Mini Shopaholic
Page 10
‘In fact, all of you are banned.’ She points at the exit with a purple-lacquered nail.
‘Well, that’s a fine Christmas spirit!’ retorts Mum. ‘We’re loyal customers and your sleigh was obviously very poorly made, and I’ve a good mind to report you to Trading Standards!’
‘Just go.’ The elf is still standing there, her arm extended rigidly.
In total mortification, I take the handles of the buggy. We all trudge out in miserable silence, to see Dad rushing up in his waterproof jacket, his greying hair a bit dishevelled.
‘Did I miss it? Have you seen Father Christmas, Minnie darling?’
‘No.’ I can hardly bear to admit it. ‘We were banned from the Grotto.’
Dad’s face falls. ‘Oh dear. Oh, love.’ He sighs heavily. ‘Not again.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘How many is that now?’ asks Janice, with a little wince.
‘Four.’ I look down at Minnie, who of course is now standing holding Luke’s hand demurely, looking like a little angel.
‘What happened this time?’ asks Dad. ‘She didn’t bite Santa, did she?’
‘No!’ I say defensively. ‘Of course not!’
The whole biting-Santa-at-Harrods incident was a complete misunderstanding. And that Santa was a total wimp. He did not need to go to A&E.
‘It was me and Luke. We wrecked the sleigh, trying to get her off a reindeer.’
‘Ah.’ Dad nods sagely and we all turn glumly towards the exit.
‘Minnie’s quite a livewire, isn’t she?’ ventures Janice timidly after a while.
‘Little rascal,’ says Martin and tickles Minnie under the chin. ‘She’s quite a handful!’
Maybe I’m feeling oversensitive. But all this talk of ‘handfuls’ and ‘rascals’ and ‘livewires’ is suddenly pressing on my sore spot.
‘You don’t think Minnie’s spoiled, do you?’ I say suddenly and come to an abrupt halt on the marble mall floor. ‘Be honest.’
Janice inhales sharply. ‘Well,’ she begins, glancing at Martin as though for support. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything, but—’
‘Spoiled?’ Mum cuts her off with a laugh. ‘Nonsense! There’s nothing wrong with Minnie, is there, my precious? She just knows her own mind!’ She strokes Minnie’s hair fondly, then looks up again. ‘Becky, love, you were exactly the same at her age. Exactly the same.’
At once I relax. Mum always says the right thing. I glance over at Luke – but to my surprise he doesn’t return my relieved smile. He looks as though some new and alarming thought has transfixed him.
‘Thanks, Mum.’ I give her a fond hug. ‘You always make everything better. Come on, let’s get home.’
By the time Minnie’s in bed, I’ve cheered up. In fact I’m feeling really festive. This is what Christmas is all about. Mulled wine and mince pies and White Christmas on the telly. We’ve hung up Minnie’s stocking (gorgeous red gingham, from the Conran shop) and put out a glass of sherry for Father Christmas and now Luke and I are in our bedroom, wrapping up her presents.
Mum and Dad are really generous. They’ve given us the whole top floor of the house to live in, so we have quite a lot of privacy. The only slight downside is, our wardrobe isn’t that big. But it doesn’t matter, because I’ve taken over the guestroom wardrobe too – plus I’ve arranged all my shoes on the bookshelves on the landing. (I put the books in boxes. No one ever read them, anyway.)
I’ve put up a hanging rail in Dad’s study, for coats and party dresses, and stacked some hat boxes in the utility room. And I keep all my make-up on the dining table, which is the ideal size, in fact it could have been designed for make-up. My mascaras fit in the knife drawer, my straightening irons go perfectly on the hostess trolley and I’ve put all my magazines in piles on the chairs.
I’ve also stored just a few teeny things in the garage, like all my old boots, and this amazing set of vintage trunks I bought at an antique shop, and a Power Plate machine (which I bought off eBay and must start using). It’s getting a bit crowded in there now, I suppose – but it’s not like Dad ever uses the garage for the car, is it?
Luke finishes wrapping a jigsaw puzzle, reaches for a Magic Drawing Easel, then looks around the room and frowns.
‘How many presents is Minnie getting?’
‘Just the usual number,’ I say defensively.
Although to be honest, I was a bit taken aback myself. I’d forgotten how many I’d bought from catalogues and craft fairs and stashed away, throughout the year.
‘Well, that’s a fine Christmas spirit!’ retorts Mum. ‘We’re loyal customers and your sleigh was obviously very poorly made, and I’ve a good mind to report you to Trading Standards!’
‘Just go.’ The elf is still standing there, her arm extended rigidly.
In total mortification, I take the handles of the buggy. We all trudge out in miserable silence, to see Dad rushing up in his waterproof jacket, his greying hair a bit dishevelled.
‘Did I miss it? Have you seen Father Christmas, Minnie darling?’
‘No.’ I can hardly bear to admit it. ‘We were banned from the Grotto.’
Dad’s face falls. ‘Oh dear. Oh, love.’ He sighs heavily. ‘Not again.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘How many is that now?’ asks Janice, with a little wince.
‘Four.’ I look down at Minnie, who of course is now standing holding Luke’s hand demurely, looking like a little angel.
‘What happened this time?’ asks Dad. ‘She didn’t bite Santa, did she?’
‘No!’ I say defensively. ‘Of course not!’
The whole biting-Santa-at-Harrods incident was a complete misunderstanding. And that Santa was a total wimp. He did not need to go to A&E.
‘It was me and Luke. We wrecked the sleigh, trying to get her off a reindeer.’
‘Ah.’ Dad nods sagely and we all turn glumly towards the exit.
‘Minnie’s quite a livewire, isn’t she?’ ventures Janice timidly after a while.
‘Little rascal,’ says Martin and tickles Minnie under the chin. ‘She’s quite a handful!’
Maybe I’m feeling oversensitive. But all this talk of ‘handfuls’ and ‘rascals’ and ‘livewires’ is suddenly pressing on my sore spot.
‘You don’t think Minnie’s spoiled, do you?’ I say suddenly and come to an abrupt halt on the marble mall floor. ‘Be honest.’
Janice inhales sharply. ‘Well,’ she begins, glancing at Martin as though for support. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything, but—’
‘Spoiled?’ Mum cuts her off with a laugh. ‘Nonsense! There’s nothing wrong with Minnie, is there, my precious? She just knows her own mind!’ She strokes Minnie’s hair fondly, then looks up again. ‘Becky, love, you were exactly the same at her age. Exactly the same.’
At once I relax. Mum always says the right thing. I glance over at Luke – but to my surprise he doesn’t return my relieved smile. He looks as though some new and alarming thought has transfixed him.
‘Thanks, Mum.’ I give her a fond hug. ‘You always make everything better. Come on, let’s get home.’
By the time Minnie’s in bed, I’ve cheered up. In fact I’m feeling really festive. This is what Christmas is all about. Mulled wine and mince pies and White Christmas on the telly. We’ve hung up Minnie’s stocking (gorgeous red gingham, from the Conran shop) and put out a glass of sherry for Father Christmas and now Luke and I are in our bedroom, wrapping up her presents.
Mum and Dad are really generous. They’ve given us the whole top floor of the house to live in, so we have quite a lot of privacy. The only slight downside is, our wardrobe isn’t that big. But it doesn’t matter, because I’ve taken over the guestroom wardrobe too – plus I’ve arranged all my shoes on the bookshelves on the landing. (I put the books in boxes. No one ever read them, anyway.)
I’ve put up a hanging rail in Dad’s study, for coats and party dresses, and stacked some hat boxes in the utility room. And I keep all my make-up on the dining table, which is the ideal size, in fact it could have been designed for make-up. My mascaras fit in the knife drawer, my straightening irons go perfectly on the hostess trolley and I’ve put all my magazines in piles on the chairs.
I’ve also stored just a few teeny things in the garage, like all my old boots, and this amazing set of vintage trunks I bought at an antique shop, and a Power Plate machine (which I bought off eBay and must start using). It’s getting a bit crowded in there now, I suppose – but it’s not like Dad ever uses the garage for the car, is it?
Luke finishes wrapping a jigsaw puzzle, reaches for a Magic Drawing Easel, then looks around the room and frowns.
‘How many presents is Minnie getting?’
‘Just the usual number,’ I say defensively.
Although to be honest, I was a bit taken aback myself. I’d forgotten how many I’d bought from catalogues and craft fairs and stashed away, throughout the year.
