Sophie Kinsella - Shopaholic and Baby

I break off. Fabia is peering at my foot, jammed in the door. Then she looks at the other one.

It’s not my feet she’s interested in, it’s my Archie Swann cowboy boots in beaten-up calfskin with the leather drawstring. Archie Swann is the new kid on the shoe block, and these exact boots were in Vogue last week, under “Most Coveted.” I saw Fabia checking them out the moment we arrived.

Fabia raises her eyes to mine. “I like your boots,” she says.

I’m momentarily speechless.

Play it cool, Becky, play it cool.

“I waited a whole year for these boots,” I say at last, feeling as though I’m treading on eggshells. “You can’t get them anywhere.”

“I’m on the waiting list at Harvey Nichols,” she bats back.

“Maybe.” I force a casual tone. “But you won’t get them. They only made fifty pairs and they’ve run out. I’m a personal shopper, so I know these things.”

I am totally bluffing here. But I think it’s working. She’s practically salivating over them.

“Becky?” Luke is coming back up the path toward me. “What’s going on?”

“Luke!” I lift a hand. “Stay there!” I feel like Obi-Wan Kenobi telling Luke Skywalker not to interfere because he doesn’t understand the strength of the Force.

I wriggle out of my left boot, leaving it standing on the doormat like a totem.

“It’s yours,” I say. “If you accept our offer. And the other one when we exchange contracts.”

“Call the agent tomorrow,” says Fabia, sounding almost breathless. “I’ll talk my husband round. The house is yours.”

I did it! I don’t believe it!

As fast as I can, in one boot and one stockinged foot, I hurry down the steps toward Luke.

“We’ve got the house!” I throw my arms round his neck. “I got us the house!”

“What the fuck—” He stares at me. “What did you say? Why are you only wearing one boot?”

“Oh…just a bit of negotiation,” I say airily, and glance back at the front door. Fabia has already kicked off her gold ballet pump and thrust her jean-clad leg into the boot. Now she’s turning it from side to side, fixated. “If you call the agent in the morning, I think you’ll find it’s a deal.”

We don’t even need to wait until the next morning. Less than two hours later, we’re sitting in the car on the way to Mum’s, when Luke’s phone rings.

“Yes?” he says into his headset. “Yes. Really?”

I’m making faces at him, trying to get him to tell me what’s going on, but he’s keeping his eyes firmly on the road, which is really annoying. At last he switches the phone off and turns to me with the tiniest of smiles. “It’s ours.”

“Yes!” I squeal in delight. “I told you!”

“They’re relocating to New York and want to move as soon as possible. I said we could complete by December.”

“We’ll have our new baby in our gorgeous new house in time for Christmas.” I hug myself. “It’s going to be perfect!”

“It’s pretty good news.” His face is glowing. “And all down to you.”

“It was nothing,” I say modestly. “Just good negotiating.” I get out my mobile phone and am about to text Suze the good news, when all of a sudden it rings.

“Hello?” I say joyfully into it.

“Mrs. Brandon? It’s Diane from Venetia Carter’s office here.”

“Oh!” I stiffen, and glance at Luke. “Er…hello.”

“We just wanted to let you know that the vacancy has arisen on Dr. Carter’s books. She would be very pleased to see you — and your husband if you wish — on Thursday at three P.M.”

“Right,” I say, a little breathless. “Um…yes, please. I’ll be there! Thank you very much!”

“Not at all. Good-bye, Mrs. Brandon.”

The line goes dead and I switch the phone off with trembling hands. I’ve got a place with Venetia Carter! I’m going to meet celebrities and have holistic Thai massage!

Now I just have to break the news to Luke.

“Who was that?” says Luke, turning on the radio. He frowns at the digital display and presses a couple of buttons.

“It was…um…” I drop my phone accidentally-on-purpose on the floor and bend down to retrieve it.

It’ll be fine. He’s in a good mood about the house and everything. I’ll just tell him and that will be that. And if he starts objecting, I shall point out that I’m a grown-up mature woman who can choose her own medical care. Exactly.

“Er…Luke.” I sit up again, a bit red in the face. “About Dr. Braine.”

“Oh, yes?” Luke pulls into another lane. “By the way, I told my mother we’d organize a dinner with him and David.”

A dinner? Oh God, this gets worse. I have to tell him, quick.

“Luke, listen.” I wait until he slows down behind a truck. “I’ve been thinking very hard and doing some research.”

Research sounds good. Even if it was just reading a piece about Hollywood baby trends on fashionmommies.com.

“And the thing is…” I swallow. “I want to go to Venetia Carter.”

Luke makes an impatient noise. “Becky, not this again. I thought we’d agreed—”

“I’ve got a place with her,” I say in a rush. “I’ve made an appointment. It’s all fixed up.”

“You’ve what?” He brakes at a traffic light and turns to face me.

“It’s my body!” I say defensively. “I can see whoever I like!”

“Becky, we are lucky enough to have one of the most respected, renowned obstetricians in the country looking after you, and you’re messing around with some unknown woman.”

“For the millionth time, she’s not unknown!” I exclaim in frustration. “She’s huge in Hollywood! She’s modern and she’s in touch, and she does these amazing water births with lotus flowers….”

“Lotus flowers? She sounds a total bloody charlatan.” Luke angrily jabs his foot down on the accelerator. “I won’t have you risking the health of yourself and the baby.”

“She won’t be a charlatan!”

I should never have mentioned the lotus flowers. I might have known Luke wouldn’t understand.

“Look, darling…” I try a different tack. “You always say, ‘Give people a chance.’”

“No, I don’t.” Luke doesn’t even miss a beat.

“Well, then, you should!” I say crossly.

We stop at a zebra crossing and a woman walks across with a really cool green space-age-looking pram on high wheels. Wow. Maybe we should get one of those. I squint, trying to see what the logo is.

It’s amazing, I never used to even notice prams before. Now I can’t stop checking them out, even when I’m in the middle of a row with my husband.

Discussion. Not row.

“Luke, listen,” I say as we move off again. “In my book it says the pregnant woman should always follow her instincts. Well, my instincts are saying really strongly, ‘Go to Venetia Carter.’ It’s nature telling me!”

Luke is silent. I can’t tell if he’s frowning at the road or at what I’m saying.

“We could just go once to check her out,” I say appeasingly. “One little appointment. If we hate her we don’t have to go back.”

We’ve reached Mum and Dad’s drive. There’s a big silver banner over the door, and a stray helium balloon reading Happy 60th Birthday, Jane! lands lightly on the bonnet as we pull in.

“And I got us the house,” I can’t help adding. Even though I know it isn’t strictly relevant.

Luke parks the car behind a van with OXSHOTT SPECIAL EVENTS printed on the side and finally turns to face me.

“OK, Becky.” He sighs. “You win. We’ll go and see her.”

TO SAY THAT MUM IS EXCITED about the baby is a bit of an understatement. As we get out of the car she flies across the drive, her hair blow-dried for the party, her face all pink with excitement.

“Becky! How’s my little grandchild!”

She doesn’t even bother looking at my face anymore. Her attention is straight on the bump. “It’s getting bigger! Can you hear Grandma?” She bends closer. “Can you hear Grandma?”

“Hello, Jane,” says Luke politely. “Maybe we could come in?”

“Of course!” She snaps up again and ushers us inside the house. “Come in! Put your feet up, Becky! Have a cup of tea. Graham!”

“I’m here!” Dad appears down the stairs. “Becky!” He gives me a tight hug. “Come and sit down. Suze is here with the children—”

“Already!” I exclaim in delight. I haven’t seen Suze for ages. I follow my parents into the sitting room to find Suze on the sofa next to Janice, Mum and Dad’s next-door neighbor. Her blond hair is up in a knot and she’s breast-feeding one of her twins. Meanwhile Janice is wriggling uncomfortably, clearly trying very hard not to look.

“Bex!” Suze’s face lights up. “Oh my God! You look fantastic!”

“Suze!” I give her a great big hug, trying not to squash the baby. “How are you? And how’s darling little Clemmie?” I kiss the blond little head.

“This is Wilfrid,” says Suze, going a bit pink.

Damn. I always get it wrong. And to make things worse, Suze is totally paranoid that Wilfrid looks like a girl. (Which he does. Especially in that lacy romper thing.)

I quickly change the subject. “Where are the others?”

“Oh, Tarkie’s got them,” says Suze, looking vaguely out the window. I follow her gaze and see her husband, Tarquin, pushing my godson, Ernie, around the marquee in a wheelbarrow, with Clementine strapped to his chest.

“More!” Ernie’s shrieking voice comes faintly through the window. “More, Dada!”

“That’ll be you in a few months, Luke,” I say with a grin.

“Mmm-hmm.” He raises his eyebrows and gets out his BlackBerry. “I need to send some e-mails. I’ll do it upstairs, if that’s OK?”

He heads out of the room and I sit on a squashy chair near Suze. “So, guess what? We’ve had an offer accepted on the most perfect house! Look!” I get the property details out of my handbag and pass them to Mum for admiration.

“How lovely, darling!” exclaims Mum. “Is it detached?”

“Well…no. But it’s really—”

“Is there off-street parking?” Dad squints over Mum’s shoulder.

“No, there’s no actual parking, but—”

“They don’t need parking, Graham,” Mum interrupts. “They’re Londoners! They take taxis everywhere.”

“Are you telling me no Londoners drive?” says Dad scoffingly. “Are you telling me that in our entire capital city, not a single resident ever gets in a car?”

“I would never drive in London.” Janice gives a little shudder. “You know, they wait until you stop at the traffic lights…and then they knife you.”

“‘They’?” exclaims Dad in exasperation. “Who’s ‘they’?”

“Marble floor. Ooh, dear.” Mum looks up from the details and pulls a face. “What about the little one when it’s learning to walk? You could carpet it over, perhaps. A nice Berber with flecks in so it doesn’t show the dirt.”

I give up.

“And my second piece of news is…” I say loudly, trying to haul the conversation back on track, “I’m changing doctors.” I pause for effect. “I’m having Venetia Carter.”

“Venetia Carter?” Suze looks up from Wilfrid in amazement. “Are you serious?”

Ha. I knew Suze would have heard of her.

“Absolutely.” I glow with pride. “We’ve just heard we’ve got a place with her. Isn’t it fantastic?”

“Is she good, then, this Dr. Carter?” Mum looks from me to Suze.

“They call her the A-list obstetrician.” Suze expertly starts to burp Wilfrid. “I read an article about her in Harper’s. She’s supposed to be wonderful!”

A-list obstetrician! That makes me A-list!

“She does all the supermodels and film stars,” I can’t help boasting. “They have tea parties and designer goodie bags and everything. I’ll probably meet them all!”

“But, Becky, I thought you had a well-respected doctor.” Dad looks perturbed. “Is it a good idea to be changing?”

“Dad, Venetia Carter’s in a different league!” I can’t help sounding impatient. “She’s the absolute best. I had to beg to get a place with her.”

“Well, don’t forget us, love, when you’re famous!” says Mum.

“I won’t! Hey, do you want to see the scan?” I fish in my bag, produce the roll of pictures, and hand it to Mum.

“Look at that!” she breathes, gazing at the blurry image. “Look, Graham! Our first little grandchild. It looks just like my mother!”

“Your mother?” retorts Dad incredulously, grabbing the prints from her. “Are you blind?”

“Becky, I’ve knitted a few bits and pieces for the baby,” Janice puts in timidly. “Some little matinee jackets…a shawl…a Noah’s Ark set…I made three of each animal, just in case of mishap….”

“Janice, that’s so kind of you,” I say, touched.