Mini Shopaholic

We’ve tried to move out before. In fact, several times. We’ve got as far as drawing up contracts for four houses in all, but each one has been doomed. Either the vendor didn’t really want to sell (House Three), or they suddenly demanded loads more money (House One), or the house didn’t actually belong to them but to their uncle in Spain and it was all a scam (House Four), or it burned down (House Two). I’d started to think we were jinxed, and then Luke said maybe we should wait till the Arcodas business was over.

‘Lucky Five?’ I raise my eyes hopefully towards Luke, who just crosses his fingers and grins.

This house has got everything going for it. It’s in a brilliant road in Maida Vale, and it has a lovely garden with a swing hanging from a tree, and is amazingly spacious inside. And it’s nearly ours! I feel a sudden burst of exhilaration. I have to go and buy Livingetc, right now. And Elle Deco, and House & Garden and Wallpaper* …

‘Shall we get back?’ I say casually. ‘I might just pop into Smith’s on the way and pick up a few magazines …’

And I’d better get Grand Designs, and World of Interiors, and 25 Beautiful Homes …

‘In a minute.’ Something about Luke’s voice alerts me, and I look up to see he’s taken a few paces away. His face is averted and his chin is stiff. Something doesn’t look right about him.

‘Hey, are you OK?’ I say cautiously. ‘There’s no bad news, is there?’

‘No. But there’s something I wanted to … run past you.’ He pauses, his hands cradling the back of his neck, his gaze distant, almost as though he can’t bring himself to look at me. ‘Weird thing happened a few moments ago. I was in Waterstones, waiting for the call about Arcodas. Just wandering around …’ He pauses again, for a long time. ‘And I found myself buying a book for Annabel. The new Ruth Rendell. She’d have loved it.’

There’s silence for a moment. I don’t know how to respond.

‘Luke …’ I begin tentatively.

‘I bought a bloody Christmas present for her.’ He squeezes his fists into his temples. ‘Am I going nuts?’

‘Of course you’re not going nuts! You’re just …’ I break off helplessly, wishing I had something wise and profound to say; trying desperately to remember bits from that book on bereavement I bought.

Because that’s the other awful thing that happened this year. Luke’s step-mum died in May. She was only ill for a month and then she was gone and it absolutely hit Luke for six.

I know Annabel wasn’t his biological mother – but she was his true mum. She brought him up, and she understood him like no one else, and the worst thing is, he hardly saw her before she died. Even when she was really ill, he couldn’t drop everything and rush to Devon because he had Arcodas hearings in London and they’d been adjourned so many times already it was impossible to delay again.

He shouldn’t feel guilty. I’ve told him so a million times. There was nothing he could do. But even so, I know he does. And now his dad is in Australia with his sister, so Luke can’t even make up by spending time with him.

As for his real mother … we don’t even mention her.

Ever.

Luke’s always had a pretty love-hate relationship with Elinor. It makes sense, since she abandoned him and his dad when Luke was tiny. But he was on fairly civil terms with her when she blew it, big time.

It was around the time of the funeral, when he’d gone to see her for some family business reason. I still don’t know exactly what she said to him. Something about Annabel. Something insensitive and probably downright rude, I’m guessing. He’s never told me exactly, or even referred to the incident again – all I know is, I’ve never seen him so white; so catatonic with fury. And now we never even mention Elinor’s name any more. I don’t think he’ll ever reconcile with her, his whole life. Which is fine by me.

As I look up at Luke I feel a little squeeze in my heart. The strain of this year has really hit him hard. He’s got two little lines between his eyes which he doesn’t lose even when he smiles or laughs. It’s like he can’t ever look 100 per cent happy.

‘Come on.’ I put my arm through his and squeeze it tight. ‘Let’s go and see Father Christmas.’

As we’re walking along, I casually steer Luke to the other side of the mall. No reason, really. Just because the shops are nicer to look at. Like the bespoke jewellers … and that shop with the silk flowers … and Enfant Cocotte, which is full of hand-made rocking horses and designer wenge cribs.