Christmas Shopaholic(69)

“What?” says Suze in shock, and I realize I haven’t filled her in on the whole situation.

“Oh yes, Mum and Janice have kind of fallen out,” I admit. “It’s not great.”

“But why?” demands Suze. “What happened?”

“Janice feels ignored,” says Jess bluntly. “She feels as if your parents have moved on and forgotten all about her.”

“Mum and Dad have invited Janice and Martin to things in Shoreditch,” I say, wanting to stick up for them.

“Oh, I know.” Jess shrugs. “I’m not taking sides. Janice doesn’t help herself. She’s got a mental block about Shoreditch. Her new thing is looking up knife-crime stats. She keeps saying things like, ‘Well, I hope poor Jane and Graham don’t get mugged by a drug runner on a moped’ and ‘Well, I hope poor Jane and Graham don’t get caught up in gang warfare.’?”

Jess does such a good imitation of Janice’s quavery voice, I can’t help grinning. “Still, she’s upset,” Jess concludes.

“Not too upset to find herself a new friend, though?” I can’t help retorting.

“Oh God.” Jess rolls her eyes. “Flo.”

“Flo?” Suze looks intrigued. “Who’s Flo?”

“Janice’s new best friend,” I explain. “In Oxshott.”

“I can’t even imagine Janice having a new best friend,” says Suze in wonderment. “That’s extraordinary!”

“It’s gruesome,” says Jess, shaking her head.

“You’re not a fan of Flo?” says Suze, with a giggle. “Sorry,” she adds. “I know it’s not funny.”

At that moment, the waitress brings over our food, so we break off our conversation. And I’m just reaching for my napkin when my phone bleeps with a text. I glance at it to see if it’s Luke making any more shopping orders—but as I read it, I clap my hand over my mouth.

“No way,” I say, when I can find my voice.

“What?” says Suze.

“It’s Janice,” I say, and turn my phone round so the others can both read it:

Can’t wait for Minnie’s birthday tea, Becky love, and I’ll be bringing my new friend, Flo, if that’s OK. Love, Janice xxx





From: Anders Halvorsen To: Becky Brandon Subject: Re:Re:Re: An exciting new word for your dictionary—“sprygge”!




Dear Mrs. Brandon, née Bloomwood: Thank you for your email.

Your definition of “sprygge” means nothing to me.

I do not recollect any old Norse “sprygge” myths, as you suggest, nor any “rhymes learned at my mother’s knee,” nor any jokes involving the word “sprygge.”

I must reiterate my previous answer: that I cannot put “sprygge” into the Norwegian National Dictionary. Thank you for your offer of a T-shirt reading “We’ll always have sprygge,” which I decline.

Yours sincerely,

Anders Halvorsen

Editor

Norwegian National Dictionary





I mean, basically Janice is declaring war. I know that sounds extreme, but that’s what it is: bringing a new friend onto our territory. She knows Mum will be there. She knows there’s tension between them. She’s doing this to stir up trouble.

Not that I have time to think about that right now, because I’m too busy piling buttercream onto Minnie’s birthday cake. I’ve made quite a lot. Like, two bowlfuls. I peer at the cake, which is still a bit wonky, and add another inch of buttercream. Then another. Then I think, Oh, sod it, and heap the rest up in the middle. As Suze said, you can’t have too much buttercream. And now it’s about a foot high and it looks fab.

Minnie has had a lovely birthday morning, happily opening all her cards and playing with her new monster truck and interactive fluffy kitten. (She saw it on a TV ad and begged for it, but I haven’t admitted that to Suze.) Now Suze and her children have arrived, and it’s mayhem. Minnie and Wilfie are running monster trucks up and down the sitting room floor, while Ernest plays a piece on the ancient piano (which came with the house and is totally out of tune). Meanwhile, Clemmie has found the “Jingle Bells” baubles and keeps setting them off at different times.

“That kitten is amazing!” says Suze, coming into the kitchen with Jess. “It purrs and drinks milk and everything! Where did you find it?”

“Oh…just came across it,” I say vaguely. “I looked for a sustainable wooden version, obviously,” I add quickly, glancing at Jess. “At Sustainable Wood Toys Dot Com. But they didn’t have one. Shame.”

“The toy industry has a lot to answer for,” replies Jess austerely.

“And you know something? Minnie still wants a hamper for Christmas,” I inform Suze, trying not to sound smug. “I asked her last night. That’s all she wants, a picnic hamper. I knew she wouldn’t swerve.”

“Don’t be so complacent,” says Suze, rolling her eyes. “There’s still time for a major swerve.”

“No, there isn’t.” I glare at her. “Don’t freak me out.”

“Christmas is still weeks away. Loads of time for a swerve.” Suze puts on a childish, breathless voice. “?‘Mummy, all I want is a talking mermaid! If Father Christmas really loves me, that’s what he’ll bring me. He knows I’ve changed my mind, because he’s magic!’?”