Mini Shopaholic

by Sophie Kinsella

  Suddenly I get a prickly-neck feeling. I look round to see the woman with toddler boys, standing a few yards away, staring at me with her pebble-like eyes.

  ‘I mean …’ I hastily lower the pony, my cheeks burning. ‘Yes, you may buy the pony out of your pocket money. Basic financial planning,’ I add briskly to the pebble-eyed woman. ‘What we learned today is that you have to save up before you can buy things, didn’t we, darling? Minnie’s spent all her pocket money on the pony, and it was a very good choice …’

  ‘I’ve found the other pony!’ The assistant suddenly appears again, breathless and carrying a dusty box. ‘I knew we had one left in the stock room. They were originally a pair, you see …’

  There’s another pony?

  I can’t help gasping as she draws it out. It’s midnight blue with a raven mane, speckled with stars, and with golden wheels. It’s absolutely stunning. It complements the other one perfectly. Oh God, we have to have them both. We have to.

  Rather annoyingly, the pebble-eyed woman is still standing there with her buggy, watching us.

  ‘Shame you’ve spent all your pocket money, isn’t it?’ she says to Minnie with one of those tight, unfriendly smiles which proves she never has any fun or sex. You can always tell that about people, I find.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ I say politely. ‘That’s a problem. So we’ll just have to think of a solution.’ I think hard for a moment, then turn to Minnie.

  ‘Darling, here’s your second important lesson in financial planning. Sometimes, when we see an amazing, one-off bargain, we can make an exception to the saving-up rule. It’s called “Seizing the Opportunity”.’

  ‘You’re just going to buy it?’ says the woman in tones of disbelief.

  What business is it of hers? God, I hate other mothers. They always have to butt in. The minute you have a child it’s as if you’ve turned into a box on an internet site, saying ‘Please add all your rude and offensive comments here.’

  ‘Of course I’m not going to buy it,’ I say, a little stonily. ‘She’ll have to get it out of her own pocket money. Darling,’ I crouch down to get Minnie’s attention, ‘if you pay for the other pony out of your pocket money at 50p a week, it’ll take about … sixty weeks. You’ll have to have an advance. Like an “overdraft”.’ I enunciate clearly. ‘So you’ll basically have spent all your pocket money till you’re three and a half. All right?’

  Minnie looks a bit bewildered. But then, I expect I looked a bit bewildered when I took out my first overdraft. It goes with the territory.

  ‘All sorted.’ I beam at the assistant and hand over my Visa card. ‘We’ll take both ponies, thank you. You see, darling?’ I add to Minnie. ‘The lesson we’ve learned today is: never give up on something you really want. However impossible things seem, there’s always a way.’

  I can’t help feeling proud of myself, imparting this nugget of wisdom. That’s what parenting’s all about. Teaching your child the ways of the world.

  ‘You know, I once found the most amazing opportunity,’ I add as I punch in my PIN. ‘It was a pair of Dolce & Gabbana boots at 90 per cent off! Only my credit card was up to my limit. But did I give up? No! Of course I didn’t!’

  Minnie is listening as avidly as though I’m recounting The Three Bears.

  ‘I went round my flat, and searched in all my pockets and bags, and I collected up all my little coins … and guess what?’ I pause for effect. ‘I had enough money! I could get the boots! Hooray!’

  Minnie claps her hands, and to my delight, the toddler boys start cheering raucously.

  ‘Do you want to hear another story?’ I beam at them. ‘Do you want to hear about the sample sale in Milan? I was walking along the street one day, when I saw this mysterious sign.’ I open my eyes wide. ‘And what do you think it said?’

  ‘Ridiculous.’ The pebble-eyed woman turns her buggy with an abrupt gesture. ‘Come on, it’s time to go home.’

  ‘Story!’ wails one of the boys.

  ‘We’re not hearing the story,’ she snaps. ‘You’re insane,’ she adds over her shoulder as she strides off. ‘No wonder your child’s so spoiled. What are those little shoes of hers then, Gucci?’

  Spoiled?

  Blood zings to my face and I stare at her in speechless shock. Where did that come from? Minnie is not spoiled!

  And Gucci don’t even make shoes like that.

  ‘She’s not spoiled!’ I manage at last.

  But the woman has already disappeared behind the Postman Pat display. Well, I’m certainly not going to run after her and yell, ‘At least my child doesn’t just loll in her buggy sucking her thumb all day, and by the way, have you ever thought about wiping your children’s noses?’

  Because that wouldn’t be a good example to Minnie.

  ‘Come on, Minnie.’ I try to compose myself. ‘Let’s go and see Father Christmas. Then we’ll feel better.’

  TWO

  There’s no way on earth Minnie’s spoiled. No way.

  OK, so she has her little moments. Like we all do. But she’s not spoiled. I would know if she was spoiled. I’m her mother.

  Still, all the way to Santa’s Grotto I feel ruffled. How can anyone be so mean? And on Christmas Eve, too.

  ‘You just show everyone how well behaved you are, darling,’ I murmur determinedly to Minnie as we walk along, hand-in-hand. ‘You just be a little angel for Father Christmas, OK?’

  ‘Jingle Bells’ is playing over the tannoy and I can’t help cheering up as we get near. I used to come to this exact same Santa’s Grotto when I was a little girl.

  ‘Look, Minnie!’ I point excitedly. ‘Look at the reindeer! Look at all the presents!’

  There’s a sleigh and two life-size reindeer and fake snow everywhere and lots of girls dressed as elves in green costumes, which is a new touch. At the entrance I can’t help blinking in surprise at the elf who greets us with a tanned cleavage. Is Father Christmas finding his elves at glamour model agencies these days? And should elves have purple acrylic nails?

  ‘Merry Christmas!’ she greets us and stamps my ticket. ‘Be sure to visit our Christmas Wishing Well and put in your Christmas Wish. Father Christmas will be reading them later on!’

  ‘Did you hear that, Minnie? We can make a wish!’ I look down at Minnie, who’s gazing up at the elf in silent awe.

  You see? She’s behaving perfectly.

  ‘Becky! Over here!’ I turn my head to see Mum already in the queue, wearing a festive twinkly scarf and holding the handles of Minnie’s buggy, which is laden with bags and packages. ‘Father Christmas just went for his tea break,’ she adds as we join her. ‘So I think we’ll be another half an hour at least. Dad’s gone off to look for camcorder discs and Janice is buying her Christmas cards.’

  Janice is Mum’s next-door neighbour. She buys all her Christmas cards half-price on Christmas Eve, writes them out on January the first and keeps them in a drawer for the rest of the year. She calls it ‘getting ahead of herself’.

  ‘Now, love, will you take a look at my present for Jess?’ Mum rootles in a bag and anxiously produces a wooden box. ‘Is it all right?’

  Jess is my sister. My half-sister, I should say. She’s coming back from Chile in a few days’ time, so we’re going to have a second Christmas Day for her and Tom, with turkey and presents and everything! Tom is Jess’s boyfriend. He’s the only son of Janice and Martin and I’ve known him all my life and he’s very …

  Well. He’s really …

  Anyway, the point is, they love each other. And sweaty hands probably don’t matter so much in Chile, do they?

  It’s fantastic that they’re coming over, especially as it means we can finally, finally have Minnie’s christening. (Jess is going to be a godmother.) But I can see why Mum’s stressed out. It’s tricky buying presents for Jess. She doesn’t like anything that’s new or expensive or contains plastic or parabens or comes in a bag that isn’t made of hemp.

  ‘I’ve bought this.’ Mum opens the l
id of the box to reveal an array of posh glass bottles nestling in straw. ‘It’s shower gel,’ she adds quickly. ‘Nothing for the bath. We don’t want World War Three again!’

  There was this slight diplomatic incident last time Jess was over. We were celebrating her birthday and Janice gave her a present of bubble bath, whereupon Jess launched into a ten-minute lecture on how much water a bath used and how people in the West were obsessed by cleanliness and everyone should just take a five-minute shower once every week like Jess and Tom did.

  Janice and Martin had just had a jacuzzi installed, so this didn’t go down very well.

  ‘What do you think?’ says Mum.

  ‘Dunno.’ I peer cautiously at the label on the box. ‘Does it have additives? Does it exploit people?’

  ‘Oh, love, I just don’t know.’ Mum looks gingerly at the box as though it’s a nuclear armament. ‘It says “all-natural”,’ she ventures at last. ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘I think it’ll be OK.’ I nod. ‘But don’t tell her you bought it in a shopping mall. Tell her you bought it from a small independent cooperative.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Mum brightens. ‘And I’ll wrap it in newspaper. What have you got her?’

  ‘I bought her a yoga mat hand-made by peasant women in Guatemala,’ I can’t help saying smugly. ‘It funds village agricultural projects and it uses recycled plastic components from computers.’

  ‘Becky!’ says Mum admiringly. ‘How did you find that?’

  ‘Oh … research.’ I shrug airily.

  I won’t admit I Googled ‘green worthy present recycle environment lentils giftwrap’.

  ‘Kiss-mas! Kiss-MAS!’ Minnie is dragging at my hand so hard I think she’ll pull my arm off.

  ‘Do the Wishing Well with Minnie, love,’ suggests Mum. ‘I’ll keep your place.’

  I dump the ponies on the buggy and lead Minnie towards the Wishing Well. It’s surrounded by fake silver birch trees with fairies hanging down from the branches and if it weren’t for the screeching kids everywhere it would be quite magical.

  The wishing cards are laid out on a fake tree stump that you can use as a table. I pick up a card, which has ‘Christmas Wish’ printed in swirly green writing at the top, and give one of the felt-tips to Minnie.

  God, I remember writing letters to Father Christmas when I was little. They used to get quite long and involved, with illustrations and pictures cut out of catalogues, just in case he got confused.

  A pair of pink-faced girls of about ten are posting their wishes, all giggly and whispery, and just the sight of them gives me a rush of nostalgia. It seems wrong not to join in. I might jinx it or something.

  Dear Father Christmas, I find myself writing on a card. It’s Becky here again. I pause, and think for a bit, and then quickly scribble down a few things.

  I mean, only about three. I’m not greedy or anything.

  Minnie is scribbling earnestly all over her card, and has got felt-tip on her hands and her nose.

  ‘I’m sure Father Christmas will understand what you mean,’ I say gently, taking it from her. ‘Let’s post it in the well.’

  One by one I drop the two cards in. Tiny fake snowflakes are drifting down from above and ‘Winter Wonderland’ is being piped out of a nearby speaker and I suddenly feel so Christmassy I can’t help closing my eyes, clenching Minnie’s hand and wishing. You never know …

  ‘Becky?’ A deep voice penetrates my thoughts and my eyes snap open. Luke is standing in front of me, his dark hair and navy coat dusted with fake snow, a glint of amusement in his eyes. Too late I realize I’ve been fervently mouthing ‘Please … please …’ with my eyes squeezed shut.

  ‘Oh!’ I say, a bit flustered. ‘Hi. I was just …’

  ‘Talking to Father Christmas?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ I regain my dignity. ‘Where’ve you been, anyway?’

  Luke doesn’t answer me, but starts walking away, beckoning for me to follow.

  ‘Leave Minnie with your mother a moment,’ he says. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’

  I’ve been married to Luke for three and a half years now, but I still don’t always know the way his mind is working. As we stride along his mouth is hard, and I almost start to feel nervous. What could it be?

  ‘Here.’ He comes to a halt in a deserted corner of the shopping mall, and gets out his BlackBerry.

  On the screen is an email from his lawyer, Tony. It consists of a single word: ‘Settled’.

  ‘Settled?’ For a split second I don’t understand – then I have a sudden flash of realization.

  ‘Not – Arcodas? They’ve settled?’

  ‘Yup.’ And now I can see a tiny smile glimmering.

  ‘But – you never said … I had no idea …’

  ‘Didn’t want to raise your hopes. We’ve been talking for three weeks. It’s not the greatest deal for us … but it’s fine. We’ll be fine. The point is, it’s done.’

  My legs feel a bit shaky. It’s over. Just like that. The Arcodas case has been hanging over us for so long it’s started to feel part of the family. (Not a good part, obviously. The malevolent old witchy aunt with the warty nose and the nasty cackle.)

  It’s two years since Luke went into battle with Arcodas. I say ‘battle’. It wasn’t like he firebombed them or anything. He just refused to work for them, on a matter of principle: the principle being that he didn’t want to represent a load of bullies who mistreated his staff. He owns a PR company, Brandon Communications, and has had most of his employees for years. When he found out the way Arcodas had been behaving to them, I’ve never seen him so angry.

  So he quit, and they took him to court for breach of contract. (Which just proves how awful and overbearing they are.) Whereupon Luke took them to court for not paying for the services they’d already received.

  You’d have thought the judge would have realized who was the good guy instantly and ruled in Luke’s favour. I mean, hello, don’t judges have eyes? But instead they’ve had stupid hearings and adjournments and the whole thing has dragged on, and been totally stressy. I have to say, my opinion of lawyers, judges, so-called ‘mediators’ and the whole legal system is a lot lower after all this. Which I would have told them, if they’d only let me speak.

  I was dying for Luke to call me as a witness. I had my outfit ready and everything. (Navy pencil skirt, white shirt with ruffle, patent courts.) And I’d written this brilliant speech, which I still know by heart. It begins: ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I ask you to look into your hearts. And then I ask you to look at the two men before you. One honourable, upstanding hero who puts the well-being of his staff before money …’ (where I would point at Luke), ‘… and one odious, sexist man who bullies everyone and has as much integrity as he does dress sense …’ (where I would point at Iain Wheeler from Arcodas). Everyone would have been stirred up and cheered and the judge would have had to bang his gavel and cry ‘Order! Order!’ And then I was going to cunningly assess the jury, like they do in John Grisham novels, and work out which ones were on our side.

  Anyway, all my plans were spoiled when Luke said there wasn’t going to be a jury, it wasn’t that kind of court. And then he said it was a murky swamp full of dirty tricks and he’d be damned if I got dragged into all this too and I should stay at home with Minnie. So I did, even though the frustration nearly killed me.

  Now Luke exhales and pushes his hands through his hair.

  ‘Over,’ he says, almost to himself. ‘At last.’

  ‘Thank God.’

  As I reach up to hug him, I can see traces of weariness in his face still. This whole thing has nearly wiped Luke out. He’s been trying to run his company, and deal with the case, and keep his staff motivated, and win new business.

  ‘So.’ He puts his hands on my shoulders and surveys me. ‘We can start to move on. In all sorts of ways.’

  It takes me a moment to realize what he means.

  ‘We can buy the house!’ I catch my
breath.

  ‘I put in the offer straight away.’ He nods. ‘They said they’d give an answer by the end of the day.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ I can’t help giving a little jump of excitement. I can’t believe this is all happening at last. The case is over! We can finally move out of Mum and Dad’s and have our own family home!

  We’ve tried to move out before. In fact, several times. We’ve got as far as drawing up contracts for four houses in all, but each one has been doomed. Either the vendor didn’t really want to sell (House Three), or they suddenly demanded loads more money (House One), or the house didn’t actually belong to them but to their uncle in Spain and it was all a scam (House Four), or it burned down (House Two). I’d started to think we were jinxed, and then Luke said maybe we should wait till the Arcodas business was over.

  ‘Lucky Five?’ I raise my eyes hopefully towards Luke, who just crosses his fingers and grins.

  This house has got everything going for it. It’s in a brilliant road in Maida Vale, and it has a lovely garden with a swing hanging from a tree, and is amazingly spacious inside. And it’s nearly ours! I feel a sudden burst of exhilaration. I have to go and buy Livingetc, right now. And Elle Deco, and House & Garden and Wallpaper* …

  ‘Shall we get back?’ I say casually. ‘I might just pop into Smith’s on the way and pick up a few magazines …’

  And I’d better get Grand Designs, and World of Interiors, and 25 Beautiful Homes …

  ‘In a minute.’ Something about Luke’s voice alerts me, and I look up to see he’s taken a few paces away. His face is averted and his chin is stiff. Something doesn’t look right about him.

  ‘Hey, are you OK?’ I say cautiously. ‘There’s no bad news, is there?’

  ‘No. But there’s something I wanted to … run past you.’ He pauses, his hands cradling the back of his neck, his gaze distant, almost as though he can’t bring himself to look at me. ‘Weird thing happened a few moments ago. I was in Waterstones, waiting for the call about Arcodas. Just wandering around …’ He pauses again, for a long time. ‘And I found myself buying a book for Annabel. The new Ruth Rendell. She’d have loved it.’