Shopaholic & Baby (Shopaholic #5)

Shopaholic & Baby (Shopaholic #5) Page 6

Jess keeps sending me issues of a magazine called Frugal Baby. It has cover lines like “Kit Out Your Nursery for £25!” and pictures of babies dressed in old flour sacks, and it makes me feel depressed just looking at it. I don’t want to put the baby to bed in a £3 plastic laundry basket. I want to buy a cute little cradle with white frills.

Now she’s going on about something called “sustainable hemp babygros.” I think I might end this conversation.

“I’d better go, Jess,” I cut in. “Will you make it to Mum’s party?”

My mum’s having a sixtieth birthday party next week. Loads of people are invited, and there’s going to be a band, and Martin from next door is going to do conjuring tricks!

“Of course!” says Jess. “Wouldn’t miss it! See you then.”

“Bye!”

I switch off the phone and turn to see that Luke has managed to hail a taxi. “Shall I drop you off at the thrift shop?” he inquires, opening the door.

Oh, ha-ha.

“Bambino on the King’s Road, please,” I say to the driver. “Hey, do you want to come, Luke?” I add with sudden enthusiasm. “We could look at cool prams and everything and then have tea somewhere nice….”

I already know from Luke’s expression that he’s going to say no.

“Sweetheart, I need to get back. Meeting with Iain. I’ll come another time, I promise.”

There’s no point being disappointed. I know Luke’s working full-out on the Arcodas account. At least he made time for the scan. The taxi moves off and Luke puts his arm round me.

“You look glowing,” he says.

“Really?” I beam back at him. I have to say, I do feel pretty good today. I’m wearing my fab new maternity Earl Jeans, and high wedge espadrilles, and a sexy halter-neck top from Isabella Oliver, which I’ve ruched up to show just a teeny hint of tanned bump.

I never realized it before — but being pregnant rocks! OK, your tummy gets big — but it’s supposed to. And your legs look thinner in comparison. And you get this brilliant cleavage, all of a sudden. (Which I have to say, Luke is quite keen on.)

“Let’s have another look at those scan pictures,” he says. I delve into my handbag for the shiny roll of images and for a while we just gaze at them together: at the rounded head; at the profile of a little face.

“We’re starting off a whole new person,” I murmur, my eyes riveted. “Can you believe it?”

“I know.” Luke’s arm tightens around me. “It’s the biggest adventure we’ll ever go on.”

“It’s amazing how nature works.” I bite my lip, feeling the emotions rise again. “All these maternal instincts have kicked in. I just feel like…I want to give our baby everything!”

“Bambino,” says the taxi driver, pulling over to the pavement. I look up from the scan pictures to see the most fantastic, brand-new shop façade. The paintwork is cream, the canopy is red stripes, the doorman is dressed up as a toy soldier, and the windows are like a treasure trove for children. There are beautiful little baby clothes on mannequins, a child’s bed shaped like a fifties Cadillac, a real little Ferris wheel going round and round….

“Wow!” I breathe, reaching for the taxi’s door handle. “I wonder if that Ferris wheel is for sale! Bye, Luke, see you later….”

I’m already halfway toward the entrance, when I hear Luke calling out, “Wait!” I turn back to see a look of slight alarm on his face. “Becky.” He leans out of the taxi. “The baby doesn’t have to have everything.”

TWO

HOW ON EARTH did I hold off baby shopping for so long?

I’ve reached the New Baby department on the first floor. It’s softly carpeted, with nursery rhymes playing over the sound system, and huge plushy animals decorating the entrance. An assistant dressed as Peter Rabbit has given me a white wicker basket, and as I look around, clutching it, I can feel the lust rising.

They say motherhood changes you — and they’re right. For once in my life I’m not thinking about myself. I’m being totally selfless! All this is for my unborn child’s welfare.

In one direction are banks of gorgeous cradles and rotating tinkly mobiles. In the other I can glimpse the alluring chrome glint of prams. Ahead of me are displays of teeny-weeny outfits. I take a step forward, toward the clothes. Just look at those adorable bunny slippers. And the tiny cowhide padded jackets…and there’s a massive section of Baby Dior…and, oh my God, D&G Junior…

OK. Calm down. Let’s be organized. What I need is a list.