiny pom-pom hats!
“Luke, I think we should take the baby skiing from really early on,” I say as he enters the room. “It’ll help its development.”
“Skiing?” He looks taken aback. “Becky, I thought you hated skiing.”
I do hate skiing.
Maybe we could go to Val d’lsère or somewhere and wear the cool clothes and just not ski.
“Becky!” Mum interrupts my thoughts. “Look at this crib. It has a built-in temperature control, lullaby light show, and soothing vibrating action.”
“Wow,” I breathe, looking at the picture. “That’s amazing! How much is it?”
“The deluxe version is…twelve hundred pounds,” says Mum, consulting the text.
“Twelve hundred pounds?” Luke nearly chokes on his cup of tea. “For a crib ? Are you serious?”
“It’s state of the art,” points out Suze. “It uses NASA technology.”
“NASA technology?” He gives an incredulous snort. “Are we planning to send the baby into space?”
“Don’t you want the best for your child, Luke?” I retort. “What do you think, Janice?”
I look across the room, but Janice hasn’t heard me. She’s looking at the scan pictures and dabbing at her eyes with a hanky.
“Janice…are you OK?”
“I’m sorry, dear.” She blows her nose, then takes a swig of sherry, draining the glass. “Might I top this up, Jane?”
“Go ahead, dear!” says Mum encouragingly. “Poor Janice,” she adds to me and Suze in a whisper. “She’s desperate for a grandchild. But Tom never even comes out of his summerhouse. And when he does…” She lowers her voice further. “He can’t have had a haircut in months! And talk about shaving! I said to her, ‘He’ll never find a nice girl if he doesn’t spruce up his appearance!’ But—” She breaks off as the doorbell rings. “That’ll be the caterers. I’ve told them to use the kitchen door!”
“I’ll go.” Dad gets up, and we all turn back to the catalogs.
“D’you think we should get a bath seat and a bath support?” I peer at the page. “And an inflatable travel bath?”
“Get this.” Suze shows me a picture of a padded baby nest. “They’re fab. Wilfie lives in his.”
“Definitely!” I nod. “Fold the corner down!”
“These corners are getting a bit bulky.�
� Mum looks consideringly at the catalog. “Maybe we should fold down if we’re not interested in the page.”
“Why don’t you just order the entire catalog and then send back the very few things you don’t want?” suggests Luke.
Now that’s a good—
Oh. He’s being funny. Ha-di-ha. I’m about to come up with a crushing retort, when Dad’s voice rings out from the hall. “Come on through, Jess. Everyone’s having tea.”
Jess is here!
Oh God. Jess is here.
“Quick, hide the catalogs!” I hiss, and start shoving them behind cushions in a nervous scrabble. “You know what Jess is like.”
“But she might want to have a look, love!” Mum objects.
Mum doesn’t really get Jess and her whole thriftiness thing. She thinks Jess is just going through a “phase,” like when Suze was a committed vegan for about three weeks before totally caving in and stuffing her face with a bacon sandwich.
“She won’t,” says Suze, who has stayed in Jess’s house and knows what she’s like. She grabs Mum’s copy of Funky Baba and pushes it under Wilfrid’s bouncy chair just as Dad and Jess appear at the door.
“Hi, Jess!” I begin brightly, then stop in amazement. I haven’t seen Jess for a couple of months and she looks absolutely spectacular!
She’s all tanned and skinny and wearing cargo shorts that show off her long, toned legs. Her cropped hair has been bleached by the sun and her green sleeveless T-shirt brings out her hazel eyes.
“Hi!” she says, putting down her backpack. “Hi, Auntie Jane. Becky, how are you?”
“I’m fine!” I can’t stop goggling at her. “You look great! You’re so tanned!”
“Oh.” Jess glances down at herself with zero interest, then reaches in her backpack. “I brought some maize biscuits. They’re made by a local cooperative in northern Guatemala.” She hands Mum a box made out of rough cardboard, and Mum turns it in her fingers, perplexed.
“Lovely, dear,” she says at last, and puts it down next to the teapot. “Have a fondant fancy!”
“Wow.” Jess sits down on the ottoman. “Look at Clem—” She stops as I mouth “Wilfie!” behind Suze’s back.
“Sorry?” says Suze.
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