Rebecca Brandon
37 Maida Vale Mansions
Maida Vale
London NW6 0YF
18 August 2003
Dear Fabia,
I just wanted to say how much we love your gorgeous, beautiful house. It’s the Kate Moss of houses!!* In fact, it’s so stunning, I think it deserves to appear in Vogue, don’t you?
That reminds me of a teeny favor I wanted to ask. Coincidentally, I am being interviewed by Vogue—and I wondered if I could use the house for the photo shoot?
I also wondered if I could put up some personal props and say that Luke and I live there already? After all, we will by the time the magazine comes out…so it makes sense, really!
In return, if there is anything I can do for you or any fashion item you would like me to track down, I will be only too glad!
With very best wishes,
Becky Brandon
* * *
* * *
FABIA PASCHALI
DATE: 19/8/03
TO: Rebecca Brandon
Becky,
1. Chloe Silverado bag, tan
2. Matthew Williamson purple beaded kaftan top, size 6
3. Olly Bricknell Princess shoes, green, size 39.
Fabia
33 Delamain Road, Maida Vale, London NW6 1TY
* * *
* * *
Oxshott School for Girls
Marlin Road
Oxshott
Surrey
KT22 0JG
From the School Librarian
Mrs. L Hargreaves
23 August 2003
Dear Becky,
How nice to hear from you after all these years, and I do indeed remember you as a pupil here. Who could forget the girl who started the “friendship handbags” craze of 1989?
I am delighted you are to appear in Vogue—and it is, as you say, a surprise. Though I must assure you, the teachers did not sit in the staff room, saying “I bet Becky Bloomwood never makes it into Vogue.”
I will be sure to buy an issue, although I think it unlikely the headmistress will sanction buying an official commemorative copy for each pupil, as you suggest.
With very best wishes,
Lorna Hargreaves
Librarian
P.S. Do you still have a copy of In the Fifth at Malory Towers ? There is a rather large fine on it.
* * *
NINE
I’M GOING to be in Vogue! Last week Martha, who is the girl writing the Yummiest Mummies-to-Be feature, rang up and we had the most brilliant long chat.
Maybe I did make up a few teeny things. Like my daily exercise regime. And having freshly crushed raspberries for breakfast every morning, and how I write poetry to my unborn child. (I can always get some out of a book.) Plus I’ve said we already live in the house on Delamain Road, because it sounds better than living in a flat.
But the point is, we will be living in it very soon. It’s practically ours already. And the girl was really interested to hear about the his and hers nurseries. She said she thought they’d be a highlight of the shoot. A highlight!
“Becky?”
A voice cuts into my thoughts and I look up to see Eric heading across the floor toward me. Quickly I hide my lists under a MaxMara catalog and scan the shop floor to make sure there isn’t some lurking customer I’ve missed. But there’s no one. Trade hasn’t exactly picked up in the last few days.
Truth be told, we’ve had yet another disaster. Someone in marketing decided to start a “word on the street” campaign, hiring students to talk about The Look and hand out leaflets in cafés. Which would have been great if they hadn’t handed them to a gang of shoplifters, who proceeded to come in and pinch the entire range of Benefit cosmetics. They were caught—but even so. The Daily World had a total field day, about how “The Look is so desperate, it’s now inviting in convicted criminals.”
The place feels emptier than ever, and to cap it all, five members of the staff resigned this week. No wonder Eric looks so grumpy.
“Where’s Jasmine?” He glances around the personal shopping reception area.
“She’s…in the stock room,” I lie.
Actually, Jasmine is asleep on the floor in one of the dressing rooms. Her new theory is, since there’s nothing to do at work, she might as well use the time to sleep and go clubbing at night. So far, it’s working out pretty well.
“Well, it was you I wanted to see, anyway.” He frowns. “I’ve just had the contract through for the Danny Kovitz deal. Very demanding, this friend of yours. He’s specified first-class travel, a suite at Claridge’s, a limo for his personal use, unlimited San Pellegrino ‘stirred, to take the bubbles out’…”
I stifle a giggle. That is so typical of Danny.
“He’s a big, important designer,” I remind Eric. “Talented people all have their little quirks.”
“‘For the duration of the creative process,’” Eric reads aloud, “‘Mr. Kovitz will require a bowl of at least ten inches in diameter, filled with jelly beans. No green ones.’ I mean, what is this nonsense?” He flicks the paper in exasperation. “What’s he expecting, that someone’s just going to sit for hours, removing green jelly beans and disposing of them?”
Ooh. I love green jelly beans.
“I don’t mind taking care of that,” I say casually.
“Fine.” Eric sighs. “Well, all I can say is, I hope all this effort and money is worth it.”
“It will be!” I say, surreptitiously touching the wooden desk for luck. “Danny’s the hottest designer around! He’ll come up with something totally brilliant and directional and now. And everyone will flock to the store. I promise!”
I really, really hope I’m right.
As Eric stalks off again I wonder whether to call Danny and see if he’s had any ideas yet. But before I can do so, my cell phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” comes Luke’s voice. “It’s me.”
“Oh, hi!” I lean back in my chair, ready to have a chat. “Hey, I’ve just been hearing about Danny’s contract. You’ll never guess what—”
“Becky, I’m afraid I can’t make this afternoon.”
“What?” My smile slips away.
This afternoon is our first prenatal class. It’s the one that birth partners come to, and we do breathing and make friends for life. And Luke promised to be there. He promised.
“I’m sorry.” He seems distracted. “I know I said I’d be there, but there’s a…crisis at work.”
“A crisis ?” I sit up, concerned.
“Not a crisis,” he amends at once. “It’s just…something’s happened which isn’t so good. It’ll be fine. Just a hiccup.”
“What’s happened?”
“Just…a minor internal dispute. I won’t go into it. But I’m really sorry about this afternoon. I wanted to be there.” He does sound genuinely torn up. There’s no point getting cross with him.
“It’s OK.” I hide a sigh. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Couldn’t someone else go with you? Suze, perhaps?”
That’s an idea. I was Suze’s birth partner, after all. We’re pretty close friends. And it would be nice to have some company.
“Maybe.” I nod. “So, will you still be all right for this evening?”
Tonight we’re going out with Venetia and her boyfriend and all Luke’s old friends from Cambridge. I’ve been really looking forward to it; in fact, I’m having my hair blow-dried especially.
“Hope so. I’ll keep you posted.”
“OK. See you later.”
I ring off and am about to dial Suze’s number, when I remember she’s taking Ernie to some new playgroup this afternoon. So she won’t be able to make it. I lean back in my chair, thinking hard. I could just go on my own; I mean, I’m not scared of a bunch of pregnant women, am I?
Or else…
I pick up my phone again and speed-dial a number.
“Hey, Mum,” I say as soon as I get throu
gh. “Are you doing anything this afternoon?”
The prenatal class is being held in a house in Islington and is called Choices, Empowerment, Open Minds, which I think is a really good title. I definitely have an open mind. As I walk along the street toward the house, I see Mum pull up in her Volvo and park—after about eight attempts, a small crash with a dustbin, and the help of a lorry driver who gets out of his cab to guide her in.
“Hi, Mum!” I call as she gets out at last, looking a bit flustered. She’s wearing smart white trousers, a navy blazer, and shiny patent loafers.
“Becky!” Her face lights up. “You look wonderful, darling. Come along, Janice!” She bangs on the car window. “I brought Janice along. You don’t mind, do you, love?”
“Er…no,” I say in surprise. “Of course not.”
“She was at a loose end, and we thought we might go to Liberty’s afterward to look at fabrics for the nursery. Dad’s painted it yellow, but we haven’t decided on curtains….” She glances at my bump. “Any inklings on whether it’s a boy or a girl?”
My mind flicks to the Gender Predictor Kit, still hidden in my underwear drawer three weeks after I bought it. I keep getting it out, then losing my nerve and putting it back. Maybe I need Suze as moral support.
“Not really,” I say. “Not yet.”
The passenger door opens and Janice gets out, trailing a bundle of knitting.
“Becky, love!” she says breathlessly. “Do you need to bleep the door, Jane?”
“Close it, then I’ll bleep it,” orders Mum. “Give it a good slam.”
I can see a pregnant girl in a brown dress ringing the bell of a house several doors down. That must be the place!
“I was just listening to a message from Tom,” Janice says, bundling her knitting into a straw bag, together with a mobile phone. “I’m seeing him later. He’ll be full of Jess! It’s Jess this, Jess that—”
“Jess?” I stare at her. “And Tom?”
“Of course!” Her whole face is shining. “They do make a lovely couple. I don’t want to hope, but…”
“Now, remember, Janice,” says Mum firmly. “You can’t chivvy these young things.”
Jess and Tom are going out? And she hasn’t even told me? Honestly. I asked her the morning after the party what was going to happen with Tom, and she just looked all embarrassed and changed the subject. So I assumed it hadn’t taken.
I can’t help feeling a bit miffed. The whole point of having a sister is that you phone her up and tell her about your new boyfriend. Not keep her totally out of the loop.
“So…Jess and Tom are in a relationship?” I say, to make sure.
“They’re very close.” Janice nods vigorously. “Very, very close. And I have to say, Jess is a super girl. We get on like a house on fire!”
“Really?” I try not to sound too surprised, but I can’t see Janice and Jess having much in common.
“Oh yes! We all feel like family. In fact, Martin and I have put off our cruise next summer, just in case we have a—” She breaks off. “Wedding,” she whispers.
Wedding?
OK. I need to talk to Jess. Now.
“Here we are,” says Mum as we approach the door, which has a sign on it: PLEASE ENTER AND REMOVE YOUR SHOES.
“What exactly happens at a prenatal class?” asks Janice, slipping off her Kurt Geiger sandals.
“Breathing and stuff,” I say vaguely. “Preparing for the birth.”
“It’s all changed since our day, Janice,” puts in Mum. “They have childbirth coaches these days!”
“Coaches! Like tennis players!” Janice seems tickled by this idea. Then her smile drops and she clasps my arm. “Poor little Becky. You have no idea what you’re letting yourself in for.”
“Right,” I say, a bit spooked. “Well…er…shall we go in?”
The class is being held in what looks like a normal sitting room with beanbags arranged in a circle, on which several pregnant women are already sitting, with their husbands awkwardly perched beside them.
“Hello.” A slim woman with long dark hair and yoga trousers comes over. “I’m Noura, your prenatal teacher,” she says in a quiet voice. “Welcome.”
“Hi, Noura!” I beam at her and shake hands. “I’m Becky Brandon. This is my mum…and this is Janice.”
“Ah.” Noura nods knowingly and takes Janice’s hand. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Janice. You’re Becky’s…partner? We have another same-sex couple coming later on, so please don’t feel—”
Oh my God! She thinks—
“We’re not lesbians!” I cut her off hurriedly, trying not to giggle at Janice’s bemused expression. “Janice is just our neighbor. She’s going to Liberty’s with Mum afterward.”
“Oh, I see.” Noura seems a bit let down. “Well, welcome, the three of you. Take a seat.”
“Janice and I will get the coffees,” says Mum, heading toward a table at the side of the room. “You sit down, Becky love.”
“So, Becky,” says Noura as I lower myself gingerly onto a beanbag. “We’re going round the room, introducing ourselves. Laetitia has just explained she’s having a home birth. Where are you having your baby, Becky?”
“With Venetia Carter at the Cavendish,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Wow,” says a girl in a pink dress. “Doesn’t she do all the celebrities?”
“Yes. Actually, she’s a really close friend,” I can’t resist adding. “We’re going out tonight.”
“And have you considered what kind of birth you would like?” continues Noura.
“I’m having the water birth with lotus flowers and Thai massage,” I say proudly.
“Wonderful!” Noura marks something on her list. “So you’d ideally like an active birth?”
“Er…” I picture myself lolling in a nice warm pool, with music playing and lotus flowers floating about, and maybe a cosmopolitan in my hand. “No, I think probably quite inactive, actually.”
“You want an…inactive birth?” Noura appears nonplussed.
“Yes.” I nod. “Ideally.”
“And pain relief?”
“I’ve got a special Maori birthing stone,” I say confidently. “And I’ve done yoga. So I’ll probably be OK.”
“I see.” Noura looks as though she wants to add something else. “Right,” she says at last. “Well. There are birth plan forms in front of you and I’d like everyone to fill one in. We’ll take all the ideas as points of discussion.”
There’s a murmuring as everyone picks up their pencils and begins to chat to their partners.
“I’d also love to hear from Becky’s mother and Janice,” Noura adds, as Mum and Janice rejoin the group. “It’s a privilege to hear from older women who have been through birth and motherhood and can share their wisdom.”
“Of course, dear! We’ll tell you all about it.” Mum gets out a packet of mints. “Polo? Polo, anyone?”
I pick up my pencil, then put it down again. I must just quickly text Jess and find out what’s going on. I take out my phone, find her cell number, and type out a text.
OMG Jess!!! R U going out w Tom????
Then I delete it. Too excited. She’ll get all freaked out and never reply.
Hi Jess. How R U doing? Bex
That’s better. I press Send and turn my attention back to the birth plan. It’s a list of questions, with space to fill in answers.
1. What are your priorities in early labor?
I think hard for a moment, then write: “Look good.”
2. How will you cope with pain in the early stages (e.g., warm bath, rock on all fours)
I’m about to write “Go shopping,” when my mobile pings. It’s a text back from Jess!
Fine, thanks. Jess
That is so Jess. Two words, giving nothing away. I immediately text back.
Are you seeing Tom??
“Sheets in, everybody.” Noura’s clapping her hands. “If you could all stop writing…”
; Already? God, this is like a school test. I hand my paper in last, pushing it into the middle so Noura won’t see it. But she’s leafing through all of them, nodding as she reads. Then she stops.
“Becky, under ‘priorities in early labor’ you’ve put ‘Look good.’” She raises her head. “Is that a joke?”
Why is everyone staring at me? Of course it’s not a joke.
“If you look good, you feel good! It’s natural pain-relief. We should all have makeovers or get our hair done….”
I’m getting frowns and titters from around the room, all except a girl in a fab pink top, who’s nodding in agreement.
“See you there!” she says. “I’d rather do that than rock on all fours.”
“Or go shopping,” I add. “It cures morning sickness, so—”
“Shopping cures morning sickness ?” Noura interrupts me. “What are you talking about?”
“Whenever I felt sick in the first few weeks, I used to go to Harrods and buy a little something to take my mind off it,” I explain. “It really worked.”
“I used to order stuff online,” agrees the girl in pink.
“You could add it to your list of remedies, maybe,” I suggest helpfully. “After ginger tea.”
Noura opens her mouth, then closes it again. She turns to another girl, who has her hand up, just as my phone beeps with another text.
Kind of. J
Kind of? What does kind of mean? I quickly type.
Janice thinks U R getting married! Bex
I press Send. Ha. That’ll wind her up.
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