Christmas Shopaholic(110)

In fact, she must be on some sort of cloud nine, because an hour ago we all realized Minnie had decorated a beaming Santiago in wreaths of tinsel and fairy lights. But when I rushed in horror to rip them off him, thinking, Oh God, evil plastic, evil tinsel, Jess will get totally offended and leave, she put up a hand to stop me. And, looking sheepish, she said, “Wait. He looks so sweet. Let me take a quick photo.”

She actually took a photo of her son adorned with plastic decorations! Jess, who hates plastic! It’s being a new mother, I reckon. It’s addled her brain.

I’m about to tinkle a fork in my glass and suggest we open some presents, when Suze arrives by my side breathlessly and says, “Bex. Come here a sec.”

She leads me into the hall and shows me a large cardboard box, covered in rain stains and bird droppings. “This was in your front garden!” she says. “I just took out some recycling, and I spotted the corner of it behind your rosebush. I think it must have been dumped there a few days ago.”

“Oh God,” I say guiltily. “It must be something I bought online.”

“What?” says Suze expectantly. “It’s quite big.”

“No idea. Don’t tell Luke.”

I hastily rip it open, so that I can go and hide whatever it is under the bed—but the sight that greets me makes me momentarily freeze. It’s leather. Dark brown leather. As I tear the cardboard further, my heart thumping, I see a handle. A brass “LB” charm. I rip the rest of the covering off in a frenzy—and it is. It’s the portmanteau. I can’t believe it.

“Wow!” exclaims Suze. “That’s phenomenal! Where did you get that from?”

I can’t speak. I’m searching for an envelope, a note, something—and suddenly I see it. I rip open the expensive lined envelope and find myself looking at a correspondence card with a handwritten note:

    Dear Mrs. Brandon (née Bloomwood),

I gather that you have pioneered women’s membership at the London Billiards Club. My husband, Sir Peter Leggett-Davey, is most put out.

As a result of his rage, I have been wishing heartily that I had done the same thing many years ago, and I admire your courage and determination.

Simon Millett told me that you had set your heart on winning this item in the raffle. I am delighted to send it to you with my very best wishes and congratulations.

Lady Rosamund Leggett-Davey

(née Wilson)



“Who’s it from?” says Suze, and I lift my head, feeling almost giddy.

“Just…someone,” I say at last. Then, as I hear the sound of Luke laughing, I snap into action. “Quick. Suze. Help me wrap this up.”

Within five minutes we’ve got it wrapped and manhandled under the tree, and I’m tinkling my fork in my glass.

“Let’s do some presents before lunch!” I say, as everyone gathers around the tree. “And, Luke, I want to start with this one. Happy Christmas.”

“But I’ve seen my present,” says Luke, looking confused. “The box is a lot smaller.”

“That was…a decoy,” I quickly improvise. “Ha! Fooled you!”

It’s fine. I’ll give him the sweater for his birthday.

Luke tears off the paper and I watch, biting my lip, as he stares, blinks, then looks more closely, rubs his hand over the leather, opens and shuts it, takes in the lining, the “LB” charm, the sheer amazingness of it…then finally lifts his eyes to mine. He looks quite overcome.

“Becky,” he says at last, and comes over to kiss me. “This is incredible. Where on earth did you get it from?”

“Er…” I hesitate. Maybe I’ll tell Luke the whole story one day—but not right now. “I just saw it in a window,” I say, which is true. “And it was so perfect, I had to get it. So!” I hastily move the conversation on. “Let’s all give Janice her presents, to say thank you for the lovely makeovers she’s given us.”

I can’t help glancing around at the others with a grin, because the truth is, we’ve coordinated on this. In fact, we’ve had our own secret WhatsApp group called Janice’s presents—and I can’t wait to see her face.

Suze’s present is an insulated carton of fresh crabmeat. “I know you love crab, Janice,” she says earnestly. “But it’s very perishable, so you must eat it very soon.”

Mum’s present is a flat parcel, and Janice opens it to find a drawing of her house in Oxshott. “Look, love!” says Mum cheerfully. “It’s got every detail. I do hope you and Martin enjoy it!”

My present is a hairbrush with Janice engraved on the back. Tom gives her a personalized Janice teapot, while Jess gives her a box of chocolates printed with To my mother-in-law, Janice.

“Goodness,” says Janice, looking quite flustered. “What lovely presents. Absolutely super.”

“But, Janice,” says Martin, the penny clearly dropping, “what about your cupboard? You can’t regift any of these.”

“Martin!” snaps Janice, her cheeks coloring.

“Oh, Janice!” I say, clapping my hand to my mouth. “I guess you’ll have to enjoy your presents instead.” I grin at her to show I’m teasing, and Janice’s color deepens.