Mini Shopaholic

The church is already full of guests as we enter and I wander around, greeting Mum’s bridge friends, half of whom are in Japanese outfits. (I am so having it out with Mum later.) I hear myself saying about fifty times, ‘Actually, it’s a Japanese-Russian fusion theme’ and ‘Luke’s just on his way by helicopter,’ then Mum leads Minnie off by the hand and I can hear everyone cooing over her.

‘Bex!’ I turn to see Suze, looking amazing in a purple embroidered coat, fur-trimmed boots and her hair pinned up with a couple of wooden coffee stirrers from Starbucks.

‘This was the best I could do,’ she says, gesturing at them crossly. ‘You said Russian! How did Japanese suddenly enter the picture?’

‘It was Mum’s fault!’ I’m about to launch into the whole story when the Reverend Parker approaches, all smart in his swishy white robes.

‘Oh, hi there!’ I beam. ‘How are you?’

Reverend Parker is fab. He isn’t one of those super-holy, make-you-feel-bad-about-everything vicars. He’s more of a Do-have-a-gin-and-tonic-before-lunch vicar. His wife works in the City and he’s always got a tan and drives a Jaguar.

‘I’m very well.’ He shakes my hand warmly. ‘Lovely to see you, Rebecca. And may I say, it’s charming, your Japanese theme. I’m quite a sushi fan myself.’

‘It’s Japanese-Russian fusion, actually,’ I correct him firmly. ‘We’re having blinis, too, and vodka shots.’

‘Ah, indeed.’ He beams. ‘Now, I gather that Luke’s been held up?’

‘He’ll be here very soon.’ I cross my fingers behind my back. ‘Any minute now.’

‘Good. Because I am a little pressed for time. And presumably you’ve decided on your daughter’s middle names? Could you possibly write them down for me?’

Oh God.

‘Nearly.’ I pull an agonized face. ‘I’m so nearly there …’

‘Rebecca, really,’ says Reverend Parker a tad impatiently. ‘I can’t baptize your daughter if I don’t know her names.’

Honestly, talk about pressure. I thought vicars were supposed to be understanding.

‘I’m planning to finalize them once and for all during the prayers,’ I explain. ‘While I’m praying, obviously,’ I add hastily at his frozen expression. ‘You know. I might get inspiration from the Good Book.’ I pick up a nearby Bible, hoping to get a few Brownie points. ‘Very inspirational. Maybe I’ll go for Eve. Or Mary.’

The trouble with Reverend Parker is, he’s known me for too long. He just raises his eyebrows sceptically and says, ‘And are the godparents here? Suitable types, I hope?’

‘Of course! Here’s one.’ I shove Suze forward, who shakes his hand and immediately starts talking about the church ceiling, and whether it’s late nineteenth century?

Suze is so great. She always knows what to say to everyone. Now she’s talking about the stained glass. Where does she get this stuff? She must have learned it at finishing school, after meringue lessons. I’m not very interested in stained glass, to be honest, so I flick aimlessly through the Bible.

Ooh. Delilah. Now that’s a cool name.

‘Jesus H. Christ, Becky!’ A familiar American accent hits my ears. Behind me I can hear a bit of a mild kerfuffle amongst Mum’s friends and someone exclaiming, ‘Who in God’s name is that?’

This can only mean one thing.

‘Danny!’ I whirl round in joy. ‘You’re here!’

It is so long since I’ve seen Danny. He’s looking skinnier than ever and is wearing a Cossack-style swirly coat in leather, with tight black vinyl trousers and Army boots. Plus he has a tiny white dog on a lead that I’ve never seen before. I make to hug him, but he lifts up a hand as though he has some momentous announcement to make.

‘This theme?’ he says incredulously. ‘Japanese-slash-Russian-fucking-fusion? How much more fucking inspired can you get? My new dog is only a fucking shih-tzu!’

‘No way!’ Suddenly I remember Reverend Parker, standing a foot away. ‘Er … Reverend Parker … this is Danny Kovitz. Another of the godparents.’

‘Oh Jeez.’ Danny claps a hand over his mouth. ‘I apologize, Reverend. Loving the church,’ he adds generously, gesturing around. ‘Loving your décor. Did someone help you with these colours?’

‘You’re very kind.’ Reverend Parker gives him a stiff smile. ‘But if you could keep down the fruity language during the service?’

‘Danny’s a famous fashion designer,’ I throw in hastily. 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">