Mini Shopaholic

by Sophie Kinsella

  As we head back from our outing, everyone’s in an upbeat mood. We had to splash out on a taxi home because we had too many shopping bags to carry – but we’ve saved so much money, what’s a taxi fare?

  Janice hasn’t mentioned babies or gene pools again, but keeps pulling items out of her bags and showing them to us.

  ‘A full dental kit with mirror! For a pound!’ She looks around the taxi to make sure everyone is as incredulous as her. ‘A miniature table-top snooker set! For a pound!’

  Mum seems to have bought the entire stock of Tupperware, loads of kitchen utensils and big casseroles, several bottles of L’Oréal shampoo with Polish writing, some artificial flowers, a big box of birthday cards and a really cool mop with a pink stripy handle which Minnie will love.

  And right at the end, I found a whole load of posh wooden hangers. Three for a pound, which is a total bargain. They’d cost at least two quid each, anywhere else. So I bought a hundred.

  With the help of the taxi driver we stagger into the house with our bags and drop them in the hall.

  ‘Well!’ Mum says. ‘I’m exhausted after all that hard work! Do you want a cup of tea, love? And one of those bourbon biscuits …’ She starts rooting around in one of the pound-shop bags, just as Dad comes out of his study. For a moment he stares at us, his jaw slack.

  I suppose seventeen carrier bags does look like quite a lot. You know, if you’re not expecting them.

  ‘What’s this?’ he says at last. ‘What’s all this?’

  ‘We’ve been to the pound shop,’ I say brightly. ‘We did really well!’

  ‘Jane …’ Dad is looking incredulously from bag to bag. ‘We’re supposed to be saving money, if you remember.’

  Mum raises her head from the bag full of food, her cheeks red. ‘I have been saving money. Didn’t you hear? I’ve been shopping at the pound shop!’

  ‘Did you buy the whole bloody place?’ Dad’s looking at the sea of plastic bags. ‘Is there anything left?’

  Uh-oh. Mum’s inhaling with one of her I’ve-never-been-so-insulted-in-all-my-life breaths.

  ‘If you want to know, Graham, I’ve been buying us tinned shepherd’s pie and bargain biscuits, since we can’t afford Ocado any more!’ She brandishes the bourbons at him. ‘Do you know how much these cost? Five packets for a pound! Is that wasting money?’

  ‘Jane, I never said we couldn’t afford Ocado,’ begins Dad testily. ‘I merely said—’

  ‘But next time I’ll go to the 99p shop, shall I?’ Her voice rises shrilly. ‘Or the ten-pence shop! Will that satisfy you, Graham? Or maybe you’d like to do the household shopping. Maybe you’d like to struggle on a budget to keep this family fed and clothed.’

  ‘Fed and clothed?’ retorts Dad scoffingly ‘And how is this keeping them fed and clothed?’ He reaches for the pink stripy mop.

  ‘So now we can’t afford basic hygiene, is that it?’ Mum is pink with outrage. ‘Now we can’t afford to mop our floors?’

  ‘We can mop them with the cupboardful of mops we’ve already got!’ Dad erupts. ‘If I see one more useless cleaning gadget in this house …’

  Oookay. I think I might just quietly edge away before I get drawn into this and they each start saying, ‘Becky agrees with me, don’t you, Becky?’

  Anyway, I’m dying to see how Kyla and Minnie are getting on.

  They’ve been together for two solid hours. Kyla’s bound to have had a positive effect on Minnie already. Maybe she’s started her on Mandarin or French. Or embroidery!

  I tiptoe up to the kitchen door, hoping to hear the sound of Minnie singing a madrigal or saying ‘Un, deux, trois’ in a perfect accent, or maybe doing a bit of quick Pythagoras. But instead, all I can hear is Kyla saying, ‘Minnie, come on. Come on, now!’

  She sounds a bit weary, which is weird. I had her down as one of those endless-energy, broccoli-juice type people.

  ‘Hi!’ I call out and push the door open. ‘I’m back!’

  Blimey. What’s up? Kyla’s completely lost her sparkle. Her hair is dishevelled, her cheeks are flushed and there’s a smear of mashed potato on her shirt.

  Minnie, on the other hand, is sitting in her high chair with a plate of food in front of her, looking like she’s having a whale of a time.

  ‘So!’ I say brightly. ‘Did you have a good morning?’

  ‘Great!’ Kyla smiles – but it’s one of those automatic smiles that doesn’t reach her eyes. In fact, if truth be told, her eyes are saying, ‘Get me out of here, now.’

  I think I’ll just ignore them. I’ll pretend I don’t understand Eye. Or Clenched Hands Round the Chairback.

  ‘So, have you started on any languages yet?’ I say encouragingly.

  ‘Not yet.’ Kyla flashes her teeth again. ‘In fact, I’d like to have a little chat if that’s OK?’

  I’m tempted to say, ‘No, get going on the Mandarin,’ close the door and run. But that wouldn’t be the act of a responsible mother, would it?

  ‘Of course!’ I turn with a winning smile. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Mrs Brandon.’ Kyla lowers her voice as she comes towards me. ‘Minnie’s a sweet, charming, intelligent child. But we had a few … issues today.’

  ‘Issues?’ I repeat innocently, after only the tiniest of pauses. ‘What kind of issues?’

  ‘There were moments when Minnie was a little stubborn. Is that normal for her?’

  I rub my nose, playing for time. If I admit that Minnie’s the stubbornest person I’ve ever come across then that just lets Kyla off the hook. She’s supposed to cure Minnie’s stubbornness. In fact, why hasn’t she done it already?

  And anyway, everyone knows you shouldn’t label children, it gives them a complex.

  ‘Stubborn?’ I wrinkle my brow as though baffled. ‘No, that doesn’t sound like Minnie to me. She’s never stubborn with me,’ I add for good measure. ‘She’s always a little angel, aren’t you, darling?’ I beam at Minnie.

  ‘I see.’ Kyla’s cheeks are flushed and she looks a bit beleaguered. ‘Well, I guess it’s early days for us, isn’t it, Minnie? The other thing …’ She lowers her voice. ‘She won’t eat any carrots for me. I’m sure she’s just playing up. You said she eats carrots, right?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I say after another tiny pause. ‘Always. Come on, Minnie, eat your carrots!’

  I head over to the high chair and look at Minnie’s food. Most of the chicken and potatoes have gone, but there’s a stack of beautifully cooked carrots, which Minnie’s eyeing as though they’re the Black Death.

  ‘I don’t understand where I’m going wrong.’ Kyla sounds quite hassled. ‘I never had this kind of problem with Eloise …’

  ‘Could you possibly get down a mug for me, Kyla?’ I say casually. As Kyla reaches up to the cupboard I whip a carrot off the plate, stuff it in my mouth and swallow it in one gulp.

  ‘She just ate one,’ I say to Kyla, trying not to sound too smug.

  ‘She ate one?’ Kyla whips round. ‘But … but I’ve been trying for fifteen minutes!’

  ‘You’ll get the knack,’ I say kindly. ‘Um, could you possibly get a jug down as well?’ As she turns away I stuff another carrot in my mouth. To give credit to Kyla, they are pretty yummy.

  ‘Did she just eat another one?’ I can see Kyla avidly counting the carrots on the plate. It’s a good job I’m a fast chewer.

  ‘Yes!’ I clear my throat. ‘Good girl, Minnie! Now eat the rest for Kyla …’

  I hastily head across the kitchen and start making some coffee. Behind me I can hear Kyla, determinedly upbeat.

  ‘C’mon, Minnie! Lovely carrots. You ate two already, so let’s see how fast you can eat the rest of them!’

  ‘Noooooo!’ Minnie yells at her, and I turn to see her batting the fork away. ‘Nooooo ca-rrot!’

  Oh God. She’s going to start hurling all the carrots across the room in a minute.

  ‘Actually, Kyla,’ I say quickly, ‘could you be a real star and take some shopping upstairs for me
? All the bags in the hall. And I’ll supervise Minnie.’

  ‘Sure.’ Kyla wipes her brow. ‘No problem.’

  The minute she’s gone, I hurry to Minnie’s high chair and start cramming all the carrots into my mouth. For God’s sake, why did she have to cook so many of the bloody things? I can barely get my mouth closed around them, let alone chew them—

  ‘Becky?’ I freeze in dismay as I hear Kyla’s voice behind me. ‘Your mom said to bring these bags into the kitchen, is that OK?’

  I don’t know what to do. My cheeks are bulging with carrots.

  OK, it’s fine. I’m facing away. She can’t see my mouth.

  ‘Mm-hmm,’ I manage, indistinctly.

  ‘Oh my gosh! Did she eat all the carrots?’ Kyla drops the shopping bags. ‘But that’s so quick! What happened? Did she just start wolfing them down?’

  ‘Mm-hmm.’ Keeping my head averted, I give what I hope is an expressive shrug.

  Now Kyla’s coming over to the high chair. Hastily I back away till I’m at the window, facing away. God, this is hideous. My jaw is starting to ache from holding in all the carrots, and my face is growing hot with the effort. I risk a quick chew, then another—

  ‘No way.’ Kyla’s voice comes out of nowhere. Shit! She’s about two feet away, staring at my face. How did she creep round there without me noticing? I sneak a quick glance at my reflection in the stainless-steel fridge.

  Oh God. The end of a carrot is poking out of my mouth.

  For a moment Kyla and I just stare at each other. I don’t quite dare push it back into my mouth.

  ‘Minnie didn’t eat any carrots, did she?’ says Kyla, politely but with an edge.

  I stare back desperately. If I speak, will carrots fall on the floor?

  ‘I may have helped her out,’ I say indistinctly at last. ‘A little.’

  I can see Kyla looking from me to Minnie and back again with increasing incredulity.

  ‘I’m getting the feeling she didn’t write a poem either, did she?’ she says, and now there’s definite sarcasm in her voice. ‘Mrs Brandon, if I’m going to work effectively with a family, I need full and candid lines of communication. I need honesty. And there’s obviously not much chance of that here. Sorry, Minnie. I hope you find a carer who works out for you.’

  ‘You can’t just leave—’ I begin in dismayed, muffled tones, and three carrots fall out of my mouth on to the floor.

  Damn.

  From: cathy@ultimatenanniesuk.com

  Subject: Re: Tiny favour

  Date: 8 February 2006

  To: Becky Brandon

  Dear Mrs Brandon

  Thank you for your phone message. We’re sorry that things did not work out for you with Kyla.

  Unfortunately, we are not able to issue Post-its to all our staff as you suggest, so that if your husband rings up, ‘the story is that Kyla broke her leg’. Regarding an instant replacement ‘who looks like Kyla’, I’m afraid this will not be possible either.

  Perhaps you could telephone me if you wish to discuss this matter further.

  With kind wishes

  Cathy Ferris

  Director, Ultimate Nannies

  OXSHOTTMARKETPLACE.COM

  The official website for people in the Oxshott area who

  want to barter.

  ‘It’s fun, it’s free, it’s for everybody!!!’

  GENERAL ITEMS

  Ref10057

  Wanted: big marquee for two hundred people (one night’s hire)

  Offered: Two Marc Jacobs handbags, really cool, v.g. condition

  Barterer: BeckyB

  Click for more details including photos

  Ref10058

  Wanted: dance-floor which lights up (one night’s hire)

  Offered: 20 assorted gift sets never used: Clarins, Lancôme, Estée Lauder, etc.

  Barterer: BeckyB

  Click for more details including photos

  Ref10059

  Wanted: organic hemp sleeping bag and tent

  Offered: 16 bottles home-made peach wine

  Barterer: JessWebster

  Click for more details. No photos

  Ref10060

  Wanted: 100 bottles of champagne

  Offered: Power Plate machine, unused, never tested, plus plastic abdominizer, Supermodel Stepper, and Get Fit In Three Days! DVD with skipping rope and book

  Barterer: BeckyB

  Click for more details including photos

  Ref10061

  Wanted: firework display (spelling out ‘Happy Birthday Luke’ at the end)

  Offered: Original Art Deco cocktail cabinet, from Manhattan antique shop, cocktail shakers included

  Barterer: BeckyB Click for more details including photos

  Page 1 of 6 Next

  CENTRAL DEPARTMENTAL UNIT

  FOR MONETARY POLICY

  5th Floor

  180 Whitehall Place

  London SW1

  Ms Rebecca Brandon

  The Pines

  43 Elton Road

  Oxshott

  Surrey

  10 February 2006

  Dear Rebecca

  Thank you for your letter of 8 February, and for all your suggestions.

  Bartering is certainly one idea to aid the economy. However, I am not sure how practical it would be for the Chancellor to barter ‘some old stuff in museums that we don’t need’ for ‘loads of French cheeses that we could all share out’. I also fear it would be unfeasible to barter ‘a minor member of the Royal Family’ with the USA, in return for ‘enough J Crew clothes for everyone’.

  Nevertheless I thank you for your continuing interest in our economy.

  Yours sincerely

  Edwin Tredwell

  Director of Policy Research

  TEN

  Huh. Some nanny agency that is. I’m thinking of complaining to the Nanny Ombudsman. Nanny agencies should be confidential. They should be discreet. Apparently the story of the mother and the carrots has been forwarded to every single nanny agency in town. Suze rang up apologetically and said everyone at St Cuthbert’s was talking about it and it’s the new urban legend, except the way the story goes now, it ends up with me and Kyla throwing carrots at each other.

  Luke wasn’t impressed, no matter how many times I explained that Kyla was totally unsuitable for us anyway. And apparently, the agency might find it ‘difficult’ to find a replacement Ultimate Nanny. So I’ve had to ask Mum to step in and she got all huffy and said, ‘Oh, I’m good enough for you now, am I?’

  And to make things worse, last night I finally looked properly at my bargain party supplies from the pound shop. I opened the place cards first of all – and they were personalized with ‘Happy Birthday Mike’. Two hundred of them.

  For a while I considered introducing ‘Mike’ as a nickname for Luke. I mean, why shouldn’t he have a little nickname? And why shouldn’t it be Mike? I reckoned if I started sending him little emails calling him ‘Mikey’ and got Mum and Dad to call him ‘Mike’, and maybe even gasped ‘Oh Mike, Mike!’ a couple of times during sex, I could probably get him used to it before the party.

  But then the napkin holders had ‘Congratulations Lorraine’ all over them, so I gave up on that plan.

  At least there are some positives at the moment. My bartering venture is already a triumph – in fact, Jess is right, it’s amazing! Why on earth do people ever buy things when they could barter? I’ve had loads of responses to my ads and I’ve got several appointments this evening. At this rate I’ll have the whole party sorted out in no time, for no money!

  Jess sent me links to some eco-decorating websites as well, and although most of the ideas are rubbish, I did find one that was quite cool. You cut old plastic bags into strips and make pom-poms – and they look really good. And they’re free! So I’ve started making those, whenever Luke isn’t around. Luckily, I have quite a large supply of plastic bags already. The Selfridges pom-poms look amazing, all bright and yellow, and the green Harrods ones are really
smart, too. Now I just need a few white ones. (I might have to go and stock up at Harvey Nichols Food Hall. I mean, it’s quite expensive there, but then that’s the price of being green.)

  And the other big plus is our new house, which is all still going forward. I’ve come here in my lunch-hour to show it to Suze – and it looks even better than it did before.

  ‘Bex, I love it!’ Suze comes clattering down the stairs, her face bright. ‘It’s so light! And the upstairs is massive! All those bedrooms! They seem to come out of nowhere!’

  ‘It’s incredible, isn’t it?’ I beam proudly.

  ‘It just shows what architects can do.’ She shakes her head wonderingly. ‘And no glitches? No problems?’

  Poor Suze has heard the saga of every other house we’ve tried to buy.

  ‘Nothing! We’re exchanging next week and completing two weeks after that. We’ve booked the van and everything.’ I beam at Suze. ‘This one is meant to be.’

  ‘You must be so relieved.’ Suze gives me a hug. ‘I can’t believe you’ve finally got a house!’

  ‘I know.’ I tug at her arm. ‘Come and see the garden!’

  We head outside and across the lawn to the back, where there’s a huge spreading oak tree and a swing and a load of climbing equipment on bark chippings.

  ‘All your kids will be able to come and play here,’ I say proudly.

  ‘They’ll love it!’ Suze gets on the swing and starts pushing herself back and forth.

  ‘How’s Ernie?’ I suddenly remember. ‘How was the meeting at school?’

  ‘We haven’t had it yet.’ Suze’s face falls. ‘I’m dreading it. I’ve got to go to school for an event next week, and I know the headmistress will collar me …’ She suddenly breaks off. ‘Hey, Bex, will you come too? You could be my buffer. She can’t be mean to me if you’re standing there, can she?’

  ‘Of course I’ll come!’ I can’t wait to have a go at this headmistress, to be honest.

  ‘It’s an art exhibition. All the kids have done paintings and we go and have a cup of coffee and look at them,’ says Suze. ‘And then we have to make a donation to the school.’