Christmas Shopaholic(16)

“Extras?” Luke crinkles his brow. “What are extras?”

“They’re extras! You know. Extras.”

I can’t actually think of any extras right now, but I know they exist, because every guide to hosting Christmas talks about “all those last-minute extras.”

“But wait.” Luke suddenly frowns in memory. “Becky, haven’t you done your Christmas shopping? At that country fair in the summer? Yes! You bought five handmade leather cushions and said they would be perfect for Christmas presents. Bloody heavy cushions,” he adds with a grimace. “I lugged them around all that day. Where are they?”

My face has gone hot. I’d kind of hoped he’d forgotten about those.

“We were asked for items for the school bring-and-buy sale.” I try to sound casual. “So I donated them. I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“You just gave them all away?” He seems astounded.

“It’s a good cause!” I say defensively.

I won’t add, “Also, I realized they were rubbish cushions when I tried to put them on the sofa and they slid off.”

It was all the stallholder’s fault for having such a nice face. He lured me into buying his stupid cushions and a leather elephant.

“Well, look…couldn’t we do all this online?” suggests Luke. “If we sit down together with a laptop, we could blast through it. Or give me a task. I’ll order decorations. Take me five minutes.”

Luke? Order decorations? Is he mad? Last time he ordered tree ornaments, he got six vile purple baubles and then, when I complained, he said, “Well, I think they look nice.”

“No, it’s OK,” I say swiftly. “I need to see them properly, in a shop. And, anyway, we need to support the British high street.”

“Well, couldn’t you go somewhere closer than Selfridges?”

“I don’t mind.” I give a slightly martyred sigh. “Someone’s got to put the effort in. See you later.”





Oh my God, I’ve missed shopping. And London. And all of it.

As I push my way in through the heavy doors of Selfridges, a Letherby Hall Gift Shop tote bag slung over my shoulder, I feel dazzled. Selfridges is so twinkly! It might only be November, but the festive season has truly arrived. There are Christmas lights and garlands everywhere. There are huge red baubles decorating the escalators. Carols are playing and the air is warm and scented, and I don’t know where to start. I’m feeling a mixture of euphoria and panic, almost. Where do I go? Up? Down? I haven’t been shopping for ages.

I mean, I’ve shopped online, obviously. But that’s a whole different activity. In fact, I think they should invent a different word for it. Online ordering isn’t really shopping, it’s “procuring.” You procure stuff online. But you don’t get the buzz of actually stepping into a shop and seeing all the gorgeous stuff, feeling it, stroking it, being seduced by it.

I take a step forward, just breathing in the atmosphere. Living outside London is fab in many ways—but I do miss this. I miss passing shiny exciting window displays every day. I miss stopping to stare at an awesome Chanel jacket. I miss ducking into Anthropologie on the way somewhere and deciding to see what’s new in Zara and finding a bargain in Topshop.

On the other hand, it’s forced me to be efficient. The thing about living outside London is, you have to make the most of every trip in. You basically have to rush around and buy everything you can think of, because who knows when you’ll be in London again?

Luke and I don’t exactly agree on this theory. But, then, that’s no surprise, as we don’t agree on the meaning of “efficient.” Luke once said that buying the entire stock of TK Maxx’s discount Clarins range wasn’t “efficient,” it was “ridiculous.” But he knows nothing. Doesn’t he understand how much money I saved? And time! That’s all my skin-care needs sorted out, practically for my whole life. And it only takes up two boxes in the garage. Hardly anything.

(The only tiny issue—which I haven’t mentioned to Luke, because he doesn’t need to know every detail of my life—is that when I was putting them in the garage, I came across a box full of pots of discounted L’Oréal moisturizer that I’d forgotten about. But that’s OK, because you can’t have too much moisturizer. It’s a staple item.)

I suddenly realize I’m standing motionless in the Selfridges perfume hall and give myself a little mental shake. Come on, Becky. Focus. Christmas shopping. I get out my to-do book and look down the list—and at once feel daunted. I got slightly carried away last night, writing down ideas. There are about a hundred entries, from New fairy lights that don’t buzz to Festive placemats? to CHOCOLATE!!!

Where do I start?

A man with a massive bushy mustache passes by, and I find myself distracted by the sight of him. What if Luke grows a mustache like that?

No. He won’t. Don’t be stupid. And, anyway, it’s for charity. I must be positive. I take another step forward, trying to focus. Come on. I’m in the perfume hall. I’ll find Luke an aftershave. Yes. Good plan.

There’s a guy dressed in black nearby, promoting some new men’s fragrance called Granite. I take a cardboard slip from him—but the smell makes me choke. It’s a real mystery to me, the way so many expensive perfumes in this world are vile. Most of them smell as if someone just mixed together all the scents that no one buys, shoved the mixture in a new bottle, and gave it a new name like Celebrity Pow!