“Not any more than twenty minutes,” Suze adds hurriedly. “Just twenty minutes exactly.”
“OK!” I say. “I’ll go right now.”
“Cool!” Suze sounds relieved. “Er…see you…sometime!”
“See you!”
I hurry to the hall, put on my coat, and head downstairs in the lift. When I step outside, Suze and Jess have disappeared. They must be hiding!
Trying to look just like any normal pregnant woman having a twenty-minute walk, I head toward the gates, my eyes swiveling from left to right.
Oh my God, I just saw Suze behind that car! And there’s Jess crouching behind the low wall!
I can’t let them know I can see them. I can’t giggle. Keeping my composure, I reach the gates—and spot a familiar spring of curly brown hair behind a rhododendron bush.
No. I don’t believe it. Is that Mum ?
I get past the gates and burst into laughter, muffling the sound with my hands. I hurry along the pavement, find a bench in the next street, and flick through Heat magazine, which I hid inside my coat so Suze wouldn’t see. Then, on the dot of twenty minutes, I get up and turn my steps back toward home.
As I walk through the gates again there’s no sign of anyone. I let myself in and take the lift to the top floor, feeling bubbles of anticipation. I head to our apartment, put my key in the lock, and turn.
“Surprise!” A chorus of voices greets me as I swing the door back wide. And the weird thing is, even though I was expecting it, I feel a genuine shock to see so many friendly faces clustered together. Suze, Jess, Mum, Janice, Danny…and is that Kelly ?
“Wow!” I drop Heat without even meaning to. “What on earth—”
“It’s your shower!” Suze is glowing pink with pleasure. “Surprise! We fooled you! Come in, have a glass of Buck’s Fizz….”
She ushers me into the sitting room, and I can’t believe the transformation. There are pink and blue helium balloons everywhere, and a huge cake sitting on a silver stand, and a pile of presents, and bottles of champagne on ice….
“This is just…” My voice suddenly wobbles. “It’s just…”
“Don’t cry, Bex!” says Suze.
“Have a drink, love!” Mum thrusts a glass into my hand.
“I knew we shouldn’t surprise her!” Janice looks alarmed. “I said it would be too much of a shock for her system!”
“Surprised to see me?” Kelly has bounded up to me, her face shining with excitement and Stila shimmer makeup.
“Kelly!” I fling my drink-free arm around her. I met Kelly in Cumbria, when I was looking for Jess. I was only just pregnant then, and didn’t even know it yet. It seems years ago now.
“Were you really surprised, Bex?” Suze looks at me, her face full of suppressed glee.
“Totally!”
And it’s true. OK, I knew it was happening. But I had no idea anyone would make so much effort! Every time I look around, I notice something else, like the silver “baby” confetti sprinkled over the table, or the little booties hanging from all the pictures….
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” says Danny, taking a swig of champagne. “OK, everyone, line up, unbutton your jackets, on the count of three…”
I watch, bemused, as they scramble into place, like some kind of motley chorus line.
“One…two…three!”
Everyone, from Mum to Jess to Kelly, flings open their jackets. And underneath they’re all wearing matching Danny Kovitz T-shirts, just like the one he designed for The Look. Except the picture is of a little doll-like pregnant girl. And underneath is the slogan:
SHE’S a YuMMY MuMMY and WE LOVE HER
I can’t speak.
“She’s overwhelmed!” Mum comes bustling up. “Take a seat, love. Have a snack.” She thrusts a platter of tiny Chinese duck pancakes at me. “Waitrose’s own brand. They’re very good!”
“Open your presents,” instructs Suze, clapping her hands. “Then we’ve got party games. Hey, everyone sit down, Bex is going to open her presents….” She heaves all the gift-wrapped parcels into a pile in front of me, then tinkles a fork in her glass. “Now, I have a little speech to make about the presents. Attention!”
Everyone turns expectantly toward Suze and she makes a little bow.
“Thank you! Now, when I was planning this baby shower, I asked Jess what she thought we should buy Becky. And Jess said, ‘There’s nothing left, she’s bought all of London already.’”
There’s the hugest roar of laughter around the room, and I feel my cheeks turn beet-red. OK, maybe I did go a tad overboard. But the point is I had to. I mean, I’ll be far too busy to go shopping after the baby’s born. I probably won’t go near a shop for a year.
“So!” resumes Suze, her eyes sparkling. “Jess suggested we should make things. And that’s what we’ve done.”
They’ve made things?
Oh God, they haven’t all made baby wipes, have they?
“We’ll start with mine.” Suze hands me a rectangular package and I start ripping off the silver paper in slight apprehension.
“Oh, wow,” I breathe as I see what it is. “Wow.”
It’s not baby wipes. It’s an exquisite photo frame, made out of creamy painted wood, with tiny little mirrors and mother-of-pearl set into it. Inside, instead of a photograph, is a cartoon of a stick girl holding a baby in front of a house.
“You can put a picture of the baby in it,” Suze is explaining. “But for now, I’ve drawn a picture of you in front of your new house.”
I look at the picture more closely and can’t help bursting into laughter. The cartoon house has been divided up into rooms and each one given a label. “Pram Room.” “Nappy Room.” “Lipstick Room.” “Visa Bill Room” (in the cellar). “Antiques of the Future Room.”
An Antiques of the Future Room! That’s actually a brilliant idea.
As I open my other presents I’m totally overwhelmed. Kelly’s is a tiny patchwork quilt, with patches contributed by all the lovely friends I made in Scully. Janice’s is a tiny red hand-knitted jumper with Baby’s First Christmas embroidered on the front. Mum’s is the matching Father Christmas hat and booties. Danny’s is the coolest designer distressed romper suit ever.
“Now mine,” says Jess, placing the largest present of the lot in front of me. It’s wrapped in a patchwork of old, crumpled wrapping papers, one of which is printed with the words Happy 2000!
“Be careful taking the paper off!” says Jess as I start to unwrap it. “I can use it again.”
“Er…OK!” Gently I peel the paper away and fold it up. There’s a layer of tissue paper underneath, and I pull it away to see a box about two feet high, made of pale, polished wood. Puzzled, I turn it around to face me—and it’s not a box after all. It’s a little cupboard with double doors and tiny porcelain handles. And Baby’s Shoes carved into the front.
“What—” I look up.
“Open it up.” Jess’s face is shining. “Go on!”
I tug it open, and there are little shelves, sloped and lined with white suede. On one of them is resting the smallest pair of red baseball boots I’ve ever seen.
It’s a little tiny Shoe Room.
“Jess…” I can feel tears welling up. “You made this?”
“Tom helped.” She gives a self-deprecating shrug. “We did it together.”
“But it was Jess’s idea,” chips in Suze. “Isn’t it brilliant? I wish I’d thought of it….”
“It’s perfect.” I’m totally bowled over. “Look at the way the doors fit…and the way the shelves are carved….”
“Tom always was good with his hands.” Janice clamps a hanky to her eyes. “This can be his memorial. We’ll probably never have a tombstone.”
I exchange looks with Mum, who pulls a familiar Janice-has-lost-it expression.
“Janice, I’m sure he’s not dead—” Jess begins.
“We can engrave his dates on the back,” Janice continues. “If you don’t mind, Becky, love.”
&nb
sp; “Er…well no,” I say uncertainly. “Of course not.”
“He’s not dead, Janice!” Jess almost yells. “I know he’s not!”
“Well, where is he?” Janice pulls her hanky from her eyes, which are smudgy with mauve eye shadow. “You broke that boy’s heart!”
“Wait!” I suddenly remember. “Jess, I got a package for you this morning. Maybe it’s from him.”
I hurry to the hall and bring back the parcel. Jess rips it open and a CD falls out. On it is written simply “From Tom.”
We all stare at it for a moment.
“It’s a DVD,” says Danny, picking it up. “Put it on.”
“It’s his last will and testament!” cries Janice hysterically. “It’s a message from beyond the grave!”
“It’s not from beyond the grave,” Jess snaps, but as she heads to the DVD player I can see that she’s gone pale.
She presses Play and crouches down on the floor. We all wait in silence as the screen flickers. Then suddenly there’s Tom, facing the camera, against a blue sky. He’s wearing an old green polo shirt and looks pretty disheveled.
“Hi, Jess,” he says momentously. “By the time you see this, I’ll be in Chile. Because…that’s where I am now.”
Jess stiffens. “Chile?”
“Chile?” Janice shrieks. “What’s he doing in Chile?”
“I love you,” Tom’s saying. “And I’ll move to the other side of the world if that’s what it takes. Or farther.”
“Oh, that’s so romantic,” sighs Kelly.
“He’s such a stupid prat,” Jess says, knocking a fist against her forehead. “I’m not going out there for three months!”
But her eyes are glistening, I notice.
“Look what I’ve found you.” Tom is holding a chunk of some black shiny rock up to the camera. “You’ll love this country, Jess.”
“He’ll get cholera!” Janice is saying in agitation. “Or malaria! Tom’s always had a weak system—”
“I can get work as a carpenter,” Tom is saying. “I can write my book. We’ll be happy here. And if Mum gives you any grief, just remember what I told you about her.”
“Told you?” Janice looks up sharply. “What did he tell you?”
“Er…nothing.” Jess hastily presses Stop and whips the DVD out of the machine. “I’ll watch the rest later.”
“So!” says Mum cheerily. “He’s alive, Janice love. That’s good news!”
“Alive?” Janice is still in a state of hysteria. “What’s the use of being alive in Chile?”
“At least he’s out in the world!” says Jess with sudden passion. “At least he’s doing something with his life! You know, he’s been really depressed, Janice. This is just what he needs.”
“I know what my son needs!” Janice retorts indignantly as the doorbell rings. I heave myself to my feet, glad of an excuse to get out of the line of fire.
“I’ll just get this….” I head into the hall and pick up the entry phone. “Hello?”
“I have a delivery for you,” comes a crackly voice.
My heart skips a beat. A delivery. This has to be it. It has to be. As I press the buzzer I can hardly breathe. I’m telling myself firmly not to hope, it’ll be another package for Jess, or a catalog, or a computer part for Luke….
But when I open the door, there’s a motorbike courier standing in his leathers, holding a big padded envelope, and I already recognize Dave Sharpness’s writing in bold black marker pen.
I lock myself in the cloakroom and feverishly rip the envelope open. There’s a manila folder inside, marked “Brandon.” On the front is stuck a Post-it note, with a scribbled message: Hope this helps. Any further assistance required, do not hesitate. Yours, Dave S.
I open it up, and it’s all there. Copies of all the notes, transcripts of conversations, photos…I leaf through, my heart thumping. I’d forgotten quite how much stuff they had collected on Iain Wheeler. For a crappy private detective agency in West Ruislip, they actually did a great job.
I quickly bundle it all up again and head into the cool, empty kitchen. I’m about to pick up the phone to call Luke, when it rings, making me jump.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Mrs. Brandon,” comes an unfamiliar male voice. “Mike Enwright from the Press Association here.”
“Oh, right.” I stare at the phone, puzzled.
“I just wondered if you could comment on rumors that your husband’s company is going down?”
I feel a shiver of shock.
“It’s not going down,” I say robustly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“News is, he’s lost the Arcodas account. And the latest rumor is Foreland Investment is going the same way.”
“He has not lost Arcodas!” I exclaim, furious. “They have parted ways for reasons which I cannot discuss. And for your information, my husband’s company is as strong as ever. Stronger! Luke Brandon has been courted by high-caliber clients all his career, and he always will be. He is a man of immense integrity, talent, intelligence, good looks, and…and dress sense.”
I break off, breathing hard.
“OK then!” Mike Enwright is chuckling. “I get the picture.”
“Are you going to quote all that?”
“I doubt it.” He chuckles again. “But I like your attitude. Thanks for your time, Mrs. Brandon.”
He rings off and, flustered, I run water into a glass. I have to talk to Luke. I dial his direct line and get through on the third ring.
“Becky!” Luke sounds alert. “Has anything—”
“No, it’s not that.” I check outside the kitchen door and lower my voice. “Luke, the Press Association just rang. They wanted a quote about you”—I swallow—“going down. They said Foreland were leaving you.”
“That is bullshit!” Luke’s voice erupts in anger. “Those Arcodas fuckers are feeding stories to the press.”
“They couldn’t really damage you, could they?” I say fearfully.
“Not if I have anything to do with it.” Luke sounds resolute. “The gloves are off. If they want to fight, we’ll fight. We’ll take them to court if it comes to it. Charge them with harassment. Expose the whole bloody lot of them.”
I feel a huge surge of pride as I hear him speak. He sounds like the Luke Brandon I first met. Assured and in charge of the situation. Not running around after Iain Wheeler like some lackey.
“Luke, I’ve got something for you.” My words spill out. “I have…material on Iain Wheeler.”
“What did you say?” says Luke after a pause.
“There were some old cases of harassment and office bullying that were hushed up. I’ve got a whole dossier on him, right here in my hands.”
“You’ve got what ?” Luke sounds flabbergasted. “Becky…what are you talking about?”
Maybe I won’t get into the whole private-detective-in-West-Ruislip story just now.
“Don’t ask me how,” I say hurriedly. “I just do.”
“But how—”
“I said don’t ask! But it’s true. I’ll have it all biked round to the office. You should probably have your lawyers ready to take a look. There are photos, notes, all kinds of evidence…. Honestly, Luke. If this all comes out…he’s finished.”
“Photos ? You’ve been taking photos of Iain?”
“Er…not me, exactly…”
“Becky, what is this?” he demands. “What the hell have you been up to?”
“I’ll explain later. Just trust me, Luke, please. This is going to help you, I promise.”
“Becky…” Luke’s voice is incredulous. “You constantly amaze me.”
“I love you,” I say impulsively. “Cream them.” I put the phone down and push my hair back with sweaty hands. I take a few gulps of water, then speed-dial Luke’s regular courier firm and order a bike.
In half an hour or so, the folder will be with Luke. I just wish I could see his face when he opens it.
“Hi, Bex!” I jump as
Suze comes sauntering into the kitchen. Her expression changes as she sees me. “Bex…are you OK?”
“I’m…fine!” I put on a hasty smile. “Just taking some time out.”
“We’re going to play games next!” Suze opens the fridge and gets out a carton of orange juice. “Guess the baby food…hunt the nappy pin…celebrities’ babies names…”
I can’t believe the trouble she’s gone to, organizing all this.
“Suze…thanks so much,” I say. “It’s all amazing. And my photo frame!”
“It came out well, didn’t it?” Suze looks pleased. “You know, it really inspired me. I’m thinking of starting the frame business again.”
“You should!” I say with enthusiasm. Suze used to make brilliant photo frames till she had the children. They were stocked in Liberty’s and everything!
“I mean, the children are getting older now,” Suze is saying. “And if Lulu can write cookery books, why can’t I make frames? It won’t kill the kids if I work a few hours a day, will it? I’ll still be a good mother.”
I can see the anxiety in her eyes. I totally blame that cow Lulu. Suze never worried about being a good mother till she met her.
OK. Payback time.
“Suze…I’ve got something for you,” I say, reaching into the kitchen drawer. “But you can’t show Lulu, ever. Or tell her. Or tell anybody.”
“I won’t!” Suze looks intrigued. “What is it?”
“Here.”
I hand Suze the long-lens photograph—the only thing I saved from the original folder. It’s of Lulu in the street with her children. She looks pretty frazzled—in fact, she seems to be yelling at one of them. In her hands are four Mars Bars, which she’s doling out. She’s holding a couple of cans of Coke too, and under her arm is a jumbo packet of chips.
“No.” Suze appears almost too staggered to speak. “No. Are those—”
“Mars Bars.” I nod. “And Cheesy Wotsits.”
“And Coke!” Suze gives a gurgle of laughter and claps a hand over her mouth. “Bex, that has made my day. How on earth…”
“Don’t ask.” I can’t help giggling too.
“What a hypocritical…cow!” Suze is still peering at the picture in disbelief. “You know, she really got to me. I used to feel so inferior.”