Mini Shopaholic (8 page)

Suze is so great. She always knows what to say to everyone. Now she’s talking about the stained glass. Where does she get this stuff? She must have learned it at finishing school, after meringue lessons. I’m not
very
interested in stained glass, to be honest, so I flick aimlessly through the Bible.

Ooh. Delilah. Now
that’s
a cool name.

‘Jesus H. Christ, Becky!’ A familiar American accent hits my ears. Behind me I can hear a bit of a mild kerfuffle amongst Mum’s friends and someone exclaiming, ‘Who in God’s name is
that?’

This can only mean one thing.

‘Danny!’ I whirl round in joy. ‘You’re here!’

It is
so
long since I’ve seen Danny. He’s looking skinnier than ever and is wearing a Cossack-style swirly coat in leather, with tight black vinyl trousers and Army boots. Plus he has a tiny white dog on a lead that I’ve never seen before. I make to hug him, but he lifts up a hand as though he has some momentous announcement to make.

‘This theme?’ he says incredulously. ‘Japanese-slash-Russian-fucking-
fusion
? How much more fucking
inspired
can you get? My new dog is only a fucking shih-
tzu
!’

‘No way!’ Suddenly I remember Reverend Parker, standing a foot away. ‘Er … Reverend Parker … this is Danny Kovitz. Another of the godparents.’

‘Oh Jeez.’ Danny claps a hand over his mouth. ‘I apologize, Reverend. Loving the church,’ he adds generously, gesturing around. ‘Loving your décor. Did someone help you with these colours?’

‘You’re very kind.’ Reverend Parker gives him a stiff smile. ‘But if you could keep down the fruity language during the service?’

‘Danny’s a famous fashion designer,’ I throw in hastily.

‘Puh-lease.’ Danny gives a modest laugh. ‘Not famous. More … renowned.
Notorious
. Where’s Luke?’ he adds to me in a lower voice. ‘I need him. Jarek’s been calling me every day. He’s threatening to, like, come
round.’
Danny’s voice rises in alarm. ‘You know I don’t do confrontation.’

Jarek is Danny’s former business manager. We met him last year and soon realized he was taking a massive cut of Danny’s money for basically doing nothing except wearing Danny’s clothes for free and having lots of lunches on expenses. Luke was the one who arranged his termination and lectured Danny about not giving people jobs just because you like their haircut.

‘I thought you changed all your numbers?’ I say, puzzled. ‘I thought you weren’t going to take any more of Jarek’s calls.’

‘I didn’t,’ he says defensively. ‘At first. But he had great tickets for this festival in Bali, so we went to that, and that meant he had my new cell number, so …’

‘Danny! You went to a festival with him? After you’d
fired
him?’

Danny looks caught out.

‘OK. I fucked up. Where’s Luke?’ He peers plaintively around the church. ‘Can Luke talk to him?’

‘I don’t know where Luke is,’ I say, more snappily than I meant to. ‘He’s on his way in a helicopter.’

‘A helicopter?’ Danny raises his eyebrows. ‘Quite the action man. Is he going to drop down on a wire like the SAS?’

‘No.’ I roll my eyes. ‘Don’t be silly.’

Although come to think of it, maybe he will. I mean, where else are they going to find a place to land a helicopter?

I get out my phone and text Luke:

R u in helicopter yet? Where r u going to land? On roof?

‘Oh my God. Have you seen his
lordship?’
Danny’s been distracted by the sight of Tarquin. ‘Be still my beating crotch.’

‘Danny!’ I hit his arm and glance at Reverend Parker, who thankfully has moved away. ‘We’re in
church
, remember?’

Danny has always had a bit of a thing about Tarquin. And to be fair, Tarquin looks pretty extraordinary today. He’s wearing a white billowy shirt with black breeches and a heavy, military-style coat on top. His dark hair is all ruffled from the wind, which is a great improvement on his normal non-style, and his bony, stoaty face looks almost chiselled in the gloom of the church.

‘That’s my next collection, right in front of me.’ Danny’s sketching Tarquin on some old book or other. ‘English lord meets Russian prince.’

‘He’s Scottish,’ I point out.

‘Even better. I’ll throw in a kilt.’

‘Danny!’ I giggle as I catch a glimpse of the sketch. ‘You can’t draw that in church!’

That picture of Tarquin is
not
accurate. In fact, it’s obscene. Although actually, I did hear once from Suze’s mum that all the Cleath-Stuart men were very well endowed. Maybe it’s more accurate than I realize.

‘So where’s my god-daughter?’ Danny rips off the page, folds it up and begins another drawing.

‘She’s with Mum somewhere …’ I look around for Minnie and suddenly spy her about ten yards away, standing with a group of Mum’s friends. Oh God, what’s she been doing now? She has about five handbags looped over her arms, and is now tugging hard at an elderly lady’s shoulder bag, yelling, ‘Miiine!’

‘So sweet!’ I hear the lady tinkle with laughter. ‘Here you are, Minnie, dear.’ She drapes the shoulder strap around Minnie’s neck, and Minnie staggers off, determinedly clutching all the bags.

‘Nice Balenciaga,’ comments Danny. ‘The perfect accessory when one’s being christened.’

I nod. ‘That’s why I let her borrow it.’

‘And you settled for the Miu Miu, which I know for a
fact
you’ve had for a year, whereas the Balenciaga is new …’ Danny gives a melodramatic sigh. ‘I can’t think of a more beautiful example of motherly love.’

‘Shut up!’ I give him a push. ‘Keep drawing.’

As I watch him sketching, a sudden thought occurs to me. If Danny really
does
base his next collection on Tarkie, then maybe they could join forces somehow. Maybe they could do a tie-in promotion with Shetland Shortbread! I am such a business brain. Luke will be so impressed. I’m about to tell Suze my great idea, when Reverend Parker’s voice booms out.

‘Perhaps everyone could take their seats?’ He starts ushering us towards the pews. ‘And then we can start.’

Start? Already?

I tug anxiously at his white robe as he swooshes past. ‘Um, Luke isn’t here yet. So if we could just delay a little longer …’

‘Dear, we’ve delayed twenty minutes already.’ Reverend Parker’s smile is a little chilly. ‘If your husband isn’t going to make it …’

‘Of course he’s going to make it!’ I feel a bit stung. ‘He’s on his way. He’ll be here—’

‘Miiiiiiiiine!’ A high-pitched, gleeful shriek fills the air and my whole body stiffens in alarm. My head whips round towards the front of the church and my stomach seems to drop.

Minnie has climbed over the altar rail and is standing right by the altar, turning each handbag upside-down and shaking out the contents. Behind me I can hear the dismayed little shrieks of Mum’s friends as they see all their things tumbling out and rolling along the floor.

‘Minnie!’ I yell, pegging it up the aisle. ‘STOP THAT!’

‘Miiiine!’ She’s joyfully shaking a Burberry shoulder bag, and coins are cascading out of it. The whole altar is a mess of purses and money and make-up compacts and lipsticks and hair brushes.

‘This is supposed to be your
christening
,’ I say furiously in Minnie’s ear. ‘You’re supposed to be on your
best behaviour
. Or you’ll
never
get a brother or sister!’

Minnie looks totally unrepentant, even as all Mum’s friends arrive and start exclaiming and tutting and scrabbling for the bags and money.

On the plus side, at least the kerfuffle delays proceedings. But even so, Reverend Parker is soon herding everyone into the pews.

‘If everyone could please sit down? We really need to get on …’

‘What about Luke?’ whispers Mum anxiously as she takes her seat.

‘He’ll make it,’ I say, trying to sound confident.

I’ll just have to spin things out till he arrives. There’ll be loads of prayers and talking, surely. It’ll be fine.

*

OK. I’m writing to the Archbishop of Canterbury. In my opinion, christenings are far,
far
too short.

We’re all sitting in the front few rows of the church. We’ve had about two prayers and a few little bits to say about renouncing evil. We’ve all sung a hymn and Minnie has spent the time shredding two hymn books. (It was the only way to keep her quiet. I’ll give the church some money.) And now suddenly Reverend Parker has asked us all to gather around the font and I’m panicking.

We
can’t
be up to the splashy water bit yet. I’m not letting Luke miss the big moment.

There’s been no sign of him. He isn’t replying to any of my texts. I’m hoping against hope that he’s switched off his phone because it would interfere with the helicopter controls. My neck is craned, trying to listen for a judder outside.

‘Minnie?’ Reverend Parker smiles at her. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Wait!’ I say desperately as people start getting to their feet. ‘Before the actual christening … er … Minnie’s godmother Susan Cleath-Stuart wishes to recite a poem for the occasion. Don’t you, Suze?’

Suze instantly turns in her seat and whispers
‘What?’

‘Please
, Suze!’ I hiss back. ‘I need to buy some time, or Luke’ll miss it!’

‘I don’t know any poems!’ she mutters as she gets up.

‘Just read something out of the hymn book! Something long!’

Rolling her eyes, Suze picks up a hymn book and heads to the front, then smiles around the audience.

‘I would like to recite …’ She opens the book and riffles through. ‘“We Three Kings”.’ She clears her throat. ‘We three kings of Orient are. Bearing gifts we traverse afar …’

Suze is such a star. She reads it at a snail’s pace and does all the choruses twice through.

‘Very nice.’ Reverend Parker stifles a yawn. ‘And now, if you could gather round the font …’

‘Wait!’ I swivel on my seat. ‘Um, Minnie’s godfather Danny Kovitz will now …’ I gaze imploringly at him. ‘He will also … say a poem?’
Please
, I mouth silently, and Danny winks back.

‘In honour of my god-daughter’s christening I will now perform “The Real Slim Shady” by Eminem,’ he says confidently.

Yikes. I hope Reverend Parker doesn’t listen too closely.

Danny isn’t the best rapper in the world, but by the time he’s finished, everyone’s clapping and whooping, even all Mum’s bridge friends. So then Danny does an encore of ‘Stan’ with Suze doing the Dido bits. Then Tom and Jess pitch in with a South American prayer for children, which is actually really moving. And then Dad takes to the floor and sings ‘Que Sera Sera’ with everyone joining in with the chorus and Martin conducting them with one of Janice’s chopsticks.

Reverend Parker is starting to look seriously pissed off by now.

‘Thank you, everyone, for your interesting contributions,’ he says tightly. ‘And now, if you could gather round the font …’

‘Wait!’ I interrupt him. ‘As Minnie’s mother, I would just like to make a short speech.’

‘Rebecca!’ snaps Reverend Parker. ‘We really do have to proceed.’

‘Just a quick one!’

I hurry to the front of the church, almost tripping up in my haste. I’ll just keep talking till Luke arrives. It’s the only way.

‘Welcome, friends and family.’ I gaze around, avoiding Reverend Parker’s stony eye. ‘What a special day this is. A special, special day. Minnie is being christened.’

I pause as though to let this thought sink in and quickly check my phone. Nothing.

‘But what do we
mean
by that?’ I lift a finger, just like Reverend Parker does in his sermons. ‘Or are we all just here for the ride?’

There’s an interested ripple in the audience and a couple of people nudge each other and whisper. I’m quite flattered, actually. I hadn’t thought my speech would cause such a stir.

‘Because it’s easy to go through life without ever looking around at the flowers.’ I give a significant nod, and there are more whispers and nudges.

This reaction I’m getting is amazing! Maybe I could get into preaching! I’ve obviously got a natural gift for it and I do have quite a lot of profound ideas.

‘It makes you think, doesn’t it?’ I continue. ‘But what do we mean by
think?’

Everyone’s whispering now. People are passing iPhones along the pews and pointing at something. What’s going on?

‘I mean, why are we all here?’ My voice is drowned out by the growing hubbub.

‘What’s happening!’ I exclaim. ‘What are you all looking at?’ Even Mum and Dad are fixated by something on Mum’s BlackBerry.

‘Becky, you’d better look at this,’ says Dad in a strange voice. He gets up and passes me the BlackBerry, and I find myself looking at a TV newsreader on the BBC website.

‘… latest on our breaking news that the Bank of London has agreed emergency funding from the Bank of England. This comes after days of secret talks, in which bosses battled to save the situation …’

The newsreader continues talking, but I don’t hear what he’s saying. I’m gripped by the picture. It’s of several men in suits leaving the Bank of England, looking grim. One of them is Luke. Luke was at the Bank of England?

Oh God. Is he at the Bank of England
now?

The picture on the screen has changed to a group of commentators sitting round a table, looking grave, with that girl TV presenter in the glasses who always interrupts people.

‘So, essentially, the Bank of London is
bust
, is that right?’ she says in that forceful way she has.

‘“Bust” is a very strong word …’ one of the commentators begins – but I can’t hear what else he says because of the havoc breaking out in the church.

‘It’s bust!’

‘The Bank of London’s gone bust!’

‘But that’s where all our money is!’ Mum looks a bit hysterical. ‘Graham, do something! Get it out! Get the money!’

‘Our holiday fund!’ Janice moans.

‘My pension!’ An elderly man is struggling to his feet.

‘I’m sure we shouldn’t overreact,’ Jess is saying above the hubbub. ‘I’m sure no one will lose anything, banks are guaranteed …’ But no one’s listening to her.