Christmas Shopaholic(71)

She scratches her neck and adjusts the cassette-tape necklace, which I have to say, does not look comfortable.

“Mum, is that necklace making you sore?” I say, scrutinizing a red patch of skin on her neck. “Why don’t you take it off?”

“Oh,” says Mum, looking defeated. “Well…maybe. It is a super piece, though. It was made by Lia in our building. It represents chaos.”

“It’s lovely!” I lie. “So…artistic!”

As Mum takes the necklace off and puts it in her new satchel, I detect a slightly crestfallen expression. I mean, it’s no wonder. The bees, the unicycle, and the avocados have let them down. Next they’ll discover they’re allergic to artisan gin.

“Mum, are you OK?” I squeeze her arm. “Are you still enjoying Shoreditch?”

“Oh yes, love,” says Mum emphatically. “It’s such an adventure. Dad and I wake up every morning and think, What today?” She pauses, then adds, “But we do miss our old friends.”

“Right,” I say cautiously. “I think Janice has missed you too.”

“Really? She hasn’t exactly visited much.” Mum smiles, but I can see the hurt in her eyes. “I don’t blame her; Shoreditch is a bit of a journey from Oxshott. I would have thought she’d return my calls, though.”

“What?” I peer at her. “What calls?”

“Oh, I’ve left her a few voicemails, but she’s never responded.” Mum gives me a bright smile. “Anyway, she was probably busy.”

“I think she thinks you’re too busy for her,” I venture. “You’re always putting up pictures on WhatsApp, showing how eventful your new life is.”

“Well, that’s what WhatsApp’s for,” says Mum in surprise. “Sharing photos.”

I stare at her for a moment before something clicks. “Mum, are you thinking of Instagram?”

“Oh, they’re all the same thing, love,” says Mum airily.

I’m about to explain that really they’re not, when the doorbell rings again and I feel a nervous lurch inside. Does Mum know that Janice is bringing her new friend? Does Mum even know that Janice has a new friend? I open the door—and, sure enough, it’s Janice, standing on the doorstep, holding a bunch of lurid pink flowers.

As soon as she sees Mum in the hall, she lifts her chin defensively.

“Hello, Becky,” she says tremulously, ignoring Mum altogether.

“Janice!” I exclaim. “You made it!” I’m about to add, “Where’s your friend?” when Mum barrels up to the doorway and pushes past me.

“Janice, love!” she says, clasping Janice in a warm hug. “I’ve so much to tell you. Did you not get my voicemail about the theater trip? Anyway, I’m sorry you missed it, but we’ll do it another time, and you must tell me what you think about my dahlia idea.” She breaks off and looks expectantly at Janice, who seems bewildered.

“Dahlia idea?” she echoes at last.

“I left you a voicemail, love!” says Mum blithely. “I was on the treadmill at the time, so I might have sounded a bit breathy….”

“I didn’t get a voicemail.” Janice sounds flummoxed.

“But I’ve left you loads!” says Mum. “No wonder you didn’t tell me what you thought of the new Poirot adaptation. Far too shabbily dressed,” she adds, wrinkling her nose. “Poirot was never shabby. Where’s Martin?”

“At a…golf club lunch,” stammers Janice. “Jane, I didn’t get any voicemails from you. None.”

Meanwhile, Luke has wandered into the hall behind us, and he chimes in, “A lot of voicemail is malfunctioning at the moment. Happened to a guy at work. He lost them all. Janice, is your voicemail backed up in the cloud?”

Both Mum and Janice peer at him, looking blank—then Mum says fretfully, “Did I do it wrong?”

“No, it’s not you, Jane, it’s the system.” Luke starts trying to explain, when Janice interrupts in an anxious voice, “Flo’s just parking the car.”

“Flo?” Mum crinkles her forehead. “Is that one of your friends, Becky?”

“No, she’s my friend,” says Janice, her voice trembling. “You weren’t there, Jane, and I never heard from you, and I thought…Anyway, Flo’s…my new friend.”

There’s a long, hideous pause. I glance at Luke, then at Jess, who has also walked into the hall and is watching, agog.

“Your new friend,” echoes Mum after a pause, in the weirdest, tightest voice I’ve ever heard her use. “I see. Your new friend. Well…how lovely, Janice! I can’t wait to meet her!”

Oh my God. The tension in this hall is unreal. I glance at Luke, who makes a face I can’t read, then at Jess, who draws a finger across her neck, then at Mum, who has still got a bright smile plastered on her face but God knows what she’s thinking.

When the doorbell rings, we all jump a mile.

“Right,” I say too heartily. “I’ll just…get this.”

I open the door and a thin woman in a beige coat and hat peers at me through rimless glasses.

“Oh, hello,” she says in a timid, wispy voice I can barely hear. “Is it Becky? I’m Flo.”