Mini Shopaholic

Out of nowhere, tears have begun pouring down my cheeks.

‘What?’ Luke stares at me incredulously. ‘Utah?’

‘Or Arizona. Or wherever it is. I can’t do it, Luke.’ I scrub at my eyes, feeling exactly like Meryl Streep. ‘Don’t ask it of me.’

‘I’m not asking it of you! Jesus!’ He seems absolutely stunned. ‘Who mentioned Utah, for fuck’s sake?’

‘I … er …’ I’m not quite sure now. I know someone did.

‘I hired this woman because I thought she could give us some childcare advice. If she’s useful we’ll use her. If not, we won’t.’

Luke sounds so matter-of-fact, I blink at him in surprise.

He’s never seen the TV programme, I suddenly remember. He doesn’t know about how Nanny Sue comes into your life and changes everything and you end up sobbing on her shoulder.

‘I believe in listening to professionals,’ Luke is saying calmly. ‘Now she’s seen Minnie, we should hear her recommendations. But that’s as far as it goes. Agreed?’

How can he take a situation that seems like a great big tangled spider’s web and reduce it to a single thread? How does he do that?

‘I can’t send Minnie away.’ My voice is still shaky. ‘You’ll have to prise us apart.’

‘Becky, there’ll be no prising,’ says Luke patiently. ‘We’ll ask Nanny Sue what we can do that doesn’t involve sending her away. OK? Drama over?’

I feel a bit wrong-footed. To be honest, I was all ready for a bit more drama.

‘OK,’ I say at last.

Luke opens his beer and grins at me. Then he frowns, puzzled. ‘What’s this?’ He unpeels a place card from the bottom of the bottle. ‘ “Happy Birthday Mike”. Who’s Mike?’

Shit. How did that get there?

‘No idea!’ I grab it from him and hastily crumple it. ‘Weird. Must have got picked up at the shop. Shall we … er … watch TV?’

The advantage of having the house to ourselves is we don’t have to watch snooker all the time any more. Or real-life crime. Or documentaries about the Cold War. We’re snuggled up on the sofa with the gas fire flickering away, and Luke is flipping through the channels, when suddenly he pauses and turns to me.

‘Becky … you don’t really think I would ever send Minnie away, do you? I mean, is that the kind of father you think I am?’

He looks quite perturbed and I feel a bit guilty. The truth is, I did.

‘Er …’ My phone rings before I can answer. ‘It’s Suze,’ I say apprehensively. ‘I’d better just get this …’ I head swiftly out of the room and take a deep breath. ‘Hi, Suze?’

I’ve texted Suze several times since our mini-row but we haven’t spoken. Is she still angry with me? Do I dare bring up the special shortbread thing?

‘Have you seen Style Central?’ Her voice blasts down the line, taking me by surprise. ‘Have you seen it? I’ve just had a copy biked round. I couldn’t believe my eyes.’

‘What? Oh, you mean Tarkie’s interview? Does it look good? Danny said Tarquin was really experimental—’

‘Experimental? Is that what he calls it? Interesting choice of word. I could have chosen a better one.’

There’s a weird, sarcastic edge to Suze’s voice. What’s up? Suze is never sarcastic.

‘Suze … are you OK?’ I say nervously.

‘No, I’m not OK! I should never have let Tarkie go to that photoshoot without me! I should never have trusted Danny. What was I thinking? Where were Tarkie’s advisers? Who edited the photospread? Because whoever it was, I’m suing them—’

‘Suze!’ I try to interrupt the stream of words. ‘Tell me. What’s wrong?’

‘They dressed Tarkie up in leather bondage gear!’ she erupts. ‘That’s what’s wrong! He looks like a gay model!’

Oh God. The thing about Tarquin is, he can look a bit … metrosexual. And Suze is quite sensitive about it.

‘Come on, Suze,’ I say soothingly. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t look gay …’

‘Yes he does! And it’s deliberate! They haven’t even mentioned that he’s married or has children! It’s all about sexy Lord Tarquin with his “honed pecs” and “what’s under his kilt?” And they’ve used all kinds of suggestive props …’ I can practically hear her shudder. ‘I’m going to kill Danny. Kill him!’

She must be overreacting. But then, Suze can get quite mother-tiger-ish about anyone she loves.