How Not To Shop

by Carmen Reid

  Because Annie had tears in her eyes, she couldn't quite be sure, but she thought Svetlana said, 'Love, ha? OK, ve try love.'

  Chapter Forty-five

  Annie's early pregnancy look:

  Red ruffled wrap dress (Picchu maternity)

  Black support tights (Elbeo)

  Black suede boots with mid-heels (Hobbs)

  Total est. cost: £220

  'Oh my God.'

  This was strange. This was definitely a little bit too strange, Annie couldn't help thinking as she watched the nurse slide the ultrasound scanner over her lower stomach. Just four weeks ago, Annie had been holding Dinah's hand in a scanning room. Now, here she was on the couch.

  Ed had a tight grip on her left hand and from the corner of her eye, she saw the images begin to flicker to life on the screen. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. For a moment, thinking of Dinah, she wasn't sure if she wanted to look.

  She still wasn't totally sure if this was where she wanted to be. Part of her wished that it was Dinah lying here in her place on the couch with a twelve-week-old pregnancy happily in progress inside her.

  But it was her. For whatever reason, this had happened to her instead.

  Ed was so frantic with excitement, with the strange newness. He was so bursting with gratitude, how could she not go along with it?

  Somehow, she was sure, he would carry her through. So she would do this for him. And when the baby was born, she knew she was going to fall in love, all over again. Because that's what mothers do.

  She had once loved Lana so intensely that she worried she'd never feel quite the same about her second baby. But oh, the rush of instant love she'd felt for that bright red baby Owen, with his sticky fuzz of black hair. Some magical cell division had happened in her heart and suddenly there was more than enough love for two children.

  So she was staying calm, accepting the pregnancy, letting this embryo grow, take over and move into all the areas of her life that she knew it would soon inhabit.

  'There we go,' the nurse's voice broke into her thoughts, 'a nice steady heartbeat over here . . . and . . .'

  Annie looked and saw the pulsing white shape, already more defined than the blob she'd seen on Dinah's screen. Over and over, the rhythm of life already beating strongly.

  'Amazing,' Ed murmured, his eyes fixed to the screen.

  The scanner slid over her stomach and they saw the shape again.

  'OK, let's just move over here again,' the nurse said, pushing the scanner towards Annie's hip bone and pressing in firmly. 'I thought I just saw . . .' she began, looking closely at the screen.

  Annie felt a flicker of anxiety. Was something wrong? All of a sudden, her uncertainty about this baby seemed to evaporate. Now she only wanted to know that everything was OK. Annie looked at the screen again.

  This time there was no mistaking what the nurse had seen . . . This mysterious process had been set in motion weeks and weeks ago and now she was going to have to face it. Try to get used to it. Make sense of it.

  'Is that . . . ? Ed began in astonishment.

  The nurse nodded her head and smiled at them.

  'Is that really . . . ? Ed still couldn't finish a sentence, he was so surprised.

  Annie just stared. Stared and stared at the screen. She didn't move, she didn't even blink as she tried to let this register in her scrambled mind.

  'Are there any twins in the family?' the nurse asked, still not wanting to confirm what they could both see so plainly before them.

  Annie felt as if she couldn't keep up. Within seconds, it seemed, she was supposed to pass from not being sure about a baby, to being anxious about the baby, to being the prospective mother of two babies. Now she was unsure all over again, yet all she wanted was for the nurse to say that yes there were two babies and both looked absolutely fine.

  'Are there two?' Annie found her voice.

  'Yes, there are two embryos here,' the nurse confirmed.

  'And they look OK?'

  'Everything looks fine. I'm just going to take some photos and take a few measurements.'

  As she pressed buttons and examined the stills on the screen, Ed turned to Annie.

  She didn't think she'd ever seen him look so happy. He seemed to be keeping his smile tight and small so that the happiness couldn't burst out of him.

  'Two babies,' he whispered, gripping her hand, 'you are so clever!'

  Annie's eyes turned back to the screen. Every other anxiety could wait, she just needed to know from the nurse that everything was OK with the . . . two . . . babies. Two. Babies.

  'Everything looks normal,' the nurse said finally, 'I think we'll book you in for a sixteen-week scan, just to take another look because of your age, but at this stage, there doesn't seem to be anything to worry about. Congratulations.'

  Ed moved Annie's hand up to his face and kissed her fingers.

  'What about Owen and Lana?' Annie asked him.

  'They're going to love it! They get a baby each!'

  'What about Dinah? And Connor?' she asked, almost tearful now.

  'You are surrounded by people who will love these babies,' he said calmly.

  'What about Dave?' she asked, with a small sob.

  'Connor has offered to adopt Dave,' Ed replied.

  'Oh no,' Annie shook her head, 'Owen will never forgive us. He loves that dog!'

  'Well, then I suppose Dave will have to get used to the babies.'

  'Two teenagers . . . a dog . . . a live-in mother . . . and twin babies.'

  'And a TV career,' Ed reminded her. 'Congratulations,' he repeated, 'clever, clever girl. Two babies,' he repeated, sounding a little bewildered. Then he uttered the phrase she really had been trying to avoid all day. 'Happy birthday, Annie!'

  She was going to have twins and she'd found out today, on her dreaded birthday.

  'Oh my God,' she began and then, as if it was a mantra, found she couldn't stop repeating it.

  Epilogue

  Tamsin Hinkley opened the studio door as quietly as she could and tiptoed into the darkness. In her hand was the printout, still warm from the printer, which revealed How Not to Shop's latest audience figures.

  The last episode had been watched by 1.4 million viewers and was taking a major share of the Wednesday night audience. Channel 4 executives were delighted and there was no question that there would be a second series. Tamsin hoped she might even convince them to sign up for another two.

  Good producer that she was, she'd been unable to wait to share the news with Annie and the film crew. Plus, she liked to come down and catch the tail end of the recordings whenever she could find the time. She prided herself on being totally hands on, and perhaps even interfered just a little too much with the shooting and the editing. But that was the only way to stay on top of your output and make sure it was the best.

  In front of her, studio lights blazed onto the vibrant black and white set, but keeping herself tucked away in the darkness at the back of the studio, she made for the chair she'd spotted and noiselessly sat down.

  Annie was talking solo, direct to the camera.

  She was talking with such lively interest and conviction that, along with everyone else on set, Tamsin couldn't help but be drawn in.

  Holding up several items of jewellery, Annie insisted: 'Look at this colour, it's an absolutely gorgeous blue and it's only two ninety-nine! No-one shouldn't have one! It's a crime not to buy this cuff. But you don't have to go to the high street, we found this beautiful brooch in a second-hand shop for just fifty pence.'

  This was why lorry-loads of clothes, accessories and beauty products were now rolling up at the office every day. The industry was paying attention to the show. If Annie mentioned something, sales rocketed. Chains were demanding to know in advance what she was going to pick out, to ensure they had enough on the shelves.

  It was almost frightening.

  Annie had already been offered several advertising contracts but interestingly, she'd so far turned them al
l down, claiming that if she was paid to promote something, no-one would believe in her independence any more.

  'That's what people like about me,' Annie had understood about her appeal straight away, 'I'm their honest, best friend on the TV. I'm on their side.'

  The studio lights were twinkling on Annie's glossy lipstick and her baby blonde, softly shaggy, short hair. Just as Tamsin had predicted, last week's programme, which had featured Annie's much-trailed haircut, had pulled in the biggest viewing figures to date. This new TV star was six months pregnant, but that seemed to make her predominantly female audience love her even more. Viewers were already sending in babygros, bootees and name suggestions.

  Annie liked to joke on air about her enormous twin baby tummy: 'Darlins, I can't even wipe my own bum. The situation is out of control, I should have police tape, or an alarm, you know like lorries: caution, this vehicle is reversing. Caution: this vehicle may tread on your toes and demolish your furniture.' Both pregnancy and stardom suited Annie. She had blossomed before everyone's eyes.

  'So, that's all we have time for this evening. I know! I'm sorry too! It's flown by,' Annie was telling the camera with great sincerity, 'but it's OK, if you're missing me, you can log on and check out the website. There's the blog, there are tons of fashion tips and pointers . . . honestly, girls, it will get you through a whole seven days without me!

  'Next time,' she continued, 'we'll talk about what you can and can't give to charity shops. Owen Valentine, you'd better be listening! And we are going to have my very, very special guest Svetlana Roscoff here to give you her Girls' Guide to Sensible Investing. Yes, just because your fund manager has a helicopter doesn't mean your stocks will fly . . . apparently!' She tilted her face and gave the camera a wink.

  Look at her! Tamsin couldn't help smiling. She was blonde and beautiful and absolutely in the prime of life, buoyed up with the confidence of so many challenges met, so much potential fulfilled, and vibrantly looking forward to the future ahead. This very interesting life with all its highs and lows still to come. In the bright fuchsia velvet dress she'd chosen for today's session ('it's a pregnancy craving: I have fuchsia fever, babes') there was only one word for her. Resplendent.

  Half an hour of Annie made you feel better. Made you feel glad to be alive. Made you think, I will give a damn about the shoes I put on and the lipstick I choose, because as Annie constantly warned, 'something amazing might happen today, so you'd better be dressed for it!'

  Bob Barrett held the camera in position on Annie's smile for just one moment longer, then the director stood up, checked her monitor, held up her hand and announced,

  'Cut!'

  THE END

  Acknowledgements

  Time for the big luvvy-huggy thank you speech moment . . .

  I know just how lucky I am to have the support and advice of my fantastic agent, Darley Anderson, and his terrifically talented team: Becky, Camilla, Ella, Kasia, Maddie, Rosanna and Zoe, take a bow, and thank you so much for all your hard work on my behalf.

  Huge thanks to my editor Sarah Turner, a champion for Annie Valentine, who also makes story nip-tucking almost painless! I hope Sarah and copy gurus Judith Welsh and Beth Humphries appreciate how much I admire and rely on their story polishing skills. (Diana Beaumont, fear not, your great advice is still very much in my mind when I write.)

  I have a genius team behind Annie V at Transworld: the covers, the sales and marketing, the website, the PR – all utterly brilliant! Thank you hugely for all your support, I am truly grateful. (Tragically!) some fashion research has to be done for the books (thank you Vogue and Net-A-Porter), also I can't get enough of Lisa Armstrong's fashion columns in The Times and Brenda Kinsel's utterly Californian advice books and website.

  To my vital home support system: very, very special thanks to T, S and C, who know just how much I love them. Love also to all the fabulous friends and family who make sure I am dragged from my desk regularly. Huge hugs to the writer buddies. OK, yes, I understand. You can drag me in my ballgown off the stage now . . .

  DIP INTO CARMEN REID'S

  FABULOUS FIRST NOVEL

  THREE IN A BED

  HERE'S THE FIRST CHAPTER . . .

  Chapter One

  It was 6.29 a.m. The digital alarm clock beside the bed was about to go off. Just as it started up with its nasty little beeping, the bedside phone began to ring too.

  Bella leaned over to click off the alarm and answer the phone.

  'Hello?'

  She heard a distant 'Hello!' far from the other end of a crackling line, followed by singing.

  'Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you . . .'

  'Don!' she shouted and heard it echo back at her.

  'Hello Bella, wake up, I love you, I want phone sex now.'

  'I love you too,' she said laughing.

  'What? It's a terrible line.'

  'I love you too!' she shouted. 'When are you allowed to come home?'

  'Ah ha . . . well I'm phoning you from Grozny airport. By the time you get back from work, I'll be there.'

  'Yeah?! I can't believe it! That's bloody brilliant!'

  'My job here is done,' he said in mock superhero voice. 'Seriously, it's been a nightmare and it's getting dangerous now, so they're pulling me out. Plus I told them it was your birthday and I had to get home, or else a fate worse than a rebel gunman awaited.'

  'Are you OK?' she asked.

  'I'm very tired, it's been three weeks from hell. Oh bugger, hon, I have to go now, I'll see you tonight and I am so looking forward to it.'

  'Me too. Take care.'

  'Missing you already,' he joked, then the line went dead.

  She was smiling hard, was going to be smiling all day long, she thought, as she got out of bed and started on Operation Bella. The difference between Bella and other women whose looks were somewhere between moderate to good on the scale was that she tried harder. In fact, 'tries hard' was a description that had peppered her report cards since she was tiny.

  At the very start of her career, she'd spent a long summer on assignment in New York and it was there that she had found her spiritual sisters, the immaculate New York women who jogged, gym-ed, power manicured and treated sex as just another way to business network. Her eyes had been opened and she always joked that she'd checked all her insecurities in at JFK airport and never bothered to check them out again. This wasn't exactly true, the insecurities were still there, she'd just learned to hide them well.

  She pulled on her running clothes and trainers now, because Monday to Friday, she jogged for twenty-five minutes every morning with NO EXCEPTIONS. She loathed almost every second, but it was the only way to shake off any remaining booze from the night before, stay on the slim side of curvaceous and guarantee that she got some exercise crammed into her day.

  After the run, she showered, shaved, dried off and moisturized. Then, with her hair wrapped up in a big white towel, she stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

  She stared hard at her face. Twenty-eight years old today. Pulling a smile, she looked at the tiny crinkles radiating out from her eyes and the very first hint of bagginess on her eyelids. It was obviously all downhill from here.

  She sponged a generous squeeze of foundation from collarbone to hairline and loaded up a powder brush to dredge over her face. She thanked God every morning for make-up. Then she shook her hair out of the towel and blasted it dry, before bundling it up into the loose chignon which she thought made her look older and more serious for work.