But I’ve often found with Luke that attack is the best form of defense.
“I try to buy bags for life,” I inform him loftily, “because I’m a responsible consumer and I’ve given up on plastic bags. But you’re suggesting I should use plastic bags instead and choke the oceans? Well, that’s an interesting insight into your moral compass, Luke. Very interesting.”
Luke’s mouth twitches and I lift my chin defiantly.
“I’m not saying you should use plastic,” he says calmly. “I’m suggesting you use one bag, for life. The clue’s in the name, my love. ‘Bag for life,’ not ‘bag for one use, then stuff it in a cupboard and buy another one.’ ”
He opens the other dresser door, and an even bigger mountain of totes falls out. Shit. I was hoping he wouldn’t see those.
“Oh my God,” he says, looking genuinely appalled. “Becky, how many bloody bags for life do you need? How long are you planning to live?”
“They’ll come in handy one day,” I say defensively. “Anyway, you haven’t found your papers. You’re just procrastinating.”
At that moment, Minnie comes into the hall, pushing her dollies’ Moses basket on wheels. Luke glances down at it, then does a double take.
“There they are!” he exclaims, and grabs a stash of papers out of the Moses basket.
“That is miiine, Daddy!” says Minnie crossly, trying to snatch them back. “It is for my barkit.”
“Barkit” is Minnie-talk for “basket.” And, yes, I know we ought to correct her pronunciation, but it’s so sweet. I mean, she can talk. She’s perfectly articulate for her age (Miss Lucas said so when I consulted her). It’s just that she misfires on a few words, like “monter” and “barkit” and “raffodils” for “daffodils.”
“They’re not for your barkit, poppet,” says Luke to Minnie. “They’re important papers for Daddy. Here you are.” He tucks a bag for life around Minnie’s doll Speaky in the Moses basket. “And there’s plenty more of them.” He kisses Minnie’s head, then straightens up. “So I’m picking up Minnie from Suze’s?”
“If that’s still all right.” I nod. “I’ll head into town straight after work. I’d better crack on with the Christmas shopping.” I heave a slightly browbeaten sigh. “It’s quite a tall order, hosting Christmas, you know.”
“I know,” says Luke, looking concerned. “Becky, I’m really willing to help. I do have to travel a fair bit before Christmas—but just give me jobs to do and I’ll do them.”
“OK.” I nod again. As he kisses me, his top lip feels a bit prickly and I blink in surprise. “Haven’t you shaved today?”
“Oh,” says Luke, looking a bit self-conscious. “Ah. I’m growing a mustache.”
“A mustache?” I stare at him.
“You know, for Movember,” he explains. “For charity.”
“Right!” I quickly plaster on a smile. “Of course. Good for you!”
I’m not massively keen on mustaches, truth be told. But doing it for charity is worthwhile, so I must be supportive. “It looks great already,” I add encouragingly, and kiss him again. “It really suits you. See you later!”
“Have fun shopping,” Luke replies, and I stare at him, a bit offended. Wasn’t he listening?
“I’m not shopping, I’m Christmas shopping. It’s totally different. It’s work. I have a list this long.” I make a dramatic gesture. “Presents, decorations, food items, extras…”
“Extras?” Luke crinkles his brow. “What are extras?”
“They’re extras! You know. Extras.”
I can’t actually think of any extras right now, but I know they exist, because every guide to hosting Christmas talks about “all those last-minute extras.”
“But wait.” Luke suddenly frowns in memory. “Becky, haven’t you done your Christmas shopping? At that country fair in the summer? Yes! You bought five handmade leather cushions and said they would be perfect for Christmas presents. Bloody heavy cushions,” he adds with a grimace. “I lugged them around all that day. Where are they?”
My face has gone hot. I’d kind of hoped he’d forgotten about those.
“We were asked for items for the school bring-and-buy sale.” I try to sound casual. “So I donated them. I thought it was the right thing to do.”
“You just gave them all away?” He seems astounded.
“It’s a good cause!” I say defensively.
I won’t add, “Also, I realized they were rubbish cushions when I tried to put them on the sofa and they slid off.”
It was all the stallholder’s fault for having such a nice face. He lured me into buying his stupid cushions and a leather elephant.
“Well, look…couldn’t we do all this online?” suggests Luke. “If we sit down together with a laptop, we could blast through