Sophie Kinsella: Shopaholic and Baby

“Oh, I’m fine!” I say. “Happy that the baby’s all right.”

“You’re still working full-time, I see.” Dr. Braine glances at my form. “And that’s not too demanding for you?”

Beside me, Luke gives a muffled snort. He’s so rude.

“It’s…” I try to think how to put it. “My job’s not that demanding.”

“Becky works for The Look,” explains Luke. “You know, the new department store on Oxford Street?”

“Aah.” Dr. Braine’s face drops. “I see.”

Every time I tell people what I do, they look away in embarrassment or change the subject or pretend they’ve never heard of The Look. Which is impossible, because all the newspapers have been talking about it for weeks. Yesterday the Daily World called it the “biggest retail disaster in British history.”

The only plus about working for a failure of a shop is that it means I can take as much time off as I like for doctors’ appointments and prenatal classes. And if I don’t hurry back, no one even notices.

“I’m sure things will turn around soon,” he says encouragingly. “Now, did you have any other questions?”

I take a deep breath. “Actually, I did have one question, Dr. Braine.” I hesitate. “Now that the scan results are OK, would you say it’s safe to…you know…”

“Absolutely.” Dr. Braine nods understandingly. “A lot of couples abstain from intercourse in early pregnancy.”

“I didn’t mean sex!” I say in surprise. “I meant shopping.”

“Shopping?” Dr. Braine seems taken aback.

“I haven’t bought anything for the baby yet,” I explain. “I didn’t want to jinx it. But if everything looks OK, then I can start this afternoon!”

I can’t help sounding excited. I’ve been waiting and waiting to start shopping for the baby. And I’ve just read about this fabulous new baby shop on the King’s Road, called Bambino. I actually took a bona fide afternoon off, especially to go!

I feel Luke’s gaze on me and turn to see him regarding me with incredulity.

“Sweetheart, what do you mean, ‘start’?” he says.

“I haven’t bought anything for the baby yet!” I say, defensive. “You know I haven’t.”

“So…you haven’t bought a miniature Ralph Lauren dressing gown?” Luke counts off on his fingers. “Or a rocking horse? Or a pink fairy outfit with wings?”

“Those are for it to have when it’s a toddler,” I retort with dignity. “I haven’t bought anything for the baby.”

Honestly. Luke’s not going to be a very good dad if he doesn’t know the difference.

Dr. Braine is following our conversation, looking perplexed.

“I take it you don’t wish to know the sex of the baby?” he puts in.

“No, thanks,” says Luke, sounding determined. “We want to keep it a surprise, don’t we, Becky?”

“Um…yes.” I clear my throat. “Unless maybe you think, Dr. Braine, that we should know for very good, unavoidable medical reasons?”

I look hard at Dr. Braine, but he doesn’t get the message.

“Not at all.” He beams.

Drat.

It’s another twenty minutes before we leave the room, about three of which are spent in Dr. Braine examining me, and the rest in he and Luke reminiscing about some school cricket match. I’m trying to be polite and listen, but I can’t help fidgeting with impatience. I want to get to Bambino!

At last the appointment’s over and we’re walking out onto the busy London street. A woman walks past with an old-fashioned Silver Cross pram, and I discreetly eye it up. I definitely want a pram like that, with gorgeous bouncy wheels. Except I’ll have it customized hot pink. It’ll be so fab. People will call me the Girl with the Hot Pink Pram. Except if it’s a boy, I’ll have it sprayed baby blue. No…aquamarine. And everyone will say—

“I spoke to Giles from the estate agents this morning.” Luke breaks into my thoughts.

“Really?” I look up in excitement. “Did he have anything…”

“Nothing.”

“Oh.” I deflate.

At the moment, we live in this amazing penthouse flat which Luke has had for years. It’s stunning, but it doesn’t have a garden, and there’s lots of immaculate beige carpet everywhere and it’s not exactly a baby type of place. So a few weeks ago we put it on the market and started looking for a nice family house.

The trouble is, the flat was snapped up immediately. Which, I don’t want to boast or anything, was totally due to my brilliant styling. I put candles everywhere, and a bottle of champagne on ice in the bathroom, and loads of “lifestyle” touches like opera programs and invitations to glittering society events (which I borrowed from my posh friend Suze). And this couple called the Karlssons put in an offer on the spot! And they can pay in cash!

Which is great — except where are we going to live? We haven’t seen a single house we like and now the estate agent keeps saying the market’s very “dry” and “poor” and had we thought of renting?

I don’t want to rent. I want to have a lovely new house to bring the baby home to.

“What if we don’t find a place?” I look up at Luke. “What if we’re cast out on the streets? It’s going to be winter! I’ll be heavily pregnant!”

I have a sudden image of myself trudging up Oxford Street while a choir sings “O Little Town of Bethlehem.”

“Darling, we won’t be cast out on the streets! But Giles said we may need to be more flexible in our requirements.” Luke pauses. “I think he meant your requirements, Becky.”

That is so unfair! When they sent over the Property Search Form, it said, “Please be as specific as possible in your wishes.” So I was. And now they’re complaining!

“We can forget the Shoe Room, apparently.”

“But—” I stop at his expression. I once saw a Shoe Room on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous and I’ve been hankering after one ever since. “OK, then,” I say tamely.

“And we might need to be more flexible on area—”

“I don’t mind that!” I say, as Luke’s mobile starts ringing. “In fact, I think it’s a good idea.”

It’s Luke who’s always been so keen on Maida Vale, not me. There are loads of places I’d like to live.

“Luke Brandon here,” Luke’s saying in his businesslike way. “Oh, hi there. Yes, we’ve had the scan. Everything looks good. It’s Jess,” he adds to me. “She tried you but your phone’s still switched off.”

“Jess!” I say, delighted. “Let me talk to her!”

Jess is my sister. My sister. It still gives me such a kick to say that. All my life, I thought I was an only child — and then I discovered I had a long-lost half sister! We didn’t exactly get on to begin with, but ever since we got trapped in a storm together, and properly talked, we’ve been real friends.

I haven’t seen her for a couple of months because she’s been away in Guatemala on some geology research project. But we’ve called and e-mailed each other, and she’s texted me pictures of herself on top of some cliff. (Wearing a hideous blue anorak instead of the cool faux fur jacket I got her. Honestly.)

“I’m going back to the office now,” Luke is saying into the phone. “And Becky’s off shopping. Do you want a word?”

“Shh!” I hiss in horror. He knows he’s not supposed to mention the word shopping to Jess. Making a face at him, I take the phone and put it to my ear. “Hi, Jess! How’s it going?”

“It’s great!” She sounds all distant and crackly. “I was just calling to hear how the scan went.”

I can’t help feeling touched at her remembering. She’s probably hanging by a rope in some crevasse somewhere, chipping away at the rock face, but she still took the trouble to call.