We’re using the old-fashioned gray pram I got at the baby fair, first of all because I got a bit carried away sending back all the other prams, and secondly because Mum reckons it’s the best one for supporting Minnie’s back, “not like these newfangled buggies.” I’m planning to get it sprayed hot pink as soon as I can — only it’s not that easy to find a custom pram paint-sprayer over the festive season.

I tuck her up in the gorgeous pink-and-white blanket that Luke’s parents gave her when they visited over Christmas. They were so sweet — they brought me a basket of muffins and invited us to stay (only, Devon’s a bit far) and said Minnie was the most beautiful baby they’d ever seen. Which shows what good taste they have. Unlike Elinor, who hasn’t even visited and just sent Minnie this hideous antique china doll with ringlets and spooky eyes, like something out of a horror film. I’m going to auction it on eBay and put the money in Minnie’s account.

I put on my new Marc Jacobs coat which Luke got me for Christmas and tie my Denny and George scarf round my neck. I’ve been wearing it all the time since I got out of hospital. Somehow I don’t feel like wearing any other scarf at the moment.

I always knew it would be a good investment.

There’s a little parade of shops quite near to Mum and Dad, and without quite meaning to, I head that way. Not because I’m planning to go shopping or anything. Just because it’s a nice walk.

As I reach the newsagents it’s all warm and bright and welcoming, and I find myself pushing the pram in. Minnie is fast asleep and I head toward the magazine rack. I could get a magazine for Mum — she’d like that. I’m just reaching for Good Housekeeping when my hand freezes. There’s Vogue.

A brand-new issue of Vogue. With a bright blue cover line shouting, London’s Yummiest Mummies-to-Be.

My hands fumbling in excitement, I pull it down, tear off the free travel supplement, and flick through the pages….

Oh my God! It’s a huge picture of me! I’m standing on the sweeping staircase in the Missoni dress, and the caption reads: “Rebecca Brandon, shopping guru and wife of the PR entrepreneur Luke Brandon, is expecting her first baby.”


Based in Maida Vale, the text below reads, former TV presenter Becky Brandon’s elegant style is obvious throughout her palatial six-bedroom house. She designed the stunning “his” and “hers” nurseries herself, with no expense spared. “Only the best will do for my baby,” she says. “We hand-sourced the furniture from a tribe of artisans living in Mongolia.”



I turn the page — and there’s another picture of me, beaming as I stand in the fairy-princess nursery, my hands resting on my bump. A big pull-out quote reads: “I have five prams. I don’t think that’s too many.”


Becky is planning a natural water birth with lotus flowers, and is under the care of It-obstetrician Venetia Carter. “Venetia and I are good friends,” enthuses Becky. “We have such a great bond. I might ask her to be a godmother.”


It all feels like an age away. Like a different world.

As I gaze down at the beautiful designer nursery, I can’t help feeling a pang. Minnie would have loved it. I know she would.

Anyway, she’ll have a lovely nursery one day. Even better than that one.

I take the Vogue to the counter and put it down, and the assistant looks up from her magazine.

“Hi!” I say. “I’d like to get this, please.”

There’s a new display in the corner with a sign reading GIFTS — and while the assistant is unlocking the till, I wander over to have a look. It’s mostly photo frames and small vases and a rack of thirties-style brooches.

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” says the assistant as she scans my magazine. “Over Christmas you were in all the time.”

All the time. Honestly. People do exaggerate.

“I’ve just moved back into the area.” I give her a friendly smile. “My name’s Becky.”

“We noticed you.” She puts the Vogue into a plastic bag. “We call you the Girl—” She breaks off and I stiffen. What was she going to say?

“Shh!” says the other assistant, going pink and nudging the first one.

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind!” Nonchalantly I flick my hair back. “Do you call me…the Girl in the Denny and George Scarf?”

“No.” The assistant looks blank. “We call you the Girl with the Crappy Pram.”

Oh.

Huh. It’s not that crappy. And just wait till it’s sprayed pink. It’ll be totally fab.

“That’ll be three pounds, please,” she says, and holds out her hand. And I’m just about to get out my purse, when I spot a display of rose quartz necklaces nestled among the other gifts.

Ooh. I love rose quartz.

“They’re on sale,” says the assistant, following my gaze. “Really nice.”

“Right. Yes.” I nod thoughtfully.

The thing is, we’re supposed to be tightening our belts at the moment. We had a big talk when I came home from hospital, all about cash flow and bank debt and stuff. And we agreed that just until Luke’s business is more stable, we wouldn’t buy anything unnecessary.

But I’ve been wanting a rose quartz necklace for ages. And this one’s only fifteen quid, which is a real bargain. And I deserve a little reward for winning the investment competition, don’t I?

Plus I can use my new online Indonesian overdraft, which Luke doesn’t know about.

“I’ll have one,” I say on impulse, and reach for a string of the iridescent pink beads.

If Luke finds it, I’ll tell him it’s an educational toy. Which the mother has to wear round her neck.

I hand over my Visa card, tap in my pin number, and slide the bag containing Vogue onto the pram tray. Then I tuck my lovely necklace right under Minnie’s blankets where no one can see it.

“Don’t tell Daddy,” I murmur in her ear.

She won’t say a word.

I mean, obviously she can’t speak. But even if she could, I know she’d keep quiet. We’ve got a special bond already, Minnie and me.

I wheel the pram out of the shop and look at my watch. There’s no hurry to get back, especially if they’re still tidying. Anyway, Minnie will want feeding soon. I’ll go to that Italian café where they don’t mind.

“Shall we go and have a nice cup of coffee?” I turn my steps toward the café. “Just you and me, Min.”

As we walk past the antique shop I catch a glimpse of my reflection and can’t help feeling a tiny jolt at the sight. I’m a mother pushing a pram. Me, Becky Brandon (née Bloomwood), an actual mother.

I turn into the café, sit down at the table, and order a decaf cappuccino. Then, gently, I lift Minnie out of the pram, cradling her soft downy head. I unwrap her pink-and-white blanket and feel a swell of pride as two elderly ladies look over from the next table and start saying to each other, “What a dear little thing!” and “What a smart outfit!” and “Is that a real cashmere cardigan, do you think?”

Minnie starts making her snuffling “Where’s the food?” noises and I give her tiny cheek a kiss. I’m the Mother with the Fabbest Baby in the World. And we’re going to have a blast. I know it.


Bambino 975 Kings Road

London SW3


…for children of all ages…


Miss Minnie Brandon 5 January 2004

The Pines 43 Elton Road Oxshott

Surrey


Dear Miss Brandon,

Congratulations on being born!

We at Bambino are delighted to celebrate your arrival into the world — and would like to mark it with a very special offer. We hereby invite you to become an Infant Gold Card Member of the Bambino Club!


As an Infant Gold Card Member you will be entitled to:

• exclusive preview afternoons to try out new toys (with a carer!)

• a complimentary juice at every visit

• 25 percent off your first shopping spree with your Gold Card

• annual Christmas party for all Gold Card holders

• …and much more!


Joining could not be simpler. All Mummy or Daddy has to do is fill in the enclosed form — and their little princess Minnie will have her first-ever Gold Card!


We look forward to hearing from you soon.


Yours sincerely,


Ally Edwards

Marketing Manager


Acknowledgments


My heartfelt thanks to the endlessly wise and supportive Susan Kamil. Huge thanks also to Irwyn Applebaum, Nita Taublib, Barb Burg, Sharon Propson, Carolyn Schwartz, Betsy Hulsebosch, Cynthia Lasky, Cathy Paine, and Noah Eaker. To my fabulous agents, Araminta Whitley and Kim Witherspoon; to David Forrer and Lizzie Jones. As ever, a big wave to the Board and to my expanding family: Henry, Freddy, Hugo, and Oscar.

And finally thanks to the real “must-have” obstetrician, Nick Wales, who aided the delivery of latest baby and book — and the “must-have” maternity nurse, Michelle Vaughan.