“Well…no.”

“So. Just let it go. You’re having a baby, Bex. That’s the important thing, isn’t it?”

She looks so anxious, I can’t tell her my secret fantasy of bursting into the Holistic Birth Center unannounced and telling everyone exactly what a deceitful home-wrecker Venetia Carter really is.

Then how holistic would she look?

“All right,” I say at last. “I’m letting it go.”

“Good.” Suze pats my arm. “So, what time do we have to leave?”

I’m going back to The Look today, even though I’m officially now on maternity leave, because they’re opening the waiting list for the new Danny Kovitz line. Danny is going to be there from twelve noon, signing Tshirts for people who register, and the store has already had hundreds of inquiries!

The whole thing has suddenly become huge news — helped by Danny being photographed the other night in a clinch with the new guy in Coronation Street. All the papers have suddenly taken up the story and we’ve had loads of publicity. Danny was even on Morning Coffee this morning, assessing spring fashions on the sofa (he said all the outfits were hideous, which they loved) and telling everyone to come to The Look.

Ha! And it was all my idea to get him involved.

“Let’s go in a few minutes,” I say, glancing at my watch. “There’s no rush. They can’t exactly fire me for being late, can they?”

“I guess not….” Suze edges back to the sink, past our brand-new Warrior pushchair, which is in the corner, still in its packaging. There wasn’t room for it in the nursery, and the hall is cluttered with a Bugaboo (they were on special offer) and this cool three-wheeler which has an integrated car seat. “Bex, how many prams did you order?”

“A few,” I say vaguely.

“But where are you going to keep them all?”

“It’s OK,” I assure her. “I’m having a special room for them in the new house. I’ll call it the Pram Room.”

“A Pram Room?” Suze stares at me. “You’re having a Shoe Room and a Pram Room?”

“Why not? People don’t have enough different rooms. I might have a Handbag Room too. Just a small one…” I take a sip of raspberry leaf tea, which according to Suze helps speed up labor, and wince at the revolting taste.

“Ooh, what was that?” says Suze, alert. “Did you feel a twinge?”

Honestly. This is the third time she’s asked about twinges since she arrived this morning.

“Suze, it’s not due for another two weeks,” I remind her.

“That doesn’t mean anything!” says Suze. “Those dates are all a conspiracy by doctors.” She studies me closely. “Do you feel like sweeping the floor or cleaning out the fridge?”

“The fridge is clean!” I say, a bit offended.

“No, you dope!” says Suze. “It’s the nesting instinct. When the twins were due I suddenly got this mania for ironing Tarkie’s shirts. And Lulu always starts vacuuming the whole house.”

“Vacuuming?” I look at her dubiously. I can’t imagine having an urge to vacuum.

“Totally! Loads of women scrub the floor—” She breaks off as the buzzer sounds, and picks up the entry phone. “Hello, the Brandon residence!” She listens for a moment, then presses the entry button. “It’s a delivery. Are you expecting something?”

“Ooh, yes!” I put my cup down. “It’ll be my Christmas things!”

“Presents?” Suze brightens. “Is there one for me?”

“Not presents,” I explain. “Gorgeous decorations. It was so weird — I had this sudden urge yesterday, like I had to get Christmas all sorted before I had the baby. So I’ve ordered new angels for the tree, and an Advent candle, and this gorgeous nativity scene….” I take a bite of cookie and munch it. “I’ve got it all planned for the new house. We’ll have a huge Christmas tree in the hall, and garlands everywhere, and gingerbread men which we can put on red ribbons….”

The doorbell sounds and I head to the door. I open it to see two men holding massive cardboard boxes, plus a huge bulky parcel which must be the life-size models of Mary and Joseph.

“Blimey!” says Suze, staring at them. “You’ll need a Christmas Decoration Room too.”

Hey. That’s not a bad idea!

“Hi!” I beam at the men. “Just put them anywhere, thank you so much….” I scribble a signature and turn to Suze as the guys head out again. “I must show you the baby’s Christmas stocking—” I stop. Suze is looking from me to the boxes and back again with a strange, animated expression. “What?”

“Bex, this is it,” she says. “You’re nesting.”

I stare at her. “But…I haven’t cleaned anything.”

“Every woman’s different! Maybe you don’t clean — you order things from catalogs! Was it like…this sudden really strong desire which you couldn’t fight?”

“Yes!” I can’t help a gasp of recognition. “Exactly! The catalog came through the door…and I just had to order from it. I couldn’t stop myself!”

“There you go!” Suze says, satisfied. “It’s all part of nature’s grand plan.”

“Wow,” I breathe, totally awestruck by my own body. I wasn’t shopping, I was nesting! I must tell Luke.

“And you really don’t feel like cleaning anything?” Suze adds curiously. “Or tidying up?”

I prod my feelings experimentally. “I don’t think so….”

“You don’t feel like washing up those plates?” Suze gestures to the breakfast things in the sink.

“No,” I say definitely. “No urge at all.”

“It just shows.” Suze shakes her head in wonderment. “Every pregnancy is different.”

A new thought has suddenly struck me. “Hey, Suze, if I’m nesting, maybe I’ll have the baby soon! Like this afternoon!”

“You can’t!” says Suze in dismay. “Not before your shower!” Immediately she claps her hand over her mouth.

Shower? Does she mean…baby shower?

“Are you throwing me a baby shower!” I can’t help beaming with excitement.

“No!” says Suze at once. “I…that’s not…it wasn’t…I’m not…”

Her face has turned bright pink and she’s twisting one leg around the other. Suze is such a hopeless liar.

“Yes, you are!”

“Well, OK,” she says in a rush. “But it’s a surprise. I’m not going to tell you when it is.”

“Is it today?” I say at once. “I bet it’s today!”

“I’m not telling you!” she says, all flustered. “Stop talking about it. Pretend I never said anything. Come on, let’s go.”



We take a taxi to The Look, and as we draw near I cannot believe my eyes. This is better than I could have hoped for, in a million years.

There are queues of people snaking round the block as far as I can see. There must be hundreds of them, mostly girls in cool-looking outfits, chattering in groups or on mobile phones. Everyone’s holding a helium balloon with THE LOOK — DANNY KOVITZ printed on it, and music is playing from speakers, and one of the girls from PR is giving out bottles of Diet Coke and “Danny Kovitz” lollies.

The whole atmosphere is like a party. A TV crew from London Tonight is filming the scene and a radio presenter is interviewing the girl at the head of the queue, and as we get out I can see a woman introducing herself to a young, rangy girl as a scout from Models One.

“This is amazing,” Suze breathes beside me.

“I know!” I’m trying to look cool, but a huge grin is spreading across my face. “Come on, let’s go inside!”

We fight our way to the head of the queue, and I show my pass to the security guard. As he opens the door to let us in, I can feel the swell of girls pushing forward behind me.

“Did you see that girl?” I can hear furious voices behind me demanding. “She just shoved her way in! Why does she get to queue-barge just because she’s pregnant?”

Oops. Maybe we should have gone in a side door.

Inside, there’s another queue of excited, chattering girls. It winds through accessories, past huge screens showing Danny’s latest catwalk collection, up to a mirrored, art deco table behind which Danny is sitting on a huge throne-like chair. Above him a banner reads EXCLUSIVE— MEET DANNY KOVITZ! and in front of him three teenage girls in indentikit military jackets and ponytails are gawking at him in total awe as he signs plain white Tshirts for them. He meets my eye and winks.

“Thanks,” I mouth back, and blow him a kiss. He is a total, one hundred percent star.

Plus, I know he will be loving all this.

A small distance from the table, Eric is being interviewed by another TV crew, and as I approach I can hear him speaking.

“I did always feel strongly that The Look should be considering joint design initiatives…” he’s saying importantly. Then suddenly he notices me watching. He breaks off, flushing slightly. “Ahem. Let me introduce Rebecca Brandon, our head of Personal Shopping, who originated the idea….”

“Hi there!” I head over to the camera with a big, confident smile. “Eric and I worked as a team on this project and I think it heralds a new day for The Look. And all those people who laughed at us can eat their words.”

I give a few more sound bites to the interviewer, then make an excuse and leave Eric to it. To my astonishment, I’ve just spotted Jess standing uncomfortably by the sunglasses, all on her own in jeans and a parka. I told her about the launch today, but I really wasn’t sure she’d come along.

“Jess!” I call out as I near her. “You made it!”

“This is incredible, Becky.” Jess is looking around at the milling crowds. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks!” I beam at her. “Isn’t it great? Have you seen all the TV crews?”

“There was a guy from the Times outside,” says Jess, nodding. “And the Standard. The media coverage is going to be huge.” She gives a little smile. “Becky Brandon does it again.”

“Well…” I shrug, flushing. “So, how are things? How are preparations going for Chile?”

“Oh, fine.” Jess heaves a sigh.

The thing with Jess is, it can be a bit hard to tell what mood she’s in. She has a slightly gloomy air about her even when she’s happy. (Which is just the way she is — I’m not being mean or anything.) But as I look at her now, I think she’s genuinely miserable.

“Jess…what’s up?” I put a hand on her arm. “Things aren’t fine.”

“No,” says Jess. “They’re not.” She looks up, and to my horror I see her eyes are shimmering. “Tom’s disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” I say, aghast.

“I wasn’t going to say anything. I didn’t want to get you worried. But no one’s seen him for three days. I think he’s sulking.”

“About you leaving?”

She nods and I feel a pang of anger at Tom. Why does he have to be such a self-obsessed flake?

“He sent one text to his parents to say he’s safe. That’s it. He could be anywhere. And Janice blames me, of course….”

“This isn’t your fault! He’s just a—” I stop myself.

“Do you have any ideas where he might be, Becky?” Her brow is all crinkled up. “You’ve known him all your life.”

I shrug, at a loss. Knowing Tom, he could have done anything. He could have gone to the tattoo parlor and asked them to tattoo Jess, Don’t Go on his genitals.

“Look…he’ll turn up,” I say at last. “He’s not completely stupid. He’s probably just gone off on a bender somewhere.”

“Hi, Becky.” I look up to see Jasmine coming toward us, holding an armful of scarves and hats, her cheeks pink with exertion.

“Hey, Jasmine! Isn’t this amazing? What’s it like upstairs?”

“Mayhem.” She rolls her eyes. “Customers everywhere. Thank God we’ve got the extra staff.”

“Isn’t it cool?” I beam, but Jasmine gives an unenthusiastic scowl.

“I preferred it the way it was. We’re all going to have to stay late tonight, you know. I haven’t had a moment to myself.”

“This way, the shop may not go bust,” I point out, but Jasmine doesn’t look impressed.

“Whatever…” Her face suddenly snaps in shock. For a moment she’s speechless. “Becky…have you had your eyebrows done?”

I wondered when she was going to notice!

“Oh,” I say casually. “Yes, I have. Nice, aren’t they?” I smooth one down with my finger.

“Where did you go?” she demands.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t say,” I tell her in tones of regret. “It’s a bit of a secret. Sorry about that.”

Jasmine’s chin is set in fury. “Tell me where you went!”

“No!”

“Jasmine!” a girl is calling from the escalators. “Have you got those scarves for the customer?”

“You found out where I go, didn’t you?” she spits. “You must have spied on me.”

“How could I have done that?” I say innocently, glancing at my reflection in a nearby mirror. My eyebrows do look pretty spectacular, though I say it myself. It’s this Indian woman in Crouch End who does them. You go to her house and she threads and plucks and it takes forever. But it’s worth it.