Celebrity Shopper Page 3

  When she’d realized she could not wrestle any more money from her ex-husband, she and her devastatingly clever daughter Elena had begun to develop another idea.

  The phone still at her ear, Svetlana turned her feline grey eyes to Elena. Her daughter was at the computer tapping furiously with her elegant hands. Just as Svetlana loved to phone, Elena loved to email. She emailed and emailed and surfed the internet all day long, looking for clues, tracking down information, building up her data. Inside that beautiful blond head, uncannily similar to her mother’s, was a big brain, hungry for knowledge and success.

  Elena had spent the past year at business school. Yes, up until now she had studied engineering, but she felt that a business qualification would stand her in good stead.

  Svetlana and Elena’s relationship had not begun in a very promising way. Svetlana had given birth to this unplanned and inconvenient daughter twenty-three years ago in Ukraine and she had paid distant relatives to bring Elena up. Then, at the age of twenty-two, Elena had arrived unannounced on her mother’s doorstep and demanded to be taken in.

  At first Svetlana had been horrified, but now the mother–daughter relationship was growing much closer than either of them could ever have expected.

  They really liked each other. They got on. They enjoyed the same things and shared the same goals. Svetlana felt as if she had learned so much from her fearsomely independent daughter. Before meeting Elena, Svetlana had thought the best way to have plenty of money and security for herself and her children was to marry a rich man (she had done this four times now). Now, she was quietly impressed with Elena’s many enterprising money-making ideas. But this latest one, this was the biggest and definitely the best.

  This time Svetlana was jumping in with both expensively shod feet and as much cash as she could lay her beautifully manicured hands on.

  ‘Ya,’ Svetlana said into the tiny little silver phone again, ‘my daughter and I will be personally in charge and we will make this work. Ya, is slightly risky. But these are risky times. No? Igor always say only losers avoid failing.’

  Svetlana listened carefully to the reply to her pitch, then she clicked the phone off in frustration.

  ‘He say “no”,’ she informed her daughter. ‘Tcha!’ she exclaimed, pacing the small, expensively decorated office several times in her high heels.

  Even at home, Svetlana liked to dress up. Maybe, because of her previous full-time husband-keeping job, Svetlana liked to dress up especially at home, whereas Elena was at her desk in sober clothes because this was work and, when she was working, she liked to look professional.

  Elena did not stop to hold an inquest about the failed phone call, she merely looked at the list on her desk, pointed to the fifth name down and said: ‘Next.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about him … I don’t like him,’ Svetlana whined as her eyes fell on the name. ‘I don’t think this will work …’

  ‘Mama,’ Elena said, the word coming as easily as if she’d been calling Svetlana this all her life, ‘we need another thirteen thousand pounds. That’s all. We have sixty-two thousand in the bank already. Once we have this money we can press go. We can start up this whole wonderful business. So phone! Someone on this list will say yes. You are so good at getting wealthy men to say yes,’ she flattered her mother, ‘that is why I give you this job, because I know you are going to win! Now get on the phone.’

  Just as Svetlana opened her phone once again, it began to ring.

  ‘Ah, it’s Annah!’ Svetlana said enthusiastically, spotting the caller display. ‘Maybe she have more work for me on the television.’

  Elena rolled her eyes: ‘Another three-hundred-and-fifty-pound appearance fee, no? We not raise big capital like this!’

  ‘Annah!’ Svetlana gushed, ignoring Elena’s remark, ‘Annah, how is your show and when can I next be on it?’

  Annie was delighted to tell her that Tamsin wanted to film a Svetlana slot just as soon as Svetlana was available.

  ‘Ya! I know just what we do next: we call it “Raising capital for girls”. Now, do you have some money you’d like to invest in my new business?’

  ‘What?’ was Annie’s surprised response to this. She had heard nothing of Svetlana’s latest business plans.

  ‘No I forget, you never have money, you have always spent it all,’ Svetlana said next.

  Ow! Annie couldn’t help thinking. This was a little harsh coming from a woman who had relied on men as her sole method of support.

  ‘What’s your new business idea?’ Annie asked.

  ‘Elena and I are going to set up a fashion label,’ Svetlana explained. ‘Just dresses. We hire a designer to make two or three classic styles every season in beautiful material. Dresses to look good on every woman, Annah. Dresses you can put on and wear with anything: diamonds and heels or boots and denim jacket. Life is so busy, women want something beautiful but easy. Oh and you throw in washing machine when dirty – Elena’s idea.’

  ‘Wow.’ Annie was impressed. Svetlana had great taste; if she thought the dresses were good, they were bound to be good. Elena seemed to be developing an excellent business head.

  ‘How much are they going to cost?’ Annie asked, the business head of her own asking the important question now.

  ‘Just under two hundred pounds. Or two hundred and sixty if you want silk.’

  ‘This sounds like a really good idea … it could really work! What are you going to call the label?’

  ‘The Perfect Dress Company, because it will be!’ Svetlana told her.

  ‘I think you should put me in for …’ Annie wondered which of her many budgets she could get the money from. The handbag deal was going to go ahead, so in a few more weeks she would have some money in from that … but then, didn’t the builder want something upfront for materials? And shouldn’t she be saving in case … in case of the horrible possibility Tamsin had outlined.

  ‘Three thousand pounds,’ she decided.

  ‘Fantastic!’ Svetlana replied. ‘Sure you don’t want to be a bigger partner?’

  ‘Not yet. Maybe a bit further down the line,’ Annie replied.

  ‘Just as soon as we have all the capital raised, we are going to have the first dresses made up, then we launch in Paris – where else? – with the trade shows,’ Svetlana explained.

  ‘Aren’t those at the end of this month?’ Annie asked.

  ‘Ya. We need the money! I have to find another ten thousand pounds in the next two days. You really give us three thousand?’ Svetlana asked.

  ‘Yeah. Put me in. I owe you … But can’t you go to a bank?’ Annie wondered.

  ‘No. Elena say banks very, very bad. They not lend to anyone new and they want too much money back too soon. I find the money myself,’ Svetlana said with determination. ‘And when we launch, we do it in Paris and you come, Annah, you come with the camera and the TV programme and you show everyone what it is really like behind the scenes when you start a new fashion label.’

  Svetlana glanced over at her daughter. They hadn’t discussed this idea before, but it was a very good one. Think of all the free publicity and free marketing Annie’s show would give them. Plus Elena could phone loads of newspapers and magazines and explain that they should write about this exciting new dress label because it was about to appear on television. Elena gave her a smile of approval.

  At the other end of the line, Annie couldn’t help thinking this was a genius idea. Surely this was one of the big barnstormers required for the two final, crucial episodes of the series. And she would be in Paris … for the shows! She would finally get to take part in that whole fashion whirl, something she had always, always longed to do.

  Immediately she imagined herself at the glitzy parties, drinking champagne, rubbing shoulders with Dolce and Gabbana, getting an exclusive tour of the House of Chanel … It was years since she’d been to Paris and imagine being a fashion insider and sneaking a glimpse into the wonderful world …

  ‘Brilliant idea,’ she
told Svetlana. ‘I’m going to call Tamsin right now.’

  Chapter Four

  Ed’s at home wear:

  Old faded blue rugby shirt (St Vincent’s lost property box)

  Old faded blue jeans (Levi’s)

  Old faded blue socks (no idea)

  Battered sheepskin slippers (Christmas, some time ago)

  Plain leather-strapped watch (Timex)

  Total est. cost: £65

  ‘OWEN! Have you got a nanosecond?’

  Ed had a schedule. He glanced at his watch and saw that he was running on time. That was good. Ever since he’d decided to take time off work to look after his babies, he’d found that the days ran much more smoothly if he stuck to the schedule.

  To be honest, maybe it was a hangover from his day job. Teaching was all about the schedule. You had to be at your lessons at exactly the right time. Bells went off regularly to inform you just where you were in the day. If he was honest about it, Ed would have to admit that he found bells and schedules quite comforting.

  Now that the twins were a little older and the fog of looking after tiny, unpredictable babies was finally clearing, Ed was truly enjoying his new children, the schedule and the many extras: the story reading, flashcards, baby yoga, baby Mozart … Ed was determined to be the perfect parent. These children were going to be the brightest, most creative and most talented children ever.

  Breakfast was at 6.30 a.m. (unfortunately). Even after months and months of this, it still felt criminally early every single morning. Snack was 9.15 a.m. Nap the first ran from 9.30 to 11 a.m. Lunch was at 12 noon. There was another snack before Nap the second from 2 to 4 p.m. Now, at 5 p.m., Ed was planning to cook supper for the babies, which they would eat before going for a bath and then bed at 7 p.m. He would also get supper for the rest of the family started. They would eat later, at about 7.30 p.m.

  That was the schedule.

  Unfortunately feeding, bathing and putting babies to bed while trying to get another meal on the go was always the point in the evening when Ed could no longer manage by himself.

  The good news was that upstairs, lurking in their bedrooms, were Annie’s two older children, Lana and Owen, who were perfectly capable of feeding or dressing babies, stirring pots, adding ingredients and all number of other helpful things. The bad news was that they were often sulky and unwilling. They made excuses like: they had homework or music practice or friends coming round, or they were just ‘too busy’ with ‘school stuff’. They whinged. They asked for treats or bribes and, quite honestly, Ed sometimes felt he’d be better off getting on with things on his own than involving the two of them.

  Owen wasn’t quite as bad as Lana. Sometimes, when Ed had a moment to himself, he worried that Lana hadn’t bonded properly with her new siblings. But mainly Ed was far, far too busy to worry about anything other than what he should be doing next and what did the babies want now.

  ‘OWEN!’ he shouted up the stairs. ‘Have you got a nanosecond? Just a very quick job.’

  There was silence. Then Ed heard a door opening two flights up on the attic floor.

  ‘Awwww …’ came the moan. ‘Milo’s coming round any minute.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Ed said, trying to sound as patient as he could, ‘I just need you for a few minutes.’

  There was a pause while Owen weighed up the pros and cons of having an argument and decided that it probably wasn’t worth it, so he began to bound down the steps two at a time until he was down at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘You rang,’ he said jokily to Ed.

  Ed smiled back. He had a twin on each arm. This was a pose Owen was now very familiar with: Ed usually had at least one twin on one arm at all times.

  Owen was looking too terrifyingly teenage, Ed noticed with a lurch. He was tall for his age and his shoulders had broadened out almost overnight, so he no longer looked so gangly and skinny. His thick, sandy brown hair flopped about all over the place, but he laughed in the face of regular trips to the barber’s. Instead, he preferred to just keep on trying (and failing) to push the overgrown mop out of his way.

  ‘I need ten whole minutes of baby-free time,’ Ed informed Owen, ‘while I put the chicken casserole together, then I am happy to take them back and put them in their bath … while you and Lana peel some potatoes?’ he suggested optimistically.

  ‘Lana?’ Owen raised his eyebrows. ‘Good luck with that. C’mon, hand ’em over.’ He opened his arms to his baby brother and sister.

  ‘Have you got them?’ Ed worried. ‘Are you taking them upstairs?’ he worried further. ‘Are you sure? Be careful on the stairs, won’t you? You have got them properly, haven’t you? You won’t take them somewhere where they can eat Lego off the floor?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah … and no,’ was Owen’s nonchalant reply to these questions.

  Micky and Minnie were safe with him. He rounded the corner of the stairs and decided to duck into his mother’s office. That was a nice enclosed space, he could shut the door, the babies could crawl around and he would keep an eye on them while he took a peep at the official Annie V website.

  Owen was proudly in charge of his mother’s website. She trusted him to post her updates, answer any uncomplicated email with simple replies and flag up the more complex requests to her.

  As Owen switched on the computer and logged on, keeping half an eye on Micky and Minnie as they crawled about the office floor looking for interesting things to explore, he had to admit that he was enjoying all this responsibility.

  Here he was age thirteen, in charge of two small babies and a website. It puffed up his chest and gave him a feeling of power.

  About ten or so short emails downloaded, all along the lines of ‘Annie, I love your show’ to which Owen would answer with one of his mother’s kind but standard replies. Then there was a request from a jewellery designer who was hoping her bracelets could be featured on the programme; Owen would forward that on to his mother’s personal email account.

  Now, using his mother’s email address, Owen composed a message of his own to a well-known supplier of top-notch camping and hiking equipment.

  Two arctic sleeping bags, a duvet coat, one portable camping stove, waterproof trousers and hiking boots in size 7: these were the items he requested from the company, saying that the show was ‘considering’ an outward-bound special and would be ‘requesting’ items from several camping companies to ‘compare’.

  Just as he was about to power down and find the M and Ms something more exciting to play with than the dust bunnies they’d discovered under the radiator, an email dropped into the in-box.

  ‘No!’ Owen warned as Minnie picked up the bundle of dust with her tiny forefinger and threatened to put it into her mouth.

  ‘Dear Annie Valentine,’ the email began, distracting Owen once again from his baby duties:

  I hope I’m not being rude but I’m a massive fan of your show and I’d just like to ask you a couple of questions. When is your birthday? How old are you? Where were you born? Are your parents still alive? Where did you go to school? I’m just being curious. Look forward to your reply, Vickie P.

  Owen didn’t give much thought as to whether he should or not. He just hit reply and bashed out:

  Hi Vickie P, thanks very much for your message. My birthday is in July. Let’s just say I’m thirty-something. I was born in Bow, east London. Think that makes me a Cockney officially. My mother, Fern, is certainly still alive. No idea about my dad. I went to school in Hackney then when I was fourteen I went to a posh girls’ school for four years. Thanks for asking, lots of love, Annie xx

  Then he pressed send.

  ‘Micky!’ Owen called out. He sprang from his seat and went over to look at his baby brother. ‘What is that?’ he asked and managed to get his fingers on the little bit of yellow poking from Micky’s mouth.

  Out came a very soggy, very well-chewed corner of paper. It looked like the remains of a Post-it note; Owen wasn’t sure, but it was the right sort of colour.


  If it had been a Post-it, then two-thirds of it was gone, along with whatever may or may not have been written on it. Ah well. Owen gave a shrug; it couldn’t have been that important if it was down there on the floor.

  He popped the remaining piece into the bin and picked Micky and Minnie up again. ‘C’mon, let’s go play bouncy bouncy on the bed.’

  Both babies erupted into giggles at the prospect of this wild game.

  Chapter Five

  Lana in her room:

  Black skinny jeans (Topshop)

  Black and white stripy tunic (Warehouse)

  High-heeled black wedges (Dune)

  Bead bracelets (borrowed from Greta)

  Total est. cost: £75

  ‘It’s just a bag of sodding potatoes!’

  Lana heard the ping of a message dropping into her in-box and put down the history book she’d been pretending to read for the last ten minutes.

  She didn’t need to open the email to start smiling because she saw at once who had sent it: Andrei.

  Lana was always pleased to hear from Andrei. Even though they’d spilt up ages ago and he was now at university, she still sometimes felt as if he was the only person who really understood her. Lately, he had become the person who had the most time for her. Now that her entire family revolved around the twins and her best friend Suzie was going out with Jules and Greta was totally obsessed with exams, no one in her immediate circle seemed to have time for all of Lana’s concerns the way Andrei did.

  The only anxiety on Lana’s part was that there was this girl, Sophie, whom Andrei mentioned often. Lana wondered if she was supposed to understand something about Sophie. Was she his girlfriend? Would Lana mind if Sophie was his girlfriend? She knew she shouldn’t, because after all she’d finished with Andrei so long ago … but she suspected that she would mind.