Mini Shopaholic

The assistant stares at Minnie. She looks at me. Then she looks at her colleague as though for help.

‘I’m sure she’ll be the same dress size as me when she grows up,’ I add. ‘So I’ll try it on for her. Do you like the lovely dress, Minnie?’

‘No dress.’ Her brows knit together in a frown.

‘Darling, it’s Temperley.’ I hold the fabric up to show her. ‘You’ll look gorgeous in it! One day.’

‘No dress!’ She runs to the other side of the shop and starts climbing into an open stock drawer.

‘Minnie!’ I exclaim. ‘Get out! So sorry …’ I add over my shoulder to the assistant.

‘Muffin!’ she yells as I try to manhandle her out. ‘Want muffin!’

‘We’ll have a muffin after we’ve got the dress,’ I say soothingly. ‘It’ll take no time—’

‘No dress!’ Somehow she extricates herself from my grasp and scampers into the window display. ‘Dolly! Mine dolly!’

Now she’s grabbing a naked mannequin.

‘Minnie, please stop that, darling.’ I try not to sound as rattled as I feel. ‘Come back here!’

‘Mine dolly!’ She drags the whole mannequin down off its podium on to the floor with a crash and starts hugging it. ‘Miiiine!’

‘Get off, Minnie!’ I say. ‘It’s not a dolly! She thinks it’s a doll,’ I add to the assistant, aiming for a light-hearted laugh. ‘Aren’t children funny?’

The assistant doesn’t laugh back, or even smile.

‘Could you get her off, please?’ she says.

‘Of course! Sorry …’ Red-faced, I try to pull Minnie off as hard as I can. But she’s holding on like a limpet.

‘Come on, Minnie!’ I try to sound relaxed and cajoling. ‘Come on, sweetheart. Off you get.’

‘No!’ she shrieks. ‘Mine dolleee!’

‘What’s going on?’ snaps someone behind me. ‘What’s that child doing? Can’t someone control her?’

My stomach curdles. I know that whiny, toxic voice. I whip round – and sure enough, it’s the elf who banned us from Santa’s Grotto. She’s still got purple nails and a ridiculous permatanned cleavage, but now she’s dressed in a black suit with a badge reading ‘Assistant Manager’.

‘You!’ Her eyes narrow.

‘Oh, hi,’ I say nervously. ‘Nice to see you again. How’s Father Christmas?’

‘Could you please remove your child?’ she says in pointed tones.

‘Er … OK. No problem.’

I look at Minnie, still clinging on to the mannequin for dear life. The only way I’m going to get her away is by peeling each finger off individually. I’m going to need ten hands.

‘Could we possibly … buy the mannequin?’

From Permatanned Elf’s expression, I wish I hadn’t asked that question.

‘Come on, Minnie. Off you get.’ I try to sound brisk and jolly, like a mother in a soap-powder commercial. ‘Bye-bye, dolly!’

‘Noooooooooo!’ She clasps it harder.

‘Get off!’ With all my effort I manage to prise one hand off, but she immediately clamps it back down.

‘Miiiiine!’

‘Get your daughter off that mannequin!’ snaps the elf. ‘Customers are coming in! Get her off!’

‘I’m trying!’ I say desperately. ‘Minnie, I’ll buy you a dolly. I’ll buy you two dollies!’

A group of girls holding shopping bags have stopped to watch us, and one starts giggling.

‘Minnie, you will have a Naughty Ribbon!’ I’m totally hot and flustered. ‘And you’ll go on the Naughty Step! And you won’t have any treats ever! And Father Christmas will move to Mars and so will the Tooth Fairy …’ I grab her feet but she kicks me in the shin. ‘Ow! Minnie!’

‘Dolleee!’ she wails.

‘You know what?’ The elf suddenly savagely erupts. ‘Take the mannequin! Just have the bloody mannequin!’

‘Have it?’ I stare at her, bewildered.

‘Yes! Anything! Just go! GO! OUT!’

Minnie is still lying full-length on the mannequin, gripping on to it for dear life. Awkwardly I pick it up with both hands, dragging it along between my legs as if it’s a dead body. Somehow, panting with effort, I manage to lug it outside – then drop it and look up.

Nanny Sue has followed us out with my three shopping bags. Now she’s just watching me and Minnie silently, her face unreadable.

And suddenly it’s as if I come out of a trance. Suddenly I see everything that has just happened through Nanny Sue’s eyes. I swallow several times, trying to think of some light-hearted comment about ‘Kids, eh?’ But I can’t think of one, and anyway, my mouth is too dry with nerves. How could I have let this happen? No one on the TV series ever got chucked out of a shop. I’m worse than all the families with fridges in the garden.