Mini Shopaholic

‘Lad-eeee!’ Minnie flings herself at Elinor’s legs.

‘So what will you do?’

She frowns with a kind of dispassionate interest, as though I’m one of her jigsaw puzzles and she wants to see how it comes out.

‘I don’t know,’ I say hopelessly. ‘I’ll just have to think of something.’

As I get back the house is empty and silent and there’s a note on the table in Janice’s handwriting. Nanny Sue’s assistant rang. Please call to arrange meeting regarding Minnie.

In a reflex action I crumple the note up and throw it in the bin, then make myself a cup of tea, trying to keep my spirits up. Come on, Becky. Think positive. I can’t let my problems get me down. I’ll just have to come up with a solution.

But even though I load my cup with sugar and sit down with a pencil and paper, no solution comes to my mind. I feel blank and empty and defeated. I’m just wondering whether I could mix myself another comforting cocktail when the doorbell rings. In surprise I head to the hall and open the door to see a grizzled old guy in overalls standing on the doorstep. His hands are filthy and he has about three teeth and there’s a van pulled up behind him in the drive.

‘Marquee?’ he says without preamble.

For a moment I just stare at him uncertainly.

‘Love?’ He waves a hand in front of my face. ‘You want a marquee?’

‘Yes!’ I come to. ‘Yes please!’

Finally, some good news. This is a sign! Everything is going to turn around for the better. Already, the thought of a marquee billowing in Janice’s garden is making me excited.

‘So, are you from Cliff’s company?’ I say as he undoes the back of the van.

‘Sends his apologies. Most of the lads were called away to an emergency job in Somerset. It’s manic.’

‘I thought everything was really quiet,’ I say in surprise.

‘We had cancellations.’ He nods. ‘Then people change their minds, don’t they? Lot of it about. Most of our tents have gone down to the West Country, but Cliff said you could have this.’

He briskly unloads a pile of white tarpaulin on to the drive, and I eye it a bit uncertainly. It’s not quite as big as I was expecting.

‘Is that a marquee?’

‘Gazebo, innit? Got a bit of damp on one side, but give it a go with some bleach, it’ll scrub up.’ He’s already back in his cab and switching on the engine. ‘Cheers, love.’

‘Wait!’ I call out. ‘Where do I return it?’

A look of amusement passes over the guy’s face.

‘Nah, you’re all right. We don’t need that one back.’

The van disappears out of the drive and I take a tentative step towards the pile of white tarpaulin. Maybe it’s bigger than it looks.

‘Blanket!’ Minnie rushes out of the house behind me, leaps on to the tarpaulin and starts jumping up and down.

‘It’s not a blanket! It’s a … a tent. Get off, sweetheart. Let’s look at it.’

Gingerly I lift up one of the layers and feel a pang of dismay. Underneath, it’s green with mould. I lift up another panel –and there’s a massive flapping rip in it.

I feel a bit light-headed. This was the one bit of the party that was supposed to be sorted. It’ll take me hours to clean this and try to mend the rip.

And it’s not even a proper marquee. It’s tiny. How am I supposed to hold a party for two hundred in this?

My whole body is pulsing with compressed panic. But I don’t have any options. It’s this or nothing.

‘Right!’ I say as brightly as I can to Minnie. ‘Well … Mummy needs to clean this, doesn’t she? Don’t touch!’ I whip her hand away from the green mould.

‘Jelleeee!’ she wails crossly. ‘Miiine!’

‘It’s not jelly! It’s yucky!’

I find rubber gloves, bleach and a washing-up brush under the sink, and after I’ve parked Minnie safely in front of the TV, I start scrubbing. I thought the bleach would cut straight through the green grime like in the telly ads. But it doesn’t. The mould is stuck to the tarpaulin and caked over with mud in some places. It must have been there for years. It takes me ten minutes’ solid scrubbing to remove about six square inches of crust, and then I sit back on my heels, exhausted.

I can’t clean this whole thing.

But I have to. I can’t afford anything else.

I scrub for another ten minutes, then dunk my brush in the bowl of water and bleach, which is now black with dirt. My back’s aching. My head’s throbbing. As I push my hair off my hot face, I feel hollow with fear. For the first time, the worst-case-scenario, no-more-delusions reality of my situation is hitting me. Why did I think I could throw a massive grown-up party, all on my own? It’s too big. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">