it’s the one subject we don’t see eye-to-eye on.
“I’ve got something for you too, Becky.” Jess delves into her backpack and produces a bunch of grubby rags. Janice recoils with a little cry of dismay.
“What’s that, dear?”
“Becky and I are going to make baby wipes,” says Jess.
“
Make
baby wipes?” Mum looks uncomprehending. “But love, Boots do them. You can get them in the three-for-two.”
“They look a little…used,” ventures Janice.
“We just need to boil them and soak them in a solution of oil and soap,” Jess informs her. “It’s far kinder to the environment. And to the baby’s skin. And they’re reusable. You’ll save pounds in the long run.”
“Er…fab.” I gulp, and finger the rags, one of which has HM WANDSWORTH PRISON printed faintly down the side. There is no way on earth I’m having a bucket of grotty old rags in my baby’s nursery. But Jess seems so enthusiastic. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.
“I’ll help you make a baby carrier too,” she says. “Out of a pair of Luke’s old jeans. It’s really simple.”
“Good idea!” I manage. I daren’t look at Luke.
“And I’ve had another idea.” Jess swivels on the ottoman to face me. “You don’t have to say yes, but maybe you could think about it?”
“Right,” I say nervously. “What is it?”
“Would you give a talk?”
“A talk?” I’m taken aback. “On what?”
“On how you kicked your spending addiction.” Jess leans forward, her face all warm and sisterly. “I have a friend who’s a counselor and I was telling her about you and how much you’ve changed. She said she thought you’d be an inspiration to a lot of the addicts in her group.”
There’s silence in the room. I can feel my face going puce.
“Go on, Bex.” Suze nudges my foot. “You’d be great!”
“I’ll come,” says Luke. “When is it?”
“It wouldn’t need to be formal,” says Jess. “Just a friendly chat about resisting consumer pressure. Especially now that you’re pregnant.” She shakes her head. “It’s
ridiculous
, the amount of rubbish people feel compelled to buy for their children.”
“I blame the catalogs,” says Luke gravely.
“So, what do you think, Becky?” persists Jess.
“I don’t really…” I clear my throat feebly. “I’m not sure…”
“Don’t be embarrassed!” Jess gets up from the ottoman and comes to sit beside me on the sofa. “I’m really proud of you, Becky. And you should be proud of yourself—” Her expression changes and she shifts on the sofa. “What am I sitting on? What’s this?” She reaches behind her and pulls out two glossy catalogs, with all the corners folded down.
Shit. And she
would
have picked out Luxury Baby, which has a cover picture of a baby dressed in Ralph Lauren, holding a Dior bottle and sitting in a miniature Rolls-Royce.
“Becky wasn’t looking at those,” says Suze in a rush. “They’re not even hers. They’re mine. I brought them.”
I really love Suze.
Jess is leafing through Luxury Baby and flinching. “It’s shocking. I mean, what baby needs an inflatable bath? Or a designer crib?”
“Oh, I know.” I try to match her tones of disdain. “It’s terrible. Although I probably will buy, you know, a
few
things….”
“Have a look, Jess, love!” says Mum helpfully. “Becky’s already found a super crib for the baby!” She rummages among the catalogs. “Where is it, now? It’s got a light show…and vibrating action….”
I stiffen in horror.
Do not show Jess the
£
1,200 crib
.
“Here it is!” Mum holds out Funky Baba.
“Jess doesn’t want to see that!” I try to grab the catalog, but Jess gets there first.
“Which page?” she says.
“Mum?” A voice interrupts us and we all look round. Standing in the doorway is a frowning guy with disheveled dark hair and stubble. He’s tall and rangy and he’s holding a beaten-up old paperback and I have no idea who he—
Hang on. Is that
“I’ve got something for you too, Becky.” Jess delves into her backpack and produces a bunch of grubby rags. Janice recoils with a little cry of dismay.
“What’s that, dear?”
“Becky and I are going to make baby wipes,” says Jess.
“
Make
baby wipes?” Mum looks uncomprehending. “But love, Boots do them. You can get them in the three-for-two.”
“They look a little…used,” ventures Janice.
“We just need to boil them and soak them in a solution of oil and soap,” Jess informs her. “It’s far kinder to the environment. And to the baby’s skin. And they’re reusable. You’ll save pounds in the long run.”
“Er…fab.” I gulp, and finger the rags, one of which has HM WANDSWORTH PRISON printed faintly down the side. There is no way on earth I’m having a bucket of grotty old rags in my baby’s nursery. But Jess seems so enthusiastic. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.
“I’ll help you make a baby carrier too,” she says. “Out of a pair of Luke’s old jeans. It’s really simple.”
“Good idea!” I manage. I daren’t look at Luke.
“And I’ve had another idea.” Jess swivels on the ottoman to face me. “You don’t have to say yes, but maybe you could think about it?”
“Right,” I say nervously. “What is it?”
“Would you give a talk?”
“A talk?” I’m taken aback. “On what?”
“On how you kicked your spending addiction.” Jess leans forward, her face all warm and sisterly. “I have a friend who’s a counselor and I was telling her about you and how much you’ve changed. She said she thought you’d be an inspiration to a lot of the addicts in her group.”
There’s silence in the room. I can feel my face going puce.
“Go on, Bex.” Suze nudges my foot. “You’d be great!”
“I’ll come,” says Luke. “When is it?”
“It wouldn’t need to be formal,” says Jess. “Just a friendly chat about resisting consumer pressure. Especially now that you’re pregnant.” She shakes her head. “It’s
ridiculous
, the amount of rubbish people feel compelled to buy for their children.”
“I blame the catalogs,” says Luke gravely.
“So, what do you think, Becky?” persists Jess.
“I don’t really…” I clear my throat feebly. “I’m not sure…”
“Don’t be embarrassed!” Jess gets up from the ottoman and comes to sit beside me on the sofa. “I’m really proud of you, Becky. And you should be proud of yourself—” Her expression changes and she shifts on the sofa. “What am I sitting on? What’s this?” She reaches behind her and pulls out two glossy catalogs, with all the corners folded down.
Shit. And she
would
have picked out Luxury Baby, which has a cover picture of a baby dressed in Ralph Lauren, holding a Dior bottle and sitting in a miniature Rolls-Royce.
“Becky wasn’t looking at those,” says Suze in a rush. “They’re not even hers. They’re mine. I brought them.”
I really love Suze.
Jess is leafing through Luxury Baby and flinching. “It’s shocking. I mean, what baby needs an inflatable bath? Or a designer crib?”
“Oh, I know.” I try to match her tones of disdain. “It’s terrible. Although I probably will buy, you know, a
few
things….”
“Have a look, Jess, love!” says Mum helpfully. “Becky’s already found a super crib for the baby!” She rummages among the catalogs. “Where is it, now? It’s got a light show…and vibrating action….”
I stiffen in horror.
Do not show Jess the
£
1,200 crib
.
“Here it is!” Mum holds out Funky Baba.
“Jess doesn’t want to see that!” I try to grab the catalog, but Jess gets there first.
“Which page?” she says.
“Mum?” A voice interrupts us and we all look round. Standing in the doorway is a frowning guy with disheveled dark hair and stubble. He’s tall and rangy and he’s holding a beaten-up old paperback and I have no idea who he—
Hang on. Is that
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