Mini Shopaholic

I suddenly spot a gift card tied to the hanger and open it with scrabbling fingers.

To Becky. A little something for you to pick out of your wardrobe. With love from Mum and Dad.

‘Mum.’ Tears have shot to my eyes and I blink furiously. ‘You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t.’

‘It was Janice!’ Mum can’t contain herself any longer. ‘She told me you weren’t buying yourself anything new. Well, we couldn’t have that! Not our little Becky! And this way, it’s in your wardrobe! Do you see? Do you get it, love?’ She’s beside herself with triumph. ‘It’s already in your wardrobe! You’re keeping your promise to Luke!’

‘I get it, I do,’ I say, half-laughing, half-tearfully. ‘But Mum, this is Valentino! It costs a fortune!’

‘Well, it wasn’t nothing!’ Mum sucks in her breath. ‘You know, Wendy’s Boutique in Oxshott does very reasonable evening dresses and I do sometimes wonder why you girls—’

She breaks off at my expression. We’ve disagreed about Wendy’s Boutique many times, over the years.

‘Anyway. I asked your nice colleague Jasmine what I should get and she suggested this dress at once. And she gave it to me at the discount staff rate, with another big discount for damage!’ she ends in triumph.

‘Damage?’ I peer at it. ‘It’s not damaged!’

‘She snipped the hem,’ says Mum conspiratorially. ‘She’s clever, that one. And then all your nice friends rallied round and chipped in. So it’s from them, too.’

‘What friends?’ I’m not following this at all. ‘You mean Jasmine?’

‘No! All your shopping friends. Your clients! They were all there, you know. They signed a card, too. Where is it?’ She starts to root around in her bag. ‘Here we are.’

She presents me with a plain Smythson card, on which someone has scrawled: ‘Have a great time tonight, Becky, and see you back at The Look VERY SOON! With all our love from Davina, Chloe and all your loyal friends.’

Underneath are about twenty more signatures, and I read them in growing bewilderment.

‘But what were they all doing at the store at once?’

‘Getting refunds!’ says Mum, as though it’s obvious. ‘Didn’t you know? They’ve started a campaign to reinstate you!’

She hands me a bright-pink, printed piece of paper and I take it in disbelief. Is this what Davina was talking about?

BRING BACK BECKY!!!

We, the undersigned, would like to protest at the treatment of our esteemed friend and fashion consultant, Becky Brandon (née Bloomwood).

As a result of her callous and unjustified treatment by The Look we will be

– Boycotting the Personal Shopping Department

– Spreading the word amongst our friends and contacts, and

– Unshopping with immediate effect.

‘Unshopping?’ I look up with a giggle. ‘What does that mean?’

‘They’re returning everything they’ve bought,’ says Mum with satisfaction. ‘Quite right, too. There was a whole line of them, beautifully dressed, all bringing back expensive things, still in their wrappers. All getting the money back on their gold cards. I dread to think how much it was all worth. One woman had three long dresses. Yves Saint whatsit? Five thousand pounds each, apparently. Blonde woman from Russia or some such?’

‘Olenka?’ I say in astonishment. ‘Those dresses were special order. She returned them?’

‘She threw them down on the counter like this.’ Mum demonstrates with a flamboyant gesture. ‘Quite dramatic, isn’t she? “Thees is for Becky and thees is for Becky.” Then the manager came down to the department.’ Mum is warming to her tale. ‘I can tell you, he got the heebie-jeebies when he saw how long the queue was. Quite flustered, he was. He said, “Ladies, please reconsider.” Offered them all a free cappuccino. But they laughed at him.’

‘I bet they did!’ I can just imagine Trevor trying to keep control of all my clients. They’re a pretty sassy lot.

‘So if he isn’t on the phone to you apologizing within the day, then I’m a monkey’s uncle,’ says Mum comfortably. ‘From what I heard, you should be claiming from them, love.’

‘Wait.’ Suddenly the blood is pulsing in my face. ‘Wait a minute. Mum, I never told you I’d been suspended from work.’

‘I know you didn’t,’ she says equably. ‘I was a bit surprised, I must admit. I mean, I knew it was your day off. I didn’t realize every day was your day off now!’ She laughs merrily. 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">