Christmas Shopaholic(38)

Ah. Right. These boots have clearly made an impression. Luke’s voice has got deeper by about five notches, and when at last he meets my gaze, his dark eyes are gleaming.

“Glad you like them,” I say, and preen a little.

“Oh, I like them.” He nods slowly.

Luke has a real thing for boots. I should have put these on last night. And now, just the way he’s looking at me makes me catch my breath. I stare back silently and feel my heart start to beat harder.

I’ve often thought I should write Becky Brandon née Bloomwood’s Guide to Marriage. I could jot down helpful observations here and there. And my first observation would be that love in marriage is like one of those wavy graphs where the pen keeps zooming up and down and you can’t predict it at all.

Obviously, I love Luke all the time, like constant thumpy background music. But those exhilarating guitar-solo moments when I think, Oh my God, I want you now, seem to come at random. (Is this just me? I must ask Suze.)

And this is a perfect example. Last night we had a nice supper a deux in the kitchen, which should have been romantic. But all I could do was stare at Luke’s upper lip and think, Why did you have to grow a mustache; couldn’t you have made a donation? Whereas now, this morning, when we’re in a rush and need to leave, all I can think is, I don’t care about the mustache; you’re my total love god. In fact, I feel quite hot and flustered. It’s the way he’s looking at me purposefully.

“What time are you back?” I ask huskily. “Do you have any late meetings?”

“I’ll cancel them,” says Luke, his eyes not leaving mine. “If you keep those boots on.”

“Mummy!” Minnie comes running into the room, breaking the mood. I blink a couple of times, then shoot a rueful grin at Luke. “Mummeeee!” She clutches my hands and pulls at them. “Where is my darden on a tray?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I say. “It’s all ready.”

“I must dash,” says Luke, giving me a similar rueful look. “See you later. Oh, and the school sent an email,” he adds as he leaves the room. “Something about a nit check?”

Honestly. Every time I try to do anything edgy, the school has to bring up nits. I swear they’re doing it on purpose.



* * *



—

As I grab my trench coat out of the hall cupboard, I decide I’ll wear my trainers to walk Minnie to school and bring my edgy boots in a bag. Not because I can’t walk in these spiky heels but simply because the road gets a bit muddy in places. Also, I need to do about seventy thousand steps today, to make up for a few steps I haven’t quite accomplished recently.

Ooh, I wonder if sex counts? That burns calories, doesn’t it?

As we walk along, I’m half-listening to Minnie chatter about getting a hamper for Christmas and half-keeping an eye on the “winter garden on a tray,” balanced in my other hand. Every time I glance at it, I sigh inwardly. I meant to ace the next craft project, but I forgot about it till we got back from Shoreditch, and I had to run round the garden assembling a few hastily gathered twigs and berries. It doesn’t look like a winter garden on a tray; it looks like random crappy stuff on a tray.

As I’m helping Minnie hang up her coat, I see Steph enter with Harvey, and I wait so that we both head toward the classroom together. Her face is pale and strained, but she gives me a wan smile.

“Nice garden,” I say, although hers is even worse than mine, just a clump of muddy grass with a brown leaf balanced on top.

“Yup,” she says shortly. “Whatever. Oh God.”

I follow her gaze and my eyes widen. Suze has already arrived and looks radiant as she holds up the best winter garden on a tray I’ve ever seen (out of three total). It’s got moss and branches and snow and acorn figures having a picnic. How long did that take?

“Goodness!” Miss Lucas is exclaiming. “How wonderful, Lady Cleath-Stuart! Is that a real bird’s nest?”

“We found it in a tree,” says Suze. “It was already abandoned,” she adds hastily.

“A real bird’s nest,” echoes Steph in disbelief, and I can see her gazing at Suze’s garden with a kind of exhausted, wistful look.

“Oh, Bex!” says Suze, turning to leave. “Didn’t see you there—” She breaks off and gapes at me. “Your eyes.”

“Thought I’d try a new look,” I say carelessly. “What do you think?”

“Um…yes!” says Suze, after a pause. “Very…D’you want a lift to work?”

“No, don’t worry, I’ll walk. I need to do some steps.”

“Cool. Well, see you there. Hi, Steph!” Suze adds as she passes, and Steph mutters, “Hi,” while quickly turning so that her earthy, cloddy garden is hidden from sight.

Luckily, Minnie and Harvey don’t seem to have noticed how superior Suze’s garden is. (The brilliant thing about children is, they have no idea about anything.) Also, to give her credit, Miss Lucas looks just as delighted with our gardens as she did with Suze’s one.

“Harvey!” she says. “Minnie! What lovely winter gardens!”

“Yup,” says Steph again, in an undertone that only I can hear. “Ours has been short-listed for the Turner Prize.”