Authors: Sophie Kinsella
‘Mine! Miiiine!’
She wasn’t supposed to
want
the Naughty Ribbon.
‘Maybe later,’ I say, flustered, and shove it back in my bag. This is all Nanny Sue’s fault. She’s putting me off.
We get in and I buckle Minnie up, and Pete pulls away from the kerb.
‘Rebecca,’ says Nanny Sue pleasantly, ‘if you
do
have errands to do, please don’t feel constrained by me. I’m very happy to go to the shops, or do whatever you would normally do.’
‘This is it!’ I try to sound natural. ‘This is our normal routine! Educational play! Have a snack, darling,’ I add to Minnie, and produce a spelt biscuit which I got from the health-food shop. She looks at it dubiously, licks it, then chucks it on the floor and yells, ‘Muffin! Muffin STARBUCKS!’
My face flames red.
‘Starbucks is … the name of our friend’s cat,’ I improvise desperately. ‘And Muffin is the other cat. Minnie’s such an animal-lover, aren’t you, darling?’
‘Have you seen the great white elephant?’ Pete’s voice comes cheerily from the front. ‘They’ve opened it at last!’
We’ve arrived at the junction where the road joins the dual carriageway, and are sitting in a line of traffic. Suddenly I see what Pete’s pointing at. It’s a massive black and white hoarding, reading:
HEATHFIELD VILLAGE!
NEW LUXURY OUTLET MALL OPENS TODAY!
Wow. They’ve been talking about opening that place for ages. My eyes slide further down the hoarding.
SPECIAL INTRODUCTORY OFFERS TODAY!
FREE GIFT FOR EACH CUSTOMER!
NEXT EXIT!
Free gift for each customer?
I mean, it’s probably nothing to get excited about. It’ll be a tiny scented candle or one single chocolate or something. And the place is probably nothing much either. Anyway, I’m not even
interested
in some new shopping mall, because we haven’t come out to go shopping, have we? We’ve come out to do educational, bonding things.
‘Look at the clouds,’ I say to Minnie, and point out of the opposite window self-consciously. ‘Do you know how clouds are made, darling? It’s with … er … water.’
Do I mean water vapour? Or steam?
‘Burberry,’ says Pete with interest. ‘Now, that’s good-quality stuff. My son-in-law, he gets all the fakes from Hong Kong, and he says—’
Burberry?
My head jerks round and I see another massive hoarding – this time listing all the designers in the outlet.
Burberry. Matthew Williamson. Dolce & Gabbana. Oh my God.
Anya Hindmarch. Temperley
Vivienne Westwood?
All at discount prices?
Yards
away?
The taxi edges forward again and I feel a pull of alarm. We’ll be past the exit in a minute. It’ll be too late.
OK, let’s just think this through properly. Let’s be rational. I know we’re supposed to be going to Leatherhead and bouncing around a ball-pit. But the thing is … Nanny Sue said she didn’t mind if we went shopping. She actually
said
it.
Not that I’d buy anything for myself. Obviously. I’m keeping my promise. But this is a brand-new, state-of-the-art discount shopping centre with free gifts. We can’t just
drive past
. It’s … it’s … wrong. It’s ungrateful. It’s against the laws of nature. And I’m allowed to buy things for Minnie, aren’t I? It’s part of the duties of a mother to keep your child clothed.
I glance at the list again. Petit Bateau. Ralph Lauren Girls and Boys. Funky Kid. Baby in Urbe. I feel a bit breathless. This is a no-brainer.
‘You know, I’ve just remembered, I do need to get Minnie some new socks.’ I try to sound off-hand. ‘So we could pop into this new mall instead of the softplay Just an idea. What do you think?’
‘It’s up to you.’ Nanny Sue lifts her hands. ‘Entirely’
‘So, um, Pete, could you take us to the outlet mall instead?’ I raise my voice. ‘Thanks so much!’
‘Better clear my boot then, hadn’t I?’ He turns and flashes a grin at me. ‘Ready for all the bags.’
I smile weakly back. I’ll tell Nanny Sue later that he has a really quirky sense of humour.
‘Are you fond of shopping then, Rebecca?’ says Nanny Sue pleasantly.
I pause as though trying to think this over.
‘Not fond,’
I say eventually.
‘I
wouldn’t say
fond
. I mean, it’s got to be done, hasn’t it? Keeping the store cupboard full.’ I shrug ruefully. ‘It’s a necessary chore for any responsible mother.’
We pull up at the main entrance, which has massive glass doors leading into a huge airy atrium. There are palm trees and a water feature crashing down a steel wall and as we enter I can already see Valentino and Jimmy Choo glinting at me in the distance. The air is filled with the smell of cinnamon pastries and cappuccino machines firing up, mingled with expensive leather and designer scents and just …
newness
.
‘So where do you need to go?’ says Nanny Sue, looking around. ‘It was socks, wasn’t it?’
‘I … um …’
I can’t quite think straight. Mulberry is straight ahead and I’ve just seen the most amazing bag in the window. ‘Um …’ I force myself to focus. ‘Yes. Socks.’
Children’s socks.
Not
Valentino.
Not
Jimmy Choo.
Not
Mulberry. Oh God, I wonder how much that bag is …
Stop it. Don’t look. I’m not buying anything for myself. I’m not even thinking about it.
‘Mine! Miiiine dolly!’ Minnie’s voice jerks me back to the present. She’s standing outside Gucci, pointing to a mannequin.
‘It’s not a dolly, darling, it’s a mannequin! Come on.’ Firmly I take her hand and lead her towards the mall guide. ‘We’re going to get you some socks.’
We head towards the Kids’ Zone, which is where all the children’s stores are clustered. There’s a clown greeting customers, and stalls laden with toys, and the whole area feels like a fairground.
‘Book!’ Minnie has immediately made a beeline for one of the stalls and grabbed a big pink book with fairies on the front. ‘Mine book.’
Ha! I glance smugly at Nanny Sue. My daughter went for the educational book, not the trashy plastic!
‘Of course you can buy a book, Minnie,’ I say loudly. ‘We’ll take it out of your pocket money. I’m teaching Minnie financial planning,’ I add to Nanny Sue. ‘I write down all her pocket-money expenditure.’
I take out my little pink Smythson notebook with ‘Minnie’s Pocket Money’ on the front. (I had it printed especially. It was quite expensive, but then, it’s an investment in my daughter’s financial responsibility.)
‘Man!’ Minnie has grabbed a puppet in addition to the book. ‘Mine man! Miiiine!’
‘Er …’ I look doubtfully at the puppet. It is quite sweet, and we don’t have any puppets. ‘Well, OK. As long as you get it out of your pocket money. Do you understand, darling?’ I speak super-clearly. ‘It has to come out of your
pocket money.’
‘Goodness!’ says Nanny Sue as we head to the till. ‘How much pocket money does Minnie get?’
‘Fifty pence a week,’ I reply, reaching for my purse. ‘But we have a system where she can have an advance and pay it back. It teaches her budgeting.’
‘I don’t understand,’ persists Nanny Sue. ‘In what sense is she budgeting?’
Honestly. She’s quite slow, for a so-called expert.
‘Because it all goes in the
book.’
I scribble down the cost of the book and the puppet, slap the notebook shut and beam at Minnie. ‘Let’s find you some socks, darling.’
God, I love Funky Kid. They change their décor each season, and today the whole place is done up like a barn, with wooden beams and bales of fake straw. It has fantastic clothes for kids, like quirky knitted cardigans with hoods, and padded coats with appliqué patches. I find some adorable socks with cherries and bananas round the hems, half price at £4.99, and put two pairs of each into my basket.
‘There,’ says Nanny Sue briskly. ‘Well done. Shall we go to the check-out?’
I don’t reply. I’ve been distracted by a rail of little pinafores. I remember these from the catalogue. They’re mint-green needlecord, with a white cross-stitch border. They’re absolutely gorgeous, and they’re 70 per cent off! I quickly look through the rails – but there aren’t any in age 2–3. Of course there aren’t. They’ve been snapped up. Damn.
‘Excuse me?’ I ask a passing sales assistant. ‘Do you have any of these in size 2–3?’
At once she makes a face. ‘Sorry. I don’t think we’ve got any in that size. It’s so popular.’
‘Does Minnie need a pinafore?’ enquires Nanny Sue, coming up behind me.
I’m getting a bit sick of Nanny Sue and her pointless questions.
‘They’re tremendously good value,’ I say smoothly. ‘I always think as a responsible parent you should look for bargains, don’t you agree, Nanny Sue? In fact …’ A sudden inspiration has come to me. ‘I think I’ll stock up for next year.’
I grab a pinafore in age 3-4. Perfect! Why didn’t I think of that before? I take a red pinafore too, and head towards a rack of pale-pink raincoats with flower hoods. They don’t have any small sizes at all – but I find a size 7–8. I mean, Minnie will need a coat when she’s seven, won’t she?
And there’s a really lovely velvet jacket, age 12, only £20, down from £120! It would be a
total
mistake not to get it.
I can’t believe how far-sighted I’m being as I fill my basket with more and more clothes. I’ve practically bought all Minnie’s key pieces for the next ten years, at rock-bottom prices! I won’t need to buy her anything else!
As I pay for the lot I feel a glow of self-satisfaction. I must have saved
hundreds
.
‘Well!’ Nanny Sue seems a bit lost for words as the assistant hands me three huge bags. ‘You bought a lot more than a pair of socks!’
‘Just thinking ahead.’ I adopt a wise, motherly tone. ‘Children grow so quickly, you have to be prepared. Shall we go and get a coffee?’
‘Starbucks?’ chimes in Minnie at once. She’s been watching me attentively, and has insisted on wearing the age 7–8 pale-pink raincoat, even though it’s trailing on the floor. ‘Starbucks-muffin?’
‘We might just have to go to a chain coffee shop.’ I try to sound regretful. ‘They may not have an organic health-food cooperative.’
I consult the map – and to get to the food court we’re going to have to walk past all the designer shops. Which is fine. I’ll be fine. I just won’t look in the windows.
As the three of us start walking along, my eyes are focused straight ahead, on that pointy metal modern sculpture hanging down from the ceiling. It’s fine. It’s good. Actually, I’ve got
used
to not shopping. I barely miss it at all …
Oh my God, it’s that Burberry coat with the frills that was on the catwalk. Right there in the window. I wonder how much …
No. Keep walking, Becky.
Don’t look
. I close my eyes until they’re two squinty slits. Yes. This is good. If I can’t actually
see
the shops—
‘Are you all right?’ Nanny Sue suddenly notices me. ‘Rebecca, are you
ill?’
‘I’m fine!’ My voice sounds a bit strangled. It’s been so long since I shopped. I can feel a kind of pressure building up inside me; a kind of bubbling desperation.
But I have to ignore it. I promised Luke. I promised.
Think about something else. Yes. Like when I did that labour class and they said you breathe to distract yourself from the pain. I’ll breathe to distract myself from the shopping.
Breathe in … breathe out … breathe in … oh my God, it’s a Temperley dress.
My legs have stopped dead. It’s a white and gold Temperley evening dress, in a shop called Fifty Percent Frocks. It has stunning embroidery around the neck and it sweeps to the floor and it looks like something straight off the red carpet. And it has a sign by it, saying ‘Extra 20% off today’.
My fingers are gripped round my shopping bags as I stare through the window.
I can’t buy this dress. I musn’t even look at it.
But somehow … I can’t move, either. My feet are rooted to the polished marble floor.
‘Rebecca?’ Nanny Sue has come to a halt. She peers in at the dress and clicks her tongue disapprovingly. ‘These dresses are terribly expensive, aren’t they? Even on sale.’
Is that all she can say? This is the most beautiful dress in the world, and it’s a fraction of its full price and if I hadn’t made that
stupid
promise to Luke …
Oh my God. I have the answer. In fact, this could be the answer to a lot of things.
‘Minnie.’ Abruptly I turn to her. ‘My lovely, precious little girl.’ I bend down and cradle her face tenderly between my hands. ‘Darling … would you like a Temperley dress for your twenty-first birthday present?’
Minnie doesn’t answer, which is only because she doesn’t understand what I’m offering her. Who wouldn’t want a Temperley dress for their twenty-first? And by the time she’s twenty-one it’ll be a rare vintage piece! All her friends will be really envious! They’ll all say, ‘God, Minnie, I wish my mother had bought
me
a dress when I was two.’ People will call her The Girl in the Vintage Temperley Dress.
And I could borrow it for Luke’s party. Just to try it out for her.
‘Muffin?’ Minnie says hopefully.
‘Dress,’ I say firmly. ‘This is for
you
, Minnie! This is your birthday present!’ Firmly I lead her into the shop, ignoring Nanny Sue’s startled look. It takes me ten seconds to sweep the place and realize the Temperley dress is the best thing they’ve got. I
knew
it was a bargain.
‘Hi!’ I say breathlessly to the assistant. ‘I’d like the Temperley dress, please. At least … it’s for my daughter. I’m buying it in advance, obviously,’ I add, with a little laugh. ‘For her twenty-first.’
The assistant stares at Minnie. She looks at me. Then she looks at her colleague as though for help.
‘I’m sure she’ll be the same dress size as me when she grows up,’ I add. ‘So I’ll try it on for her. Do you like the lovely dress, Minnie?’
‘No dress.’ Her brows knit together in a frown.
‘Darling, it’s
Temperley.’
I hold the fabric up to show her. ‘You’ll look gorgeous in it! One day.’