Authors: Sophie Kinsella
‘No dress!’ She runs to the other side of the shop and starts climbing into an open stock drawer.
‘Minnie!’ I exclaim. ‘Get out! So sorry …’ I add over my shoulder to the assistant.
‘Muffin!’ she yells as I try to manhandle her out. ‘Want muffin!’
‘We’ll have a muffin after we’ve got the
dress,’
I say soothingly. ‘It’ll take no time—’
‘No
dress!’ Somehow she extricates herself from my grasp and scampers into the window display. ‘Dolly! Mine dolly!’
Now she’s grabbing a naked mannequin.
‘Minnie, please stop that, darling.’ I try not to sound as rattled as I feel. ‘Come back here!’
‘Mine dolly!’ She drags the whole mannequin down off its podium on to the floor with a crash and starts hugging it. ‘Miiiine!’
‘Get off, Minnie!’ I say. ‘It’s not a dolly! She thinks it’s a doll,’ I add to the assistant, aiming for a light-hearted laugh. ‘Aren’t children funny?’
The assistant doesn’t laugh back, or even smile.
‘Could you get her off, please?’ she says.
‘Of course! Sorry …’ Red-faced, I try to pull Minnie off as hard as I can. But she’s holding on like a limpet.
‘Come on, Minnie!’ I try to sound relaxed and cajoling. ‘Come on, sweetheart. Off you get.’
‘No!’ she shrieks. ‘Mine dolleee!’
‘What’s going on?’ snaps someone behind me. ‘What’s that child doing? Can’t someone control her?’
My stomach curdles. I know that whiny, toxic voice. I whip round – and sure enough, it’s the elf who banned us from Santa’s Grotto. She’s still got purple nails and a ridiculous permatanned cleavage, but now she’s dressed in a black suit with a badge reading ‘Assistant Manager’.
‘You!’
Her eyes narrow.
‘Oh, hi,’ I say nervously. ‘Nice to see you again. How’s Father Christmas?’
‘Could you please remove your child?’ she says in pointed tones.
‘Er … OK. No problem.’
I look at Minnie, still clinging on to the mannequin for dear life. The only way I’m going to get her away is by peeling each finger off individually. I’m going to need ten hands.
‘Could we possibly … buy the mannequin?’
From Permatanned Elf’s expression, I wish I hadn’t asked that question.
‘Come on, Minnie. Off you get.’ I try to sound brisk and jolly, like a mother in a soap-powder commercial. ‘Bye-bye, dolly!’
‘Noooooooooo!’ She clasps it harder.
‘Get off!’ With all my effort I manage to prise one hand off, but she immediately clamps it back down.
‘Miiiiine!’
‘Get your daughter off that mannequin!’ snaps the elf. ‘Customers are coming in! Get her off!’
‘I’m trying!’ I say desperately. ‘Minnie, I’ll buy you a dolly. I’ll buy you
two
dollies!’
A group of girls holding shopping bags have stopped to watch us, and one starts giggling.
‘Minnie, you will have a Naughty Ribbon!’ I’m totally hot and flustered. ‘And you’ll go on the Naughty Step! And you won’t have any treats ever! And Father Christmas will move to Mars and so will the Tooth Fairy …’ I grab her feet but she kicks me in the shin. ‘Ow! Minnie!’
‘Dolleee!’ she wails.
‘You know what?’ The elf suddenly savagely erupts. ‘Take the mannequin! Just have the bloody mannequin!’
‘Have it?’ I stare at her, bewildered.
‘Yes! Anything! Just go! GO! OUT!’
Minnie is still lying full-length on the mannequin, gripping on to it for dear life. Awkwardly I pick it up with both hands, dragging it along between my legs as if it’s a dead body. Somehow, panting with effort, I manage to lug it outside – then drop it and look up.
Nanny Sue has followed us out with my three shopping bags. Now she’s just watching me and Minnie silently, her face unreadable.
And suddenly it’s as if I come out of a trance. Suddenly I see everything that has just happened through Nanny Sue’s eyes. I swallow several times, trying to think of some light-hearted comment about ‘Kids, eh?’ But I can’t think of one, and anyway, my mouth is too dry with nerves. How could I have let this happen? No one on the TV series ever got chucked out of a shop. I’m
worse
than all the families with fridges in the garden.
What’s she going to say in her assessment? What will she tell Luke? What will she recommend?
‘Have you finished shopping now?’ she says in normal, pleasant tones, as if we aren’t being stared at by every passer-by.
I nod silently, my face burning.
‘Minnie,’ says Nanny Sue. ‘I think you’re hurting the poor dolly. Shall we get off her now and buy you a nice snack? We can buy one for dolly too.’
Minnie swivels her head and looks mistrustfully at Nanny Sue for a few moments – then clambers off the mannequin.
‘Good girl,’ says Nanny Sue. ‘We’ll leave the dolly here at her own home.’ She hefts the mannequin up and props it against the door. ‘Now, let’s find you a drink. Say “Yes, Nanny Sue.” ‘
‘Ess Nanny Sue,’ parrots Minnie obediently.
Huh? How did she do that?
‘Rebecca, are you coming?’
Somehow I manage to get my legs in gear and start walking along with them. Nanny Sue starts talking but I can’t hear a word. I’m too sick with dread. She’s going to file her report and say Minnie needs special treatment at a boot camp. I know she is. And Luke will listen to her. What am I going to do?
By nine o’clock that night I’m in a total state, pacing around the house, waiting for Luke to get back.
This is the worst moment in our marriage. Ever. By a million miles. Because if it comes to it, I
will
be forced to take Minnie away to a safe refuge and never see Luke again and change our names by deed poll and try to forget through alcohol and drugs.
You know. Worst-case scenario.
At the sound of his key in the door I stiffen.
‘Becky?’ He appears at the kitchen door. ‘I was expecting you to phone! How did it go?’
‘Fine! We went shopping and we … er … had coffee.’ I sound totally false and stiff, but Luke doesn’t seem to notice, which just shows how observant
he
is.
‘So, what did she say about Minnie?’
‘Not a lot. You know. I expect she’ll report back later. When she’s come to her conclusions.’
‘Hmm.’ Luke nods, loosening his tie. He heads to the fridge, then pauses by the table. ‘Your BlackBerry’s flashing.’
‘Oh, is it?’ I say with stagey surprise. ‘Gosh. I must have a message! Could you listen to it? I’m sooo tired.’
‘If you like.’ Luke shoots me an odd look, picks it up and dials voicemail while taking a bottle of beer out of the fridge.
‘It’s her.’ He looks up, suddenly alert. ‘It’s Nanny Sue.’
‘Really?’ I try to sound astounded. ‘Well … put her on speaker phone!’
As the familiar West Country vowels fill the kitchen we both listen, motionless.
‘… full report to come. But I just had to say, Minnie is an enchanting child. It was a pleasure to spend time with her and your wife. Becky’s parenting skills are second to none and I can diagnose no problems in your family whatsoever. Well done! Goodbye now.’
‘Wow!’ I exclaim as the phone goes dead. ‘Isn’t that amazing! Now we can put this whole episode behind us and get on with our lives.’
Luke hasn’t yet moved a muscle. Now he just turns and gives me a long, hard look.
‘Becky.’
‘Yes?’ I flash him a nervous smile.
‘Was that by any chance Janice, putting on a West Country accent?’
What?
How can he even
say
that?
I mean, OK, it
was
Janice, but she disguised her voice perfectly. I was really impressed.
‘No!’ I bluster. ‘It was Nanny Sue, and I’m really offended you should have to ask.’
‘Great. Well, I’ll give her a ring to chat about it.’ He pulls out his own BlackBerry
‘No, don’t!’ I yelp.
Why is he so
mistrustful?
It’s a massive character flaw. I’ll tell him so, one of these days.
‘You’ll disturb her,’ I improvise. ‘It’s really antisocial to ring so late.’
‘That’s your sole concern, is it?’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘Being antisocial?’
‘Yes,’ I say defiantly. ‘Of course.’
‘Well, then I’ll email her.’
Oh God. This isn’t going the way I planned. I thought I’d buy myself some time, at least.
‘OK, OK! It was Janice,’ I say desperately as he starts tapping. ‘But I didn’t have any choice! Luke, it was terrible. It was a disaster. Minnie got banned from a shop and she stole a mannequin and Nanny Sue didn’t say anything, just gave us that
look
, and I know what she’s going to recommend, but I can’t send Minnie away to some boot camp in Utah, I just can’t do it. And if you make me then I’ll have to take out an injunction and we’ll go to court and it’ll be like
Kramer vs. Kramer
and she’ll be scarred for life and it’ll be all your fault!’
Out of nowhere, tears have begun pouring down my cheeks.
‘What?’ Luke stares at me incredulously.
‘Utah?’
‘Or Arizona. Or wherever it is. I can’t do it, Luke.’ I scrub at my eyes, feeling exactly like Meryl Streep. ‘Don’t ask it of me.’
‘I’m
not
asking it of you! Jesus!’ He seems absolutely stunned. ‘Who mentioned Utah, for fuck’s sake?’
‘I … er …’ I’m not quite sure now. I know
someone
did.
‘I hired this woman because I thought she could give us some childcare advice. If she’s useful we’ll use her. If not, we won’t.’
Luke sounds so matter-of-fact, I blink at him in surprise.
He’s never seen the TV programme, I suddenly remember. He doesn’t know about how Nanny Sue comes into your life and changes everything and you end up sobbing on her shoulder.
‘I believe in listening to professionals,’ Luke is saying calmly. ‘Now she’s seen Minnie, we should hear her recommendations. But that’s as far as it goes. Agreed?’
How can he take a situation that seems like a great big tangled spider’s web and reduce it to a single thread? How does he
do
that?
‘I can’t send Minnie away.’ My voice is still shaky. ‘You’ll have to prise us apart.’
‘Becky, there’ll be no prising,’ says Luke patiently. ‘We’ll ask Nanny Sue what we can do that doesn’t involve sending her away. OK? Drama over?’
I feel a bit wrong-footed. To be honest, I was all ready for a bit
more
drama.
‘OK,’ I say at last.
Luke opens his beer and grins at me. Then he frowns, puzzled. ‘What’s this?’ He unpeels a place card from the bottom of the bottle. ‘ “Happy Birthday Mike”. Who’s Mike?’
Shit. How did that get there?
‘No idea!’ I grab it from him and hastily crumple it. ‘Weird. Must have got picked up at the shop. Shall we … er … watch TV?’
The advantage of having the house to ourselves is we don’t have to watch snooker all the time any more. Or real-life crime. Or documentaries about the Cold War. We’re snuggled up on the sofa with the gas fire flickering away, and Luke is flipping through the channels, when suddenly he pauses and turns to me.
‘Becky … you don’t
really
think I would ever send Minnie away, do you? I mean, is that the kind of father you think I am?’
He looks quite perturbed and I feel a bit guilty. The truth is, I did.
‘Er …’ My phone rings before I can answer. ‘It’s Suze,’ I say apprehensively. ‘I’d better just get this …’ I head swiftly out of the room and take a deep breath. ‘Hi, Suze?’
I’ve texted Suze several times since our mini-row but we haven’t spoken. Is she still angry with me? Do I dare bring up the special shortbread thing?
‘Have you seen
Style Central?’
Her voice blasts down the line, taking me by surprise. ‘Have you
seen
it? I’ve just had a copy biked round. I couldn’t believe my
eyes.’
‘What? Oh, you mean Tarkie’s interview? Does it look good? Danny said Tarquin was really experimental—’
‘Experimental? Is
that
what he calls it? Interesting choice of word. I could have chosen a better one.’
There’s a weird, sarcastic edge to Suze’s voice. What’s up? Suze is never sarcastic.
‘Suze … are you OK?’ I say nervously.
‘No, I’m not OK! I should never have let Tarkie go to that photoshoot without me! I should never have trusted Danny. What was I
thinking?
Where were Tarkie’s advisers? Who edited the photospread? Because whoever it was, I’m suing them—’
‘Suze!’ I try to interrupt the stream of words. ‘Tell me. What’s wrong?’
‘They dressed Tarkie up in leather bondage gear!’ she erupts. ‘That’s what’s wrong! He looks like a gay model!’
Oh God. The thing about Tarquin is, he can look a bit … metrosexual. And Suze is quite sensitive about it.
‘Come on, Suze,’ I say soothingly. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t look gay …’
‘Yes he does! And it’s deliberate! They haven’t even
mentioned
that he’s married or has children! It’s all about sexy Lord Tarquin with his “honed pecs” and “what’s under his kilt?” And they’ve used all kinds of suggestive props …’ I can practically hear her shudder. ‘I’m going to kill Danny. Kill him!’
She must be overreacting. But then, Suze can get quite mother-tiger-ish about anyone she loves.
‘I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think …’ I begin.
‘Oh, you think?’ she says furiously. ‘Well, you wait till you see it! And I don’t know why you’re defending him, Bex. He’s screwed you over, too.’
I think Suze must be going a bit deranged. How on earth could Danny have screwed me over in an interview about his new collection?
‘OK, Suze,’ I say patiently. ‘How has Danny screwed me over?’
‘Luke’s party. He’s blabbed.’
I have never moved as fast as I do now. Within thirty seconds I’m upstairs and online, clicking feverishly till I get to the right page. And there it is, right under the moody black and white photo of Tarkie chopping logs in a tight white T-shirt with his kilt slung almost obscenely low. (He does have good abs, Tarkie. I never realized.)
‘Kovitz is in talks to launch a furniture line and lifestyle website,’ reads the interview. ‘Does this fashion whirlwind ever have any downtime? “Sure,” laughs Kovitz. “I like to party. I’m heading to Goa for a couple weeks then I’m coming back for a surprise party. Actually, it’s for Luke Brandon, the husband of Rebecca Brandon, who brought this whole collaboration together.” Thus the fashion world comes full circle.’