Christmas Shopaholic(15)

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Except of course, as soon as you want to be calm and orderly, life decides to trip you up. By seven-thirty the next morning, I’m not remotely calm or orderly. I’m rushing hectically round the house, helping Luke look for a vital set of papers that he needs for a meeting and has gone “missing.”

“Did you put them in here?” he says, yanking out the drawer of the dresser in the hall.

Immediately I bristle. Why’s he blaming me? Why would I put some boring old set of papers anywhere?

“No,” I say politely. “I didn’t.”

“What about in here?” He reaches for the cupboard doors of the dresser. “What do we keep in here, anyway?” As he speaks, he opens a door and a deluge of canvas bags falls out.

“That’s nothing,” I say hastily, rushing forward to stop him, but it’s too late. Damn.

“What on earth is this?” says Luke incredulously, looking at the mountain of bags at his feet.

“Just…er…some bags,” I say.

“What bags?”

“Bags! You know, bags! Maybe your papers are in the kitchen. Let’s go and look.”

I’m trying to hurry him away, but Luke doesn’t move. He stares at the massive, tangled pile of bags for a moment, then starts pulling them apart and reading the slogans on them.

“Bag for Life. Bag for Life. Tote for Life. Greener Bag. Tesco. Waitrose…Becky, what the hell?”

OK. So the truth is, I do sometimes buy a bag for life and then forget to take it out with me next time and have to buy another one. Which is not ideal, because I’ve ended up with a cupboardful.

But I’ve often found with Luke that attack is the best form of defense.

“I try to buy bags for life,” I inform him loftily, “because I’m a responsible consumer and I’ve given up on plastic bags. But you’re suggesting I should use plastic bags instead and choke the oceans? Well, that’s an interesting insight into your moral compass, Luke. Very interesting.”

Luke’s mouth twitches and I lift my chin defiantly.

“I’m not saying you should use plastic,” he says calmly. “I’m suggesting you use one bag, for life. The clue’s in the name, my love. ‘Bag for life,’ not ‘bag for one use, then stuff it in a cupboard and buy another one.’?”

He opens the other dresser door, and an even bigger mountain of totes falls out. Shit. I was hoping he wouldn’t see those.

“Oh my God,” he says, looking genuinely appalled. “Becky, how many bloody bags for life do you need? How long are you planning to live?”

“They’ll come in handy one day,” I say defensively. “Anyway, you haven’t found your papers. You’re just procrastinating.”

At that moment, Minnie comes into the hall, pushing her dollies’ Moses basket on wheels. Luke glances down at it, then does a double take.

“There they are!” he exclaims, and grabs a stash of papers out of the Moses basket.

“That is miiine, Daddy!” says Minnie crossly, trying to snatch them back. “It is for my barkit.”

“Barkit” is Minnie-talk for “basket.” And, yes, I know we ought to correct her pronunciation, but it’s so sweet. I mean, she can talk. She’s perfectly articulate for her age (Miss Lucas said so when I consulted her). It’s just that she misfires on a few words, like “monter” and “barkit” and “raffodils” for “daffodils.”

“They’re not for your barkit, poppet,” says Luke to Minnie. “They’re important papers for Daddy. Here you are.” He tucks a bag for life around Minnie’s doll Speaky in the Moses basket. “And there’s plenty more of them.” He kisses Minnie’s head, then straightens up. “So I’m picking up Minnie from Suze’s?”

“If that’s still all right.” I nod. “I’ll head into town straight after work. I’d better crack on with the Christmas shopping.” I heave a slightly browbeaten sigh. “It’s quite a tall order, hosting Christmas, you know.”

“I know,” says Luke, looking concerned. “Becky, I’m really willing to help. I do have to travel a fair bit before Christmas—but just give me jobs to do and I’ll do them.”

“OK.” I nod again. As he kisses me, his top lip feels a bit prickly and I blink in surprise. “Haven’t you shaved today?”

“Oh,” says Luke, looking a bit self-conscious. “Ah. I’m growing a mustache.”

“A mustache?” I stare at him.

“You know, for Movember,” he explains. “For charity.”

“Right!” I quickly plaster on a smile. “Of course. Good for you!”

I’m not massively keen on mustaches, truth be told. But doing it for charity is worthwhile, so I must be supportive. “It looks great already,” I add encouragingly, and kiss him again. “It really suits you. See you later!”

“Have fun shopping,” Luke replies, and I stare at him, a bit offended. Wasn’t he listening?

“I’m not shopping, I’m Christmas shopping. It’s totally different. It’s work. I have a list this long.” I make a dramatic gesture. “Presents, decorations, food items, extras…”