Christmas Shopaholic(58)

Jane

Yes, you are.





Janice

No, I’m not. What are YOU trying to say?





Martin

Ladies, ladies.





Janice

Be quiet, Martin.





Oh my God. My head.

It’s throbbing so hard, I’ve been forced to put sunglasses on. It was that festive brandy that did me in. Unless it was the festive pi?a coladas, which Janice found from some stall. What was she thinking? (Actually, they were so delicious, I ordered a bottle.)

I slept through my Black Friday alarm, so I haven’t got a single online bargain, and now I’m running late. Even worse, I’ve just had a quick look through my purchases from yesterday—and I went seriously off-piste.





Items I intended to buy:


Tablecloth

Napkins

Candles

Wrapping paper





Items I actually bought:


Family Christmas aprons

Mince-pie display stand

Smoked salmon

Festive pi?a colada (one bottle)

Festive mojito (two bottles)

Inflatable mistletoe wreath

Twelve musical ornaments that play “Jingle Bells”

Felt Christmas tree with padded-felt candy canes (adorable)

White Christmas tree with LED lights and diamanté decorations (stunning—I mean, everyone was stopping to look at it)

Papier-maché Christmas tree covered with red-foil-wrapped chocolate stars (how can you not buy a Christmas tree covered with red shiny chocolate stars?)



So that’s three Christmas trees. Plus I’ve already ordered a massive premium Norwegian spruce, which I can’t cancel, because Luke keeps saying the smell of the tree is his favorite bit of Christmas. And I need an eco-tree for Jess.

Which makes…five Christmas trees in total.

I pause in my hair brushing, thinking hard. Can I have five Christmas trees? I try to imagine telling Luke we’re having five Christmas trees and bite my lip. It just sounds…you know. Quite a lot.

I could spread them about the house a bit and maybe no one would notice?

Or…yes! I won’t call them Christmas trees. I’ll call the real one our Christmas tree and the rest can be “Christmas shrubs.” I’ll have a Christmas shrubbery. Genius. And then—

Oh God, look at the time. I need to hurry.

Luckily, it’s a bright, crisp day with one of those unreal, shiny blue winter skies, so no one questions my sunglasses as I drop Minnie off at school. And by the time I’m walking to Letherby Hall, I’m feeling a bit more human. As long as no one makes a loud noise—

“Stop! Bex, stop!” I’m jolted out of my reverie by Suze charging toward me, her hands waving frantically.

“Shh!” I recoil. “Quiet! What’s the problem? Is there a fire?”

“No!” says Suze breathlessly. “But I want to show you the surprise!”

Oh God, the surprise. I’d forgotten about that. It’s probably just a new way of displaying handbags or something. But I must be supportive. So somehow I gather enough energy to smile at Suze and say, “Of course! I can’t wait! Show me!”

“OK, shut your eyes,” says Suze excitedly. “I bet you can’t guess….”

I close my eyes (which is actually quite a relief) and let Suze lead me into the shop, stumbling over the step.

“Ta-daah!” she cries—and I open my eyes dazedly to see a large banner reading, THANK SPRYGGE IT’S FRIDAY!

I stare at it for a confused few moments, wondering if this is some weird hangover delusion.

“Wh-huh?” I manage at last.

“Look!” Suze gestures excitedly at the display table beneath. “Look at everything!”

Dumbly, I lower my eyes to the table, which has a brand-new sign: EXCLUSIVE—NEW “SPRYGGE” COLLECTION. There’s a stack of greetings cards with bold type, announcing, We wish you a sprygge Christmas! Next to it is a cushion on which is emblazoned, Don’t worry, be sprygge! There’s a row of mugs with the slogan Keep spryggering on and a basket full of key rings, with fobs printed with #sprygge.

I can’t quite speak. But Suze doesn’t seem to have noticed.

“It’s our new sprygge range!” she enthuses. “That’s what I’ve been working on in secret. Oh, Bex, it’s so popular. It was flying out of the shop yesterday! Only you need to write down exactly what sprygge means,” she adds as an afterthought, “because customers were asking us yesterday, and Irene and I couldn’t quite remember. It’s like feeling happy, basically, isn’t it?” She blinks at me. “Something like that? I tried googling it, but I couldn’t find it.”

“Oh, Becky, you’re here!” says Irene, bustling up. “Now, is it ‘sproog-uh’ or ‘sprigg-uh’? You’ll have to give us lessons in Norwegian! It’s been such a success,” she adds. “So novel. Are we the first sprygge stockists in the UK?”

“I think we must be,” says Suze happily. “So many customers said they’d never even heard of sprygge!”

“We’re ahead of the game.” Irene nods. “Trust Becky to know the latest thing.”