Mini Shopaholic (39 page)

‘Boom?’
echoes Luke dubiously.

Why is he looking so reluctant? He should be
pleased
. I mean, if you knew how many times …

Anyway. Not relevant, right now.

‘Boom,’ I say firmly. ‘So … come on!’

Why isn’t he moving? Why is he crumpling his brow and sitting on the edge of the bath and looking as though some deep problem has occurred to him?

‘Becky,’ he says at last. ‘I don’t feel comfortable aiming for one particular sex of baby or another. I love Minnie. I’d
love
another Minnie. And if you feel in any way that I’ve been hankering for a son—’

‘No! I don’t think that!’ I say hurriedly. ‘It’s just … why not? And later on we can try for a girl! Even it up!’

Even
I
can tell I’m making no sense, but luckily Luke is used to that.

‘Bath’s ready!’ I rip off my top. ‘Come on!’

OK, so I don’t feel it necessary to go into the details of what happens next. And anyway, there hardly
are
any details. Except we start off in the bath and end up in the shower and we still only take fourteen minutes, and Luke has no idea I’m subtly chivvying him along.

Well, to be honest, I kind of forgot about the chivvying, once we got down to it. Or to put it another way, we were both chivvying each other along. I don’t want to boast, but I reckon we could have got an Olympic medal in the ‘underwater pairs formation’, maybe. Or the ‘synchronized freestyle programme’. Or the …

Oh. OK then. Moving on.

The point is, what a fab way to start the evening. I feel so glowy I won’t even need blusher! And if we get dressed and leave right now …

‘Want something to eat?’

As I head into the living room, hastily drying myself, Luke is back in his robe, lolling on the sofa.

‘Have a look at these.’ He gestures at the platter on the table. ‘Fashion cakes.’

Fashion
cakes?

In spite of myself, I have to hurry over – and I can’t help gasping in delight. It’s a whole plate of dinky little cakes in the shape of shoes and bags.

‘Each one is inspired by a different fashion item.’ Luke looks pleased. ‘I thought you’d like them. Have one.’ He hands me an iced over-the-knee boot.

It’s scrummy. I almost want to cry. This is the most perfect evening, and I’ve got to drag him away from it …

Maybe I’ll just have one more cake.

‘More champagne?’ Now he’s refilling my glass.

And one more glass of champagne. Just a quick one.

‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ Luke pulls me against him and I nestle into his chest, feeling lulled into relaxation; feeling his heart beat against my skin. ‘This has been quite a day.’

‘I couldn’t agree more.’ I take a deep gulp of champagne.

‘Losing all my technology has been weirdly liberating. I’ve been forty-eight hours now without emails or internet or even a proper phone. And you know what? I’ve survived.’

‘I knew it.’ I turn my head to look at him. ‘I think you should have a BlackBerry-free day every week. It’d be good for your health.’

‘Maybe I will,’ says Luke, his hand edging up the inside of my leg again. ‘Maybe we’ll come
here
every week. That would be great for my health.’

‘Yes, definitely!’ I giggle. ‘Here’s to that!’ As I lift my champagne glass my own BlackBerry rings, and I stiffen.

‘Ignore it,’ says Luke comfortably.

‘But it’s Mum,’ I say quickly, glancing at the display as I grab it. ‘It might be about Minnie. I’d better get it … Hello?’

‘Becky!’ Mum’s voice is so high-pitched and anxious, I jump. ‘Janice has just seen a traffic alert! Terrible snarl-up on the A3. How are you doing? Have you left yet?’

I feel a jolt of panic.

Oh God. What I am
doing
, drinking champagne and eating cakes? I glance at Luke. He’s lying back on the sofa in his robe, his eyes closed. He looks like he could stay there all night.

‘Er, not yet …’

‘Well, I’d get cracking, love! You don’t want to get stuck!’

‘I will! We’re on our way. See you soon.’

‘What’s up?’ Luke opens one eye as I put down the BlackBerry. I have about ten seconds to think of a fully fledged, convincing story.

OK. Got it.

‘Luke, we need to go, right now,’ I say urgently. ‘Minnie’s hysterical because neither of us kissed her goodnight. So we need to go back to Oxshott, kiss her goodnight, make sure she’s settled and come back. Quick! Get dressed!’ I’m already pulling on my underwear.

‘Go
back?’
Luke hauls himself to a sitting position and peers at me. ‘Becky, are you crazy? We’re not going back!’

‘Minnie’s in a terrible state! Mum said she was going to make herself ill. We can’t just leave her!’

‘She’ll be fine. She’ll fall asleep and she’ll be fine.’ He calmly takes a sip of champagne and I feel a stab of indignation. I mean, OK, so Minnie isn’t really in a state, but what if she was?

‘How can you say that? She’s our child!’

‘And we’re having a night off! It’s not a crime, Becky. If we go back to Oxshott I guarantee she’ll be asleep before we even get there.’

‘But I won’t be able to relax! I won’t be able to enjoy myself! How can I sit here and drink champagne when my little girl’s having …’ My mind roams wildly. ‘… convulsions?’

‘Convulsions?’

‘Mum said she was seriously worried for Minnie’s health. She said she’d never seen anything like it.’ I stare defiantly at Luke. ‘I’m going, even if you’re not!’

For a frozen moment I’m petrified he might say, ‘Fine, you go, see you later.’ But at last he puts his glass down heavily and sighs.

‘Fine. Whatever. We’ll go and kiss her goodnight.’

‘Great! Perfect!’ I can’t hide my relief. ‘It’s still early, we can still have a good evening. Let’s take the cakes and the champagne,’ I add casually. ‘Just in case we’re hungry on the way.’

No
way
am I leaving those gorgeous little cakes behind. And as soon as I’m dressed I hurry into the bathroom and scoop all the toiletries into my bag. I’m not leaving those behind either.

I’m just about ready to go and Luke is putting on his overcoat when my BlackBerry bleeps with a text.

R u on way to Oxshott yet? All looks fab here and everything in place!!!!! Suze.

Nearly!
I text back.
C u soon!!!!!

As we travel down in the lift I smile nervously at Luke. It’s suddenly hit me. We’re nearly there! It’s nearly his surprise! After all this time, all this planning …

Excitement suddenly rushes up through me like a glittering firework and I can’t help giving him a hug. ‘All right?’

‘I suppose so.’ He raises his eyebrows wryly. ‘We’d better be getting special parenting angel points for this somewhere.’

‘I’m sure we will.’ Somehow I manage a normal-ish voice –but I can hardly contain myself. This is it! In less than an hour we’re going to arrive and Luke’s face is going to drop and he’s going to be so blown away he can’t even
speak …

I hurry him out of the lifts and into the foyer. My legs feel light; my whole body is fizzing with anticipation.

‘You check how long the bar’s open,’ I improvise. ‘I’ll see if I can hail a cab.’

I’ve got a car service waiting outside. I’ll pretend I just found it on the street.

‘Luke? Luke Brandon?’

A balding businessman leaning against the concierge’s desk has looked up. He’s had quite a few drinks, I instantly realize from his bloodshot eyes.

‘Oh. Hello, Don.’ Luke smiles briefly. ‘How are you? Donald Lister from Alderbury Consulting,’ he introduces him. ‘This is my wife, Becky.’

A delighted realization is dawning on the man’s flushed face.

‘Wait a minute. Shit! Luke Brandon! It’s you!’ He points at Luke as though he’s won the prize and is claiming his ten quid. ‘Bloody hell! Happy birthday, old man! So how was it?’

The world goes blurry for an instant.

OK, we have to leave. Now. Trying not to give away my panic, I put my arm through Luke’s and tug gently, but he doesn’t move.

‘Good, thanks.’ Luke gives a polite, surprised smile. ‘How on earth did you know?’

‘Are you kidding?
Everyone’s
been—’ The man breaks off as he sees my face. ‘Shit.’ He gives an awkward guffaw. ‘Haven’t given the game away, have I?’

I want to say something quick and sharp that will neutralize him, I want to rewind, I want to smother this stupid man, get rid of him, go
away
—

‘Is it the bash tonight?’ The man claps a hand over his mouth. ‘Were you on your way— Oh bugger.’

I want to launch myself at him like a tigress and rip his head off with my teeth. Shut up, shut UP.

‘Sorry, sorry! Didn’t say anything.’ He pats the air a few times as though to bury his words, then hastily heads away across the marble floor.

But he can’t bury his words. They’re out there, like flying ants wheeling in the air.

For the first time ever, I wish I were married to some stupid, unperceptive, Neanderthal-type moron.

But Luke’s no moron. And I know him too well. He might look impassive to a stranger, but I could see his mind crunching. I could see exactly when the truth landed. Now his face is carefully blank but it’s there in his eyes. He turns and smiles.

‘Well … I’ve got no idea what
that
was all about,’ he says, his voice a little too hearty.

He knows.

I feel numb.

TWENTY-ONE

During the long taxi ride we hardly talk. At first I try to keep up a jolly façade but everything I say sounds false and hollow to my own ears. We turn off towards Oxshott and we’re nearly there and I should be bubbling with excitement – but it’s not like I planned at all.

A sudden tear rolls down my cheek and I brush it away quickly before Luke can see.

‘Becky …’ Luke sounds agonized.

Great. He did see. Even my own stupid
body
is giving it all away.

For a moment we just stare at each other and it’s as though marital telepathy is finally kicking in between us. I know what he thinks. I know what he feels. He’d give anything to rewind; he’d give anything not to know. But he can’t un-know.

‘Becky …’ Luke looks tortured as he scans my face. ‘Please …’

‘It’s fine. I just …’

‘I don’t …’

Everything we say is meaningless half-sentences. It’s like neither of us can risk edging near the truth. Then suddenly Luke seems to come to a decision and pulls me close.

‘I’ll be surprised,’ he says in an intense, low voice. ‘I will. I don’t know anything. If you knew how touched …’ He breaks off, breathing hard. ‘Becky, please don’t be upset …’ He grabs my hands and crushes them so tight I wince.

I can’t speak. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.

‘We’ll be there soon.’ I wipe my eyes at last and check my make-up. Suze is all primed with my dress, and Danny is in charge of Luke’s outfit too.

It’s fine, I tell myself sternly. Even if it’s not exactly what I planned, it’s fine. Luke’s here, I’m here, he’s going to have his party and it’s going to be fabulous.

‘Happy birthday, darling,’ I murmur as the taxi pulls into Janice’s drive, and squeeze Luke’s hand.

‘What? Why are we pulling in
here
?’

Luke is heroically trying to sound like the most astonished person in the world. I wish he wouldn’t. He’s not very good at it.

‘Get out …’ I flash him a smile – and even though I know he knows, I can feel the excitement fizzing up again. I mean, he doesn’t know
everything
. I pay the taxi driver and lead Luke through Janice’s darkened house. The catering staff are either hiding in the kitchen or already in the marquee, but even so, I don’t dare turn on the lights.

Ow. I just bumped my hip on Janice’s stupid table. Why does she have
tables
everywhere?

‘OK, outside …’ I push him forward, through the French windows into the garden. There’s the marquee, all decorated with twinkly fairy lights and lit up inside – yet completely silent as though two hundred people aren’t gathered inside.

‘Becky …’ Luke stops dead and stares. ‘I can’t believe this. I can’t
believe
what you’ve … Did you arrange all this yourself?’

‘Come on!’

I drag him along the matting to the entrance, my heart suddenly racing. They’d better all be there.

Of course they’re there.

I take a deep breath – then pull open the flap to the marquee.

‘SURPRISE!!’

The noise is phenomenal. A massive throng of lit-up faces is turned towards us. I recognize only some of them. Janice is near the front, in her Mrs Bennet dress, and Jess is in the most amazing sculptured black sheath, with dramatic make-up to match. As I look around the marquee I can’t help a twinge of pride. Fairy lights are strung up and silver balloons are bobbing with ‘Happy Birthday Luke’ printed in the Brandon Communications logo font. All around the marquee are glossy mock promotional posters and blown-up newspapers, each with a different headline and story about Luke Brandon. (I wrote them all myself.) The pièce de résistance is a massive back-lit graph, just like the ones they produce for Brandon C press launches. It shows pictures of Luke every year, from a baby right up to adulthood, and is headlined: ‘Luke – a Bumper Year’.

And right above our head, all around, are my pom-poms. We strung fairy lights through them and hung them in garlands – and they look
amazing
.

‘Happy birthday to you …’ Someone launches into singing and the crowd follows lustily.

I dart a glance at Luke.

‘Wow!’ he exclaims as though on cue. ‘This is such … I had no idea!’

He’s making the hugest effort to look supremely shocked. I have to give him that.

‘For he’s a jolly good fellow …’ the crowd is now singing. Luke keeps spotting faces in the crowd and acknowledging them with waves and smiles, and as soon as the singing finishes, he takes a glass from a waitress and raises it towards the general mêlée.

‘You bastards!’ he says, and there’s a roar of laughter. The little three-piece band in the corner strikes up with some Gershwin, and people surge round Luke, and I watch his face as he greets them.

He wasn’t blown away. He wasn’t speechless with surprise. But then … I knew he wouldn’t be. The minute that guy opened his mouth in the Berkeley Hotel.

‘Becky! This is fantastic!’ A woman from Brandon Communications whose name I’ve forgotten (but I remember that amazing Alexander McQueen dress) descends on me. ‘Did you do all these decorations yourself?’

Erica and her staff are circulating with canapés and I can see Janice approaching a chic blonde girl with a powder compact. For God’s sake. I told her,
no touch-ups
. I have to head her off, quick.

But before I can, a greying man hands me a cocktail and introduces himself as an old colleague of Luke’s and asks me how long it all took to plan, and then his wife (floaty dress, too much lipstick) asks me excitedly if I’ve seen the clips on YouTube, and about fifteen minutes go by and I haven’t done anything except talk to strangers. I don’t even know where Luke is.

There’s a bit of a draught coming through the flaps of the marquee, too, and everyone’s gradually huddling away from the entrance.

‘People! A word if you please.’ Luke’s commanding voice fills the tent and at once all the Brandon Communications people stop talking and stand to attention, as though he’s about to make some company presentation. The others follow suit, and the whole place falls silent with incredible speed.

‘I just want to say … thank you.’ He surveys the crowd of smiling faces. ‘To all of you. I can’t believe so many old friends are here and I look forward to catching up. I can’t believe you all
knew
about this, you devious lot.’ There’s an appreciative laugh around the marquee. ‘And I can’t believe how clever my wife has been.’ He turns to me. ‘Becky, take a bow.’

A spattering of applause breaks out and I dutifully make a little bow.

‘Was it a total surprise, Luke?’ calls out the woman with too much lipstick. ‘Did you have absolutely no idea?’

Luke darts the wariest of glances at me; you’d hardly notice it.

‘Yes, absolutely!’ He sounds a little forced. ‘I had no idea until I stepped into the—’ He breaks off. ‘At least, obviously I suspected
something
when we got into the taxi …’ He stops again and rubs his face awkwardly, and there’s a curious, expectant hush around the tent.

‘Here’s the thing.’ Luke looks up at last, and his usual polished veneer is gone. ‘I don’t want to lie to all of you. I don’t want to put on an act, because this is too important to me. I want to say what I really feel. Someone
did
give the game away earlier on. A little. So yes, I was expecting … something. But you know what? A party like this isn’t about the surprise factor. It’s about someone going to so much trouble that it just … overwhelms you. And you think, “What did I do to deserve this?”’ He pauses, his voice trembling a bit. ‘I am the luckiest man alive, and I’d like to propose a toast. To Becky.’

I’m glancing at my phone. It’s been buzzing with texts throughout and I’ve only had half an ear on Luke’s little speech. But now I look up.

‘OK, Luke.’ I allow myself a smile. ‘You’re wrong. This kind of party is
all
about the surprise factor. Take your drink. Take your coat. And step this way, please. Everyone, if you could collect your coats and follow us …’

Out of nowhere, Daryl, Nicole, Julie and three of their friends have materialized and are efficiently pushing in rails of coats. All the guests are looking at each other, flummoxed. Daryl winks at me – and I wink back. He’s a total star, Daryl. He got in touch a week ago and said he’d really improved on the fire-eating and did I want to audition him again? Whereupon I said no thanks – but there was another little job he could do. All six teenagers are dressed smartly in white shirts and waistcoats, and Nicole’s wearing her Vivienne Westwood shoes, I notice.

Luke hasn’t moved a muscle. He looks utterly gobsmacked.

Ha!

‘Becky …’ He wrinkles his brow. ‘What on earth …’

Ha! Ha!

‘You think
this
is your party?’ I nod at the marquee derisively.

I almost want to skip with glee as I lead him back through Janice’s house to the drive. And they’re here. Right on cue. Four massive coaches, parked outside. They’re jet black and on the side is printed in white:

LUKE’S REAL SURPRISE PARTY.

‘Wh—’

Luke’s jaw has dropped. He seems unable to speak.

Yessssss!

‘In you get,’ I say blithely.

***

I know, I know, I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry.

I
wanted
to. But I was afraid you might blab.

***

The atmosphere in the coach is fantastic. The whole level of festivity seems to have gone up ten notches. I keep hearing snatches of ‘Where are we
going?’
and ‘Did you know?’ and gales of laughter.

And Luke just seems stunned. I’ve never
seen
him so stunned. I must surprise him more often.

‘OK, blindfold on …’ I say as we reach the turning.

‘No.’ He starts to laugh. ‘You can’t be serious!’

‘Blindfold on!’ I lift a mock-stern finger and waggle it at him.

This is quite a power trip, actually. He’s totally under my control. I yank the ends of the blindfold really tight, and peer out of the front of the coach. We’re nearly there!

I text Suze
Five minutes
and immediately get back
OK.
She’s there, waiting for me, along with Mum, Dad, Minnie, Danny and the rest of Team Two.

Oh yes. I had two teams. Well, actually, that was Elinor’s idea.

I know Elinor’s still there too, because Suze sent me a text a few minutes ago saying that Elinor had been checking every last-minute detail fanatically and all the staff were petrified of her.

As we head up the long avenue of trees I can see all the guests peering curiously out of the coach windows and I furiously make a finger-to-lips gesture. Not that Luke would guess, probably. He’s only been to Suze’s new house once.

I say ‘house’. What I mean is, ‘stately home with parkland’.

It was such a last-minute decision to come here. We’d planned to hire a venue, and Elinor was poised to bribe some other event to move (she’s totally ruthless, like a trained assassin), when Suze suddenly said, ‘Wait! What about Letherby Hall?’

I think sometimes Suze actually forgets how many houses she and Tarquin possess. She certainly had no idea how many bedrooms it’s got.

Anyway. Once we’d made
that
decision, everything fell into place. Or at least, was shoved very quickly into place. And it’s the perfect, dreamiest, most romantic setting for a party. I can hear people oohing and aahing behind me as they catch sight of the house, with its two grand wings and central dome and Doric pilasters all over the place. (I know they’re Doric pilasters because Tarkie told me. In fact, I’m quite hoping someone asks me about them.)

There’s a breeze in the air as we all pile out of the coaches and crunch forward over the gravel. The front entrance is open and lit up and I usher everyone in silently, still guiding Luke. We cross the ancient stone floor and soon we’re all assembled, standing in front of the grand double doors to the Great Hall.

I can hear the whispers and giggles and ‘sssh!’s going on behind me. I can feel the anticipation now. I almost feel frightened. This is it. This is the moment.

‘OK.’ My voice shakes a little as I untie his blindfold. ‘Luke … happy birthday.’

As I open the double doors, the gasp behind Luke is like hearing the rush of water. But I’m only looking at his face. It’s ashen.

If I wanted blown away and speechless … then I’ve got it.

He takes a step forward, wonderingly. Then another … then another.

The whole of the Great Hall has been transformed into the stage of that vintage toy theatre he bought for Minnie; the toy theatre of his childhood. All the
Midsummer Night’s Dream
sets have been painstakingly reproduced. There are the same bushes and trees and castle spires, there’s a brook and moss. Little tables and chairs are nestled amongst the foliage. A band is playing low, magical music. Set here and there in the trees, like big flowers, are more of my pom-poms. I can’t help feeling proud. They
do
look good.

‘This is …’ Luke swallows hard. ‘It’s exactly the same as …’

‘I know.’ I grip his hand tight.

This was always my idea. But I could never have done it as spectacularly as this if it weren’t for Elinor.

‘Daddeeeee!’ Minnie comes running out from behind a tree, dressed in the most beautiful, gossamer fairy dress with wings that Danny made for her. ‘Happy! Happy Daddy!’

‘Minnie!’ Luke looks overwhelmed as he scoops her up. ‘Where did you … How did you … Suze! Jane! Graham! Danny!’ He’s turning his head in bewilderment as they all pop out from their hiding places.

‘Happy birthday!’

‘Surprise!’

‘Say something, Luke, love! Give us a little speech!’ I can’t believe Mum’s pointing a camcorder at Luke’s face. She
knows
we’ve hired a professional cameraman.

‘Bonnie?’
Luke looks even more shellshocked as Bonnie emerges from behind the waterfall in a spectacular aquamarine dress, an abashed smile on her face. ‘Please don’t tell me
you
were in on all of this.’

‘Just a little.’

‘This is just … unreal.’ He shakes his head and looks around the magical room again. ‘Who
else
knows it’s my birthday?’