Late Night Shopping: (36 page)

'Yeah,' she agreed, 'take your time. No one's rushing you into anything.'

Lana looked up at her. 'Did Ed tell you about the time he found me and Andrei under there?' She pointed underneath the bed in front of them.

'Under there?!' Annie asked. 'No! What were you doing under there?'

'Well . . .' Lana's were eyes cast down again and she stumbled slightly over the words, 'I think . . . I mean . . . we were thinking about . . . sex . . . I think.'

'Oh!' was Annie's first reaction, but she quickly tempered her astonishment. 'Oh, right. And Ed found you?'

'Yeah,' Lana admitted a little sheepishly.

Ed hadn't told her a word. Annie wasn't sure whether to feel annoyed or impressed that he'd kept Lana's secret.

'I think he knew nothing major was going on . . . so maybe he didn't want to make a big deal of it,' came Lana's explanation.

'So you haven't . . . ?'Annie began and Lana shook her head shyly.

'I'm glad,' Annie told her. 'If you'd slept with him, you'd be feeling even more confused.'

'Yeah, I know,' Lana admitted, but then maybe because she wasn't quite ready for a big long talk about all that just yet, she got to her feet and asked, 'Do you want a hand putting all this stuff back in the cupboard or shall I go and make us some tea?'

'I would let you help me, but I'm too worried you'll just try and nab a few plum items for yourself.' Annie tried her best to sound cheerful again.

'Nah!' Lana insisted. 'We've got different taste these days.'

That was definitely true. Annie had decided, not long ago, to give up trying to understand her daughter and her daughter's friends' taste in clothes. It was all so frumpy and retro: slouchy pointy boots, weird baby doll jackets, batwing sleeves and carpet-bags. What was it with those cheap and nasty carpet-bags? Lana was always slouching off to school with a carpet-bag, a flat cap, ankle boots and black cape, looking like a Victorian orphan on her way to the poorhouse. It was too complicated.

As soon as Lana had gone out of the room to boil the kettle, Annie picked up her phone and without thinking about it too much, called Ed's number.

Once again, she was put through to voicemail. 'Ed,' she said calmly, 'please phone me, or come and see me. I would come and see you, but I don't want to leave the children at night. We need to talk. I'm sorry I've upset you . . .' After a momentary pause, she added, 'I miss you.'

Tom Dickinson in the office:

Black merino polo sweater (John Smedley)
Black light wool trousers (Boss)
Black knee-length socks (Paul Smith)
Black lace-ups (Patrick Cox)
Fig-flavoured cologne (Diptyque)
Total est. cost: £560

'So what's the label?'

'Yes, hello? . . . yes I'm Annie Valentine.'

When the man on the other end of the line told her he was phoning from Harrods, Annie's heart skipped several beats: 'Oh hello! Thanks for calling me back!' she said excitedly.

Tom Dickinson apologized for not getting back sooner. It was approaching 7 p.m. and Annie had spent most of the afternoon hovering over her mobile waiting anxiously for his call. He wanted to know more about the bags she was selling.

In a voice which sounded so much more confident and professional than she was feeling, Annie began, 'Oh they're wonderful. Beautiful bags, entirely made in Italy from the three small factories commissioned every year to make bags for Tods and Yves Saint Laurent. They really are stunning quality at a stunning price. Obviously, I was hoping you'd like to take a look at some samples and see if you're interested.'

'So what's the label?' Tom Dickinson asked.

The label?
Blimey, she hadn't given that a moment's thought. With just a brief pause, she found herself replying, 'Bellissimo Bags'.

'The reason I'm interested,' he went on, 'is that we're thinking about expanding our range of own-label bags. We're speaking to some suppliers but we haven't found quite the right thing at the right price yet. Would you be interested in working with us in this capacity?' he asked.

'Absolutely!' Annie told him, sure that Sandro with his Harrods obsession wasn't going to object to this.

'And how many bags can you supply?'

'How many do you want?' Annie countered.

'Well, initial orders might be in the 50–100 range.'

'Right, well I will speak to the factories and come back to you with figures at our meeting.'

There was going to be a meeting – wasn't there? She hadn't jumped the gun here?

'Erm . . .' Tom Dickinson paused, then said, 'Let me just check with my accessories merchandising manager. I'd want her in on a meeting.'

When he came back on the line, he asked if 10 a.m. on Friday would suit.

'Perfect!' Annie said, managing to rein in a shriek. She would have to take a few hours off work but otherwise it was totally perfect!

As Annie hurried in her heels down Hawthorne Street towards her home she found it had to keep the crazed grin from her face.

Supplying handbags to Harrods? Working with them on their own-label range? Could there have been a more dizzying start to her career in retail?! Whatever she'd thought about Harrods being a little bit staid and touristy and not cutting edge . . . she took it all back.

As she came in through the front door, things were not entirely as she'd expected. She'd expected the lobby to be a chaos of coats, schoolbags and shoes, just the sound of the TV coming from the sitting room, because that's where Owen and Lana would be, ready to greet her with, 'Hi Mum, what's for supper?'

Instead, the hallway was tidy. Everything had been put away. The kitchen lights were on, the warm and welcoming smell of sizzling garlic and onion was wafting through the hall and Annie could hear the sound of chatter.

Then she saw the raincoat and scarf hanging on the rack of coat hooks and her hope that Ed had come home was confirmed.

'Ed!' she shouted warmly from the hall, 'Hello! Hello guys!'

She hung up her own coat, dumped her bags and walked quickly towards the kitchen door.

Lana and Owen were at the kitchen table, Owen with his violin books spread out in front of him, Lana with a kitchen knife busy chopping her way through a pile of vegetables.

And there at the stove, in his butch blue and white striped apron, shirtsleeves rolled, stirring busily, was Ed.

'Hello,' she said to him, softly and with some surprise in her voice, 'are you making us supper?'

'Yes, I thought you'd all be hungry . . .' He carried on stirring, so Annie wasn't sure whether he wanted her to go up to him and kiss him hello or not.

But she did it anyway. She folded her arms around his waist and aimed to kiss him on the lips, but he turned just slightly, so her kiss landed at the side of his mouth. Oh! she thought to herself. If he was coming back, there were clearly still terms and conditions to be discussed.

'Nice to see you, babes,' she told him. 'We've missed you,' she risked.

'Yeah and your cooking,' Owen chipped in.

'We've eaten a lot of egg and chips in your absence,' Lana added.

'Only twice!' Annie insisted. 'I went to M&S on the way home, I was going to give you lasagne.'

'From a packet?' Owen asked as if this was the most horrible suggestion he'd ever heard. Lana also pulled a face at her.

'Is there anything I can do to help you?' she asked Ed, looking away from her ungrateful children. Her arms still ached after hauling the groceries home on the tube.

'No, I don't think so. The table's set, just open the wine.' He gestured to the bottle on the counter top, still wrapped in tissue, which he must have brought along with him.

* * *

The meal went smoothly enough. Lana and Owen did most of the talking. Owen and Ed were trying to decide which piece Owen should play at Dinah's party, because Bryan had phoned and asked him if he'd like to perform.

'Why don't you accompany me on the guitar?' Owen asked. 'That will sound much better than if I just play on my own. Plus I won't feel such a complete twinkie standing up there on my own.'

'Well . . .' Ed hesitated.

'Go on,' Owen wheedled.

'You've got to admit, Owen's violin sounds a lot better if you're drowning it out with some decent guitar,' was Lana's contribution.

'Lana!' Annie ticked her off.

'OK, OK,' Ed finally conceded, 'but we'll have to practise it together at least once before the off. Otherwise it might go horribly wrong.'

Once the main course was over, Ed had to confess that he didn't have anything for pudding, so Annie's M&S trip turned out to have been worth it after all. She microwaved chocolate sponge pudding, served it with cream and didn't hear a single complaint about it coming from a packet.

Every time she met Ed's eyes during the meal she gave him a smile. He smiled back too, but only small, tight, fleeting smiles as if he definitely couldn't relax into this yet.

'So . . . you two have probably got a bit of homework to do,' Annie suggested, when the pudding bowls had been scraped, or in Owen's case licked, completely clean. 'Maybe upstairs?' came her unmistakable hint.

And then she and Ed were on their own and at first there was a moment's silence before both of them began to speak at once.

'I'm . . .'

'I didn't . . .'

They stopped and smiled at each other. Annie didn't think Ed's smile was quite so tense now, so she began again, 'I'm really sorry. I'm really, really sorry – ' she put her hand on his forearm and rubbed it soothingly: 'I can't believe you were so angry with me that you endured Aunty Hilda on your own for the entire journey back to London. My God! If I'd known you were so angry I wouldn't have gone anywhere that Sunday morning. I'd have stayed with you.'

'Would you?' Ed asked.

'Yes,' Annie told him, 'you're much more important than any of this!' But she regretted the words as soon as she'd said them. Because wasn't he now going to insist she gave it all up for him?

'We're going to find a way of working this out, together,' she told him, 'we're going to make sure we are
both
very happy.'

Ed's arm moved out from under her hand and, leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms. She didn't need to be an expert in body language to know that this wasn't a good sign.

'I have no idea what's going on,' he said.

'Yes you do,' she said, not quite so friendly herself any more, 'and maybe if you hadn't stormed off in a huff to your sister's you'd know more.'

'I would have moved to the spare room, but the spare room is full of shoes,' he exclaimed, 'not that I've ever been told anything about them!'

Ah.

'It's like living with a total fantasist,' Ed continued angrily, 'I don't know what's going to happen next. Maybe I'll go to the cash machine tomorrow and find there's no money in my account, it's all been used to buy belts. That's what's missing, isn't it? You've got a roomful of shoes, your Italian boyfriend is supplying the bags, all you need is the belts.'