How Not To Shop

by Carmen Reid

  'Thank you,' she said.

  'Now I must make dinner!' she reminded herself, after a long, happy moment of smiling delightedly at Connor. She took the packets of chicken legs from the fridge. She was to fry them briefly with the onions then put them in a big casserole dish with chopped tomatoes. By then Ed was supposed to be home to finish the dish off – dabble with herbs and stock and all that stuff she couldn't be bothered with.

  As she took the pale pink legs out of the packet and heaped them up on the chopping board, she suddenly felt a lurch of sickness, the unexplained, low-level sickness which had been bothering her for some time now. There had been no vomiting since the scanning room but now she wasn't so sure.

  She turned back to the table and groped for her glass of water.

  'Whoa, what's the matter?' Connor asked with concern.

  'Some kind of bug,' Annie mumbled. She gulped thankfully at the cool water. Phew, that was better. She ran a hand over her forehead . . . she was going to be fine.

  Dave padded over to her and without any warning lay down right on top of her feet.

  'Oh for goodness sake!' she exclaimed, bending over to move him out of the way, which was a mistake: right then, with a violent hiccup, she puked the whole glass of water and the watery remains of her lunch right out onto the floor, splattering Dave in the process.

  'Annie!' Connor was at her side, catching hold of her arms and holding her up just as she thought she was going to crumple, 'I know you don't like the dog, but . . .

  'Sit tight,' he instructed, moving her onto a chair. 'Dave!' he called sharply to the dog which was shooting across the kitchen floor bound for the sitting room where he was no doubt intending to roll on a sofa and dry off his wet, vomit-soaked fur. Amazingly, Dave spun round and looked at Connor. 'Sit!' Connor commanded.

  Dave looked at Connor, then turned and looked at the kitchen door, as if weighing the pros and cons of staying or running. 'Biscuit?' Connor wheedled. At this Dave stuck out his pink tongue and lowered his back haunches into the sitting position. 'Good boy,' Connor praised him as he caught hold of his collar and made sure he couldn't get away.

  'Kitchen roll's over there,' Annie said in a muffled voice because she was holding her hands over her face.

  Once the dog had been rubbed dry and turfed out into the garden to air, and the floor wiped, Connor turned his attention to Annie.

  'If you're not feeling well, you need to go to bed,' he instructed. 'Ed and I can handle dinner, or maybe I should call Dinah and we'll do the celebrating another night. Hey,' he put a hand on her shoulder, 'are you OK?'

  Annie, her head still in her hands, shook her head.

  'How long has this been going on for?'

  There were tears in her voice. 'About two weeks.'

  'Two weeks? That's ridiculous! You have to get to the doctor,' Connor urged, 'I can phone up right now, book you an out-of-hours appointment.'

  Annie just shook her head, but then wished she hadn't because it was making her feel dizzy.

  'Why not?' Connor asked.

  'Because . . .' she began, tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes, 'because I know what the doctor will say.'

  'What?' Connor wondered what on earth she was talking about. Then his eye fell on the big glass of wine standing on the table in front of Annie. Now there was something he'd never seen before. Annie leaving a glass of wine untouched.

  Oh.

  Oh!

  'Annie, are you . . . um . . . ?' he paused, wondering how to phrase this question.

  'Yes,' came the response, again muffled, because her arms were laid across the table now, with her face pressed into them.

  'Yes, what?' Connor was suddenly unsure about what he'd asked. Or what she'd thought he'd asked.

  'You know,' came the stubborn response.

  'Annie,' he took a breath, 'are you up the duff?'

  He thought that the bobbing of her ponytail probably meant yes. He had enough sense not to say anything else just yet. Clearly, as far as Annie was concerned, this was not exactly great news. Well, for a start, she had just signed a contract to present six episodes of a brand new TV show.

  'What will Dinah say?' came the tearful question from under the arms, 'Poor, poor Dinah. And Owen and Lana? What will they think? And what about Tamsin and the show? Will she really not mind, the way she said she wouldn't? And my mum, she might have to come and live with us, you know.'

  'What does Ed think?' Connor asked.

  'Ed?' Annie squawked. 'This is all Ed's fault!'

  Which was kind of stating the obvious, Connor thought, but maybe he wouldn't point that out right now.

  'We only had sex once without my diaphragm – no twice – no, maybe three times. But that is nothing! Three times in one month! I'm in my late thirties, you know,' Annie blurted out, an outraged note in her voice.

  'Well . . . what does Ed think? Connor asked again gently.

  'He doesn't know,' came the confession.

  'Connor?' Annie finally raised her red face from the table and fixed her tearful eyes on her friend's. 'Please don't tell him. I don't know anything yet . . . no,' she corrected herself, 'I do know that I don't want to do this.'

  She thought immediately of a dream she'd had the night before of being pulled underwater, deep, deep down, past the point of no return because tied to her ankle was a baby made of lead.

  There was a heavy silence in the kitchen before Connor answered, 'I won't tell him Annie, but you have to. There's no option here. You have to tell him.'

  It was ten the next morning when Annie went upstairs to her bedroom and took out the card she'd tucked into the back pocket of her wallet. For several long moments, she stared at it, not sure whether to go ahead or not. What if Ed found out about this? And what would Tamsin think? But still, she dialled the number on her mobile phone.

  The briskly efficient secretary picked up and answered cheerfully, 'Hello, this is the Yarwood Clinic, how can I help you?'

  'Hello . . . yes . . .' Annie began uncertainly, 'erm . . . I'm hoping you'll be able to give me some advice. Yes, because, well . . . I seem to be pregnant . . .'

  Chapter Forty-four

  Bridesmaid Elena:

  Cappuccino-coloured strapless column dress (Oscar de la Renta)

  Nude suede shoes (Manolo)

  Jewels (borrowed from Mama)

  Total est. cost: £22,800

  'Pretty good, ha?'

  'It's time to go in if we want to get a good seat!' Annie glanced at her watch and chivvied Ed, Lana and Owen – all decked out in wedding finery – towards the entrance of the cool grey chapel.

  'You look great! Have I told you how fantastic you look?' Ed slipped his arm round Annie's waist and smiled at her.

  'I know!' she winked at him.

  'Look at your boobs!' he couldn't help himself, 'they are magnificent.'

  Glancing down at the cleavage straining her dress at the seams, she felt a rush of guilt. This wasn't just about a new bra . . .

  She was in a tried and trusted wedding outfit because it had been a frantically busy morning and there had been no time for experimentation in the twenty-five-minute slot she'd left herself for getting ready. But she did look good in the teal empire-line silk, lace matador jacket on top. Fantastic hat, fantastic green heels, and the vibrant glow which followed the morning she'd had. She'd been so busy, she'd been so needed and she'd been so excellent at her job.

  Since seven this morning, Annie had been at Svetlana's Mayfair home, styling and perfecting the outfits of everyone in the bridal party.

  Ever since Svetlana had been reconciled with Harry, the Svetlana and Annie friendship had been back on track. Perhaps not so surprisingly, Svetlana had also begun to make friends with the daughter she'd not had for all these years.

  'She have hard time in Ukraine. Is hard there. And she very clever girl. Very clever, very beautiful with big ambition. She just like her mama,' Svetlana had told Annie, proudly. As if Annie hadn't already spotted the famil
y resemblance.

  Annie had personally laced Svetlana into her elaborate couture wedding gown, transforming her into a picture of grown-up bridal perfection. Then she'd helped Elena into her tall, cappuccino-coloured column dress, noting all the physical as well as mental features that the mother and daughter shared.

  'Pretty good, ha?' Elena had asked when she'd seen herself in the mirror.

  Petrov and Michael wore matching pageboy outfits which might have looked ridiculous on most other little boys, but these two were dark-haired and serious enough to carry off cream knickerbockers, pale tights and buckled shoes.

  Many other female friends of Svetlana's had arrived for Annie's expert finishing touches, and final decisions on which hat, which shoes and where to pin the flower corsage.

  'How does Igor feel about your wedding?' Annie had asked her friend.

  'It does not matter,' Svetlana had told her with a smile, 'the divorce deal now vatertight. No changes permissible or I press abduction charges, plus, he lose so much money with bad investments. Plus his new girlfriend run off with the tennis teacher . . .' At this Svetlana had given a great roar of laughter which had threatened to unravel the magnificent up-do perched on top of her beautiful head. 'Silly, silly Igor,' she'd added with an almost soft and nostalgic look.

  'I think you're going to be much, much happier with Harry.'

  Svetlana had turned from gazing critically at her reflection in the mirror to look at Annie directly.

  'Yes,' she answered, 'I think you right, I'm going to be happy with Harry. Not super-rich any more, but happy. Something new for me, ha? My good friend Annah,' and at this she'd wrapped Annie in an unexpected embrace.

  Now, Annie ushered her family into the Victorian splendour of the chapel. Set on an emerald lawn, it was surrounded by a peaceful quadrangle of equally Gothic style buildings, where the lavish reception was to be held afterwards.

  She couldn't help taking long, curious looks around the church at the assembled crowd. There was such an intriguing variety of people. On Harry's side it was very posh and old-school English: lots of morning suits, feathered hats and sensible frocks with matching coats.

  On the bride's side, things were much more unusual. Heavy-set, shaven-headed men sported gangsterish pinstripes and blatant gold jewellery. The girls – each one more gorgeous and more beautifully dressed than the next – were tall, thin, blonde, elegant and Eastern European, draped in Gucci, Valentino and all the luxuries money could buy.

  Harry was already in the front pew, tugging nervously at his cuffs. Annie wondered if he still had any doubts . . . if he was worrying whether this much called off wedding was actually going to happen now or not.

  Then came the stir at the back of the chapel, which suggested the bridal party had arrived. Annie looked behind her and saw that Svetlana's boys and Elena were entering the vestibule.

  Then the phone in her handbag began to buzz. She'd turned it to vibrate just in case there was some last-minute dress smoothing to be done.

  'Annah!' Svetlana's voice hissed at the other end of the line, 'I'm in the church!'

  Annie looked back at the vestibule again, but couldn't see any sign of the bride.

  'Uri just courier me huge diamond ring. Huge!' she repeated, 'he say I should be his vife, not Harry's. Now I'm not so sure. Uri very rich man. He vant to invest all my money in his fund, make me multimillionaire. With Harry . . . ve just comfortable.'

  'WHAT?!' Annie exclaimed prompting curious looks from the people around her. Then in a fierce whisper she told Svetlana, 'but Harry's going to make you happy! It's time to forget about the whole multimillionaire thing, it's over, babes. It's credit-crunched. If you ask me, Uri sounds like a fraud! And anyway, bling is finished. Real is in. The noughties are over and it's time to grow up.' With a final attempt at persuasion, she burst out, 'You can't even flog off gold snakeskin bags on eBay! No-one is bidding!'

  Annie looked helplessly at Ed, who was sitting beside her looking confused.

  'Svetlana?' he guessed, 'Crisis?'

  'Just a moment,' Annie said into the phone.

  'No! I have no moment,' Svetlana replied, but Annie had already removed the phone from her ear.

  'It's the kind of crisis only Svetlana could have,' Annie whispered urgently to Ed: 'another supposed millionaire has just proposed to her. Now, she doesn't know what to do.'

  An amused look settled on Ed's face and he shook his head slightly. 'Could it get more colourful?' he asked with an eyebrow raised. 'Pass me the phone.'

  Now Annie's eyebrows shot up: 'The phone? You want to talk to her? Are you sure . . . I don't know if that's such a good idea.'

  Guest's heads were turning, and Harry was beginning to turn a shade of pink which Annie knew would only get deeper, the longer this delay went on. The organist was still trilling away with the treadmill music and had obviously not yet been given the signal to begin the Wedding March.

  'Hello Svetlana, this is Ed, Annie's Ed,' he began, 'there was something I wanted to say . . .'

  'Ed?' Svetlana asked with surprise. This was the man who'd brought Elena back. The man who'd spoken so sternly to her on her own doorstep!

  'If you marry for money,' Ed began, 'there will always be someone richer. If you marry for beauty, there will always be someone more beautiful, but if you marry for love . . .'

  He looked up and his eyes found Annie's as he went on in his calm, teacher's voice, 'you'll never find anyone else who can compare.'

  With that he folded up the phone and took hold of Annie's hand.

  'What did she say?' Annie was desperate to know.

  'I dunno,' Ed gave a little shrug, 'she's a big girl. It's up to her.' He still didn't take his eyes from her. 'I love you,' he whispered, 'let's get married.'

  Suddenly, Annie wrapped both arms around him very tightly and whispered her confession in tiny words, right against his ear. 'Ed, you got me pregnant.'

  To her astonishment, he turned his head and whispered straight back, 'I know.'

  'You know?' She pulled away: 'what do you mean you know?'

  Aware the rows of guests both behind and in front were now really taking an interest, Ed leaned to whisper in her ear as quietly as he could, 'Annie, you look pregnant, you act pregnant . . . how could I not know?'

  'Why didn't you say?' she asked, but realized as the words left her lips that he was just waiting for her to say . . . he was giving her time. 'Thank you,' she said, moving in to him again.

  With a tight hold around her waist, whispering to keep this as private as he possibly could, he had to ask the question now. He would burst if he kept it in for any longer.

  'I answered your phone and someone wanted to confirm an appointment with . . .' he faltered for a moment, 'a clinic?'

  'Oh no, no! It's not what you think, oh Ed,' she held him tightly, 'I had Botox and I'm allowed to get a tiny top-up as soon as I pass week twelve.'

  Whatever Ed might have said in response to this was lost as the great booming sound of a 24-pipe organ filled the chapel and reverberated off the walls. Mendelssohn's Wedding March: it was a classic. Svetlana had used it for all her ceremonies.

  As she came magnificently down the aisle, she managed to spot Annie and Ed in the sea of guests and she actually paused for a moment, just long enough to mouth a few words at them.