Mini Shopaholic

Good for Bonnie. She must be acting absolutely implacably at the other end.

‘Jesus Christ.’ At last he crashes the phone down. ‘Apparently I have to have a full medical this afternoon. Some sort of insurance cock-up.’

‘What a pain!’ I say sympathetically.

Davina’s promised to give Luke the most full-on medical going. It’ll last at least six hours, he’ll be in a hospital gown, unable to use his laptop or a mobile phone and no one will be able to get to him.

‘This is the most fucking ludicrous day …’ He thrusts two hands through his hair, looking totally beleaguered.

Luke really isn’t used to things being out of his control. I’d almost feel sorry for him, if I didn’t want to giggle.

‘Never mind.’ I squeeze his hand fondly. ‘Just go with it.’ I glance at my watch. ‘Won’t your car be here any moment? Shouldn’t you get ready?’

As Luke is putting on his jacket, a text buzzes through on my BlackBerry and I surreptitiously click on it. It’s from Bonnie and it’s very short and to the point.

Becky. Have you seen YouTube?

OK. Just as I think everything’s happened that possibly can, something else does.

The marketing department at Foreland Investments have made a video in which everyone says ‘Happy Birthday Luke!’ to the camera and they’ve posted it on YouTube under the heading ‘Happy Birthday Luke Brandon!’

I’m torn between being really, really touched, and really, really climbing the walls. I mean, YouTube, for God’s sake! Could they have done anything less discreet? Couldn’t they have waited till tomorrow evening to post it? Every time I watch it I have to have a squirt of calming Rescue Remedy afterwards.

By ten o’clock it’s already had 145 hits, only about ten of which are me. By eleven o’clock, when Janice and Suze arrive, it’s up to 1,678 – and to my disbelief, two more videos have been posted. One is from Sacrum Asset Management, in which ‘Happy Birthday Luke Brandon’ has been spelled out in paperclips on someone’s desk. The other is from Wetherby’s, where the whole marketing department sings ‘Happy Birthday’ to the camera.

‘That’s so cool!’ Suze gapes at my laptop in disbelief.

‘I know.’ I can’t help feeling proud. I mean, all these people must really like Luke to bother to do a video for him. But I can’t help feeling jittery, too. ‘What if he sees it, though?’

‘He won’t see it,’ says Suze confidently. ‘Why would he search on YouTube? I bet he never goes on YouTube. He’s too busy. It’s only tragic cases like you and me who are always online.’

I’m about to object that I am not a tragic case, when the doorbell rings and we all start.

‘That’s not him, is it?’ says Janice in a gasped whisper, clapping a hand over her heart.

Honestly. Janice does overreact. I hardly spilled my coffee at all.

‘Of course not. It’ll be the marquee guys.’

But it’s not them, it’s Danny. He’s standing on the doorstep, wearing a battered leather coat over ripped jeans and silver Converse, and holding a pile of garment bags.

‘Costumes, anyone?’ he says, deadpan.

‘Danny, you star!’ I seize them. ‘I can’t believe you did this!’

I peek inside one of the bags and see a flash of gold brocade, trimmed with twinkling lace. Oh my God. These will be perfect.

‘Well, I had to. Jesus. That mother-in-law of yours is like Stalin. She’s the worst boss I ever had.’ He looks around, haunted. ‘She isn’t here, is she?’

‘Not right now,’ I say reassuringly. ‘But Suze is. So beware. She’s still really furious with you about that photoshoot.’

‘Oh.’ Danny looks uncomfortable and takes a step away. ‘The thing with that is, Suze just didn’t understand the aesthetic. You have to remember, she’s not a creative person.’

‘Yes she is! She’s an artist! Look at her photo frames!’

‘Right.’ Danny tries a different tack. ‘Well, OK, she is a creative person, but she totally didn’t get the look I was going for …’

‘Yes I did!’ Suze’s voice rings out scornfully behind me. ‘I got “the look” perfectly! You stitched Tarkie up, Danny! Admit it!’

Danny looks at her silently for a moment. He seems to be considering his next move. ‘If I admit it,’ he says finally, ‘will you forgive me instantly, no questions, move right on?’

‘I …’ Suze hesitates. ‘Well … I suppose so.’ 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">