Gucci Gucci Coo Read online

  “Thanks, Aunty Sylvia. I’ll take that as a compliment.” Rubbing her cheek, she turned to her mother. “So, Mum, you haven’t said what you think of Sam.”

  “Oh, darling, he’s lovely. He’s intelligent, charming, funny, and watching the two of you together, I can see there’s a real emotional fit.”

  Aunty Sylvia took another glug of merlot. “And I bet you anything he doesn’t half know his way around in the bedroom department.” She laughed a dirty laugh. “He could invite me up to see his speculum collection any day of the week.”

  “Sylvia, please,” Ronnie said. “Do you have to bring everything down to such a base level?”

  “So, Aunty Sylvia,” Ruby broke in, “Mum says things haven’t been so good between you and Nigel.”

  “That’s right. And before you say anything, it’s got nothing to do with me being older than him. I haven’t mentioned it yet. I still haven’t been able to find the right time. This is something else. Lately, he just seems so remote, so distant, somehow. I keep asking him if he’s got something on his mind, something he wants to tell me, but he says there’s nothing and that he’s just stressed at work.”

  “What makes you think he isn’t?” Ronnie said.

  “Just a feeling,” Aunty Sylvia shrugged. “This isn’t about work. I know it.”

  “OK, but it might not be an affair,” Ronnie persisted. “The two of you really need to sit down and talk.”

  “I know. But a part of me doesn’t want to hear the answer. I know Nigel’s not perfect. I know he comes across as a bit dull and he’s not a project like all the other men I’ve been out with, but I’ve realized that I really do love him. If he’s found somebody else, I don’t know what I’d do.” Her eyes began to fill with tears. She sniffed and wiped them away with a tissue. “So, Ruby, does Sam make you happy?”

  Ruby nodded. “You have no idea.”

  “I’m glad, darling,” Aunty Sylvia said, squeezing Ruby’s hand.

  “Of course, what worries me,” Ronnie said to Ruby, “is that he comes with so much baggage. You know, losing his parents the way he did. I can’t help wondering if he has dealt with his grief. I hate the idea of you doing what your Aunty Sylvia does and becoming his therapist.”

  “There’s no danger of that. Honestly, Sam’s pretty together, bearing in mind everything he’s been through. But please don’t bring it up. Don’t start trying to analyze him. I know what you’re like.”

  “Sweetie, as if I would. I wouldn’t dream of embarrassing him like that.”

  At this point they heard Sam and Phil coming down the stairs. They didn’t come straight back into the living room. Instead they hovered outside the door. “So,” they heard Phil saying. “You don’t think the pain is anything to worry about.” Ruby exchanged a worried look with her mother, who didn’t seem remotely troubled. Instead she gave an amused shake of her head. “What’s going on?” Aunty Sylvia hissed. Ronnie told her to listen.

  “I really don’t think you should be alarmed,” Sam was saying. “See your doctor by all means, but it’s not uncommon for expectant fathers to experience sympathetic breast pain.”

  The three women clutched each other to stifle their giggles.

  After dinner, they had coffee in the living room. Ronnie sat down on the sofa next to Sam. “So, Sam, tell me…” Panic shot through Ruby. Ronnie was going to do it. She was going to break her promise and start delving into Sam’s psyche. Ruby cleared her throat noisily to get her mother’s attention, but Ronnie ignored her and carried on. “Do you think Hillary will ever be president?”

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, just as Ruby arrived at the shop, the phone rang. It was Ivan to ask if it would be OK to come round to her flat that evening to lay the kitchen floor tiles.

  “Absolutely,” Ruby said excitedly. Once the tiles were laid, that was it—there was nothing left to do. Ivan had kept promising to finish the tiles, but every day there would be a phone call to say he was very sorry, but he had got called away to another job and could she just hang on a bit longer. Even though she had lost count of the splinters she had in her feet from walking on rough floorboards, she always said yes. She was so worried about his heart giving out and didn’t want to complain or put pressure on him.

  Having said that, over the last few weeks Ivan’s health seemed much improved. He had finally been to see his doctor, who had put him on some new medication, which he said was making him far less breathless.

  “OK, Ivan, bye,” she said. “Catch you later.”

  As soon as she put the phone down there was a tap at the door. It was a deliveryman. Next to him were two giant cardboard boxes. She knew what they contained: baby clothes from Guatemala. She signed for them and dragged the heavy boxes across the floor into the middle of the shop.

  Ruby had decided that the following month—in the run-up to Christmas—the shop would hold a “Guatemalan Week.” Since the Guatemalan baby clothes and accessories sold so well during the rest of the year, she was buying extra stock, including toys, crib mobiles and even Christmas decorations. The idea was to give the profits to a charity that rescued street children in Guatemala City.

  “Please tell me you’ve cleared this plan with the Nazi in nylons,” Chanel said as she took her coat off a few minutes later. Ruby didn’t say anything. She simply carried on unpacking baby clothes. “Oooh, just look at this,” she squealed, holding up an exquisite multicolored romper suit. “Isn’t it fabulous?”

  “You ’aven’t told ’er, ’ave you?” Chanel persisted.

  Again, Ruby didn’t reply.

  “You ’aven’t, ’ave you?”

  Ruby took a deep breath. “OK, not as such.” She’d kept meaning to phone Stella to bounce the idea of the Guatemalan week off her, but since Stella wasn’t exactly one of life’s philanthropists and Ruby knew exactly what her reaction would be, she’d decided to keep quiet.

  “Gawd, she is going to go mental when she finds out.”

  “She won’t find out if nobody tells her.”

  “Duh. Ruby to earth, come in, Ruby. Stella does look at the accounts, you know. She’ll see exactly what’s gone on behind her back.”

  “I know. You don’t have to tell me. It’s just that it’s coming up to Christmas. The shop’s made a huge profit this year. We can easily afford to give some of it away and I don’t want Stella putting her foot down.”

  “I know, but you’ve gotta phone ’er. You’ve got no choice.”

  “I will, but I’ve got to think up some way of selling her the idea. Maybe we should get some celeb involved. That way we get press coverage and loads of PR for the shop.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Chanel had to leave early that afternoon because she and Craig had an appointment with their social worker. They were going to find out if their application to foster a child had been approved.

  “Good luck,” Ruby said, giving Chanel a hug before she left. “Not that you’ll need it. You and Craig are going to make wonderful foster parents.”

  Since the shop was quiet, Ruby decided to phone Stella in New York. She couldn’t put it off any longer. As the phone rang, Ruby rehearsed what she was going to say. She would go on about how giving to charity was good for the company image. Then she would tell a white lie and say she had a list of celebs willing to launch Guatemalan week. Surely that would work. After half a dozen rings or so, Stella’s voice mail kicked in.

  The message was typically brusque and to the point. “I’m in the Maldives without my cell phone until mid-December. In the case of a life-or-death emergency you can call Chrissie, my PA, who knows how to reach me.” Chrissie’s number followed.

  Ruby decided that since what she wanted to discuss didn’t begin to qualify as a dire life-or-death emergency, she would go ahead with Guatemalan week in the hope that once Stella knew that she had persuaded a celebrity to launch the event and achieved some excellent publicity for the company, she wouldn’t be too put out.

  She had just put the phone d
own when the shop door opened. A young woman—she couldn’t have been more than twenty—was struggling to get in with a stroller. Ruby ran over to hold the door for her.

  “Thanks.” She smiled. Ruby couldn’t help noticing the girl’s appearance. Her long dark hair was hanging flat and greasy round her face. She looked thin, pale and exhausted. She wasn’t badly dressed—in fact she looked pretty trendy, but her jeans, coat and handbag were clearly chain-store bought rather than designer. Her scuffed boots clearly hadn’t been bought new this season. She was by no means the usual Les Sprogs customer.

  “Is it OK if I look round?” Although she was well spoken, she seemed tense and ill at ease with her surroundings—as if she knew she didn’t quite belong.

  “Of course. Just ask if you need any help.” Ruby bent down to look at the baby in the stroller.

  “Just got him off,” the girl smiled. “He’s been howling all afternoon. Plus I was up with him all night. I really don’t know what’s got into him.”

  Ruby looked at the sleeping infant. He had a mop of bright ginger hair. “Wow, look at all that hair. It’s gorgeous.”

  The girl smiled. “I know. The only problem is that everybody calls him Ginger Nut or Carrot Top. I wish they wouldn’t. His name is Alfie.”

  “Hello, Alfie,” Ruby whispered, stroking his tiny hand. The baby responded by making little chewing motions in his sleep, but didn’t wake. Ruby suggested she leave the stroller by the counter. “I’ll keep an eye on Alfie while you have a browse.”

  Ruby watched the girl as she wandered round the shop, tentatively picking things up. At one point she picked up a pair of Baby Gucci dungarees, looked twice at the price tag, because she clearly hadn’t taken it in the first time, and quickly put them down again. She clearly couldn’t afford anything and seemed to be thinking she was committing some kind of social trespass. Then she started to gather her confidence. Still ignoring the Gucci range, she picked up a fur-lined jacket with a hood, three or four Tshirts and several sleep suits. Ruby did a quick sum in her head. The girl was holding at least £300 worth of stock. When she’d chosen everything she wanted, she came over to the counter and put the clothes down next to the till. “And I’d like to look at your strollers please.”

  “Sure,” Ruby said. “They’re over here.” She led the way toward the display of prams and buggies.

  The girl explained that she needed a triple buggy.

  “A triple? Wow.” Ruby wanted to say she didn’t look old enough to have one child, let alone three, but she kept her thoughts to herself. It was none of her business.

  “It’s a long story.” The girl smiled. “I have two-year-old twin girls as well. They’re at home with my mum.”

  “Goodness, talk about having your hands full,” Ruby said.

  “Tell me about it.”

  There were three triple buggies to choose from. The girl chose the most expensive. It was just over £800. Ruby explained that the only one she had in stock was the display model and she would have to order another one. “It shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.”

  The girl didn’t seem bothered. “I’ll pay now if that’s OK.”

  The stroller plus the clothes came to nearly £1,200. The girl put her hand into her bag and pulled out a roll of notes. Ruby couldn’t help blinking in surprise. The usual Les Sprogs customers might pay cash for a small item—a £10 furry animal, say—but when it came to larger amounts they generally produced a gold or platinum American Express card. Still, Ruby thought, it was none of her business why she was paying in cash. Money was money.

  “You can come back for the stroller,” Ruby said. “Or if you’d prefer, I can arrange for it to be delivered to you.”

  “I think I’d prefer to pick it up,” the girl said as Ruby handed her a large Les Sprogs carrier bag full of clothes. Ruby took her name—Hannah Morgan—and phone number and said she would call her the moment the stroller came in.

  Ruby helped her out with the buggy. As Hannah disappeared down the street, Ruby couldn’t help wondering what her story was.

  Chapter 14

  Chanel came into work next morning bearing apricot Danish, two skinny cappuccinos and a double-shot grin. “Don’t tell me,” Ruby said, “social services has said yes.”

  “I can’t believe it. The report said me and Craig would make ideal foster parents. Off the record our social worker told us that all being well, we should ’ave no trouble adopting in a year or so—if that’s what we decide to do.”

  “That’s fantastic,” Ruby said, giving Chanel a hug. “Well done. I knew you’d do it.”

  “It’s most likely we’ll get a school-age kid, which means I can work school hours and you won’t be left in the lurch.”

  “God, I can’t tell you what a relief that is. I was dreading having to replace you. It just wouldn’t be the same.” They realized weekends and school holidays would be a problem, but had decided to leave sorting out arrangements until Chanel knew when her first foster child was arriving. She seemed to think it was highly unlikely anything would happen before Christmas. Since Christmas was obviously their busiest time of the year, this was even more of a relief to Ruby.

  As they got ready to open the shop, Ruby told Chanel about trying to phone Stella. Chanel agreed it didn’t make any sense trying to reach her while she was on holiday. “You know what she’s like about her ‘me time.’ Isn’t worth the aggro.”

  Around midmorning, Fi popped in to say hi. When Chanel told her about being accepted as a foster parent, Fi was genuinely delighted, but her smiles couldn’t hide the tension in her face.

  “Wassup?” Ruby said. “Connor still not sleeping?”

  Fi shook her head. “It’s not that. He’s doing fine, bless him. He’s been sleeping through the night for weeks now. No, it’s money. We’re flat broke.” She explained that Saul had finished his Hamlet stint at the National and still didn’t have another acting job lined up.

  “He’s going for two or three auditions a week and each time he’s being given the bums. You know, with his looks he’d make a fabulous Old Testament hero. Shame nobody’s thought about doing a remake of The Ten Commandments. Anyway, things are looking pretty bad. Even the singing jobs have dried up. Soon we’ll be in arrears with the mortgage. I’ve got the bank and Barclaycard on my back every five minutes demanding money. Saul’s talking about jacking it all in and taking up minicabbing.”

  “He absolutely mustn’t do that,” Ruby came back. “He’s so talented. He’s got a great singing voice. His luck will change. He just has to sit it out, that’s all.”

  Chanel said if he was desperate, Craig had just fired his apprentice. “I’m sure Saul could do the job. It pays bugger all, but if it would help…”

  “And I can always lend you a bit,” Ruby said. “You only have to ask.”

  “You are both very kind and I really appreciate the offers, but if it comes to it, Saul will have to retrain and get a proper job and I’ll have to go back to teaching. It’s as simple as that.”

  Just then Fi’s mobile rang. She looked at the caller display and let out a sigh. “It’s my mum. I can’t cope with her on top of everything else.”

  Ruby suggested she ignore the call, but Fi said she daren’t in case Bridget was ill or there was some kind of emergency. She pressed “connect.” “Hi, Mum, how are you?…An ingrown toenail? Oooh, poor old you. That can be really painful…. What? Hang on. You cannot possibly blame Saul being out of work for your ingrown toenail…. He will get another acting job. It just takes time. I know you’re stressed about it. So am I.…Yes, I know Lindsay O’Connor from school has a stable, a four-car garage and a château in the Perigord.…Yes, I know she’s done well for herself. She’s also got what?…A giant plasma-screen TV?…Really? Well, good for her. It’s called an STV? You sure? I’ve never heard of an STV. Wait a minute. I think you might find that’s STD, which stands for sexually transmitted disease. Lindsay’s famous for putting it about.…Mum? Mum?…” Fi shrugged and tu
rned to Ruby and Chanel. “She’s hung up.”

  The three of them burst out laughing.

  “I’ve just had a thought,” Ruby said as Fi was leaving. “When Chanel gets her first foster placement, I’m going to need some extra help in the shop. I’ve got Annie, our student who does the odd weekend, but maybe you could help out, too, and Saul could babysit.”

  Fi hugged her and said she would definitely think about it.

  TWO DAYS LATER, Hannah Morgan came back to collect her triple buggy. She was still minus her twins and this time she was carrying Alfie in a baby sling.

  “It’s the girl I was telling you about,” Ruby whispered to Chanel as the door opened. “The one with the wad of cash.” Chanel, who was in the middle of wrapping a christening shawl for a customer, looked up. “Maybe she’s a gangster’s moll,” she whispered back. Ruby dug her in the ribs and shushed her.

  As Chanel’s customer walked away with her carrier bag, Hannah reached the counter. But it was Alfie who grabbed Chanel’s attention.

  “Oh, what gorgeous hair,” she gasped. “It’s exactly the same color as my Craig’s.” While Ruby greeted Hannah, Chanel walked round to the other side of the counter and began cooing at Alfie, who was gurgling and blowing saliva bubbles. “’Ello precious,” she cooed, stroking his tiny chubby hand. “Aren’t you a big boy? Yes, you are.” She turned to Hannah and asked how old he was.

  “Two months,” she said.

  “So that would make him a Virgo or a Libra.”

  “He’s a Libra.”

  “Ooh, right little flirts they are when they grow up. I bet ’e’s going to break a few ’earts.”

  Ruby couldn’t help noticing Hannah’s expression. She was smiling, but there was an emptiness in her eyes.

  “I could eat you, little man, yes, I could,” Chanel carried on. “Oh, I love them at this age. They’re so perfect.”

  “He’s still a bit small, though. He was eight weeks premature.”

  “Couldn’t wait, eh?” Chanel said. “You silly sausage. I bet you didn’t ’alf give your mum a fright coming into the world that early.”