Mini Shopaholic (15 page)

NINE

A week later, I still haven’t decided what to do about Elinor. The truth is, I’ve barely given her a thought, I’ve been so busy. We’ve been deluged by customers wanting to use our secret-shopping service! It’s amazing! The TV news headlines might be all dismal about how the high street is dead and no one’s shopping … but they should come to our department, it’s buzzing!

And I’m even more preoccupied than usual today, because our new Ultimate Nanny is starting.

She’s called Kyla and she’s fab. She has a degree from Harvard and a Masters in childcare, and she’s a qualified teacher in Mandarin and tennis and the flute and the guitar and singing and … something else which I’ve forgotten. The harp, maybe. She originally came over to Britain with an American family, but they relocated back to Boston and she decided to stay because she’s doing a part-time dissertation at Goldsmiths and has family over here. So she only wants to work three days a week, which is perfect for us.

And she’s got these real buck teeth.

I mean,
huge
. Like a moose.

Not that her looks are relevant, either way. Obviously. I’m not some sort of prejudiced, lookist person. I still would have hired her even if she’d had a million-dollar supermodel’s smile.

But still. Her teeth warmed me to her for some reason. Plus her hair isn’t remotely swishy.

Which, by the way, was
not
on my ‘interview points’ list. When I wrote
No Swishy Hair
I was referring to something else completely, and Luke did
not
have to start teasing me. I just happened to notice Kyla’s hair – just out of interest – and it’s a very dull bob with a few greys.

So basically she’s perfect!

‘Julie Andrews is going to be here soon, is she?’ Mum comes into the kitchen, where Minnie is doing Play-Doh and I’m idly browsing eBay. She catches sight of the page and draws breath sharply. ‘Are you shopping, Becky?’

‘No!’ I say defensively.

Just because I’m on eBay, it doesn’t mean I’m going to
buy
anything, does it? Obviously I don’t need a pair of turquoise patent Chloé shoes, worn once, PayPal only. I’m just keeping up to date with what’s out there. Like you keep up with current events.

‘I hope you’ve got Minnie’s lederhosen ready?’ Mum adds. ‘And your whistle?’

‘Ha ha,’ I say politely.

Mum’s still really prickly about us hiring a nanny. She got even more offended when Luke and I wouldn’t let her do the interviews with us. She hovered outside the door, tutting and clicking her tongue and looking each candidate up and down disparagingly. Then, when she read Kyla’s CV, with all the stuff about the guitar and singing, well, that was it. She instantly christened Kyla Julie Andrews and has been making little oh-so-funny jokes ever since. Even Janice is in on it and has started calling Luke Captain von Trapp, which is
really
annoying, because that makes me either the dead wife or the Baroness.

‘If she wants to make clothes out of the curtains, can you tell her to use the ones in the blue room?’ Mum adds.

I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that. And anyway, my phone is ringing. It’s Luke’s ID on the screen – he must want to know how it’s going.

‘Hi!’ I say as I answer. ‘She’s not here yet.’

‘Good.’ He sounds crackly, as though he’s in a car. ‘I just wanted to say something to you before she arrives. Becky, you must be
honest
with her.’

What’s that supposed to mean?

‘I’m always honest!’ I say, a tad indignantly.

‘This nanny needs to know the extent of the problem,’ he continues as though I haven’t even spoken. ‘We’ve hired her for a reason. There’s no point pretending Minnie’s a saint. We need to give her the history, explain the trouble we’ve had—’

‘OK, Luke!’ I say, a bit crossly. ‘I don’t need the lecture. I’ll tell her everything.’

Just because I wasn’t
totally
forthcoming I’m about Minnie at the interview. I mean, what am I supposed to do, slag off my own daughter? So I slightly fibbed and said Minnie had won Best Behaviour prize at toddler group for six weeks running. And Luke said that was defeating the entire object of the exercise and we had a slight … heated discussion.

‘Anyway, she’s here,’ I say as the doorbell goes. ‘I’d better run. See you later.’

As I open the door, Kyla’s standing there, holding a guitar, and I have to stifle a giggle. She
does
look just like Julie Andrews, except in jeans. I wonder if she danced up the road singing ‘I Have Confidence In Me’.

‘Hi, Mrs Brandon.’ Her buck teeth are already exposed in a friendly grin.

‘Please call me Becky!’ I usher her in. ‘Minnie can’t wait to see you! She’s doing Play-Doh,’ I add a little smugly as I lead her to the kitchen. ‘I like to start her off with something constructive in the morning.’

‘Wonderful.’ Kyla nods vigorously. ‘I did a lot of Play-Doh work with Eloise, my former charge, when she was a toddler. She was so talented at it. In fact, she won a prize in a local art competition for one of her creations.’ She smiles reminiscently ‘We were all so proud.’

‘Great!’ I smile back. ‘So here we are …’ I open the door with a flourish.

Shit. Minnie isn’t doing Play-Doh any more. She’s abandoned all the pots and is banging merrily at my laptop.

‘Minnie! What are you doing?’ I give a shrill laugh. ‘That’s Mummy’s!’

I hurry over and grab the laptop from her – and as my eyes focus on the screen my blood runs cold. She’s about to bid £2,673,333,333 for the Chloé shoes.

‘Minnie!’ I grab the laptop away from her.

‘Miiiine!’ yells Minnie furiously. ‘Miiiine shoooooes!’

‘Is Minnie doing some computer art?’ Kyle heads over towards me with a pleasant smile and I hastily whip the laptop away.

‘She was just working with … numbers,’ I say a bit shrilly. ‘Would you like some coffee? Minnie, do you remember Kyla?’

Minnie gives Kyla a snooty look and starts banging the Play-Doh pots together.

‘I’ll be making my own Play-Doh from now on if that’s OK, Mrs Brandon,’ Kyla says. ‘I prefer to use organic flour.’

Wow. Organic home-made Play-Doh. You see,
this
is why you have an Ultimate Nanny. I can’t wait to boast about her at work.

‘And when do you think you’ll start teaching her Mandarin?’ I ask, because I know Luke will ask.

Luke is really into Minnie learning Mandarin. He keeps telling me how useful it will be for her in later life. And I think it’ll be cool too – except I’m also a bit apprehensive. What if Minnie gets fluent in Mandarin and I don’t understand her? Do I need to learn it too? I keep picturing a teenage Minnie cursing me in Mandarin, while I stand there frantically flicking through a phrasebook.

‘It depends on her aptitude,’ replies Kyla. ‘I started Eloise at eighteen months, but she was an exceptional child. Very bright and receptive. And so willing to please.’

‘She sounds great,’ I say politely.

‘Oh, Eloise is a wonderful child.’ Kyla nods fervently. ‘She still Skypes me every day from Boston for calculus and Mandarin practice. Before her athletic training, of course. She’s a gymnast now, too.’

OK, I’m already a bit sick of this Eloise. Calculus, Mandarin
and
gymnastics? That’s just showing off.

‘Well, Minnie’s very bright and receptive too. In fact, she wrote her first poem the other day,’ I can’t resist adding.

‘She
wrote
a poem?’ For the first time, Kyla sounds impressed. Ha. Suck on that, Eloise. ‘She’s writing already?’

‘She said it to me and I wrote it down for her,’ I explain after a slight pause. ‘It was a poem in the oral tradition.’

‘Tell me your poem, Minnie!’ Kyla exclaims brightly to Minnie. ‘How did it go?’

Minnie glowers at her and stuffs Play-Doh up her nose.

‘She probably doesn’t remember any more,’ I say quickly. ‘But it was very simple and lovely. It went …’ I clear my throat for effect. ‘ “Why do the raindrops have to fall?”’

‘Wow.’ Kyla seems bowled over. ‘That’s beautiful. So many
levels
in there.’

‘I know.’ I nod earnestly. ‘We’re going to put it on our Christmas cards.’

‘Good idea!’ enthuses Kyla. ‘You know, Eloise produced so many wonderful hand-crafted Christmas cards, she sold them for charity. She won the Philanthropy prize at her school. You know St Cuthbert’s, Chelsea?’

St Cuthbert’s, Chelsea is the school where Ernie goes. God, no wonder he’s miserable there if it’s full of Eloises.

‘Fantastic! Is there anything Eloise
can’t
do?’ There’s the tiniest edge to my voice, but I’m not sure Kyla notices.

‘So I guess today Minnie and I will just hang out together, get to know each other …’ Kyla chucks Minnie under the chin. ‘She’s obviously super-intelligent, but is there anything else I should know about her? Any foibles? Little problems?’

I smile fixedly back for a few moments. I know what Luke said. But there’s no way on
earth
I’m saying, ‘Yes, actually she was banned from four Santas’ Grottos and everyone thinks she’s wild and my husband won’t have another child as a result.’ Not after hearing all about Saint Eloise.

And anyway, why should I prejudice Minnie’s case? If this nanny is any good, she’ll work Minnie’s little quirks out and solve them herself. I mean, that’s her job, isn’t it?

‘No,’ I say at last. ‘No problems. Minnie’s a lovely, caring child and we’re very proud to be her parents.’

‘Great!’ Kyla exposes her buck teeth in a wide smile. ‘And does she eat everything? Vegetables? Peas, carrots, broccoli? Eloise used to love to help me make risotto with vegetables from the garden.’

Of course she did. I expect she’s got a bloody Michelin star, too.

‘Absolutely,’ I reply without a flicker. ‘Minnie
adores
vegetables. Don’t you, darling?’

Minnie has never eaten a carrot in her life. When I once tried to hide them in a shepherd’s pie, she sucked off all the shepherd’s pie and spat the carrots one by one across the room.

But I’m not admitting that to Miss Perfect Pants. If she’s such a hotshot nanny then she’ll be able to make Minnie eat carrots, won’t she?

‘So maybe you’d like to pop out for a while, while Minnie and I get to know each other!’ Kyla addresses Minnie brightly. ‘Want to show me your Play-Doh, Minnie?’

‘OK!’ I say. ‘See you later.’

I back out of the kitchen with my cup of coffee, almost straight into Mum, who’s skulking in the hall.

‘Mum!’ I exclaim. ‘Were you
spying
on us?’

‘Does she know “Edelweiss” yet?’ she says with a sniff. ‘Or are we still on “Doe, a Deer”?’

Poor old Mum. I really should try to cheer her up.

‘Look, why don’t we go out shopping or something?’ I suggest on impulse. ‘Kyla wants to get to know Minnie, and Dad’ll be here in the house in case she has any problems …’

‘I can’t go shopping!’ retorts Mum touchily. ‘We’re impoverished, remember? I’ve already had to cancel all our Ocado orders, you know. Your father was adamant. No more luxury quiches, no more smoked salmon … We’re on strict rations.’ Mum’s voice trembles slightly. ‘If I go anywhere, it’ll have to be the pound shop!’

I feel a sudden pang of sympathy for her. I’m not surprised Mum’s so miserable these days.

‘Well then, let’s go to the pound shop!’ I try to jolly her along. ‘Come on, it’ll be fun!’

By the time I’ve put my coat on, Mum has phoned Janice and she’s decided to come along to the pound shop too. And when we get outside, I find Jess waiting with her, dressed in an ancient ski jacket and jeans.

‘Hi, Jess!’ I exclaim as we start walking along. ‘How are you?’

I haven’t seen Jess for ages. She and Tom went to spend some time in Cumbria last week, and I didn’t even know she was back.

‘I’m going nuts,’ she says in a savage undertone. ‘I can’t stand it. Have you ever tried living with Janice and Martin?’

‘Er … no.’ I can’t imagine Janice and Jess would get on too well. ‘What’s up?’

‘First she wouldn’t stop trying to make us have another wedding. Now she’s given up on that, she wants us to have a baby.’

‘Already?’
I want to giggle. ‘But you’ve only been married five minutes!’

‘Exactly! But Janice won’t stop dropping hints. She sits there every evening, knitting something yellow and fluffy, but she won’t say what it is.’ Jess lowers her voice darkly. ‘It’s a baby blanket, I know it is.’

‘Well. Here we are.’ Mum breaks into our conversation as we arrive at the corner of the high street.

There’s a pound shop to our right and a 99p shop opposite. For a moment we survey both in doubtful silence.

‘Which one shall we go to?’ ventures Janice at last. ‘The 99p shop is
slightly
cheaper, obviously …’ She peters out.

Mum’s eyes keep being dawn across the road to Emma Jane Gifts, this gorgeous boutique full of cashmere knitwear and hand-made ceramics, which we both love pottering around. I can even see a couple of Mum’s friends from bridge in there, giving us little waves. But then Mum pulls herself up firmly as though going into battle, and swivels towards the pound shop.

‘I have certain standards, Janice,’ she says with quiet dignity, like a general saying he’ll dress for dinner even though bombs are dropping all around him. ‘I don’t think we need to sink to the 99p shop quite yet.’

‘OK,’ whispers Janice nervously.

‘I’m not ashamed to be seen here,’ adds Mum. ‘Why should I be ashamed? This is our new way of life, and we’re all just going to have to get used to it. If your father says we have to exist on turnip jam, then so be it.’

‘Mum, he didn’t say we had to have turnip jam—’ I begin, but Mum is already sweeping in, her head proudly high. I exchange glances with Jess and follow.

Wow. This place is bigger than I thought. And there’s such a lot of stuff! Mum has already taken a basket and is putting tins of some dodgy-looking meat into it with jerky, resentful little movements.

‘Your father will just have to adjust his taste buds to suit his wallet!’ she says, clattering another one in. ‘Maybe nutrition is something we can’t afford any more! Maybe vitamins are only for the super-rich!’