his brow clears. “Have they opened a new shopping center there?”
“No!” I say, a little offended. “I meant we should take in some of the clubs. There’s a great underground techno scene,” I add nonchalantly. “You know LL Dee is DJ’ing at Luzztro this weekend? She’s been on fire this year, apparently.”
“I’m sorry, who?” says Luke, mystified, and I feel a flare of frustration. Here I am, trying to be edgy, and my husband’s never even heard of LL Dee!
I mean, OK, I’d never heard of her either till I went on Google last night, but at least I made the effort.
“I’m quite surprised you haven’t heard of LL Dee, Luke,” I say. “Your business is in communication. You should be aware of the world.”
“I’m in financial PR, my love,” replies Luke politely. “Techno DJs aren’t really my remit.”
Honestly. Luke can be so narrow-minded. I glance over at him, about to tell him so—but I’m halted by a pang of dismay. It’s about the thousandth pang of dismay I’ve felt since he came back from Madrid with his mustache looking so…mustache-like.
I’m trying to be open-minded, I really am. I keep reminding myself it’s for charity. I just wish charity hadn’t ever had the idea of mustaches.
It’s not yet fully grown, and I keep surreptitiously peering at it to see which way it might develop. Will it be one of those big bushy caterpillar-type ones? Or all thin and stringy? I keep googling mustaches to find one I like, but all I’ve found so far are ones I don’t like.
“Look at dah wabbit!” Minnie interrupts my thoughts, pointing excitedly at a woman with pink hair, power walking toward us with a buggy. “It’s in dah push chair, Mummy! In dah push chair!”
I do a double take and realize that Minnie’s right—the woman’s pushing a live rabbit in a buggy. Oh my God. I watch the woman go by, then exchange glances with Luke. You definitely wouldn’t get that in Letherby.
I’ve only been to Shoreditch a few times before, and it still feels exotic to me. It’s more like the Meatpacking District of New York than like London, all red-brick buildings and graffiti and interesting-looking shops everywhere and people pushing rabbits in buggies.
My parents live in an edgier place than I do, it suddenly hits me. Oh God. That’s against the laws of nature, surely? Parents should be less cool than their children.
Should we quickly move to Shoreditch too? Or somewhere even edgier, like Dalston? I’m tempted to get out my phone and google edgy postcode London really cool. But even as I’m considering it, I know I don’t want to. Minnie’s so happy at her school, and it’s fab being so near Suze. And, anyway, I can be edgy in Letherby, can’t I?
“Are those presents both for your parents?” asks Luke, glancing at the gift bags in my hand.
“The champagne’s for my parents, but this one’s a welcome-home gift for Jess,” I say, lifting up the smaller, squarer bag. “Herbal body lotion.”
“A present for Jess!” exclaims Luke, looking amused. “Isn’t that a risky venture?”
“It’s vegan,” I explain. “And it’s made by a collective. She’s got to like it.”
I know why Luke looks amused. Just a few times in the past, I’ve slightly misjudged what to give Jess. Like the time I gave her this new high-tech mascara and, instead of saying, “Ooh, fab, thanks!” like any normal person would, she gave me this massive lecture about the environmental cost of cosmetics.
But today I’m giving her the worthiest present in the world. It’s vegan and it’s eco and it’s a sludgy green color. I actually feel quite smug.
“Here we are.” Luke comes to a halt and peers at a set of double doors. “The Group.”
This is what my parents’ new building is called: the Group. It looks like an old factory, with black metal window frames and brick arches and a mural of elephants. As I stare up at the façade, I can’t help feeling impressed.
“Well,” says Luke. “Good for your parents. This looks great.”
“It’s amazing!”
“Live, work, chill,” Luke reads off a sign. “Co-living for today. Is there a buzzer?”
I’m just searching around for a set of buttons when the doors open and Mum comes bursting out.
“You made it! Welcome!” she cries excitedly. “Janice and Martin are already here, and Jess, of course, and Dad’s making espresso martinis!”
Espresso martinis?
I’m about to say, “Since when did Dad know about espresso martinis?” when I suddenly clock what Mum’s wearing. She’s in