Shopaholic & Baby
Page 5
Which is great — except where are we going to live? We haven’t seen a single house we like and now the estate agent keeps saying the market’s very “dry” and “poor” and had we thought of renting?
I don’t want to rent. I want to have a lovely new house to bring the baby home to.
“What if we don’t find a place?” I look up at Luke. “What if we’re cast out on the streets? It’s going to be winter! I’ll be heavily pregnant!”
I have a sudden image of myself trudging up Oxford Street while a choir sings “O Little Town of Bethlehem.”
“Darling, we won’t be cast out on the streets! But Giles said we may need to be more flexible in our requirements.” Luke pauses. “I think he meant your requirements, Becky.”
That is so unfair! When they sent over the Property Search Form, it said, “Please be as specific as possible in your wishes.” So I was. And now they’re complaining!
“We can forget the Shoe Room, apparently.”
“But—” I stop at his expression. I once saw a Shoe Room on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous and I’ve been hankering after one ever since. “OK, then,” I say tamely.
“And we might need to be more flexible on area—”
“I don’t mind that!” I say, as Luke’s mobile starts ringing. “In fact, I think it’s a good idea.”
It’s Luke who’s always been so keen on Maida Vale, not me. There are loads of places I’d like to live.
“Luke Brandon here,” Luke’s saying in his businesslike way. “Oh, hi there. Yes, we’ve had the scan. Everything looks good. It’s Jess,” he adds to me. “She tried you but your phone’s still switched off.”
“Jess!” I say, delighted. “Let me talk to her!”
Jess is my sister. My sister. It still gives me such a kick to say that. All my life, I thought I was an only child — and then I discovered I had a long-lost half sister! We didn’t exactly get on to begin with, but ever since we got trapped in a storm together, and properly talked, we’ve been real friends.
I haven’t seen her for a couple of months because she’s been away in Guatemala on some geology research project. But we’ve called and e-mailed each other, and she’s texted me pictures of herself on top of some cliff. (Wearing a hideous blue anorak instead of the cool faux fur jacket I got her. Honestly.)
“I’m going back to the office now,” Luke is saying into the phone. “And Becky’s off shopping. Do you want a word?”
“Shh!” I hiss in horror. He knows he’s not supposed to mention the word shopping to Jess. Making a face at him, I take the phone and put it to my ear. “Hi, Jess! How’s it going?”
“It’s great!” She sounds all distant and crackly. “I was just calling to hear how the scan went.”
I can’t help feeling touched at her remembering. She’s probably hanging by a rope in some crevasse somewhere, chipping away at the rock face, but she still took the trouble to call.
“Everything looks fine!”
“Yes, Luke said. Thank goodness for that.” I can hear the relief in Jess’s voice. I know she feels guilty about me falling off the mountain, because I’d gone up there looking for her, because—
Anyway, it’s a long story. The point is, the baby’s OK.
“So, Luke says you’re going shopping?”
“Just some essentials for the baby,” I say casually. “Some…er…recycled nappies. From the thrift shop.” I can see Luke laughing at me, and hastily turn away.
The thing about my sister Jess is, she doesn’t like shopping or spending money or ruining the earth with evil consumerism. And she thinks I don’t either. She thinks I’ve followed her lead and embraced frugality.
I did embrace it for about a week. I ordered a big sack of oats, and I bought some clothes from Oxfam and I made lentil soup. But the trouble with being frugal is, it gets so boring. You get sick of soup, and not buying magazines because they’re a waste of money, and sticking bits of soap together to make one big revolting lump. And the oats were getting in the way of Luke’s golf clubs, so in the end I chucked them out and bought some Weetabix instead.
Only I can’t tell Jess, because it’ll ruin our lovely sisterly bond.
“Did you see the article about making your own baby wipes?” she’s saying with enthusiasm. “It should be pretty easy. I’ve started saving rags for you. We could do it together.”
“Oh. Um…yes!”
I don’t want to rent. I want to have a lovely new house to bring the baby home to.
“What if we don’t find a place?” I look up at Luke. “What if we’re cast out on the streets? It’s going to be winter! I’ll be heavily pregnant!”
I have a sudden image of myself trudging up Oxford Street while a choir sings “O Little Town of Bethlehem.”
“Darling, we won’t be cast out on the streets! But Giles said we may need to be more flexible in our requirements.” Luke pauses. “I think he meant your requirements, Becky.”
That is so unfair! When they sent over the Property Search Form, it said, “Please be as specific as possible in your wishes.” So I was. And now they’re complaining!
“We can forget the Shoe Room, apparently.”
“But—” I stop at his expression. I once saw a Shoe Room on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous and I’ve been hankering after one ever since. “OK, then,” I say tamely.
“And we might need to be more flexible on area—”
“I don’t mind that!” I say, as Luke’s mobile starts ringing. “In fact, I think it’s a good idea.”
It’s Luke who’s always been so keen on Maida Vale, not me. There are loads of places I’d like to live.
“Luke Brandon here,” Luke’s saying in his businesslike way. “Oh, hi there. Yes, we’ve had the scan. Everything looks good. It’s Jess,” he adds to me. “She tried you but your phone’s still switched off.”
“Jess!” I say, delighted. “Let me talk to her!”
Jess is my sister. My sister. It still gives me such a kick to say that. All my life, I thought I was an only child — and then I discovered I had a long-lost half sister! We didn’t exactly get on to begin with, but ever since we got trapped in a storm together, and properly talked, we’ve been real friends.
I haven’t seen her for a couple of months because she’s been away in Guatemala on some geology research project. But we’ve called and e-mailed each other, and she’s texted me pictures of herself on top of some cliff. (Wearing a hideous blue anorak instead of the cool faux fur jacket I got her. Honestly.)
“I’m going back to the office now,” Luke is saying into the phone. “And Becky’s off shopping. Do you want a word?”
“Shh!” I hiss in horror. He knows he’s not supposed to mention the word shopping to Jess. Making a face at him, I take the phone and put it to my ear. “Hi, Jess! How’s it going?”
“It’s great!” She sounds all distant and crackly. “I was just calling to hear how the scan went.”
I can’t help feeling touched at her remembering. She’s probably hanging by a rope in some crevasse somewhere, chipping away at the rock face, but she still took the trouble to call.
“Everything looks fine!”
“Yes, Luke said. Thank goodness for that.” I can hear the relief in Jess’s voice. I know she feels guilty about me falling off the mountain, because I’d gone up there looking for her, because—
Anyway, it’s a long story. The point is, the baby’s OK.
“So, Luke says you’re going shopping?”
“Just some essentials for the baby,” I say casually. “Some…er…recycled nappies. From the thrift shop.” I can see Luke laughing at me, and hastily turn away.
The thing about my sister Jess is, she doesn’t like shopping or spending money or ruining the earth with evil consumerism. And she thinks I don’t either. She thinks I’ve followed her lead and embraced frugality.
I did embrace it for about a week. I ordered a big sack of oats, and I bought some clothes from Oxfam and I made lentil soup. But the trouble with being frugal is, it gets so boring. You get sick of soup, and not buying magazines because they’re a waste of money, and sticking bits of soap together to make one big revolting lump. And the oats were getting in the way of Luke’s golf clubs, so in the end I chucked them out and bought some Weetabix instead.
Only I can’t tell Jess, because it’ll ruin our lovely sisterly bond.
“Did you see the article about making your own baby wipes?” she’s saying with enthusiasm. “It should be pretty easy. I’ve started saving rags for you. We could do it together.”
“Oh. Um…yes!”
