Late Night Shopping: (6 page)

'What exactly is wrong with Andrei?' Dinah wondered.

'Oh let me see,' Annie said irritably. 'He's tall, really good-looking, very polite, speaks fluent French, helps and encourages Lana with her homework . . . erm . . . does athletics, doesn't believe in under-age drinking . . . need I go on?' she added with another groan. Dinah just looked more confused.

'Somebody's jealous,' Connor teased. 'Somebody's grumpy that their little girly-wirly has a new role model in her life taking Mummy's place.'

'Oh, I know, I know. I have to get a life,' Annie grumbled. 'I'm planning to go into business—'

'Again?' Dinah interrupted. 'I thought you were so pleased to get your job back at The Store?'

There had been a time last year when, all because of evil floor manager Donna, Annie had had to leave The Store and work for herself, just until Donna finally left – probably in a puff of smoke.

'I thought you didn't like all the stress and hassle of being self-employed,' Dinah reminded her sister.

'No . . .' and that was true, she hadn't, but, 'I'm thinking of a different kind of thing, this time. I want to sell a range, my own products, be a brand. I've got a really good idea, which I can't tell you anything about yet,' she added quelling the interested look on their faces, 'because it's just way too early, but unfortunately Ed is totally against anything like this.'

'Why?' Connor asked.

'He's risk-averse,' Annie replied, 'and that's putting it mildly.'

'No bloody wonder,' was Connor's jokey response; 'he's with you, that's enough risk for anyone to be getting on with.'

'Connor!' she treated him to an elbow in the ribs for being so unsupportive, 'I don't want to be a shop assistant for ever.'

'You're not a shop assistant!' Dinah insisted.

'You're a
personal sales consultant
,' Connor teased.

'People from all over London flock to The Store for your priceless advice,' Dinah added.

'That is sweet,' Annie told her, 'but the advice is not priceless, it costs The Store just a glorified shop assistant's salary and a bit of commission every month and I'd like to do something more. Don't you think I'd make a good businesswoman?' she asked them.

'I already thought you were,' Dinah answered. 'Don't you still do the eBay thing? And the home makeovers?'

'Yeah, but I want to import!' Annie insisted, 'I don't just want to sell little bits and pieces here and there, I want to flog things in the thousands. Have a marketing department, a PR budget, suppliers, buyers, movers and shakers.'

'Have to deal with Revenue & Customs and the VAT man,' Dinah reminded her.

'Yes, but I want a change!' Annie insisted, trying to ignore the shiver that the words Revenue & Customs sent down her spine. 'Connor, you're self-employed,' she suddenly remembered: 'can you ever get a bit of a time extension to pay your tax bill?'

'Oh no, Annie!' Dinah rushed in with immediate concern. 'How much do you owe them?'

'I've never found the tax people terribly accommodating about anything,' came Connor's reply. 'Just borrow the money on your mortgage,' he advised, 'that's what I do every year. I can't stand saving. Saving is for nerds.'

'No, Annie!' Dinah was horrified, 'your mortgage is huge!'

But Annie's mind was already whirring: borrow against her portion of the house? Maybe she could borrow enough to pay off the tax bill and a credit card or two
and
start up her own business! It would be much easier than trying to get a business loan, surely?

The barman was hovering at their table again; he picked up the Perrier bottle and topped up Connor's glass although he'd only taken a sip: 'Anything else I can get you?' he asked.

'No, no, we're fine thanks,' Dinah told him sweetly. 'So, still single then?' she asked Connor, once the barman was out of earshot. 'I don't think we're going to get any peace anywhere until you find yourself a new man.'

'Oh, I know, it's a jungle out here and I am the prey,' Connor said, so camply that Annie snorted wine out of her nose.

'Did you know that it's our tenth wedding anniversary in September?' Dinah asked, then added gloomily, 'and Bryan is planning a surprise party.'

Everyone perked up at this news. Even Annie managed to forget about her tax bill momentarily.

'A surprise party? But I think if you know that's not technically a surprise,' Annie told her sister.

'I know,' Dinah began, 'I mean, I know that if I know . . . Well, he doesn't know I know.'

'What do you know?' Annie cut in.

'I found a list of catering companies, florists and bands lying beside the telephone.'

'Oh my God!' was Annie's reaction. 'Men are so subtle! And I suppose if he was having an affair he'd just leave pants, suspenders and a condom in his trouser pockets?'

'I know, he would. There's no way Bryan could ever have an affair,' Dinah agreed, 'I'd know as soon as he was even thinking about it. He'd blush every time someone said her name, go to incredible lengths to avoid mentioning her . . . I can read him like a book.'

'So he's trying to surprise you with a tenth anniversary party. That is really sweet,' Annie had to admit.

'I know, but if I leave it up to him,' Dinah said, 'it'll be—'

'Like your wedding,' Annie finished the sentence for her.

'And that was?' Connor wanted to know.

'Tragic,' the sisters agreed.

'Marylebone Registry Office, then across six lanes of traffic to get to the Stag's Head pub for a finger buffet. We were just lucky and grateful that no actual fingers were served,' Annie summarized.

'Amen,' Connor lifted his Perrier glass, 'What did you wear?'

'Oh, a really nice dress,' Dinah told him, 'but Annie had to get it back to the film set she was working on by Monday morning, minus the wine stain. So it was a little bit stressful.'

'Ah well, we were in our twenties, nothing mattered so much back then,' Annie chipped in, 'but now we're grown-ups, we can't have Bryan putting on a crap surprise tenth. I mean TEN years. He owes you. He owes you a really decent ding-dong by now. Not to mention a
proper
engagement ring.' Annie cast her eyes down tragically, first towards her own jewel-less fingers and then over to Dinah's. 'We haven't got a decent diamond between us. Connor probably has more bling on his blooming shirt cuffs.'

'Annie!' Dinah warned, 'I'm perfectly happy with this.' She twisted at the little silver sliver on her fourth finger which had served as both her engagement and wedding ring. 'If I change rings now, I'll probably jinx us.'

'Awww,' Annie smiled at her, 'that is sweet. I can't believe it's really ten years! Well done!' and she raised her wine glass at her sister.

Connor held his glass up too. 'Good grief, I've never even made it to ten months.'

'How
is
Hector?' Annie asked. 'He's not too cut up about it, is he? I have to say, I really liked Hector,' she added.

'Yeah, so did I,' Dinah chipped in. 'Why was he given the heave-ho?'

'Couldn't handle the pressure,' Connor said and, for once, he didn't seem to be joking.

'The pressure of what?' Annie had to ask.

'Fame. He couldn't cope with my career.'

Both Annie and her sister struggled to keep straight faces at this revelation.

'But not much has changed since he started going out with you . . . has it?' Dinah asked.

'Not much has changed?!' Connor looked horrified. 'My contract's up! It's renegotiation time. Time to decide if I want to go back to
The Manor
and if I do, how much will lure me. Plus, I'm meeting a very, very important new film director from Over There, who is Over Here soon looking for a British star for his next picture. Sam Knight,' he revealed in a reverential whisper.

'Oooh,' Annie couldn't help being impressed. 'So it wasn't just your no-dairy, no-alcohol and no-wheat diet that scared Hector away.'

'Ha-ha and for your information the Blood Type Diet is suiting my system perfectly, and Ben . . .'

'Who?' Dinah asked, trying to keep up.

'His personal trainer,' Annie sniggered.

But they weren't to hear what Ben thought of the Blood Type Diet because the barman was back asking yet again if there was anything they would like.

'No, we're fine . . . but maybe you'd like something,' Connor asked the man with a cheeky smile.

'Well, would you mind? I mean, if it's OK . . .' and he handed Connor a pen and a small piece of paper.

'No, no trouble at all.' Connor took the paper and with a flourish scribbled over it: '
Connor McCabe says "tell me
all about it
."' It was his trademark catchphrase. At least once every episode,
The Manor
's policeman had to ask somebody to 'tell me all about it'.

The barman picked up the paper with a grateful 'Thanks, thanks so much, sorry to disturb you.'

But then he looked at the signature in some confusion.

'What's the matter?' Connor asked.

'I thought you were Peter Andre,' the barman said boldly, unaware of what an inexcusable mistake he was making.

'Peter Andre?' Connor repeated, looking completely taken aback. 'Oh! Well – I'm not!' he spluttered, and gave as gracious a smile as he could manage in the circumstances.

Annie and Dinah had to look very deliberately away from each other and think of terrible, tragic and disastrous thoughts while their lips twisted and their shoulders trembled.

Ed's musical night out:

T-shirt (Woolworths)
Tweed jacket (posh gents' outfitters on Jermyn Street
– because Annie made him)
Jeans (Topman)
Desert boots (Clarks)
Leather briefcase (the mists of time)
Total est. cost: £430

'We never knowingly like to miss out if
there's food on offer.'

It was coming up to 11 p.m., and with a plate of nuked fennel lasagne by her side and another glass of wine, Annie was conducting some internet research into Paula's magical shoes.

Mr Timi Woo's website was not exactly helpful. There were some basic graphics which really did the shoes no justice at all, and lots of Chinese text, but also a promise in English to 'make any shoe you wishing of, helpful ladies of desiring'.

There was a contact email so Annie quickly typed Mr Woo a note informing him that she was interested in selling his shoes in Britain. Was he already selling shoes here? How many shoes could he make in a month? And what would he sell them to her for?

She sent the email off and turned her mind once again to extending her mortgage.

Although Ed and Annie owned the house together, Annie owned a share and had her own mortgage on that share . . . so, theoretically, Ed wouldn't even need to know about the money she'd borrowed until her tax bill was all paid off and the beautiful shoes were coming over and she was selling them at a fabulous mark-up and it was all working. Then he'd be much less resistant to the whole idea.

It wasn't that she wanted to lie to him, it was just that she knew how hard he would be to convince. He didn't like change in any form at all and he was completely nervous about taking financial risks. He'd never earned big money, he certainly didn't plan to change jobs and he'd always been very careful with the money he did have. That was just the way he was, she wasn't going to be able to change him . . . but her job was to reassure him that it was all going to be OK.