Shopaholic & Baby (Shopaholic #5)

Shopaholic & Baby (Shopaholic #5) Page 16

“She won’t be a charlatan!”

I should never have mentioned the lotus flowers. I might have known Luke wouldn’t understand.

“Look, darling…” I try a different tack. “You always say, ‘Give people a chance.’”

“No, I don’t.” Luke doesn’t even miss a beat.

“Well, then, you should!” I say crossly.

We stop at a zebra crossing and a woman walks across with a really cool green space-age-looking pram on high wheels. Wow. Maybe we should get one of those. I squint, trying to see what the logo is.

It’s amazing, I never used to even notice prams before. Now I can’t stop checking them out, even when I’m in the middle of a row with my husband.

Discussion. Not row.

“Luke, listen,” I say as we move off again. “In my book it says the pregnant woman should always follow her instincts. Well, my instincts are saying really strongly, ‘Go to Venetia Carter.’ It’s nature telling me!”

Luke is silent. I can’t tell if he’s frowning at the road or at what I’m saying.

“We could just go once to check her out,” I say appeasingly. “One little appointment. If we hate her we don’t have to go back.”

We’ve reached Mum and Dad’s drive. There’s a big silver banner over the door, and a stray helium balloon reading Happy 60th Birthday, Jane! lands lightly on the bonnet as we pull in.

“And I got us the house,” I can’t help adding. Even though I know it isn’t strictly relevant.

Luke parks the car behind a van with OXSHOTT SPECIAL EVENTS printed on the side and finally turns to face me.

“OK, Becky.” He sighs. “You win. We’ll go and see her.”

FOUR

TO SAY THAT MUM IS EXCITED about the baby is a bit of an understatement. As we get out of the car she flies across the drive, her hair blow-dried for the party, her face all pink with excitement.

“Becky! How’s my little grandchild!”

She doesn’t even bother looking at my face anymore. Her attention is straight on the bump. “It’s getting bigger! Can you hear Grandma?” She bends closer. “Can you hear Grandma?”

“Hello, Jane,” says Luke politely. “Maybe we could come in?”

“Of course!” She snaps up again and ushers us inside the house. “Come in! Put your feet up, Becky! Have a cup of tea. Graham!”

“I’m here!” Dad appears down the stairs. “Becky!” He gives me a tight hug. “Come and sit down. Suze is here with the children—”

“Already!” I exclaim in delight. I haven’t seen Suze for ages. I follow my parents into the sitting room to find Suze on the sofa next to Janice, Mum and Dad’s next-door neighbor. Her blond hair is up in a knot and she’s breast-feeding one of her twins. Meanwhile Janice is wriggling uncomfortably, clearly trying very hard not to look.

“Bex!” Suze’s face lights up. “Oh my God! You look fantastic!”

“Suze!” I give her a great big hug, trying not to squash the baby. “How are you? And how’s darling little Clemmie?” I kiss the blond little head.

“This is Wilfrid,” says Suze, going a bit pink.

Damn. I always get it wrong. And to make things worse, Suze is totally paranoid that Wilfrid looks like a girl. (Which he does. Especially in that lacy romper thing.)

I quickly change the subject. “Where are the others?”

“Oh, Tarkie’s got them,” says Suze, looking vaguely out the window. I follow her gaze and see her husband, Tarquin, pushing my godson, Ernie, around the marquee in a wheelbarrow, with Clementine strapped to his chest.

“More!” Ernie’s shrieking voice comes faintly through the window. “More, Dada!”

“That’ll be you in a few months, Luke,” I say with a grin.

“Mmm-hmm.” He raises his eyebrows and gets out his BlackBerry. “I need to send some e-mails. I’ll do it upstairs, if that’s OK?”

He heads out of the room and I sit on a squashy chair near Suze. “So, guess what? We’ve had an offer accepted on the most perfect house! Look!” I get the property details out of my handbag and pass them to Mum for admiration.

“How lovely, darling!” exclaims Mum. “Is it detached?”

“Well…no. But it’s really—”

“Is there off-street parking?” Dad squints over Mum’s shoulder.

“No, there’s no actual parking, but—”

“They don’t need parking, Graham,” Mum interrupts. “They’re Londoners! They take taxis everywhere.”