Christmas Shopaholic(20)

(In a good way. Not because it’s a purple mohair jacket. Although to be fair, I kept the receipt for that purple jacket, and I still think it suited him. It was all Mum’s fault for exclaiming, “Dear God!” in such appalled tones when he tried it on. Sometimes I don’t understand how I came from such a fashion-illiterate family, I really don’t.)

As I drop Minnie at school, I look around for Steph—in case she wants a chat or anything—but I can’t see her, so I head to work. I make myself a coffee, then lean against the cash desk, looking around the shop for present inspiration. But I’ve already given Luke the hip flask and the gentleman’s handkerchief set and the caramel sea salt chocolate. (Well, OK, that was mostly for me.)

I heave a gusty sigh, cursing myself. I should never have bought him the hip flask. I should have mentally earmarked it for Christmas.

“Are you OK, Bex?” Suze comes up, peering at me in surprise.

“Didn’t sleep very well,” I say morosely. “Actually, Luke and I had a row.”

“What about?”

“Christmas presents and stuff,” I say vaguely.

I won’t mention that I drew on Luke with a Sharpie; it sounds a bit weird.

“Oh, Christmas presents.” Suze rolls her eyes sympathetically. “We had a row too. Tarkie wants to give the children each a lamb, but I want to get them a piglet. Who wants a lamb when they could have a piglet?” She looks at me expectantly.

“Er…” Personally, I wouldn’t want either, but that’s probably not the answer Suze is hoping for.

“Does Minnie want a piglet?” Suze’s eyes light up. “Shall I get her one too?”

A piglet? In our garden? Oinking everywhere and making a mess and growing into a massive hog? I love Suze to bits, but there are certain areas of life where we simply don’t see eye to eye.

“I don’t think so,” I say carefully. “She’s not really a piglet girl. In fact, the only useful thing I’ve done so far for Christmas is buy Minnie’s present,” I add. “She’s desperate for a picnic hamper, and I’ve already ordered it.”

I’m expecting Suze to exclaim, “Well done!” or ask to see it online, but instead she looks doubtful.

“You’ve ordered it already?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Hmm.” Suze twists her mouth up. “Isn’t that a bit early? What if she changes her mind?”

Changes her mind? That hadn’t even occurred to me.

“She won’t,” I say, more confidently than I feel. “She’s wanted that hamper for ages.” But Suze just shakes her head.

“They’re totally fickle. I call it ‘the swerve.’ They say, ‘I really want a pogo stick, it’s all I want, please, please, please can I have a pogo stick?’ Then, three days before Christmas, they go to a friend’s house and see a talking mermaid on a TV ad and suddenly they want that instead. But it’s already sold out,” she ends in gloomy satisfaction. “So you have to find it on eBay at three times the price.”

“Minnie won’t change her mind,” I insist. “She loves that hamper.”

“You wait,” says Suze, sounding like a grizzled old fisherman predicting a storm. “She’ll see a talking mermaid on telly, and the hamper will be toast.”

“Well, she’s not allowed to see a talking mermaid,” I say crossly. “I’m banning the telly until Christmas.”

“Yeah, right,” scoffs Suze. “Are you going to move to an Amish village?”

I’m about to retort, “Maybe!” and google Amish villages (are there any in Hampshire?) when Irene comes up, holding a piece of paper out to me.

“Oh, Becky!” she exclaims. “Good news. I found the name of the young man who was asking after you.”

“The striking young man,” puts in Suze, grinning at me.

“Exactly.” Irene beams innocently. “It was…” She reads off the piece of paper. “Craig Curton.”

I stare at her, feeling a bit gobsmacked. Craig Curton?

“D’you know him, Bex?” says Suze with interest, as Irene hands me the piece of paper.

“Actually, I do,” I say. “Actually…” I hesitate. “He’s an old flame.”

“An old flame?” Suze stares at me. “I never heard about him! When was he?”

“Ages ago.” I make a brushing-away motion. “At uni.”

I’d completely forgotten about Craig Curton. Or not forgotten about him exactly, but I can’t say I’ve thought about him much.

“He’s very striking, Becky, dear,” puts in Irene, her eyes bright. “Very handsome.” She heads off to greet a customer, and Suze grins wickedly at me.

“Irene’s got the hots for your old boyfriend. Is he a supermodel or something?”

“I think Irene must have quite low standards,” I say, giggling. “He’s a bit weird-looking. You know, dyed black hair and really pale and awful teeth. He was in a band,” I add hastily. “That’s why I went out with him.”

“Well, I’m googling him,” announces Suze, grinning. “I have to see this Greek god for myself.”

“He’s not a Greek god.” I roll my eyes. “In fact, I don’t know why I went out with him, even if he was in a band.”