《Shopaholic & Baby (Shopaholic #5)》 Page 1 ONE OK. DON¡¯T PANIC. Everything¡¯s going to be fine. Of course it is. Of course it is. ¡°If you could lift up your top, Mrs. Brandon?¡± The sonographer has a pleasant, professional air as she looks down at me. ¡°I need to apply some jelly to your abdomen before we start the scan.¡± ¡°Absolutely!¡± I say without moving a muscle. ¡°The thing is, I¡¯m just a teeny bit¡­nervous.¡± I¡¯m lying on a bed at the Chelsea and Westminster hospital, tense with anticipation. Any minute now, Luke and I will see our baby on the screen for the first time since it was just a teeny blob. I still can¡¯t quite believe it. In fact, I still haven¡¯t quite got over the fact that I¡¯m pregnant. In nineteen weeks¡¯ time I, Becky Brandon, n¨¦e Bloomwood¡­am going to be a mother. A mother! Luke¡¯s my husband, by the way. We¡¯ve been married for just over a year and this is a one hundred percent genuine honeymoon baby! We traveled loads on our honeymoon, but I¡¯ve pretty much worked out that we conceived it when we were staying in this gorgeous resort in Sri Lanka, called Unawatuna, all orchids and bamboo trees and beautiful views. Unawatuna Brandon. Miss Unawatuna Orchid Bamboo-tree Brandon. Hmm. I¡¯m not sure what Mum would say. ¡°My wife had a slight accident in the early stages of pregnancy,¡± Luke explains from his seat beside the bed. ¡°So she¡¯s a little anxious.¡± He squeezes my hand supportively, and I squeeze back. In my pregnancy book, Nine Months of Your Life, it says you should include your partner in all aspects of your pregnancy, otherwise he can feel hurt and alienated. So I¡¯m including Luke as much as I possibly can. Like, last night I included him in watching my new DVD, Toned Arms in Pregnancy. He suddenly remembered in the middle that he had to make a business call, and missed quite a lot ¡ª but the point is, he doesn¡¯t feel shut out. ¡°You had an accident?¡± The sonographer pauses in her tapping at the computer. ¡°I fell off this mountain when I was looking for my long-lost sister in a storm,¡± I explain. ¡°I didn¡¯t know I was pregnant at the time. And I think maybe I bashed the baby.¡± ¡°I see.¡± The sonographer looks at me kindly. She has graying brown hair tied back in a knot, with a pencil stuck into it. ¡°Well, babies are resilient little things. Let¡¯s just have a look, shall we?¡± Here it is. The moment I¡¯ve been obsessing over for weeks. Gingerly I lift up my top and look down at my swelling stomach. ¡°If you could just push all your necklaces aside?¡± she adds. ¡°That¡¯s quite a collection you have there!¡± ¡°They¡¯re special pendants.¡± I loop them together with a jangle. ¡°This one is an Aztec maternity symbol, and this is a gestation crystal¡­and this is a chiming ball to soothe the baby¡­and this is a birthing stone.¡± ¡°A birthing stone?¡± ¡°You press it on a special spot on your palm, and it takes away the pain of labor,¡± I explain. ¡°It¡¯s been used since ancient Maori times.¡± ¡°Mm-hmm.¡± The sonographer raises an eyebrow and squeezes some transparent gloop on my stomach. Frowning slightly, she applies the ultrasound probe thing to my skin, and instantly a fuzzy black-and-white image appears on the screen. I can¡¯t breathe. That¡¯s our baby. Inside me. I dart a look at Luke, and he¡¯s gazing at the screen, transfixed. ¡°There are the four chambers of the heart¡­.¡± The sonographer is moving the probe around. ¡°Now we¡¯re looking at the shoulders¡­.¡± She points to the screen and I squint obediently, even though, to be honest, I can¡¯t see any shoulders, only blurry curves. ¡°There¡¯s an arm¡­one hand¡­¡± Her voice trails off and she frowns. There¡¯s silence in the little room. I feel a sudden grip of fear. That¡¯s why she¡¯s frowning. The baby¡¯s only got one hand. I knew it. A wave of overpowering love and protectiveness rises up inside me. Tears are welling in my eyes. I don¡¯t care if our baby¡¯s only got one hand. I¡¯ll love it just as much. I¡¯ll love it more. Luke and I will take it anywhere in the world for the best treatment, and we¡¯ll fund research, and if anyone even dares give my baby a look¡ª ¡°And the other hand¡­¡± The sonographer¡¯s voice interrupts my thoughts. ¡°Other hand?¡± I look up, choked. ¡°It¡¯s got two hands?¡± ¡°Well¡­yes.¡± The sonographer seems taken aback at my reaction. ¡°Look, you can see them here.¡± She points at the image, and to my amazement I can just about make out the little bony fingers. Ten of them. Page 2 ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I gulp, wiping my eyes with a tissue she hands me. ¡°It¡¯s just such a relief.¡± ¡°Everything seems absolutely fine as far as I can tell,¡± she says reassuringly. ¡°And don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s normal to be emotional in pregnancy. All those hormones swilling about.¡± Honestly. People keep talking about hormones. Like Luke last night, when I cried over that TV ad with the puppy. I¡¯m not hormonal, I¡¯m perfectly normal. It was just a very sad ad. ¡°Here you go.¡± The sonographer taps at her keyboard again. A row of black-and-white scan pictures curls out of the printer, which she hands to me. I peer at the first one ¡ª and you can see the distinct outline of a head. It¡¯s got a little nose and a mouth and everything. ¡°So. I¡¯ve done all the checks.¡± She swivels round on her chair. ¡°All I need to know now is whether you want to know the gender of the baby.¡± ¡°No, thank you,¡± Luke answers with a smile. ¡°We¡¯ve talked it through at great length, haven¡¯t we, Becky? And we both feel it would spoil the magic to find out.¡± ¡°Very well.¡± The sonographer smiles back. ¡°If that¡¯s what you¡¯ve decided, I won¡¯t say anything.¡± She ¡°won¡¯t say anything¡±? That means she¡¯s already seen what the sex is. She could just tell us right now! ¡°We hadn¡¯t actually decided, had we?¡± I say. ¡°Not for definite.¡± ¡°Well¡­yes, we had, Becky.¡± Luke seems taken aback. ¡°Don¡¯t you remember, we talked about it for a whole evening and agreed we wanted it to be a surprise.¡± ¡°Oh right, yes.¡± I can¡¯t take my eyes off the blurry print of the baby. ¡°But we could have our surprise now! It would be just as magical!¡± OK, maybe that¡¯s not exactly true. But isn¡¯t he desperate to know? ¡°Is that really what you want?¡± As I look up I can see a streak of disappointment in Luke¡¯s face. ¡°To find out now?¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± I hesitate. ¡°Not if you don¡¯t want to.¡± The last thing I want is to upset Luke. He¡¯s been so sweet and loving to me since I¡¯ve been pregnant. Recently I¡¯ve had cravings for all sorts of odd combinations ¡ª like the other day I had this sudden weird desire for pineapple and a pink cardigan. And Luke drove me to the shops especially to get them. He¡¯s about to say something, when his mobile phone starts ringing. He whips it out of his pocket and the sonographer puts up a hand. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but you can¡¯t use that in here.¡± ¡°Right.¡± Luke frowns as he sees the caller display. ¡°It¡¯s Iain. I¡¯d better call him back.¡± I don¡¯t need to ask which Iain. It¡¯ll be Iain Wheeler, the chief marketing honcho of the Arcodas Group. Luke has his own PR company, Brandon Communications, and Arcodas is Luke¡¯s big new client. It was a real coup when he won them and it¡¯s given a fantastic boost to the company ¡ª he¡¯s already hired more staff and is planning to open loads of new European offices on the back of it. So it¡¯s all wonderful for Brandon Communications. But as usual, Luke¡¯s working himself into the ground. I¡¯ve never seen him so at anyone¡¯s beck and call before. If Iain Wheeler calls, he always, always calls him back within five minutes, whether he¡¯s in another meeting, or he¡¯s having supper, or even if it¡¯s the middle of the night. He says it¡¯s the service industry and Arcodas is his mega-client, and that¡¯s what they¡¯re paying for. All I can say is, if Iain Wheeler calls while I¡¯m in labor, then that phone is going straight out the window. ¡°Is there a landline I can use nearby?¡± Luke is asking the sonographer. ¡°Becky, you don¡¯t mind¡­.¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± I wave a hand. ¡°I¡¯ll show you,¡± the sonographer says, getting up. ¡°I¡¯ll be back in a moment, Mrs. Brandon.¡± The two of them disappear out the door, which closes with a heavy clunk. I¡¯m alone. The computer is still on. The ultrasound probe thing is resting next to the monitor. I could just reach over and¡ª No. Don¡¯t be silly. I don¡¯t even know how to use an ultrasound. And besides, it would spoil the magical surprise. If Luke wants us to wait, then we¡¯ll wait. I shift on the couch and examine my nails. I can wait for things. Of course I can. I can easily¡ª Oh God. No I can¡¯t. Not till December. And it¡¯s all right there in front of me¡­and nobody¡¯s about¡­. I¡¯ll just have a teeny peek. Just really quickly. And I won¡¯t tell Luke. We¡¯ll still have the magical surprise at the birth ¡ª except it won¡¯t be quite so much of a surprise for me. Exactly. Page 3 Leaning right over, I manage to grab the ultrasound stick. I apply it to the gel on my stomach ¡ª and at once the blurry image reappears on the screen. I did it! Now I just have to shift it slightly to get the crucial bit¡­. Frowning with concentration, I move the probe around on my abdomen, tilting it this way and that, craning my neck to see the screen. This is a lot easier than I thought! Maybe I should become a sonographer. I¡¯m obviously a bit of a natural¡ª There¡¯s the head. Wow, it¡¯s huge! And that bit must be¡ª My hand freezes and I catch my breath. I¡¯ve just spotted it. I¡¯ve seen the sex of our baby! It¡¯s a boy! The image isn¡¯t quite as good as the sonographer¡¯s ¡ª but even so, it¡¯s unmistakable. Luke and I are going to have a son! ¡°Hello,¡± I say aloud to the screen, my voice cracking slightly. ¡°Hello, little boy!¡± And now I can¡¯t stop the tears rolling down my cheeks. We¡¯re having a gorgeous baby boy! I can dress him up in cute overalls, and buy him a pedal car, and Luke can play cricket with him, and we can call him¡ª Oh my God. What are we going to call him? I wonder if Luke would go for Birkin. Then I could get a Birkin to be his nappy bag. Birkin Brandon. That¡¯s quite cool. ¡°Hi, little baby,¡± I croon gently to the big round head on the screen. ¡°Do you want to be called Birkin?¡± ¡°What are you doing?¡± The sonographer¡¯s voice makes me jump. She¡¯s standing at the door with Luke, looking appalled. ¡°That¡¯s hospital equipment! You shouldn¡¯t be touching it!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say, wiping my eyes. ¡°But I just had to have another quick look. Luke, I¡¯m talking to our baby. It¡¯s just¡­amazing.¡± ¡°Let me see!¡± Luke¡¯s eyes light up, and he hurries across the room, followed by the sonographer. ¡°Where?¡± I don¡¯t care if Luke sees it¡¯s a boy and the surprise is ruined. I have to share this precious moment with him. ¡°Look, there¡¯s the head!¡± I point. ¡°Hello, darling!¡± ¡°Where¡¯s its face?¡± Luke sounds a bit perturbed. ¡°Dunno. Round the other side.¡± I give a little wave. ¡°It¡¯s Mummy and Daddy here! And we love you very¡ª¡± ¡°Mrs. Brandon.¡± The sonographer cuts me off. ¡°You¡¯re talking to your bladder.¡± Well, how was I supposed to know it was my bladder? It looked just like a baby. As we walk into the consultant obstetrician¡¯s room, I¡¯m still feeling rather hot about the cheeks. The sonographer gave me this huge great lecture about how I could have done damage to myself or broken the machine, and we only managed to get away after Luke promised a big donation to the scanner appeal. And, she said, since I hadn¡¯t been anywhere near the baby, it was very unlikely I¡¯d seen the sex. Hmph. But as I sit down opposite Dr. Braine, our obstetrician, I feel myself start to cheer up. He¡¯s such a reassuring man, Dr. Braine. He¡¯s in his sixties, with graying, well-groomed hair and a pin-stripe suit and a faint aroma of old-fashioned aftershave. And he¡¯s delivered thousands of babies, including Luke! To be honest, I can¡¯t really imagine Luke¡¯s mother Elinor giving birth, but I guess it must have happened somehow. And as soon as we discovered I was pregnant, Luke said we had to find out if Dr. Braine was still practicing, because he was the best in the country. ¡°Dear boy.¡± He shakes Luke¡¯s hand warmly. ¡°How are you?¡± ¡°Very well indeed.¡± Luke sits down beside me. ¡°And how¡¯s David?¡± Luke went to school with Dr. Braine¡¯s son and always asks after him when we meet. There¡¯s silence as Dr. Braine considers the question. This is the only thing I find a tad annoying about him. He mulls over everything you say as though it¡¯s of the greatest importance, whereas you were actually just making some random remark to keep the conversation going. At our last appointment I asked where he had bought his tie, and he thought about it for five minutes, then phoned his wife to check, and it was all a total saga. And I didn¡¯t even like the stupid tie. ¡°David¡¯s very well,¡± he says at last, nodding. ¡°He sends his regards.¡± There¡¯s another pause as he peruses the sheet from the sonographer. ¡°Very good,¡± he says eventually. ¡°Everything¡¯s in order. How are you feeling, Rebecca?¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯m fine!¡± I say. ¡°Happy that the baby¡¯s all right.¡± ¡°You¡¯re still working full-time, I see.¡± Dr. Braine glances at my form. ¡°And that¡¯s not too demanding for you?¡± Page 4 Beside me, Luke gives a muffled snort. He¡¯s so rude. ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡± I try to think how to put it. ¡°My job¡¯s not that demanding.¡± ¡°Becky works for The Look,¡± explains Luke. ¡°You know, the new department store on Oxford Street?¡± ¡°Aah.¡± Dr. Braine¡¯s face drops. ¡°I see.¡± Every time I tell people what I do, they look away in embarrassment or change the subject or pretend they¡¯ve never heard of The Look. Which is impossible, because all the newspapers have been talking about it for weeks. Yesterday the Daily World called it the ¡°biggest retail disaster in British history.¡± The only plus about working for a failure of a shop is that it means I can take as much time off as I like for doctors¡¯ appointments and prenatal classes. And if I don¡¯t hurry back, no one even notices. ¡°I¡¯m sure things will turn around soon,¡± he says encouragingly. ¡°Now, did you have any other questions?¡± I take a deep breath. ¡°Actually, I did have one question, Dr. Braine.¡± I hesitate. ¡°Now that the scan results are OK, would you say it¡¯s safe to¡­you know¡­¡± ¡°Absolutely.¡± Dr. Braine nods understandingly. ¡°A lot of couples abstain from intercourse in early pregnancy.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t mean sex!¡± I say in surprise. ¡°I meant shopping.¡± ¡°Shopping?¡± Dr. Braine seems taken aback. ¡°I haven¡¯t bought anything for the baby yet,¡± I explain. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to jinx it. But if everything looks OK, then I can start this afternoon!¡± I can¡¯t help sounding excited. I¡¯ve been waiting and waiting to start shopping for the baby. And I¡¯ve just read about this fabulous new baby shop on the King¡¯s Road, called Bambino. I actually took a bona fide afternoon off, especially to go! I feel Luke¡¯s gaze on me and turn to see him regarding me with incredulity. ¡°Sweetheart, what do you mean, ¡®start¡¯?¡± he says. ¡°I haven¡¯t bought anything for the baby yet!¡± I say, defensive. ¡°You know I haven¡¯t.¡± ¡°So¡­you haven¡¯t bought a miniature Ralph Lauren dressing gown?¡± Luke counts off on his fingers. ¡°Or a rocking horse? Or a pink fairy outfit with wings?¡± ¡°Those are for it to have when it¡¯s a toddler,¡± I retort with dignity. ¡°I haven¡¯t bought anything for the baby.¡± Honestly. Luke¡¯s not going to be a very good dad if he doesn¡¯t know the difference. Dr. Braine is following our conversation, looking perplexed. ¡°I take it you don¡¯t wish to know the sex of the baby?¡± he puts in. ¡°No, thanks,¡± says Luke, sounding determined. ¡°We want to keep it a surprise, don¡¯t we, Becky?¡± ¡°Um¡­yes.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°Unless maybe you think, Dr. Braine, that we should know for very good, unavoidable medical reasons?¡± I look hard at Dr. Braine, but he doesn¡¯t get the message. ¡°Not at all.¡± He beams. Drat. It¡¯s another twenty minutes before we leave the room, about three of which are spent in Dr. Braine examining me, and the rest in he and Luke reminiscing about some school cricket match. I¡¯m trying to be polite and listen, but I can¡¯t help fidgeting with impatience. I want to get to Bambino! At last the appointment¡¯s over and we¡¯re walking out onto the busy London street. A woman walks past with an old-fashioned Silver Cross pram, and I discreetly eye it up. I definitely want a pram like that, with gorgeous bouncy wheels. Except I¡¯ll have it customized hot pink. It¡¯ll be so fab. People will call me the Girl with the Hot Pink Pram. Except if it¡¯s a boy, I¡¯ll have it sprayed baby blue. No¡­aquamarine. And everyone will say¡ª ¡°I spoke to Giles from the estate agents this morning.¡± Luke breaks into my thoughts. ¡°Really?¡± I look up in excitement. ¡°Did he have anything¡­¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I deflate. At the moment, we live in this amazing penthouse flat which Luke has had for years. It¡¯s stunning, but it doesn¡¯t have a garden, and there¡¯s lots of immaculate beige carpet everywhere and it¡¯s not exactly a baby type of place. So a few weeks ago we put it on the market and started looking for a nice family house. The trouble is, the flat was snapped up immediately. Which, I don¡¯t want to boast or anything, was totally due to my brilliant styling. I put candles everywhere, and a bottle of champagne on ice in the bathroom, and loads of ¡°lifestyle¡± touches like opera programs and invitations to glittering society events (which I borrowed from my posh friend Suze). And this couple called the Karlssons put in an offer on the spot! And they can pay in cash! Page 5 Which is great ¡ª except where are we going to live? We haven¡¯t seen a single house we like and now the estate agent keeps saying the market¡¯s very ¡°dry¡± and ¡°poor¡± and had we thought of renting? I don¡¯t want to rent. I want to have a lovely new house to bring the baby home to. ¡°What if we don¡¯t find a place?¡± I look up at Luke. ¡°What if we¡¯re cast out on the streets? It¡¯s going to be winter! I¡¯ll be heavily pregnant!¡± I have a sudden image of myself trudging up Oxford Street while a choir sings ¡°O Little Town of Bethlehem.¡± ¡°Darling, we won¡¯t be cast out on the streets! But Giles said we may need to be more flexible in our requirements.¡± Luke pauses. ¡°I think he meant your requirements, Becky.¡± That is so unfair! When they sent over the Property Search Form, it said, ¡°Please be as specific as possible in your wishes.¡± So I was. And now they¡¯re complaining! ¡°We can forget the Shoe Room, apparently.¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± I stop at his expression. I once saw a Shoe Room on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous and I¡¯ve been hankering after one ever since. ¡°OK, then,¡± I say tamely. ¡°And we might need to be more flexible on area¡ª¡± ¡°I don¡¯t mind that!¡± I say, as Luke¡¯s mobile starts ringing. ¡°In fact, I think it¡¯s a good idea.¡± It¡¯s Luke who¡¯s always been so keen on Maida Vale, not me. There are loads of places I¡¯d like to live. ¡°Luke Brandon here,¡± Luke¡¯s saying in his businesslike way. ¡°Oh, hi there. Yes, we¡¯ve had the scan. Everything looks good. It¡¯s Jess,¡± he adds to me. ¡°She tried you but your phone¡¯s still switched off.¡± ¡°Jess!¡± I say, delighted. ¡°Let me talk to her!¡± Jess is my sister. My sister. It still gives me such a kick to say that. All my life, I thought I was an only child ¡ª and then I discovered I had a long-lost half sister! We didn¡¯t exactly get on to begin with, but ever since we got trapped in a storm together, and properly talked, we¡¯ve been real friends. I haven¡¯t seen her for a couple of months because she¡¯s been away in Guatemala on some geology research project. But we¡¯ve called and e-mailed each other, and she¡¯s texted me pictures of herself on top of some cliff. (Wearing a hideous blue anorak instead of the cool faux fur jacket I got her. Honestly.) ¡°I¡¯m going back to the office now,¡± Luke is saying into the phone. ¡°And Becky¡¯s off shopping. Do you want a word?¡± ¡°Shh!¡± I hiss in horror. He knows he¡¯s not supposed to mention the word shopping to Jess. Making a face at him, I take the phone and put it to my ear. ¡°Hi, Jess! How¡¯s it going?¡± ¡°It¡¯s great!¡± She sounds all distant and crackly. ¡°I was just calling to hear how the scan went.¡± I can¡¯t help feeling touched at her remembering. She¡¯s probably hanging by a rope in some crevasse somewhere, chipping away at the rock face, but she still took the trouble to call. ¡°Everything looks fine!¡± ¡°Yes, Luke said. Thank goodness for that.¡± I can hear the relief in Jess¡¯s voice. I know she feels guilty about me falling off the mountain, because I¡¯d gone up there looking for her, because¡ª Anyway, it¡¯s a long story. The point is, the baby¡¯s OK. ¡°So, Luke says you¡¯re going shopping?¡± ¡°Just some essentials for the baby,¡± I say casually. ¡°Some¡­er¡­recycled nappies. From the thrift shop.¡± I can see Luke laughing at me, and hastily turn away. The thing about my sister Jess is, she doesn¡¯t like shopping or spending money or ruining the earth with evil consumerism. And she thinks I don¡¯t either. She thinks I¡¯ve followed her lead and embraced frugality. I did embrace it for about a week. I ordered a big sack of oats, and I bought some clothes from Oxfam and I made lentil soup. But the trouble with being frugal is, it gets so boring. You get sick of soup, and not buying magazines because they¡¯re a waste of money, and sticking bits of soap together to make one big revolting lump. And the oats were getting in the way of Luke¡¯s golf clubs, so in the end I chucked them out and bought some Weetabix instead. Only I can¡¯t tell Jess, because it¡¯ll ruin our lovely sisterly bond. ¡°Did you see the article about making your own baby wipes?¡± she¡¯s saying with enthusiasm. ¡°It should be pretty easy. I¡¯ve started saving rags for you. We could do it together.¡± ¡°Oh. Um¡­yes!¡± Page 6 Jess keeps sending me issues of a magazine called Frugal Baby. It has cover lines like ¡°Kit Out Your Nursery for ¡ê25!¡± and pictures of babies dressed in old flour sacks, and it makes me feel depressed just looking at it. I don¡¯t want to put the baby to bed in a ¡ê3 plastic laundry basket. I want to buy a cute little cradle with white frills. Now she¡¯s going on about something called ¡°sustainable hemp babygros.¡± I think I might end this conversation. ¡°I¡¯d better go, Jess,¡± I cut in. ¡°Will you make it to Mum¡¯s party?¡± My mum¡¯s having a sixtieth birthday party next week. Loads of people are invited, and there¡¯s going to be a band, and Martin from next door is going to do conjuring tricks! ¡°Of course!¡± says Jess. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t miss it! See you then.¡± ¡°Bye!¡± I switch off the phone and turn to see that Luke has managed to hail a taxi. ¡°Shall I drop you off at the thrift shop?¡± he inquires, opening the door. Oh, ha-ha. ¡°Bambino on the King¡¯s Road, please,¡± I say to the driver. ¡°Hey, do you want to come, Luke?¡± I add with sudden enthusiasm. ¡°We could look at cool prams and everything and then have tea somewhere nice¡­.¡± I already know from Luke¡¯s expression that he¡¯s going to say no. ¡°Sweetheart, I need to get back. Meeting with Iain. I¡¯ll come another time, I promise.¡± There¡¯s no point being disappointed. I know Luke¡¯s working full-out on the Arcodas account. At least he made time for the scan. The taxi moves off and Luke puts his arm round me. ¡°You look glowing,¡± he says. ¡°Really?¡± I beam back at him. I have to say, I do feel pretty good today. I¡¯m wearing my fab new maternity Earl Jeans, and high wedge espadrilles, and a sexy halter-neck top from Isabella Oliver, which I¡¯ve ruched up to show just a teeny hint of tanned bump. I never realized it before ¡ª but being pregnant rocks! OK, your tummy gets big ¡ª but it¡¯s supposed to. And your legs look thinner in comparison. And you get this brilliant cleavage, all of a sudden. (Which I have to say, Luke is quite keen on.) ¡°Let¡¯s have another look at those scan pictures,¡± he says. I delve into my handbag for the shiny roll of images and for a while we just gaze at them together: at the rounded head; at the profile of a little face. ¡°We¡¯re starting off a whole new person,¡± I murmur, my eyes riveted. ¡°Can you believe it?¡± ¡°I know.¡± Luke¡¯s arm tightens around me. ¡°It¡¯s the biggest adventure we¡¯ll ever go on.¡± ¡°It¡¯s amazing how nature works.¡± I bite my lip, feeling the emotions rise again. ¡°All these maternal instincts have kicked in. I just feel like¡­I want to give our baby everything!¡± ¡°Bambino,¡± says the taxi driver, pulling over to the pavement. I look up from the scan pictures to see the most fantastic, brand-new shop fa?ade. The paintwork is cream, the canopy is red stripes, the doorman is dressed up as a toy soldier, and the windows are like a treasure trove for children. There are beautiful little baby clothes on mannequins, a child¡¯s bed shaped like a fifties Cadillac, a real little Ferris wheel going round and round¡­. ¡°Wow!¡± I breathe, reaching for the taxi¡¯s door handle. ¡°I wonder if that Ferris wheel is for sale! Bye, Luke, see you later¡­.¡± I¡¯m already halfway toward the entrance, when I hear Luke calling out, ¡°Wait!¡± I turn back to see a look of slight alarm on his face. ¡°Becky.¡± He leans out of the taxi. ¡°The baby doesn¡¯t have to have everything.¡± TWO HOW ON EARTH did I hold off baby shopping for so long? I¡¯ve reached the New Baby department on the first floor. It¡¯s softly carpeted, with nursery rhymes playing over the sound system, and huge plushy animals decorating the entrance. An assistant dressed as Peter Rabbit has given me a white wicker basket, and as I look around, clutching it, I can feel the lust rising. They say motherhood changes you ¡ª and they¡¯re right. For once in my life I¡¯m not thinking about myself. I¡¯m being totally selfless! All this is for my unborn child¡¯s welfare. In one direction are banks of gorgeous cradles and rotating tinkly mobiles. In the other I can glimpse the alluring chrome glint of prams. Ahead of me are displays of teeny-weeny outfits. I take a step forward, toward the clothes. Just look at those adorable bunny slippers. And the tiny cowhide padded jackets¡­and there¡¯s a massive section of Baby Dior¡­and, oh my God, D&G Junior¡­ OK. Calm down. Let¡¯s be organized. What I need is a list. Page 7 From my bag I pull Nine Months of Your Life. I turn to chapter eight: ¡°Shopping for Your Baby¡± and eagerly start scanning the page. Clothes: Do not be tempted to buy too many tiny baby clothes. White is recommended for ease of washing. Three plain babygros and six tops will suffice. I look at the words for a moment. The thing is, it¡¯s never a good idea to follow a book too closely. It even said in the introduction, ¡°You will not want to take every piece of advice. Every baby is different and you must be guided by your instincts.¡± My instincts are telling me to get a cowhide jacket. I hurry over to the display and look through the size labels. ¡°Newborn baby.¡± ¡°Small baby.¡± How do I know if I¡¯m going to have a small baby or not? Experimentally I prod my bump. It feels quite small so far, but who can tell? Maybe I should buy both, to be on the safe side. ¡°It¡¯s the Baby in Urbe snowsuit!¡± A manicured hand appears on the rack in front of me and grabs a white quilted suit on a chic black hanger. ¡°I¡¯ve been dying to find one of these.¡± ¡°Me too!¡± I say instinctively and grab the last remaining one. ¡°You know in Harrods the waiting list for these is six months?¡± The owner of the hand is a hugely pregnant blond girl in jeans and a stretchy turquoise-wrap top. ¡°Oh my God, they have the whole Baby in Urbe range.¡± She starts piling baby clothes into her white wicker basket. ¡°And look! They¡¯ve got Piglet shoes. I must get some for my daughters.¡± I¡¯ve never even heard of Baby in Urbe. Or Piglet shoes. How can I be so uncool? How can I not have heard of any of the labels? As I survey the tiny garments before me I feel a slight panic. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s in or what¡¯s out. I have no idea about baby fashion. And I¡¯ve only got about four months to get up to speed. I could always ask Suze. She¡¯s my oldest, best friend, and has three children, Ernest, Wilfrid, and Clementine. But it¡¯s a bit different with her. Most of her baby clothes are hand-embroidered smocks handed down through the generations and darned by her mother¡¯s old retainer, and the babies sleep in antique oak cots from the family stately home. I grab a couple of pairs of Piglet shoes, several Baby in Urbe rompers, and a pair of Jelly Wellies, just to be on the safe side. Then I spot the sweetest little pink baby dress. It has rainbow buttons and matching knickers and little tiny socks. It¡¯s absolutely gorgeous. But what if we¡¯re having a boy? This is impossible, not knowing the sex. There must be some way I can secretly find out. ¡°How many children do you have?¡± says the turquoise-wrap girl chattily as she squints inside shoes for sizes. ¡°This is my first.¡± I gesture to my bump. ¡°How lovely! Just like my friend Saskia.¡± She gestures at a dark-haired girl who¡¯s standing a few feet away. She¡¯s whippet thin with no sign of pregnancy and is talking intently into a mobile phone. ¡°She¡¯s only just found out. So exciting!¡± At that moment, Saskia snaps her phone shut and comes toward us, her face glowing. ¡°I got in!¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m having Venetia Carter!¡± ¡°Oh, Saskia! That¡¯s fantastic!¡± The turquoise-wrap girl drops her basket of clothes right on my foot, and throws her arms around Saskia. ¡°Sorry about that!¡± she gaily adds to me as I hand the basket back. ¡°But isn¡¯t that great news? Venetia Carter!¡± ¡°Are you with Venetia Carter too?¡± Saskia asks me with sudden interest. I am so out of the baby loop, I have no idea who or what Venetia Carter is. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard of her,¡± I admit. ¡°You know.¡± Turquoise-wrap girl opens her eyes wide. ¡°The obstetrician! The must-have celebrity obstetrician!¡± Must-have celebrity obstetrician? My skin starts to prickle. There¡¯s a must-have celebrity obstetrician and I don¡¯t know about it? ¡°The one from Hollywood!¡± elaborates turquoise-wrap girl. ¡°She delivers all the film stars¡¯ babies. You must have heard of her. And now she¡¯s moved to London. All the supermodels are going to her. She holds tea parties for her clients ¡ª isn¡¯t that fab? They all bring their babies and get these fabulous goodie bags¡­.¡± My heart is thumping as I listen. Goodie bags? Parties with supermodels? I cannot believe I¡¯m missing out on all this. Why haven¡¯t I heard of Venetia Carter? It¡¯s all Luke¡¯s fault. He made us go straight for stuffy old Dr. Braine. We never even considered anyone else. ¡°And is she good at, you know, delivering babies?¡± I ask, trying to keep calm. Page 8 ¡°Oh, Venetia¡¯s wonderful,¡± says Saskia, who seems far more intense than her friend. ¡°She¡¯s not like these old-fashioned doctors. She really connects with you. My boss, Amanda, had the most fabulous holistic water birth with lotus flowers and Thai massage.¡± Thai massage? Dr. Braine¡¯s never even mentioned Thai massage. ¡°My husband won¡¯t pay for her.¡± Turquoise-wrap girl pouts. ¡°He¡¯s a meanie. Saskia, you¡¯re so lucky¡ª¡± ¡°How do you get a place with her?¡± The words come spilling out before I can stop them. ¡°Do you have the address? Or the phone number?¡± ¡°Ooh.¡± Turquoise-wrap girl exchanges doubtful glances with Saskia. ¡°You¡¯re probably too late now. She¡¯ll be booked up.¡± ¡°I can give you this. You could try ringing.¡± Saskia reaches into her Mulberry bag and produces a brochure with Venetia Carter in elegant raised navy-blue script and a line drawing of a baby. I open it up and the first thing I see is a page of glowing testimonials, with names listed discreetly underneath. All famous! I turn to the back and there¡¯s an address in Maida Vale. I don¡¯t believe it. Maida Vale is where we live. Oh, this is totally meant! ¡°Thanks,¡± I say breathlessly. ¡°I will.¡± As Saskia and her friend move away, I whip out my mobile phone and speed-dial Luke. ¡°Luke!¡± I exclaim as soon as he answers. ¡°Thank God you answered! Guess what?¡± ¡°Becky, are you OK?¡± he asks in alarm. ¡°What¡¯s happened?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine! But listen, we have to change doctors! I¡¯ve just found out about this brilliant celebrity obstetrician called Venetia Carter. Everyone goes to her and she¡¯s amazing, apparently, and she practices near us! It couldn¡¯t be more perfect! I¡¯m about to call her!¡± ¡°Becky, what on earth are you talking about?¡± Luke sounds incredulous. ¡°We¡¯re not changing doctors! We have a doctor, remember. A very good one.¡± Wasn¡¯t he listening? ¡°I know we do,¡± I say. ¡°But Venetia Carter delivers all the film stars¡¯ babies! She¡¯s holistic!¡± ¡°What do you mean, ¡®holistic¡¯?¡± Luke sounds unimpressed. God, he has such a closed mind. ¡°I mean everyone has a fabulous birth! She does Thai massage! I just met these two girls in Bambino, and they said¡ª¡± Luke cuts me off. ¡°I really can¡¯t see what advantages this woman could have over Dr. Braine. We know he¡¯s experienced; we know he does a good job; he¡¯s a friend of the family¡­.¡± ¡°But¡­but¡­¡± I¡¯m hopping with frustration. ¡°But what?¡± I¡¯m stumped. I can¡¯t say, ¡°But he doesn¡¯t have tea parties with supermodels.¡± ¡°Maybe I want to be treated by a woman!¡± I exclaim with sudden inspiration. ¡°Had you thought of that?¡± ¡°Then we¡¯ll ask Dr. Braine to recommend a colleague,¡± Luke replies firmly. ¡°Becky, Dr. Braine has been the family obstetrician for years. I really don¡¯t think we should run off to some unknown trendy doctor on the say-so of a couple of girls.¡± ¡°But she¡¯s not unknown! That¡¯s the whole point! She treats celebrities!¡± ¡°Becky, just stop.¡± Luke suddenly sounds forceful. ¡°This is a bad idea. You¡¯re already halfway through your pregnancy. You¡¯re not changing doctors, end of story. Iain¡¯s here. I have to go. I¡¯ll see you later.¡± The phone goes dead and I stare at it, livid. How dare he tell me which doctor I¡¯m going to? And what¡¯s so great about his precious Dr. Braine? I stuff my mobile and the brochure into my bag and start furiously filling my basket with Petit Lapin baby suits. Luke doesn¡¯t understand anything. If all the movie stars go to her, then she has to be good. And it would be so cool. So cool. I suddenly have a vision of myself lying in hospital, cradling my new baby, with Kate Winslet in the next bed. And Heidi Klum in the bed beyond that. We¡¯d all become friends! We¡¯d buy each other little presents, and all our babies would be bonded for life, and we¡¯d go to the park together and be photographed by Hello! magazine. Kate Winslet pushes her pram, chatting with a friend. Maybe with her best friend, Becky. ¡°Excuse me, do you need another basket?¡± A voice interrupts my thoughts, and I look up to see a salesperson gesturing at my overflowing pile of baby clothes. I¡¯ve just been stuffing them into the basket without really noticing. ¡°Oh, thanks,¡± I say in a daze. I take the second wicker basket from him and wander over to a display of tiny hats labeled LITTLE STAR and LITTLE TREASURE. But I can¡¯t concentrate. Page 9 I want to go to Venetia Carter. I don¡¯t care what Luke thinks. In sudden defiance I pull out my mobile again and reach for the brochure. I move to a quiet corner of the shop and carefully punch in the number. ¡°Good afternoon, Venetia Carter¡¯s office,¡± a woman¡¯s very posh voice answers. ¡°Oh, hello!¡± I say, trying to sound as charming as I can. ¡°I¡¯m having a baby in December, and I¡¯ve heard how wonderful Venetia Carter is, and I just wondered if there was any possible chance of me arranging an appointment with her, possibly?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± the woman says in a firm but polite tone. ¡°Dr. Carter is fully booked for the present.¡± ¡°But I¡¯m really desperate! And I really think I need a holistic water birth. And I live in Maida Vale, and I¡¯d be willing to pay over the odds.¡± ¡°Dr. Carter is absolutely¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯d just like to add that I¡¯m a personal shopper, and I¡¯d be pleased to offer Dr. Carter my complimentary services.¡± The words come tumbling out. ¡°And my husband has a PR company and he could do some free PR for her! Not that she probably needs it, of course,¡± I add hastily. ¡°But if you could just ask her? Please?¡± There¡¯s silence. ¡°Your name is?¡± says the woman at last. ¡°Rebecca Brandon,¡± I say eagerly. ¡°And my husband is Luke Brandon of Brandon Communications, and¡ª¡± ¡°Hold on, please, Mrs. Brandon. Venetia¡ª¡± Their conversation is cut off by a brisk rendition of The Four Seasons. Please let her say yes. Please let her say yes¡­. I can hardly breathe as I wait. I¡¯m standing next to a display of white knitted rabbits, crossing my fingers as hard as I can, clutching all my pendants for good measure, and sending silent prayers to the goddess Vishnu, who has been very helpful to me in the past. ¡°Mrs. Brandon?¡± ¡°Hello!¡± I drop all my pendants. ¡°I¡¯m here!¡± ¡°It¡¯s likely that Dr. Carter will have an unexpected vacancy on her books. We¡¯ll be able to let you know within the next few days.¡± ¡°OK,¡± I gasp. ¡°Thanks very much!¡± REGAL AIRLINES HEAD OFFICE PRESTON HOUSE ? 354 KINGSWAY ? LONDON WC2 4TH Mrs Rebecca Brandon 37 Maida Vale Mansions Maida Vale London NW6 0YF 14 August 2003 Dear Mrs. Brandon, Thank you for your letter, and the enclosed flight itineraries, doctor¡¯s note, and scan pictures. I agree that your unborn child has taken many flights with Regal Airlines. Unfortunately it does not qualify for air miles, since it did not buy a ticket for any of these flights. I am sorry to disappoint and hope you choose Regal Airlines again soon. Yours sincerely, Margaret McNair Customer Service Manager THREE I HAVEN¡¯T MENTIONED ANYTHING more about Venetia Carter to Luke. For a start, it¡¯s not definite yet. And for another start, if marriage has taught me one thing, it¡¯s to not bring up tricky subjects when your husband is stressed out launching offices simultaneously in Amsterdam and Munich. He¡¯s been away all week, and only arrived back last night, exhausted. Besides which, changing doctors isn¡¯t the only tricky subject I need to broach. There¡¯s also the very slight scratch on the Mercedes (which was not my fault ¡ª it was that stupid bollard) and the two pairs of shoes I want him to get from Miu Miu when he goes to Milan. It¡¯s Saturday morning, and I¡¯m sitting in the office, checking my bank statement on my laptop. I only discovered online banking a couple of months ago ¡ª and it has so many advantages. You can do it any time of day! Plus, they don¡¯t send bank statements out by post, so no one (e.g., your husband) can see them lying around the house. ¡°Becky, I¡¯ve had a letter from my mother.¡± Luke comes in, holding the post and a mug of coffee. ¡°She sends her regards.¡± ¡°Your mother?¡± I try to hide my horror. ¡°You mean Elinor? What does she want?¡± Luke has two mothers. His lovely, warm stepmother, Annabel, who lives in Devon with his dad and who we visited last month. And his ice-queen of a real mother, Elinor, who lives in America and abandoned him when he was little and in my opinion should be excommunicated. ¡°She¡¯s touring Europe with her art collection.¡± ¡°Why?¡± I ask blankly. I have a vision of Elinor in a coach, a bundle of paintings under her arm. It doesn¡¯t seem very her, somehow. ¡°The collection is currently on loan to the Uffizi, then a gallery in Paris¡ª¡± Luke breaks off. ¡°Becky, you didn¡¯t think I meant she was taking her pictures on holiday.¡± Page 10 ¡°Of course not,¡± I say with dignity. ¡°I knew exactly what you meant.¡± ¡°Anyway, she¡¯ll be in London later on in the year and wants to meet up.¡± ¡°Luke¡­I thought you hated your mother. I thought you never wanted to see her again, remember?¡± ¡°Come on, Becky.¡± Luke frowns slightly. ¡°She¡¯s going to be the grandmother of our child. We can¡¯t shut her out completely.¡± Yes we can! I want to retort. But instead, I give an unwilling kind of half shrug. I suppose he¡¯s right. The baby will be her only grandchild. It¡¯ll have her blood in it. Oh God, what if it takes after Elinor? I¡¯m stricken by a terrible vision of a baby lying in a pram in a cream Chanel suit, glaring up at me and saying, ¡°Your outfit is shoddy, Mother.¡± ¡°So, what are you up to?¡± Luke breaks into my thoughts, and too late I realize he¡¯s heading across the room toward me. Right toward my laptop. ¡°Nothing!¡± I say quickly. ¡°It¡¯s just my bank statement¡­.¡± I try to close the window I¡¯m on, but it¡¯s frozen. Damn. ¡°Something wrong?¡± says Luke. ¡°No!¡± I say, panicking slightly. ¡°I mean¡­I¡¯ll just shut the whole thing down!¡± I casually rip the power cord out of the back ¡ª but the screen is still powered up. The statement is there, in black and white. And Luke¡¯s getting nearer. I¡¯m really not sure I want him seeing this. ¡°Let me have a go.¡± Luke reaches my chair. ¡°Are you on the bank¡¯s Web site?¡± ¡°Er¡­kind of! Honestly, I wouldn¡¯t bother¡­.¡± I position my bump in front of the screen, but Luke is peering round me. He stares at the statement for a few disbelieving moments. ¡°Becky,¡± he says at last. ¡°Does that say ¡®First Cooperative Bank of Namibia¡¯?¡± ¡°Er¡­yes.¡± I try to sound matter-of-fact. ¡°I have a small online account there.¡± ¡°In Namibia?¡± ¡°They sent me an e-mail offering me very competitive rates,¡± I say a little defiantly. ¡°It was a great opportunity.¡± ¡°Do you respond to every e-mail you get, Becky?¡± Luke turns, incredulous. ¡°Do you have a fine selection of Viagra substitutes too?¡± I knew he wouldn¡¯t understand my brilliant new banking strategy. ¡°Don¡¯t get so stressy!¡± I say. ¡°Why is it such a big deal where I bank? Commerce has gone global, you know, Luke. The old boundaries are gone. If you can get a good rate in Bangladesh, then¡ª¡± ¡°Bangladesh?¡± ¡°Oh. Well¡­er¡­I¡¯ve got a bank account there too. Just a tiny one,¡± I add quickly, looking at his expression. ¡°Becky¡­¡± Luke seems to be having trouble taking all this in. ¡°How many of these online bank accounts have you opened?¡± ¡°Three,¡± I say after a pause. ¡°About three.¡± He gives me a hard look. The trouble with husbands is, they get to know you too well. ¡°OK then, fifteen,¡± I say in a rush. ¡°And how many overdrafts?¡± ¡°Fifteen. What?¡± I add defensively. ¡°What¡¯s the point of having a bank account if you don¡¯t have an overdraft?¡± ¡°Fifteen overdrafts?¡± Luke clutches his head in disbelief. ¡°Becky¡­you are third world debt.¡± ¡°I¡¯m playing the global economy to my advantage!¡± I retort. ¡°The Bank of Chad gave me a fifty-dollar bonus just for joining!¡± Luke¡¯s so blinkered. So what if I have fifteen bank accounts? Everyone knows you shouldn¡¯t put all your eggs in one basket. ¡°You seem to forget, Luke,¡± I add in lofty tones, ¡°I am a former financial journalist. I know all about money and investment. The bigger the risk, the bigger the profit, I think you¡¯ll find.¡± Luke doesn¡¯t look too impressed. ¡°I¡¯m aware of the principles of investment, thank you, Becky,¡± he says politely. ¡°Well, then.¡± I suddenly have a thought. ¡°We should invest the baby¡¯s trust fund in Bangladesh too. We¡¯d probably make a fortune!¡± ¡°Are you crazy?¡± He stares at me. ¡°Why not? It¡¯s an emerging market!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡± Luke rolls his eyes. ¡°In fact, I¡¯ve already spoken to Kenneth about the baby¡¯s fund, and we¡¯ve agreed to invest it in a range of secure unit trusts¡ª¡± ¡°Wait a minute!¡± I raise a hand. ¡°What do you mean, you¡¯ve spoken to Kenneth? What about my opinion?¡± Page 11 I can¡¯t believe they haven¡¯t even consulted me! Like I don¡¯t count. Like I didn¡¯t used to be a financial expert on television and get hundreds of letters a week asking for advice. ¡°Look, Becky.¡± Luke sighs. ¡°Kenneth is very happy to recommend suitable investments. You don¡¯t need to worry.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not the point!¡± I say indignantly. ¡°Luke, you don¡¯t understand. We¡¯re going to be parents. We need to make all important decisions together. Otherwise our child will run around hitting us and we¡¯ll end up hiding in the bedroom and never have sex again!¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°It¡¯s true! It¡¯s on Supernanny!¡± Luke looks totally baffled. He really should watch more TV. ¡°All right, fine,¡± he says at last. ¡°We can decide things together. But I¡¯m not putting the baby¡¯s trust fund in some high-risk emerging market.¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯m not putting it in some stodgy old bank account where it doesn¡¯t make any profit!¡± I retaliate. ¡°Stalemate.¡± Luke¡¯s mouth twitches. ¡°So¡­what does Supernanny recommend when parents have fundamentally differing approaches to trust fund investment?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure she¡¯s covered it,¡± I admit. Then a sudden brain wave hits me. ¡°I know. We¡¯ll split up the money. You invest half and I¡¯ll invest half. And we¡¯ll see who does best.¡± I can¡¯t resist adding, ¡°I bet it¡¯s me.¡± ¡°Oh, I see.¡± Luke raises his eyebrows. ¡°So¡­this is a challenge, is it, Mrs. Brandon?¡± ¡°He who dares wins,¡± I say nonchalantly, and Luke starts to laugh. ¡°OK. Let¡¯s do this. Half each, to be invested in anything we choose.¡± ¡°You¡¯re on,¡± I say, holding out my hand. We shake gravely, as the phone starts ringing. ¡°I¡¯ll get it,¡± Luke says, and heads over to his desk. ¡°Hello? Oh, hi there. How are you?¡± I am so going to win this! I¡¯ll pick loads of brilliant investments and make the baby an absolute mint. Maybe I¡¯ll invest in futures. Or gold. Or¡­art! I just need to find the next Damien Hirst and buy a pickled cow or whatever, and then auction it for a huge profit at Sotheby¡¯s, and everyone will say how farsighted and genius I was¡­. ¡°Really?¡± Luke is saying. ¡°No, she never mentioned it. Well, thanks.¡± He puts down the phone and turns to face me with a quizzical expression. ¡°Becky, that was Giles from the real estate agents. Apparently you had a long talk earlier this week. What exactly did you say to him?¡± Shit. I knew there was another tricky subject I had to broach. I should really start a list. ¡°Oh yes, that.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°I just told Giles we were willing to be more flexible in our requirements.¡± I straighten some papers on my desk, not looking up. ¡°Like you said. Expand our search area a bit.¡± ¡°A bit?¡± echoes Luke incredulously. ¡°To the Caribbean? He¡¯s sending us the details of eight bloody beach villas and wants to know if we¡¯d like to arrange flights!¡± ¡°You¡¯re the one who said we had to look further afield, Luke!¡± I say defensively. ¡°It was your idea!¡± ¡°I meant Kensington! Not Barbados!¡± ¡°Have you seen what we can get in Barbados?¡± I counter eagerly. ¡°Look at this!¡± I push my office chair across the floor to his computer, click on a browser, and find my way onto a Caribbean realty page. Property Web sites are the best thing ever. Especially the ones with virtual tours. ¡°See this one?¡± I point at the screen. ¡°Five bedroom villa with infinity pool, sunken garden, and guest cottage!¡± ¡°Becky¡­¡± Luke pauses, as though thinking how to explain the situation to me. ¡°It¡¯s in Barbados.¡± He is so hung up on that one detail. ¡°So what?¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯d be fab! The baby would learn to swim, and you could send all your e-mails from the guest cottage¡­and I could go running on the beach every day¡­.¡± I have an alluring image of myself in a string bikini, pushing one of those jogger prams along a glistening white Caribbean beach. And Luke would be all tanned in a polo shirt, drinking a rum punch. He could get into surfing, and put beads in his hair again¡ª ¡°I¡¯m not putting beads in my hair again.¡± Luke interrupts my thoughts. That¡¯s so spooky! How on earth did he¡­ Oh, OK. I possibly may have shared my Caribbean fantasy with him before. ¡°Look, sweetheart,¡± he says, sitting down. ¡°Maybe in five, ten years¡¯ time we can think about something like this. If things go to plan, we¡¯ll have a lot of options by then. But for now it has to be central London.¡± Page 12 ¡°Well, what are we going to do, then?¡± I close the Barbados Web page crossly. ¡°There¡¯s nothing on the market. It¡¯ll be Christmas and we¡¯ll be out on the streets, and we¡¯ll have to go to a homeless shelter with the baby, and eat soup¡­.¡± ¡°Becky.¡± Luke lifts a hand to stop me. ¡°We won¡¯t have to eat soup.¡± He clicks one of his e-mails, opens an attachment, and presses Print. A moment later the printer springs into action. ¡°What?¡± I say. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°Here.¡± He collects the pages and hands them to me. ¡°This is why Giles rang. In case we were ¡®still considering London,¡¯ as he put it. It¡¯s just come on the market, round the corner from here. Delamain Road. But we need to be quick.¡± I scan the first page, taking in the words as fast as I can. Elegant family house¡­ideal for entertaining¡­grand entrance hall¡­magnificent luxury kitchen¡­ Wow. I have to admit, this looks amazing. Garden with architect-designed play area¡­six bedrooms¡­dressing room with walk-in shoe cupboard¡­ I catch my breath. A walk-in shoe cupboard! But surely that¡¯s just another way of saying¡ª ¡°It¡¯s even got a Shoe Room.¡± Luke is watching me with a grin. ¡°Giles was pretty pleased about that. Shall we go and see it?¡± I am so excited about this house! And not just because of the Shoe Room. I¡¯ve read the details over and over, and I can just see Luke and me living there. Taking a shower in the frameless limestone RainJet cubicle¡­making coffee in the Bulthaup kitchen with its state-of-the-art appliances¡­and then maybe strolling out into the secluded west-facing garden with its range of mature specimen shrubs. Whatever they are. It¡¯s later that day and we¡¯re walking along the leafy Maida Vale road on the way to our appointment to view it. I¡¯m clutching the printout of the details in my hand, but I barely need to; I practically know them by heart. ¡°Twenty-four¡­twenty-six¡­¡± Luke is squinting at the numbers as we pass. ¡°It¡¯ll be on the other side of the road¡­.¡± ¡°There it is!¡± I stop dead and point across the street. ¡°Look, there¡¯s the impressive pillared entrance and double doors with attractive fanlight! It looks fab! Let¡¯s go!¡± Luke¡¯s hand holds me back as I¡¯m about to hurry across the road. ¡°Becky, before we go in, just a word.¡± ¡°What?¡± I¡¯m tugging at his hand like a dog trying to get off the leash. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Try to play it cool, OK? We don¡¯t want to look too keen. First rule of business dealing, you should always look as though you could walk away.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I stop yanking his hand. ¡°All right.¡± Cool. I can play it cool. But as we head across the road and up to the front door, my heart¡¯s hammering. This is our house, I just know it is! ¡°I love the front door!¡± I exclaim, ringing the bell. ¡°It¡¯s so shiny!¡± ¡°Becky¡­cool, remember,¡± says Luke. ¡°Try not to look so impressed.¡± ¡°Oh, right, yes.¡± I adopt the best unimpressed expression I can muster, just as the door swings open. A very slim woman in her forties is standing on black-and-white marble tiles. She¡¯s wearing white D&G jeans, a casual top which I know cost her ¡ê500, and a diamond ring so huge, I¡¯m amazed she can lift her arm. ¡°Hi.¡± Her voice is a husky mockney drawl. ¡°Are you here to see the house?¡± ¡°Yes!¡± At once I realize I sound too excited. ¡°I mean¡­yeah.¡± I affect a similar nonchalance. ¡°We thought we¡¯d have a look.¡± ¡°Fabia Paschali.¡± Her handshake is like wet cotton wool. ¡°Becky Brandon. And this is my husband, Luke.¡± ¡°Well, come on through.¡± We follow her in, our feet echoing on the tiles, and as I look around I have to suppress a loud intake of breath. This hall is huge. And the sweeping staircase is like something out of Hollywood! I immediately have an image of myself trailing down it in a fantastic evening dress while Luke waits admiringly at the bottom. ¡°We¡¯ve had fashion shoots here,¡± says Fabia, gesturing at the staircase. ¡°The marble is imported from Italy and the chandelier is antique Murano. It¡¯s included.¡± I can see she¡¯s waiting for a reaction. ¡°Very nice,¡± says Luke. ¡°Becky?¡± Cool. I must be cool. ¡°It¡¯s all right.¡± I give a little yawn. ¡°Can we see the kitchen?¡± Page 13 The kitchen is just as amazing. It has a vast breakfast bar, a glass roof, and about every gadget known to mankind. I¡¯m trying as hard as I can not to look overawed as Fabia runs through the appliances. ¡°Triple oven¡­chef¡¯s hob¡­This is a rotating multisurface chopping area¡­.¡± ¡°Not bad.¡± I run a hand over the granite with a jaded air. ¡°Do you have a built-in electric sushi maker?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she says as though I¡¯ve asked something really obvious. It has a built-in electric sushi maker! Oh God, it¡¯s just spectacular. And so is the terrace with built-in summer kitchen and barbecue. And the drawing room fitted out with David Linley shelves. As we follow Fabia upstairs to the main bedroom I¡¯m practically expiring, trying not to exclaim at everything. ¡°Here¡¯s the dressing room¡­.¡± Fabia shows us into a smallroom lined with paneled walnut wardrobes. ¡°This is my customized shoe cupboard¡­.¡± She opens the door and we walk in. I feel faint. Either side of us are rows and rows of shoes, lined up immaculately on suede-lined shelves. Louboutins¡­Blahniks¡­ ¡°It¡¯s amazing!¡± I blurt out. ¡°And look, we¡¯re the same size and everything. This is so meant to be¡ª¡± Luke casts me a warning glance. ¡°I mean¡­yeah.¡± I give an offhand shrug. ¡°It¡¯s OK, I guess.¡± ¡°Have you got kids?¡± Fabia glances at my stomach as we move away. ¡°We¡¯re expecting one in December.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve got two at boarding school.¡± She rips a Nicorette patch off her arm, frowns at it, and drops it in a bin. Then she reaches in her jeans pocket and produces a packet of Marlboro Lights. ¡°They¡¯re on the top floor now but their nurseries are still done up if you¡¯re interested.¡± She flicks a lighter and takes a puff. ¡°Nurseries?¡± echoes Luke, glancing at me. ¡°More than one?¡± ¡°His and hers. We had one of each. Never got round to redecorating. This is my son¡¯s¡­.¡± She pushes open a white-paneled door. I stand there, open-mouthed. It¡¯s like fairyland. The walls are painted with a mural of green hills and blue sky and woods and teddy bears having a picnic. In one corner is a painted crib in the shape of a castle; in the other is a real little red wooden train on tracks, big enough to sit on, with a toy in each carriage. I feel an overwhelming stab of desire. I want a boy. I so want a little boy. ¡°And my daughter¡¯s is over here,¡± Fabia continues. I can barely tear myself away from the boy¡¯s nursery, but I follow her across the landing as she opens the door ¡ª and can¡¯t help gasping. I have never seen anything so beautiful. It¡¯s a little girl¡¯s dream. The walls are decorated with hand-painted fairies, the white curtains are looped back with huge lilac taffeta bows, and the little cradle is festooned with broderie anglaise frills like a princess¡¯s bed. Oh God. Now I want a girl. I want both. Can¡¯t I have both? ¡°So, what do you think?¡± Fabia turns to me. There¡¯s silence on the landing. I can¡¯t speak for longing. I want these nurseries more than I have ever wanted anything, ever. I want this whole house. I want to live here and have our first Christmas here as a family, and decorate a huge pine tree in the black-and-white hall, and hang a tiny stocking above the fireplace¡­. ¡°Pretty nice,¡± I manage at last, with a small shrug. ¡°I suppose.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Fabia draws on her cigarette. ¡°Let¡¯s show you the rest.¡± I feel like I¡¯m floating as we progress through all the other rooms. We¡¯ve found our house. We¡¯ve found it. ¡°Make her an offer!¡± I whisper to Luke as we¡¯re peering into the hot water cupboard. ¡°Tell her we want it!¡± ¡°Becky, slow down.¡± He gives a little laugh. ¡°That¡¯s not the way to negotiate. We haven¡¯t even seen it all yet.¡± But I can tell he loves it too. His eyes are bright, and as we come down to the hall again he¡¯s asking questions about the neighbors. ¡°Well¡­thanks,¡± he says at last, shaking Fabia¡¯s hand. ¡°We¡¯ll be in touch through the estate agent.¡± How can he restrain himself? Why isn¡¯t he getting out his checkbook? ¡°Thank you very much,¡± I add, and am about to shake Fabia¡¯s hand myself when there¡¯s the sound of a key at the front door. A tanned man in his fifties comes in, wearing jeans and a leather jacket and carrying a cool art-portfolio ¡ª type thing. ¡°Hi, there.¡± He looks from face to face, clearly wondering if he¡¯s supposed to know us. ¡°How are you?¡± Page 14 ¡°Darling, these are the Brandons,¡± says Fabia. ¡°They¡¯ve been looking round the house.¡± ¡°Ah. Through Hamptons?¡± He frowns. ¡°I would have called if I¡¯d known. I accepted an offer ten minutes ago. Through the other agent.¡± I feel a shot of horror. He¡¯s done what? ¡°We¡¯ll make you an offer right now!¡± I blurt out. ¡°We¡¯ll offer the asking price!¡± ¡°Sorry. It¡¯s done.¡± He shrugs and takes off his jacket. ¡°Those Americans who looked round this morning,¡± he adds to Fabia. No. No. We can¡¯t be losing our dream house! ¡°Luke, do something.¡± I try to speak calmly. ¡°Make an offer! Quick!¡± ¡°You don¡¯t mind, do you?¡± Fabia looks surprised. ¡°You didn¡¯t seem that keen on the place.¡± ¡°We were playing cool!¡± I wail, all semblance of nonchalance vanishing. ¡°Luke, I knew we should have said something earlier! We love the house! I adore the nurseries! We want it!¡± ¡°We¡¯d very much like to offer above the asking price,¡± says Luke, stepping forward. ¡°We can act with the utmost speed and have our solicitor contact yours in the morning.¡± ¡°Look, as far as I¡¯m concerned, the house has gone,¡± says Fabia¡¯s husband, rolling his eyes. ¡°I need a drink. Good luck with your search.¡± He strides away, over the tiles toward the kitchen, and I hear a fridge opening. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Fabia says with a shrug, and leads us toward the front door. ¡°But¡­¡± I trail off helplessly. ¡°That¡¯s OK. If the deal falls through, please let us know.¡± Luke gives her a polite smile and slowly we walk out into the mild autumn afternoon. Leaves are drifting off the trees onto the paved path and I can smell a bonfire in the air. I could just see myself living on this street. Pushing the baby along in a pram, waving to all the neighbors¡­ ¡°I can¡¯t believe it.¡± My voice is a little choked. ¡°It was just a house.¡± Luke puts his arm round my slumped shoulders. ¡°We¡¯ll find another one.¡± ¡°We won¡¯t. We won¡¯t ever find a place like that. It was the perfect house!¡± I stop, my hand on the wrought-iron gate. I can¡¯t just give up. I¡¯m not some lame giver-upper. ¡°Wait here,¡± I say to Luke, swiveling on my heel. I rush back along the path, up the steps, and plant a foot in the door before Fabia can close it. ¡°Listen,¡± I say urgently. ¡°Please. Fabia, we really, really love your house. We¡¯ll pay anything you want.¡± ¡°My husband¡¯s already done the deal.¡± She shrinks back. ¡°There¡¯s nothing I can do.¡± ¡°You can talk him round! What can I do to persuade you?¡± ¡°Look.¡± She sighs. ¡°It¡¯s not up to me. Could you please move your feet?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll do anything!¡± I cry in desperation. ¡°I¡¯ll buy you something! I work at a fashion store, I can get really cool stuff¡ª¡± I break off. Fabia is peering at my foot, jammed in the door. Then she looks at the other one. It¡¯s not my feet she¡¯s interested in, it¡¯s my Archie Swann cowboy boots in beaten-up calfskin with the leather drawstring. Archie Swann is the new kid on the shoe block, and these exact boots were in Vogue last week, under ¡°Most Coveted.¡± I saw Fabia checking them out the moment we arrived. Fabia raises her eyes to mine. ¡°I like your boots,¡± she says. I¡¯m momentarily speechless. Play it cool, Becky, play it cool. ¡°I waited a whole year for these boots,¡± I say at last, feeling as though I¡¯m treading on eggshells. ¡°You can¡¯t get them anywhere.¡± ¡°I¡¯m on the waiting list at Harvey Nichols,¡± she bats back. ¡°Maybe.¡± I force a casual tone. ¡°But you won¡¯t get them. They only made fifty pairs and they¡¯ve run out. I¡¯m a personal shopper, so I know these things.¡± I am totally bluffing here. But I think it¡¯s working. She¡¯s practically salivating over them. ¡°Becky?¡± Luke is coming back up the path toward me. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°Luke!¡± I lift a hand. ¡°Stay there!¡± I feel like Obi-Wan Kenobi telling Luke Skywalker not to interfere because he doesn¡¯t understand the strength of the Force. I wriggle out of my left boot, leaving it standing on the doormat like a totem. ¡°It¡¯s yours,¡± I say. ¡°If you accept our offer. And the other one when we exchange contracts.¡± ¡°Call the agent tomorrow,¡± says Fabia, sounding almost breathless. ¡°I¡¯ll talk my husband round. The house is yours.¡± Page 15 I did it! I don¡¯t believe it! As fast as I can, in one boot and one stockinged foot, I hurry down the steps toward Luke. ¡°We¡¯ve got the house!¡± I throw my arms round his neck. ¡°I got us the house!¡± ¡°What the fuck¡ª¡± He stares at me. ¡°What did you say? Why are you only wearing one boot?¡± ¡°Oh¡­just a bit of negotiation,¡± I say airily, and glance back at the front door. Fabia has already kicked off her gold ballet pump and thrust her jean-clad leg into the boot. Now she¡¯s turning it from side to side, fixated. ¡°If you call the agent in the morning, I think you¡¯ll find it¡¯s a deal.¡± We don¡¯t even need to wait until the next morning. Less than two hours later, we¡¯re sitting in the car on the way to Mum¡¯s, when Luke¡¯s phone rings. ¡°Yes?¡± he says into his headset. ¡°Yes. Really?¡± I¡¯m making faces at him, trying to get him to tell me what¡¯s going on, but he¡¯s keeping his eyes firmly on the road, which is really annoying. At last he switches the phone off and turns to me with the tiniest of smiles. ¡°It¡¯s ours.¡± ¡°Yes!¡± I squeal in delight. ¡°I told you!¡± ¡°They¡¯re relocating to New York and want to move as soon as possible. I said we could complete by December.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll have our new baby in our gorgeous new house in time for Christmas.¡± I hug myself. ¡°It¡¯s going to be perfect!¡± ¡°It¡¯s pretty good news.¡± His face is glowing. ¡°And all down to you.¡± ¡°It was nothing,¡± I say modestly. ¡°Just good negotiating.¡± I get out my mobile phone and am about to text Suze the good news, when all of a sudden it rings. ¡°Hello?¡± I say joyfully into it. ¡°Mrs. Brandon? It¡¯s Diane from Venetia Carter¡¯s office here.¡± ¡°Oh!¡± I stiffen, and glance at Luke. ¡°Er¡­hello.¡± ¡°We just wanted to let you know that the vacancy has arisen on Dr. Carter¡¯s books. She would be very pleased to see you ¡ª and your husband if you wish ¡ª on Thursday at three P.M.¡± ¡°Right,¡± I say, a little breathless. ¡°Um¡­yes, please. I¡¯ll be there! Thank you very much!¡± ¡°Not at all. Good-bye, Mrs. Brandon.¡± The line goes dead and I switch the phone off with trembling hands. I¡¯ve got a place with Venetia Carter! I¡¯m going to meet celebrities and have holistic Thai massage! Now I just have to break the news to Luke. ¡°Who was that?¡± says Luke, turning on the radio. He frowns at the digital display and presses a couple of buttons. ¡°It was¡­um¡­¡± I drop my phone accidentally-on-purpose on the floor and bend down to retrieve it. It¡¯ll be fine. He¡¯s in a good mood about the house and everything. I¡¯ll just tell him and that will be that. And if he starts objecting, I shall point out that I¡¯m a grown-up mature woman who can choose her own medical care. Exactly. ¡°Er¡­Luke.¡± I sit up again, a bit red in the face. ¡°About Dr. Braine.¡± ¡°Oh, yes?¡± Luke pulls into another lane. ¡°By the way, I told my mother we¡¯d organize a dinner with him and David.¡± A dinner? Oh God, this gets worse. I have to tell him, quick. ¡°Luke, listen.¡± I wait until he slows down behind a truck. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking very hard and doing some research.¡± Research sounds good. Even if it was just reading a piece about Hollywood baby trends on fashionmommies.com. ¡°And the thing is¡­¡± I swallow. ¡°I want to go to Venetia Carter.¡± Luke makes an impatient noise. ¡°Becky, not this again. I thought we¡¯d agreed¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got a place with her,¡± I say in a rush. ¡°I¡¯ve made an appointment. It¡¯s all fixed up.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve what?¡± He brakes at a traffic light and turns to face me. ¡°It¡¯s my body!¡± I say defensively. ¡°I can see whoever I like!¡± ¡°Becky, we are lucky enough to have one of the most respected, renowned obstetricians in the country looking after you, and you¡¯re messing around with some unknown woman.¡± ¡°For the millionth time, she¡¯s not unknown!¡± I exclaim in frustration. ¡°She¡¯s huge in Hollywood! She¡¯s modern and she¡¯s in touch, and she does these amazing water births with lotus flowers¡­.¡± ¡°Lotus flowers? She sounds a total bloody charlatan.¡± Luke angrily jabs his foot down on the accelerator. ¡°I won¡¯t have you risking the health of yourself and the baby.¡± 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¡ª¡± ¡°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¡ª¡± ¡°Is there off-street parking?¡± Dad squints over Mum¡¯s shoulder. ¡°No, there¡¯s no actual parking, but¡ª¡± ¡°They don¡¯t need parking, Graham,¡± Mum interrupts. ¡°They¡¯re Londoners! They take taxis everywhere.¡± Page 17 ¡°Are you telling me no Londoners drive?¡± says Dad scoffingly. ¡°Are you telling me that in our entire capital city, not a single resident ever gets in a car?¡± ¡°I would never drive in London.¡± Janice gives a little shudder. ¡°You know, they wait until you stop at the traffic lights¡­and then they knife you.¡± ¡°¡®They¡¯?¡± exclaims Dad in exasperation. ¡°Who¡¯s ¡®they¡¯?¡± ¡°Marble floor. Ooh, dear.¡± Mum looks up from the details and pulls a face. ¡°What about the little one when it¡¯s learning to walk? You could carpet it over, perhaps. A nice Berber with flecks in so it doesn¡¯t show the dirt.¡± I give up. ¡°And my second piece of news is¡­¡± I say loudly, trying to haul the conversation back on track, ¡°I¡¯m changing doctors.¡± I pause for effect. ¡°I¡¯m having Venetia Carter.¡± ¡°Venetia Carter?¡± Suze looks up from Wilfrid in amazement. ¡°Are you serious?¡± Ha. I knew Suze would have heard of her. ¡°Absolutely.¡± I glow with pride. ¡°We¡¯ve just heard we¡¯ve got a place with her. Isn¡¯t it fantastic?¡± ¡°Is she good, then, this Dr. Carter?¡± Mum looks from me to Suze. ¡°They call her the A-list obstetrician.¡± Suze expertly starts to burp Wilfrid. ¡°I read an article about her in Harper¡¯s. She¡¯s supposed to be wonderful!¡± A-list obstetrician! That makes me A-list! ¡°She does all the supermodels and film stars,¡± I can¡¯t help boasting. ¡°They have tea parties and designer goodie bags and everything. I¡¯ll probably meet them all!¡± ¡°But, Becky, I thought you had a well-respected doctor.¡± Dad looks perturbed. ¡°Is it a good idea to be changing?¡± ¡°Dad, Venetia Carter¡¯s in a different league!¡± I can¡¯t help sounding impatient. ¡°She¡¯s the absolute best. I had to beg to get a place with her.¡± ¡°Well, don¡¯t forget us, love, when you¡¯re famous!¡± says Mum. ¡°I won¡¯t! Hey, do you want to see the scan?¡± I fish in my bag, produce the roll of pictures, and hand it to Mum. ¡°Look at that!¡± she breathes, gazing at the blurry image. ¡°Look, Graham! Our first little grandchild. It looks just like my mother!¡± ¡°Your mother?¡± retorts Dad incredulously, grabbing the prints from her. ¡°Are you blind?¡± ¡°Becky, I¡¯ve knitted a few bits and pieces for the baby,¡± Janice puts in timidly. ¡°Some little matinee jackets¡­a shawl¡­a Noah¡¯s Ark set¡­I made three of each animal, just in case of mishap¡­.¡± ¡°Janice, that¡¯s so kind of you,¡± I say, touched. ¡°It¡¯s no trouble, love! I enjoy knitting. Of course, I always hoped that Tom and Lucy might¡­¡± Janice trails off with a brave, bright smile. ¡°But that wasn¡¯t to be.¡± ¡°How is Tom?¡± I ask cautiously. Tom is Janice¡¯s son. He¡¯s about the same age as me, and got married three years ago, in this big, fancy wedding. But then it all went a bit wrong. His wife, Lucy, got a tattoo and ran off with a guy who lived in a caravan, and Tom turned very weird and started building a summerhouse in his parents¡¯ back garden. ¡°Oh, Tom¡¯s very well! He lives mainly in the summerhouse now. We leave him food on trays.¡± Janice looks a little beleaguered. ¡°He says he¡¯s writing a book.¡± ¡°Oh, right!¡± I say encouragingly. ¡°About what?¡± ¡°The state of society.¡± She swallows. ¡°Apparently.¡± There¡¯s silence as we all digest this. ¡°What sort of state does he think society¡¯s in?¡± asks Suze. ¡°Not very good,¡± whispers Janice. ¡°Have another cup of tea, Janice, love.¡± Mum pats her hand comfortingly. ¡°Or a sherry?¡± ¡°Just a small sherry,¡± says Janice after a pause. ¡°I¡¯ll help myself.¡± As she heads across the room to the drinks cabinet, Mum puts down her cup. ¡°Now, Becky,¡± she says. ¡°Did you bring all your catalogs?¡± ¡°Here!¡± I reach for the bag I brought in with me. ¡°I¡¯ve got Blooming Marvellous, Great Little Trading Company, The Little White Company¡­.¡± ¡°I brought JoJo Maman B¨¦b¨¦,¡± chimes in Suze. ¡°And Italian Baby Cashmere.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got all of those.¡± Mum nods, reaching for a stack of catalogs in the magazine rack. ¡°Have you got Funky Baba?¡± She waves a catalog bearing a picture of a baby in a clown costume. Page 18 ¡°Ooh!¡± says Suze. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen that one!¡± ¡°You take that,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ll take Petit Enfant. Mum, you do Luxury Baby.¡± With a happy sigh we all settle down to flicking through images of infants on playmats and wearing cute Tshirts and being toted in stylish baby carriers. Honestly, it¡¯s worth having a baby just for all the gorgeous stuff. ¡°I¡¯ll turn down the corner of the page if I see something you should get,¡± says Mum in a businesslike way. ¡°OK, me too,¡± I say, fixated on a spread of babies dressed up as animals. We have to get the baby a polar bear snowsuit. I turn down the corner and flip to the next page, which is full of adorable miniature ski-wear. And look at the tiny pom-pom hats! ¡°Luke, I think we should take the baby skiing from really early on,¡± I say as he enters the room. ¡°It¡¯ll help its development.¡± ¡°Skiing?¡± He looks taken aback. ¡°Becky, I thought you hated skiing.¡± I do hate skiing. Maybe we could go to Val d¡¯ls¨¨re or somewhere and wear the cool clothes and just not ski. ¡°Becky!¡± Mum interrupts my thoughts. ¡°Look at this crib. It has a built-in temperature control, lullaby light show, and soothing vibrating action.¡± ¡°Wow,¡± I breathe, looking at the picture. ¡°That¡¯s amazing! How much is it?¡± ¡°The deluxe version is¡­twelve hundred pounds,¡± says Mum, consulting the text. ¡°Twelve hundred pounds?¡± Luke nearly chokes on his cup of tea. ¡°For a crib? Are you serious?¡± ¡°It¡¯s state of the art,¡± points out Suze. ¡°It uses NASA technology.¡± ¡°NASA technology?¡± He gives an incredulous snort. ¡°Are we planning to send the baby into space?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you want the best for your child, Luke?¡± I retort. ¡°What do you think, Janice?¡± I look across the room, but Janice hasn¡¯t heard me. She¡¯s looking at the scan pictures and dabbing at her eyes with a hanky. ¡°Janice¡­are you OK?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, dear.¡± She blows her nose, then takes a swig of sherry, draining the glass. ¡°Might I top this up, Jane?¡± ¡°Go ahead, dear!¡± says Mum encouragingly. ¡°Poor Janice,¡± she adds to me and Suze in a whisper. ¡°She¡¯s desperate for a grandchild. But Tom never even comes out of his summerhouse. And when he does¡­¡± She lowers her voice further. ¡°He can¡¯t have had a haircut in months! And talk about shaving! I said to her, ¡®He¡¯ll never find a nice girl if he doesn¡¯t spruce up his appearance!¡¯ But¡ª¡± She breaks off as the doorbell rings. ¡°That¡¯ll be the caterers. I¡¯ve told them to use the kitchen door!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll go.¡± Dad gets up, and we all turn back to the catalogs. ¡°D¡¯you think we should get a bath seat and a bath support?¡± I peer at the page. ¡°And an inflatable travel bath?¡± ¡°Get this.¡± Suze shows me a picture of a padded baby nest. ¡°They¡¯re fab. Wilfie lives in his.¡± ¡°Definitely!¡± I nod. ¡°Fold the corner down!¡± ¡°These corners are getting a bit bulky.¡± Mum looks consideringly at the catalog. ¡°Maybe we should fold down if we¡¯re not interested in the page.¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you just order the entire catalog and then send back the very few things you don¡¯t want?¡± suggests Luke. Now that¡¯s a good¡ª Oh. He¡¯s being funny. Ha-di-ha. I¡¯m about to come up with a crushing retort, when Dad¡¯s voice rings out from the hall. ¡°Come on through, Jess. Everyone¡¯s having tea.¡± Jess is here! Oh God. Jess is here. ¡°Quick, hide the catalogs!¡± I hiss, and start shoving them behind cushions in a nervous scrabble. ¡°You know what Jess is like.¡± ¡°But she might want to have a look, love!¡± Mum objects. Mum doesn¡¯t really get Jess and her whole thriftiness thing. She thinks Jess is just going through a ¡°phase,¡± like when Suze was a committed vegan for about three weeks before totally caving in and stuffing her face with a bacon sandwich. ¡°She won¡¯t,¡± says Suze, who has stayed in Jess¡¯s house and knows what she¡¯s like. She grabs Mum¡¯s copy of Funky Baba and pushes it under Wilfrid¡¯s bouncy chair just as Dad and Jess appear at the door. ¡°Hi, Jess!¡± I begin brightly, then stop in amazement. I haven¡¯t seen Jess for a couple of months and she looks absolutely spectacular! She¡¯s all tanned and skinny and wearing cargo shorts that show off her long, toned legs. Her cropped hair has been bleached by the sun and her green sleeveless T-shirt brings out her hazel eyes. Page 19 ¡°Hi!¡± she says, putting down her backpack. ¡°Hi, Auntie Jane. Becky, how are you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine!¡± I can¡¯t stop goggling at her. ¡°You look great! You¡¯re so tanned!¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Jess glances down at herself with zero interest, then reaches in her backpack. ¡°I brought some maize biscuits. They¡¯re made by a local cooperative in northern Guatemala.¡± She hands Mum a box made out of rough cardboard, and Mum turns it in her fingers, perplexed. ¡°Lovely, dear,¡± she says at last, and puts it down next to the teapot. ¡°Have a fondant fancy!¡± ¡°Wow.¡± Jess sits down on the ottoman. ¡°Look at Clem¡ª¡± She stops as I mouth ¡°Wilfie!¡± behind Suze¡¯s back. ¡°Sorry?¡± says Suze. ¡°I was just going to ask¡­where¡¯s Clementine?¡± Jess amends. ¡°And I can¡¯t believe Wilfie! He¡¯s huge!¡± I give her a tiny grin over my cup of tea as Suze replies. God, who would have thought it? My sister and my best friend, chatting away together. There was a time when I thought I¡¯d lost both of them for good. Jess, because we had a great big row, and called each other names which make me wince even now to remember them. And Suze because she made a new friend called Lulu, who rides horses and has four children and thinks she¡¯s superior to everyone. I still can¡¯t understand why Suze likes her; in fact, it¡¯s the one subject we don¡¯t see eye-to-eye on. ¡°I¡¯ve got something for you too, Becky.¡± Jess delves into her backpack and produces a bunch of grubby rags. Janice recoils with a little cry of dismay. ¡°What¡¯s that, dear?¡± ¡°Becky and I are going to make baby wipes,¡± says Jess. ¡°Make baby wipes?¡± Mum looks uncomprehending. ¡°But love, Boots do them. You can get them in the three-for-two.¡± ¡°They look a little¡­used,¡± ventures Janice. ¡°We just need to boil them and soak them in a solution of oil and soap,¡± Jess informs her. ¡°It¡¯s far kinder to the environment. And to the baby¡¯s skin. And they¡¯re reusable. You¡¯ll save pounds in the long run.¡± ¡°Er¡­fab.¡± I gulp, and finger the rags, one of which has HM WANDSWORTH PRISON printed faintly down the side. There is no way on earth I¡¯m having a bucket of grotty old rags in my baby¡¯s nursery. But Jess seems so enthusiastic. I don¡¯t want to hurt her feelings. ¡°I¡¯ll help you make a baby carrier too,¡± she says. ¡°Out of a pair of Luke¡¯s old jeans. It¡¯s really simple.¡± ¡°Good idea!¡± I manage. I daren¡¯t look at Luke. ¡°And I¡¯ve had another idea.¡± Jess swivels on the ottoman to face me. ¡°You don¡¯t have to say yes, but maybe you could think about it?¡± ¡°Right,¡± I say nervously. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Would you give a talk?¡± ¡°A talk?¡± I¡¯m taken aback. ¡°On what?¡± ¡°On how you kicked your spending addiction.¡± Jess leans forward, her face all warm and sisterly. ¡°I have a friend who¡¯s a counselor and I was telling her about you and how much you¡¯ve changed. She said she thought you¡¯d be an inspiration to a lot of the addicts in her group.¡± There¡¯s silence in the room. I can feel my face going puce. ¡°Go on, Bex.¡± Suze nudges my foot. ¡°You¡¯d be great!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll come,¡± says Luke. ¡°When is it?¡± ¡°It wouldn¡¯t need to be formal,¡± says Jess. ¡°Just a friendly chat about resisting consumer pressure. Especially now that you¡¯re pregnant.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°It¡¯s ridiculous, the amount of rubbish people feel compelled to buy for their children.¡± ¡°I blame the catalogs,¡± says Luke gravely. ¡°So, what do you think, Becky?¡± persists Jess. ¡°I don¡¯t really¡­¡± I clear my throat feebly. ¡°I¡¯m not sure¡­¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be embarrassed!¡± Jess gets up from the ottoman and comes to sit beside me on the sofa. ¡°I¡¯m really proud of you, Becky. And you should be proud of yourself¡ª¡± Her expression changes and she shifts on the sofa. ¡°What am I sitting on? What¡¯s this?¡± She reaches behind her and pulls out two glossy catalogs, with all the corners folded down. Shit. And she would have picked out Luxury Baby, which has a cover picture of a baby dressed in Ralph Lauren, holding a Dior bottle and sitting in a miniature Rolls-Royce. ¡°Becky wasn¡¯t looking at those,¡± says Suze in a rush. ¡°They¡¯re not even hers. They¡¯re mine. I brought them.¡± Page 20 I really love Suze. Jess is leafing through Luxury Baby and flinching. ¡°It¡¯s shocking. I mean, what baby needs an inflatable bath? Or a designer crib?¡± ¡°Oh, I know.¡± I try to match her tones of disdain. ¡°It¡¯s terrible. Although I probably will buy, you know, a few things¡­.¡± ¡°Have a look, Jess, love!¡± says Mum helpfully. ¡°Becky¡¯s already found a super crib for the baby!¡± She rummages among the catalogs. ¡°Where is it, now? It¡¯s got a light show¡­and vibrating action¡­.¡± I stiffen in horror. Do not show Jess the ¡ê1,200 crib. ¡°Here it is!¡± Mum holds out Funky Baba. ¡°Jess doesn¡¯t want to see that!¡± I try to grab the catalog, but Jess gets there first. ¡°Which page?¡± she says. ¡°Mum?¡± A voice interrupts us and we all look round. Standing in the doorway is a frowning guy with disheveled dark hair and stubble. He¡¯s tall and rangy and he¡¯s holding a beaten-up old paperback and I have no idea who he¡ª Hang on. Is that Tom? Blimey. I barely recognize him. Mum¡¯s right about the shaving: he doesn¡¯t seem to have seen a razor for days. ¡°Dad needs help with one of his magic tricks,¡± he says abruptly to Janice. ¡°The rabbit¡¯s got stuck or something.¡± ¡°Oh dear!¡± says Janice, putting down her cup. ¡°I¡¯d better go. Tom, say hello nicely, love.¡± ¡°Hi, everyone.¡± Tom shoots a cursory glower round the room. ¡°You know Suze, Becky¡¯s friend, don¡¯t you?¡± twitters Janice. ¡°And have you ever met Becky¡¯s sister, Jess?¡± ¡°Hi, Tom!¡± says Suze cheerfully. ¡°Hi,¡± says Jess. I glance nervously over at her, all ready for some lecture about how spending a thousand pounds on a crib is a mark of the evil, decadent times we live in. But to my surprise she¡¯s not even looking at the catalog. She¡¯s let it drop onto her lap and is gazing at Tom, transfixed. And Tom is staring back at her. Her eyes drop to the book he¡¯s holding. ¡°Is that The Consumer Society: Myths and Structures?¡± ¡°Yeah. Have you read it?¡± ¡°No, but I¡¯ve read some of Baudrillard¡¯s other work. The System of Objects.¡± ¡°I have it!¡± Tom takes a step toward her. ¡°What did you think?¡± Hang on a minute. ¡°His concept of simulacra and simulation is pretty interesting, I thought.¡± Jess fiddles with the Tiffany bean I gave her. She never fiddles with that Tiffany bean. Oh my God. She fancies him! ¡°I¡¯m trying to apply the collapsing of hyperrealities to my thesis of postmodern capitalistic entropy.¡± Tom nods intently. This is fantastic! They¡¯re good-looking and there¡¯s chemistry and they¡¯re talking English, only with weird in-words that no one else understands. It¡¯s like an episode of The OC, right here in Mum¡¯s living room! I shoot a glance at Luke, who raises his eyebrows. Mum nudges Suze, who grins back. We¡¯re all totally agog. As for Janice, she looks beside herself. ¡°Anyway.¡± Tom shrugs. ¡°I should go¡­.¡± Like a whirlwind, Janice springs into action. ¡°Jess! Dear!¡± she exclaims, leaping up from the sofa. ¡°We¡¯ve never really got to know each other, have we? Why don¡¯t you come back for tea, and you and Tom can carry on with your little talk?¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Jess looks taken aback. ¡°Well¡­I¡¯ve come to see everyone here¡­.¡± ¡°You can see them later at the party!¡± Janice takes a firm grip on Jess¡¯s tanned arm and starts chivvying her toward the door. ¡°Jane, Graham, you don¡¯t mind, do you?¡± ¡°Not at all,¡± says Dad easily. ¡°Well, OK.¡± Jess glances at Tom and a faint rosy color appears on her cheeks. ¡°I¡¯ll see you later.¡± ¡°Bye!¡± we all chorus. The door closes behind them and we all look at each other in suppressed glee. ¡°Well!¡± says Mum, picking up the teapot. ¡°Now, wouldn¡¯t that be nice! We could take down the fence and have a marquee across both lawns!¡± ¡°Mum! Honestly!¡± I roll my eyes. That is just like her, getting ahead of herself and imagining all sorts of ridiculous¡ª Ooh. The baby could be the ring bearer! While Jess is next door, Luke is reading the paper, and Tarquin is bathing the children, Suze and I take over my old bedroom. We turn on the radio loudly and run deep, sudsy baths, and take turns perching on the edge of the tub to chat, just like in the old days in Fulham. Then Suze sits on the bed, feeding the babies in turn while I paint my toenails. Page 21 ¡°You won¡¯t be able to do that for much longer,¡± says Suze, watching me. ¡°Why?¡± I look up in alarm. ¡°Is it bad for the baby?¡± ¡°No, you dope!¡± She laughs. ¡°You won¡¯t be able to reach!¡± That¡¯s a weird thought. I can¡¯t even imagine being that big. I run a hand over my tummy and the baby bounces back at me. ¡°Ooh!¡± I say. ¡°It kicked really hard!¡± ¡°You wait till it starts poking knees out and stuff,¡± says Suze. ¡°It¡¯s so freaky, like having an alien inside you.¡± You see, this is why you need a best friend when you¡¯re pregnant. Not a single one of my baby books has said ¡°It¡¯s so freaky, like having an alien inside you.¡± ¡°Hi, darling.¡± Tarquin is at the door again. ¡°Shall I put Wilfie down?¡± ¡°Yes, he¡¯s finished.¡± Suze hands over the sleepy baby, who nestles into Tarquin¡¯s shoulder as if he knows he belongs there. ¡°Do you like my nails, Tarkie?¡± I say, wriggling my toes at him. Tarquin is so sweet. When I first knew him he was totally weird and geeky and I couldn¡¯t even hold a conversation with him ¡ª but somehow he¡¯s got more and more normal as the years have gone by. He looks blankly at my nails. ¡°Marvelous. Come on, old chap.¡± He pats Wilfie gently on the back. ¡°Up to Bedfordshire.¡± ¡°Tarkie¡¯s such a good dad,¡± I say in admiration as he disappears out of the room. ¡°Oh, he¡¯s great,¡± says Suze fondly as she starts feeding Clementine. ¡°Except he keeps playing Wagner at them all the time. Ernie can sing Brunnehilde¡¯s aria from start to finish in German, but he can¡¯t speak much English.¡± Her brow crumples. ¡°I¡¯m getting a bit worried, actually.¡± I take it back. Tarquin is still weird. I get out my new mascara and start applying it to my lashes, watching Suze make funny faces at Clementine and kissing her fat little cheeks. She¡¯s so lovely with her children. ¡°D¡¯you think I¡¯ll be a good mother, Suze?¡± The words pop out of my mouth before I even realize I¡¯m thinking them. ¡°Of course!¡± Suze stares at me in the mirror. ¡°You¡¯ll be a brilliant mother! You¡¯ll be kind, and you¡¯ll be funny, and you¡¯ll be the best-dressed one in the playground¡­.¡± ¡°But I don¡¯t know anything about babies. I mean, honestly, nothing.¡± ¡°Nor did I, remember.¡± Suze shrugs. ¡°You¡¯ll soon pick it up!¡± Everyone keeps saying I¡¯ll pick it up. But what if I don¡¯t? I did algebra for three years, and I never picked that up. ¡°Can¡¯t you give me some parenting tips?¡± I put away my mascara wand. ¡°Like¡­things I should know.¡± Suze wrinkles her brow in thought. ¡°The only tips I can think of are the real basics,¡± she says at last. ¡°You know, the ones that go without saying.¡± I feel a twinge of alarm. ¡°Like what, exactly?¡± I try to sound casual. ¡°I mean, I probably know about them already¡­.¡± ¡°Well, you know.¡± She counts off on her fingers. ¡°Things like having a bit of first aid knowledge¡­making sure you¡¯ve got all your equipment¡­You might want to book a baby massage class¡­.¡± She hoists Clementine onto her shoulder. ¡°Are you doing Baby Einstein?¡± OK, now I¡¯m freaked out. I¡¯ve never heard of Baby Einstein. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Bex!¡± says Suze hastily, seeing my face. ¡°None of that really matters. As long as you can change a nappy and sing a nursery rhyme, you¡¯ll be fine!¡± I can¡¯t change a nappy. And I don¡¯t know any nursery rhymes. God, I¡¯m in trouble. It¡¯s another twenty minutes before Suze finishes feeding Clementine and hands her over to Tarquin. ¡°Right!¡± She closes the door behind him and turns with sparkling eyes. ¡°No one¡¯s about. Give me your wedding ring. I just need some string or something¡­.¡± ¡°Here.¡± I rummage in my dressing table for an old Christian Dior gift-wrap ribbon. ¡°Will this do?¡± ¡°Should do.¡± Suze is stringing the ribbon through the ring. ¡°Now, Becky. Are you sure you want to know?¡± I feel a flicker of doubt. Maybe Luke¡¯s right. Maybe we should wait for the magical surprise. But then ¡ª how will I know what color pram to get? ¡°I want to know,¡± I say with resolution. ¡°Let¡¯s do it.¡± ¡°Sit back, then.¡± Suze knots the ribbon, meets my eye, and grins. ¡°This is exciting!¡± Page 22 Suze is the best. I knew she¡¯d have some way to find out. She dangles the ring above my stomach and we both stare at it, transfixed. ¡°It¡¯s not moving,¡± I say in a whisper. ¡°It will in a minute,¡± Suze murmurs back. This is so spooky. I feel like we¡¯re at a s¨¦ance and all of a sudden the ring will spell out the name of a dead person while a window bangs shut and a vase crashes to the floor. ¡°It¡¯s going!¡± hisses Suze as the ring begins to sway on its ribbon. ¡°Look!¡± ¡°Oh my God!¡± My voice is a muffled squeak. ¡°What does it say?¡± ¡°It¡¯s going round in circles! It¡¯s a girl!¡± I gasp. ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°Yes! You¡¯re having a daughter! Congratulations!¡± Suze flings her arms round me. It¡¯s a girl. I feel quite shaky. I¡¯m having a daughter! I knew it. I¡¯ve been having girl vibes all along. ¡°Becky?¡± The door opens and Mum is standing there, resplendent in purple sequins and matching lurid lipstick. ¡°People will be here soon.¡± Her eyes shoot from Suze to me. ¡°Is everything all right, love?¡± ¡°Mum, I¡¯m having a girl!¡± I blurt it out before I can stop myself. ¡°Suze did the ring test! It went in a circle!¡± ¡°A girl!¡± Mum¡¯s whole face lights up. ¡°I thought it looked like a girl! Oh, Becky, love!¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t it great?¡± says Suze. ¡°You¡¯re going to have a granddaughter!¡± ¡°I can get out your old doll¡¯s house, Becky!¡± Mum is suffused with delight. ¡°And I¡¯ll have the spare room painted pink¡­.¡± She comes close and examines my bump. ¡°Yes, look at the way you¡¯re carrying it, love. It¡¯s definitely a girl.¡± ¡°And watch the ring!¡± says Suze. She lifts the ribbon above my stomach again and steadies it. There¡¯s utter stillness ¡ª then the ring starts moving back and forth. For a moment no one speaks. ¡°I thought you said a circle,¡± says Mum at last, puzzled. ¡°I did! Suze, what¡¯s happening? Why¡¯s it going back and forth?¡± ¡°I dunno!¡± She peers at the ring, her brow wrinkled. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s a boy after all.¡± We¡¯re all staring at my stomach as though we¡¯re expecting it to start talking to us. ¡°You are carrying high,¡± says Mum eventually. ¡°It could be a boy.¡± A minute ago she said it looked like a girl. Oh, for God¡¯s sake. The thing about old wives¡¯ tales is, they¡¯re actually total crap. ¡°Let¡¯s go down anyway, loves,¡± Mum says, as music suddenly blasts from downstairs. ¡°Keith from the Fox and Grapes has arrived. He¡¯s making all sorts of fancy cocktails.¡± ¡°Excellent!¡± says Suze, reaching for her sponge bag. ¡°We¡¯ll be down in a sec.¡± Mum leaves the room, and Suze starts applying makeup at speed while I watch in astonishment. ¡°Bloody hell, Suze! Are you training for the makeup Olympics?¡± ¡°You wait,¡± says Suze, brushing sparkly shadow onto her eyelids. ¡°You¡¯ll be able to do your makeup in three seconds flat too.¡± She unscrews her lipstick and slashes it on. ¡°Done!¡± She grabs her elegant green satin dress and steps into it, then takes a jeweled hair clasp from her bag and twists her blond hair into a knot. ¡°That¡¯s nice!¡± I say, admiring the clasp. ¡°Thanks.¡± She hesitates. ¡°Lulu gave it to me.¡± ¡°Oh, right.¡± Now that I look at it again, it isn¡¯t that nice. ¡°So¡­how is Lulu?¡± I force myself to say politely. ¡°She¡¯s fine!¡± Suze¡¯s face is lowered as she wrenches her hair into place. ¡°She¡¯s written a book, actually.¡± ¡°A book?¡± Lulu never struck me as the book type. ¡°On cooking for your children.¡± ¡°Really?¡± I say in surprise. ¡°Well, maybe I should read that. Is it good?¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t read it yet,¡± says Suze after a pause. ¡°But obviously she¡¯s the expert, with four of them¡­.¡± There¡¯s a kind of tension in her voice that I can¡¯t place. But then Suze looks up ¡ª and her hair is such a terrible mess, we both burst out laughing. ¡°Let me do it.¡± I grab the clasp, take it out of the knotted hair, brush it all out, and twist it up again, pulling little tendrils out at the front. ¡°Fab.¡± Suze gives me a hug. ¡°Thanks, Bex. And now I¡¯m dying for a cosmo. Come on!¡± She practically gallops out of the room, and I follow her down the stairs with slightly less enthusiasm. I guess mine will be a Virgin Fruity Bland Something. Page 23 I mean, obviously I don¡¯t mind. I¡¯m creating a beautiful new human being and all that. But still. If I were God, I¡¯d make it OK for pregnant women to have cocktails. In fact, I¡¯d make it healthy to have cocktails. And your arms wouldn¡¯t swell up. And there wouldn¡¯t be any morning sickness. And labor wouldn¡¯t exist¡­. Thinking about it, I¡¯d pretty much have a whole different system altogether. Even on virgin cocktails, it¡¯s a fabulous party. By midnight the marquee is full, and we¡¯ve all had a delicious dinner. Dad has made a speech about how wonderful Mum is, as a wife and as a mother and now as a prospective grandmother. And Martin, our next-door neighbor, has performed his magic show, which was really excellent! Apart from the bit when he tried to cut Janice in half and she freaked out when he turned on the chain saw and started crying ¡°Don¡¯t kill me, Martin!¡± while he kept revving it up like some horror film maniac. It was all right in the end. Martin took off his mask and Janice was fine after she had some brandy. And now the band is playing and we¡¯re all on the dance floor. Mum and Dad are grooving away, all rosy-cheeked and beaming at each other, the lights sparkling on Mum¡¯s sequins. Suze is dancing with one arm round Tarquin¡¯s neck and the other round Clementine, who woke up and wouldn¡¯t go back to sleep. Tom and Jess are standing at the edge of the dance floor, talking and occasionally doing a kind of awkward shuffle together. Tom looks pretty good in black tie, I noticed ¡ª and Jess¡¯s black embroidered skirt is fantastic! (I was totally sure it was Dries van Noten. But apparently it was made by a women¡¯s collective in Guatemala and cost about 30p. Typical.) And I¡¯m wearing my new pink dress with the handkerchief hem, and dancing (as best I can, given the bump) with Luke. Mum and Dad dance by and wave at us, and I smile back, trying not to cringe in horror. I know this is their party and everything. But my parents really don¡¯t know how to dance. Mum¡¯s wiggling her hips, completely out of time, and Dad¡¯s kind of punching the air like he¡¯s fighting three invisible men at once. Why can¡¯t parents dance? Is it some universal law of physics or something? Suddenly a terrifying thought hits me. We¡¯re going to be parents! In twenty years¡¯ time, our child will be cringing at us. No. I can¡¯t let it happen. ¡°Luke!¡± I say urgently over the music. ¡°We have to be able to do cool dancing so we don¡¯t embarrass our child!¡± ¡°I¡¯m a very cool dancer,¡± replies Luke. ¡°Very cool indeed.¡± ¡°No, you¡¯re not!¡± ¡°I had dance lessons in my teens, you know,¡± he retorts. ¡°I can waltz like Fred Astaire.¡± ¡°Waltz?¡± I echo derisively. ¡°That¡¯s not cool! We need to know all the street moves. Watch me.¡± I do a couple of funky head-wriggle body-pop maneuvers, like they do on rap videos. When I look up, Luke is gaping at me. ¡°Sweetheart,¡± he says. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°It¡¯s hip-hop!¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s street!¡± ¡°Becky! Love!¡± Mum has pushed her way through her dancing guests to reach me. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Has labor started?¡± Honestly. My family has no idea about contemporary urban street dance trends. ¡°I¡¯m fine!¡± I say. ¡°Just dancing.¡± Ow. Actually, I may have pulled a muscle or three. ¡°Come here, J-Lo.¡± Luke puts his arms round me. Mum dances off to talk to Janice and I look up at Luke¡¯s glowing face. He¡¯s been in a good mood ever since that business call he took during coffee. ¡°What was your call about?¡± I ask. ¡°Good news?¡± ¡°We¡¯ve just had the go-ahead in Barcelona.¡± His nose twitches, like it always does when he¡¯s delighted with life but wants to look deadpan. ¡°That takes us up to eight offices, Europe-wide. All down to the Arcodas contract.¡± He never told me Barcelona was on the cards! That¡¯s so Luke, keeping it quiet until the deal¡¯s done. If it hadn¡¯t come off, he probably never would have said a word about it. Eight offices. And London and New York. That¡¯s pretty stupendous. The music changes to a slow track and Luke pulls me closer. Out of the corner of my eye I notice Jess and Tom have sidled farther onto the dance floor together. Go on, I will Tom silently. Kiss her. ¡°So, things are going pretty well?¡± I say. ¡°Things, my darling, could not be going more fantastically.¡± Luke meets my eyes, the teasing gone. ¡°Seriously. We¡¯re going to treble our size.¡± ¡°Wow.¡± I digest this for a few moments. ¡°Are we going to be squillionaires? Page 24 ¡°Could be.¡± He nods. This is so cool. I have always wanted to be a squillionaire. We can have a building called Brandon Tower! And Luke can have his own Apprentice-type reality show! ¡°Can we buy an island?¡± Suze has got her own Scottish island and I¡¯ve always felt a bit left out. ¡°Maybe.¡± Luke laughs. I¡¯m about to say we need a private jet too, when the baby starts squirming around inside me. I take hold of Luke¡¯s hands and put them on my abdomen. ¡°It¡¯s saying hello.¡± ¡°Hello, baby,¡± he murmurs back in his deep voice. He pulls me even tighter and I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of his aftershave, feeling the music thud through me like a heartbeat. I can¡¯t remember ever being so happy. We¡¯re dancing cheek-to-cheek, our baby is kicking between us, we¡¯ve got a fabulous new house, and we¡¯re going to be squillionaires! Everything¡¯s just perfect. BECKY BRANDON NURSERY RHYMES SELF-TEST MARY, MARY QUITE CONTRARY¡­ Had a little lamb. And TOM, TOM, THE PIPER¡¯S SON¡­ Went to London to look at the Fell off the wall. And he called for his pipe. And all the king¡¯s horses and his fiddlers three. Couldn¡¯t put And the dish ran away with the spoon. LITTLE JACK HORNER¡­ He had ten thousand men Met a pieman LITTLE BOY BLUE¡­ Lost his sheep Oh, fuck knows. FIVE OK. THIS IS MY OUTFIT for my first-ever appointment with a celebrity must-have obstetrician: Embroidered kaftan top like Jemima Khan Maternity jeans (with the elastic hidden in the pockets, not with a great revolting panel of stretchy fabric) My new Elle Macpherson maternity underwear (lilac) Prada sandals I look pretty good, I think. I hope. I tweak my kaftan and toss my hair back at my reflection. ¡°Hi,¡± I murmur. ¡°Hi, Kate. Hi, Elle. God, fancy bumping into you. I¡¯m wearing your underpants!¡± No. Don¡¯t mention the underpants. I scrutinize myself one final time, add a dusting of powder, then pick up my bag. ¡°Luke, are you ready?¡± I call. ¡°Uh-huh.¡± Luke puts his head round the study door, his phone wedged under his chin. ¡°Uh-huh. Hold on, Iain.¡± He puts his hand over the receiver. ¡°Becky, do I really need to come?¡± ¡°What?¡± I stare at him in horror. ¡°Of course you need to come!¡± Luke runs his eyes over my face, as though assessing the full extent of my mood. ¡°Iain,¡± he says at last, turning back to the phone. ¡°This is complicated.¡± He disappears back into the office and his voice descends to a murmur. Complicated? What does he mean, complicated? We¡¯re going to the obstetrician, end of story. I start pacing furiously around the hall, rehearsing retorts in my mind. Can¡¯t Iain wait for once? Does our whole life have to revolve around Arcodas? Isn¡¯t our baby¡¯s birth important to you? Have you ever cared about me at all? Well, OK. Maybe not that last one. At last Luke reappears at the study door. The phone¡¯s gone and he¡¯s putting on his suit jacket. ¡°Listen, Becky¡­¡± he begins. I knew it. He¡¯s not coming. ¡°You¡¯ve never wanted to see Venetia Carter, have you?¡± My words tumble out. ¡° You¡¯re prejudiced against her! Well, fine! You go and do your business things and I¡¯ll go on my own!¡± ¡°Becky¡­¡± He lifts a hand. ¡°I¡¯m coming to the appointment.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I say, mollified. ¡°Well, we¡¯d better go. It¡¯s twenty minutes¡¯ walk.¡± ¡°We¡¯re going by car.¡± He heads back into the office and I follow him in. ¡°Iain¡¯s on his way down from the hotel group meeting. He can pick us up, we¡¯ll have a very quick meeting in the car, then I¡¯ll join you.¡± ¡°Right,¡± I say after a pause. ¡°That sounds OK.¡± Actually, it sounds awful. I can¡¯t stand Iain Wheeler; the last thing I want to do is sit in a car with him. But I can¡¯t say that to Luke. There¡¯s already a slight situation over me and Arcodas. Which was not my fault. It was Jess¡¯s. A few months ago, she got me into leading this big environmental protest against them, when I had no idea they were Luke¡¯s new, important client. Luke turned the whole thing round into a positive PR exercise and the Arcodas people pretended they had a sense of humor about it ¡ª but I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ve ever really been forgiven. ¡°And I¡¯m not prejudiced,¡± Luke adds, straightening his tie. ¡°But I¡¯ll just tell you now, Becky. This obstetrician woman will have to be pretty damn good for us to cancel Dr. Braine.¡± Page 25 ¡°Luke, you¡¯re going to love her,¡± I say patiently. ¡°I know you are.¡± I reach into my bag to check that my phone¡¯s charged, then halt as I spot something on Luke¡¯s desk. It¡¯s a clipping from the financial pages about some new unit trust, with ¡°Baby fund?¡± scribbled in the margin. Ooh! ¡°So, you¡¯re thinking of putting the baby¡¯s money in a tracker fund, are you, Luke?¡± I say carelessly. ¡°Interesting decision.¡± Luke looks taken aback for a moment, then follows my gaze. ¡°Maybe I am,¡± he says in equally nonchalant tones. ¡°Or maybe it¡¯s a double-bluff to fool the spying opposition.¡± ¡°The opposition doesn¡¯t need to spy.¡± I give him a kind smile. ¡°She has her own brilliant ideas. In fact, if you need any tips, I¡¯d be happy to help. For a small fee.¡± ¡°That¡¯s quite all right,¡± he says politely. ¡°Going well, is it, then? Your own investment.¡± ¡°Brilliantly, thanks. Couldn¡¯t be better.¡± ¡°Excellent. Glad to hear it.¡± ¡°Yes¡­that recent Japanese farming investment I made was fantastic¡­.¡± I clap a hand over my mouth. ¡°Oops! Said too much!¡± ¡°Yup, Becky. You really fool me.¡± Luke grins. ¡°Shall we go?¡± We emerge from the building and Luke ushers me into Iain¡¯s black Mercedes limo. ¡°Luke.¡± Iain nods from his seat by the window. ¡°Rebecca.¡± Iain is a thickset guy in his early forties, with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. He¡¯s quite good-looking, actually, but has terrible skin which he covers up by having a Permatan. And he wears too much aftershave. Why do men do that? ¡°Thanks for the lift, Iain,¡± I say in my best charming-corporate-wife manner. ¡°No problem.¡± Iain¡¯s gaze drops to my swelling stomach. ¡°Been eating too many pies, Rebecca?¡± Ha-ha. ¡°Something like that,¡± I say, as pleasantly as I can. As the car pulls away, Iain takes a slurp of his take-out coffee. ¡°How long to go before the big day?¡± ¡°Seventeen weeks.¡± ¡°So, how do you fill the time until then? Don¡¯t tell me ¡ª yoga classes. My girlfriend¡¯s become a yoga nut,¡± he adds to Luke, without giving me a chance to answer. ¡°Load of bollocks if you ask me.¡± Honestly. Number one, yoga is not bollocks, it¡¯s a way to channel your spirit through the chakras of life, or whatever it is. And number two, I don¡¯t need ways to fill my time, thank you. ¡°Actually, Iain, I¡¯m head personal shopper at a top London department store,¡± I inform him. ¡°So I don¡¯t have too much time for yoga.¡± ¡°A department store?¡± He swivels in his seat to regard me. ¡°I didn¡¯t know that. Which one?¡± I really fell into this one. ¡°It¡¯s¡­new,¡± I say, examining my nails. ¡°Called?¡± ¡°It¡¯s called¡­The Look.¡± ¡°The Look?¡± Iain guffaws in disbelief and nearly drops his coffee. ¡°Luke, you didn¡¯t tell me your wife worked for The Look! Business slow enough for you, is it, Rebecca?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not that bad,¡± I say politely. ¡°Not that bad? There¡¯s never been a bigger retail flop in history! I hope you¡¯ve got rid of your stock options!¡± He guffaws again. ¡°Not counting on a Christmas bonus, are you?¡± This guy is really starting to annoy me. It¡¯s one thing for me to be rude about The Look; they¡¯re my employer. But it¡¯s quite another matter for other people to be rude. ¡°Actually, I think The Look is poised for a turnaround,¡± I say coolly. ¡°We¡¯ve had a shaky start, I¡¯ll grant you, but all the basics are there.¡± ¡°Well, good luck.¡± Iain¡¯s face is creased with amusement. ¡°Word of advice? I¡¯d be looking for another job.¡± I force a smile, then turn to look out the window, seething. God, he¡¯s patronizing. I¡¯ll show him. The Look could be a success. It just needs¡­well. It needs customers, for a start. The car draws up to the sidewalk and the uniformed driver gets out to open the door. ¡°Thanks again for the lift, Iain,¡± I say politely. ¡°Luke, I¡¯ll see you in there.¡± ¡°Uh-huh.¡± Luke nods, frowning as he clicks open his briefcase. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be too long. So, Iain, what exactly was the problem with this outline?¡± As the driver hands me out to the sidewalk, both men are already engrossed in paperwork. ¡°Will you be all right from here?¡± The driver gestures at the corner. ¡°Fencastle Street¡¯s just round there, only I can¡¯t get right to it because of the bollards.¡± Page 26 ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll be fine walking from here. Oh, except I¡¯ve forgotten my bag¡­.¡± I reach back into the car, where Iain is talking. ¡°When I want that kind of decision taken, Luke, I¡¯ll fucking take it.¡± His harsh tone takes me by surprise and I see Luke flinch. It¡¯s just unbelievable. Just who does this guy think he is? Just because he¡¯s some business bigwig he thinks he can be rude to anyone he likes? I want to get straight back into the car and tell him exactly what I think of him. But I¡¯m not sure Luke would appreciate it. ¡°See you soon, darling.¡± I squeeze his hand and pick up my bag. ¡°Don¡¯t be long.¡± I¡¯m a bit early for the appointment, so I take the opportunity to reapply my lipstick and give my hair a quick comb. Then I head to the corner and turn into Fencastle Street. There¡¯s a big impressive stucco building about twenty yards ahead, with Holistic Birth Center, Venetia Carter engraved on the glass. And on the opposite side of the street is a cluster of photographers, their lenses trained on the door. I stop dead, my heart beating faster. It¡¯s paparazzi. They¡¯re all clicking away! Who are they ¡ª What are they¡ª Oh my God. It¡¯s the new Bond girl! She¡¯s walking toward the building in a pink Juicy strapless top over jeans, with a definite bump showing. I can hear the cries from the photographers: ¡°This way, love!¡± and ¡°When¡¯s the baby due?¡± This is so cool! Trying to look nonchalant, I hurry along the pavement and arrive at the door at the same time as her. The cameras are all still clicking away behind us. I¡¯ll be in all the gossip magazines with a Bond girl! ¡°Hi,¡± I murmur casually as she presses the buzzer. ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Becky. I¡¯m pregnant, too. I like your top!¡± She looks at me as if I¡¯m a moron, then without replying pushes the door open. Well. She wasn¡¯t very friendly. But never mind, I¡¯m sure the others will be. I follow her through an elegant tiled hallway and then into a large room with lilac velvet seats and a reception desk, and a huge Jo Malone candle burning on the central table. As I head to the desk behind the Bond girl, I do a quick sweep of the room. Two girls in jeans who might easily be supermodels are reading OK! and pointing out pictures to each other. There¡¯s a heavily pregnant girl in Missoni sitting opposite in floods of tears, with a husband who¡¯s holding her hand and saying anxiously, ¡°Sweetheart, we can call the baby Aspen if you like, I just didn¡¯t realize you were serious!¡± Aspen. Aspen Brandon. Lord Aspen Brandon, Earl of London. Hmm. Not sure. The Bond girl finishes talking to the receptionist, then moves away and sits down in a corner. ¡°Can I help?¡± The receptionist is looking at me. ¡°Yes, please.¡± I beam. ¡°I¡¯m here to see Venetia Carter. Mrs. Rebecca Brandon.¡± ¡°Take a seat, Mrs. Brandon. Dr. Carter will see you presently.¡± The receptionist smiles and hands me a brochure. ¡°Some introductory literature. Help yourself to herbal tea.¡± ¡°Thanks!¡± I take the brochure and sit down opposite the supermodels. Gentle panpipe music is playing over the speakers, and there are photographs of mothers and new babies pinned up on the satin-covered pinboards. The whole atmosphere is serene and beautiful. It¡¯s a million miles away from Dr. Braine¡¯s boring old waiting room, with its plastic chairs and horrible carpet and posters about folic acid. Luke will be so impressed when he arrives. I knew this was the right decision! Happily I start flicking through the brochure, taking in headings here and there. Water Birth¡­Reflexology Birth¡­Hypno Birth¡­ Maybe I¡¯ll have a hypno birth. Whatever that is. I¡¯m just lingering over a picture of a girl holding a baby in what looks like a giant Jacuzzi when the receptionist summons me. ¡°Mrs. Brandon? Dr. Carter will see you now.¡± ¡°Oh!¡± I put down the brochure and glance at my watch anxiously. ¡°I¡¯m afraid my husband isn¡¯t here yet. He should only be a few minutes¡­.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡± She smiles. ¡°I¡¯ll send him in when he arrives. Please, come this way.¡± I follow the receptionist down the carpeted passage. The walls are covered with signed pictures of glamorous celebrity mothers sitting up in bed with newborn babies, and my head swivels as I walk. I really need to think about what I¡¯m going to wear for the birth. Maybe I¡¯ll ask Venetia Carter for some tips. We reach a cream-painted door and the receptionist knocks twice before opening it and ushering me in. ¡°Venetia, this is Mrs. Brandon.¡± Page 27 ¡°Mrs. Brandon!¡± A stunningly beautiful woman with long, vivid red hair comes forward, her hand outstretched. ¡°Welcome to the Holistic Birth Center.¡± ¡°Hi!¡± I beam at her. ¡°Call me Becky.¡± Wow. Venetia Carter looks like a movie star! She¡¯s far younger than I expected, and slighter. She¡¯s wearing a fitted Armani trouser suit and a crisp white shirt and her hair is drawn off her face with a chic tortoiseshell band. ¡°I¡¯m so glad to meet you, Becky.¡± Her voice is all silvery and melodious, like the Good Witch of the North. ¡°Sit down, and we can have a nice talk.¡± She¡¯s wearing vintage Chanel pumps, I notice as I sit down. And look at that gorgeous yellow topaz strung round her neck on a silver wire. ¡°I want to thank you for fitting me in at such a late stage,¡± I say in a rush as I hand over my medical file. ¡°I really appreciate it. And I love your shoes!¡± ¡°Thank you!¡± She smiles. ¡°So, let¡¯s have a look. You¡¯re twenty-three weeks pregnant¡­first baby¡­¡± Her manicured finger is running down Dr. Braine¡¯s notes. ¡°Any problems with your pregnancy? Is there a reason you¡¯ve left your previous medical care?¡± ¡°I just wanted a more holistic approach,¡± I say, leaning forward earnestly. ¡°I¡¯ve been reading your brochure and I think all your treatments sound amazing.¡± ¡°Treatments?¡± Her pale brow wrinkles. ¡°Births, I mean,¡± I amend quickly. ¡°Well, now.¡± Venetia Carter takes a cream file from a drawer, picks up a silver fountain pen, and writes Rebecca Brandon on the front in a flowing italic script. ¡°There¡¯s plenty of time to decide which approach to the birth you want. But first, let me find out more about you. You¡¯re married, I understand?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± I nod. ¡°And is your husband coming today? Mr. Brandon, would it be?¡± ¡°He should be here.¡± I click my tongue apologetically. ¡°He¡¯s just having a quick business meeting outside in the car. But he¡¯ll be here soon.¡± ¡°That¡¯s fine.¡± She lifts her head and smiles, her teeth all perfect and shiny white. ¡°I¡¯m sure your husband¡¯s very excited about having a baby.¡± ¡°Oh, he is!¡± I¡¯m just about to tell her all about having our first scan, when the door opens. ¡°Mr. Brandon is here,¡± says the receptionist, and Luke strides in, saying, ¡°Sorry, sorry, I know I¡¯m late¡ª¡± ¡°There you are, Luke!¡± I say. ¡°Come and meet Dr. Carter.¡± ¡°Please!¡± She laughs again. ¡°Call me Venetia ¡ª everyone does.¡± ¡°Venetia?¡± Luke has stopped dead and is staring at Venetia Carter as though he can¡¯t believe his eyes. ¡°Venetia? Is that you?¡± Venetia Carter¡¯s mouth drops open. ¡°Luke?¡± she says. ¡°Luke Brandon?¡± ¡°Do you two know each other?¡± I say in astonishment. For an instant, neither speaks. ¡°We were at Cambridge,¡± Luke says at last. ¡°Years ago. But¡­¡± He rubs his forehead. ¡°Venetia Carter. Did you get married or something?¡± ¡°I changed my surname by deed poll,¡± Venetia says with a rueful smile. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you?¡± ¡°What was your name before you changed it?¡± I ask politely, but neither of them seems to hear me. ¡°How many years is it?¡± Luke still looks thunderstruck. ¡°Too long. Far too long.¡± She runs a hand through her hair and it falls back into place in a perfect red waterfall. ¡°Do you still see any of the old Browns gang? Like Jonathan? Or Matthew?¡± ¡°Lost touch.¡± Luke shrugs. ¡°You?¡± ¡°I kept up with very few of them while I was in the States. But now that I¡¯m back in London, some of us meet up whenever we can.¡± She¡¯s interrupted by a bleeping sound from her pocket. She reaches for a pager and switches it off. ¡°Excuse me, I just need to make a call. I¡¯ll pop next door.¡± As she disappears I look at Luke. His face is all lit up as though it¡¯s Christmas Day. ¡°You know Venetia?¡± I say. ¡°That¡¯s amazing!¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t it?¡± He shakes his head incredulously. ¡°She was part of a crowd I used to know at Cambridge. Of course, she was Venetia Grime back then.¡± ¡°Grime?¡± I can¡¯t help a giggle. ¡°Hardly the best name for a doctor.¡± He grins back. ¡°I¡¯m not surprised she changed it.¡± ¡°And did you know her well?¡± ¡°We were at the same college.¡± Luke nods. ¡°She was always incredibly bright, Venetia. Incredibly talented. I always knew she¡¯d do well in life.¡± He breaks off as the door opens and Venetia returns. Page 28 ¡°I¡¯m so sorry about that!¡± She comes round and sits on the front of her desk, one long Armani-clad leg crossed casually over the other. ¡°Where were we?¡± ¡°I was just saying to Luke what a coincidence it was!¡± I say. ¡°You and he already knowing each other.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t it extraordinary?¡± She gives her silvery laugh. ¡°Out of all the hundreds of patients I¡¯ve had, I¡¯ve never before had one married to an ex-boyfriend!¡± My smile freezes slightly on my face. Ex-boyfriend? ¡°I was just trying to remember how long we dated for, Luke,¡± she adds. ¡°Was it a year?¡± They dated for a year? ¡°I don¡¯t remember,¡± says Luke easily. ¡°Long time ago.¡± Hang on. Just hang on a minute. Rewind. I seem to have missed a step here. Venetia Carter used to be Luke¡¯s girlfriend at Cambridge? But¡­he¡¯s never referred to her. I¡¯ve never even heard of a Venetia before. I mean¡­not that it matters or anything. Why would it matter? I¡¯m not the kind of person who gets hung up on old girlfriends from the past. I¡¯m naturally a very nonjealous person. In fact, I probably won¡¯t even mention it. Or maybe I will, just casually. ¡°So, darling, I don¡¯t remember you ever talking about Venetia,¡± I say to Luke with a relaxed little laugh. ¡°Isn¡¯t that funny?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Becky.¡± Venetia leans forward with a confidential air. ¡°I know quite well, I was never the love of Luke¡¯s life.¡± I feel a warm glow of delight inside me. ¡°Oh, right,¡± I say, trying to look modest. ¡°Well¡ª¡± ¡°That was Sacha de Bonneville,¡± she adds. What? What? Luke¡¯s love of his life wasn¡¯t bloody Sacha de Bonneville! It was me! His wife! ¡°Apart from you, of course, Becky!¡± she exclaims, with an apologetic peal of laughter. ¡°I was just talking about back then. In the Browns crowd. Anyway.¡± Venetia throws back her radiant hair and picks up her file and pen again. ¡°Back to the birth!¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say, regaining my composure. ¡°Well, I was thinking about maybe having one of the water births with lotus flowers¡ª¡± ¡°You should come along one evening, by the way, Luke,¡± Venetia says, cutting me off. ¡°See some of the old gang.¡± ¡°I¡¯d love to!¡± says Luke. ¡°We¡¯d love to, wouldn¡¯t we, Becky?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say after a pause. ¡°Fab idea.¡± ¡°Sorry to interrupt, Becky.¡± Venetia smiles at me. ¡°Do carry on. A water birth, you were saying?¡± We¡¯re in there for another twenty-five minutes, talking about vitamins and blood tests and a load of other stuff. But to be truthful, my mind¡¯s not really on the job. I¡¯m trying to concentrate, but all these distracting images keep coming into my head. Like Luke and Venetia all dressed up in Cambridge student gear, kissing passionately on a punt. (Do I mean a punt? Or a gondola? The boat thing with a pole, anyway.) And then I keep picturing him running his hands through her long red hair. And murmuring, ¡°Venetia, I love you.¡± Which is just stupid. I bet he never told her he loved her. I bet¡­a thousand quid. ¡°Becky?¡± ¡°Oh!¡± I come to and suddenly realize the appointment is over. Both Luke and Venetia are standing up, waiting for me. ¡°So, you¡¯ll do a birth plan for me, Becky?¡± Venetia says as she opens the door. ¡°Absolutely!¡± ¡°Nothing too complicated!¡± She smiles. ¡°I¡¯d just like to get a general picture of how you envisage the birth. And Luke, I¡¯ll give you a call. I know some of the old crowd would love to see you.¡± ¡°Great!¡± His face is animated as he kisses her on each cheek. Then the door closes and we¡¯re walking back down the corridor. I¡¯m not sure what Luke¡¯s thinking. I¡¯m not entirely sure what I¡¯m thinking, to be honest. ¡°Well,¡± Luke says at last. ¡°Very impressive. Very, very impressive.¡± ¡°Um¡­yes!¡± ¡°Becky.¡± Luke suddenly stops dead. ¡°I want to apologize. You were right and I was wrong.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I was so negative about coming here. You¡¯re right: I was prejudiced and stupid. But you¡¯ve completely made the right decision.¡± ¡°Right.¡± I nod several times. ¡°So¡­so you think we should go with Venetia?¡± ¡°Absolutely!¡± He laughs, puzzled. ¡°Don¡¯t you? Isn¡¯t this your dream come true, coming here?¡± Page 29 ¡°Er¡­yes,¡± I say, folding my Alternative Pain Relief Options leaflet into smaller and smaller quarters. ¡°Of course it is.¡± ¡°Sweetheart. Darling.¡± Luke suddenly has a concerned frown. ¡°If you¡¯re feeling at all threatened by my old relationship with Venetia, let me assure you¡ª¡± ¡°Threatened?¡± I cut him off brightly. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous! I don¡¯t feel threatened.¡± Maybe I do feel a tad threatened. But how can I say that to Luke? ¡°Good, you¡¯re still here!¡± Venetia¡¯s silvery voice travels down the corridor and I look round to see her approaching, a clipboard in hand. ¡°You must collect your welcome pack before you go, Becky! We have all sorts of goodies for you. And there was another thing I wanted to mention¡ª¡± ¡°Venetia.¡± Luke cuts her off midstream. ¡°Let me be frank. We were just discussing the fact of¡­our previous relationship. And I¡¯m not sure Becky feels comfortable with it.¡± He takes my hand and I clasp his gratefully. Venetia exhales and nods. ¡°Of course,¡± she says. ¡°Becky, I completely understand. If you feel at all uncomfortable, then you should certainly consider going elsewhere. I won¡¯t be offended!¡± She gives me a friendly smile. ¡°All I can say is¡­I¡¯m a professional. If you do decide to remain under my care, I¡¯ll help you achieve the very best birth experience I can. And, just in case you were really anxious¡±¡ªher eyes twinkle at me¡ª¡°I do have a boyfriend!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry! I¡¯m not quite that insecure!¡± I say, joining in with her merry laughter. She has a boyfriend! It¡¯s all OK! I don¡¯t know how I could have thought it was anything else. God, pregnancy is making me paranoid. ¡°So,¡± Venetia Carter is saying, ¡°you two go away, have a think about it. You have my number¡ª¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need to think about it.¡± I beam at her. ¡°Just show me where the welcome packs are!¡± KENNETH PRENDERGAST Prendergast de Witt Connell Financial Advisers Forward House 394 High Holborn London WC1V 7EX Mrs R Brandon 37 Maida Vale Mansions Maida Vale London NW6 0YF 20 August 2003 Dear Mrs. Brandon, Thank you for your letter. I am aware of the investment ¡°bet¡± between yourself and your husband. Please be assured I will not reveal any of your asset allocation strategies to him, nor ¡°sell them like a Russian spy.¡± In answer to your query, I think an investment in gold would be a most wise choice for your child. Gold has done well over the last few years and in my opinion will continue to do so. Yours sincerely, Kenneth Prendergast Family Investment Specialist SIX GOD, WORK¡¯S DEPRESSING. It¡¯s the next day, and I¡¯m sitting at my desk in the reception area of personal shopping. Jasmine, who works with me, is slumped on the sofa. Our appointment book is empty, the phone is silent, and as I look around, the place is as dead as ever. Not a single customer. The only sign of movement out on the shop floor is Len the security guard doing his usual rounds, and he looks as fed up as the rest of us feel. When I think what it used to be like at Barneys in New York, all bright and full of chatter and people buying thousand-dollar dresses¡­And all I¡¯ve sold this week is a pair of fishnets and an out-of-season raincoat. This place is a disaster. And we opened only ten weeks ago. The Look is backed by this big tycoon, Giorgio Laszlo. It was supposed to be a buzzy, high-concept department store which would take over from Selfridges and Harvey Nichols. But things started going wrong from day one; in fact, the place is a national joke. First of all, a whole warehouse of stock got burned down and the launch had to be delayed. Then a light fixture fell from the ceiling and concussed one of the beauty assistants, right in the middle of a makeup demonstration. Then there was a suspected outbreak of Legionnaires¡¯ disease and we were all sent home for five days. It turned out to be false ¡ª but the damage was done. All the papers ran stories on how The Look was cursed, and printed cartoons showing the customers keeling over and having bits of the building fall on them. (Which were actually quite funny, but we¡¯re not allowed to say that.) And no one¡¯s come back since we reopened. Everyone seems to think the place is still closed, or infectious, or something. The Daily World, who are total enemies of Giorgio Laszlo, keep sending undercover photographers to take pictures of the shop floors and run them under headings like ¡°Still Empty!¡± and ¡°How Much Longer Can This Folly Last?¡± The rumor is that if things don¡¯t pick up soon, the place will fold. Page 30 With a gloomy sigh, Jasmine turns a page and starts reading the horoscopes. That¡¯s the other problem: it¡¯s hard to keep your staff motivated when business is down. (Jasmine is my staff.) Before I started this job I read one of Luke¡¯s management books to get some tips on how to be a boss, and it said it was ¡°crucial to keep giving your team compliments in bad times.¡± I¡¯ve already complimented Jasmine¡¯s hair, shoes, and bag. To be honest, there¡¯s not a lot left. ¡°I like your¡­eyebrows, Jasmine!¡± I say brightly. ¡°Where do you get them done?¡± Jasmine looks at me as though I¡¯ve asked her to eat baby whale. ¡°I¡¯m not telling you!¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°It¡¯s my secret. If I tell you, you¡¯ll go there too and then you¡¯ll have my look.¡± Jasmine is skinny, with trails of bleached-blond hair, a nose stud, and one blue eye and one green eye. She could not look less like me if she tried. ¡°I won¡¯t have your look!¡± I retort lightly. ¡°I¡¯ll just have good eyebrows! Go on, tell me.¡± ¡°Uh-uh.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°No way.¡± I feel a surge of frustration. ¡°When you asked me where I have my hair done, I told you,¡± I remind her. ¡°I gave you a card and recommended the best stylist and got you ten percent off your first haircut. Remember?¡± Jasmine shrugs. ¡°That¡¯s hair.¡± ¡°And this is eyebrows! It¡¯s less important!¡± ¡°That¡¯s what you think.¡± Oh, for God¡¯s sake. I¡¯m about to tell her that I don¡¯t care where she gets her stupid eyebrows done (which is a lie, as I¡¯ve now become obsessed with them), when I hear footsteps. Striding, heavy, senior-management kind of footsteps. Quickly Jasmine shoves her Heat magazine under a pile of sweaters and I pretend to be adjusting a scarf on a mannequin. A moment later, Eric Wilmot, the marketing director, appears round the corner with a couple of smartly suited guys I¡¯ve never seen before. ¡°And this is the personal shopping department,¡± he says to the men with a fake-jovial air. ¡°Rebecca here used to work at Barneys in New York! Rebecca, meet Clive and Andrew from First Results Consulting. Here to throw a few ideas around.¡± He gives a strained smile. Eric was only promoted to marketing director last week, when the previous one resigned. He really doesn¡¯t look like a man who¡¯s relishing his new job. ¡°We haven¡¯t had any customers for days,¡± says Jasmine flatly. ¡°It¡¯s like a morgue in here.¡± ¡°Uh-huh.¡± Eric¡¯s smile tightens. ¡°An empty morgue without any dead people,¡± she clarifies. ¡°It¡¯s deader than a morgue. ¡¯Cause at least in a morgue¡ª¡± ¡°We¡¯re all aware of the situation, thank you, Jasmine.¡± Eric cuts her off briskly. ¡°What we need is solutions.¡± ¡°How do we get people in through the doors?¡± One of the consultants is addressing a mannequin. ¡°That¡¯s the question.¡± ¡°How do we maintain their loyalty?¡± chimes in the other one thoughtfully. For goodness¡¯ sake. I reckon I could be a consultant if all you do is wear a suit and ask totally obvious questions. ¡°What¡¯s the unique selling point?¡± the first chimes in again. ¡°There isn¡¯t one,¡± I say, unable to keep my mouth shut any longer. ¡°We¡¯ve got the same old stock as everyone else. Oh, and by the way, you might get ill or injured if you shop here. We need an edge!¡± The three men all stare at me in surprise. ¡°The public perception of danger is obviously our greatest challenge,¡± says the first consultant, frowning. ¡°We need to counter the negative coverage, create a positive, healthy image¡ª¡± He¡¯s totally missing my point. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t matter!¡± I cut him off. ¡°If we had something unique, that people really wanted, they¡¯d come in anyway. Like, when I lived in New York I once went to a sample sale in a condemned building. There were all these warnings outside saying Do Not Enter, Unsafe, but I¡¯d heard they had Jimmy Choos at eighty percent off. So I went in!¡± ¡°Did they?¡± says Jasmine, perking up. ¡°No,¡± I say regretfully. ¡°They¡¯d all gone. But I found a fab Gucci trench coat, only seventy dollars!¡± ¡°You went into a condemned building?¡± Eric is goggling at me. ¡°For a pair of shoes?¡± Something tells me he isn¡¯t going to last in this job. ¡°Of course! And there were about a hundred other girls there too. And if we had something fab and exclusive at The Look, they¡¯d come here like a shot! Even if the roof was falling in! Like some really hot designer diffusion range.¡± Page 31 This idea has been brewing in my mind for a while now. I even tried talking to Brianna, the chief buyer, about it last week. But she just nodded and asked if I could bring her the Dolce diamante dress in a size 2 because she was going to a premiere that night and the red Versace was too tight around the butt, and what did I think? God knows how Brianna got her job. Well, actually, everybody knows. It¡¯s because she¡¯s Giorgio Laszlo¡¯s wife and used to be a model. In the press release when The Look opened it said this would qualify her perfectly to be chief buyer, as she has the ¡°knowledge and savvy of a fashion insider.¡± It didn¡¯t add ¡°unfortunately she has not one brain cell.¡± ¡°Diffusion¡­designer¡­¡± The first consultant is scribbling in his little book. ¡°We should speak to Brianna about that. She¡¯ll have the right connections.¡± ¡°I believe she¡¯s on holiday at the moment,¡± says Eric. ¡°With Mr. Laszlo.¡± ¡°Well, when she gets back. We¡¯ll progress that idea.¡± The consultant snaps the book shut. ¡°Let¡¯s move on.¡± They all stride off again, and I wait till they¡¯ve rounded the corner before giving a harrumph of frustration. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± says Jasmine, who has slumped back down on the sofa and is texting something on her phone. ¡°They¡¯ll never get anything off the ground! Brianna won¡¯t be back for weeks, and anyway, she¡¯s hopeless. They¡¯ll just have meetings and talk¡­and meanwhile the shop will go bust.¡± ¡°What do you care?¡± Jasmine gives an indifferent shrug. How can she just watch a business collapse and not try to do something? ¡°I care because¡­because this is where I work! It could be a success!¡± ¡°Get real, Becky. No designer¡¯s ever going to want to do an exclusive range here.¡± ¡°Brianna could call in some favors,¡± I protest. ¡°I mean, she¡¯s modeled for Calvin Klein, Versace¡­Tom Ford¡­. She could persuade one of them, surely? God, if I had a famous designer friend¡ª¡± I stop, midflow. Hang on. Why didn¡¯t I think of this before? ¡°What?¡± Jasmine looks up. ¡°I do know a designer,¡± I say. ¡°I know Danny Kovitz! We could get him to do something.¡± ¡°You know Danny Kovitz?¡± Jasmine looks skeptical. ¡°Or, like, you¡¯ve bumped into him once?¡± ¡°I really know him! He used to live above me in New York. He designed my wedding dress,¡± I can¡¯t help adding smugly. It¡¯s so cool, having a famous friend. I knew Danny when he was a nobody. In fact I helped get him his first break. And now he¡¯s this international fashion darling! He¡¯s been in Vogue and had his dresses worn to the Oscars and everything. He was interviewed in Women¡¯s Wear Daily last month about his last collection, which he said was based on his interpretation of the decay of civilization. I don¡¯t believe a word of it. It¡¯ll have been something he threw together at the last minute with lots of safety pins and black coffee and someone else sewed up for him. But still. An exclusive Danny Kovitz line would be fabulous publicity. I should have thought of this before. ¡°If you really know Danny Kovitz, ring him up,¡± says Jasmine challengingly. ¡°Right now.¡± She doesn¡¯t believe me? ¡°Fine, I will!¡± I whip out my phone, find the number for Danny¡¯s mobile, and dial it. The truth is, I haven¡¯t spoken to Danny for quite a long while. But still, we went through a lot together while I was living in New York, and we¡¯ll always have that bond. I wait for a while, but there¡¯s no reply, just a bleeping sound. He probably lost his phone and canceled it or something. ¡°Problem?¡± Jasmine raises one immaculate eyebrow. ¡°His cell phone isn¡¯t working,¡± I say coolly. ¡°I¡¯ll call his office.¡± I dial international directories, get a New York number for Danny Kovitz Enterprises, and dial. It¡¯s nine thirty A.M. in New York, which means there¡¯s not much chance of Danny being up, unless he¡¯s had an all-nighter. But I can leave a message. A male voice answers. ¡°Danny Kovitz Enterprises. May I help?¡± ¡°Oh, hi there!¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s Becky Brandon here, n¨¦e Bloomwood. I¡¯d like to speak to Danny Kovitz.¡± ¡°Please hold the line,¡± the voice says politely. Some kind of rap blasts my eardrum for a few moments, then a bright female voice comes on the line. ¡°Welcome to the Danny Kovitz fan club! For full membership information, please press one¡ª¡± Page 32 Oh, for God¡¯s sake. I switch off and dial the main number again, avoiding Jasmine¡¯s gaze. ¡°Danny Kovitz Enterprises. May I help?¡± ¡°Hi, I¡¯m an old, very close friend of Danny¡¯s,¡± I say briskly. ¡°Please put me through to his personal assistant.¡± The rap booms in my ear again, then a woman is saying, ¡°Danny Kovitz¡¯s private office, Carol speaking. How may I help?¡± ¡°Hi, Carol!¡± I say in my most friendly manner. ¡°I¡¯m an old friend of Danny¡¯s and I¡¯ve been trying to contact him through his cell number but it doesn¡¯t work. Could you possibly put me through to him? Or leave a message?¡± ¡°Your name?¡± says Carol, sounding skeptical. ¡°Becky Brandon. N¨¦e Bloomwood.¡± ¡°And will he know what this is in regard to?¡± ¡°Yes! We¡¯re friends!¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯ll pass your message to Mr. Kovitz¡­.¡± Suddenly I hear a familiar voice, faintly in the background, saying, ¡°I need a Diet Coke, OK?¡± That¡¯s Danny! ¡°He¡¯s there, isn¡¯t he?¡± I exclaim. ¡°I just heard him! Could you quickly put me through? Honestly, I just want a very quick¡ª¡± ¡°Mr. Kovitz is¡­in a meeting,¡± says Carol. ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to pass your message on, Ms. Broom. Thanks for your call.¡± The line goes dead. I switch off the phone, seething. She¡¯s not going to pass anything on, is she? She didn¡¯t even take my number! ¡°So,¡± says Jasmine, who¡¯s been watching all along. ¡°Close friends, are you?¡± ¡°We are,¡± I say furiously. OK. Think. There has to be a way to get through to him. There has to be¡­. Wait a minute. I scrabble for the phone again and dial international directories. ¡°Hi,¡± I say to the operator. ¡°The name is Kovitz, the address is Apple Bay House, on Fairview Road, if you could put me straight through¡­.¡± A few moments later a voice answers. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Hi, Mrs. Kovitz,¡± I say in my most charming manner, ¡°it¡¯s Becky here. Becky Bloomwood? Do you remember me?¡± I always liked Danny¡¯s mum. We have a good old chat, and she asks all about the baby and I ask all about her award-winning gardens in Connecticut, and the conversation ends with her expressing sympathetic indignation at the way I was treated by Danny¡¯s staff, especially after I was the one who first introduced his work to Barneys (I reminded her about that, just casually), and promising to get Danny to call me. And literally about two minutes after we¡¯ve finished talking, my cell phone rings. ¡°Hi, Becky! Mom says you called?¡± ¡°Danny!¡± I can¡¯t help shooting a triumphant glance at Jasmine. ¡°Oh my God, it¡¯s been ages. How are you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m great! Except my mom just gave me a total rocket. Jesus!¡± Danny sounds a bit shaken. ¡°She was like, ¡®Don¡¯t you stop appreciating your friends, young man.¡¯ And I¡¯m like, ¡®What are you talking about? ¡¯And she¡¯s like¡ª¡± ¡°Your assistants wouldn¡¯t put me through,¡± I explain. ¡°They thought I was a fan. Or a stalker or something.¡± ¡°I do get stalkers.¡± Danny sounds quite proud of himself. ¡°I have two at the moment, both named Joshua. Isn¡¯t that wild?¡± ¡°Wow!¡± I can¡¯t help feeling impressed, even though I know I shouldn¡¯t be. ¡°So¡­what are you up to at the moment?¡± ¡°I¡¯m taking some time to work on my new collection,¡± he says with a practiced smoothness. ¡°I¡¯m reinterpreting the whole Far Eastern vibe. Right now I¡¯m at the concept stage. Gathering influences, that kind of thing.¡± He doesn¡¯t fool me. ¡°Gathering influences¡± means ¡°Going on holiday and getting stoned on the beach.¡± ¡°Well, I was just wondering,¡± I say quickly. ¡°Could you do me a massive favor? Could you do a little diffusion line for this shop I work for in London? Or even just one exclusive piece.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± he says, and I can hear him opening a can. ¡°Sure. When?¡± Ha! I knew he¡¯d say yes. ¡°Well¡­soon?¡± I cross my fingers. ¡°In the next few weeks? You could come to London for a visit. We¡¯d have a blast!¡± ¡°Becky, I don¡¯t know¡­.¡± He pauses to slurp at his drink, and I imagine him in some trendy SoHo office, lounging on an office chair, in those ancient jeans he always used to wear. ¡°I have this Far East trip lined up¡­.¡± Page 33 ¡°I saw Jude Law in the street the other day,¡± I add casually. ¡°He lives quite close to us.¡± There¡¯s silence. ¡°Or I guess I could swing by,¡± Danny says at last. ¡°London¡¯s on the way to Thailand, right?¡± Yes! I have total R.E.S.P.E.C.T. For the rest of the day Jasmine barely says a word, just keeps shooting me awed looks. And Eric was totally impressed to hear that I¡¯d made some ¡°proactive advancement on the project,¡± as he put it. If only we had some customers, this job wouldn¡¯t be too bad after all. And on the plus side, the fact that we don¡¯t have anything to do has given me time to read my new issue of Pregnancy magazine. ¡°Hey, your phone¡¯s ringing in your bag,¡± says Jasmine as she comes from the reception area. ¡°It¡¯s been ringing all day, actually.¡± ¡°Thanks for telling me!¡± I say sarcastically. I hurry to my desk, grab the phone, and click it on. ¡°Becky!¡± comes Mum¡¯s excited voice. ¡°At last! So, darling. How was the famous celebrity obstetrician? We¡¯re all longing to know! Janice has been in and out all day!¡± ¡°Oh right. Let me just¡­¡± I close the door and sit down on my desk chair, marshaling my thoughts. ¡°Well¡­it was amazing! Guess what, I met a Bond girl in the waiting room!¡± ¡°A Bond girl!¡± Mum draws in breath. ¡°Janice, did you hear that? Becky met a Bond girl in the waiting room!¡± ¡°And the place is lovely, and I¡¯m going to have a holistic water birth, and they gave me this lovely welcome pack all full of spa vouchers¡­.¡± ¡°How wonderful!¡± says Mum. ¡°And she¡¯s a nice lady, is she? The doctor?¡± ¡°Very nice.¡± I pause for a moment, then add casually, ¡°She¡¯s Luke¡¯s ex-girlfriend. Isn¡¯t that a coincidence?¡± ¡°Ex-girlfriend?¡± Mum¡¯s voice sharpens a little. ¡°What do you mean, ex-girlfriend?¡± ¡°You know! Just someone he went out with ages ago. At Cambridge.¡± There¡¯s silence down the phone. ¡°Is she attractive?¡± says Mum. Honestly. ¡°She¡¯s quite attractive. But I don¡¯t see what that has to do with anything.¡± ¡°Of course not, darling.¡± There¡¯s a scuffly sort of pause, and I¡¯m positive I can hear Mum whispering something to Janice. ¡°Do you know why she and Luke split up?¡± she suddenly asks. ¡°No. I don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Haven¡¯t you asked him about it?¡± ¡°Mum,¡± I say, trying to keep my patience. ¡°Luke and I have a very secure, trusting marriage. I¡¯m not going to quiz him, OK?¡± What does she think I should do, issue Luke a questionnaire? I mean, I know Dad turned out to have had a slightly more colorful past than anyone might have suspected (affair with train stewardess; secret love child; handlebar mustache). But Luke¡¯s not like that ¡ª I know he¡¯s not. ¡°And anyway, it was all ages ago,¡± I add, sounding more defiant than I mean to. ¡°And she¡¯s got a boyfriend.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, Becky love.¡± Mum exhales sharply. ¡°Are you sure this is a good idea? Pregnancy can be a¡­tricky time for a man. What about going back to that nice gentleman doctor?¡± I¡¯m starting to feel a bit insulted here. What does Mum think, that I can¡¯t hold on to my husband? ¡°We¡¯re with Venetia Carter now,¡± I say obstinately. ¡°It¡¯s all signed and sealed.¡± ¡°Oh well, darling. If you¡¯re sure. What¡¯s that, Janice?¡± There¡¯s another scuffling at the other end. ¡°Janice says, was it Halle Berry you met?¡± ¡°No, it was the new one. The blond Rollerblade champion. Mum, I¡¯d better go. I¡¯ve got a call waiting. Give my love to everyone. Bye!¡± I switch off the phone, and a second later it rings again. ¡°Bex! I¡¯ve been trying you all day! How was it?¡± Suze¡¯s excited voice peals down the line. ¡°Tell me everything. Are you having the Thai water birth?¡± ¡°Maybe!¡± I can¡¯t help beaming. ¡°Oh, Suze, it was fab! You get massage, and reflexology, and I met a Bond girl, and there were paparazzi waiting outside and we got photographed together! We¡¯ll be in Hello!¡± ¡°That¡¯s so cool!¡± Suze¡¯s voice rises to a squeak. ¡°God, I¡¯m so jealous. I want another baby now, and have it there.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t actually have it at the center,¡± I explain. ¡°You have all the appointments there, but she¡¯s linked to the Cavendish Hospital.¡± Page 34 ¡°The Cavendish? The one with all the double beds and wine lists?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± I can¡¯t help a smirk. ¡°You¡¯re so lucky, Bex! And what¡¯s Venetia Carter like?¡± ¡°She¡¯s fab! She¡¯s really young, and cool, and she has all these really interesting ideas about childbirth, and¡±¡ªI hesitate¡ª¡°and she¡¯s Luke¡¯s ex-girlfriend. Isn¡¯t that amazing?¡± ¡°She¡¯s¡­what?¡± Suze sounds like she can¡¯t believe her ears. ¡°She¡¯s Luke¡¯s ex. They went out at Cambridge together.¡± ¡°You¡¯re having your baby delivered by Luke¡¯s ex-girlfriend?¡± First Mum, then Suze. What¡¯s wrong with everyone? ¡°Yes!¡± I say defensively. ¡°Why not? It was years ago and it only lasted about five minutes. And she¡¯s attached to someone else now. What¡¯s the problem?¡± ¡°It just seems a bit¡­weird, don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not weird! Suze, we¡¯re all grown-ups. We¡¯re all mature, professional people. I think we can get past some old, meaningless fling, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°But I mean, she¡¯ll be¡­you know! Poking about.¡± This thought had crossed my mind. But then, is it any worse than Dr. Braine poking about? To be honest, I¡¯m in denial about this whole birth business happening at all. I¡¯m half hoping they¡¯ll invent some new labor-substitute device by the time I reach my due date. ¡°I¡¯d be paranoid!¡± Suze is saying. ¡°I once met this ex of Tarkie¡¯s¡ª¡± ¡°Tarquin has an ex?¡± I say in astonishment, before I realize how this sounds. ¡°Flissy Menkin. Of the Somerset Menkins?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± I say, as though I have a clue what the Somerset Menkins might be. They sound like china pots. Or some kind of galloping disease. ¡°I knew she was going to be at this wedding last year, and I practically spent the whole week getting ready. And that was with clothes on!¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯ll get a really good bikini wax,¡± I say airily. ¡°And maybe I¡¯ll have a cesarean. And the point is, she¡¯s the top baby-deliverer in the country! She should be used to it by now, don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°I s¡¯pose.¡± Suze still sounds doubtful. ¡°But still. Bex, if I were you, I¡¯d steer clear. Go back to your other doctor.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to steer clear.¡± I feel like stamping my foot. ¡°And I totally trust Luke,¡± I add as an afterthought. ¡°Of course!¡± says Suze hastily. ¡°Of course you do. So¡­did he chuck her, or the other way around?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I admit. ¡°Hasn¡¯t he told you?¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t asked him! It¡¯s irrelevant!¡± Suze is starting to rattle me with all her questions. ¡°Guess what? I got Cr¨¨me de la Mer in the welcome pack,¡± I say to distract her. ¡°And a voucher for Champneys!¡± ¡°Ooh!¡± Suze perks up. ¡°Can you take a guest?¡± I¡¯m not going to let Suze and Mum freak me out. They don¡¯t know anything about it! Luke and I have a totally stable, trusting relationship. We¡¯re having a baby together. I feel totally secure. On the way home that night I pop into Hollis Franklin quickly, just to look at baby linen. Hollis Franklin is such a gorgeous shop, it¡¯s got a Royal Warrant and apparently the Queen herself shops there! I spend a happy hour looking at different thread counts, and by the time I arrive back home, it¡¯s seven. Luke is in the kitchen, drinking a beer and watching the news. ¡°Hi!¡± I say, putting down my bags. ¡°I got the baby some sheets from Hollis Franklin!¡± I pull out a tiny crib sheet embroidered with a tiny crest in each corner. ¡°Isn¡¯t that adorable?¡± ¡°Very nice,¡± says Luke, examining it. Then he catches sight of the price tag and blanches. ¡°Jesus. You paid that for a baby sheet?¡± ¡°They¡¯re the best,¡± I explain. ¡°They¡¯re four hundred thread count!¡± ¡°Does the baby need four hundred thread count? You realize it¡¯ll throw up on these sheets?¡± ¡°The baby would never throw up on a Hollis Franklin sheet!¡± I say, indignant. ¡°It knows better than that.¡± I pat my bump. ¡°Don¡¯t you, darling?¡± Luke rolls his eyes. ¡°If you say so.¡± He puts the sheet down. ¡°And what¡¯s in the bigger bag?¡± ¡°Matching sheets for us. The duvet cover¡¯s coming separately, and the pillow shams as soon as they¡¯re in stock¡ª¡± I break off at his appalled expression. ¡°Luke, we¡¯ll have the crib in our bedroom! We have to coordinate!¡± Page 35 ¡°Coordinate?¡± ¡°Of course!¡± ¡°Becky, really¡ª¡± Luke¡¯s attention is drawn to the TV screen. ¡°Hold on, it¡¯s Malcolm.¡± He turns up the volume and I take the opportunity to shove the Hollis Franklin sheets behind the door, where Luke might forget about them. Malcolm Lloyd is the chief executive of Arcodas, and he¡¯s being interviewed in the business slot about why he¡¯s planning to make a bid for some airline company. Luke watches intently, beer in hand. ¡°He should stop doing that jerky thing with his hand,¡± I say, watching the interview too. ¡°He looks really awkward. He should go on media training.¡± ¡°He¡¯s already been on media training,¡± says Luke. ¡°Well, it was rubbish. You should get someone new.¡± I take off my jacket, dump it on a chair, and massage my aching shoulders. ¡°Come here, sweetheart,¡± says Luke, noticing me. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡± I pull a chair over and sit down in front of him, and he starts kneading my tight muscles. ¡°Luke, that reminds me,¡± I say, still watching Malcolm. ¡°Does Iain always talk to you like that?¡± Luke¡¯s fingers stop moving briefly. ¡°Like what?¡± ¡°The way he did in the car yesterday. He¡¯s so unpleasant!¡± ¡°That¡¯s just his business style. Arcodas has a different working culture.¡± ¡°But it¡¯s awful!¡± ¡°Well, we¡¯re just going to have to get used to it.¡± Luke sounds a bit defensive and snappy. ¡°We¡¯re playing with the big boys now. Everyone¡¯s just got to¡ª¡± He stops himself. ¡°What?¡± I twist my head, trying to see his expression. ¡°Nothing,¡± says Luke after a moment. ¡°Just¡­thinking aloud. Let¡¯s turn this off.¡± He kisses me on the top of my head. ¡°Shoulders feel better now?¡± ¡°A million times. Thanks.¡± I get up, pour myself a glass of orange-cranberry mix, and flip the TV over to The Simpsons. Meanwhile, Luke picks up the Evening Standard and starts leafing through the pages. A bowl of olives is on the counter, and we pass it back and forth between us. There now, isn¡¯t this nice? Just a nice quiet evening at home. Just the two of us, relaxing together in our stable relationship. Not thinking about old girlfriends or anything like that. In fact, I¡¯m so relaxed, maybe I will bring the subject up. Just in a casual way. To show I don¡¯t care one way or the other. ¡°So¡­that must have been weird for you,¡± I say lightly. ¡°Coming across Venetia again after all those years.¡± ¡°Uh-huh.¡± Luke nods absently. ¡°Why did you and she break up?¡± I say, still lightly. ¡°Just out of interest.¡± ¡°God knows.¡± Luke shrugs. ¡°It was a long time ago.¡± You see? It was so long ago, he can¡¯t even remember. It¡¯s ancient history. I really don¡¯t care what the gory details were. In fact, let¡¯s talk about something else. Current affairs or something. ¡°Did you love her?¡± I hear myself saying. ¡°Love?¡± Luke gives a short laugh. ¡°We were students.¡± I wait for him to expand on the subject, but he turns a page of the paper and frowns at a headline. That is not an answer. ¡°We were students¡± is not an answer. I open my mouth to demand ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± Then, after a moment¡¯s thought, I close it again. This is ridiculous. I¡¯d never even met Venetia Carter till yesterday ¡ª and already Mum and Suze have made me all paranoid. Of course he never loved her. I¡¯m not going to ask him anything else about their relationship. I¡¯m not even going to think about it. Subject officially closed. SHORT QUIZ FOR LUKE BRANDON 1. How would you describe the relationship you had with your old girlfriend Venetia? a) Passionate Romeo/Juliet-style romance. b) V. boring relationship. c) I never really liked her. d) She stalked me. 2. In general, do you prefer girls¡¯ names that begin with a) R b) B c) V d) Don¡¯t know. 3. Have you ever been in love? If so, with how many people? a) Your wife and only your wife, because she taught you what love really is. b) Your snooty girlfriend Sacha, the bitch who stole the luggage. c) Your student girlfriend Venetia, with whom you had a brief fling but never mentioned her, so how could you have been in love with her? d) Other. 4. What do you think of long red hair? a) It¡¯s a bit obvious and show-offy. b) It swishes too much. (Please turn over and complete remaining three sections.) Page 36 KENNETH PRENDERGAST Prendergast de Witt Connell Financial Advisers Forward House 394 High Holborn London WC1V 7EX Mrs R Brandon 37 Maida Vale Mansions Maida Vale London NW6 0YF 28 August 2003 Dear Mrs. Brandon, Thank you for your letter. I fear you have misconstrued the meaning of an ¡°investment in gold.¡± I would strongly recommend you purchase gold bullion through a recommended broker, rather than, as you suggest, ¡°get the starfish pendant out of the Tiffany catalog, and maybe a ring.¡± Please do not hesitate to contact me again should you need further guidance. Yours sincerely, Kenneth Prendergast Family Investment Specialist SEVEN I¡¯M NOT REALLY GOING to give Luke a questionnaire. In fact I¡¯ve thrown it in the bin for various reasons, namely: 1) We have a mature, trusting marriage where you don¡¯t quiz each other on what color hair you prefer. 2) He would never have time to fill it in (especially the section ¡°describe the qualities of your wife you most admire in 500 words¡±). 3. I have far more important things to think about. Suze and I are going to a big baby fair at Earl¡¯s Court today, and there¡¯s going to be about five hundred stands, plus freebies, and a mother-and-baby fashion show, and the biggest collection of prams under one roof in Europe! As I come out of the tube station, there are already crowds streaming toward the entrances. I have never seen so many pushchairs in my life, and we haven¡¯t even got in yet! ¡°Bex!¡± I turn to see Suze, in a fantastic lime sundress, holding the handles of her double buggy. Wilfrid and Clementine are sitting up, side by side, wearing the cutest stripy hats. ¡°Hi!¡± I hurry over and give her a big hug. ¡°Isn¡¯t this fab?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got our tickets in here¡­.¡± Suze rifles in her bag. ¡°Plus vouchers for a smoothie each¡­¡± ¡°Has Tarquin got Ernie today?¡± ¡°No, my mother¡¯s looking after him. They¡¯ll have a lovely day together,¡± Suze adds fondly. ¡°She¡¯s going to teach him how to pluck a pheasant.¡± It¡¯s not just Tarquin. Suze¡¯s entire family really is the weirdest. As we enter the fair, I can¡¯t help a tiny gasp. This place is huge. All around are gigantic photographs of babies, and colorful stalls, and promo girls handing out carrier bags. The music from The Lion King is playing out of loudspeakers, and a clown on stilts is juggling foam bananas. ¡°So,¡± says Suze in a businesslike manner as we join the queue. ¡°Have you got a list?¡± ¡°List?¡± I echo vaguely. I can¡¯t stop looking around at everyone¡¯s prams and changing bags and babies¡¯ outfits. A few people are smiling at the sight of Wilfrid and Clementine, sitting up side by side with their bright blue eyes, and I beam back proudly. ¡°Your list of baby gear,¡± says Suze patiently. ¡°What do you still need?¡± She rifles in the envelope containing the tickets. ¡°Here we are. The New Baby Checklist. Do you have a sterilizer yet?¡± ¡°Er¡­no.¡± My eyes are fixated on a bright red stroller with a cool polka-dot hood. That would look fab going down the King¡¯s Road. ¡°Or a nursing pillow?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Are you planning to use an electric breast pump?¡± ¡°Urgh.¡± I recoil slightly. ¡°Do I have to? Ooh, look, they¡¯ve got mini cowboy boots!¡± ¡°Bex¡­¡± Suze waits till I turn. ¡°You do know having a baby is about more than buying them clothes, don¡¯t you? You do have¡­realistic expectations?¡± ¡°I have totally realistic expectations!¡± I say with slight indignation. ¡°And I¡¯m going to get everything on that list. I¡¯m going to be the best-prepared mother ever. Come on, let¡¯s get started.¡± As we head down between the stands, my head is swiveling from side to side. I¡¯ve never seen so many gadgets¡­and baby outfits¡­and adorable-looking toys¡­. ¡°You¡¯ll need a car seat,¡± Suze is saying. ¡°Some fix into the car, and some also clip onto wheels¡­.¡± ¡°OK.¡± I nod vaguely. I can¡¯t get that excited by car seats, to be honest. ¡°And look, here¡¯s a sterilizer and bottle system,¡± says Suze. She pauses by the Avent stand and picks up a leaflet. ¡°They have microwave ones¡­electric ones¡­. Even if you¡¯re breast-feeding, you¡¯ll need to express¡­.¡± My attention has been caught by a stand named Disco Baby. ¡°Hey, Suze!¡± I interrupt her. ¡°Baby leg warmers!¡± Page 37 ¡°Right.¡± She nods. ¡°Do you want a four-bottle sterilizer or a six-bottle sterilizer, or¡ª¡± ¡°And rattles in the shape of little glitter balls! Suze, look!¡± ¡°Oh my God.¡± Suze¡¯s face lights up. ¡°I have to buy those for the twins.¡± She abandons the Avent leaflets, grabs her double buggy, and pushes it over. There are little ¡°disco girl¡± and ¡°disco boy¡± sweatshirts, and the cutest little baseball caps. ¡°I just wish I knew what I was having,¡± I say, picking up a tiny pink skirt and stroking it longingly. ¡°Did you try the ancient Chinese chart?¡± says Suze. ¡°Yes. It said I was having a boy.¡± ¡°A boy!¡± Suze¡¯s face lights up. ¡°But then I found this Web site called Analyze Your Cravings, and according to that, I¡¯m having a girl.¡± I sigh in frustration. ¡°I just want to know.¡± Suze looks perplexed, then reaches for a hat. ¡°Buy this. It¡¯s unisex.¡± I buy the hat and a pair of the most fabulous kitsch platform bootees, and a Groove Baby miniature dressing gown. At the next stall I buy a baby beach towel and mini-sunshade, and a remote-controlled Winnie the Pooh mobile. I¡¯m getting quite laden, to be honest, but Suze just keeps stashing all her stuff in the double buggy. Prams are so handy for shopping. I¡¯d never quite appreciated it before. And we¡¯ve got all day here. ¡°Suze, I need a pram,¡± I say, making a snap decision. ¡°I know.¡± She nods vigorously. ¡°The Pram City stand is just here, behind Zone C. You¡¯ll probably need a whole travel system, and you might want to get a lightweight buggy for traveling¡­.¡± I¡¯m barely listening as I head for the Pram City sign. The entrance is decorated with bunting and balloons, and as I step through, I can see prams stretching into the distance like an endless chrome shrubbery. ¡°Hi!¡± I say to a man in a green jacket and PRAM CITY badge. ¡°I need a pram straightaway.¡± ¡°Of course!¡± He beams at me. ¡°We normally deliver within four weeks¡ª¡± ¡°No, I need one now,¡± I interrupt. ¡°To take away. I don¡¯t mind what kind.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± His face falls. ¡°These are all for display only, I¡¯m afraid¡­.¡± ¡°Please?¡± I give him my most winsome smile. ¡°You must have one you can sell me. Just one little pram? Some old one you don¡¯t need anymore?¡± ¡°Um¡­right.¡± He glances nervously at my stomach. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­see what I can do.¡± He bustles away, and I look around at the trendy prams. Suze is swooning over some state-of-the-art double buggy on a special podium of its own, and to my right, a pregnant woman and her husband are pushing an amazing contraption upholstered in black leather, with built-in drink holders. ¡°I knew you¡¯d like it.¡± The woman is glowing with pleasure. ¡°Of course I do.¡± The man kisses the back of her neck, cradling her bump. ¡°Let¡¯s order it.¡± I feel a sudden pang, deep inside. I want to try out prams with Luke. I want to go as a couple, and push prams around and for Luke to kiss me like that. I mean, I know it¡¯s a hectic time for him and he¡¯s really busy at work. I know he¡¯s never going to be some New Man who knows every brand of diaper and wears a fake pregnancy stomach. But still, I don¡¯t want to have to do everything on my own. And I bet he¡¯d love that black leather one too. It¡¯s probably even got a BlackBerry holder. ¡°Hey, Bex.¡± Suze comes over, pushing the twins with one hand and the state-of-the-art buggy with the other. ¡°Do you think I need a new pram?¡± ¡°Er¡­¡± I look at the twins. ¡°Isn¡¯t that double buggy quite new?¡± ¡°Yes, but, I mean, this one¡¯s really maneuverable. It would be really practical! I think I should get it. I mean, you can¡¯t have too many prams, can you?¡± There¡¯s a kind of lust in her eyes. Since when did Suze become such a pramaholic? ¡°Definitely,¡± I say. ¡°Maybe I should get it too!¡± ¡°Yes!¡± says Suze in delight. ¡°Then we¡¯d be matching! Have a go!¡± She hands it to me and I push it about for a bit. It is pretty cool, I have to say. ¡°I love the squidgy handles,¡± I say, squeezing them. ¡°Me too! And the cool wheel design.¡± This is just how we used to be in clothes shops together. God, I never thought I¡¯d get as excited by a pushchair as I do about a dress. ¡°Madam?¡± The assistant is back. ¡°Here we are. I can let you buy this model today. Seventy pounds.¡± Page 38 He¡¯s pushing an old-fashioned coach pram in an uninspiring shade of gray, with a pink lacy pillow and quilt. Suze stares at it, aghast. ¡°Bex, you can¡¯t put the baby in that!¡± ¡°It¡¯s not for the baby,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s for my shopping!¡± I plonk all my carrier bags inside and grasp the handles. ¡°That¡¯s better!¡± I pay for it, and prize Suze away from the hi-tech buggy, and we head off to the Refreshment Zone, passing lots of stalls on the way. I buy a paddling pool, and a box of building blocks and a huge teddy and just sling them all on top of the pram. And there¡¯s still room for loads more! Honestly, I should have bought a pram years ago. ¡°I¡¯ll get the coffees,¡± says Suze as we near the caf¨¦ area. ¡°I¡¯ll be there in a sec,¡± I say absently. I¡¯ve spotted a stand with vintage-style hobbyhorses, which are absolutely gorgeous. I¡¯ll buy one for the baby and one each for Suze¡¯s children. The only trouble is, there¡¯s a massive queue. I maneuver the pram into line as best I can and lean on the handles with a sigh. I¡¯m quite tired actually, after all this walking. In front of me is an old woman in a dark red raincoat. She turns, then pulls an expression of horror as she sees me leaning on the pram. ¡°Let this young lady through!¡± she exclaims, tapping the woman in front of her. ¡°She has a baby and she¡¯s expecting! The poor thing¡¯s exhausted ¡ª look at her!¡± ¡°Oh!¡± I say, taken aback. Everyone is moving aside like I¡¯m royalty, and the raincoat woman is urging me to push the pram forward. ¡°Um¡­I don¡¯t actually have a¡­¡± ¡°Come through, come through! How old¡¯s your wee one?¡± The old woman peers into the pram. ¡°I can¡¯t see the poor little thing for all your gubbins!¡± ¡°Er¡­well¡­¡± The stand owner is beckoning me forward encouragingly. Everyone¡¯s waiting for me to go first. OK. I know I should be honest. I do know that. But the queue¡¯s gigantic, and Suze is waiting¡­and what does it really matter if there¡¯s a baby in here or not? ¡°Is it a boy or a girl?¡± the old woman persists. ¡°It¡¯s¡­a girl!¡± I hear myself saying. ¡°She¡¯s asleep,¡± I add hurriedly. ¡°I¡¯d like four hobbyhorses, please.¡± ¡°Ah, the dear little thing,¡± says the old woman fondly. ¡°And her name?¡± Ooh! Names! ¡°Tallulah,¡± I say impulsively. ¡°I mean¡­Phoebe. Tallulah-Phoebe.¡± I hand the stall owner the money, take the hobbyhorses, and somehow balance them on the pram. ¡°Thanks very much!¡± ¡°You be a good girl, Tallulah-Phoebe,¡± the old woman is clucking into the pram. ¡°You be good for your mum and the new arrival.¡± ¡°Oh, she will!¡± I say brightly. ¡°Nice to meet you! Thanks very much!¡± And I hastily wheel the pram away, feeling a giggle rise inside. I turn the corner and immediately spot Suze at the coffee counter, chatting to a girl with highlights and an off-road pushchair and three children in matching stripy tops tied to it with reins. ¡°Hi, Bex!¡± she calls. ¡°What do you want?¡± ¡°Can I have a decaf cappuccino and a choc chip muffin?¡± I call back. ¡°And I have to tell you what just happened¡ª¡± I break off as the girl with highlights turns. I don¡¯t believe it. It¡¯s Lulu. Lulu, Suze¡¯s horrible friend from the country. My heart sinks like a stone as I wave cheerfully. What¡¯s she doing here? Just as we were having such a good time. They¡¯re coming over toward me now, all the toddlers trailing in their wake like kites being dragged along a beach. Lulu is looking as sensible-mummy as ever, in her pink cords and white shirt and pearl earrings, which probably all came out of the same sensible-mummy catalog. Oh God, I know that¡¯s really bitchy. But I can¡¯t help it. Lulu has rubbed me the wrong way ever since the first time we met and she totally looked down on me because I didn¡¯t have any kids.(And also maybe because I took my bra off in front of all the children to entertain them. But I was really desperate, OK? And it¡¯s not like they saw anything.) ¡°Lulu!¡± I force a smile. ¡°How are you? I didn¡¯t know you were coming today!¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t know myself!¡± Lulu¡¯s voice is so sharp and posh, it makes me wince. ¡°I was offered a sudden promotion opportunity. For my new children¡¯s cookbook.¡± ¡°Yes, Suze told me about that. Congratulations!¡± ¡°And congratulations to you!¡± Lulu eyes my bump. ¡°We¡¯ll have to get together sometime! Talk baby things!¡± Page 39 Lulu has never been anything other than mean and patronizing to me, all the times I¡¯ve met her. But now suddenly because I¡¯m having a baby we¡¯re supposed to be friends? ¡°That would be super!¡± I say pleasantly, and Suze shoots me a look. ¡°There¡¯s a section on pregnancy in my cookbook, actually¡­.¡± Lulu rifles in her bag for a shiny book, illustrated with a photo of herself holding an armful of vegetables in her kitchen. ¡°I must send you a copy.¡± ¡°Like, on cravings and stuff?¡± I take a sip of decaf. ¡°I could do with some good nonalcoholic cocktail recipes.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve called it ¡®Think of the Baby.¡¯¡± She frowns slightly. ¡°It¡¯s shocking, what some people put in their bodies while they¡¯re pregnant. Additives¡­sugar¡­¡± ¡°Right.¡± I hesitate, chocolate muffin halfway toward my mouth, then defiantly stuff it in. ¡°Mmm, yum.¡± I can see Suze hide a giggle. ¡°Would your children like some?¡± I add, breaking it into crumbly pieces. ¡°They don¡¯t eat chocolate!¡± Lulu snaps, looking horrified, as though I¡¯ve tried to peddle them cocaine. ¡°I¡¯ve brought some dried banana snacks.¡± ¡°Lulu, sweetie?¡± A girl in a headset ducks down to our table. ¡°Are you ready to come and do the radio interview? And then we¡¯d like a photo of you and all the kids.¡± ¡°Absolutely.¡± Lulu bares her teeth in her horsey smile. ¡°Come along Cosmo, Ivo, Ludo¡­.¡± ¡°Go Dasher, go Dancer,¡± I mutter. ¡°See you later!¡± says Suze with a strained smile as they walk off. And all of a sudden I feel a bit ashamed. Lulu is Suze¡¯s friend and I should make the effort. I¡¯m going to be nice about her, I suddenly resolve. If it kills me. ¡°So¡­that was great, seeing Lulu!¡± I try to inject some warmth into my voice. ¡°She¡¯s right, we should all get together and have a good chat. Maybe we should meet up later on and have tea or something¡ª¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to.¡± Suze¡¯s low voice takes me by surprise. I look over, and she¡¯s staring down into her cappuccino. Suddenly I recall Suze¡¯s reaction at Mum¡¯s house when I mentioned Lulu. That kind of tension in her face. ¡°Suze, have you and Lulu fallen out?¡± I say cautiously. ¡°Not exactly.¡± Suze won¡¯t look up. ¡°I mean¡­she¡¯s done a lot for me. She¡¯s been so helpful, especially with the children¡­.¡± The trouble with Suze is, she never wants to be nasty. So she always starts off bitching about people with a little speech about how lovely they are really. ¡°But¡­¡± I prompt her. ¡°But she¡¯s so bloody perfect!¡± As Suze raises her head, her cheeks are all pink. ¡°She makes me feel like a total failure. Especially when we go out together. She always has homemade risotto or something and her children eat it. And they¡¯re never naughty, and they¡¯re all really bright¡­.¡± ¡°Your children are bright!¡± I retort indignantly. ¡°Lulu¡¯s kids are all reading Harry Potter!¡± Suze sounds despairing. ¡°And Ernie can¡¯t even really speak much, let alone read. Apart from German phrases from Wagner. And Lulu keeps asking me if I played Mozart to him in the womb, and have I thought about extra tuition, and I just feel so inadequate¡­.¡± I feel a hot surge of outrage. How dare anyone make Suze feel inadequate! ¡°Suze, you¡¯re a brilliant mother!¡± I say. ¡°And Lulu¡¯s just a cow. I knew it, the moment I met her. Don¡¯t listen to her anymore. And don¡¯t read her stupid cookbook!¡± I put an arm round Suze¡¯s shoulders and squeeze tight. ¡°If you feel inadequate, how do you think I feel? I don¡¯t even know any nursery rhymes!¡± ¡°Good afternoon!¡± Lulu¡¯s amplified voice suddenly booms out from behind us, and we both turn round. She¡¯s sitting on a raised platform, opposite a woman in a pink suit, with a small audience watching. Two of her children are on her lap, and behind her are huge posters for her book, with a notice saying ¡°Signed Copies Available.¡± ¡°A lot of parents are simply lazy when it comes to feeding their children,¡± she¡¯s saying with a pitying smile. ¡°In my experience, all children like the taste of such things as avocado, monk-fish, or a good homemade polenta.¡± Suze and I exchange glances. ¡°I¡¯ve got to feed the twins,¡± mutters Suze. ¡°I¡¯ll go and do it in the ¡®Mother and Baby¡¯ area.¡± ¡°Do it here!¡± I protest. ¡°They¡¯ve got highchairs¡ª¡± Page 40 ¡°Uh-uh.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°No way, not with Lulu around. I¡¯ve only brought a couple of jars. I¡¯m not letting her see those.¡± ¡°D¡¯you want some help?¡± I volunteer. ¡°No, don¡¯t worry.¡± She eyes my pram, piled high with the hobbyhorses, the paddling pool, and the teddy. ¡°Bex, why don¡¯t you go round again and this time maybe look for basics? You know, things the baby will actually need?¡± ¡°Right, yes.¡± I nod. ¡°Good idea.¡± I head down the aisles as fast as I can, trying to get away from Lulu¡¯s grating voice. ¡°Television is the most dreadful influence,¡± she¡¯s saying. ¡°Again, I would say it¡¯s just sheer laziness on the part of the parents. My children have a program of stimulating educational activities¡ª¡± Stupid woman. Trying to ignore her, I pull out my fair guide and am looking around to get my bearings, when a large sign attracts my attention. FIRST AID KITS ¡ê40. Now, that¡¯s what we need. Feeling rather grown-up and responsible, I park the pram and start to peruse the kits. They all come in cool cases, with different things in sections. Plasters¡­rolls of bandages¡­and the cutest little pink scissors. I can¡¯t believe I¡¯ve never bought a first aid kit before. They¡¯re fab! I take the kit up to the checkout, where a lugubrious-looking man in a white coat is sitting on a stool. He starts tapping at his till and I pick up a MediSupply Professional catalog, which is pretty dull. It¡¯s mostly rolls of elastic tape, and industrial-size bottles of aspirin, and¡ª Ooh. A stethoscope. I¡¯ve always wanted a stethoscope. ¡°How much is the stethoscope?¡± I say casually. ¡°Stethoscope?¡± The man gives me a suspicious look. ¡°Are you a doctor?¡± Honestly. Are only doctors allowed to buy stethoscopes, or something? ¡°Not exactly,¡± I admit at last. ¡°Can I still have one?¡± ¡°Everything in the catalog is available to order online.¡± He gives a grudging shrug. ¡°If you want to pay ¡ê150. They¡¯re not toys.¡± ¡°I know they¡¯re not!¡± I say with dignity. ¡°I actually think every parent should have a stethoscope in the house for emergency purposes. And a home heart defibrillator,¡± I add, turning the page. ¡°And¡ª¡± I stop midflow. I¡¯m staring at a picture of a smiling pregnant woman clasping her stomach. Baby¡¯s Gender Predictor Kit. Conduct a simple test in the privacy of your own home. Results accurate and anonymous. My heart is doing a kind of jig. I could find out. Without having another scan. Without telling Luke. ¡°Um¡­is this available online too?¡± I ask, my voice a bit husky. ¡°I¡¯ve got those here.¡± He rootles in his drawer and produces a large white box. ¡°Right.¡± I swallow. ¡°I¡¯ll take it. Thanks.¡± I hand over my credit card and the man swipes it. A voice comes from behind me. ¡°How¡¯s little Tallulah-Phoebe?¡± It¡¯s the woman in the dark red raincoat again. She¡¯s clutching a hobbyhorse wrapped up in plastic, and peering into the ever-more-laden pram, which I parked by the display of first aid boxes. ¡°She is a good girl, isn¡¯t she? Not a peep!¡± I feel a prickle of alarm. ¡°She¡¯s, um¡­sleeping,¡± I say quickly. ¡°I¡¯d leave her alone, actually¡­.¡± ¡°Let me just have a little look! I don¡¯t know how she can sleep with all these packages on her pram. Can you, Tallulah-Phoebe?¡± the woman croons, pushing aside all my plastic bags. ¡°Please leave her alone!¡± I start toward the pram. ¡°She¡¯s very sensitive¡­she doesn¡¯t like strangers¡ª¡± ¡°She¡¯s gone!¡± the old woman cries, and stands bolt upright, pale with fear. ¡°The baby¡¯s gone! Only her little blanket¡¯s left!¡± Shit. ¡°Um¡­¡± My face floods with color. ¡°Actually¡­¡± ¡°Miss, your credit card doesn¡¯t work,¡± says the man at the till. ¡°It must work!¡± I turn back, momentarily distracted. ¡°I only got it last week¡ª¡± ¡°A baby¡¯s been abducted!¡± To my horror, the raincoat woman has bustled out of the stand and accosted a security guard, still clutching the lacy blanket. ¡°Little Tallulah-Phoebe¡¯s gone! A baby¡¯s disappeared!¡± ¡°Did you hear that?¡± a blond woman cries out in horror. ¡°A child¡¯s been abducted! Call the police, someone!¡± ¡°No, she hasn¡¯t!¡± I call. ¡°There¡¯s been a¡­a misunderstanding¡­.¡± But no one hears. Page 41 ¡°She was asleep in her pram!¡± The raincoat woman¡¯s gabbling to anyone who will listen. ¡°And then it was just her blanket! These people are evil!¡± ¡°A baby¡¯s gone!¡± ¡°They just grabbed her!¡± I can hear the news spreading like wildfire among passersby. Parents are summoning their children to their sides with sharp cries. To my horror I see a pair of security guards heading toward me, their walkie-talkies crackling. ¡°They¡¯ll have dyed her hair and changed her clothes by now,¡± the blond woman is saying hysterically. ¡°She¡¯ll be halfway to Thailand!¡± ¡°Madam, the fair entrances were secured as soon as we got the alert,¡± says a security guard in a terse voice. ¡°No one¡¯s coming in or out until we¡¯ve found this baby.¡± OK, I have to take control. I have to tell them it¡¯s a false alarm. Yes. Just admit I invented Tallulah-Phoebe in order to queue-jump, and I¡¯m sure everyone will understand¡ª No, they won¡¯t. They¡¯ll lynch me. ¡°It¡¯s gone through. Do you have a PIN number?¡± says the man at the till, who looks totally unmoved by all the fuss. I jab it in on autopilot and he hands me the bag. ¡°Her child¡¯s missing¡­and she¡¯s shopping?¡± says the blond woman in tones of horror. ¡°Can you give a full description of the child, ma¡¯am?¡± one of the guards says, approaching me. ¡°National police have been informed, and we¡¯ve got a call out to the airports¡­.¡± I am never going to tell a lie again. Never. ¡°I¡­um¡­¡± My voice isn¡¯t working properly. ¡°I should probably¡­explain something.¡± ¡°Yes?¡± Both men are looking at me expectantly. ¡°Bex?¡± Suddenly I hear Suze¡¯s voice. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I look up, and there¡¯s Suze, pushing the double buggy with one arm and holding Clementine in the other. Thank God, thank God, thank God¡ª ¡°There you are!¡± I say, grabbing Clementine from Suze, my voice high with relief. ¡°Come here, Tallulah-Phoebe!¡± I hug Clementine tight, trying to hide the fact that she¡¯s leaning out of my arms in a desperate attempt to get back to Suze. ¡°Is this the missing child?¡± A security guard is looking Clementine up and down. ¡°Missing child?¡± Suze looks incredulous. She turns and takes in the crowd around us. ¡°Bex, what on earth¡ª¡± ¡°I completely forgot that you¡¯d taken little Tallulah-Phoebe off for lunch!¡± I say in shrill tones. ¡°Silly me! And everyone thought she¡¯d been kidnapped!¡± I¡¯m desperately imploring her with my eyes to play along. I can see her brain working it all out. The great thing about Suze is that she knows me pretty well. ¡°Tallulah-Phoebe?¡± she says at last, in tones of incredulity, and I give a slight, shamefaced shrug. ¡°Baby Tallulah-Phoebe¡¯s back!¡± The raincoat woman is spreading the news joyfully among the passersby. ¡°We¡¯ve found her!¡± ¡°You know this woman?¡± The security guard regards Suze with narrowed eyes. ¡°She¡¯s my friend,¡± I say quickly, before they arrest Suze for abducting her own baby. ¡°Actually, I think we should probably go¡­.¡± I squish Clementine into my pram as best I can amid all the packages, and maneuver it into a getaway position. ¡°Mama!¡± Clementine is still stretching out her hands toward Suze. ¡°Mama!¡± ¡°Oh my God!¡± Suze¡¯s face lights up like a beacon. ¡°Did you hear that? She said Mama! Clever girl!¡± ¡°We¡¯re off now,¡± I say hurriedly to the guards. ¡°Thank you so much for all your help. You¡¯ve got a great security system¡­.¡± ¡°Wait a minute.¡± One of the guards is frowning in suspicion. ¡°Why did the baby say ¡®Mama¡¯ to this lady?¡± ¡°Because¡­she¡¯s called Mamie,¡± I say desperately. ¡°Clever Tallulah-Phoebe, that¡¯s your aunty Mamie! Aunty Mama! Let¡¯s go home now¡­.¡± I can¡¯t quite look at Suze as we head toward the exits. On the loudspeakers, the DJ is saying, ¡°And baby Tallulah-Phoebe has been found, safe and well¡­.¡± ¡°So, do you want to tell me what that was all about, Bex?¡± Suze says at last, without turning her head. ¡°Er¡­¡± I clear my throat. ¡°Not really. Shall we go and have a cup of tea instead?¡± EIGHT SUZE AND I spend the rest of the day together, and it¡¯s just fab. We dump all our parcels in Suze¡¯s enormous Range Rover, then she drives to the King¡¯s Road and we have tea at a great children-friendly place with ice-cream sundaes and everything. (I am always having crayons on the table from now on.) Then we go to Steinberg & Tolkien, and I buy a vintage cardigan and Suze buys an evening bag, and then it¡¯s time for supper, so we go to Pizza on the Park, where a jazz group is warming up and they let the twins bang their fists on the drums. Page 42 And then at last, we lift the sleeping babies into the Range Rover and Suze gives me a lift home. It¡¯s about ten by the time we drive in past the porter¡¯s lodge and pull up in front of the entrance to the building. I call Luke on my mobile to help us upstairs with all my stuff. ¡°Wow,¡± he says as he takes in the pile of bags on the ground. ¡°So, is this it? Is the nursery complete now?¡± ¡°Um¡­¡± It¡¯s just occurred to me that I never did buy a sterilizer. Or a nursing pillow or any diaper rash cream. But never mind. I¡¯ve still got fifteen weeks to go. Plenty of time. As Luke struggles into the flat with the paddling pool and hobbyhorse and about six carriers, I quickly take the bag with the Gender Predictor Kit and hide it in my underwear drawer. I¡¯ll have to choose a moment when he¡¯s out. Suze has popped into the bathroom to change one of the twins and as I emerge from the bedroom she¡¯s lugging both car seats down the corridor. ¡°Come and have a glass of wine,¡± Luke says. ¡°I¡¯d better get going,¡± she says regretfully. ¡°But I¡¯ll have a glass of water if you¡¯ve got one.¡± We head into the kitchen, where a CD is softly playing Nina Simone songs. A half-empty bottle of wine is open on the counter, with two glasses next to it. ¡°I¡¯m not having wine,¡± I begin. ¡°That wasn¡¯t for you,¡± says Luke, filling a glass of water from the fridge. ¡°Venetia popped round earlier.¡± I feel a shot of surprise. Venetia was here? ¡°There¡¯s some extra paperwork we need to fill out,¡± Luke continues. ¡°She passes this way anyway, so she dropped it off on her way home.¡± ¡°Right,¡± I say after a pause. ¡°That was¡­helpful of her.¡± ¡°She¡¯s just left, actually.¡± Luke hands Suze the glass. ¡°You missed her by a few minutes.¡± Hang on. It¡¯s gone ten o¡¯clock. Does that mean she¡¯s been here all evening? I mean, not that I mind or anything. Of course I don¡¯t. Venetia is just Luke¡¯s friend. His beautiful, ex-girlfriend, platonic old friend. I¡¯m aware of Suze¡¯s eyes boring into me, and quickly look away. ¡°Bex, can you show me the nursery before I leave?¡± she says, her voice strangely high-pitched. ¡°Come on.¡± She practically hustles me down the corridor and into the spare room, which we¡¯re calling the nursery even though we¡¯ll have moved by the time the baby arrives. ¡°So.¡± Suze shuts the door and turns to face me, agog. ¡°What?¡± I shrug, pretending I don¡¯t know what she means. ¡°Is that normal? To ¡®pop round¡¯ to your ex¡¯s house and stay all evening?¡± ¡°Of course it is. Why shouldn¡¯t they catch up?¡± ¡°Just the two of them? Drinking wine?¡± Suze utters the word like some Baptist teetotal preacher. ¡°They¡¯re friends, Suze!¡± I say defensively. ¡°Old¡­very good¡­platonic¡­friends.¡± There¡¯s silence in the little room. ¡°OK, Bex,¡± Suze says at last, lifting her hands as though in surrender. ¡°If you¡¯re sure.¡± ¡°I am! I¡¯m totally, completely, one hundred percent¡­¡± I trail off and start fiddling with a Christian Dior bottle warmer. I¡¯m clicking the lid on and off like some obsessive-compulsive. Suze has wandered over to the wicker toy hamper and is examining a little woolly sheep. For a while we¡¯re both silent, not even looking at each other. ¡°At least¡­¡± ¡°What?¡± I swallow several times, not wanting to admit it. ¡°Well,¡± I say at last, trying to sound matter-of-fact. ¡°What if¡­just hypothetically¡­what if I weren¡¯t sure?¡± Suze raises her head and meets my gaze. ¡°Is she pretty?¡± she says in equally matter-of-fact tones. ¡°She¡¯s not just pretty. She¡¯s stunning. She¡¯s got red shiny hair and these amazing green eyes and really toned arms¡­.¡± ¡°Cow,¡± says Suze automatically. ¡°And she¡¯s clever, and she wears great clothes, and Luke really likes her¡­.¡± The more I say, the less confident I¡¯m feeling. ¡°Luke loves you!¡± Suze cuts in. ¡°Bex, remember, you¡¯re his wife. You¡¯re the one he chose. She¡¯s the reject.¡± That makes me feel better. ¡°Reject¡± makes me feel a lot better. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t mean she¡¯s not after him.¡± Suze starts pacing up and down, pensively tapping the woolly sheep on her palm. ¡°We have several options here. One: she genuinely is just a friend and you¡¯ve got nothing to worry about.¡± Page 43 ¡°Right.¡± I nod earnestly. ¡°Two: she came by this evening to check the lay of the land. Three: she¡¯s totally going after him. Four¡ª¡± She stops herself. ¡°What¡¯s four?¡± I say in dread. ¡°It isn¡¯t four,¡± says Suze quickly. ¡°I reckon it¡¯s two. She came to scope things out. See the home territory.¡± ¡°So¡­what do I do?¡± ¡°You let her know you¡¯re onto her.¡± Suze raises her eyebrows meaningfully. ¡°Woman-to-woman.¡± Woman-to-woman? Since when did Suze get so worldly-wise and cynical? She sounds like she should be wearing a pencil skirt and blowing cigarette smoke in some film noir. ¡°When are you seeing her again?¡± she asks. ¡°Next Friday. We¡¯ve got a checkup appointment.¡± ¡°OK.¡± Suze sounds firm. ¡°Go in there, Bex, and stake your claim.¡± ¡°Stake my claim?¡± I say uncertainly. ¡°How do I do that?¡± I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ve staked my claim on anything before. Except maybe a pair of boots in a Barneys sale. ¡°Give off discreet little signals,¡± Suze says in knowledgeable tones. ¡°Show her Luke belongs to you. Put your arm round him¡­talk about your great life together¡­. Just nip any little ideas she might have in the bud. And make sure you look fabulous. But not like you¡¯ve made any effort.¡± Discreet little signals. Our great life together. Look fabulous. I can do that. ¡°How¡¯s Luke about the baby, by the way?¡± Suze asks casually. ¡°Is he excited?¡± ¡°Yes, I think so. Why?¡± ¡°Oh, nothing.¡± She shrugs. ¡°I just read this piece in a magazine the other day about men who can¡¯t cope with the idea of becoming a father. Apparently they often have affairs to compensate.¡± ¡°Often?¡± I echo in dismay. ¡°How often?¡± ¡°Er¡­about half the time?¡± ¡°Half?¡± ¡°I mean¡­a tenth,¡± Suze amends hastily. ¡°I can¡¯t remember what it said, actually. And I¡¯m sure that¡¯s not Luke. But still, it might be worth talking to him about fatherhood. The article said some men can only see the pressures and stresses of having a child, and you have to paint a positive picture.¡± ¡°Right.¡± I nod, trying to take all this information in. ¡°OK. I¡¯ll do that. And Suze¡­¡± I pause awkwardly. ¡°Thanks for not saying ¡®I told you so.¡¯ You told me to steer clear of Venetia Carter and¡­maybe you were right.¡± ¡°I would never say ¡®I told you so¡¯!¡± exclaims Suze in horror. ¡°I know you wouldn¡¯t. But loads of people would.¡± ¡°Well, they shouldn¡¯t! And anyway, maybe you were right, Bex. Maybe Venetia¡¯s not interested in Luke and it¡¯s all totally innocent.¡± She puts the woolly sheep down and pats it on the head. ¡°But I¡¯d stake your claim anyway. Just to be sure.¡± ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry.¡± I give a determined nod. ¡°I will.¡± Suze is so right. I need to give Venetia the message: Keep your hands off my husband. In a subtle way, of course. As we arrive at the birth center on Friday I¡¯m dressed in my best ¡°looking fabulous with no effort¡± outfit of Seven maternity jeans (frayed), a sexy red stretchy top, and my new Moschino killer heels. Which are a bit dressy maybe, but the frayed jeans compensate. When we arrive, the waiting room is pretty empty, with not a celebrity in sight, but I¡¯m so psyched up I don¡¯t mind. ¡°Becky?¡± Luke looks down at my hand, gripping his. ¡°Are you all right? You seem tense.¡± ¡°Oh¡­you know,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ve just got a few concerns.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure you have.¡± He gives an understanding nod. ¡°Why not share them with Venetia?¡± Yu-huh. That was the general plan. We sit down on the plushy chairs, and I pick up a magazine, and Luke opens the FT with a rustle. I¡¯m about to turn to ¡°Your Baby¡¯s Horoscope¡± when I remember Suze¡¯s words yesterday. I should talk to Luke about fatherhood. This is the perfect time. ¡°So¡­it¡¯s exciting, isn¡¯t it?¡± I say, putting my magazine down. ¡°Becoming parents.¡± ¡°Mmm-hmm.¡± Luke nods and turns a page. He doesn¡¯t sound that excited. Oh God, what if he¡¯s secretly daunted by a life of diapers and is seeking refuge in another woman¡¯s arms? I have to paint a positive picture of parenthood, like Suze said. Something really good¡­something exciting to look forward to¡­ ¡°Hey, Luke,¡± I say, suddenly inspired. ¡°Imagine if the baby wins a gold medal at the Olympic Games.¡± Page 44 ¡°Sorry?¡± He raises his head from the FT. ¡°The Olympics! Imagine if the baby wins a gold medal at something. And we¡¯ll be its parents!¡± I look at him for a reaction. ¡°Won¡¯t it be great? We¡¯ll be so proud!¡± My mind is totally seized by this idea. I can totally see myself at the stadium in 2030 or whenever, being interviewed by Sue Barker, telling her how I knew my child was destined for greatness, even from the womb. Luke appears a bit bemused. ¡°Becky¡­have I missed something? What makes you think our child will win an Olympic gold?¡± ¡°It might! Why shouldn¡¯t it? You have to believe in your children, Luke.¡± ¡°Ah. Fair enough.¡± Luke nods and puts his paper down. ¡°So, which sport did you have in mind?¡± ¡°The long jump,¡± I say after some thought. ¡°Or maybe the triple jump, because it¡¯s less popular. It¡¯ll be easier to win a gold.¡± ¡°Or wrestling,¡± suggests Luke. ¡°Wrestling?¡± I look at him indignantly. ¡°Our child¡¯s not doing wrestling! It might hurt itself!¡± ¡°What if its destiny is to become the world¡¯s greatest-ever wrestler?¡± Luke raises his eyebrows. For a few moments I¡¯m flummoxed. ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± I say at last. ¡°I¡¯m its mother and I know.¡± ¡°Mr. and Mrs. Brandon?¡± The receptionist calls over and we both look up. ¡°Dr. Carter will see you now, if you¡¯d like to go through.¡± I feel a flurry of nerves. OK, here I go. Stake my claim. ¡°Come on, darling!¡± I put my arm firmly round Luke¡¯s shoulders and we head down the corridor, me staggering slightly because I¡¯m thrown off-balance. ¡°Hello, you guys!¡± Venetia is coming out of her room to greet us. She¡¯s dressed in black trousers and a sleeveless pink shirt cinched with the most fabulous shiny black crocodile belt. She kisses us both on each cheek and I catch a whiff of Chanel¡¯s Allure. ¡°Great to see you again!¡± ¡°It¡¯s great to see you too, Venetia,¡± I say, raising my eyebrow in an ironic if-you-have-any-plans-to-steal-my-husband-you-can-forget-about-them way. ¡°Marvelous. Come on in¡­.¡± She ushers us into the room. I¡¯m not sure she noticed my eyebrow maneuver. I might have to be more obvious. Luke and I sit down, and Venetia perches on the front of her desk, dangling her Yves Saint Laurent heels. God, she¡¯s got a good wardrobe for a doctor. Or even not for a doctor. ¡°So. Becky.¡± She opens her notes and studies them for a moment. ¡°First of all, we have the blood test results back. All your levels are fine¡­although we might want to watch that hemoglobin. How are you feeling?¡± ¡°I¡¯m feeling great, thanks,¡± I say at once. ¡°Very happy, very loving¡­Here I am, in a wonderful marriage, expecting a baby¡­and I¡¯ve never felt closer to Luke in my life.¡± I reach out and grab Luke¡¯s hand. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you agree, darling? Aren¡¯t we particularly close at the moment? Spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and¡­and¡­sexually!¡± There. Take that. ¡°Well¡­yes,¡± says Luke, looking slightly stunned. ¡°I suppose we are.¡± ¡°That¡¯s lovely to hear, Becky,¡± Venetia says, giving me a strange look. ¡°Although I was really meaning your own physical state. Any faintness, nausea, that kind of thing?¡± Oh, right. ¡°Er¡­no, thanks,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± ¡°Well, then. Let¡¯s pop you up and we can have a look.¡± She gestures to the examination table and I obediently get up onto it. ¡°Lie back, make sure you¡¯re comfortable¡­. Is that a little stretch mark I see?¡± she adds gaily as I lift up my top. ¡°A stretch mark?¡± In horror I grab the metal side-grip and try to struggle up. ¡°I can¡¯t have! I use a special oil every night, and a lotion in the morning, and¡ª¡± ¡°Oops, my mistake!¡± says Venetia. ¡°Just a stray fiber from your T-shirt.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I collapse in slight posttraumatic shock and Venetia starts feeling my abdomen. ¡°Although, of course, stretch marks normally appear at the last minute,¡± she adds conversationally. ¡°So you may still get them. Those last few weeks of pregnancy can be cruel. I see my patients waddling in, desperate for their babies to be out¡­.¡± Waddling? ¡°I¡¯m not going to waddle,¡± I say with a little laugh. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you will.¡± She smiles back. ¡°It¡¯s nature¡¯s way of slowing you down. I always think it¡¯s only fair to give my first-time patients a heads-up on the realities to come in pregnancy. It isn¡¯t all roses and sunshine, you know!¡± Page 45 ¡°Absolutely,¡± puts in Luke. ¡°We appreciate that, don¡¯t we, Becky?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I mutter as Venetia wraps a blood pressure cuff round my arm. This is a lie. I don¡¯t appreciate it. And just to make it crystal clear: I am never going to waddle. ¡°Blood pressure¡¯s just a little high¡­.¡± She frowns at the screen. ¡°Make sure you take it easy, Becky. Try to take a rest every day, or at least get the weight off your feet. And try to stay nice and calm¡­.¡± Stay calm? How am I supposed to do that when she¡¯s telling me I¡¯ve got stretch marks and am going to waddle? ¡°Now, let¡¯s have a listen¡­.¡± She smears some gel on my stomach and gets out the Doppler, and I relax a little. This is my favorite bit of every appointment. Lying back, listening to the baby¡¯s heartbeat going wow, wow, wow over the fuzzy background noise. Remembering that there¡¯s a little person in there. ¡°That all sounds fine¡­.¡± Venetia moves away to the desk and scribbles something on her notes. ¡°Oh, Luke, that reminds me ¡ª I spoke to Matthew the other day and he¡¯d love to meet up. And I found that article by Jeremy we were talking about¡­.¡± She rifles in her desk drawer and holds out an old copy of the New Yorker. ¡°He¡¯s come such a long way since Cambridge. Have you read his book on Mao?¡± ¡°Not yet,¡± says Luke, heading toward the desk and taking it from her. ¡°I¡¯ll read this when I have time. Thanks.¡± ¡°You must be busy,¡± Venetia says sympathetically. She pours a glass of water from the cooler and offers one to Luke. ¡°How are all the new offices working out?¡± ¡°Good.¡± Luke nods. ¡°The odd hiccup, of course¡­¡± ¡°But it¡¯s fabulous that you¡¯ve got Arcodas as a client.¡± She leans on the desk, frowning intelligently. ¡°It must be the way forward, to diversify out of finance. And Arcodas¡¯s rate of expansion is phenomenal ¡ª I was reading a piece about it in the FT. Iain Wheeler sounds very impressive.¡± Er¡­hello? They¡¯ve completely abandoned me on my back, like an upturned beetle. I clear my throat loudly and Luke turns round. ¡°Sorry, sweetheart! Are you all right?¡± He hurries over and offers me a hand. ¡°Sorry, Becky!¡± says Venetia. ¡°Just getting you some water. You seem a little dehydrated. It¡¯s vital to keep your fluids up. You should really be drinking at least eight glasses of water a day. Here you are.¡± ¡°Thanks!¡± I smile at her as I take the glass, but as I sit down, suspicions are circulating darkly round my mind. Venetia¡¯s very chatty with Luke. Too chatty. And trying to make out I had a stretch mark. And the way she keeps flicking her hair about like a hair model in a TV ad. It¡¯s not exactly doctorly, is it? ¡°So!¡± Venetia is behind her desk again, writing on my notes. ¡°Did you have any questions? Issues you¡¯d like to raise?¡± I glance at Luke, but he¡¯s pulled his phone out of his pocket. I can just hear the faint bzzz as it vibrates. ¡°Excuse me,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ll pop outside. Carry on without me.¡± He gets up and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. So it¡¯s just the two of us. Woman-to-woman. I can feel the room prickling with tension. At least¡­it¡¯s prickling on my side. ¡°Becky?¡± Venetia shows her perfect white teeth in a smile. ¡°Is there anything you¡¯d like to talk about?¡± ¡°Not really,¡± I reply pleasantly. ¡°As I said, everything¡¯s fine. I¡¯m fine¡­. Luke¡¯s fine¡­. Our relationship couldn¡¯t be better¡­. You know this is a honeymoon baby?¡± I can¡¯t resist adding. ¡°Yes, I heard all about your wonderful honeymoon!¡± Venetia exclaims. ¡°Luke said you went to Ferrara while you were in Italy?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± I give a reminiscent smile. ¡°It was so romantic. We¡¯ll always share it as a wonderful memory.¡± ¡°When Luke and I visited Ferrara, we couldn¡¯t tear ourselves away from those fabulous frescoes. I¡¯m sure he told you?¡± Her eyes are all wide and innocent. Luke and I never went to any frescoes in Ferrara. We sat at the same outdoor restaurant all afternoon, drinking Prosecco and eating the yummiest food I¡¯ve ever had. And he never mentioned he¡¯d been there before with Venetia. But no way am I admitting that to her. ¡°Actually, we didn¡¯t go to the frescoes,¡± I say at last, examining my nails. ¡°Luke told me all about them, of course. But he said he thought they were overrated.¡± Page 46 ¡°Overrated?¡± Venetia seems taken aback. ¡°Uh-huh.¡± I fix my gaze dead on hers. ¡°Overrated.¡± ¡°But¡­he took masses of pictures of them.¡± She gives an incredulous laugh. ¡°We talked about them for hours!¡± ¡°Yes, well, we talked about them all night!¡± I shoot back. ¡°About how overrated they are.¡± I casually fiddle with my wedding ring, making sure my engagement diamond glints under the lights. I¡¯m his wife. I know what he thinks about frescoes. Venetia opens her mouth, then closes it again, looking flummoxed. ¡°Sorry about that!¡± Luke enters the room, putting his phone away, and Venetia immediately turns to him. ¡°Luke, d¡¯you remember those frescoes in¡ª¡± ¡°Ow!¡± I clutch my stomach. ¡°Ouch.¡± ¡°Becky! Darling!¡± Luke hurries to my side in alarm. ¡°Are you all right?¡± ¡°Just a little twinge.¡± I give him a brave smile. ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s nothing to worry about.¡± I glance in triumph at Venetia, who is frowning as though she can¡¯t quite work me out. ¡°Have you had these pains before?¡± she says. ¡°Can you describe them?¡± ¡°They¡¯ve gone now,¡± I say blithely. ¡°I think it was just a stitch.¡± ¡°Let me know if you have any other pains,¡± she says. ¡°And remember to take things easy. That blood pressure shouldn¡¯t be a problem, but we don¡¯t want it to edge any higher. Did your previous doctor explain to you about preeclampsia?¡± ¡°Absolutely,¡± Luke says, glancing at me, and I nod. ¡°Good. Well, you take care. You can call me anytime. And before you go¡­¡± Venetia opens her desk diary. ¡°We must arrange an evening for us all to meet up. The twenty-fourth¡­or the twenty-sixth? Assuming I¡¯m not delivering a baby, of course!¡± ¡°The twenty-sixth?¡± Luke nods, consulting his BlackBerry. ¡°OK with you, Becky?¡± ¡°Fine!¡± I say sweetly. ¡°We¡¯ll be there.¡± ¡°Marvelous. I¡¯ll call some of the others. It¡¯s so great to have made contact again, after so many years.¡± Venetia sighs and puts her pen down. ¡°To be honest, it¡¯s been pretty hard, starting again in London. My old friends have their lives; they¡¯ve moved on. Besides which, I don¡¯t always keep sociable hours, and Justin travels abroad a lot, of course.¡± Her bright smile slips a little. ¡°Justin is Venetia¡¯s boyfriend,¡± Luke explains to me. The boyfriend. I¡¯d almost forgotten he existed. ¡°Oh, right,¡± I say politely. ¡°What does he do?¡± ¡°He¡¯s a financier.¡± Venetia reaches for a framed picture of a dull-looking man in a suit, and as she surveys it her whole face lights up. ¡°He¡¯s incredibly driven and motivated, a bit like Luke. I sometimes feel left behind when he¡¯s pursuing a deal. But what can I do? I love him.¡± ¡°Really?¡± I say in surprise. Then I realize how that sounded. ¡°I mean¡­er¡­great!¡± ¡°He¡¯s the reason I came to London.¡± Her eyes are still fixed on the picture. ¡°I met him at a party in L.A. and just fell hook, line, and sinker.¡± ¡°You moved all this way?¡± I say, incredulous. ¡°Just for him?¡± ¡°That¡¯s what love¡¯s about, surely? You do crazy things for no rhyme or reason.¡± Venetia looks up, her green eyes shining. ¡°If my job has taught me one thing, Becky, it¡¯s that love is the only thing. Human love. I see it every time I deliver a baby right into its mother¡¯s arms¡­every time I see a fresh, eight-week-old heart beating on the screen and watch the faces of its parents¡­every time my patients come back, second or third time around. It¡¯s love that makes the babies. And you know what? Nothing else matters.¡± Wow. I am totally blown away. She¡¯s not after Luke, after all. She¡¯s in love with the boring guy! And to be honest, that little speech has practically got me in tears. ¡°You¡¯re so right,¡± I say huskily, clutching Luke¡¯s arm. ¡°Love is all that counts in this crazy, mixed-up world we call¡­the world.¡± I¡¯m not sure that came out right, but who cares? I have completely misjudged Venetia. She¡¯s not a man-eater; she¡¯s a warm, beautiful, loving human being. ¡°I really hope Justin will be able to make the twenty-sixth.¡± She finally puts the picture back in its place with a fond pat. ¡°I¡¯d love for you to meet him.¡± ¡°Me too!¡± I say with genuine enthusiasm. ¡°I¡¯m looking forward to it.¡± Page 47 ¡°See you soon, Ven.¡± Luke kisses Venetia. ¡°Thanks very much.¡± ¡°Bye, Becky.¡± Venetia gives me a warm, friendly smile. ¡°Oh, and I nearly forgot. I don¡¯t know if you¡¯d be at all interested, but a journalist from Vogue called me up yesterday. They¡¯re doing a big feature on London¡¯s yummiest mummies-to-be and wanted me to put forward some names. I thought of you.¡± ¡°Vogue?¡± I stare at her, frozen. ¡°You may not be interested, of course. It would involve a photo shoot of you in the baby¡¯s nursery, an interview, hair and makeup¡­. They¡¯ll provide designer maternity clothes¡­.¡± She gives a vague shrug. ¡°I don¡¯t know ¡ª is that your kind of thing?¡± I¡¯m practically hyperventilating. Is it my kind of thing? Is having my makeup done and wearing designer clothes and being in Vogue¡­my kind of thing? ¡°I think that¡¯s a yes,¡± says Luke, looking at me in amusement. ¡°Great!¡± Venetia touches him on the hand. ¡°Leave it to me. I¡¯ll fix it up.¡± Rebecca Brandon 37 Maida Vale Mansions Maida Vale London NW6 0YF 18 August 2003 Dear Fabia, I just wanted to say how much we love your gorgeous, beautiful house. It¡¯s the Kate Moss of houses!!In fact, it¡¯s so stunning, I think it deserves to appear in Vogue, don¡¯t you? That reminds me of a teeny favor I wanted to ask. Coincidentally, I am being interviewed by Vogue ¡ª and I wondered if I could use the house for the photo shoot? I also wondered if I could put up some personal props and say that Luke and I live there already? After all, we will by the time the magazine comes out¡­so it makes sense, really! In return, if there is anything I can do for you or any fashion item you would like me to track down, I will be only too glad! With very best wishes, Becky Brandon Not in size, obviously. FABIA PASCHALI DATE: 19/8/03 TO: Rebecca Brandon Becky, 1. Chloe Silverado bag, tan 2. Matthew Williamson purple beaded kaftan top, size 6 3. Olly Bricknell Princess shoes, green, size 39. Fabia 33 Delamain Road, Maida Vale, London NW6 1TY Oxshott School for Girls Marlin Road Oxshott Surrey KT22 0JG From the School Librarian Mrs L Hargreaves 23 August 2003 Dear Becky, How nice to hear from you after all these years, and I do indeed remember you as a pupil here. Who could forget the girl who started the ¡°friendship handbags¡± craze of 1989? I am delighted you are to appear in Vogue ¡ª and it is, as you say, a surprise. Though I must assure you, the teachers did not sit in the staff room, saying ¡°I bet Becky Bloomwood never makes it into Vogue.¡± I will be sure to buy an issue, although I think it unlikely the headmistress will sanction buying an official commemorative copy for each pupil, as you suggest. With very best wishes, Lorna Hargreaves Librarian P.S. Do you still have a copy of In the Fifth at Malory Towers? There is a rather large fine on it. 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 caf¨¦s. 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 ¡ª 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. Page 48 ¡°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¡ª¡± ¡°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 ¡ª 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. Page 49 ¡°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¡ª¡± ¡°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¡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¡ª¡± Oh my God! She thinks¡ª ¡°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.¡± Page 50 ¡°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¡ª¡± ¡°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 Page 51 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¡­.¡± Page 52 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¡ª¡± ¡°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.¡± Page 53 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¡ª 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¡­.¡± Page 54 ¡°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¡­.¡± Page 55 ¡°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 ¡ª 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 ¡ª Jess does Sudoku puzzles at the same time, but that¡¯s OK because I¡¯m reading Hello! magazine ¡ª 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.¡± Page 56 ¡°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¨C18 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 TEN MAYBE I¡¯M NOT 110 percent confident. Maybe just 100 percent. Or even¡­95. It¡¯s a few weeks since Luke went out for that evening with Venetia, and my confidence has wobbled ever so slightly. It¡¯s not that anything has happened, exactly. On the surface, Luke and I are as happy as ever and nothing¡¯s wrong. It¡¯s just that¡­ Well, OK. Here is my evidence so far: 1) Luke keeps getting texts and smiling and sending replies straight back. And I know they¡¯re from her. And he never shows them to me. Page 57 2) He¡¯s been out with her three more times. Without me. One time when I¡¯d already arranged to meet Suze, he said he might as well use the evening to see some friends, and it turned out the ¡°friends¡± was Venetia. Once with all the Cambridge gang at some big fancy dinner with their old tutor, where partners weren¡¯t invited. And once for lunch, which was apparently because she was going to be ¡°right by his office.¡± Yeah, right. Delivering a baby in an office block? That was when we had our teeny row, where I said (very lightly), that wow, he was spending a lot of time with Venetia ¡ª maybe too much? Whereupon Luke replied that she was feeling low right now and needed an old friend to talk to. So I said, ¡°Well, I feel low too when you go off partying without me!¡± And Luke said that meeting up with his old university friends had been the highlight of his year, and it was his chance to switch off and if I came along too, I¡¯d understand. So I said, ¡°I¡¯d come if you¡¯d invite me.¡± And he said he had invited me, and I said¡ª Anyway. We said a few things. That¡¯s all the evidence I have. I don¡¯t even know why I¡¯m calling it evidence ¡ª it¡¯s not like I think something¡¯s actually going on. I mean¡­it¡¯s a ludicrous idea. This is Luke I¡¯m talking about. My husband. ¡°I can¡¯t believe anything¡¯s happening, Bex.¡± Suze shakes her head and stirs her raspberry and apricot smoothie. She¡¯s come over for the morning so we can do the gender predictor test, but so far all we¡¯ve done is talk about Luke. Luckily the children are all in the living room, eating sandwiches and watching Teletubbies in a total trance (which Suze let them do only after I swore an oath never, ever to tell Lulu). ¡°I can¡¯t believe it either!¡± I spread my arms wide. ¡°But they see each other all the time, and she¡¯s always texting him, and I have no idea what they talk about¡­.¡± ¡°Did you stake your claim?¡± Suze takes a bite of chocolate-chip cookie. ¡°Last time you saw her?¡± ¡°Totally! But she didn¡¯t take any notice.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± Suze ponders for a while. ¡°Have you thought about going to another doctor?¡± ¡°I keep thinking about it. But I don¡¯t think it would make any difference. She¡¯s already made contact with Luke, hasn¡¯t she? In fact, she¡¯d probably love to get me out of the picture.¡± ¡°And what does Luke say?¡± ¡°Oh well.¡± I start fiddling with my straw. ¡°He says she¡¯s all lonely and vulnerable since she split up from her boyfriend. He behaves like she¡¯s this poor tragic victim. And he always takes her side. I called her Cruella de Venetia the other day and he got really cross.¡± ¡°Cruella de Venetia.¡± Suze splutters cookie crumbs over the counter. ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not good! We ended up having an argument! She¡¯s this¡­presence in our life, even though I never see her.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you have appointments with her?¡± Suze looks surprised. ¡°I have, but the last two times I¡¯ve been to the clinic she was with a client in labor, and I got seen by one of her assistant doctors.¡± ¡°She¡¯s avoiding you.¡± Suze gives a knowing nod and slurps on her straw, her brow furrowed. ¡°Bex, I know this is a really dreadful thing to suggest¡­but what about looking at Luke¡¯s texts?¡± ¡°I already have,¡± I admit. ¡°And?¡± Suze looks agog. ¡°They¡¯re in Latin.¡± ¡°Latin?¡± ¡°They both studied Latin at university,¡± I say resentfully. ¡°It¡¯s their ¡®thing.¡¯ I don¡¯t understand a word of it. But I wrote one down.¡± I reach in my pocket and unfurl a small bit of paper. ¡°This is it.¡± We both look at the words in silence. Fac me laetam: mecum hodie bibe! ¡°I don¡¯t like the sound of that,¡± says Suze at last. ¡°Nor do I.¡± We both regard the words for a few moments longer, then Suze sighs and pushes the paper back toward me. ¡°Bex, I hate to say it¡­but you should be on your guard. In fact, you should strike back. If she can spend all this time with Luke, then so can you. When was the last time you did something romantic, just the two of you?¡± ¡°Dunno. Not for ages.¡± ¡°Well, then!¡± Suze slaps the table triumphantly. ¡°Go to his office and take him out for lunch as a surprise. He¡¯d love that.¡± That¡¯s a good idea. I never want to bother Luke at work, because he¡¯s so busy. But if Venetia can do it, then why can¡¯t I? Page 58 ¡°OK, I¡¯ll try it,¡± I say, cheering up. ¡°And I¡¯ll let you know how it goes. Thanks, Suze.¡± I drain my smoothie and put my glass down with a flourish. ¡°So.¡± ¡°So.¡± Suze meets my eyes. ¡°Are you ready?¡± ¡°I think so.¡± I feel a squirm of nerves. ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± I pull the gender predictor box toward me along the counter and tug at the plastic wrapping, my hands trembling a little. In a matter of minutes I¡¯ll know. This is almost as exciting as the birth itself! I secretly think it¡¯s a boy. Or maybe a girl. ¡°Hey, Bex, wait,¡± says Suze suddenly. ¡°How will you fool Luke?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°When they deliver the baby! How will you convince him you didn¡¯t know the sex beforehand?¡± I stop ripping at the plastic. That¡¯s a good point. ¡°I¡¯ll just act surprised,¡± I say at last. ¡°I¡¯m really good at acting ¡ª look.¡± I put on my most astonished expression. ¡°It¡¯s a¡­boy!¡± Suze pulls a face. ¡°Bex, that was terrible!¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t ready,¡± I say hastily. ¡°Let¡¯s try again.¡± I concentrate for a moment, then gasp. ¡°It¡¯s a girl!¡± Suze is shaking her head and wincing. ¡°Totally fake! Bex, you need to get into your character. You need to use some Method.¡± Oh no. Here we go. Suze went to drama school for a term before university, so she thinks she¡¯s practically Judi Dench. (It wasn¡¯t a real drama school, like RADA. It was a private one where your father pays and you do cooking in the afternoon. But we don¡¯t mention that.) ¡°Stand up,¡± she instructs me. ¡°Do some loosening-up exercises¡­.¡± She rolls her head around and shakes out her arms. Reluctantly, I copy her. ¡°Now, what¡¯s your motivation?¡± ¡°Fooling Luke,¡± I remind her. ¡°No! Your interior motivation. Your character.¡± Suze closes her eyes for a moment, as if communing with the spirits. ¡°You¡¯re a new mother. You¡¯re seeing your baby for the first time. You¡¯re delighted¡­yet surprised¡­. The sex is not what you expected¡­. You¡¯ve never been so amazed in your life¡­. Really feel it¡­.¡± ¡°It¡¯s¡­a boy!¡± I clutch at my chest. Suze is whirling her arms at me. ¡°More, Bex! Again, with passion!¡± ¡°It¡¯s a boy! My God, it¡¯s a BOY!!!¡± My voice resounds around the kitchen, and a spoon falls off the counter onto the floor. ¡°Hey, that was pretty good!¡± Suze looks impressed. ¡°Really?¡± I¡¯m panting. ¡°Yes! You¡¯ll definitely fool him. Let¡¯s do the test.¡± As I head to the sink for some water, Suze rips the box open and pulls out a syringe. ¡°Ooh, look,¡± she says cheerfully. ¡°You have to have an injection.¡± ¡°An injection?¡± I look round in dismay. ¡°¡®The blood test is quick and easy to perform,¡¯¡± she reads aloud from the leaflet. ¡°¡®Simply ask a doctor, nurse, or other qualified person to take a vial of blood from a vein.¡¯ Here¡¯s the needle,¡± she adds, taking out a plastic box. ¡°I¡¯ll be the doctor.¡± ¡°Right.¡± I nod, trying to hide my qualms. ¡°Er, Suze¡­have you ever actually done an injection before?¡± ¡°Oh, yes.¡± She nods confidently. ¡°I¡¯ve injected a sheep. Come on!¡± She¡¯s fitting the needle to the syringe. ¡°Roll up your sleeve!¡± A sheep? ¡°So, what do we do with the vial of blood?¡± I ask, playing for time. ¡°We send it away to the lab,¡± says Suze, reaching for the leaflet. ¡°¡®Your results will be posted to you in anonymous, discreet packaging. Please expect them within¡¯¡±¡ªshe turns the page¡ª¡°¡®approximately ten to twelve weeks.¡¯¡± What? ¡°Ten to twelve weeks?¡± I grab the leaflet from her. ¡°What good is that? I¡¯ll have had it by then.¡± I turn the pages over, trying to find some express delivery option, but there isn¡¯t one. At last I give up and subside onto a bar stool in disappointment. ¡°Twelve weeks. There¡¯s no point even doing it!¡± Suze sighs and sits down beside me. ¡°Bex, didn¡¯t you read any of the instructions before you bought this test? Didn¡¯t you find out how it worked?¡± ¡°Well¡­no,¡± I admit. ¡°I thought it would be like a pregnancy stick test. With a blue line and a pink line.¡± Stupid rubbishy test. It cost me forty quid too. What a total rip-off. I mean, do they think pregnant women are that desperate to know what sex their baby is? It¡¯s only a few months to wait, for goodness¡¯ sake. And it¡¯s not like it matters. As long as it¡¯s a healthy baby, then really, what is the¡ª Page 59 Suze breaks into my thoughts. ¡°Shall we do the ring test again? See what it says?¡± ¡°Ooh!¡± I look up, brightening. ¡°Yes, let¡¯s.¡± We do the ring test five times, and decide the odds are 3¨C2 on it being a boy. So we make a great big list of boys¡¯ names and Suze tries to persuade me to call it Tarquin Wilfrid Susan. Yup. I don¡¯t think so. By the time she¡¯s bundled up all the children, fed them lots of fish oil capsules (to counteract the dumbing-down effect of TV), and left, I feel a lot better. She¡¯s right ¡ª Luke and I just need to spend a bit more time together. And I¡¯ve thought of a much better plan than taking him out to lunch. I mean, he goes to boring old business lunches all the time. I want to do something different. Something romantic. So the next day at work, I phone down to the Food Hall and order a picnic basket of all Luke¡¯s favorite food. I¡¯ve already checked with Mel, his assistant, and he hasn¡¯t got any appointments booked for lunchtime. (I didn¡¯t tell her why I was asking, because there¡¯s no way she¡¯d keep it secret.) My plan is to surprise him and have a picnic lunch in his office and it¡¯ll be all intimate and lovely! I¡¯ve even got them to put in a bottle of champagne, a checked cloth, and a plastic ¡°picnic¡± candelabra from Homewares, just to set the scene. As I set off for Luke¡¯s office at lunchtime I¡¯m feeling quite excited. It¡¯s been ages since we did something spontaneous like this! Plus I haven¡¯t been to Brandon Communications for weeks, and I¡¯m looking forward to seeing everyone. There¡¯s been the most amazing buzz at the company, ever since they won the Arcodas pitch. The Arcodas Group is so huge, and so different from all the financial clients they normally deal with, it¡¯s been the biggest challenge they¡¯ve ever faced. (I know this from helping Luke write his motivational speeches.) But then, what is life without new adventures and new dreams? Brandon Communications is the best in the business, stronger and more dynamic every year, thriving on new enterprises. Together they can take on any challenge, meet it, and conquer it. As a team. As a family. (I wrote that bit.) I arrive at the offices just before one, and sidle across the marble foyer to Karen, the receptionist. She¡¯s talking to her colleague Dawn in a low voice, and she looks all pink and upset. I hope nothing¡¯s wrong. ¡°It¡¯s not right,¡± I can hear her saying in a guarded voice as I approach the desk. ¡°It¡¯s just not right. No one should behave like that, boss or no boss. I know I¡¯m old-fashioned¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± Dawn interrupts her. ¡°It¡¯s having respect for your fellow human beings.¡± ¡°Respect.¡± Karen nods vigorously. ¡°How she¡¯s feeling, poor thing¡­¡± ¡°Have you seen her? Since¡­¡± Dawn trails off meaningfully. Karen shakes her head. ¡°No one has.¡± I¡¯m following their conversation with slight unease. What are they talking about? Who¡¯s ¡°she¡±? ¡°Hi!¡± I say, and they both jump. ¡°Becky! Goodness!¡± Karen looks quite flustered at the sight of me. ¡°What are you¡­Did we know you were coming today?¡± She starts leafing through the papers on her desk. ¡°Dawn, is it in the appointment book?¡± In the appointment book? Since when do I have to make an appointment to see my own husband? ¡°I just thought I¡¯d surprise Luke. He¡¯s free at lunchtime; I¡¯ve already checked. So I thought we could have a nice picnic in his office!¡± I nod at the basket hanging on my arm. I¡¯m expecting them to say, ¡°What a lovely idea!¡± But instead, Karen and Dawn both look kind of nervous. ¡°Right!¡± says Karen at last. ¡°Well. Let¡¯s just¡­see if¡­¡± She presses a couple of buttons on her switchboard. ¡°Hello, Mel? It¡¯s Karen at reception here. I have Becky here. Becky Brandon. She¡¯s here to¡­surprise Luke.¡± There¡¯s quite a long silence, during which Karen listens intently. ¡°Yes. Yes, I¡¯ll do that.¡± She looks up and smiles at me. ¡°Take a seat, Becky. Someone will be with you shortly.¡± Take a seat? Someone will be with me? What on earth has happened to them? ¡°Why don¡¯t I just go straight up?¡± I suggest. ¡°We¡¯re¡­not quite sure where Luke is.¡± Karen definitely looks shifty. ¡°It¡¯s probably better if you¡­¡± She clears her throat. ¡°Adam will be down shortly.¡± I don¡¯t believe this. Adam Farr is head of corporate communications at Brandon C. He¡¯s the guy they always summon for tricky situations. Luke says Adam is the consummate expert at handling people. Page 60 I¡¯m being handled. Why am I being handled? What¡¯s going on? ¡°Do take a seat, Becky!¡± Karen says, but I don¡¯t move. ¡°I couldn¡¯t help overhearing you earlier,¡± I say casually. ¡°Is something wrong?¡± ¡°Of course not!¡± Karen¡¯s reply is too swift, as though she¡¯s been waiting for me to ask. ¡°We were talking about¡­something on TV last night. Weren¡¯t we, Dawn?¡± Dawn is nodding agreement, but her eyes are edgy. ¡°What about you?¡± says Karen. ¡°Keeping well, are you, Becky?¡± ¡°Not long to go, is it?¡± puts in Dawn. I try to think of a natural, friendly reply ¡ª but how can I? This whole conversation is fake. Just then, the lift doors open and Adam Farr strides out. ¡°Rebecca!¡± He has his corporate smile on and is slipping a BlackBerry into his pocket. ¡°What a pleasure to see you!¡± This guy may be the smoothest operator in the company. But he is not fobbing me off. ¡°Hi, Adam,¡± I say almost curtly. ¡°Is Luke around?¡± ¡°He¡¯s just finishing up a meeting,¡± says Adam without missing a beat. ¡°Let¡¯s go up and get you a coffee. I know everyone will be thrilled you¡¯ve dropped by¡ª¡± ¡°What meeting?¡± I interrupt him, and I swear I see Adam flinch. ¡°On finance,¡± he says after an infinitesimal pause. ¡°Very dull, I¡¯m afraid. Shall we?¡± Adam ushers me into the lift and we travel up for a while in silence. Now that I¡¯m up close to him, I can detect signs of strain in him, beneath the confident, business-y manner. There are shadows under his eyes, and he keeps tapping his fingertips together in the same rhythmic pattern, like a nervous tic. ¡°So¡­how¡¯s life?¡± I say. ¡°You must all be really busy, with the expansion and everything.¡± ¡°Absolutely.¡± He nods. ¡°And is it fun, working on all these different Arcodas projects?¡± There¡¯s silence. I can see Adam¡¯s fingers tapping together faster and harder. ¡°Of course,¡± he says at last, and nods again. The lift doors open, and he shows me out before I can say anything else. A few Brandon C staff are standing there, waiting for the lift, and I smile and say ¡°Hi!¡± to the faces I know ¡ª but no one smiles back. At least not a genuine smile. Everyone seems taken aback to see me, and there are a few fake little flashes of teeth, and a couple of people say, ¡°Hi, Becky,¡± and then look down awkwardly. But nobody stops to talk. Not even to ask about the baby. Why is everyone being so weird? Over by the water cooler I can see a couple of girls talking in lowered voices and glancing at me when they think I¡¯m not looking. My stomach starts to churn. Oh God. Have I been totally naive? What do they know? What have they seen? A sudden vision comes to me, of Luke ushering Venetia down the corridor to his office, closing the door, and saying, ¡°Please don¡¯t disturb us for an hour.¡± ¡°Becky!¡± Luke¡¯s resounding voice makes me jump. ¡°Are you OK? What are you doing here?¡± He¡¯s striding down the corridor toward me, flanked by his second-in-command, Gary, on one side, and some guy I don¡¯t know on the other, with a bunch of people following in their wake. They all look fairly stressed out. ¡°I¡¯m fine!¡± I say, trying to sound cheerful. ¡°I just thought¡­we could have a picnic in your office.¡± Now that I say it, in front of all his staff, it sounds really stupid. I feel like Pollyanna, holding this stupid wicker basket. There¡¯s even a pink stripy bow tied round the handle, which I should have torn off. ¡°Becky, I have a meeting.¡± Luke shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°But Mel said you didn¡¯t have anything booked!¡± My voice is more shrill than I intended. ¡°She said you¡¯d be free!¡± Gary and the others glance at each other and melt away, leaving Luke and me alone. My cheeks are prickling with humiliation. Why should I be made to feel stupid and in everyone¡¯s way, just for dropping in to see my husband? ¡°Luke, what¡¯s going on?¡± The words spill out before I can stop them. ¡°Everyone¡¯s giving me weird looks. You sent Adam down to ¡®handle¡¯ me. Something¡¯s wrong, I know it is!¡± ¡°Becky, no one¡¯s been handling you,¡± Luke says patiently. ¡°No one¡¯s giving you weird looks.¡± ¡°They are! It¡¯s like Invasion of the Body Snatchers! No one¡¯s even smiling anymore! Everyone looks so tense, and strained¡­.¡± ¡°They¡¯re preoccupied, that¡¯s all.¡± Despite his easy veneer, Luke seems rattled. ¡°We¡¯re all working very hard right now. Including me. I really have to go.¡± He kisses me. ¡°We¡¯ll have the picnic at home, OK? Adam will call you a car.¡± Page 61 And the next minute, he¡¯s disappeared into the lift, leaving me alone with my basket and my jumping, unsettling thoughts. A meeting. What meeting? Why didn¡¯t Mel know about it? Now I¡¯m envisaging him hurrying into a restaurant where Venetia is waiting, cradling a glass of wine while all the waiters watch admiringly. She gets up, and they kiss, and he says, ¡°Sorry I¡¯m late, my wife turned up¡ª¡± No. Stop it. Stop it, Becky. But I can¡¯t. Thoughts are piling into my head, thicker and faster, like a snowstorm. They¡¯ve been seeing each other every lunch hour. All the Brandon C staff know about it. That¡¯s why Karen and Dawn looked so awkward, that¡¯s why they tried to get rid of me¡­. The other lift is waiting with its doors open, and on impulse I get in. I reach the ground floor and walk as swiftly as I can manage out of the foyer, ignoring the calls of Karen and Dawn, just in time to see Luke being driven away by his company driver in the Mercedes. Frantically I hail a taxi, step in, and dump the basket on the seat. ¡°Where to, love?¡± asks the taxi driver. I slam the door and lean forward. ¡°You see that Mercedes up ahead?¡± I swallow hard. ¡°Follow it.¡± I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m actually doing this. I¡¯m tailing Luke through the streets of London. As we drive round Trafalgar Square with the Mercedes in sight, I feel like I¡¯m in some kind of movie. I even find myself glancing through the rear window to check that there are no baddies in pursuit. ¡°Your boyfriend, is it?¡± the taxi driver suddenly says in a strong South London accent. ¡°Husband.¡± ¡°Thought as much. Got another woman, ¡¯as ¡¯e?¡± I feel a horrible pang in my chest. How did he know? Do I look like the cheated-on partner? ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± I admit. ¡°Maybe. That¡¯s what I want to find out.¡± I sit back and watch a bunch of tourists follow their tour leader across the road. Then it occurs to me that this taxi driver is probably a total expert on people following their partners to prove adultery. He probably drives them all the time! On impulse I lean forward and slide the dividing window across. ¡°D¡¯you think I should confront him? What do most people do?¡± ¡°Depends.¡± We¡¯ve reached some snarled-up traffic and the taxi driver turns round to face me. He¡¯s got a long face like a sniffer dog, and dark, mournful eyes. ¡°Depends if you want to ¡¯ave an open an¡¯ honest marriage.¡± ¡°I do!¡± I exclaim. ¡°Fair enough. Risk is that by ¡¯aving it out, you drive ¡¯im into the arms of the other bird.¡± ¡°Right,¡± I say doubtfully. ¡°So¡­what¡¯s the other option?¡± ¡°Turn a blind eye an¡¯ live a sham for the rest of your days.¡± Neither option sounds that great. We¡¯re edging along Oxford Street by now, making slow progress through all the buses and pedestrians. I¡¯m craning my neck, scanning the road ahead, when all of a sudden I glimpse Luke¡¯s Mercedes, turning into a side street. ¡°There! He went that way!¡± ¡°I saw ¡¯im.¡± The cabbie deftly changes lanes and a few moments later we¡¯re turning into the same side street. The Mercedes is at the end of the road, turning the corner. My hands are starting to sweat. It almost felt like a game when I first hailed the cab. But now this is serious. At some point his car is going to stop and he¡¯s going to get out and¡­then what am I going to do? We¡¯re winding round the narrow streets of Soho. It¡¯s a bright, sharp autumn day, and a few brave people are sitting out at pavement caf¨¦s, cradling cups of coffee. All of a sudden, the taxi driver signals sharply and pulls up behind a van. ¡°They¡¯re stopping.¡± I watch, breathless, as the Mercedes comes to a halt on the other side of the road. The driver opens the passenger door and Luke gets out, without even glancing in our direction. He consults a piece of paper, then heads to an unsalubrious-looking brown-painted door. He rings a buzzer and a moment later is admitted. My gaze travels up to a battered sign hanging from a first-floor window: ROOMS. Rooms? Luke has taken rooms? I feel as if something¡¯s clenching me tightly round the chest. Something is going on. Venetia¡¯s up there. She¡¯s waiting for him in a black fur-trimmed negligee. But why some grotty room in Soho? Why not the Four Seasons, for God¡¯s sake? Because he¡¯d get spotted. He¡¯s come here because it¡¯s out of the way. It all makes sense¡­. ¡°Love?¡± Through a haze I realize the taxi driver is talking to me. Page 62 ¡°Yes?¡± I manage. ¡°You want to sit here and wait?¡± ¡°No!¡± I grab the picnic basket and thrust the door open. ¡°Thank you. I¡¯ll¡­take it from here. Thank you so much.¡± ¡°Wait a mo¡¯.¡± He gets out and offers me a hand to help me step down from the cab. I scrabble in my bag and give him a wodge of cash without even counting it. The taxi driver sighs, peels off a few notes, and hands the rest back. ¡°Not used to this game, are you, love?¡± ¡°Not really,¡± I admit. ¡°You need any more help¡­¡± He feels in his pocket and produces a gray business card. ¡°My brother Lou. Does a lot of work for divorce lawyers. You might want to get yourself one of those an¡¯ all. Make sure you and the kid are taken care of.¡± ¡°Yes. Thanks.¡± I pocket the card, barely aware of what I¡¯m doing. ¡°Good luck, love.¡± The taxi driver gets back in his cab, still shaking his head, and drives away. I¡¯m standing outside the building with the ¡°rooms¡± sign. I could buzz at the door and see what happened. No. What if she answered? My legs suddenly feel wobbly. I need a seat. The ground floor of the building is a business print shop, and I find myself walking inside and sinking into a chair. What am I going to do? What? ¡°Hello there!¡± A voice makes me jump and I turn to see a cheerful man in a short-sleeved striped shirt. ¡°Are you interested in some printing? We have a special offer on all our business cards. Vellum, laminated, textured¡­¡± ¡°Um¡­thanks.¡± I nod, just to get rid of him. ¡°Here you are!¡± The man hands me a sample book and I start to leaf through it blindly. Maybe I should just go up and¡­and burst in. But what if I really do find them together? I¡¯m turning the pages more and more feverishly. I can¡¯t believe this is happening. I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m here, in the middle of Soho, wondering if my husband is upstairs with another woman. ¡°Here¡¯s our form. If you¡¯ll just fill it in¡­¡± The man has come back with a clipboard and pen, which he thrusts at me. On automatic pilot I take them from him and write ¡°Bloomwood Inc.¡± at the top of the page. ¡°What kind of business are you in?¡± the man asks chattily. ¡°Um¡­double-glazing.¡± ¡°Double-glazing!¡± The man frowns thoughtfully. ¡°I¡¯d suggest a nice laminated white card with a border. With the address here and your company motto here¡­Do you have a motto?¡± ¡°For¡­for all your glazing needs,¡± I hear myself saying. ¡°London, Paris, Dubai.¡± I have no idea what I¡¯m saying. The words are just coming out of my mouth. ¡°Dubai!¡± The man looks impressed. ¡°I¡¯ll bet they have a few windows out there!¡± ¡°They do.¡± I nod. ¡°It¡¯s the window capital of the world.¡± ¡°Now, I never knew that!¡± the man says with interest. I stiffen. I just heard a rumbling-footsteps kind of noise. Someone¡¯s coming down the stairs. Luke. It has to be. Except¡­that was a bit quick, surely? ¡°Er¡­thanks very much! I¡¯ll think about it¡­.¡± I shove the clipboard back at the man and rush out of the shop and into the street. In front of me the brown-painted door is slowly opening and I quickly edge behind a small tree. My entire body is clenched with dread. Blood is rushing through my ears. Stay calm. Whatever happens, whoever he¡¯s with¡ª The door swings open ¡ª and Luke steps out, followed by a couple of men in suits. ¡°Let¡¯s discuss it over lunch,¡± he¡¯s saying. ¡°There¡¯s a couple of clients I think could really benefit from that approach.¡± He¡¯s not with Venetia. He¡¯s not with Venetia! I feel like doing a little dance on the pavement. Relief is flooding through me. How could I have thought he was up to anything? I¡¯m so paranoid. I¡¯m so stupid! I¡¯m going to go home and totally trust him from now on¡­. ¡°Ms. Bloomwood?¡± The guy from the print shop has come out and is peering at me, shading his eyes from the sun. Damn. Maybe this tree wasn¡¯t such a great hiding place. I forgot my bump would be poking out. ¡°Becky?¡± Luke swivels and stares at me in astonishment. ¡°Is that you?¡± I feel my cheeks turning beet red as the three men peer at me. ¡°Er¡­hi!¡± I say brightly. ¡°I¡¯ve got a mock-up of that business card, if you¡¯d like it.¡± The print shop man is advancing on me. ¡°Thanks!¡± I swipe it from him. ¡°I¡¯ll let you know.¡± Page 63 ¡°Becky, what are you doing here?¡± Luke is coming toward the tree. ¡°Just¡­shopping! What a coincidence!¡± ¡°As I said, Ms. Bloomwood, I recommend a laminate finish.¡± The man from the print shop is still bloody talking. ¡°But it is more pricey, so I¡¯ve put in a list of options for you¡­.¡± ¡°Thanks! Actually, my husband¡¯s here, so I¡¯ll¡­I¡¯ll get back to you.¡± ¡°Aha!¡± The print shop guy beams at Luke. ¡°Pleased to meet you. Are you in the double-glazing trade too?¡± ¡°No, he¡¯s not.¡± I cut him off desperately. ¡°Thanks so much. Bye!¡± At last, to my relief, the print shop guy retreats toward his door and there¡¯s a pause. ¡°The double-glazing trade?¡± says Luke at last, a little bemusedly. ¡°He got¡­me confused with¡­someone else.¡± I shove the mock-up card into my bag. ¡°So, anyway, what are you doing here?¡± ¡°Meeting some possible new media consultants for the company.¡± Luke still looks puzzled. ¡°Let me introduce Nigel and Richard. My wife, Rebecca.¡± ¡°Very glad to meet you, Rebecca,¡± says Nigel, grasping my hand. ¡°You¡¯re the one who identified the need for media training, we hear. Luke told us you weren¡¯t impressed by his client¡¯s performance.¡± ¡°Oh, right!¡± I feel a small glow. I didn¡¯t realize Luke had taken my advice, let alone told other people about it. ¡°Excuse our less than salubrious office space,¡± puts in the other man. ¡°We¡¯ve only just moved in.¡± ¡°I hadn¡¯t even noticed!¡± I say with a shrill laugh. ¡°Anyway, I must be off ¡ª I was just passing¡­.¡± ¡°Have a good afternoon.¡± Luke kisses me. ¡°I will.¡± I hold on to his arm for a moment. ¡°And maybe we can have our picnic later?¡± Luke winces. ¡°No, I¡¯m sorry. I should have said, I¡¯ll be late back tonight. New-client dinner.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I can¡¯t help feeling disappointed. But new business is new business. ¡°Well, never mind. Who¡¯s the client?¡± ¡°Venetia.¡± My smile freezes on my face. ¡°Venetia?¡± ¡°Venetia Carter,¡± Luke explains to the others. ¡°You know, the celebrity obstetrician? Her old PR agency weren¡¯t cutting it, apparently.¡± Venetia¡¯s hiring Brandon Communications. I do not believe this. ¡°Who¡¯s going to the dinner?¡± ¡°Just me and her.¡± Luke shrugs. ¡°I¡¯ll be handling her account, as we¡¯re old friends.¡± I can¡¯t help it. Suspicions are rising up inside me, as thick and fast as ever. ¡°So¡­you¡¯re going to have meetings with her and everything?¡± I wipe my damp upper lip. ¡°That¡¯s the general idea, Becky.¡± Luke raises his eyebrows quizzically. ¡°I¡¯ll send her your love, shall I?¡± ¡°Yes!¡± I manage a smile. ¡°Do that!¡± Luke walks off with the two men, and I stare after them, my heart thudding. OK, so maybe I got things a tad wrong today. But there¡¯s no doubt. She¡¯s after Luke. I know it deep down in my heart, just like I know my new orange top from eBay was a mistake. Venetia¡¯s moving in on my husband. And I have to stop her. Prendergast de Witt Connell Financial Advisers INVESTMENT SUMMARY CLIENT: ¡°BABY BRANDON¡± SUMMARY AS OF 24 OCTOBER 2003 FUND A: ¡°LUKE¡¯S PORTFOLIO¡± Investment holdings to date: Wetherby¡¯s Gilt Fund 20% Somerset European Growth Fund 20% Start Right Accumulator Fund 30% Remainder as yet uninvested FUND B: ¡°BECKY¡¯S PORTFOLIO¡± Investment holdings to date: Gold (Tiffany necklace, ring) 10% Copper (bracelet) 5% Shares in First Mutual Bank, Bangladesh 10% Shares in fabbesthandbagsonline.com 10% Dior vintage coat 5% Bottle of 1964 champagne 5% Share in racehorse named Baby Go for It 5% Sunglasses ¡°once worn by Grace Kelly¡± 1% Remainder as yet uninvested ELEVEN I¡¯M GOING TO TALK TO LUKE, I¡¯ve decided. I¡¯m going to be mature and grown-up and just tackle this head-on. So with total resolve I sit up in bed until he arrives home that night. It¡¯s way after midnight as the door opens, and he smells of smoke and drink and¡­oh my God. Allure. OK. Don¡¯t panic. Just because he smells of Allure, it doesn¡¯t prove anything. ¡°Hi! How was the dinner?¡± I make sure I sound all friendly and encouraging, and not like some whingy wife out of EastEnders. Page 64 ¡°It was great.¡± Luke takes off his jacket. ¡°Venetia¡¯s very bright. Very switched on.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll¡­bet she is.¡± I twist my hands together under the duvet, where he can¡¯t see them. ¡°And what did you talk about? Apart from work.¡± ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know.¡± Luke is loosening his tie. ¡°The arts¡­books¡­¡± ¡°You never read books!¡± I say before I can stop myself. It¡¯s true. He doesn¡¯t, apart from how-to-run-your-magnificent-business-empire kind of books. ¡°Maybe not,¡± he says, shooting me a wry look. ¡°But I used to.¡± What does that mean? Before he met me? So now it¡¯s my fault he doesn¡¯t read books, is that it? ¡°And what else did you talk about?¡± I persist. ¡°Becky, honestly. I can¡¯t remember.¡± His phone beeps with a text and he checks it. He smiles, texts something back, then resumes getting undressed. I¡¯m watching in growing disbelief and anger. How can he do that? In front of me? ¡°Was that in Latin?¡± I say before I can stop myself. ¡°What?¡± Luke wheels around, his hands still tugging at his shirtsleeves. ¡°I just happened to see¡­¡± I falter. Then I stop. Sod it. I¡¯m not going to pretend anymore. I take a deep breath and look at Luke straight-on. ¡°She sends you texts in Latin, doesn¡¯t she? Is that your secret code?¡± ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Luke takes a step forward, his brow darkened. ¡°Have you been reading my texts?¡± ¡°I¡¯m your wife! What does she text you about, Luke?¡± My voice is rising in hurt. ¡°Latin books? Or¡­other things?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± He looks bemused. ¡°You know she¡¯s moving in on you, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°What?¡± Luke gives a short laugh. ¡°Becky, I know you have a vivid imagination, but really¡­.¡± He pulls his shirt off and dumpsit in the laundry hamper. How can he be so dense? I thought he was supposed to be clever. ¡°She¡¯s after you!¡± I¡¯m leaning forward in agitation. ¡°Can¡¯t you see it? She¡¯s a home-wrecker! That¡¯s what she does¡ª¡± ¡°She is not after me!¡± Luke says, cutting me off. ¡°To be honest, Becky, I¡¯m shocked. I never thought of you as being possessive. Surely I¡¯m allowed to have a few friends, for Christ¡¯s sake. Just because she happens to be female¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s not that,¡± I cut him off scornfully. It¡¯s that she used to be his ex-girlfriend and has long swishy red hair. But I¡¯m not going to say that. ¡°It¡¯s that¡­¡± I flounder. ¡°It¡¯s that¡­we¡¯re married, Luke. We should share everything. We shouldn¡¯t have anything separate. I¡¯m an open book! Look at my phone!¡± I gesture widely. ¡°Look in my drawers! I don¡¯t have a single secret! Go on, look!¡± ¡°Becky, it¡¯s getting late.¡± Luke rubs his face. ¡°Could we do this tomorrow?¡± I stare at him indignantly. What does he mean, ¡°do this tomorrow¡±? We¡¯re not playing Monopoly ¡ª we¡¯re having a crucial discussion about the state of our marriage. ¡°Go on! Look!¡± ¡°All right.¡± Luke lifts his hands in surrender, and heads toward my bureau. ¡°I don¡¯t have a single secret I¡¯m keeping from you! You can look anywhere, poke about all you like¡ª¡± I draw up sharply. Shit. The gender predictor test. It¡¯s in the top left drawer. ¡°Er¡­except that drawer,¡± I exclaim hastily. ¡°Don¡¯t touch the top left drawer.¡± Luke stops. ¡°I can¡¯t touch that drawer?¡± ¡°No. It¡¯s¡­a surprise. Or the Harrods bag on the chair,¡± I add hastily. I don¡¯t want him seeing the receipt for my new hi-tech moisturizer. I nearly died myself when I saw the price. ¡°Anything else?¡± Luke inquires. ¡°Um¡­a couple of things in the wardrobe. Early birthday presents for you,¡± I add defiantly. There¡¯s silence in the bedroom. I can¡¯t quite tell what Luke is thinking. At last he turns, his face working oddly. ¡°So, our marriage is a completely honest, open book except for that drawer, this Harrods bag, and the back of the wardrobe?¡± I sense my position on the moral high ground is not quite as strong as I thought it was. ¡°The point is¡­¡± I cast around. ¡°The point is, I wasn¡¯t out all night with someone else, doing goodness knows what!¡± Oh God. I sound exactly like a whingy EastEnders wife. Page 65 ¡°Becky.¡± Luke sighs and sits down on the bed. ¡°Venetia¡¯s not ¡®someone else.¡¯ She¡¯s a client. She¡¯s a friend. She¡¯d like to be your friend.¡± I turn away, pleating the duvet cover into a little fan. ¡°I just can¡¯t understand what your problem is. You were the one who wanted to go to Venetia in the first place!¡± ¡°Yes, but¡ª¡± I can¡¯t exactly say, I didn¡¯t know then that she was a husband stealer. ¡°She¡¯s going to be delivering our baby in a few weeks¡¯ time! You should be getting to know her. Feeling relaxed with her!¡± I don¡¯t want her to deliver the baby flashes through my mind. ¡°And on that subject¡­¡± Luke stands up. ¡°Venetia asked if we could make an appointment tomorrow. She hasn¡¯t seen you for a while and she feels bad about it. I said we¡¯d both be there. OK?¡± He heads into the bathroom. ¡°Fine,¡± I say morosely, and sink back into the pillows with a great sigh. My head is swirling with confused thoughts. Maybe I am being unreasonable and paranoid. Maybe she¡¯s not after Luke. And she is the best obstetrician in the world, practically. OK. I¡¯m going to make a real, real effort and see if we can be friends. When we arrive at the Holistic Birth Center on Friday, the paparazzi are out in force and I can see why. The Bond girl and the new face of Lanc?me are posing together on the steps, both in cool low-slung trousers and clingy tops which accentuate their teeny bumps. ¡°Becky, slow down!¡± Luke calls after me as I hurry to join them. But by the time I arrive, they¡¯ve already pushed their way in through the doors. I pause hopefully on the steps, but not a single lens points toward me. In fact, the photographers are all moving away, which is pretty insulting. You¡¯d think they¡¯d take a picture just to be polite. Inside, the Bond girl is ahead of me at the desk, and I can hear the receptionist saying, ¡°And you got your invitation to tea at the Savoy? Do you need us to send a car?¡± ¡°No, thanks,¡± says the Bond girl, nodding at the Lanc?me model. ¡°Zara and I are going together.¡± My heart skips a beat. Tea at the Savoy? I didn¡¯t get an invitation to tea at the Savoy. Maybe they¡¯re going to give it to me now! I approach the receptionist with an expectant smile, already reaching for my diary so I can check the date. But she doesn¡¯t hand over any invitation. ¡°Take a seat, Mrs. Brandon.¡± She smiles back. ¡°Venetia will be with you shortly.¡± ¡°Er¡­was there anything else?¡± I linger at the desk. ¡°Anything I should¡­have?¡± ¡°Did you bring a urine sample?¡± The receptionist smiles. ¡°That¡¯s all you need.¡± That is not what I was talking about. I wait another few seconds just in case, then stalk over to the seating area, trying to hide my disappointment. She hasn¡¯t invited me. All the celebrities will be having tea together, exchanging pregnancy stories and asking each other where they buy their premiere dresses, and I¡¯ll be sitting at home on my own. ¡°Becky?¡± Luke is regarding me, puzzled. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± I can feel my bottom lip quivering. ¡°Only she didn¡¯t invite me to the tea party. They¡¯re all going to the Savoy. All of them! Without me.¡± ¡°Becky, you don¡¯t know there¡¯s a tea party. I¡¯m sure¡­I mean¡­¡± Luke breaks off, clearly at a loss. ¡°Look, even if she didn¡¯t, does it matter? You don¡¯t go to a doctor because of the tea parties.¡± I open my mouth, then close it again. ¡°Becky?¡± A melodious voice rings out. ¡°Luke?¡± Oh my God. It¡¯s her. I haven¡¯t seen Venetia in weeks. To be honest, she¡¯d kind of altered in my mind. I¡¯d pictured her taller, with longer, witchier hair and flashing green eyes and kind of¡­fangs. But here she is, slim and pretty, dressed in a chic black turtleneck and smiling as though I¡¯m her best friend. ¡°Great to see you!¡± She kisses me. ¡°I do apologize, I¡¯ve been neglecting you shamefully.¡± As she says it, she glances at Luke as though they¡¯re in on some private conversation. Or is that me being paranoid? ¡°Come on through!¡± She ushers us into her room and we all sit down. ¡°So, Becky.¡± Venetia opens her file. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± ¡°Fine,¡± I say. ¡°Thanks.¡± ¡°Baby moving well?¡± ¡°Yes, all the time.¡± I put a hand on my tummy, and, of course, the baby¡¯s gone to sleep. ¡°Well, let¡¯s have a feel.¡± She gestures toward the examination table and I go and heave myself onto it while Venetia washes her hands. Page 66 ¡°Did I hear something about a tea party out there, Ven?¡± says Luke lightly. ¡°Great publicity idea.¡± I stare at him in astonishment and he winks. Sometimes I really love Luke. ¡°Oh.¡± Venetia sounds taken aback. ¡°That¡¯s right. It¡¯s for patients at a slightly more advanced stage than you, Becky. But of course you¡¯re on the list for the next one!¡± She¡¯s so lying. I wasn¡¯t on that list. As her hands move over my abdomen, I can¡¯t relax. I¡¯m staring at her hands: slim and white, with a massive diamond eternity band on the third finger of her right hand. I wonder who gave her that. ¡°It¡¯s a good-size baby. Breech at the moment, which means the head is up near your ribs¡­.¡± Venetia¡¯s frowning in concentration as she feels the baby. ¡°If it remains in that position we¡¯ll have to discuss your options for the birth, but it¡¯s early days yet.¡± She glances at her notes. ¡°You¡¯re only thirty-two weeks. Plenty of time for the baby to turn. Now, let¡¯s listen to the heartbeat¡­.¡± She squirts gel on my stomach, and does the ultrasound. A moment later the heartbeat is going wow-wow-wow through the room. ¡°Nice, strong heartbeat.¡± Venetia nods at me, and I nod back as best I can while lying down. For a few moments the three of us just listen to the regular, fuzzy beat. It¡¯s so weird. Here we are, all transfixed by the sound ¡ª and the baby has no idea we¡¯re listening to it. ¡°That¡¯s your child.¡± Venetia meets Luke¡¯s eyes. ¡°Pretty amazing, huh?¡± She leans over and straightens his tie ¡ª and I feel a spike of resentment. How dare she do that? This is our moment. And everyone knows that the wife straightens the tie. ¡°So, Venetia,¡± I say politely as at last she turns off the ultrasound machine. ¡°I was sorry to hear about you splitting up with your boyfriend. What a shame.¡± ¡°Ah well.¡± Venetia spreads her hands. ¡°Some things aren¡¯t meant to be.¡± She smiles sweetly. ¡°How¡¯s your general health, Becky? Any aches and pains? Heartburn? Hemorrhoids?¡± I don¡¯t believe it. She¡¯s deliberately choosing all the least sexy ailments. ¡°No,¡± I say firmly. ¡°I feel really great.¡± ¡°Then you¡¯re lucky.¡± Venetia gestures to us to sit down again. ¡°Toward the end of pregnancy, you¡¯ll find your body will really start feeling the strain. You may suffer from acne¡­varicose veins¡­. Sex will obviously be difficult, if not impossible¡­.¡± Ooh. She is an absolute cow. ¡°We don¡¯t have any problems in that area.¡± I take Luke¡¯s hand and clasp it. ¡°Do we, darling?¡± ¡°It¡¯s early days yet.¡± Venetia¡¯s pleasant smile is unmoved. ¡°Many of my patients lose their libido for good after childbirth. And of course, unfortunately, some men find their partner¡¯s new shape somewhat¡­unattractive.¡± Unattractive? Did she just say I was unattractive? She¡¯s wrapped a blood pressure cuff round my arm and now frowns as it deflates. ¡°Your blood pressure¡¯s creeping higher, Becky.¡± I¡¯m not bloody surprised! I glance at Luke, but he seems totally unsuspicious. ¡°Darling, you should mention that pain in your leg,¡± he says. ¡°Remember, the other evening?¡± ¡°Pain in the leg?¡± Venetia looks up, alert. ¡°It was nothing,¡± I say quickly. ¡°Just a twinge.¡± I wore my new five-inch Manolos all day at work last week. Which was maybe a mistake, as by the time I got home I could barely walk and had to get Luke to massage my calf muscle. ¡°You should get it checked out, even so.¡± Luke squeezes my hand. ¡°There¡¯s no harm being careful.¡± ¡°Absolutely!¡± Venetia pushes back her chair. ¡°Let¡¯s examine it, shall we, Becky? Up on the table again.¡± I do not like that glint in her eye. Reluctantly, I take off my new Wolford Stay-Ups and get on the table. ¡°Hmm.¡± She takes my leg, peers at it, then rubs a hand over it. ¡°I think I can feel the beginnings of a varicose vein!¡± I stare at my smooth skin in horror. She¡¯s lying. There¡¯s not a hint of a varicose vein. ¡°I can¡¯t see anything there,¡± I say, trying to stay calm. ¡°To you it might seem invisible, but I can detect these things very early on.¡± Venetia pats my shoulder. ¡°What I recommend, Becky, is you wear these surgical support stockings from now on.¡± She takes a packet from her desk and pulls out a pair of what look like long white-mesh socks. ¡°Put them on.¡± Page 67 ¡°I¡¯m not putting those on!¡± I recoil in horror. I can barely bring myself to touch them, let alone wear them. They are the most revolting things I¡¯ve ever seen. ¡°Becky, darling.¡± Luke leans forward. ¡°If Venetia says you should wear them¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure I haven¡¯t got varicose veins!¡± My voice is growing shriller. ¡°Luke, it was my shoes, remember?¡± ¡°Ah,¡± Venetia chips in. ¡°You may have a point. Let me see what you¡¯re wearing.¡± She surveys my new platform wedges and shakes her head sadly. ¡°Those really aren¡¯t suitable for late pregnancy. Here, try these.¡± She roots in her bottom desk drawer and produces a pair of ugly brown rubber flip-flops. ¡°They¡¯re an orthopedic sample. I¡¯d be glad to know what you think of them.¡± I stare at them in dismay. ¡°Instead of the support stockings?¡± ¡°Oh no!¡± She smiles. ¡°I think you should wear the support stockings as well. Just to be on the safe side.¡± Bitch. Bitch. ¡°Put them on, darling,¡± says Luke with an encouraging nod. ¡°Venetia¡¯s just thinking of your health.¡± No, she¡¯s not! I want to yell. Can¡¯t you see what she¡¯s doing? But I can¡¯t. There¡¯s no way out. They¡¯re both watching me. I¡¯m going to have to do this. Feeling sick, I slowly pull on first one surgical stocking, then the other. ¡°Tug them right up!¡± says Venetia. ¡°That¡¯s it, over your thighs.¡± I slip on the horrible flip-flops. Then I pick up my new oversize Marc Jacobs (pale yellow, totally gorgeous) bag to stuff my wedges in. ¡°Is that your bag?¡± Venetia¡¯s beady eyes alight on it and I feel a clutch of dread. Not the bag. Please, not the bag. ¡°This is far too heavy for a pregnant woman!¡± she says, taking it from me and hefting it with a frown. ¡°Do you know the damage you might do to your spine?¡± To Luke she adds, ¡°You know, I did a year working very closely with a physical therapist. The injuries she saw, from people lugging around ridiculous-size bags!¡± ¡°Big bags are in fashion,¡± I say tightly. ¡°Fashion!¡± Venetia gives her silvery laugh. ¡°Fashion is bad for your health. Try this, Becky. My physical therapist supplies them.¡± She opens a cupboard and produces a fanny pack made of khaki webbing. ¡°Far more ergonomic for the back. You can even hide it under your T-shirt for security¡­.¡± ¡°That¡¯s great!¡± says Luke, taking my Marc Jacobs from Venetia and putting it on the floor where I can¡¯t reach it. ¡°Venetia, this is so kind of you.¡± Kind? He has no idea what¡¯s going on here. None. ¡°Go on, Becky!¡± Venetia is like a cat playing with a half-dead mouse, relishing its suffering. ¡°See if it fits.¡± With trembling hands I pull up my T-shirt, fit the khaki belt around my belly, fasten the clasp, and allow my T-shirt to fall back down. As I turn I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror fitted to the back of the door. I want to cry. I look like a grotesque monster. My legs are two white, bulbous tree trunks. My feet resemble a granny¡¯s. I have bumps in front and behind. ¡°You look great, Becky!¡± Venetia has hopped onto the desk and is doing an agile, yoga-type stretch which shows off her long, lithe arms. ¡°So, Luke, that was a marvelous meeting we had. I was really interested in what you had to say about Web links¡­.¡± Miserably, I shuffle to my seat and wait for them to finish talking about Venetia¡¯s business profile. But now they¡¯ve moved on to her brochure and whether it could be improved. ¡°Oh, sorry, Becky!¡± Venetia suddenly appears to notice me. ¡°This must be really boring. You know, the checkup¡¯s done, so if you don¡¯t want to hang around¡­.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you meeting Suze and Jess for lunch?¡± Luke looks at me. ¡°Why don¡¯t you shoot off? I just want to recap a few things with Venetia.¡± I¡¯m rooted to the ground. I don¡¯t want to leave him here alone with her. Every instinct is telling me not to. But if I say that, he¡¯ll think I¡¯m just being all possessive and suspicious and we¡¯ll have another huge row. ¡°Well, OK,¡± I say at last. ¡°I¡¯ll go.¡± ¡°Make sure you take what you need,¡± says Venetia, gesturing at my Marc Jacobs. ¡°And I don¡¯t want to hear that you¡¯ve been using that bag!¡± She wags her finger at me. I want to shoot her. But there¡¯s no point arguing; Luke will only take her side. In silence I take out my purse, phone, keys, and a few essential items of makeup. I put them in the khaki bag and zip it shut. Page 68 ¡°Bye, darling.¡± Luke kisses me. ¡°I¡¯ll call you later.¡± ¡°Bye. Bye, Venetia.¡± I can barely look her in the eye. I leave the room and head out to the foyer. At the reception desk I can see an excited blond girl with the tiniest of bumps, saying, ¡°I¡¯m so thrilled to have a place with Venetia!¡± Yes, you are now, I think savagely. Until she makes you look like a freak in front of your husband. I¡¯m nearly at the door, when a sudden recollection stops me. Luke¡¯s mobile rang this morning while he was in the shower, and I answered it. Which was not because I am possessive and suspicious, but because¡­ Well, OK. I thought it might be Venetia. But it wasn¡¯t; it was John from Brandon Communications and I never told Luke to ring him. I¡¯d better let him know. I retrace my steps through the waiting room, trying to ignore the curious stares of the blond girl and her husband. These bloody stockings are coming off as soon as I get outside. A woman in a blue nurse-type uniform is ahead of me in the corridor, and as I¡¯m shuffling along she pauses at Venetia¡¯s door. She knocks twice, then opens the door. ¡°Oh, sorry!¡± I hear her say. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to disturb¡­¡± Disturb what? Disturb what? My heart suddenly hammering, I hurry forward along the corridor, and just catch a glimpse through the doorway as the nurse retreats. And I see them. Sitting together on the desk, talking in low, laughing voices. Venetia¡¯s arm is resting casually across Luke¡¯s shoulders. The other hand is entwined in his. They look happy and relaxed and intimate. They look like a couple. I don¡¯t know how I get to the restaurant where I¡¯m meeting Suze and Jess. I¡¯m walking on autopilot, like a zombie. I want to throw up every time I think about it. They were together. They were together. ¡°Bex?¡± Somehow I¡¯ve pushed my way in through the glass doors and am standing in a total daze as waiters bustle around and people chatter. ¡°Bex, are you OK?¡± Suze is hurrying over to greet me. Her eyes drop in dismay to my white legs. ¡°What are you wearing? What¡¯s happened? Bex¡­can you speak?¡± ¡°I¡­no. I need to sit down.¡± I totter after her to a corner table where Jess is sitting. ¡°What¡¯s happened?¡± Jess looks aghast at my appearance. She quickly pushes out a chair for me and helps me sit down. ¡°Are you OK? Is it the baby?¡± ¡°I saw them,¡± I manage. ¡°Who?¡± ¡°Luke and Venetia. Together.¡± ¡°Together?¡± Suze claps a hand to her mouth. ¡°Together, doing¡­what?¡± ¡°They were sitting on a desk, talking.¡± I can barely get the words out. ¡°She had her arm on his shoulders. And he was holding her hand.¡± I look up for a reaction. Both Suze and Jess look like they¡¯re waiting for more. ¡°Were they¡­kissing?¡± Suze ventures. ¡°No, they were laughing. They looked all happy. I just¡­I had to get out of there.¡± I take a deep gulp of water. Suze and Jess exchange glances. ¡°And¡­that¡¯s why you put on white tights?¡± hazards Suze cautiously. ¡°No! Of course not!¡± I thrust down my glass, feeling the humiliation rise up again. ¡°It was Venetia! She took away my shoes and my bag and she made me put these things on, just so I¡¯d look all gross in front of Luke.¡± Suze gasps. ¡°What a cow!¡± ¡°And I can¡¯t get them off.¡± I¡¯m near tears by now. ¡°I¡¯m stuck with them!¡± ¡°Come on! I¡¯ll help you!¡± Suze puts down her glass and reaches for one of the stockings. Jess is watching, her brow wrinkled. ¡°Becky¡­are you sure there isn¡¯t some good health reason for wearing them?¡± ¡°No! She was just doing it to be mean! She said fashion¡¯s bad for the health!¡± Jess looks unmoved. ¡°Fashion is bad for the health.¡± ¡°Fashion is not bad for the health!¡± I erupt. ¡°It¡¯s good for the health! It makes you¡­it makes you stay slim and stand up straight so your jacket hangs better. And take an interest in yourself so you don¡¯t get all depressed.¡± I¡¯m ticking the points off on my fingers. ¡°And high heels are brilliant exercise for calf muscles¡­.¡± ¡°Bex, have some wine,¡± says Suze soothingly, pushing her glass over. ¡°Just a sip won¡¯t hurt the baby. And it might¡­calm you down a bit.¡± ¡°OK. Thanks.¡± I take a grateful gulp. ¡°My obstetrician told me I could have a glass every other night,¡± adds Suze. ¡°He¡¯s French.¡± Page 69 I take another sip, feeling my heart rate subside. I should have gone to France to have the baby. Or anywhere but Venetia Carter. Maybe I should just forget this whole hospital thing and have the baby in a shop, like I always planned. At least I¡¯d feel relaxed and happy. At least I¡¯d get free clothes. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do.¡± I put the wineglass down and look miserably from Suze to Jess. ¡°I¡¯ve already tried talking to Luke. He said nothing was going on and they were just friends. But they didn¡¯t look like just friends to me.¡± ¡°How exactly was he holding her hand?¡± Suze frowns intently. ¡°Could it just have been friendly? Is Venetia a touchy-feely person?¡± ¡°She¡¯s¡­¡± I think back. I remember her squeezing my arm, brushing a hand down my arm. ¡°Quite,¡± I allow at last. ¡°Well, maybe that¡¯s all it is! Maybe she¡¯s just one of those people that gets too close.¡± ¡°Do you have any other evidence?¡± asks Jess. ¡°Not yet.¡± I fiddle with a bread stick wrapper, wondering whether to tell them. ¡°I followed him the other day.¡± ¡°You did what?¡± Suze looks aghast. ¡°What if he¡¯d seen you?¡± ¡°He did see me. I pretended I was shopping.¡± ¡°Bex¡­¡± Suze clutches her hair. ¡°What if nothing¡¯s going on? Just seeing them holding hands isn¡¯t proof. You don¡¯t want to ruin all the trust between you and Luke.¡± ¡°So, what should I do?¡± I look from face to face. ¡°What should I do?¡± ¡°Nothing,¡± says Suze firmly. ¡°Bex, I know Luke loves you. And he hasn¡¯t done anything really incriminating, has he? It would be different if he¡¯d lied to you, or if you¡¯d seen them kissing¡­.¡± ¡°I agree.¡± Jess nods vigorously. ¡°I think you¡¯ve got the wrong end of the stick, Becky.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± I trail off, winding the wrapper tightly around my fingers. I don¡¯t know how to explain it; I just have a bad feeling. It¡¯s not just the texting, or the dinners. It¡¯s not even seeing them just now. It¡¯s something about her. It¡¯s something in her eyes. She¡¯s a predator. But if I say that to the others, they¡¯ll say I¡¯m imagining it. ¡°All right,¡± I say at last. ¡°I won¡¯t do anything.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s order,¡± says Suze firmly, shoving a menu at me. ¡°There¡¯s a set menu,¡± says Jess, putting a typed sheet on top of the ¨¤ la carte. ¡°It¡¯s more economical, if we only have two courses and don¡¯t choose any of these ridiculous items with truffles.¡± I immediately want to retort that truffles are my favorite food and who cares how much they cost? But the trouble is, I kind of agree. I¡¯ve never got the whole thousand-pounds-for-a-truffle thing. Oh God. Please don¡¯t say I¡¯m starting to agree with Jess. ¡°And you can help me think of how to get my own back on Lulu,¡± adds Suze, passing the bread basket. ¡°Ooh,¡± I say, cheering up. ¡°How come?¡± ¡°She¡¯s been asked to do a TV program,¡± Suze says with disdain. ¡°One of those makeover shows where she goes to the house of some crap mother and tells them how to cook healthily for their children. And she¡¯s asked me to be the first crap mother!¡± ¡°No!¡± ¡°She¡¯s already put my name forward to the production company!¡± Suze¡¯s voice rises in indignation. ¡°They phoned me up and said was it true that I only fed my children canned food and that none of them could speak?¡± ¡°What a nerve!¡± I take a roll and spread some butter on it. There¡¯s nothing like having someone else to hate, to make you forget your problems. We have a great lunch, the three of us, and by the end of it I feel so much better. We all decide Lulu is the absolute pits. (Jess has never met Lulu, but I give her a pretty good description.) And then Jess relays her own problems. She told Tom about Chile and it didn¡¯t go too well. ¡°First he thought I was joking,¡± she says, crumbling a roll into little bits. ¡°Then he thought I was testing his love. So he proposed.¡± ¡°He proposed?¡± I say in an excited squeak. ¡°Obviously, I told him to stop being so ridiculous,¡± says Jess. ¡°And now¡­we¡¯re not really talking.¡± She says it in a matter-of-fact way, but I can see the sadness in her eyes. ¡°Just one of those things.¡± She takes a deep gulp of wine, which is really unlike Jess. I glance at Suze, who gives me an anxious frown. ¡°Jess, are you sure about Chile?¡± I say tentatively. Page 70 ¡°Yes.¡± She nods. ¡°I have to go. I have to do this. I¡¯ll never get this opportunity again.¡± ¡°And Tom can always come and visit you out there,¡± Suze points out. ¡°Exactly. If he would just stop listening to his mother!¡± Jess shakes her head in exasperation. ¡°Janice is in total hysterics. She keeps sending me pages which she¡¯s printed out from the Internet, saying Chile¡¯s a dangerous, unstable country riddled with disease and land mines.¡± ¡°Is it?¡± I say fearfully. ¡°Of course not!¡± says Jess. ¡°She¡¯s talking absolute rubbish.¡± She takes a sip of wine. ¡°There¡¯s just a few land mines, that¡¯s all. And a small cholera problem.¡± A few land mines? Cholera? ¡°Jess, be really careful out there,¡± I say on impulse, and grab her hand. ¡°We don¡¯t want anything to happen to you.¡± ¡°Yes, be careful,¡± chimes in Suze. ¡°I will.¡± Jess¡¯s neck flushes pink. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. Thanks, anyway.¡± As the waiter arrives with our coffees she withdraws her hand, looking awkward. ¡°I. like your hair clip, Becky.¡± She obviously wants to change the subject. ¡°Oh, thanks,¡± I touch it fondly. ¡°Isn¡¯t it fab? It¡¯s Miu Miu. Actually, it¡¯s part of the baby¡¯s trust fund portfolio.¡± There¡¯s silence and I look up to see both Suze and Jess staring at me. ¡°Bex, how can a Miu Miu hair clip be part of a trust fund portfolio?¡± says Suze uncertainly. ¡°Because it¡¯s an Antique of the Future!¡± I say with a flourish. ¡°What¡¯s an Antique of the Future?¡± Suze looks puzzled. Ha. You see. I am so ahead of the game! ¡°It¡¯s this fab new way to invest,¡± I explain. ¡°It¡¯s easy-peasy! You just buy anything and keep the packaging, and then in fifty years you auction it and make a fortune!¡± ¡°Right,¡± says Suze, looking dubious. ¡°So, what else have you bought?¡± ¡°Um¡­¡± I think. ¡°Quite a few things from Miu Miu, actually. And some Harry Potter figures and Barbie princess dolls¡­and this fab bracelet from Topshop¡­¡± ¡°Becky, a Topshop bracelet isn¡¯t an investment,¡± says Jess, looking incredulous. She really hasn¡¯t got the point. ¡°Maybe not now,¡± I explain patiently. ¡°But it will be. It¡¯ll be on the Antiques Road Show ¡ª you¡¯ll see!¡± ¡°Bex, what¡¯s wrong with a bank?¡± says Suze anxiously. ¡°I¡¯m not putting the baby¡¯s money into some crappy bank like everyone else!¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m a financial professional, remember, Suze. This is what I do.¡± ¡°What you used to do.¡± ¡°It¡¯s like riding a bike,¡± I assure her loftily. I¡¯m not actually that great at riding a bike, but I needn¡¯t mention that. ¡°So, is that it?¡± asks Jess. ¡°Have you invested all the money?¡± ¡°Oh, no. I¡¯ve still got loads!¡± I take a sip of coffee, then notice an abstract painting on the wall next to me. It¡¯s just a big blue square of oil paint on canvas, and there¡¯s a little price tag of ¡ê195. ¡°Hey, look at that!¡± I say, focusing on it with interest. ¡°D¡¯you think I should¡ª¡± ¡°No!¡± chime Jess and Suze in unison. Honestly. They didn¡¯t even know what I was going to say. I arrive home that evening to find a dark, empty flat and no Luke. He¡¯s with her immediately shoots through my mind. No. He¡¯s not. Stop it. I make myself a sandwich, kick off my shoes, and curl up on the sofa with the remote. As I¡¯m flicking down the channels looking for Birth Stories, which I¡¯m addicted to (only I have to watch the crucial bit through my fingers), the phone rings. ¡°Hi.¡± It¡¯s Luke, sounding hurried. ¡°Becky, I forgot to remind you ¡ª I¡¯m out at the Finance Awards. I¡¯ll be back late.¡± ¡°Oh, right.¡± Now I remember ¡ª I did know about the Finance Awards. In fact, Luke invited me, but I couldn¡¯t face an evening of boring old fund managers. ¡°OK. I¡¯ll see you then. Luke¡­¡± I break off, my heart thumping. I don¡¯t know what I want to say, let alone how to say it. ¡°I have to go.¡± Luke hasn¡¯t even noticed my troubled silence. ¡°See you later.¡± ¡°Luke¡­¡± I try again, but the line¡¯s already dead. I stare into space for a while, imagining the perfect conversation in which Luke asked me what was wrong and I said, Oh nothing, and he said, Yes there is, and it ended with him saying he totally loved me and Venetia was really ugly and how about we fly to Paris tomorrow? Page 71 A blaring theme song from the TV drags me from my daze and I look up at the screen. Somehow I¡¯ve gone too far down the cable list, and I¡¯m on some obscure business and finance channel. I¡¯m just trying to remember the number for the Living Channel, when my attention is drawn to the screen by a portly guy in a dinner jacket. I recognize him. It¡¯s Alan Proctor from Foreland Investments. And there¡¯s that girl Jill from Portfolio Management, sitting next to him. What on earth¡­ I don¡¯t believe it. The Finance Awards are actually being televised! On some cable channel which nobody ever watches ¡ª but still! I sit up and focus on the screen. Maybe I¡¯ll see Luke! ¡°And we¡¯re live from Grosvenor House at this year¡¯s Finance Awards¡­.¡± an announcer is saying. ¡°The venue has been changed this year due to increased numbers¡­.¡± Just for fun, I reach for the phone and speed-dial Luke. The camera pans around the ballroom and I scan the screen intently, looking at all the black-tied people sitting at tables. There¡¯s Philip, my old editor at Successful Saving, swigging back the wine. And that girl from Lloyds who always used to wear the same green suit to press conferences¡­ ¡°Hi, Becky,¡± Luke answers abruptly. ¡°Is everything OK?¡± ¡°Hi!¡± I say. ¡°I just wondered how it¡¯s going at the Finance Awards?¡± I¡¯m waiting for the camera to pan to Luke. Then I can say, ¡°Guess what, I¡¯m watching you!¡± ¡°Oh¡­the same old, same old,¡± Luke says after a pause. ¡°Packed room at the Dorchester¡­gruesome crowds¡­¡± The Dorchester? I stare at the phone for a moment. Then, feeling hot and cold, I press my ear hard to the receiver. I can¡¯t hear any background babble. He¡¯s not in a crowded ballroom, is he? He¡¯s lying. ¡°Becky? Are you there?¡± ¡°I¡­um¡­yes.¡± I feel dizzy with shock. ¡°So, who are you sitting next to?¡± ¡°I¡¯m next to¡­Mel. I¡¯d better go, sweetheart.¡± ¡°OK,¡± I say numbly. ¡°Bye.¡± The camera¡¯s just panned to Mel. She¡¯s sandwiched between two large men in suits. There isn¡¯t an empty chair at the whole table. Luke lied to me. He¡¯s somewhere else. With someone else. The glitzy light and noise of the awards ceremony is jarring my nerves, and I jab the TV off. For a moment I just stare blankly, in silence ¡ª then, in a daze, I reach for the phone and find myself dialing Mum¡¯s number. I need to talk to someone. ¡°Hello?¡± As soon as I hear her safe, familiar voice, I want to burst into tears. ¡°Mum, it¡¯s Becky.¡± ¡°Becky! How are you, love? How¡¯s the baby? Kicking away?¡± ¡°The baby¡¯s fine.¡± I touch my bump automatically. ¡°But I¡¯ve got¡­a¡­a problem.¡± ¡°What kind of problem?¡± Mum sounds perturbed. ¡°Becky, it¡¯s not those people from MasterCard again?¡± ¡°No! It¡¯s¡­personal.¡± ¡°Personal?¡± ¡°I¡­it¡¯s¡­¡± I bite my lip, suddenly wishing I¡¯d thought before phoning. I can¡¯t tell Mum what¡¯s wrong. I can¡¯t get her all worried. Not after she warned me about exactly this happening. Maybe I can ask her advice without giving away the truth. Like when people write to advice columnists about their ¡°friend¡± and it was really them who got caught wearing their wife¡¯s swimwear. ¡°It¡¯s a¡­a colleague at work,¡± I begin, my voice faltering. ¡°I think she¡¯s planning to¡­to move to a different department. She¡¯s been talking to them behind my back and having lunches with them, and I¡¯ve just found out she¡¯s lied to me¡­.¡± A teartrickles down my cheek. ¡°Do you have any advice?¡± ¡°Of course I¡¯ve got some advice!¡± says Mum cheerfully. ¡°Love, she¡¯s only a colleague! They come and go. You¡¯ll have forgotten all about her in a few weeks¡¯ time and moved on to someone else!¡± ¡°Right,¡± I say after a pause. To be honest, that wasn¡¯t the hugest help. ¡°Now,¡± Mum is saying. ¡°Have you got a diaper holder yet? Because I saw a super one in John Lewis¡ª¡± ¡°The thing is, Mum¡­¡± I make another attempt. ¡°The thing is, I really like this colleague. And I can¡¯t tell if she¡¯s seeing these other people behind my back¡­.¡± ¡°Darling, who is this friend?¡± Mum sounds perplexed. ¡°Have you ever mentioned her before?¡± Page 72 ¡°She¡¯s just¡­someone I click with. We have fun, and we¡¯re having a¡­a joint project¡­and, you know, it felt like it was really working. I thought we were so happy together¡­.¡± There¡¯s a huge lump in my throat. ¡°I can¡¯t bear to lose her.¡± ¡°You won¡¯t lose her!¡± says Mum, laughing. ¡°Even if she leaves you for another department, you can still have the odd coffee together¡ª¡± ¡°The odd coffee together?¡± My voice shoots out in distress. ¡°What good is the odd coffee together?¡± Tears start running down my face at the thought of me and Luke stiffly meeting for the odd coffee, while Venetia sits drumming her nails in the corner. ¡°Becky?¡± exclaims Mum in alarm. ¡°Sweetheart? Are you all right?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± I snuffle, rubbing my face. ¡°It¡¯s just a bit¡­upsetting.¡± ¡°Is this girl really that important to you?¡± Mum is clearly baffled. I can hear Dad in the background, saying ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± and there¡¯s a rustling as Mum turns away from the phone. ¡°It¡¯s Becky,¡± I can hear her saying, sotto voce. ¡°I think she¡¯s a bit hormonal, poor love¡­.¡± Honestly, I am not hormonal. My husband is having an affair. ¡°Becky, now listen.¡± Mum is back on the line. ¡°Have you talked to your friend about this? Have you asked her straight-out whether she¡¯s planning to move departments? Are you even sure you¡¯ve got your facts straight?¡± There¡¯s silence as I try to imagine confronting Luke when he comes home tonight. Calling him on his lie. What if he blusters and tries to pretend he was at the awards ceremony? What if he says he loves Venetia and he¡¯s leaving me for her? Either way, I feel totally sick at the prospect. ¡°It isn¡¯t easy,¡± I say at last. ¡°Oh, Becky.¡± Mum sighs. ¡°You¡¯ve never been the best at facing up to things, have you?¡± ¡°No.¡± I scuff my foot on the carpet. ¡°I suppose I haven¡¯t.¡± ¡°You¡¯re grown-up now, love,¡± says Mum gently. ¡°You have to confront your problems. You know what you have to do.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± I give a huge sigh, feeling some of the tension leave my body. ¡°Thanks, Mum.¡± ¡°You take care, darling. Don¡¯t let yourself get upset. Dad sends his love too.¡± ¡°See you soon, Mum. Bye. And thanks.¡± I switch off the phone with a new resolve. It just shows, mothers do know best. Mum¡¯s made me see this whole thing clearly for the first time. I¡¯ve decided exactly what I¡¯m going to do. I¡¯m going to hire a private detective. FACULTY OF CLASSICS OXFORD UNIVERSITY OXFORD OX1 6TH Mrs R Brandon 37 Maida Vale Mansions Maida Vale London NW6 0YF 3 November 2003 Dear Mrs. Brandon, Thank you for your telephone message, which my secretary relayed to me as best she could. I am very sorry to hear your husband may be ¡°having an affair in Latin,¡± as you put it. I can understand how anxious you must feel and will be pleased to translate any text messages you send me. I do hope this will prove illuminating. Yours sincerely, Edmund Fortescue Professor of Classics P.S. Incidentally, ¡°Latin lover¡± is not generally taken to mean someone who talks to their lover in Latin; I do hope this is of some reassurance to you. Denny and George 44 FLORAL STREET COVENT GARDEN LONDON W1 Mrs R Brandon 37 Maida Vale Mansions Maida Vale London NW6 0YF 4 November 2003 Dear Rebecca, Thank you for your letter. I am sorry to hear you have fallen out with your obstetrician. We are touched that you have had so many happy times in here and feel it is ¡°the perfect place to bring a baby into the world.¡± However, I¡¯m afraid we cannot convert our shop into a temporary birthing suite, even for an old and valued customer. We appreciate your offer to name the baby ¡°Denny George Brandon¡±; however, I¡¯m afraid this does not alter our decision. Good luck with the birth. Very best wishes, Francesca Goodman Store Manager REGAL AIRLINES HEAD OFFICE PRESTON HOUSE ? 354 KINGSWAY ? LONDON WC2 4TH Mrs Rebecca Brandon 37 Maida Vale Mansions Maida Vale London NW6 0YF 4 November 2003 Dear Mrs. Brandon, Thank you for your letter. You appear to be under a severe misapprehension. If you gave birth midair on a Regal flight, your child would not ¡°get free club-class travel for life.¡± Nor would you be entitled to join your child ¡°as its guardian.¡± Page 73 Our flight attendants have not ¡°all delivered zillions of babies before,¡± and I would point out that company policy forbids us from letting any woman more than thirty-seven weeks pregnant board a Regal flight. I hope you choose Regal Airlines again soon. Yours sincerely, Margaret McNair Customer Service Manager KENNETH PRENDERGAST Prendergast de Witt Connell Financial Advisers Forward House 394 High Holborn London WC1V 7EX Mrs R Brandon 37 Maida Vale Mansions Maida Vale London NW6 0YF 5 November 2003 Dear Mrs. Brandon, Thank you for your letter. I was perturbed to hear of your ¡°new genius plan.¡± I strongly advise that you do not invest the remainder of your child¡¯s fund in so-called ¡°Antiques of the Future.¡± I am returning the Polaroid of the Topshop limited edition bikini, which I cannot comment on. Such purchases are not a ¡°sure-fire win,¡± nor can anyone make a profit ¡°if they just buy enough stuff.¡± May I guide you towards more conventional investments, such as bonds and company shares? Yours sincerely, Kenneth Prendergast Family Investment Specialist TWELVE I DON¡¯T KNOW WHY I didn¡¯t do this before. It¡¯s like Mum says, I need to get my facts straight. All I need is to find out the answer to one simple question: Is Luke having an affair with Venetia? Yes or no. And if he is¡ª My stomach spasms at the thought and I do a few quick shallow breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Ignore the pain. I¡¯ll cross that bridge when I come to it. I¡¯m standing in West Ruislip tube station, right at the end of the Central Line, consulting my little A ¡ª Z. I¡¯ve never been to this bit of northwest London before and I wouldn¡¯t really have thought of it being the kind of place where private detectives hang out. (But then, I suppose I was really picturing downtown Chicago in the 1940s.) I head off down the main road, glancing at my reflection in a shop window as I pass. It took me ages to decide what to wear this morning, but in the end I went for a simple black print dress, vintage shoes, and oversize opaque sunglasses. Although it turns out that sunglasses are a crap disguise. If anyone I knew spotted me, they wouldn¡¯t think, ¡°There¡¯s a mysterious woman in black,¡± they¡¯d think, ¡°There¡¯s Becky, wearing sunglasses and visiting a private detective.¡± Feeling nervous, I start walking faster. I can¡¯t quite believe I¡¯m actually doing this. It was all so easy. Like booking a pedicure. I phoned the number on the card that the taxi driver gave me, but unfortunately that particular detective was about to go off to the Costa del Sol. (For a golfing holiday, not to follow a crook.) So I looked up private detectives on the Internet ¡ª and it turns out there are zillions of them! In the end I chose one called Dave Sharpness, Private Eye (Matrimonial a Specialty), and we arranged an appointment and now here I am. In West Ruislip. I turn into a side street and there¡¯s the building ahead of me. I survey it for a few moments. This really isn¡¯t how I¡¯d imagined it. I¡¯d envisioned a dingy office down some alleyway with a single lightbulb swinging in the window and maybe bullet holes in the door. But this is a well-kept low-rise block with venetian blinds and a little patch of grass outside with a notice saying Please Do Not Drop Litter. Well. Private detectives don¡¯t have to be gritty, do they? I stuff the A ¡ª Z into my bag, head toward the entrance, and push open the glass doors. A pale woman with badly layered aubergine-dyed hair is sitting at a desk. She looks up from her paperback and I feel a sudden pang of humiliation. She must see people like me all the time. ¡°I¡¯m here to see Dave Sharpness,¡± I say, trying to keep my chin high. ¡°Of course, dear.¡± Her eyes descend to my bump expressionlessly. ¡°Take a seat.¡± I sit down on a brown foam chair and pick up a copy of Reader¡¯s Digest from the coffee table. A moment later, a door opens and I see a man in his late fifties or even early sixties approaching me. He¡¯s paunchy, with bright white hair sticking up from a tanned head, blue eyes, and a jowly double chin. ¡°Dave Sharpness,¡± he says with a smoker¡¯s wheeze, and grips my hand. ¡°Come through, come through.¡± I follow him into a small office with venetian blinds and a mahogany desk. There¡¯s a bookshelf filled with legal-looking books, and a series of box files with names on them. I spot one with ¡°Brandon¡± written on it. It¡¯s resting openly on the desk, and I feel a flicker of alarm. Is this what they call discreet? What if Luke came to West Ruislip for a business meeting and he walked past this window and saw it? Page 74 ¡°So, Mrs. Brandon.¡± Dave Sharpness has squeezed himself behind his desk and is addressing me hoarsely. ¡°First, let me introduce myself. I had thirty years in the motor trade before turning to private investigation. Having had various painful experiences myself, I know all too well the trauma you are undergoing right now.¡± He leans forward, his chins wobbling. ¡°Be assured, I am one hundred and fifty percent committed to providing results for you.¡± ¡°Right. Fab.¡± I swallow. ¡°Um¡­I was wondering. Could you not have my box file out on show, please? Anyone might see it on that shelf!¡± ¡°These are dummies with false names, Mrs. Brandon,¡± Dave Sharpness says, gesturing at the shelf. ¡°Please don¡¯t worry. Your file will be safely concealed in our client secure storage facility.¡± ¡°Oh, I see,¡± I say, feeling a bit more reassured. ¡°Client secure storage facility¡± sounds pretty good. Like some underground system with coded locks and infrared laser beams criss-crossing each other. ¡°So¡­what does that consist of, exactly?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a filing cabinet in the back office.¡± He wipes his glowing face with a handkerchief. ¡°Locked every night by Wendy, our office manager. Now, to business.¡± He pulls a pad of foolscap toward him. ¡°Let¡¯s start at the beginning. You have concerns about your husband. You think he¡¯s cheating on you.¡± I have a sudden urge to cry out ¡°No! Luke would never cheat on me!¡± and get up and run away. But that would slightly defeat the point of coming here. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know,¡± I force myself to say. ¡°Maybe. We¡¯ve been married for a year and everything seemed great. But there¡¯s this¡­woman. Venetia Carter. They had a relationship in the past, and now she¡¯s come to London. He¡¯s seeing a lot of her, and he¡¯s all distant and snappy with me, and they send texts to each other in this code, and last night he¡­¡± I break off, breathing hard. ¡°Anyway, I just want to find out what¡¯s going on.¡± ¡°Of course you do,¡± says Dave Sharpness, scribbling. ¡°Why should you have to put up with the uncertainty and pain anymore?¡± ¡°Exactly.¡± I nod. ¡°You want answers. Your instincts are telling you something¡¯s wrong, but you can¡¯t put your finger on it.¡± ¡°That¡¯s it!¡± God, he totally understands. ¡°All you want is photographic proof of the illicit affair.¡± ¡°I¡­er¡­¡± I¡¯m halted. I hadn¡¯t really thought about photographic proof. All I¡¯d thought about was getting a yes or no answer. ¡°Or video.¡± Dave Sharpness looks up. ¡°We can put all the evidence on DVD for you.¡± ¡°DVD?¡± I echo, shocked. Maybe I haven¡¯t thought this plan through. Am I really going to hire someone to tail Luke with a video camera? What if he found out? ¡°Couldn¡¯t you just tell me if he¡¯s having an affair or not?¡± I suggest. ¡°Without taking any pictures or video?¡± Dave Sharpness raises his eyebrows. ¡°Mrs. Brandon, believe me. When we uncover the proof, you¡¯re going to want to see it with your own eyes.¡± ¡°You mean¡­if you discover any proof. I¡¯ve probably got it all wrong! It¡¯s probably all perfectly¡­¡± I trail off at his expression. ¡°First rule of matrimonial investigation,¡± he says with a lugubrious smile. ¡°The ladies very rarely get it wrong. Feminine intuition, you see.¡± This guy is an expert. He should know. ¡°So you think¡­¡± I lick my suddenly dry lips. ¡°Do you really think¡­¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think,¡± says Dave Sharpness with a small flourish. ¡°I discover. Whether it¡¯s one lady he¡¯s dallying with, or two, or a whole string of them, myself and my operatives will find out and furnish you with whatever proof you need.¡± ¡°He¡¯s not dallying with a whole string of ladies!¡± I say in horror. ¡°I know he isn¡¯t! It¡¯s just this one specific woman, Venetia Carter¡ª¡± I stop as Dave Sharpness lifts a reproving finger. ¡°Let¡¯s find that out, shall we? Now, I¡¯ll need as much information as you can give me. All the women he knows ¡ª both his friends and yours. All the places he frequents, all his habits. I like to do a thorough job, Mrs. Brandon. I will produce a full dossier on your husband¡¯s life, plus background on any women or other persons deemed to be relevant. There is nothing you will not know by the end of my investigation.¡± ¡°Look.¡± I try to keep my patience. ¡°I know everything about Luke already. Except for this one tiny thing. He¡¯s my husband.¡± Page 75 ¡°If I had a pound for every lady who¡¯s said that to me¡­¡± Dave Sharpness gives a hoarse chuckle. ¡°You fill in the details. We¡¯ll do the rest.¡± He holds out a fresh pad of paper. I take it from him and flip the pages, feeling uneasy. ¡°Do I need to¡­give you a photograph?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll take care of that. You just tell us about the women. Don¡¯t leave anyone out. Friends¡­colleagues¡­Do you have a sister?¡± ¡°Well¡­yes,¡± I say, taken aback. ¡°But he¡¯d never¡­I mean, not in a million years¡­¡± Dave Sharpness is shaking his head in ponderous amusement. ¡°You¡¯d be surprised, Mrs. Brandon. In my experience, if they¡¯ve got one little secret, they¡¯ve got a whole host of them.¡± He hands me a pen. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry. We¡¯ll soon let you know.¡± I write ¡°Venetia Carter¡± at the top of the page, then stop. What am I doing? ¡°I can¡¯t do it.¡± I drop the pen. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. This just feels so weird. So wrong. To spy on my own husband!¡± I push my chair back and stand up. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have come. I shouldn¡¯t even be here!¡± ¡°You don¡¯t need to make your decision today,¡± Dave Sharpness says unperturbed, reaching for a packet of toffees. ¡°All I will say is that of the customers who react like your good self¡­ninety percent are back within a week. They still go ahead with the investigation, only they¡¯ve lost a week. As a lady in your advanced condition¡­¡± His gaze drops meaningfully to my stomach. ¡°Well, I¡¯d be cracking on.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Slowly I sink back down into the chair. ¡°I hadn¡¯t thought of it like that.¡± ¡°And we don¡¯t use the word spying,¡± he adds, wrinkling his florid nose. ¡°No one likes to think of themselves as spying on a loved one. We prefer the term distance observation.¡± ¡°Distance observation.¡± That does sound better. I fiddle with my birthing stone, my mind spinning. Maybe he¡¯s got a point: if I walk away now, I¡¯ll only be back in a week. Maybe I should just sign on the dotted line straightaway. ¡°But what if my husband saw you?¡± I say, looking up. ¡°What if he¡¯s totally innocent and he discovers I hired a detective? He¡¯ll never trust me again¡­.¡± Dave Sharpness holds up a hand. ¡°Let me reassure you. All of my operatives operate with the utmost caution and discretion. Either your husband is innocent ¡ª in which case, no harm done ¡ª or he¡¯s guilty, in which case you have the proof you need to take further action. To be perfectly honest, Mrs. Brandon, it¡¯s a win-win situation.¡± ¡°So there¡¯s no way at all he could find out?¡± I say, just to be totally sure. ¡°Please.¡± Dave Sharpness chuckles again. ¡°Mrs. Brandon, I¡¯m a professional.¡± Honestly, I never realized hiring a private investigator was such hard work. It takes me about forty minutes to write down all the information Dave Sharpness wants. Every time I try to explain that I¡¯m only interested in whether Luke¡¯s seeing Venetia, he holds up his hand and says, ¡°Take it from me, Mrs. Brandon, you¡¯ll be interested enough if we find anything.¡± ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± I say at last, shoving the pad of paper toward him. ¡°I can¡¯t think of anyone else.¡± ¡°Excellent.¡± Dave Sharpness takes it and runs a fingernail down all the names. ¡°We¡¯ll get cracking on this lot. Meanwhile, we¡¯ll place your husband under what we call low-grade surveillance.¡± ¡°Right,¡± I say nervously. ¡°What does that involve?¡± ¡°One of my highly skilled operatives will follow your husband for an initial period of two weeks, at which time we shall meet again. Any information gained in the meantime shall be communicated to you directly by myself. I shall require a deposit¡­.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I say, feeling for my bag. ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°And as a new customer¡±¡ªhe rifles in his drawer and produces a small flyer¡ª¡°you qualify for our special offer.¡± Special offer? He honestly thinks I¡¯m interested in some stupid special offer? My marriage is under threat here. In fact, I¡¯m pretty insulted he even mentioned it. ¡°Valid only today,¡± Dave Sharpness continues. ¡°Buy one, get the second half-price. It¡¯s a unique opportunity for new customers. Shame to miss out on a bargain.¡± There¡¯s silence. In spite of myself I¡¯m feeling the teeniest, weeniest ripple of interest. ¡°What do you mean?¡± I give a reluctant shrug. ¡°You get the second detective half off?¡± Page 76 ¡°She¡¯s a card!¡± Dave Sharpness wheezes with laughter. ¡°No, you order a second investigation and you¡¯ll get it half-price. Saves you coming back, you see. Wrap up all your investigatory needs in one go.¡± ¡°But I don¡¯t have any other investigatory needs.¡± ¡°Are you sure about that?¡± He raises his eyebrows. ¡°Have a good think, Mrs. Brandon. No other little mysteries you need to clear up? No missing persons you¡¯d like us to trace? The offer¡¯s valid only today. You¡¯ll regret it if you lose out.¡± He hands me the flyer. ¡°You¡¯ll see our full list of services here¡­.¡± I open my mouth to tell him I¡¯m not interested, then find myself closing it again. Perhaps I should just have a little think about this. I mean, it is a pretty good deal. And maybe there is something else I¡¯d like to find out about. My eyes run down the headings on the flyer. I could trace an old schoolchum¡­or track a vehicle by GPS satellite¡­or simply discover more about a friend or neighbor¡­. Oh my God. I have it! I¡¯m not sure Dave really got the whole eyebrow thing. But I explained as fully as I could and drew him a picture and in the end he became quite enthusiastic. He said if he didn¡¯t find out where and how Jasmine was getting her eyebrows shaped, he wasn¡¯t Regional Salesman of the Year, 1989 (Southwest). I don¡¯t know what that¡¯s got to do with private detecting, but anyway. He¡¯s on the case. Both of them. So it¡¯s done. The only thing is, I now feel horribly guilty. The nearer I get to home the guiltier I feel, until I can¡¯t bear it anymore. I hurry into the shop at the end of our road and buy Luke a bunch of flowers and some chocolates, and at the last moment I throw in a miniature whisky. His car is in our parking space, which means he must be home. As I travel up in the lift I start getting my story straight. My plan is: I¡¯ll just say I was at work all afternoon. No. He might have called there for some reason and found out I took the afternoon off. I¡¯ll say I was shopping. Nowhere near West Ruislip. But what if someone saw me in West Ruislip? What if one of Luke¡¯s employees lives in West Ruislip and she was working from home and rang Luke and said, ¡°Guess what, I¡¯ve just seen your wife!¡± OK, I was in West Ruislip. I was there for¡­another reason. To see a pregnancy hypnotherapist. Yes. Brilliant. By now I¡¯ve reached our front door, and as I unlock it, my heart¡¯s thumping with nerves. ¡°Hi!¡± Luke appears in the hall, holding a huge bouquet, and I stare at him, transfixed. We both have flowers? Oh God. He knows. No. Don¡¯t be stupid. How could he know? And why would that make him buy flowers? Luke seems a little puzzled too. ¡°These are for you,¡± he says after a pause. ¡°Right,¡± I say in a constricted voice. ¡°Well¡­these are for you.¡± Awkwardly we exchange bouquets, and I hand Luke his chocolates and miniature whisky. ¡°Let¡¯s go¡­¡± Luke nods toward the kitchen, and I follow him to the area where we have a sofa and a low table. Late afternoon sunshine is blazing in through the window, and it almost feels like summer. Luke sinks onto the sofa beside me and takes a swig from a bottle of beer on the table. ¡°Becky, I just wanted to say I¡¯m sorry.¡± He rubs his brow, as though marshaling his thoughts. ¡°I know I¡¯ve been distant these past few days. It¡¯s been a strange time. But¡­I think I¡¯ve managed to get rid of something that was bothering me.¡± He finally looks up, and I feel a dart of understanding. He¡¯s talking in subtext! It couldn¡¯t be clearer. Something that was bothering me. That¡¯s her. Venetia came on to him ¡ª and he rejected her. That¡¯s what he¡¯s trying to tell me! He turned her down! And here I am, hiring private detectives, like I don¡¯t trust him. Like I don¡¯t love him. ¡°Luke, I¡¯m sorry too!¡± I say in a rush of remorse. ¡°I really am.¡± ¡°For what?¡± Luke looks taken aback. ¡°For¡­er¡­¡± Do not blurt it all out, Becky. ¡°For¡­that time I forgot to order the groceries. I¡¯ve always felt really bad about it.¡± ¡°Come here.¡± Luke laughs and pulls me close for a kiss. For a while we just sit there, the sun warm on our faces. It¡¯s ages since we just sat like this. The baby is squirming energetically inside me, and we both watch as my dress jumps with the motion. It is pretty freaky, just like Suze said. But it¡¯s exciting too. ¡°So,¡± says Luke, putting a hand on my stomach. ¡°When are we going to look at prams?¡± Page 77 ¡°Soon!¡± I put my arms round him and hug him tight in relief. Luke loves me. It¡¯s all happy again. I knew it would be. TO: Dave Sharpness FROM: Rebecca Brandon SUBJECT: Luke Brandon Dear Mr. Sharpness, Just to repeat the message I left on your answering machine, I would like you to CALL OFF the investigation on my husband. Repeat: CALL IT OFF. He is not having an affair after all. I will contact you in due course about the deposit I paid you. With best wishes, Rebecca Brandon FACULTY OF CLASSICS OXFORD UNIVERSITY OXFORD OX1 6TH Mrs R Brandon 37 Maida Vale Mansions Maida Vale London NW6 0YF 11 November 2003 Dear Mrs. Brandon, I am delighted to enclose translations of the Latin text messages you sent me, and hope they put your mind at rest. They are all entirely innocuous: for instance, sum suci plena means ¡°I¡¯m full of life¡± rather than the more graphic meaning you ascribed to it. I also think you may have been unduly concerned by the phrases licitum dic, fac me, and sex, which in Latin means ¡°six.¡± If I can be of any further assistance, please do not hesitate to let me know. Perhaps some Latin lessons? With very best wishes. Yours sincerely, Edmund Fortescue Professor of Classics THIRTEEN THE WHOLE WORLD looks different when your husband isn¡¯t having an affair. Suddenly a phone call is just a phone call. A text is just a text. A late night out isn¡¯t a reason to have a row. It even turns out fac me doesn¡¯t mean¡­what I thought it did. Thank God I canceled the private detective, is all I can say. I even burned all his paperwork and receipts, so there was no chance of Luke finding out. (And then quickly invented a story about defective hair tongs when the smoke alarm went off.) Luke is so much more relaxed these days, and he hasn¡¯t even mentioned her for two weeks. Except when an invitation came to a Cambridge reunion party and he said casually, ¡°Oh yes, Ven told me about this.¡± It¡¯s a black-tie dance at the Guildhall in London, and I¡¯m determined to look as fab and glam as I can, like Catherine Zeta-Jones at the Oscars. Yesterday I bought the best dress, all clingy and sexy in midnight-blue silk, and now I need some matching heels.(And Venetia can just choke on her chicken.) So everything¡¯s going brilliantly. We¡¯re exchanging contracts on the house next week, and last night we talked about throwing a massive housewarming-christening party, which would be so cool. And the really big news is that Danny arrives today! He flies in this morning and is coming straight to the store to meet everyone and announce his collaboration with The Look. Then he and I are having lunch, just the two of us. I¡¯m so looking forward to it. As I arrive at The Look at nine thirty, the place is already bustling with excitement. A reception area has been set up on the ground floor, with a table of champagne glasses and a big screen showing footage from Danny¡¯s latest catwalk show. A few journalists have arrived for the press conference, and all the PR department is milling around bright-eyed, handing out media packs. ¡°Rebecca.¡± Eric advances on me before I¡¯ve even taken my coat off. ¡°A word, please. Any news on the design?¡± This is the only teeny little hitch. Danny said he¡¯d submit a provisional design to us by last week. And he still hasn¡¯t. I spoke to him a couple of days ago, and he said it was pretty much there, he just needed the final inspiration. Which could mean anything. It probably means he hasn¡¯t even started. Not that I¡¯ll let Eric know this. ¡°It¡¯s in the final stages,¡± I say as convincingly as I can. ¡°Have you seen anything?¡± ¡°Absolutely!¡± I cross my fingers behind my back. ¡°So, what¡¯s it like?¡± His brows narrow. ¡°Is it a top? A dress? What?¡± ¡°It¡¯s¡­groundbreaking.¡± I wave my hands vaguely. ¡°It¡¯s a kind of¡­You¡¯ll have to see it. When it¡¯s ready.¡± Eric doesn¡¯t look convinced. ¡°Your friend Mr. Kovitz has just made yet another request,¡± he says. ¡°Two tickets for Euro Disney.¡± He gives me a baleful stare. ¡°Why is he going to Euro Disney?¡± I can¡¯t help cursing Danny inside. Why can¡¯t he buy his own bloody tickets to Euro Disney? ¡°Inspiration!¡± I say at last. ¡°He¡¯s probably going to make some satirical comment on¡­modern culture.¡± Eric doesn¡¯t look impressed. ¡°Rebecca, this plan of yours is costing a lot more time and money than I anticipated,¡± he says heavily. ¡°Money which could have gone into conventional marketing. It had better work.¡± Page 78 ¡°It will! I promise it will!¡± ¡°And if it doesn¡¯t?¡± I feel a surge of frustration. Why does he have to be so negative? ¡°Then¡­I resign!¡± I say with a flourish. ¡°OK? Satisfied?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll hold you to that, Rebecca,¡± Eric says with an ominous look. ¡°You do that!¡± I say confidently, and hold his gaze till he walks away. Shit. I just offered to resign. Why on earth did I do that? I¡¯m just wondering whether to run after Eric and say ¡°Ha-ha, I was only joking!¡± when my phone starts ringing and I flip it open. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Hi, Becky? Buffy.¡± I stifle a sigh. Buffy is one of Danny¡¯s assistants and she¡¯s been calling every evening, just to check some tiny detail or other. ¡°Hi, Buffy!¡± I force a cheerful tone. ¡°What can I do for you?¡± ¡°I just wanted to check Mr. Kovitz¡¯s hotel room had been ordered as he wanted it? Eighty degrees, the TV tuned to MTV, three cans of Dr Pepper by the bed?¡± ¡°Yes. I ordered it all.¡± Suddenly something occurs to me. ¡°Buffy, what time is it in New York?¡± ¡°It¡¯s four A.M.,¡± she says brightly, and I stare at the phone, gobsmacked. ¡°You¡¯ve got up at four A.M. just to check that Danny has Dr Pepper in his hotel room?¡± ¡°That¡¯s OK!¡± She sounds totally breezy. ¡°It¡¯s all part of working in the fashion industry!¡± ¡°He¡¯s here!¡± comes a cry from the door. ¡°Danny Kovitz is here!¡± ¡°Buffy, I have to go,¡± I say hastily, and thrust my phone down. As I head toward the doors I glimpse a limo on the street outside and feel a prickle of excitement. It¡¯s amazing how important Danny has got! Then the doors swing back, and there he is! He¡¯s as skinny as ever, and dressed in old jeans and the coolest black jacket, with one sleeve made out of mattress ticking. He looks tired and his curly hair is disheveled, but his blue eyes light up as he sees me, and he comes running forward. ¡°Becky! Oh my God, look at you.¡± He envelops me in an enormous hug. ¡°You look fabulous!¡± ¡°Look at you!¡± I retort. ¡°Mr. Famous!¡± ¡°C¡¯mon. I¡¯m not famous.¡­¡± Danny makes a two-second stab at being self-deprecating. ¡°Well¡­OK. Yes, I am. Isn¡¯t it wild?¡± I can¡¯t help giggling. ¡°So, is this your entourage?¡± I nod at the woman in a headset who has come in alongside a huge, bald secret-service ¡ª type guy. ¡°That¡¯s my assistant, Carla.¡± ¡°I thought Buffy was your assistant.¡± ¡°My second assistant,¡± Danny explains. ¡°And that¡¯s Stan, my bodyguard.¡± ¡°You need a bodyguard?¡± I say in amazement. Even I didn¡¯t realize Danny had got quite that famous. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t really need him,¡± Danny admits. ¡°But I thought it would be cool. Hey, did you get them to put Dr Pepper in my room?¡± ¡°Three cans.¡± I see Eric approaching and quickly steer Danny away, toward the champagne table. ¡°So¡­how¡¯s the design coming?¡± I ask casually. ¡°Only I¡¯m getting some pressure from my boss¡­.¡± A familiar defensive look comes over Danny¡¯s face. ¡°I¡¯m working on it, OK?¡± he says. ¡°My team had some ideas but I¡¯m not happy with them. I need to soak up the feel of the shop¡­the vibe of London¡­maybe take inspiration from some other European cities¡­.¡± Other European cities? ¡°Right. And¡­how long do you think that will take? About?¡± ¡°Let me introduce myself,¡± cuts in Eric, who has finally caught up with us. ¡°Eric Wilmot. Head of marketing here at The Look. Welcome to Britain.¡± He shakes Danny¡¯s hand with a grim smile. ¡°We¡¯re delighted to be collaborating with such a talented young designer on such an exciting fashion project.¡± That sentence came word-for-word out of the press release. I know, because I wrote it. ¡°Danny was just telling me how he¡¯s really close to coming up with a final design!¡± I say to Eric, praying that Danny keeps his mouth closed. ¡°Isn¡¯t that exciting? Although no exact time scale yet¡­¡± ¡°Mr. Kovitz?¡± A girl of about twenty, wearing green boots and a very strange coat made out of what looks like cellophane, is shyly approaching. ¡°I¡¯m from Fashion Student Gazette. I just wanted to say I¡¯m a huge fan. We all are, in my year at Central Saint Martins. Could I ask you a few questions about your inspiration?¡± Page 79 Ha. You see? I shoot a triumphant look at Eric, who just scowls back. It¡¯s pretty exciting, being part of a major fashion launch at a major department store! Even if it is a failing, empty department store. Everybody gives a speech, even me. Brianna announces the initiative and thanks all the journalists for coming. Eric says again how excited we are to be working with Danny. I explain that I¡¯ve known Danny ever since he was first stocked at Barneys (I don¡¯t mention that all his Tshirts fell to bits and I nearly got the sack). Danny says how thrilled he is to be designer in residence at The Look, and how he¡¯s sure within six months this will be the only place to shop in London. By the end, everyone¡¯s in a brilliant mood. Everyone except Eric. ¡°Designer in residence?¡± he says as soon as he gets me alone. ¡°What does that mean, ¡®designer in residence¡¯? Does he think we¡¯re putting him up all bloody year?¡± ¡°No!¡± I say. ¡°Of course not!¡± I may have to have a little chat with Danny. At last, after draining all the champagne, the fashion journalists melt away. Brianna and Eric disappear off to their offices and I¡¯m left alone with Danny. Or at least, with Danny and his people. ¡°So, shall we go for lunch?¡± I suggest. ¡°Sure!¡± Danny says, and glances at Carla, who immediately speaks into her headset. ¡°Travis? Travis, it¡¯s Carla. Could you bring the car around, please?¡± Cool! We¡¯re going in the limo! ¡°There¡¯s quite a nice place round the corner¡ª¡± I begin, but Carla cuts me off. ¡°Buffy has made reservations at three Zagat-recommended restaurants. Japanese, French, and I believe the third was Italian¡­.¡± ¡°How about¡­Moroccan?¡± Danny says as the driver opens the door. ¡°I¡¯ll give Buffy a call,¡± Carla says without batting an eyelid. She speed-dials as we all get into the limo. ¡°Buffy, Carla. Could you please hold the reservations you¡¯ve made and research a Moroccan restaurant for lunch? That¡¯s Moroccan,¡± she repeats, enunciating clearly. ¡°London West One. Thanks, hon.¡± ¡°I feel like a latte,¡± says Danny suddenly. ¡°A mocha latte.¡± Without missing a beat, Carla speaks into her phone again. ¡°Hello, Travis, this is Carla,¡± she says. ¡°Could we please pull over at a Starbucks. That¡¯s Starbucks.¡± Thirty seconds later, the limo draws up beside a Starbucks. Carla opens the door. ¡°Just a mocha latte?¡± she says. ¡°Uh-huh,¡± Danny says, stretching out lazily. ¡°Anything for you, Stan?¡± Carla looks at the bodyguard, who is sunk in his seat, plugged into his iPod. ¡°Huh?¡± He opens his eyes. ¡°Oh, right, Starbucks. Get me a cappuccino. Real foamy.¡± The car door closes and I turn to Danny in disbelief. Does he have people running after him like this all day? ¡°Danny¡­¡± ¡°Uh-huh?¡± Danny looks up from flipping through Cosmo Girl. ¡°Hey, are you cold in here? I feel cold.¡± He switches on his phone and speed-dials. ¡°Carla, the car¡¯s a little cold. OK, thanks.¡± That does it. ¡°Danny, this is ridiculous!¡± I exclaim. ¡°Can¡¯t you talk to the driver yourself? Can¡¯t you get your own latte?¡± Danny looks genuinely perplexed. ¡°Well¡­I could,¡± he says. ¡°I guess.¡± His phone rings and he switches it on. ¡°Yes, cinnamon. Oh, that¡¯s too bad.¡± He puts his hand over the phone. ¡°Buffy can¡¯t find a Moroccan restaurant for us. How about Lebanese fusion?¡± ¡°Danny¡­¡± I feel like I¡¯m on another planet. ¡°There¡¯s a really nice restaurant right here.¡± I gesture outside. ¡°Can¡¯t we just go there? The two of us, no one else?¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Danny seems to be getting his head round this idea. ¡°Well¡­sure. Let¡¯s do it.¡± We get out of the car just as Carla approaches holding a Starbucks take-out tray. ¡°Is something wrong?¡± She surveys us in alarm. ¡°We¡¯re going for lunch,¡± I say. ¡°Just Danny and me. In there.¡± I point at the restaurant, which is called Annie¡¯s. ¡°Right.¡± Carla nods vigorously, as though taking in the situation. ¡°Great! I¡¯ll just make you a reservation¡­.¡± To my utter astonishment she speed-dials her phone again. ¡°Hi, Buffy, could you please reserve a table at a restaurant called Annie¡¯s, let me spell that for you¡­.¡± Buffy is in New York. We are standing ten feet away from the place. How does this make any sense? Page 80 ¡°Honestly, we¡¯re fine, thanks!¡± I say to Carla. ¡°See you later!¡± And I drag Danny across the pavement and into the restaurant. We do have to wait a bit for a table. But I stick out my stomach as far as it will go and sigh wistfully at the ma?tre d¡¯¡ªand a few minutes later we¡¯re ensconced in a corner banquette, dipping bread into yummy olive oil. Which is a relief. I was going to have to admit defeat and call Buffy. ¡°This is so great, being here,¡± Danny says, as a waiter pours him a glass of wine. ¡°Here¡¯s to you, Becky!¡± ¡°Here¡¯s to you!¡± I clink his wineglass with my water glass. ¡°And here¡¯s to your fabulous design for The Look!¡± I force myself to leave a natural pause. ¡°So, you were going to tell me when you thought you might have something to show us?¡± ¡°Was I?¡± Danny looks surprised. ¡°Hey, you want to come to Paris with me next week? There is the best gay scene there¡ª¡± ¡°Fab!¡± I nod. ¡°The thing is, Danny, we kind of¡­sort of¡­need to have something quite¡­quickly.¡± ¡°Quickly?¡± Danny opens his eyes wide, looking betrayed. ¡°What do you mean, ¡®quickly¡¯?¡± ¡°Well, you know! As soon as you can manage, really. We¡¯re trying to save the store, so the sooner we can get something going, the better¡­.¡± I trail off as Danny fixes a reproachful gaze on me. ¡°I could be ¡®quick,¡¯¡± he says, uttering the word with disdain. ¡°I could throw together a few crap ideas in five minutes. Or I could do something meaningful. Which may take time. That¡¯s the creative process ¡ª excuse me for being an artist.¡± He takes a gulp of wine and puts his glass down. I can¡¯t say that a few crap ideas in five minutes sound great to me. Can I? ¡°Is there a middle road?¡± I venture at last. ¡°Like¡­some fairly good ideas in about¡­a week?¡± ¡°A week?¡± Danny looks almost more offended than before. ¡°Or¡­whatever.¡± I back down. ¡°You¡¯re the creative person; you know how you work best. So! What do you want to eat?¡± We order penne (me) and lobster (Danny) and the special quail¡¯s-egg salad (Danny) and a champagne cocktail (Danny). ¡°So, how¡¯ve you been?¡± Danny asks as the waiter eventually retreats. ¡°I¡¯ve been having a total nightmare with my boyfriend, Nathan. I thought he was seeing someone else.¡± ¡°Me too,¡± I confess. ¡°What?¡± Danny drops his roll in astonishment. ¡°You thought Luke was¡­¡± ¡°Having an affair.¡± I nod. ¡°You¡¯re kidding.¡± He seems genuinely shocked. ¡°But you guys are so perfect.¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine now,¡± I reassure him. ¡°I know nothing¡¯s going on. But I nearly had him followed by a private detective.¡± ¡°Get out.¡± Danny is leaning forward, his eyes alight. ¡°So, what happened?¡± ¡°I canceled it.¡± ¡°Jesus.¡± Danny chews his roll, taking this all in. ¡°So, why did you think he was cheating?¡± ¡°There¡¯s this woman. She¡¯s our obstetrician. And she¡¯s Luke¡¯s ex-girlfriend.¡± ¡°Ooh.¡± Danny winces. ¡°The ex-girlfriend. Harsh. And what¡¯s she like?¡± I have a sudden flashback to Venetia making me put on those revolting surgical stockings, her eyes gleaming with triumph. ¡°She¡¯s a redhaired bitch and I hate her,¡± I say, more vehemently than I meant to. ¡°I call her Cruella de Venetia.¡± ¡°And she¡¯s delivering the baby?¡± Danny starts laughing. ¡°Is this for real?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not funny!¡± I can¡¯t help giggling too. ¡°I have to see this birth.¡± Danny skewers an olive on a cocktail stick. ¡°¡®Push!¡¯ ¡®I won¡¯t, you bitch!¡¯ You should sell tickets.¡± ¡°Stop it!¡± My stomach¡¯s hurting from laughing. On the table my phone beeps with a text and I pull it over to have a look. ¡°Hey, it¡¯s Luke! He¡¯s stopping by to say hello!¡± I texted Luke while we were ordering, to let him know where we were having lunch. ¡°Great.¡± Danny takes a swig of his champagne cocktail. ¡°So, you guys are cool now?¡± ¡°We¡¯re great. In fact, things are wonderful. We¡¯re going to look at prams together tomorrow.¡± I give Danny a beatific smile. ¡°He doesn¡¯t even know you thought he was cheating?¡± ¡°I brought it up a couple of times,¡± I say slowly, buttering another roll. ¡°But he always denied anything was going on. I¡¯m not going to mention it again.¡± Page 81 ¡°Or the private detective.¡± Danny¡¯s eyes gleam. ¡°Obviously not the private detective.¡± I narrow my eyes. ¡°And don¡¯t say a word, Danny.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t!¡± Danny exclaims innocently, and takes another slurp of champagne cocktail. ¡°Hi, guys!¡± I turn to see Luke making his way through the crowded restaurant. He¡¯s wearing his new Paul Smith suit and has his BlackBerry in his hand. He gives me a tiny wink, and I force myself to stay composed, even though I want to smile wickedly as I remember this morning. And no, I¡¯m not explaining. Let¡¯s just say that if I¡¯m so ¡°unattractive¡± and ¡°unsexy¡± like Venetia said, then why did Luke¡­ Anyway. Moving on. ¡°Danny! Long time.¡± ¡°Luke!¡± Danny leaps up and claps him on the back. ¡°Great to see you!¡± ¡°Congratulations on all your success!¡± Luke pulls out a chair from a neighboring table. ¡°I can¡¯t stay long, but I wanted to say welcome to London.¡± ¡°Cheers, mate.¡± Danny puts on the worst cockney accent I have ever heard. He drains his champagne cocktail and gestures to a waiter to bring him another one. ¡°And congratulations to you guys!¡± He runs a hand lightly over my tummy, then flinches as the baby kicks. ¡°Jesus. Was that it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s exciting!¡± Luke nods with a smile. ¡°Only a few weeks to go!¡± ¡°Jesus.¡± Danny¡¯s still staring at my stomach. ¡°What if it¡¯s a girl in there? Another little Becky Bloomwood. You better get back to the office, Luke, and earn some money. You¡¯re gonna need it.¡± ¡°Shut up!¡± I hit him on the arm. But Luke¡¯s already getting up from his seat. ¡°I was only passing, anyway. Iain¡¯s waiting for me in the car. See you again, Danny. Bye, sweetheart.¡± He kisses me on the forehead, then peers out the restaurant window as though searching for something. ¡°What is it?¡± I say, following his gaze. ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡± Luke frowns. ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to say anything, but for the last few days I¡¯ve felt as though I¡¯m being followed.¡± ¡°Followed?¡± ¡°I¡¯m seeing the same guy around the place all the time.¡± Luke shrugs. ¡°He was outside the office yesterday, and I saw him just now.¡± ¡°But who on earth¡ª¡± I come to a halt. Shit. No. It can¡¯t be. I canceled them. I know I did. I phoned and left a message on Dave Sharpness¡¯s answering machine. And I sent an e-mail. I look up to see Danny¡¯s delighted gaze on me. ¡°You think someone¡¯s following you, Luke?¡± he says, raising his eyebrows. ¡°Like¡­a private detective, maybe?¡± I will kill him. ¡°It¡¯s probably nothing!¡± My voice is a bit strangled. ¡°Just coincidence!¡± ¡°Probably.¡± Luke nods. ¡°Strange, though. See you later.¡± He touches my hand, and we both watch him wend his way between the tables. ¡°Trust is a beautiful thing between a married couple,¡± observes Danny. ¡°You two are very lucky.¡± ¡°Shut up!¡± I¡¯m scrabbling for my phone. ¡°I have to call them off!¡± ¡°I thought you already did.¡± ¡°I did! Days ago! It¡¯s all a mistake!¡± I find Dave Sharpness¡¯s card and jab in the number, my fingers fumbling in agitation. ¡°How do you think Luke will react when he finds out you¡¯re having him trailed?¡± asks Danny conversationally. ¡°I¡¯d be quite pissed if it were me.¡± ¡°You are really not helping.¡± I glare at him. ¡°And thanks for mentioning private detectives!¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry!¡± Danny claps his hand over his mouth in mock apology. ¡°Because he would never have worked it out on his own.¡± I¡¯m through to voice mail, and I take a deep breath. ¡°Mr. Sharpness. It¡¯s Becky Brandon here. There seems to have been some confusion. I would like you to stop following my husband, Luke. I do not want any investigation. Please call off your operatives at once. Thank you.¡± I switch off the phone and take a gulp of Danny¡¯s champagne cocktail, breathing hard. ¡°There. Done.¡± KENNETH PRENDERGAST Prendergast de Witt Connell Financial Advisers Forward House 394 High Holborn London WC1V 7EX Mrs R Brandon 37 Maida Vale Mansions Maida Vale London NW6 0YF 20 November 2003 Dear Mrs. Brandon, Thank you for your letter. I have noted your new shareholding in the London Cappuccino Company. I would recommend you do not make any further share purchases simply because of ¡°fab shareholder perks¡± such as free coffee. You should be looking for solid, long-term growth prospects. Page 82 In answer to your other query, I am not aware of any jewelry companies which give away free diamonds to their shareholders. Yours sincerely, Kenneth Prendergast Family Investment Specialist FOURTEEN I JUST HOPE they got my message. Or the one I left last evening. Or the one I left this morning. I must have blocked Dave Sharpness¡¯s voice mail completely, telling him to stop the investigation. But until I speak to him myself, I can¡¯t be positive the message has got through. Which means the surveillance could still be on. As we leave the flat together the next morning to go to the pram center, all my senses are on high alert. I feel sure someone¡¯s watching us. But where? Hiding in the trees? Sitting in a parked car with a long lens trained on us? I edge down the steps of the building, my eyes darting from side to side. There¡¯s an electronic clicking sound to my left, and I instinctively shield my face with my hand ¡ª until I realize it¡¯s not a camera, it¡¯s someone opening their car. ¡°Are you all right, darling?¡± Luke is watching me, bemused. The postman comes by, and I shoot a suspicious glance at him. Is he really the postman? Oh, yes. He is. ¡°OK.¡± I hurry to Luke. ¡°Let¡¯s get in the car. Now.¡± We should have bought a car with blacked-out windows. I told Luke all along. And a built-in fridge. My mobile rings just as we reach the gates of our block, and I jump a mile. That timing is too coincidental. It¡¯ll be the private detective, telling me he¡¯s in the boot of the car. Or he¡¯s in the building opposite, with a sniper rifle aimed at Luke¡­. Stop it. I didn¡¯t hire an assassin. It¡¯s fine. Even so, as I get my phone out, my hands are trembling. ¡°Er¡­hello?¡± I say nervously. ¡°Hi, it¡¯s me!¡± comes Suze¡¯s breezy voice, with the clamor of children¡¯s voices in the background. ¡°Listen, if they have a twin Urban Baby cozy-toes in red trim, will you get it for me? I¡¯ll pay you back.¡± ¡°Oh. Er¡­of course.¡± I grab a pen and scribble it down. ¡°Anything else?¡± ¡°No, that¡¯s it. I¡¯d better go! Talk later!¡± I put my phone away, still feeling jumpy. We¡¯re being followed ¡ª I just know we are. ¡°So, where is this place?¡± Luke consults the leaflet and starts pressing buttons on his sat nav. The map pops up and he pulls a face. ¡°It¡¯s bloody miles away. Do we have to go here?¡± ¡°It¡¯s the best place in London! Look!¡± I read from the leaflet. ¡°You get to try all the top-quality prams on a variety of terrains and a consultant will help guide you through the maze.¡± ¡°The maze of pram-buying or a literal maze?¡± inquires Luke. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I admit, after searching through the leaflet. ¡°But anyway, it¡¯s got the widest choice and Suze said we should go there.¡± ¡°Fair enough.¡± Luke raises his eyebrows and does a U-turn. Then he frowns at the rearview mirror. ¡°That car looks familiar.¡± Shit. Trying to appear casual, I swivel my head to see. It¡¯s a brown Ford and a guy is driving it. A dark-haired, pockmarked, private detective kind of guy. Shit shit shit. ¡°Let¡¯s listen to the radio!¡± I say. I start tuning into different stations, turning the volume up, trying to distract him. ¡°And anyway, so what if it¡¯s familiar? There are lots of brown Fords in the world. Who knows how many? Probably¡­five million. No, ten¡­¡± ¡°Brown Ford?¡± Luke gives me a strange look. ¡°What?¡± I turn my head again. The brown Ford has disappeared. Where did it go? ¡°I meant that convertible BMW we passed,¡± Luke says, turning the radio down. ¡°It looked like Mel¡¯s husband¡¯s car.¡± ¡°Oh, right,¡± I say after a pause, and subside. Maybe I¡¯ll just keep my mouth shut for a bit. I hadn¡¯t quite realized it would take an hour to get to Pram City. It¡¯s a warehouse based right out in North London, and there¡¯s a special park-and-ride scheme where you get on a bus. I didn¡¯t realize that, either. But still. It¡¯ll be worth it when we have the most cool uber-pram in the world! As we descend the bus steps, I have a surreptitious scope around ¡ª but I can¡¯t see anyone who looks like a private investigator. It¡¯s mostly pregnant couples like us. Unless¡­maybe Dave Sharpness has hired another pregnant couple to trail us? No. I¡¯m getting paranoid. I have to stop obsessing about this. Anyway, would it be the worst thing in the world if Luke found out? At least I care about our marriage. In a way, he should be flattered I¡¯m having him followed. Page 83 Exactly. We head toward the vast doors along with all the other couples, and as we enter, I can¡¯t help feeling a little glow of pleasure. Here we are, choosing prams together. Just like I always imagined! ¡°So!¡± I beam up at Luke. ¡°What do you think? Where shall we start?¡± ¡°Jesus,¡± Luke says, looking around. It¡¯s a big domed building, with vicious air-conditioning and nursery rhymes playing over the sound system. Colorful ten-foot banners hanging from the rafters read STROLLERS, ALL-TERRAINS, TRAVEL SYSTEMS, TWINS AND MORE. ¡°What do we need?¡± Luke rubs his brow. ¡°A pram? A travel system? A buggy?¡± ¡°It depends.¡± I try to sound knowledgeable, but the truth is I¡¯m still foxed by this whole pram and pushchair business. Suze tried to explain the system to me, but it was just like going to press conferences when I was a financial journalist. I glazed over at the pros and cons of swiveling front wheels ¡ª and then when she finished I was too embarrassed to admit I hadn¡¯t taken in a word. ¡°I¡¯ve done some research,¡± I add, and reach in my bag for my Pram List, which I hand to Luke with pride. Over the last few weeks, every time I¡¯ve seen a cool pram or buggy, I¡¯ve written down its name ¡ª and it hasn¡¯t been easy. I had to chase one all the way down High Street Kensington. Luke is leafing through the pages in disbelief. ¡°Becky, there¡¯s about thirty prams here.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s the long list! We just need to whittle it down a bit.¡± ¡°May I help you?¡± We both look up to see a guy with a round head and close-cropped hair approaching us. He¡¯s wearing a short-sleeved shirt and a Pram City badge saying My Name Is Stuart, and he¡¯s propelling a purple buggy along with one expert hand. ¡°We need a pram,¡± says Luke. ¡°Ah.¡± Stuart¡¯s eyes drop to my stomach. ¡°Congratulations! Is this your first visit here?¡± ¡°First and only,¡± says Luke firmly. ¡°Not wishing to be rude, but we¡¯d like to get everything wrapped up in one visit, wouldn¡¯t we, Becky?¡± ¡°Absolutely!¡± I nod. ¡°Of course. Glenda? Take care of this, please? Back to Section D.¡± Stuart pushes the purple buggy across the shiny floor to a girl about ten yards away, then turns back to us. ¡°Now, what kind of a pram were you looking for?¡± ¡°We¡¯re not quite sure,¡± I say, glancing at Luke. ¡°I think we need some help.¡± ¡°Of course!¡± Stuart nods. ¡°Step this way.¡± He leads us into the center of the Travel Systems area, then stops, like a museum guide. ¡°Every couple is different,¡± he says in a singsong voice. ¡°Every baby is unique. So before we go any further, I¡¯d like to ask you a few questions about your lifestyle, the better to steer your choice.¡± He reaches for a small pad of paper which is attached to his belt by springy wire. ¡°Let¡¯s look at terrain. What will you be requiring of your vehicle? Pavement walking and shopping? Off-road hiking? Extreme mountaineering?¡± ¡°All of them,¡± I say, slightly mesmerized by his voice. ¡°All of them?¡± exclaims Luke. ¡°Becky, when do you ever go extreme mountaineering?¡± ¡°I might!¡± I retort. ¡°I might take it up as a hobby!¡± I have an image of myself lightly pushing a pram up the foothills of Everest while the baby goos happily up at me. ¡°I don¡¯t think we should rule anything out at this stage.¡± ¡°Uh-huh.¡± Stuart is scribbling some notes. ¡°Now, will you require the pram to fold down quickly and easily for car use? Will you want it to convert to a car seat? Will you be looking for something light and maneuverable or sturdy and secure?¡± I glance at Luke. He looks as flummoxed as I feel. Stuart relents. ¡°Let¡¯s look at some models. That¡¯ll get you started.¡± Half an hour later, my head is spinning. We¡¯ve looked at prams that turn into car seats, pushchairs that fold up with hydraulic action, buggies with bicycle wheels, prams with special-sprung German mattresses, and an amazing contraption that keeps the baby out of pollution and is ¡°ideal for shopping and lattes.¡± (I love that one.) We¡¯ve looked at foot muffs, raincovers, changing bags, and canopies. To be honest, I¡¯m ready for a latte now myself, but Luke is still totally engrossed. He¡¯s poring over the framework of a pushchair with the hugest, most rugged wheels I¡¯ve ever seen. It¡¯s upholstered in khaki camouflage and looks like a great big Action Man toy. ¡°So, it has an articulated chassis,¡± he¡¯s saying with interest. ¡°How does that affect the turning circle?¡± Page 84 For God¡¯s sake. It¡¯s not a car. ¡°You can¡¯t beat the turning circle on this model.¡± Stuart¡¯s eyes are gleaming as he demonstrates. ¡°The Warrior is the Humvee of off-roaders. You see the sprung axle?¡± ¡°The Warrior?¡± I echo, aghast. ¡°We¡¯re not getting a pram called the Warrior!¡± Both men ignore me. ¡°It¡¯s a great piece of engineering.¡± Luke takes hold of the handles. ¡°Feels good.¡± ¡°This is a man¡¯s pram. It¡¯s not a fashion pram.¡± Stuart glances with slight disdain at the Lulu Guinness printed stroller I¡¯m holding on to. ¡°We had an ex-SAS guy in here the other day, Mr. Brandon.¡± He lowers his voice. ¡°This is the pram he chose.¡± ¡°I like it a lot.¡± Luke¡¯s pushing it back and forth. ¡°Becky, I think we should get this.¡± ¡°OK.¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°That can be your one.¡± ¡°What do you mean, my one?¡± Luke stares at me. ¡°I want to get this one!¡± I say defiantly. ¡°It¡¯s got a limited edition Lulu Guinness print and built-in iPod holder. And look at the sun canopy. It¡¯s fab!¡± ¡°You cannot be serious.¡± Luke runs his eyes dismissively over it. ¡°It looks like a toy.¡± ¡°Well, your one looks like a tank! I¡¯m not pushing that down the street!¡± ¡°I would just point out,¡± interjects Stuart delicately, ¡°while applauding both your choices, that neither of these models has the car seat and lie-flat facilities that you were originally seeking.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I look at the Lulu Guinness stroller. ¡°Oh, right.¡± ¡°Might I suggest you regroup, have coffee, and work out your needs? It may be that you need more than one vehicle. One for off-roading, one for nipping around the shops.¡± That¡¯s a thought. Stuart hurries off toward another couple, and Luke and I head toward the caf¨¦. ¡°OK,¡± I say as we reach the tables. ¡°You go and get the coffees. I¡¯ll sit here and work out exactly what we need.¡± I pull out a chair, sit down, and get out a pen and my Pram List. On the back I write Pram Priorities and draw a grid. The only way to do this is to be totally rigorous and scientific. A few minutes later, Luke approaches with a tray of drinks. ¡°Get any further?¡± he asks, sitting down opposite me. ¡°Yes!¡± I look up, my face flushed from the effort. ¡°OK. I¡¯ve been working it out logically¡­and we need five prams.¡± ¡°Five?¡± Luke nearly drops his coffee. ¡°Becky, one small baby cannot possibly need five prams.¡± ¡°It does! Look.¡± I show him my grid. ¡°We need a travel system with a carry-cot and a car seat for when it¡¯s tiny.¡± I count off on my fingers. ¡°We need an off-road jogger for going on walks. We need that shopping-and-lattes one for the city. We need the whizzy folding-up one for the car. And we need the Lulu Guinness one.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because¡­it¡¯s cool,¡± I say defensively. ¡°And all the other yummy mummies will have one.¡± ¡°The other yummy mummies?¡± Luke gives me a blank look. Honestly. Doesn¡¯t he remember anything? ¡°In Vogue! I have to be the yummiest!¡± Stuart is passing the caf¨¦ area, and Luke beckons him over. ¡°Excuse me. My wife is now talking about buying five prams. Please, can you explain to her that this is totally unreasonable?¡± ¡°You¡¯d be surprised, sir,¡± says Stuart, giving me a confidential wink. ¡°We do see a lot of repeat custom. And if you wanted to get all the pram-buying wrapped up in the one trip, it might make sense¡­.¡± He trails off at Luke¡¯s stony expression and clears his throat. ¡°Why not try out a few models on our all-terrain stroller course? That¡¯ll give you a real idea.¡± The all-terrain stroller course is at the back of the store, and Stuart helps us take all our ¡°possibles¡± over to it. ¡°We at Pram City are very proud of our stroller course,¡± he says, effortlessly pushing five buggies along in a straight line. ¡°As you go around it, you¡¯ll find every surface that the pram may encounter in its lifetime, from the shiny marble of a shopping mall to the pebbly beach of a summer holiday to the stone steps of a cathedral¡­. Here we are!¡± Wow. I am quite impressed. The stroller course is about thirty meters long, like some kind of racetrack, and all the way round, people are pushing prams and calling out to each other. In the gravel section, one girl has got totally stuck with her pink umbrella buggy, and in the beach section, two toddlers are chucking sand at each other. Page 85 ¡°Cool!¡± I grab the shopping-and-lattes stroller and head for the start. ¡°Race you, Mr. Warrior.¡± ¡°You¡¯re on.¡± Luke takes hold of the enormous khaki handles, then frowns. ¡°How do I release the brake?¡± ¡°Ha! Loser!¡± I start dashing over the pavement section with my nippy stroller. A moment later I see Luke starting to push his monster along, and soon he¡¯s gaining on me. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡± I say over my shoulder, and pick up the pace. ¡°The Warrior is invincible,¡± Luke says in a film-trailer voice. ¡°The Warrior admits no defeat.¡± ¡°Can the Warrior do a twirl?¡± I retort. We¡¯re on the marble surface by now, and my stroller is amazing! I push it with one finger and it practically does a figure eight. ¡°You see? It¡¯s absolutely¡ª¡± I look up to see Luke already on the gravel. ¡°You missed your compulsory figures!¡± I call in outrage. ¡°Twenty-second penalty!¡± The Warrior is pretty cool on gravel, it has to be said. It just kind of crunches the stones into submission. Whereas my stroller is a bit¡­crap. ¡°Need any help there?¡± Luke inquires as he watches me pick my way across. ¡°Having trouble with your inferior pram?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t plan to take the baby to any gravel pits,¡± I retort kindly. I reach the grass and accidentally-on-purpose bump my pram into Luke¡¯s. ¡°Trouble with your steering?¡± He raises his eyebrows. ¡°Just testing your airbags,¡± I say airily. ¡°They don¡¯t seem to be working.¡± ¡°Very kind of you. Shall I test yours?¡± He bumps his pram into mine, and with a giggle I shove him back again. At the side fence I can see Stuart watching us in slight alarm. ¡°Any decisions yet?¡± he calls out. ¡°Oh yes,¡± Luke calls back, nodding. ¡°We want three Warriors.¡± ¡°Shut up!¡± I hit Luke with the back of my hand and he starts to laugh. ¡°Make that four¡ª¡± He breaks off as his mobile rings. ¡°Hang on a sec.¡± He takes it out and lifts it to his ear. ¡°Luke Brandon. Oh, hi.¡± He lets go of the pram and turns away. Maybe I¡¯ll have a go with the Warrior now. I take hold of the massive handles and give it an experimental push. ¡°You¡¯re kidding,¡± I hear Luke saying sharply. I wheel the Warrior round till I¡¯m facing him. His face is tight and pale, and he¡¯s listening with an intent frown to whoever¡¯s on the phone. Is everything OK? I mouth at him, but he immediately swivels away and takes several paces away from me. ¡°Right,¡± I can just hear him saying. ¡°We have to¡­think about this.¡± He¡¯s rumpling his hair as he walks along the stroller course, not even noticing the couple with the three-wheeler who have to dodge him. Feeling slightly anxious, I start following him with the Warrior. What¡¯s happened? Who¡¯s that on the phone? I bump the wheels down some steps, and at last I catch up with him at the sandy beach section. As I draw near I feel a nervous flip. He¡¯s standing still, clutching his phone, his face etched with tension. ¡°That¡¯s not an option,¡± he keeps saying in the same low voice. ¡°It¡¯s not an option.¡± All of a sudden he notices me and his whole face jolts. ¡°Luke¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m talking, Becky.¡± He sounds rattled. ¡°Could I have some privacy, please?¡± He strides off down the sand, and I gaze after him, feeling as though I¡¯ve been punched in the face. Privacy? From me? My legs are trembling as I watch him striding away. What went wrong? One minute we were pushing prams and laughing and teasing each other and now¡­ Suddenly I¡¯m aware of my own mobile ringing inside my bag. I have a sudden mad conviction it¡¯s Luke, apologizing ¡ª but I can see him on the other side of the stroller course, still talking. I pull out my phone and switch it on. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Mrs. Brandon?¡± comes a crackly voice. ¡°Dave Sharpness here.¡± Oh, for God¡¯s sake. Of all the times. ¡°At last!¡± I snap, taking out my worry on him. ¡°Listen, I canceled you! What are you doing, still following my husband?¡± ¡°Mrs. Brandon.¡± Dave Sharpness chuckles. ¡°If I had a penny for every woman who phones up to cancel the next day and then regrets it¡ª¡± ¡°But I did want you to cancel!¡± I feel like hitting the phone in frustration. ¡°My husband knows someone¡¯s been following him! He saw one of your men!¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Dave Sharpness sounds taken aback. ¡°Now, that should not have happened. I¡¯ll speak to the operative concerned¡ª¡± Page 86 ¡°Call them all off! Call everybody off right this minute before my marriage gets ruined! And don¡¯t phone me again!¡± The phone is getting more and more crackly. ¡°I¡¯m losing you, Mrs. Brandon,¡± I hear Dave Sharpness¡¯s voice faintly. ¡°My apologies. I¡¯m on the road to Liverpool.¡± ¡°I said, stop the investigation!¡± I say, as loudly and clearly as I dare. ¡°What about our findings? That¡¯s why I was ringing. Mrs. Brandon, I have a full report available for you¡­.¡± His voice disappears into a sea of static. ¡°Findings?¡± I stare at the phone, my heart suddenly thumping. ¡°What do you¡­Mr. Sharpness? Are you there?¡± ¡°¡­really think you should see the photographs¡­¡± The crackle suddenly switches to a continuous tone. He¡¯s gone. I¡¯m paralyzed, standing on the sand, one hand still clutching the Warrior. Photographs? He surely doesn¡¯t mean¡ª ¡°Becky.¡± Luke¡¯s voice startles me so much that I jump, flipping my phone into the air. He bends down to pick it up from the sand, and hands it back. I can¡¯t quite look at him as I take it with shaky hands and shove it in my pocket. Photographs of what? ¡°Becky, I have to go.¡± Luke sounds as strained as I feel. ¡°That was¡­Mel. Slight office emergency.¡± ¡°Fine.¡± I nod and start pushing the Warrior back to the beginning of the course. My eyes are fixed straight ahead. I feel numb. Photographs of what? ¡°Let¡¯s get the Lulu Guinness pram,¡± says Luke as we reach the start. ¡°I really don¡¯t mind.¡± ¡°No. Get the Warrior.¡± I swallow, trying to press back the sudden lump springing up in my throat. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡± All the fun and easyness has disappeared. I feel cold with apprehension. Dave Sharpness has got evidence of Luke doing¡­something. And I have no idea what. FIFTEEN I DON¡¯T BOTHER with the sunglasses this time. Nor do I bother smiling at the receptionist. I sit bolt upright on the same brown foam chair, shredding a tissue to bits, thinking, I can¡¯t believe it. I couldn¡¯t do anything over the weekend. I had to wait until Luke went off to work this morning. I made sure he¡¯d really gone (by looking out the window and then calling him twice in the car to make sure he hadn¡¯t turned round) and then plucked up the courage to ring Dave Sharpness¡¯s office. Even then, I practically did it in a whisper. I spoke to the receptionist, who refused to give me any details of the findings over the phone. So here I am, at eleven o¡¯clock in the morning, in West Ruislip again. The whole thing feels surreal. It was supposed to be canceled. They weren¡¯t supposed to find anything. ¡°Mrs. Brandon.¡± I look up, feeling like a patient at a doctor¡¯s office. There¡¯s Dave Sharpness, sounding more sepulchral than ever. ¡°Would you like to come through?¡± As he ushers me into the office, he looks so pitying, I can¡¯t bear it. Instantly I decide to put on a brave face. I¡¯ll pretend I¡¯m not bothered if Luke¡¯s having an affair. I was only wanting to know out of idle curiosity. In fact, I¡¯m glad he¡¯s having an affair, because I wanted a divorce all along. Yes. ¡°So you found something,¡± I say nonchalantly as I take a seat. ¡°Interesting.¡± I attempt a careless little smile. ¡°This is a difficult time for you, Mrs. Brandon.¡± Dave Sharpness leans heavily forward on his elbows. ¡°No it¡¯s not!¡± I say overbrightly. ¡°I really don¡¯t care. Actually, I¡¯ve got a boyfriend and we¡¯re going to run away together to Monaco, so I¡¯m absolutely fine about all of this.¡± Dave Sharpness doesn¡¯t look taken in. ¡°I think you do care.¡± His voice descends yet lower. ¡°I think you care very much.¡± His bloodshot eyes are so mournful, I can¡¯t hold out anymore. ¡°OK, I do care!¡± I sniff. ¡°Just tell me, OK? Has he been seeing her?¡± Dave Sharpness opens a manila folder and surveys the contents, shaking his head. ¡°This part of the job is never easy.¡± He sighs, shuffles the papers, then looks up. ¡°Mrs. Brandon, your husband has been leading quite the double life.¡± ¡°Double life?¡± I gape at him. ¡°I¡¯m afraid to say, he¡¯s not the man you thought he was.¡± How can Luke not be the man I thought he was? What¡¯s he talking about? ¡°What do you mean?¡± I say, almost aggressively. ¡°Last Wednesday, one of my operatives trailed your husband from his place of work. He checked into a hotel under a false name. He ordered cocktails for several¡­women. Of¡­a certain type. If you know what I mean, Mrs. Brandon.¡± Page 87 I¡¯m so gobsmacked, I can¡¯t speak. Luke? Women of a certain type? ¡°My highly skilled operative followed up his alias.¡± Dave Sharpness gives me an impressive look. ¡°He discovered that there has been trouble at that particular hotel in the past. There have been¡­regrettable incidents with women.¡± Dave Sharpness looks at his notes with a distasteful expression. ¡°All of which have been hushed up and paid off. He¡¯s clearly a powerful man, your husband. My operative further discovered several sexual harassment charges which were never pursued¡­a joint allegation of bullying against himself and a colleague, again hushed up¡­.¡± ¡°Stop it!¡± I cry, unable to listen anymore. ¡°You must have got your information wrong! You or your operative. My husband doesn¡¯t drink cocktails with women of a certain type! He would never bully anyone! I know him!¡± Dave Sharpness sighs. He leans back in his chair and rests his hands on his huge stomach. ¡°I feel for you, Mrs. Brandon, I really do. No wife wants to hear that her husband is less than perfect.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not saying he¡¯s perfect, but¡­¡± ¡°If you knew the number of deceivers out there.¡± He eyes me lugubriously. ¡°And the wife is always the last to know.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t understand!¡± I feel like slapping him. ¡°This can¡¯t be Luke. It just can¡¯t be!¡± ¡°It¡¯s hard to come to terms with the truth.¡± Dave Sharpness is inexorable. ¡°It takes great courage.¡± ¡°Stop patronizing me!¡± I say furiously. ¡°I do have courage. But I also know my husband isn¡¯t a bully. Give me those notes!¡± I grab the folder from him, and a pile of shiny black-and-white photographs falls out onto the desk. I stare at them in confusion. They¡¯re all pictures of Iain Wheeler. Iain outside Brandon Communications. Iain Wheeler walking up the steps of a hotel. ¡°This isn¡¯t my husband.¡± I look up. ¡°This is not my husband.¡± ¡°Now we¡¯re getting somewhere.¡± Dave Sharpness nods in satisfaction. ¡°Your husband has two sides to his personality, as it were¡ª¡± ¡°Shut up, you stupid man!¡± I shout, exasperated. ¡°It¡¯s Iain! You¡¯ve followed the wrong person!¡± ¡°What?¡± Dave Sharpness sits up. ¡°Literally the wrong person?¡± ¡°This is one of his clients. Iain Wheeler.¡± Dave Sharpness grabs one of the prints and stares at it for a few seconds. ¡°This isn¡¯t your husband?¡± ¡°No!¡± I suddenly spot a photo of Iain getting into his limo. I grab it and point at Luke, who is in the background on the other side of the car, barely in focus. ¡°That¡¯s Luke! That¡¯s my husband.¡± Dave Sharpness¡¯s breathing is getting heavier as he looks from Luke¡¯s blurry head to the photos of Iain, to his notes, and back to Luke. ¡°Lee! Get in here!¡± he shouts, suddenly sounding far less smooth-caring-professional and more pissed-off-South-London-geezer. A few moments later, the door opens and a skinny guy of about seventeen pokes his head round the door, holding a Game Boy. ¡°Er¡­yeah?¡± he says. This is the highly skilled operative? ¡°Lee, I¡¯ve had it with you.¡± Dave Sharpness bangs his hand furiously on the table. ¡°This is the second time you¡¯ve buggered up. You¡¯ve only followed the wrong bloody man. This isn¡¯t Luke Brandon.¡± He jabs at the pictures. ¡°This is Luke Brandon!¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Lee rubs his nose, looking unconcerned. ¡°Shit.¡± ¡°Yes, shit! Yes, I¡¯ve a good mind to fire your bloody arse.¡± Dave Sharpness¡¯s neck has turned bright pink. ¡°How d¡¯you get the wrong man?¡± ¡°Dunno!¡± says Lee defensively. ¡°I got his picture out of the paper.¡± He reaches in the folder and pulls out a clipping from the Times. I know this picture. It¡¯s a candid shot of Luke and Iain chatting at an Arcodas press conference. ¡°There, see?¡± says Lee. ¡°It says, ¡®Luke Brandon, right, confers with Iain Wheeler, left.¡¯¡± ¡°They got the caption the wrong way round!¡± I practically spit at him. ¡°There was an apology the next day! Didn¡¯t you check it!¡± Lee¡¯s eyes have already drifted back to his Game Boy. ¡°Answer the lady!¡± bellows Dave Sharpness. ¡°Lee, you¡¯re a waste of bloody space!¡± ¡°Look, Dad, it was a mistake, all right?¡± whines Lee. Dad? This is the last time I ever get a private detective off the Internet. ¡°Mrs. Brandon¡­¡± Dave Sharpness is obviously trying to calm himself. ¡°I can only apologize. We will of course restart the investigation at no extra charge to yourself, this time focusing on the correct personage¡ª¡± Page 88 ¡°No!¡± I cut him off. ¡°Just stop, OK? I¡¯ve had enough.¡± I¡¯m suddenly feeling shaky. How could I ever have hired someone to spy on Luke? What am I doing in this crappy place? Abruptly I stand up. ¡°I¡¯m going. Please don¡¯t contact me ever again.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Dave Sharpness hastily pushes his own chair back. ¡°Lee, get out of the way! If I can just give you the other findings, Mrs. Brandon¡­¡± ¡°Other findings?¡± I turn on him, incredulous. ¡°You really think I want to hear anything else you¡¯ve got to say?¡± ¡°There was the matter of the eyebrows?¡± Dave Sharpness coughs delicately. ¡°Oh. Oh, right.¡± I come to a halt. I¡¯d forgotten about that. ¡°It¡¯s all in here.¡± Dave Sharpness takes the opportunity to press the manila folder into my arms. ¡°Details of the therapist and the treatment, photographs, surveillance notes¡­¡± I want to throw the folder right back in his face and stalk out. Only¡­Jasmine does have really good eyebrows. ¡°I might have a look just at that bit,¡± I say at last, as stonily as I can. ¡°You¡¯ll also find a few other pieces of information in there,¡± Dave Sharpness says, hurrying after me to the door, ¡°that had been collated in regard to your husband¡¯s case. Your friend Susan Cleath-Stuart, for example. Now, she¡¯s a very rich young lady.¡± I feel sick. He¡¯s been checking out Suze? ¡°Apparently, her fortune has been estimated at¡ª¡± ¡°Shut up!¡± I wheel round savagely. ¡°I never want to see or hear from you again! And if any of your firm follows Luke or any of my friends, I¡¯m calling the police.¡± ¡°Absolutely,¡± says Dave Sharpness, nodding as though this is a brilliant idea which he came up with. ¡°Understood.¡± I totter to the end of the street and hail a taxi. It chugs off and I sit clinging to the handstrap, unable to relax until we¡¯re well out of West Ruislip. I can hardly bear to look at the manila folder sitting on my lap like a horrible guilty secret. Although now that I think about it, it¡¯s probably better that I brought it away. I¡¯m taking all this information and I¡¯m putting it straight in the shredder. And then I¡¯ll shred the shreds. I never want Luke to know what I did. I can¡¯t believe I even went down this road. Luke and I are married. We shouldn¡¯t spy on each other. It¡¯s practically in the marriage vows, ¡°To love, to cherish, and never hire a private detective in West Ruislip.¡± We should trust each other. We should believe each other. On impulse I take out my mobile and dial Luke¡¯s number. ¡°Hi, darling!¡± I say as soon as I get through. ¡°It¡¯s me.¡± ¡°Hi! Is everything¡ª¡± ¡°Everything¡¯s fine. I was just wondering.¡± I take a deep breath. ¡°That phone call you took the other day, at the pram shop. You seemed a bit upset. Is everything all right?¡± ¡°Becky, I¡¯m sorry about that.¡± He sounds truly remorseful. ¡°I really am. I¡­lost it for a moment. There¡¯s been a small problem here. But it¡¯ll work itself out, I¡¯m sure. Don¡¯t worry.¡± ¡°Right.¡± I exhale. I hadn¡¯t even realized I was holding my breath. It¡¯s work. That¡¯s all it is. Luke always has little problems and blips that need sorting out, and sometimes he gets stressed. That¡¯s what happens when you run an enormous company. ¡°I¡¯ll see you later, sweetheart. All set for the big night out?¡± It¡¯s the college reunion tonight. I¡¯d almost forgotten. ¡°Can¡¯t wait! Bye, Luke.¡± I put my phone away and take a few deep breaths. The main thing is, Luke has no idea I even went near a private detective. And he¡¯ll never find out. As we reach the familiar terrain of West London I open up the folder and start leafing through the photos and surveillance notes. I might as well find out about Jasmine¡¯s eyebrows before I get to shredding. I come across a blurry shot of Suze walking down High Street Kensington, and I close my eyes, feeling another wave of shame. I¡¯ve made some terrible mistakes in my life, but this is the worst by a million zillion miles. How could I have exposed my best friend to some seedy private detective? The next ten or so pictures are all of Venetia, and I pass over those quickly. I don¡¯t want to see her. Then there¡¯s a couple of Mel, Luke¡¯s assistant, coming out of the office¡­and then¡­Oh my God, is that Lulu? I stare at the print, bewildered. Then I remember mentioning her when I was making the list of women that Luke knows. I said that Luke didn¡¯t get on with her, and Dave Sharpness nodded knowingly and said, ¡°That¡¯s often the smokescreen.¡± Stupid man. He obviously got the idea that Luke and Lulu were secretly having a torrid affair or something¡ª Page 89 Hang on. I blink, and peer more carefully at the photograph. That can¡¯t be¡­ She can¡¯t be¡­ I clap a hand over my mouth, half shocked, half trying not to laugh. OK, I know hiring a private detective was a stupid thing to do. But this is so going to cheer Suze up. I¡¯m just stuffing all the prints and papers back into the folder when my mobile rings. ¡°Yes?¡± I say cautiously. ¡°Becky, it¡¯s Jasmine!¡± comes an animated voice. ¡°Are you coming in, or what?¡± I sit up in surprise. First of all, I didn¡¯t think anyone would even notice I was late. And second, since when did Jasmine ever raise her voice above a bored, monosyllabic drawl? ¡°I¡¯m on my way,¡± I say. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± ¡°It¡¯s your mate Danny Kovitz.¡± I feel a grip of alarm. Please don¡¯t say he¡¯s lost interest. Please don¡¯t say he¡¯s pulled out. ¡°Is there¡­a problem?¡± I can hardly bear to say it. ¡°No way! He¡¯s finished his design! He¡¯s here with it now. And it¡¯s amazing!¡± Finally, finally, something is going well! I arrive at The Look and head straight up to the boardroom on the sixth floor, which is where everybody has assembled to see the design. Jasmine meets me at the lift, her eyes sparkling. ¡°It¡¯s so cool!¡± she says. ¡°Apparently he was working all night to get it right. He says coming to Britain gave him exactly the final inspiration he needed. Everyone¡¯s really excited. It¡¯s going to be a sell-out! I¡¯ve been texting my friends and they all want one.¡± ¡°Great!¡± I say in astonishment. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m more surprised by, Danny finishing his design so quickly or Jasmine coming to life. ¡°In here¡­¡± She opens the heavy pale-wood door, and I can hear Danny¡¯s voice as we enter the boardroom. He¡¯s sitting on the long table, holding forth to Eric, Brianna, and all the marketing and PR personnel. ¡°It was just that final concept I needed to crack,¡± he¡¯s saying. ¡°But once I got it¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s so different!¡± Brianna is saying. ¡°It¡¯s so original.¡± ¡°Becky!¡± Danny suddenly notices me. ¡°Come and see the design! Carla, come over here.¡± He beckons her over ¡ª and I gasp. ¡°You what?¡± My voice shoots out in horror before I can stop it. Carla¡¯s wearing a T-shirt with gathered seams and Danny¡¯s trademark ragged, pleated sleeves. The background is pale blue, and on the front there¡¯s a little stylized sixties-type drawing of a red-headed doll. Underneath is the single printed phrase: SHE¡¯S a REDHAiRED BiTCH and I HATE HER I look at Danny and back at the T-shirt and back at Danny. ¡°You can¡¯t¡­.¡± My mouth isn¡¯t working properly. ¡°Danny, you can¡¯t¡­.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t it great?¡± says Jasmine. ¡°The magazines will love it.¡± A girl from PR is nodding enthusiastically. ¡°We¡¯ve already given InStyle a teeny sneak preview and it¡¯s going in their must-have column. And with the signature carrier bag too¡­Everyone is going to want one.¡± ¡°It¡¯s such a brilliant slogan!¡± says someone else. ¡°¡®She¡¯s a redhaired bitch and I hate her¡¯!¡± The whole room laughs. Except me. I¡¯m still in shock. What¡¯s Venetia going to say? What¡¯s Luke going to say? ¡°We¡¯re going to have it on bus stops, on posters, in magazines¡­.¡± the PR girl is saying. ¡°Danny had a fab idea, which is to run it as a maternity T-shirt too.¡± My head jerks up in horror. He what? ¡°Great idea, Danny!¡± I say, shooting daggers at him. ¡°I thought so.¡± He beams back innocently. ¡°Hey, you could wear one for the birth!¡± ¡°So, where did you get your inspiration, Mr. Kovitz?¡± asks an eager young marketing assistant. ¡°Who¡¯s the redhaired bitch?¡± The PR girl chimes in with an easy laugh. ¡°I hope she won¡¯t mind having a thousand Tshirts printed about her!¡± ¡°What do you think, Becky?¡± Danny wickedly raises his eyebrows at me. ¡°Does Becky know her?¡± says Brianna in surprise. ¡°Is this a real person?¡± Everyone suddenly looks interested. ¡°No!¡± I gabble in alarm. ¡°No! Not at all! She isn¡¯t¡­I mean¡­I was just¡­thinking. Why don¡¯t we broaden the design? We could have blond and brunette versions too.¡± ¡°Nice idea,¡± says Brianna. ¡°What do you think, Danny?¡± Page 90 For a heart-stopping moment I think he¡¯s going to say ¡°No, it has to be redhaired because Venetia is redhaired.¡± But thank God, he nods. ¡°I like it. Pick your own bitch.¡± He suddenly gives a huge, catlike yawn. ¡°Is there any more coffee?¡± Thank God. Disaster averted. I¡¯ll take a blond version home and Luke will never know about the original. ¡°We need this!¡± says Carla, pouring out the coffee. ¡°We were up all night. Danny finalized the design at around two A.M. Then we found an all-night silk screener in Hoxton, and they made up the prototypes for us.¡± ¡°Well, we appreciate your efforts,¡± says Eric ponderously. ¡°On behalf of The Look, I would like to thank you, Danny, and your team.¡± ¡°Gratitude accepted,¡± says Danny charmingly. ¡°And I would like to thank Becky Bloomwood, whose brainchild this collaboration was.¡± He starts applauding, and reluctantly I smile back. You can never stay cross with Danny for long. ¡°To Becky, my muse,¡± Danny adds, lifting the fresh cup of coffee that Carla has poured for him. ¡°And the little musette.¡± ¡°Thanks.¡± I lift my cup back toward him. ¡°To you, Danny.¡± ¡°You¡¯re his muse?¡± Jasmine breathes beside me. ¡°That¡¯s so cool!¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± I shrug nonchalantly. But inside I¡¯m pretty chuffed. I have always wanted to be a fashion designer¡¯s muse! It just shows. Whenever life seems total rubbish, it always turns around. Today has been approximately a million times better than I expected. Luke isn¡¯t leading a double life after all. Danny¡¯s design is going to be a sell-out. And I¡¯m a muse! By the end of the day I¡¯ve changed my clothes a few times, because fashion muses do like to experiment with their looks. I finally decide on a pink chiffon empire-line dress which I can just squeeze over my bump, with one of Danny¡¯s prototype Tshirts layered on top, together with a green velvet coat and a black feather hat. I must start wearing more hats if I¡¯m going to be a muse. And brooches. At five thirty Danny appears at the entrance to personal shopping and I look up in surprise. ¡°Are you still here? Where¡¯ve you been?¡± ¡°Oh¡­just hanging out in menswear,¡± he says casually. ¡°That guy Tristan who works there¡­he¡¯s pretty cute, huh?¡± ¡°Tristan¡¯s not gay.¡± I give Danny a look. ¡°Yet,¡± Danny says, and picks up a pink evening dress from our Cruisewear department. ¡°This is gross. Becky, you should not be stocking this dress.¡± He¡¯s totally hyper at the moment, the way he always gets when he¡¯s finished a design. I remember this from New York. ¡°Where are all your ¡®people¡¯?¡± I ask, rolling my eyes. But Danny doesn¡¯t even get the irony. ¡°Drawing up contracts,¡± he says vaguely. ¡°And Stan took the car to go sightseeing. He¡¯s never been to London before. Hey, shall we have a drink?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got to go home.¡± I glance reluctantly at my watch. ¡°I have this reunion thing tonight.¡± ¡°Just a quick drink?¡± Danny wheedles. ¡°I¡¯ve barely seen you. Hey, what¡¯s with the hat?¡± ¡°Do you like it?¡± I touch it, a little self-conscious. ¡°I just felt like feathers.¡± ¡°Feathers.¡± Danny¡¯s surveying me with an interested frown. ¡°Great idea.¡± ¡°Really?¡± I glow with pride. Maybe he¡¯ll base his whole new collection on feathers, and it¡¯ll be my idea! ¡°Hey, if you want to draw a little sketch of me or anything¡­¡± I say casually, but Danny isn¡¯t listening. He¡¯s walking around me, an interested frown on his face. ¡°You should wear a feather boa,¡± he says suddenly. ¡°Like, an oversize one. Like¡­huge.¡± An oversize feather boa. That¡¯s so brilliant. It could be the next big thing! It could be the new Fendi baguette! ¡°There are feather boas in accessories!¡± I say. ¡°Come on!¡± I grab my bag and zip it up, first making sure the manila folder is safely in there. I¡¯m going to shred it as soon as I get home. When Luke isn¡¯t looking. We head down the escalators to the ground floor, where the accessories department is located. ¡°We¡¯re closing¡­.¡± begins Jane, the accessories manager, but then she sees it¡¯s us. ¡°Sorry,¡± I say breathlessly as Danny heads to a stand displaying feather boas and scarves. ¡°We won¡¯t be long. It¡¯s just we¡¯re having a key fashion moment here¡­.¡± ¡°There,¡± says Danny, garlanding me with colorful feather boas. ¡°Like, the biggest feather boa you ever saw.¡± He¡¯s tying eight boas together into a massive sausage-shaped one. ¡°This is a great look.¡± Page 91 I feel a frisson as he drapes the boa round me. We¡¯re making fashion history, right here! We¡¯re setting a whole new trend! Next year everyone will be wearing huge Danny Kovitz boas. Celebrities will wear them to the Oscars, high street shops will rip them off¡­. ¡°The Giant Boa,¡± Danny says as he ties back a stray feathery strand. ¡°The Giant. It¡¯s fabulous. Take a look!¡± He swivels me round to face the mirror, and I gasp. ¡°Er¡­wow!¡± ¡°Great, isn¡¯t it?¡± He beams at me. To be absolutely truthful, I gasped because I look so stupid. You can hardly see my head for feathers. I look like an enormous, pregnant feather duster. But I mustn¡¯t be narrow-minded. This is fashion. People probably thought skinny jeans looked ridiculous when they first saw them. ¡°Amazing,¡± I breathe, trying to get the feathers out of my mouth. ¡°You¡¯re a genius, Danny.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s go and have that drink.¡± Danny is flushed with animation. ¡°I¡¯m in the mood for martinis.¡± ¡°Can you put these boas on my account?¡± I say to Jane. ¡°There¡¯s eight of them. Thanks!¡± We head out of the shop on a total high, and I lead Danny round the corner into Portman Square. The street lamps are on, and some people in black tie are coming out of the Templeton Hotel. They eye me weirdly as we pass and I hear a couple of giggles, but I just hold my head higher. If you¡¯re going to be at the cutting edge of fashion, you¡¯re going to get a few strange looks. ¡°Shall we go to the bar here?¡± I suggest, coming to a halt. ¡°It¡¯s a bit dull, but it¡¯s right here.¡± ¡°As long as they can mix a drink¡­¡± Danny pushes open the heavy glass doors and ushers me in. The Templeton Bar is a very beige bar: beige carpet, plushy chairs and waiters in beige uniforms. It¡¯s crowded with business types, but I can see some space by the piano. ¡°Let¡¯s nab that table over there,¡± I say to Danny ¡ª and then I stop dead. It¡¯s Venetia. Sitting in the corner a few yards away, her hair glowing under the lights, with a suited guy and another smart woman. I don¡¯t recognize either of them. ¡°What?¡± Danny peers at me. ¡°Is something wrong?¡± ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡± I swallow and jerk my head discreetly toward her. Danny follows my gaze and gasps theatrically in delight. ¡°Is that Cruella de Venetia?¡± ¡°Shut up!¡± I squeak. But it¡¯s too late: Venetia¡¯s turned. She¡¯s seen us. She¡¯s getting up and coming across, an impossibly elegant figure in a black trouser suit and heels, her hair as immaculate as ever, a wineglass in her hand. It¡¯s fine, I tell myself. Calm down. I don¡¯t know why my heart is pounding and my fingers are sweaty. Oh. Well¡­maybe because in my bag is a folder containing ten long-lens pictures of Venetia. But she doesn¡¯t know that, does she? ¡°Becky!¡± She smiles and kisses me on both cheeks. ¡°My favorite client. How are you? Only four weeks to go now, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right. So¡­um¡­how are you, Venetia?¡± My voice is jerky and my face has turned red ¡ª but other than that I think I¡¯m acting quite naturally. ¡°This is my friend, Danny Kovitz.¡± ¡°Danny Kovitz.¡± Her eyes light up in recognition. ¡°It¡¯s an honor. I bought one of your pieces in Milan recently. In Corso Como. A beaded jacket?¡± ¡°I know the one!¡± says Danny eagerly. ¡°I¡¯ll bet you look fabulous in it.¡± Why¡¯s he being nice to her? He¡¯s supposed to be on my side. ¡°Did you buy the pants?¡± he¡¯s saying now. ¡°Because we did them in two styles, a capri and a boot cut. You¡¯d look great in the capri pants.¡± ¡°No, I just bought the jacket.¡± She smiles at him, then glances at me. ¡°Becky, you seem hot in all those¡­feathers. Are you OK?¡± ¡°I¡¯m¡­fine!¡± I blow a couple of feathers off my lipstick. ¡°This is Danny¡¯s new fashion concept.¡± ¡°Right.¡± Venetia gives my giant feather boa a dubious look. ¡°Only, you know, it¡¯s not healthy for you to overheat during pregnancy.¡± Typical. Bossing me about again. Telling me fashion¡¯s unhealthy. But the truth is, I am starting to sweat in all these layers, so reluctantly I unpeel the boa and take off my coat. There¡¯s a weird silence. For a moment I¡¯m not quite sure why Venetia is staring at my chest. Then my stomach plunges as I realize I¡¯m wearing Danny¡¯s T-shirt. I glance down, and there it is, clear as day. Page 92 SHE¡¯S a REDHAiRED BiTCH and I HATE HER Shit. ¡°Actually, I¡¯m quite cold!¡± I clamp the boa round my neck again, trying desperately to cover up the words. ¡°Brrrrr! It¡¯s freezing in here. Isn¡¯t it freezing, for the time of year?¡± ¡°What does that say?¡± Venetia says in a peculiar voice. ¡°On your T-shirt.¡± ¡°It¡¯s nothing,¡± I say, flustered. ¡°Nothing! It¡¯s just a¡­joke! I mean, obviously it¡¯s not you. It¡¯s another redhaired bitch. Er¡­woman. Person.¡± This is not going well. ¡°Good work, Becky,¡± says Danny in my ear. ¡°Tactful.¡± Venetia is inhaling deeply, as though trying to control herself. She looks pretty annoyed, now I come to notice it. ¡°Becky,¡± she says at last. ¡°Might we have a little talk?¡± ¡°Talk?¡± I echo nervously. ¡°Yes, talk. The two of us. Speaking to each other alone. If you wouldn¡¯t mind?¡± She glances at Danny. ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll get us some drinks.¡± He disappears off to the bar and I feel a quailing inside as I turn to face Venetia. There¡¯s a frown line between her eyes and she¡¯s tapping her fingers against the stem of her glass. She looks like a young, glamorous headmistress who¡¯s about to tell me I¡¯ve let down the whole school. ¡°So!¡± I muster a bright tone. ¡°How are you?¡± She can¡¯t read your mind, I¡¯m telling myself feverishly. She doesn¡¯t know you had her trailed. She can¡¯t prove the T-shirt is about her. Just act innocent. ¡°Look, Becky.¡± Venetia drains her glass in one gulp. ¡°Let¡¯s cut the crap.¡± I stare at her in shock. Did she just say ¡°crap¡±? ¡°We were trying to spare you any unpleasantness.¡± Venetia¡¯s frown deepens. ¡°We wanted to be as¡­I don¡¯t know¡­as amicable as possible. But if this is the attitude you¡¯re going to take¡­¡± She gestures at the T-shirt. I¡¯m missing something here. In fact, I¡¯m missing everything. ¡°What do you mean, ¡®we¡¯?¡± I say. Venetia gazes at me as though suspecting a trick. Then, very slowly, her expression changes. She exhales and rubs her brow. ¡°Oh God,¡± she says, almost as though to herself. I feel a thud of foreboding deep inside. A kind of hot nausea is slowly rising through me. She can¡¯t mean what I¡ª She can¡¯t. The noise and chatter of the bar has dwindled to a rushing in my ears. I swallow several times, trying to keep a grip on myself. I know I thought something might be going on. I know I talked about it with Suze and Jess and Danny. But all of a sudden, standing here now, I realize I didn¡¯t ever really think it was true. Not really. Not really. ¡°What are you saying?¡± I can¡¯t quite control my voice. ¡°Exactly.¡± A waiter is passing with a tray of drinks, and Venetia puts out a hand to stop him. ¡°Vodka tonic on the rocks, please,¡± she says. ¡°Straightaway. Anything for you, Becky?¡± ¡°Just¡­tell me.¡± My eyes burn into hers. ¡°Tell me what you¡¯re talking about.¡± The waiter moves away and Venetia thrusts a hand through her hair. She looks a little ruffled by my reaction. ¡°Becky¡­this was always going to be difficult. You should know, Luke feels terrible about what¡¯s been going on. He really cares about you. He¡¯ll be livid that I¡¯ve spoken to you, even.¡± For a few moments I can¡¯t reply. I¡¯m just staring at her, my whole body tensed up. I feel like I¡¯ve swung into some parallel universe. ¡°What are you saying?¡± I repeat huskily. ¡°He really doesn¡¯t want to hurt you.¡± Venetia leans closer, and I get a sickening waft of Allure. ¡°As he keeps saying¡­he made a mistake. Pure and simple. He married the wrong person. But that¡¯s not your fault.¡± Something starts stabbing at my chest. For a moment I¡¯m not sure I can speak, for shock. ¡°Luke didn¡¯t marry the wrong person,¡± I manage at last. ¡°He married the right person. He loves me, OK? He loves me.¡± ¡°You met right after he split up from Sacha, didn¡¯t you?¡± Venetia nods, even though I haven¡¯t replied. ¡°He told me all about it. You were a refreshing change, Becky. You make him laugh. But you¡¯re hardly on the same level. You don¡¯t really understand what he¡¯s about.¡± ¡°I do.¡± My throat isn¡¯t working properly. ¡°I totally understand Luke! We went round the world on our honeymoon¡ª¡± ¡°Becky, I¡¯ve known Luke since he was nineteen.¡± She cuts across me, invincible, inexorable. ¡°I know him. What we had at Cambridge was powerful. It was intoxicating. He was my first real love. I was his. We were like Odysseus and Penelope. When we saw each other again in my consulting room¡­¡± She breaks off. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. But we both knew, instantly. It was just a matter of when and where.¡± Page 93 My legs seem to have turned to dust. My face is numb. I¡¯m clutching my stupid feathers, trying to find a pithy, witty¡­something. But my head feels like a heavy lump of flannel. I have a horrible feeling there are tears on my cheeks. ¡°It¡¯s been appalling timing.¡± Venetia takes her drink from the waiter. ¡°Luke didn¡¯t want to say anything until after the baby came. But I think you deserve to know the truth.¡± ¡°We went looking at prams together yesterday.¡± My voice comes out thick and rushed. ¡°How come he went to look at prams, then?¡± ¡°Oh, he¡¯s excited about the baby!¡± says Venetia in surprise. ¡°He wants to see his child as much as possible after¡­¡± She pauses delicately. ¡°He wants the whole thing to be amicable. But obviously that depends on you.¡± I can¡¯t listen to her sweet, poisonous voice anymore. I have to get away. ¡°You¡¯re wrong, Venetia,¡± I say, struggling clumsily into my coat. ¡°You¡¯re deluded. Luke and I have a strong, loving marriage! We laugh, and we talk, and we have sex¡­.¡± Venetia just looks at me with infinite pity. ¡°Becky, Luke¡¯s just playing along to keep you happy. You don¡¯t have a marriage. Not anymore.¡± I don¡¯t wait to say good-bye to Danny. I head straight out of the bar on stumbling legs and hail a taxi. All the way home, Venetia¡¯s words are going round and round in my brain, until I want to throw up. It can¡¯t be true, I keep telling myself. It can¡¯t be. Of course it can, a small voice replies. It¡¯s what you suspected all along. I let myself into the flat and immediately hear Luke moving around in the kitchen. ¡°Hi!¡± he calls out. My throat¡¯s too tight to answer. I feel paralyzed. At last Luke pops his head round the door. He¡¯s already in dress trousers and a crisp Armani dress shirt. His bow tie is loose around his neck, ready for me to tie it like I always do. I stare at him wordlessly. Are you leaving me for Venetia? Is our whole marriage a sham? ¡°Hi, darling.¡± He takes a sip of wine. I feel like I¡¯m standing on a cliff edge. The moment I speak, it will all be over. ¡°Becky? Sweetheart?¡± Luke takes a few steps toward me, looking puzzled. ¡°Are you OK?¡± He peers curiously at the feathers. I can¡¯t do it. I can¡¯t ask him. I¡¯m too frightened of what I¡¯ll hear. ¡°I¡¯ll go and get ready,¡± I whisper, unable to meet his eye. ¡°We need to leave soon.¡± I head to the bedroom and strip off, bundling Danny¡¯s T-shirt into the bottom of the wardrobe where Luke will never look. Then I take a quick shower, hoping it¡¯ll make me feel better. But it doesn¡¯t. As I catch sight of myself in the mirror, wrapped in a towel, I look scared and pale. Come on, Becky. Chin up. Think glam. Think Catherine Zeta-Jones. I get out my slinky new midnight-blue dress and slip it on, thinking this at least will cheer me up. But somehow the dress doesn¡¯t look as good as it did before. It¡¯s not clingy, it¡¯s puckering. I haul at the zipper but it won¡¯t go up. It¡¯s too small. My perfect dress is too small. I must have grown some more. My bump, or my thighs, or somewhere. My whole body¡¯s suddenly got huge. I can feel my chin wobbling, but desperately clamp my lips shut. I am not going to cry. I wrench off the dress as best I can and head to the wardrobe to find something else. And then I glimpse myself in the mirror, and freeze. I¡¯m waddling. I¡¯m a white, fat, waddling¡­monstrosity. I sit down on the bed, feeling dizzy. My head is pounding and there are spots before my eyes. No wonder he chose Venetia. ¡°Becky, are you OK?¡± Luke is at the door, surveying me in alarm. I hadn¡¯t even noticed him. ¡°I¡­¡± Tears are blocking my throat. ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡± ¡°You don¡¯t look well. Why don¡¯t you lie down? I¡¯ll bring you some water.¡± As I watch him go, Venetia¡¯s voice is in my head like a coiled snake. He¡¯s playing along to keep you happy. ¡°Here we are.¡± Luke¡¯s voice makes me jump. He hands me a glass of water and two chocolate biscuits. ¡°I think you should rest for a while.¡± I take the glass without drinking. Suddenly everything feels like acting. He¡¯s acting. I¡¯m acting. ¡°What about the reunion?¡± I say at last. ¡°We need to go soon.¡± ¡°We can be late. Or we can miss it. Darling, have some water, lie down¡­.¡± Reluctantly I take a sip of water, then put my head on the pillow. Luke tucks the duvet over me and quietly leaves the room. Page 94 I don¡¯t know how long I lie there for. It feels like about thirty seconds. Or six hours. Afterward I work out it was about twenty minutes. And then I hear the voices. His voice. And her voice. Approaching down the corridor. ¡°¡­hope you don¡¯t mind¡­¡± ¡°No, absolutely. Luke, you did the right thing to call. So, how¡¯s the patient?¡± I open my eyes, and it¡¯s a nightmare come true. There, looming in front of me, is Venetia. She¡¯s changed into a full-length strapless black taffeta ball gown with a swirly skirt. Her hair is pinned up in a chignon, and diamonds are flashing at her ears. She looks like a princess. ¡°Luke says you¡¯re not feeling well, Becky?¡± Her smile is syrupy sweet. ¡°Let¡¯s have a look.¡± ¡°What are you doing here?¡± I spit out. ¡°Luke called me. He was worried!¡± Venetia puts a hand on my head and I flinch. ¡°Let me see if you¡¯ve got a temperature.¡± She sits on the bed with a rustle of taffeta and opens a little medical case. ¡°Luke, I don¡¯t want her here!¡± With no warning, tears are spilling from my eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not ill!¡± ¡°Open.¡± Venetia is advancing a thermometer toward my mouth. ¡°No!¡± I turn my head away like a baby refusing its porridge. ¡°Come on, Becky,¡± Venetia says in cajoling tones. ¡°I just want to take your temperature¡­.¡± ¡°Becky.¡± Luke takes my hand. ¡°Come on. We can¡¯t take any risks.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not ill¡ª¡± My words are stifled as Venetia jams the thermometer in my mouth and stands up. ¡°I really don¡¯t think she should come tonight,¡± she says in a low voice, drawing Luke aside. ¡°Can you persuade her to stay here and rest?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Luke nods. ¡°Please send our apologies.¡± ¡°You¡¯re staying behind too?¡± Venetia frowns. ¡°Luke, I really think¡­¡± She beckons Luke out of the room and I can hear low murmurings coming from the corridor. A few moments later Luke appears around the door again, holding a jug of water. Someone¡¯s tied his bow tie up, I suddenly notice. I want to burst into tears. ¡°Becky. Sweetheart, Venetia thinks you should take it easy.¡± I stare at him silently, the thermometer still in my mouth. ¡°I¡¯ll stay with you, of course. If you want me to.¡± He hesitates awkwardly. ¡°But¡­if you didn¡¯t mind me popping out just for half an hour, there are a lot of people coming to this reunion I¡¯d like to see.¡± My throat is thickening. Fresh tears are springing to my eyes. I can see it all plainly now. He wants to go to the party with Venetia. They¡¯ve probably engineered this whole thing. What am I going to do, beg him not to? I¡¯ve got more pride than that. ¡°Fine,¡± I mumble, turning my head away so he can¡¯t see my tears. ¡°Go.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Fine.¡± I take the thermometer out of my mouth. ¡°Go.¡± There¡¯s a rustle as Venetia comes into the room again. ¡°Let¡¯s have a look.¡± She studies the thermometer with a small frown. ¡°Yes, you¡¯re slightly feverish. Let¡¯s give you some paracetamol¡­.¡± She hands me two tablets and I gulp them down with the water which Luke brought in. ¡°You¡¯re sure you¡¯ll be OK?¡± he says, watching me anxiously. ¡°Yes. Enjoy yourself.¡± I pull the duvet over my head and feel my tears drenching the pillow. ¡°Bye, sweetheart.¡± I can feel Luke patting the duvet. ¡°Get some rest.¡± There¡¯s some muffled talking, and then in the distance I hear the door slam. That¡¯s it. They¡¯ve gone. It¡¯s about half an hour before I even move. I push back the duvet and wipe my wet eyes. I get out of bed, stagger into the bathroom, and look at myself. I¡¯m a fright. My eyes are red and puffy. My cheeks are tear-stained. My hair is all over the place. I splash my face with water and sit down on the edge of the bathtub. What am I going to do? I can¡¯t just stay here all night, wondering and worrying and imagining the worst. I¡¯d rather just catch them. I¡¯d rather just see it for my own eyes. I¡¯ll go there. The thought hits me like a bullet. I¡¯ll go to the reunion right now, this minute. What¡¯s to stop me? I¡¯m not ill. I¡¯m fine. I head back into the bedroom with a fresh determination. I fling open my wardrobe doors and pull out a black chiffon maternity kaftan that I bought in the summer and never wore because it felt too tentlike. OK. Accessories. A few long, glittery necklaces¡­a pair of sparkly heels¡­diamond earrings¡­I wrench open my makeup case and apply as much as I can, as quickly as I can. Page 95 I take a step back and look at myself head to foot in the mirror. I look¡­fine. Not exactly my most polished outfit ever, but fine. Adrenaline is beating through me as I grab an evening bag and stuff my keys, mobile, and purse into it. I wrap a shawl around myself and head out the front door, my chin jutting with resolve. I¡¯ll show them. Or I¡¯ll catch them. Or¡­something. I¡¯m not some helpless victim who¡¯s tamely going to lie in bed while her husband¡¯s with another woman. I manage to catch a cab straight outside our building, and as it zooms off I sit back and practice my confrontation lines. I need to hold my head high and be sarcastic yet noble. And not burst into tears or hit Venetia. Well, maybe I could hit Venetia. A ringing slap on her cheek, after I¡¯ve laid into Luke. ¡°You¡¯re still married, by the way,¡± I rehearse under my breath. ¡°Forget something, Luke? Like your wife?¡± We¡¯re getting near now, and I feel light-headed with nerves¡­but I don¡¯t care. I¡¯m still going to do it. I¡¯m going to be strong. As the taxi draws up, I hand a wodge of crumpled money to the driver and get out. It¡¯s started to rain, and a cold breeze is cutting right through my chiffon kaftan. I need to get inside. I totter over the open square toward the grand stone entrance of the Guildhall and through the heavy oak doors. Inside, the reception area is full of pale blue helium balloons in bunches, and banners reading CAMBRIDGE REUNION, and a huge pin board covered in old photographs of students. In front of me a group of four men are slapping each other on the back and exclaiming things like ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re still alive, you bastard!¡± As I hesitate, wondering where to go, a girl in a red ball gown sitting behind a cloth-draped table smiles up at me. ¡°Hello! Do you have your invitation?¡± ¡°My husband has it.¡± I try to sound calm, like any normal guest. ¡°He arrived earlier than me. Luke Brandon?¡± The girl runs a finger down her list, then stops. ¡°Of course!¡± She smiles at me. ¡°Do go in, Mrs. Brandon.¡± I follow the group of bantering guys into the great hall and accept a glass of champagne on autopilot. I¡¯ve never been here before and I didn¡¯t realize how huge it was. There are massive stained-glass windows and ancient stone statues, and an orchestra is playing in the gallery, amplified over the roar of chatter. People in evening dress are milling and chatting and collecting food from a buffet, and some are even dancing old-fashioned waltzes, like something out of a film. I look around, trying to spot Luke or Venetia, but the room is so busy with women in beautiful dresses, and men in black tie, and even a few particularly dashing men in tails¡­. And then I see them. Dancing together. Luke was right, he does waltz as well as Fred Astaire. He¡¯s skimming Venetia around the floor like an expert. Her skirt is twirling, and her head is thrown back as she smiles up at Luke. They¡¯re perfectly in time with each other. The most glamorous couple in the room. I¡¯m rooted to the spot as I watch them, my kaftan clinging damply to my shins. All the sarcastic, feisty phrases I prepared have shriveled on my lips. I¡¯m not sure I can breathe, let alone speak. ¡°Are you all right?¡± A waiter is addressing me, but his voice seems to be coming from miles away and his face is out of focus. I never once waltzed with Luke. And now it¡¯s too late. ¡°She¡¯s falling!¡± I can feel hands grabbing at me as my legs give way beneath me. My arm bashes against something and there¡¯s a ringing in my ears and the sound of a woman shouting ¡°Get some water! There¡¯s a pregnant woman here!¡± And then everything goes dark. SIXTEEN I THOUGHT MARRIAGE was forever. I really did. I thought Luke and I would grow old and gray together. Or at least old. (I¡¯m not intending to go gray, ever. Or wear those gross dresses with elastic waistbands.) But we¡¯re not going to grow old together. We¡¯re not going to sit on benches together, or watch our grandchildren play. I¡¯m not even going to make it past thirty with him. Our marriage has failed. Every time I try to speak I think I¡¯ll cry, so I¡¯m not really speaking. Luckily there¡¯s no one here to speak to. I¡¯m in a private room at the Cavendish Hospital, which is where they brought me last night. If you want attention at a hospital, just arrive with a celebrity doctor in black tie. I¡¯ve never seen so many nurses running around. First they thought I might be in labor, and then they thought I might have preeclampsia, but in the end they decided I was just a bit overtired and dehydrated. So they put me in this bed, with a saline drip. I should be going home today, after I¡¯ve been checked out. Page 96 Luke stayed with me all night too. But I couldn¡¯t bring myself to talk to him. So I pretended I was asleep, even this morning when he quietly said, ¡°Becky? Are you awake?¡± Now he¡¯s gone off to take a shower and I¡¯ve opened my eyes. It¡¯s a really nice room, with soft green walls and even a little sofa. But who cares, when my life is over? What does anything matter anymore? I know two out of three marriages fail, or whatever it is. But I honestly thought¡­ I thought we were¡­ Roughly, I brush a tear away. I¡¯m not going to cry. ¡°Hello?¡± The door opens and a nurse pushes in a trolley. ¡°Breakfast?¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± I say, my voice croaky, and I sit up as she plumps my pillows around me. I take a sip of tea and eat a piece of toast, just so the baby has something to keep it going. Then I check my reflection in my compact mirror. God, I look like crap. I¡¯ve still got on the remnants of last night¡¯s makeup, and my hair has frizzed from the rain. And the so-called ¡°hydrating¡± drip has done nothing for my skin. I look like a reject. I gaze at myself, feeling bitter. It¡¯s what happens to everyone. You get married and you think everything¡¯s great, but all the time your husband was having an affair and then he leaves you for another woman with red swishy hair. I should have seen it coming. I never should have relaxed. I gave that man the best years of my life, and now I¡¯m tossed aside for a newer model. Well, OK, I gave him a year and a half of my life. And she¡¯s older than me. But still. There¡¯s another movement at the door and I stiffen. A moment later it opens and Luke cautiously makes his way in. There are faint shadows beneath his eyes, I notice, and he¡¯s cut himself shaving. Good. I¡¯m glad he did. ¡°You¡¯re awake!¡± he says. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± I nod, clamping my lips together. I¡¯m not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me upset. I¡¯m going to keep my dignity, even if it means I can only talk in monosyllables. ¡°You look better.¡± He sits down on the bed. ¡°I was worried about you.¡± Again I hear Venetia¡¯s cool, assured voice: Luke¡¯s just playing along to keep you happy. I look up and meet his gaze, willing him to give himself away, searching for some chink in his fa?ade. But he¡¯s putting on the best act I¡¯ve ever seen. A concerned, loving husband at his wife¡¯s bedside. I¡¯ve always known Luke was good at PR. It¡¯s his job. It¡¯s made him a millionaire. But I never realized he could be this good. I never knew he could be this¡­double-faced. ¡°Becky?¡± Now he¡¯s searching my face. ¡°Is everything OK?¡± ¡°No. It¡¯s not.¡± There¡¯s silence as I summon up all my strength. ¡°Luke¡­I know.¡± ¡°You know?¡± Luke¡¯s tone is easy but at once there¡¯s a guarded look in his eyes. ¡°Know what?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t pretend, OK?¡± I swallow hard. ¡°Venetia told me. She told me what¡¯s been going on.¡± ¡°She told you?¡± Luke gets to his feet, his face aghast. ¡°She had no right¡ª¡± He breaks off and turns away. And I feel a sickening thud deep inside me. Everything is suddenly hurting. My head, my eyes, my limbs. I hadn¡¯t realized how hard I was clinging to a last shred of hope. That somehow Luke would sweep me up in his arms, explain everything away, and tell me he loved me. But the shred¡¯s melted away. It¡¯s all over. ¡°Maybe she thought I ought to know.¡± Somehow I muster tones of cutting sarcasm. ¡°Maybe she thought I¡¯d be interested!¡± ¡°Becky¡­I was trying to protect you.¡± Luke turns, and he looks genuinely miserable. ¡°The baby. Your blood pressure.¡± ¡°So, when were you planning to tell me?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Luke exhales, pacing to the window and back again. ¡°After the baby. I was going to see how things¡­played out.¡± ¡°I see.¡± Suddenly I can¡¯t do this anymore. I can¡¯t be dignified and grown-up. I want to yell and scream at him. I want to burst into sobs and throw things. ¡°Luke, please¡­just go.¡± My voice is barely above a whisper. ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about this. I¡¯m tired.¡± ¡°Right.¡± He doesn¡¯t move an inch. ¡°Becky¡­¡± ¡°What?¡± Luke rubs his face hard, as though trying to scrub away his problems. ¡°I¡¯m supposed to be going to Geneva. The De Savatier Investment Fund launch. It could not have come at a worst time. I can cancel¡­.¡± Page 97 ¡°Go. I¡¯ll be fine.¡± ¡°Becky¡­¡± ¡°Go to Geneva.¡± I turn away and stare at the green hospital wall. ¡°We have to talk about this,¡± he perseveres. ¡°I have to explain.¡± No. No no no. I¡¯m not listening to him tell me all about how he fell for Venetia, and he never meant to hurt me but he just couldn¡¯t help himself, and he still sees me as a good friend. I¡¯d rather not know anything about it, ever. ¡°Luke, just leave me alone!¡± I spit it out without turning my head. ¡°I told you, I don¡¯t want to talk about it. And anyway, I¡¯m supposed to stay calm for the baby. You¡¯re not supposed to upset me.¡± ¡°Right. Fine. Well, I¡¯ll go then.¡± Luke sounds pretty upset himself now. Well, tough luck. I¡¯m aware of him walking across the room, his tread slow and reluctant. ¡°My mother¡¯s in town,¡± he says. ¡°But don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ve told her to leave you alone.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± I mumble into the pillow. ¡°I¡¯ll see you when I get back. Should be around Friday lunchtime. OK?¡± I don¡¯t respond. What does he mean, he¡¯ll see me? When he comes round to move all his stuff into Venetia¡¯s flat? When he summons a meeting with his divorce lawyers? There¡¯s a long silence and I know Luke¡¯s still there, waiting. But then, at last, I hear the door open and close, and the faint sound of his footsteps disappearing down the corridor. I wait ten minutes before I lift my head. I feel surreal and kind of blurry, as though I¡¯m in the middle of a dream. I can¡¯t quite believe this is all really happening. I¡¯m eight months pregnant and Luke¡¯s having an affair with our obstetrician and our marriage is over. Our marriage is over. I repeat the words to myself, but they don¡¯t ring true. I can¡¯t make them register. It seems only five minutes ago that we were on honeymoon, blissfully lazing on the beach. That we were dancing at our wedding in Mum¡¯s back garden, me in Mum¡¯s old frilly wedding dress and a lopsided flower garland. That a whole press conference was stopping still for him to pass me a twenty-quid note so I could buy a Denny and George scarf. Back in the days when I barely knew him, when he was the sexy mysterious Luke Brandon and I wasn¡¯t even sure he knew my name. I feel a wrenching pain deep inside, and all of a sudden tears are spilling onto my cheeks, and I¡¯m burying my sobbing head in the sheets. How can he leave me? Hasn¡¯t he enjoyed being married to me? Haven¡¯t we had fun together? Before I can stop it, Venetia¡¯s voice slides into my head. You were a refreshing change, Becky. You make him laugh. But you¡¯re hardly on the same level. Stupid¡­stupid¡­cow. Bitch. Skinny¡­horrible¡­pretentious¡­ I wipe my eyes and sit up and take three long breaths. I¡¯m not going to think about her. Or any of it. There¡¯s a knocking at the door. ¡°Mrs. Brandon?¡± It sounds like one of the nurses. ¡°Er¡­hang on¡­.¡± I hastily splash some water onto my face from my drinking jug, and wipe it with the sheet. ¡°Yes?¡± The door opens and the pretty nurse who brought me my breakfast smiles at me. ¡°You have a visitor.¡± My mind leaps in one joyous bound to Luke. He¡¯s come back, he¡¯s sorry, it was all a mistake¡­. ¡°Who is it?¡± I grab my compact from the cabinet, grimace at my reflection, and tug at my frizzy hair. ¡°A Mrs. Sherman?¡± I nearly drop the compact in dismay. Elinor? Elinor¡¯s here? I thought Luke told her to leave me alone. I haven¡¯t seen Elinor since our wedding in New York. Or at least¡­our ¡°wedding¡± in New York.(It was all a bit complicated in the end.) We¡¯ve never really got on, mainly on account of her being a snobby, ice-cold bitch, who abandoned Luke when he was tiny and totally screwed him up. And the way she was rude to Mum. And the way she didn¡¯t let me into my own bloody engagement party! And¡ª ¡°Are you OK, Rebecca?¡± The nurse looks at me in slight alarm, and I realize I¡¯m breathing harder and harder. ¡°I can tell her you¡¯re asleep if you like.¡± ¡°Yes, please. Tell her to go away.¡± I¡¯m in no state to see anyone right now. Not with my face all pink and my eyes still teary. And why should I make any effort to see Elinor? Surely the only advantage of splitting up with your husband is that you don¡¯t need to see your mother-in-law anymore. I won¡¯t miss her, and she won¡¯t miss me. ¡°Fine.¡± The nurse comes over and squints at my drip. ¡°A doctor will be along soon to check you over, then I should think you¡¯ll be going home. Should I tell Mrs. Sherman that you¡¯ll be leaving?¡± Page 98 ¡°Actually¡­¡± A new thought has just struck me. There¡¯s an even bigger advantage to splitting up with your husband. You don¡¯t have to be polite to your mother-in-law anymore. I can say what I like to Elinor. I can be as rude as I like. For the first time in days, I feel a streak of cheer. ¡°I¡¯ve changed my mind. I¡¯ll see her after all. Just let me get ready¡­.¡± I reach for my makeup bag and clumsily knock it to the floor. The nurse picks it up and gives me an anxious look. ¡°Are you OK? You seem very on edge.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine. I was just a bit¡­upset earlier. I¡¯ll be fine.¡± The nurse disappears, and I open my makeup bag. I dab on some eye gel and brush myself with bronzer. I am not going to look like a victim here. I¡¯m not going to look like some poor pathetic wronged wife. I have no idea what Elinor knows, but if she even mentions Luke and me splitting up, or dares to look pleased about it, I¡¯ll¡­I¡¯ll tell her the baby isn¡¯t Luke¡¯s, that it was fathered by my prison penpal Wayne and the whole scandal¡¯s going to hit the papers tomorrow. That¡¯ll freak her out. I spray myself with perfume and quickly slick on some lip gloss as I hear footsteps approaching. There¡¯s a knock at the door and I call, ¡°Come in.¡± A moment later it swings open ¡ª and there she is. She¡¯s wearing a mint-green suit and the same Ferragamo pumps she buys every season, and she¡¯s carrying a crocodile Kelly bag. She¡¯s thinner than ever, her hair a lacquered helmet, her face pale and stretched-looking. Which figures. When I worked in Barneys in New York, I saw women like Elinor every single day. But over here she looks¡­Well, there¡¯s no other word for it: weird. Her mouth moves a millimeter, and I realize this is her greeting. ¡°Hi, Elinor.¡± I don¡¯t bother trying to smile. She¡¯ll just assume I¡¯ve had Botox too. ¡°Welcome to London.¡± ¡°London is so tawdry these days,¡± she says with disapproval. ¡°So tasteless.¡± She¡¯s just unbelievable. The whole of London is tasteless? ¡°Yeah, especially the Queen,¡± I say. ¡°She has no idea.¡± Ignoring me, Elinor stalks to a chair and sits down on the edge of it. She surveys me stonily for a few moments. ¡°I gather you left the doctor I recommended, Rebecca. Who are you seeing now?¡± ¡°Her name¡¯s¡­Venetia Carter.¡± I feel a knife of pain as I say the name. But Elinor doesn¡¯t react a smidgen. She can¡¯t know. ¡°Have you seen Luke?¡± I venture. ¡°Not yet.¡± She pulls off a pair of calfskin gloves and runs her eyes over my hospital-gowned frame. ¡°You¡¯ve put on a lot of weight, Rebecca. Does this new doctor approve?¡± You see? This is what she¡¯s like. Not ¡°How are you?¡± or ¡°Don¡¯t you look blooming?¡± ¡°I¡¯m pregnant,¡± I snap. ¡°And I¡¯m having a big baby.¡± Elinor¡¯s expression doesn¡¯t soften. ¡°Not too large, I hope. Oversize babies are vulgar.¡± Vulgar? How dare she call my lovely baby vulgar? ¡°Yes, well, I¡¯m glad it¡¯s going to be big,¡± I say in defiance. ¡°That way there¡¯ll be more room for¡­the tattoos.¡± I can just about see a jolt of shock pass across her practically immobile face. That¡¯ll bust her stitches. Or staples. Whatever¡¯s holding her together. ¡°Didn¡¯t Luke tell you about our tattoo plans?¡± I adopt a surprised tone. ¡°We¡¯ve found a special newborn-baby tattooist who comes right into the delivery room. We thought we¡¯d have an eagle on its back, with our names in Sanskrit¡­.¡± ¡°You are not tattooing my grandchild.¡± Her voice is like gunfire. ¡°Oh yes, we are. Luke really got the tattoo bug while we were on honeymoon. He has fifteen of them!¡± I smile blandly at her. ¡°And as soon as the baby¡¯s born he¡¯s going to get its name tattooed on his arm. Isn¡¯t that sweet?¡± Elinor¡¯s gripping her Kelly bag so hard, the veins are standing up. I can tell she doesn¡¯t know whether to believe me or not. ¡°Have you decided on a name?¡± she says at last. ¡°Uh-huh.¡± I nod. ¡°Armageddon for a boy, Pomegranate for a girl.¡± For a moment she seems unable to reply. I can tell she¡¯s desperate to raise her eyebrows, or frown, or something. I almost feel sorry for her real face, trapped under the Botox like a caged animal. ¡°Armageddon?¡± she manages at last. ¡°Isn¡¯t it great?¡± I nod again. ¡°Macho, but kind of elegant. And unusual!¡± Page 99 Elinor looks like she¡¯s going to explode. Or implode. ¡°I will not have this!¡± she suddenly erupts, rising to her feet. ¡°Tattooing! These names! You¡¯re¡­irresponsible beyond¡ª¡± ¡°¡®Irresponsible¡¯?¡± I interrupt in disbelief. ¡°Are you serious? Well, at least we¡¯re not planning to abandon¡ª¡± I stop abruptly, feeling like the words are too hot for my mouth. I can¡¯t do it. I can¡¯t bring myself to launch a full-blown attack on Elinor. I haven¡¯t got the energy, for a start. And anyway¡­I feel distracted. All of a sudden my head is buzzing with thoughts. ¡°Rebecca.¡± Elinor approaches the bed, her eyes snapping. ¡°I have no idea if you¡¯re being frank with me¡ª¡± ¡°Shut up!¡± I lift a hand, not caring if I¡¯m rude. I have to concentrate. I have to think this through. I¡¯m suddenly starting to see things clearly, like a tune falling into place. Elinor walked out on Luke. Now Luke¡¯s walking out on our baby. It¡¯s history repeating itself. Does Luke realize this? If he just saw it¡­if he just understood what he was doing¡­ ¡°Rebecca!¡± I look up, as though out of a daze. Elinor looks like she wants to pop with exasperation. ¡°Oh, Elinor¡­I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say, all rancor gone. ¡°It was lovely of you to come by, but I¡¯m a bit tired now. Please drop round for tea sometime.¡± Elinor looks like the wind has been taken out of her sails. I think she was probably squaring up for a fight too. ¡°Very well,¡± she says frostily. ¡°I¡¯m staying at Claridge¡¯s. Here are the details of my exhibition.¡± She hands me an invitation for a private viewing, along with a glossy brochure entitled ¡°The Elinor Sherman Collection.¡± It¡¯s illustrated with a photograph of an elegant white plinth, on top of which is resting another, smaller white plinth. God, I don¡¯t understand modern art. ¡°Thanks,¡± I say, eyeing it dubiously. ¡°We¡¯ll be sure to make it. Thanks for coming. Have a nice day!¡± Elinor gives me one last, narrowed look, then picks up her gloves and Kelly bag and strides out of the room. As soon as she¡¯s gone, I bury my head in my hands, trying to think. Somehow I have to get through to Luke. He doesn¡¯t want to do this. Deep in his heart, I know he doesn¡¯t. I feel like he¡¯s been lured away by the evil fairies and I just need to break the spell. But how? What do I do? If I call him, he¡¯ll brush me off and promise to call back later and never will. His e-mails are read by his secretaries¡­. It¡¯s not exactly a subject for a text¡­. I have to write a letter. It hits me like a thunderbolt. I have to write a letter, like in the old days before phone calls and e-mail. God, yes. I¡¯ll compose the best letter I¡¯ve ever written in my life. I¡¯ll explain all my feelings, and his. (He sometimes needs them explained to him.) I¡¯ll put the case before him plainly. I¡¯m going to save our marriage. He doesn¡¯t want a broken family ¡ª I know he doesn¡¯t. I know he doesn¡¯t. A nurse is passing by the door, and I call out, ¡°Excuse me?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± She looks in with a smile. ¡°Would it be possible to get some writing paper?¡± ¡°There¡¯s some in the hospital shop, or¡­¡± She frowns in thought. ¡°One of my colleagues has some, I think. Just hang on a moment¡­.¡± A moment later she¡¯s back, with a pad of Basildon Bond. ¡°One sheet enough?¡± ¡°I may need more than that,¡± I say momentously. ¡°Could I have¡­three?¡± I cannot believe how much I¡¯ve written to Luke. Once I started, I just couldn¡¯t stop. I had no idea there was so much pent up inside me. I started off talking about our wedding and how happy we were then. Then I talked about all the things we love to do together, and how much fun we¡¯ve had and how excited we were when we discovered we were having a baby. Then I moved on to Venetia. I didn¡¯t call her by name. I called her the Threat to Our Marriage. He¡¯ll know what I¡¯m talking about. And now I¡¯m on page seventeen (one of the nurses ran down and bought me my own pad of Basildon Bond) and I¡¯m getting to the main bit. The plea to him to give our marriage another shot. Tears are running down my face, and I keep having to break off to snuffle into a tissue. In our vows, you promised to love me forever. I know you think you don¡¯t anymore. I know there are other women in this world, who are maybe cleverer and maybe can speak Latin. I know you¡¯ve had an¡­ I can¡¯t bring myself to write the word affair ¡ª I just can¡¯t. Page 100 I¡¯ll just put a dash, like they used to in old-fashioned books. I know you¡¯ve had an¡ª¡ª. But it doesn¡¯t have to ruin everything. I¡¯m prepared to put the past behind us, Luke, because I believe above anything else that we belong together. You, me, and the baby. We can be a happy family. I know we can. Please don¡¯t give up on us. Maybe you¡¯re secretly scared of parenthood, but we can do it together! Like you said, it¡¯s the biggest adventure we¡¯ll ever have. I break off from writing to wipe my eyes. I need to finish this now. I need some way for him to show me¡­to answer¡­to let me know¡­ Suddenly it comes to me. We need a great big tall tower, just like in romantic movies. And we¡¯ll meet at the top at midnight¡­. No. I get too tired by midnight. We¡¯ll meet at the top at¡­six o¡¯clock. The wind will be blowing and Gershwin will be playing and I¡¯ll see from his eyes that he¡¯s put Venetia behind him forever. And I¡¯ll say simply, ¡°Are you coming home?¡± And he¡¯ll say¡ª ¡°Are you OK, Becky?¡± The nurse pops her head round the door. ¡°How¡¯s it going?¡± ¡°Nearly finished.¡± I blow my nose. ¡°Where¡¯s a tall tower in London? If I wanted to meet someone.¡± ¡°Dunno.¡± The nurse wrinkles her nose. ¡°The Oxo Tower¡¯s pretty tall. I went there the other day. They¡¯ve got a viewing platform and a restaurant¡­.¡± ¡°Thanks!¡± Luke, if you love me and want to save our marriage, meet me at the top of the Oxo Tower at six o¡¯clock on Friday. I will be waiting at the viewing platform. Your loving wife, Becky. I put my pen down, feeling totally drained, as though I¡¯ve just composed a Beethoven symphony. All I have to do now is FedEx the letter to his Geneva office¡­and then just wait till Friday night. I fold the seventeen pages in half, and am trying unsuccessfully to cram them into the matching Basildon Bond envelope, when my mobile rings on the cabinet. Luke! Oh my God. But he hasn¡¯t read the letter yet! With trembling hands I grab the phone, but it¡¯s not Luke after all. It¡¯s a number I don¡¯t recognize. It isn¡¯t Elinor calling to lecture me, is it? ¡°Hello?¡± I say cautiously. ¡°Hello, Becky? It¡¯s Martha here.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I push my hair back off my face, trying to place the name. ¡°Er¡­hi.¡± ¡°Just checking you¡¯re still all set for the shoot on Friday?¡± she says chattily. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to see your house!¡± Vogue. Shit. I¡¯d totally forgotten about it. How could I forget about a Vogue photo shoot? God, my life must really be in pieces. ¡°So, is everything OK?¡± Martha¡¯s voice is trilling gaily down the phone. ¡°You haven¡¯t had the baby yet, or anything?¡± ¡°Well, no¡­¡± I hesitate. ¡°But I am in hospital.¡± As I say the words I realize I shouldn¡¯t really have my mobile on in a hospital. But this is Vogue on the phone. There must be an exemption for Vogue, surely. ¡°Oh no!¡± Her voice falls in dismay. ¡°You know, we¡¯re having such bad luck with this piece! One of the yummy mummies had her twins early, which was really annoying, and the other has had pre-eclampy-something and is on bed rest! We can¡¯t do the interview or anything! Are you on bed rest?¡± ¡°I¡­hang on a minute¡­.¡± I put the phone down on the bed, trying to galvanize my spirits. I have never felt less like having my picture taken in my life. I¡¯m fat, I¡¯m tear-stained, my hair is terrible, my marriage is crumbling away¡­. I give a deep, shuddery sigh, and then catch sight of my blurry reflection in a nearby glass-fronted cupboard. Hunched over, head drooping. I look defeated. I look awful. In an immediate reflex action I sit up straighter. What am I saying? Is my life over too? Just because my husband had an affair? No way. I¡¯m not going to feel sorry for myself. I¡¯m not going to give up. Maybe my life is in pieces. But I can still be yummy. I¡¯ll be the yummiest bloody mummy-to-be they¡¯ve ever seen. I lift the phone to my ear again. ¡°Hi, Martha?¡± I say, trying to sound breezy. ¡°Sorry about that. It¡¯s all fine for the shoot on Friday. I¡¯m coming out of hospital today, so I¡¯ll be there!¡± ¡°Great!¡± I can hear the relief in Martha¡¯s voice. ¡°Can¡¯t wait! It¡¯ll only take two or three hours, and I promise we won¡¯t exhaust you! I¡¯m sure you have lots of lovely clothes, but our stylist will bring along some pieces too¡­. Now let me just check your address. You live at thirty-three Delamain Road?¡±