Mini Shopaholic
‘Come on, Becky!’ Mum is halfway towards the door. ‘What’s wrong?’
I’m rooted to the spot.
‘Mum …’ My voice is a bit strangled. ‘There’s … something I need to tell you. About the house. The truth is … I haven’t been totally honest.’
Mum stops dead. As she turns, there are little spots of pink on her cheeks.
‘I knew it. I knew there was something. You’ve been hiding something from us, Becky! What is it?’ Her face drops as though with a sudden horrific thought. ‘Is there no off-street parking?’
I hear sharp inhalations from both Janice and Martin. In Surrey, parking is practically a religion.
‘It’s not that. It’s …’ My breath is coming so quickly I can barely talk. ‘It’s …’
‘Mrs Brandon.’ A man in a suit whom I don’t recognize is hurrying out of the estate agent’s on to the pavement. ‘David Ripley, managing partner.’ He holds out a hand. ‘Please don’t stand out here in the cold. Let me offer you a cup of coffee at least. I’m well aware of your unfortunate situation, and believe me, we are doing everything in our power to find you a home, as soon as possible.’
I can’t look at Mum. I can’t look at anyone. The only thing that can save me now is a freak tornado.
‘Find Becky a home?’ Mum echoes uncertainly.
‘We’re devastated about the rental property mix-up,’ David Ripley continues. ‘Your deposit will be refunded immediately—’
‘Rental property?’
The sharpness in Mum’s voice even gets through to David Ripley, who turns at once.
‘I’m so sorry, is this your mother?’ He extends a hand. ‘How do you do. Let me assure you, we’re doing everything we can to house your daughter.’
‘But she’s got a house!’ says Mum shrilly. ‘She’s bought a house! We’re here to pick up the keys! Why else do you think we’re all here in Maida Vale?’
David Ripley looks from Mum to me in confusion.
‘I’m so sorry – is there something I haven’t been told?’
‘No,’ I say, hot with mortification. ‘My mother hasn’t quite got … the whole picture. I need to talk to her.’
‘Ah.’ David Ripley lifts his hands with a delicate gesture and backs off towards the office. ‘Well, I’ll be inside if you need me.’
‘Mum …’ I swallow hard. ‘I know I should have told you …’
‘Martin,’ murmurs Janice, and they discreetly move away to look at a travel agent’s window. Mum is just standing there, her brow contorted with incomprehension and disappointment.
Suddenly I feel like crying. My parents were so proud of me, buying my first-ever house. They told all their friends. And here I am, screwing everything up, as usual.
‘There was a delay with the house,’ I mumble, staring at the pavement. ‘And we couldn’t bear to tell you because you were so hassled with us cluttering up the place at home. So we rented somewhere – except then that house fell through too. So … we’re homeless.’ I force myself to raise my head. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘We’ve driven all this way … and you haven’t got a house?’
‘Yes. I mean, we will get one, but—’
‘You mean … you deliberately misled us? You let Dad make his little speech? You let us give you the painting? And it was all lies?’
‘It wasn’t lies exactly …’
‘Well, what else was it?’ Mum suddenly explodes and I flinch. ‘Here we all are, traipsing around Maida Vale; Janice and Martin have made all this effort; we’ve all bought house-warming presents—’
‘I told you not to come!’ I say defensively, but Mum doesn’t seem to hear.
‘Everything you do, Becky, is a fiasco! Everything is a fantasy! What’s your father going to say? Do you know how disappointed he’ll be?’
‘We will get a house!’ I say desperately. ‘We will, I promise! And you can have the painting back until then.’
‘This is just like George Michael—’
‘It is not!’ I cut her off, stung. ‘It is not George Michael all over again.’ I furiously brush away a sudden tear. ‘It’s just … a little hitch.’
‘It’s always just a little hitch, love! Always!’ Mum sounds beside herself. ‘The party will be just the same—’
‘No it won’t!’ I almost roar. ‘And I never asked you to drive all this way, did I? Or buy me presents. And if you don’t want to come to Luke’s party, Mum, then you needn’t! In fact, please don’t!’