Shopaholic and Baby

NINE

I’M GOING to be in Vogue! Last week Martha, who is the girl writing the Yummiest Mummies-to-Be feature, rang up and we had the most brilliant long chat.

Maybe I did make up a few teeny things. Like my daily exercise regime. And having freshly crushed raspberries for breakfast every morning, and how I write poetry to my unborn child. (I can always get some out of a book.) Plus I’ve said we already live in the house on Delamain Road, because it sounds better than living in a flat.

But the point is, we will be living in it very soon. It’s practically ours already. And the girl was really interested to hear about the his and hers nurseries. She said she thought they’d be a highlight of the shoot. A highlight!

“Becky?”

A voice cuts into my thoughts and I look up to see Eric heading across the floor toward me. Quickly I hide my lists under a MaxMara catalog and scan the shop floor to make sure there isn’t some lurking customer I’ve missed. But there’s no one. Trade hasn’t exactly picked up in the last few days.

Truth be told, we’ve had yet another disaster. Someone in marketing decided to start a “word on the street” campaign, hiring students to talk about The Look and hand out leaflets in cafés. Which would have been great if they hadn’t handed them to a gang of shoplifters, who proceeded to come in and pinch the entire range of Benefit cosmetics. They were caught — but even so. The Daily World had a total field day, about how “The Look is so desperate, it’s now inviting in convicted criminals.”

The place feels emptier than ever, and to cap it all, five members of the staff resigned this week. No wonder Eric looks so grumpy.

“Where’s Jasmine?” He glances around the personal shopping reception area.

“She’s…in the stock room,” I lie.

Actually, Jasmine is asleep on the floor in one of the dressing rooms. Her new theory is, since there’s nothing to do at work, she might as well use the time to sleep and go clubbing at night. So far, it’s working out pretty well.

“Well, it was you I wanted to see, anyway.” He frowns. “I’ve just had the contract through for the Danny Kovitz deal. Very demanding, this friend of yours. He’s specified first-class travel, a suite at Claridge’s, a limo for his personal use, unlimited San Pellegrino ‘stirred, to take the bubbles out’…”

I stifle a giggle. That is so typical of Danny.

“He’s a big, important designer,” I remind Eric. “Talented people all have their little quirks.”

“‘For the duration of the creative process,’” Eric reads aloud, “‘Mr. Kovitz will require a bowl of at least ten inches in diameter, filled with jelly beans. No green ones.’ I mean, what is this nonsense?” He flicks the paper in exasperation. “What’s he expecting, that someone’s just going to sit for hours, removing green jelly beans and disposing of them?”

Ooh. I love green jelly beans.

“I don’t mind taking care of that,” I say casually.

“Fine.” Eric sighs. “Well, all I can say is, I hope all this effort and money is worth it.”

“It will be!” I say, surreptitiously touching the wooden desk for luck. “Danny’s the hottest designer around! He’ll come up with something totally brilliant and directional and now. And everyone will flock to the store. I promise!”

I really, really hope I’m right.

As Eric stalks off again I wonder whether to call Danny and see if he’s had any ideas yet. But before I can do so, my cell phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” comes Luke’s voice. “It’s me.”

“Oh, hi!” I lean back in my chair, ready to have a chat. “Hey, I’ve just been hearing about Danny’s contract. You’ll never guess what—”

“Becky, I’m afraid I can’t make this afternoon.”

“What?” My smile slips away.

This afternoon is our first prenatal class. It’s the one that birth partners come to, and we do breathing and make friends for life. And Luke promised to be there. He promised.

“I’m sorry.” He seems distracted. “I know I said I’d be there, but there’s a…crisis at work.”

“A crisis?” I sit up, concerned.

“Not a crisis,” he amends at once. “It’s just…something’s happened which isn’t so good. It’ll be fine. Just a hiccup.”

“What’s happened?”

“Just…a minor internal dispute. I won’t go into it. But I’m really sorry about this afternoon. I wanted to be there.” He does sound genuinely torn up. There’s no point getting cross with him.

“It’s OK.” I hide a sigh. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Couldn’t someone else go with you? Suze, perhaps?”

That’s an idea. I was Suze’s birth partner, after all. We’re pretty close friends. And it would be nice to have some company.

“Maybe.” I nod. “So, will you still be all right for this evening?”

Tonight we’re going out with Venetia and her boyfriend and all Luke’s old friends from Cambridge. I’ve been really looking forward to it; in fact, I’m having my hair blow-dried especially.

“Hope so. I’ll keep you posted.”

“OK. See you later.”

I ring off and am about to dial Suze’s number, when I remember she’s taking Ernie to some new playgroup this afternoon. So she won’t be able to make it. I lean back in my chair, thinking hard. I could just go on my own; I mean, I’m not scared of a bunch of pregnant women, am I?

Or else…

I pick up my phone again and speed-dial a number.

“Hey, Mum,” I say as soon as I get through. “Are you doing anything this afternoon?”

The prenatal class is being held in a house in Islington and is called Choices, Empowerment, Open Minds, which I think is a really good title. I definitely have an open mind. As I walk along the street toward the house, I see Mum pull up in her Volvo and park — after about eight attempts, a small crash with a dustbin, and the help of a lorry driver who gets out of his cab to guide her in.

“Hi, Mum!” I call as she gets out at last, looking a bit flustered. She’s wearing smart white trousers, a navy blazer, and shiny patent loafers.

“Becky!” Her face lights up. “You look wonderful, darling. Come along, Janice!” She bangs on the car window. “I brought Janice along. You don’t mind, do you, love?”

“Er…no,” I say in surprise. “Of course not.”

“She was at a loose end, and we thought we might go to Liberty’s afterward to look at fabrics for the nursery. Dad’s painted it yellow, but we haven’t decided on curtains….” She glances at my bump. “Any inklings on whether it’s a boy or a girl?”

My mind flicks to the Gender Predictor Kit, still hidden in my underwear drawer three weeks after I bought it. I keep getting it out, then losing my nerve and putting it back. Maybe I need Suze as moral support.

“Not really,” I say. “Not yet.”

The passenger door opens and Janice gets out, trailing a bundle of knitting.

“Becky, love!” she says breathlessly. “Do you need to bleep the door, Jane?”

“Close it, then I’ll bleep it,” orders Mum. “Give it a good slam.”

I can see a pregnant girl in a brown dress ringing the bell of a house several doors down. That must be the place!

“I was just listening to a message from Tom,” Janice says, bundling her knitting into a straw bag, together with a mobile phone. “I’m seeing him later. He’ll be full of Jess! It’s Jess this, Jess that—”

“Jess?” I stare at her. “And Tom?”

“Of course!” Her whole face is shining. “They do make a lovely couple. I don’t want to hope, but…”

“Now, remember, Janice,” says Mum firmly. “You can’t chivvy these young things.”

Jess and Tom are going out? And she hasn’t even told me? Honestly. I asked her the morning after the party what was going to happen with Tom, and she just looked all embarrassed and changed the subject. So I assumed it hadn’t taken.

I can’t help feeling a bit miffed. The whole point of having a sister is that you phone her up and tell her about your new boyfriend. Not keep her totally out of the loop.

“So…Jess and Tom are in a relationship?” I say, to make sure.

“They’re very close.” Janice nods vigorously. “Very, very close. And I have to say, Jess is a super girl. We get on like a house on fire!”

“Really?” I try not to sound too surprised, but I can’t see Janice and Jess having much in common.

“Oh yes! We all feel like family. In fact, Martin and I have put off our cruise next summer, just in case we have a—” She breaks off. “Wedding,” she whispers.

Wedding?

OK. I need to talk to Jess. Now.

“Here we are,” says Mum as we approach the door, which has a sign on it: PLEASE ENTER AND REMOVE YOUR SHOES.

“What exactly happens at a prenatal class?” asks Janice, slipping off her Kurt Geiger sandals.

“Breathing and stuff,” I say vaguely. “Preparing for the birth.”

“It’s all changed since our day, Janice,” puts in Mum. “They have childbirth coaches these days!”

“Coaches! Like tennis players!” Janice seems tickled by this idea. Then her smile drops and she clasps my arm. “Poor little Becky. You have no idea what you’re letting yourself in for.”

“Right,” I say, a bit spooked. “Well…er…shall we go in?”

The class is being held in what looks like a normal sitting room with beanbags arranged in a circle, on which several pregnant women are already sitting, with their husbands awkwardly perched beside them.

“Hello.” A slim woman with long dark hair and yoga trousers comes over. “I’m Noura, your prenatal teacher,” she says in a quiet voice. “Welcome.”

“Hi, Noura!” I beam at her and shake hands. “I’m Becky Brandon. This is my mum…and this is Janice.”

“Ah.” Noura nods knowingly and takes Janice’s hand. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Janice. You’re Becky’s…partner? We have another same-sex couple coming later on, so please don’t feel—”

Oh my God! She thinks—

“We’re not lesbians!” I cut her off hurriedly, trying not to giggle at Janice’s bemused expression. “Janice is just our neighbor. She’s going to Liberty’s with Mum afterward.”

“Oh, I see.” Noura seems a bit let down. “Well, welcome, the three of you. Take a seat.”

“Janice and I will get the coffees,” says Mum, heading toward a table at the side of the room. “You sit down, Becky love.”

“So, Becky,” says Noura as I lower myself gingerly onto a beanbag. “We’re going round the room, introducing ourselves. Laetitia has just explained she’s having a home birth. Where are you having your baby, Becky?”

“With Venetia Carter at the Cavendish,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Wow,” says a girl in a pink dress. “Doesn’t she do all the celebrities?”

“Yes. Actually, she’s a really close friend,” I can’t resist adding. “We’re going out tonight.”

“And have you considered what kind of birth you would like?” continues Noura.

“I’m having the water birth with lotus flowers and Thai massage,” I say proudly.

“Wonderful!” Noura marks something on her list. “So you’d ideally like an active birth?”

“Er…” I picture myself lolling in a nice warm pool, with music playing and lotus flowers floating about, and maybe a cosmopolitan in my hand. “No, I think probably quite inactive, actually.”

“You want an…inactive birth?” Noura appears nonplussed.

“Yes.” I nod. “Ideally.”

“And pain relief?”

“I’ve got a special Maori birthing stone,” I say confidently. “And I’ve done yoga. So I’ll probably be OK.”

“I see.” Noura looks as though she wants to add something else. “Right,” she says at last. “Well. There are birth plan forms in front of you and I’d like everyone to fill one in. We’ll take all the ideas as points of discussion.”

There’s a murmuring as everyone picks up their pencils and begins to chat to their partners.

“I’d also love to hear from Becky’s mother and Janice,” Noura adds, as Mum and Janice rejoin the group. “It’s a privilege to hear from older women who have been through birth and motherhood and can share their wisdom.”

“Of course, dear! We’ll tell you all about it.” Mum gets out a packet of mints. “Polo? Polo, anyone?”

I pick up my pencil, then put it down again. I must just quickly text Jess and find out what’s going on. I take out my phone, find her cell number, and type out a text.

OMG Jess!!! R U going out w Tom????

Then I delete it. Too excited. She’ll get all freaked out and never reply.

Hi Jess. How R U doing? Bex

That’s better. I press Send and turn my attention back to the birth plan. It’s a list of questions, with space to fill in answers.

1. What are your priorities in early labor?

I think hard for a moment, then write: “Look good.”

2. How will you cope with pain in the early stages (e.g., warm bath, rock on all fours)

I’m about to write “Go shopping,” when my mobile pings. It’s a text back from Jess!

Fine, thanks. Jess

That is so Jess. Two words, giving nothing away. I immediately text back.

Are you seeing Tom??

“Sheets in, everybody.” Noura’s clapping her hands. “If you could all stop writing…”

Already? God, this is like a school test. I hand my paper in last, pushing it into the middle so Noura won’t see it. But she’s leafing through all of them, nodding as she reads. Then she stops.

“Becky, under ‘priorities in early labor’ you’ve put ‘Look good.’” She raises her head. “Is that a joke?”

Why is everyone staring at me? Of course it’s not a joke.

“If you look good, you feel good! It’s natural pain-relief. We should all have makeovers or get our hair done….”

I’m getting frowns and titters from around the room, all except a girl in a fab pink top, who’s nodding in agreement.

“See you there!” she says. “I’d rather do that than rock on all fours.”

“Or go shopping,” I add. “It cures morning sickness, so—”

“Shopping cures morning sickness?” Noura interrupts me. “What are you talking about?”

“Whenever I felt sick in the first few weeks, I used to go to Harrods and buy a little something to take my mind off it,” I explain. “It really worked.”

“I used to order stuff online,” agrees the girl in pink.

“You could add it to your list of remedies, maybe,” I suggest helpfully. “After ginger tea.”

Noura opens her mouth, then closes it again. She turns to another girl, who has her hand up, just as my phone beeps with another text.

Kind of. J

Kind of? What does kind of mean? I quickly type.

Janice thinks U R getting married! Bex

I press Send. Ha. That’ll wind her up.

“OK. Let’s move on.” Noura is in the center of the room again. “From glancing through these answers, it’s clear that a lot of you are concerned by the thought of labor and how you’ll cope with it.” She looks around the group. “My first response is: don’t worry. You can cope. All of you.”

A nervous laugh goes around the room.

“Yes, contractions can be intense,” Noura continues. “But your bodies are designed to withstand them. And what you must remember is, it’s a positive pain. I’m sure you’ll both agree?” She looks over at Mum and Janice, who has got out her knitting and is clicking away.

“Positive?” Janice looks up, horrified. “Ooh no, dear. Mine was agony. Twenty-four hours in the cruel summer heat. I wouldn’t wish it on any of you poor girls.”

“They have better drugs these days,” chimes in Mum. “My advice is take everything they’ve got.”

“But there are natural, instinctive methods you can use,” Noura puts in quickly. “I’m sure you found that rocking and changing position helped with the contractions?”

Mum and Janice exchange doubtful glances.

“I wouldn’t have said so,” says Mum kindly.

“Or a warm bath?” Noura suggests, her smile tightening.

“A bath?” Mum laughs merrily. “Dear, when you’re gripped by agony and wanting to die, a bath doesn’t really help!”

I can tell Noura’s getting a bit frustrated, by the way she’s breathing more deeply and balling her hands into fists.

“But it was worth it in the end? The pain seemed a small price to pay, compared to the life-affirming joy?”

“Well…” Mum gives me a doubtful glance. “Of course, I was delighted to have my little Becky. But I did keep it at the one child. We both did, didn’t we, Janice?”

“Never again.” Janice shudders. “Not if you paid me a million pounds.”

As I glance around the room I can see that all the girls’ faces have frozen. Most of the men’s too.

“Right!” says Noura, making an obvious effort to stay pleasant. “Well, thank you for those…inspirational words.”

“No trouble!” Janice waves her knitting cheerily.

“We’re going to try a small breathing exercise now,” Noura continues, “which, believe it or not, will help with the contractions of early labor. I want you all to sit up straight and do some shallow breaths. In…out…that’s right….”

As I’m doing my shallow breaths, there’s a ping from my mobile.

What?????

Ha! I stifle a giggle and text back.

Is it love???

A few moments later my phone pings again with a new message.

We’re having a few problems.

Oh God. I hope Jess is OK. I didn’t mean to tease her.

It’s quite tricky, doing shallow breathing and texting at the same time. So I abandon the shallow breathing and type.

What problems? Why didn’t u tell me?

“Who are you texting, love?” says Janice, who has also abandoned shallow breathing and is consulting her knitting pattern.

“Oh…just a friend,” I say lightly as another text arrives. Jess must have abandoned whatever she’s doing too.

I didn’t want to bother you, it’s stupid.

Honestly. How can Jess think she’s bothering me? I want to know about her love life. I start texting U R my sister!!! when Noura claps her hands for attention.

“Relax, everyone. Now, we’re going to try a simple exercise, which should put your minds at rest. Your partner is going to take your arm and twist it, giving you an old-fashioned Chinese burn. And you are going to breathe through the pain. Focus your minds, stay relaxed…. Partners, don’t be afraid to increase the pressure! And you’ll see how you’re a lot tougher than you thought! Becky, I’ll take you, if that’s OK?” she adds, coming over.

My stomach flips nervously. I don’t like the sound of an old-fashioned Chinese burn. Or even a newfangled one. But I can’t wimp out; everyone’s looking at me.

“All right, then,” I say, gingerly holding out my arm.

“Obviously the pain of labor will be more intense than this, but just to give you an idea…”

She grasps my forearm. “Now breathe.…”

“Ow!” I say as she suddenly twists my arm. “Ow, that hurts!”

“Breathe, Becky,” instructs Noura. “Relax.”

“I am breathing! Owwww!”

“The pain’s getting stronger now….” Noura ignores me. “Imagine the contraction is peaking….”

I’m panting hard as she twists my skin even harder.

“And now it’s ebbing…it’s gone.” She releases my arm and gives me a smile. “You see, Becky? You see how you coped with that, despite your fears?”

“Wow.” I’m almost breathless.

“Do you think you learned something valuable there?” She gives me a knowing look. “Something that puts your fears into perspective?”

“Yes.” I nod earnestly. “I learned I definitely want an epidural.”

“Have a general anesthetic, darling,” interjects Mum. “Or a nice cesarean!”

“You can’t have a general anesthetic.” Noura stares at her incredulously. “They don’t just hand them out, you know!”

“Becky’s going to the top place in London!” Mum retorts. “She can have anything she wants! Now, darling, if I were you, I’d have the Thai massage and the water birth before labor begins, then the epidural and aromatherapy to follow….”

“This is labor!” Noura shouts, clutching her hair. “You’re having a baby, not ordering from a bloody room-service menu!”

There’s a shocked silence.

“I’m sorry,” she says, more calmly. “I…don’t know what came over me. Let’s have a short break. Help yourselves to drinks.”

She heads out of the room, and a muted babble of chatter breaks out.

“Well!” says Mum, raising her eyebrows. “I think someone needs to do their shallow breathing! Janice, shall we go to Liberty now?”

“Just let me finish this row….” Janice clicks frantically with her knitting needles. “There! All done. Coming, Becky?”

“I dunno,” I say, torn. “Maybe I should stay to the end of the class.”

“I don’t think that Noura knows what she’s talking about!” Mum says conspiratorially. “We’ll tell you everything you need to know. And you can help me choose a new handbag!”

“OK, then.” I get to my feet. “Let’s go!”

By the time I’ve finished shopping with Mum and Janice and had my hair appointment, it’s gone six. I arrive home to find Luke in the study. The lights are off, and he’s just sitting there in the gloom.

“Luke?” I put my bags down. “Is everything OK?”

He starts at my voice, and raises his head. I peer at him in surprise. His face is taut, with a deep crease between his brows. “It’s fine,” he says at last. “Everything’s fine.”

It doesn’t sound like it’s fine to me. I come into the study, perch on the desk opposite him, and study his face.

“Luke, what was the crisis at work today?”

“It’s not a crisis.” He musters a smile. “I used the wrong word. It was just…an incident. Nothing important. It’s all been resolved.”

“But—”

“How are you?” He strokes my arm. “How was the class?”

“Oh.” I cast my mind back. “Er…it was fine. You didn’t miss much. Then I went shopping with Mum and Janice. We went to Liberty’s and Browns….”

“You haven’t been overdoing it?” He surveys me with concern. “Did you take a rest? Remember what Venetia said about your blood pressure?”

“I’m fine!” I wave an arm in the air. “Never felt better!”

“Well.” Luke glances at his watch. “We should be going soon. I’ll take a quick shower and call a taxi.” His voice is cheerful enough, but as he gets up I notice a tense set to his shoulders.

“Luke…” I hesitate. “Everything’s all right, isn’t it?”

“Becky. Don’t worry.” Luke takes both my hands in his. “Everything’s fine. We have little crises every day. It’s the nature of the job; you know it is. We deal with them and we move on. Maybe I am more preoccupied than usual. I’m just very busy right now.”

“Well…OK,” I say, mollified. “Go and have your shower.”

He heads down the corridor to our bedroom and I dump my bags in the hall. I am quite tired, actually, after my afternoon with Mum and Janice. Maybe I’ll have a shower too, after Luke’s finished. I could use my revitalizing rosemary gel and do some invigorating yoga stretches.

Or else I could have a quick Kit Kat. I go into the kitchen and am just getting the box down, when the doorbell rings. That can’t be the taxi already.

“Hello?” I say into the intercom.

“Hi, Becky?” A crackly voice comes back. “It’s Jess.”

Jess?

I press the buzzer in astonishment. What’s Jess doing here? I didn’t even know she was in London.

“The taxi’s booked for fifteen minutes’ time.” Luke puts his head round the kitchen door, wearing only a towel.

“You’d better get some clothes on,” I say. “Jess is just coming up in the lift!”

“Jess?” Luke looks taken aback. “We weren’t expecting her, were we?”

“No.” I hear the gentle chime of the doorbell to our apartment and start giggling. “Quick, get dressed!”

I swing the door open to see Jess, dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a tight brown tank top, which actually looks quite cool in a seventies, retro way.

“Hi!” She gives me a stiff hug. “How are you, Becky? I’ve been seeing my tutor, and I thought I’d drop by. I tried ringing, but the line was busy. Is it OK?”

She looks slightly nervous. Honestly! As if I’m going to say no, it’s not, go away.

“Of course!” I warmly clasp her back. “It’s fab to see you. Come on in!”

“I brought a present for the baby.” She reaches in her rucksack and pulls out a brown romper, with I Will Not Pollute the World printed on the front in beige.

“Er…fab!” I say, turning it over in my fingers. “Thanks!”

“It’s made of natural hemp,” Jess says. “Are you still planning an all-hemp wardrobe for the baby?”

All-hemp? What on earth is she—

Oh. Maybe I did say something like that at Mum’s party, just to stop her lecturing me about evil bleached cotton.

“I’m going…part hemp, part other fabrics,” I say at last. “For…er…biodiversity.”

“Excellent.” She nods. “And I meant to say, I can get you a changing table on loan. There’s a women’s student cooperative which lends out baby equipment and toys. I’ve brought the number.”

“Right!” I quickly kick the door of the nursery shut before she spots my Circus Tent changing station with integrated puppet show, which arrived yesterday from Funky Baba. “I’ll…bear that in mind. Come and have a drink.”

“Have you made the baby wipes yet?” Jess follows me into the kitchen.

Not the baby wipes again. I can’t tell her I threw all the rags away at Mum’s house.

“Er, not yet…” I hastily cast around. “But I’ve done some other stuff.” I grab a striped tea towel from the rack and tie a knot in the end. “This is a homemade organic toy,” I say casually, turning round. “It’s called Knotty.”

“That’s great.” Jess examines it. “What a simple concept. Far better than any manufactured rubbish.”

“And I’m planning to…paint this spoon with nontoxic natural paint.” Feeling emboldened, I take a wooden spoon from the drawer. “I’ll give it a face and call it Spoony.”

God, I’m good at this eco-recycling lark. Maybe I’ll start my own newsletter!

“Anyway, let me get you a drink.” I pour Jess a glass of wine and plonk down opposite her. “So. What’s going on? I couldn’t believe it when Janice said you were going out with Tom!”

“I know,” says Jess. “I’m sorry, I should have told you. But it’s been so…” She breaks off.

“What?” I say, agog. Jess is staring into her glass without drinking.

“It’s not really working out,” she says at last.

“Why not?”

Jess is silent again. She hasn’t really cracked this whole talking-about-boyfriends thing, has she?

“Go on,” I cajole. “Everything you say is totally safe with me. I mean…you do like him, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. But…” She exhales. “It’s just…”

“Becky?” Luke puts his head round the door. “Oh, hi, Jess. I don’t want to break things up, but we should be going soon….”

“You have plans,” says Jess, stiffening. “I’ll go.”

“No!” I put a hand on her arm. The one time Jess ever drops in on me and asks my advice, I’m not sending her away. This is exactly what I imagined us doing when I first met her. Two sisters, popping round to each other’s places, talking about boys….

“Luke.” I make a snap decision. “Why don’t you go on ahead and I’ll join you at the bar?”

“Well, if you’re sure.” Luke kisses me. “Good to see you, Jess!”

He heads out of the kitchen and as I hear the front door close I rip open a mini-packet of Pringles. “So. You like him….”

“He’s great.” Jess is fiddling with the rough skin on one of her fingers. “He’s bright, and interesting; he has sound views…and he’s good-looking. I mean, that goes without saying.”

“Absolutely!” I say after a pause.

To be honest, Tom has never done it for me. (Despite Janice and Martin’s conviction that I’ve been hopelessly in love with him my whole life.) But to each their own.

“So the problem is…” I circle my hands, prompting her.

“He’s so needy. He calls me about ten times a day; he sends cards covered with kisses….” Jess looks up with a disparaging expression and I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for poor old Tom. “Last week he tried to get my name tattooed on his arm. He phoned me to tell me he was doing it, and I got so angry, he stopped after J.”

“He’s got a J on his arm?” I can’t help giggling.

“Up near his elbow.” She rolls her eyes. “It looks ridiculous.”

“Well, maybe he was trying to look cool,” I suggest. “You know, Lucy wanted him to get a tattoo but he wouldn’t. He probably just wanted to impress you.”

“Well, I’m not impressed. And as for Janice…” Jess thrusts her fingers through her cropped hair. “She rings me up nearly every day on some pretense or other. Have I had any thoughts about Tom’s Christmas present? Do I want to join them on a wine-tasting weekend to France? I’ve really had enough of it. So I’m thinking of ending it.”

I look up in dismay. Ending it? But what about the baby being a ring-bearer?

“You can’t give up just because of a few little details!” I protest. “I mean, apart from the tattoo, are you getting on OK? Do you ever argue?”

“We had a pretty big argument the other day.” Jess nods as she says it.

“About what?”

“Social policy.”

Oh, this just proves it. They’re made for each other!

“Jess, talk to Tom,” I say on impulse. “I bet you can work things out. Just for the sake of a tattoo…”

“It’s not just that.” Jess wraps her arms round her knees. “There’s…something else.”

“What is it?”

With an intake of breath, it hits me. She’s pregnant too. It has to be. God, how cool! We’ll have babies together and they’ll be cousins and we’ll take cute pictures of them playing in the grass together….

“I’ve been offered a two-year research project in Chile.” Jess’s voice pricks my bubble.

“Chile?” My mouth drops open in dismay. “But that’s…miles away.”

“Seven thousand,” she says, nodding.

“So…are you going to go?”

“I haven’t decided. But it’s a fantastic opportunity. It’s a team I’ve wanted to join for years.”

“Right,” I say after a short silence. “Well, then…you should go.”

I have to be supportive. This is Jess’s career. But I can’t help feeling a bit doleful. I’ve only just got to know my long-lost sister, and now she’s disappearing off to the other side of the world?

“I’ve pretty much decided that I will.” She raises her head and I find myself looking right into her speckly hazel eyes. I’ve always thought Jess had pretty eyes.

Maybe the baby will have speckly hazel eyes just like that.

“You’ll have to send me lots of pictures of my niece or nephew,” says Jess, as though reading my mind. “So I can see it grow up.”

“Of course! Every week.” I bite my lip, trying to digest all this. “So…what about Tom?”

“I haven’t told him yet.” She hunches her shoulders. “But it’ll mean the end for us.”

“Not necessarily! You could have a long-distance relationship…. There’s always e-mail….”

“For two years?”

“Well…” I trail off. Maybe she’s right. They met only a few weeks ago. And two years is a pretty long time.

“I can’t give up a chance like this for some…man.” She sounds like she’s arguing with herself. Maybe she’s more torn than she’s letting on. Maybe, underneath it all, she really has fallen for Tom.

But even I can see it. Jess’s work has been her life. She can’t just abandon it now.

“You have to go to Chile,” I say firmly. “It’ll be amazing for you. And it’ll work out with Tom. Somehow.”

The Pringles seem to have disappeared, so I get up and head for the cupboard. I open the door and survey the shelves dubiously. “We’re out of chips…. I’m not supposed to eat nuts…. We’ve got some old Ritz crackers….”

“Actually, I brought some popcorn,” says Jess, looking a bit pink about the face. “Toffee flavored.”

“You what?” I gape at her.

“It’s in my rucksack.”

Jess brought toffee flavored popcorn? But…that’s not organic. Or nutritious. Or made from farm-cooperative potatoes.

I stare in astonishment as she reaches inside her rucksack for the packet. A DVD comes out too, all shiny in its cellophane, and she stuffs it back, her cheeks reddening further.

Hang on a moment.

“What’s that?” I grab it. “Nine Months? Jess, that’s not your kind of film!”

Jess looks totally caught out.

“I thought it might be your kind of film,” she says at last. “Especially now.”

“You brought this for us to watch together?” I say incredulously, and after a moment she nods.

“I just thought…” She clears her throat. “If you were at a loose end…”

I cannot believe how touched I feel. The first time we ever spent an evening together I tried to get Jess to watch Pretty Woman, and believe me, it was not a success. But now here she is with popcorn and a Hugh Grant film. And telling me about her boyfriend. Just like I imagined having a sister would be like.

“But you have to go out.” Jess is shoving the DVD back into the rucksack. “In fact, you should get going….”

I feel a rush of affection for her — and all of a sudden I don’t want to go anywhere. Why would I spend the evening in some crowded bar, talking to a lot of snobby Cambridge graduates I don’t even know, when I could be spending time with my sister? I can meet Venetia’s Mr. Wonderful some other time. Luke won’t mind.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say firmly, and tear open the popcorn. “Let’s stay in and have fun.”

We have the best evening. We watch Nine Months — Jess does Sudoku puzzles at the same time, but that’s OK because I’m reading Hello! magazine — and we conference-call Suze to ask her advice on Tom, and then we order pizza. And Jess doesn’t even tell me how we could have made our own for 30p.

She leaves around eleven, saying that I must be tired, and I go to bed, wondering how late Luke will be. He must be having a good time too, to be out this long. When at last a stripe of light from the doorway lands on my face and makes me blink, I realize I must have fallen asleep, because I could have sworn I was receiving an Oscar from the Queen.

“Hi!” I sit up sleepily. “What time is it?”

“Just gone one,” whispers Luke. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“It’s OK.” I reach for the bedside light and switch it on. “So, how was it?”

“It was good!” There’s an enthusiasm in Luke’s voice that I wasn’t expecting. I rub my bleary eyes and focus on him. His face is glowing and he has a kind of lightness and animation about him which I haven’t seen in weeks, if not months. He strips off his tie and throws it on a chair. “I’d forgotten how much I had in common with all these old friends,” he says. “We talked about things I haven’t even thought about for years. Politics…the arts…My old friend Matthew runs a gallery now. He invited us to an exhibition. We should go!”

“Wow!” I can’t help smiling at Luke’s eagerness. “How fantastic!”

“It was great, just taking a break from business.” He shakes his head wonderingly. “I should do it more. Get things in perspective. Relax a bit.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt. “So, how was your evening with Jess?”

“It was fab! We watched a movie and ate pizza. And I have to tell you her news….” I suddenly yawn. “Maybe tomorrow.” I snuggle back down into the pillows and watch Luke get undressed. “So, what’s Venetia’s famous boyfriend like? Is he as boring as he looks in the picture?”

“He wasn’t there,” Luke says, hanging up his suit trousers.

I stop comfortably snuggling and turn my head in surprise. Venetia’s boyfriend wasn’t there? But I thought the whole point of the evening was to introduce us to Justin the wonder-boy financier.

“Oh, right. How come?”

“They’ve split up.”

“They’ve split up?” I haul myself to a sitting position in bed. “But…I thought she loved Justin more than anyone else. I thought she moved halfway across the world to be with him and they were the happiest couple in the whole universe.”

“She did.” Luke shrugs. “They were. Until three days ago. She was pretty upset about it.”

“Right,” I say after a pause. “I see.”

Suddenly the evening has taken on a totally different slant. It wasn’t Luke being introduced to Venetia’s long-term boyfriend. It was a newly single Venetia crying on Luke’s shoulder.

“So…did Venetia break it off?” I ask casually. “Or did he?”

“I’m not sure which of them ended it.” Luke heads into the bathroom. “Apparently he’s gone back to his wife now.”

“His wife?” My voice shoots up like a rocket. “What do you mean, ‘his wife’?”

“Venetia thought they were separated in all but name.” Luke turns on the taps and I can barely hear him. “She’s had a tough time, romantically, poor old Ven. She always seems to fall for married men and get into complicated situations.”

I’m trying to stay calm here. Shallow breaths. Do not overreact.

“What kind of situations?” I ask lightly.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Luke is squeezing toothpaste onto his brush. “Divorce proceedings…some scandal with a senior doctor at the hospital where she worked…There was an injunction in LA….” He frowns at the tube. “We’re nearly out of this stuff.”

Divorce proceedings? Injunctions? Scandals?

I can’t reply. My mouth is opening and shutting like a goldfish. Every instinct in my body is on red alert.

She’s after Luke.

I watch Luke cleaning his teeth as though with Venetia’s eyes. He’s wearing only pajama bottoms, and he’s still tanned from the summer, and the muscles of his shoulders are rippling faintly as he brushes. Oh God, oh God. Of course she’s after him. He’s good-looking and he owns a multimillion-pound company and they had a romance when they were much younger. Maybe he was her first love and she’s never given her heart to anyone else.

Maybe she was his first love.

There’s a hollow kind of feeling in my stomach. Which is ridiculous, bearing in mind how much is in my stomach right now.

“So!” I try to sound confident and lighthearted. “Do I need to be worried?”

Luke’s splashing water on his face. “What do you mean?”

“I…” I can’t bring myself to say it. What am I implying, that I don’t trust him? “She could maybe try going after single men!” I change tack. “Then life wouldn’t be so complicated for her!” I give a small laugh, but as Luke turns, he’s frowning.

“Venetia’s made some…unwise choices. But none of them were deliberate or out of malice. She’s just a hopeless romantic.”

He’s defending her. I feel totally wrong-footed.

A bleep suddenly comes from Luke’s jacket. He comes out of the bathroom, drying his face, and takes his phone out of his pocket.

“It’s a text from Venetia.” He looks at it and smiles. “Look. It’s a picture of this evening.”

I take the phone from him and study the display. There’s Venetia, dressed for off duty in long, rangy jeans, a leather jacket, and high, spiky boots. She’s gazing at the camera with a confident smile, her arm round Luke like she owns him.

Home-wrecker flashes through my brain before I can stop it.

Well, she’s not wrecking this home. No way. Luke and I have been through a lot over the years, and it’ll take more than some swishy-haired, spiky-heeled doctor to break us up. I’m 110 percent confident.

INTERNATIONAL OMBUDSMAN

BANKING AUTHORITY

Floors 16–18 Percival House Commercial Road London EC1 4UL

Mrs R Brandon 37 Maida Vale Mansions Maida Vale

London NW6 0YF

10 September 2003

Dear Mrs. Brandon,

I regret to inform you that your application to found an online bank, “Becky’s Online Bank for Girls,” has been turned down by the committee.

There were many grounds for the decision, in particular your statement that to run an online bank “you just need a computer and somewhere to put all the money.”

I wish you success in any further ventures, but suggest that banking is not one of them.

Yours sincerely,

John Franklin

Internet Business Committee