He has such a nerve.
‘I do not have a glassy stare!’ I’m beginning furiously, as the guy returns from the van.
‘Here you are.’ He shoves a piece of paper at me. ‘Sixteen Miu Miu coats in green.’
‘Sixteen coats?’ I stare at the page disbelievingly. ‘Why on earth would I order sixteen coats, all the same colour and size?’
To be honest, I have looked at this coat online, and I even put it in my basket, but I never actually—
My thoughts stop mid-flow. A sudden, terrible picture is coming to me. My laptop, left open in the kitchen. The page open. Minnie, clambering on to a chair …
Oh my God, she can’t have done.
‘Minnie, did you press the buttons on Mummy’s computer?’ I turn to Minnie in horror.
‘You’re kidding.’ Luke looks staggered. ‘She couldn’t do that!’
‘She could! She can use a mouse easily. And that website has got a one-click button. If she just bashed at the keyboard enough times and clicked enough times …’
‘You mean to say, Minnie ordered these?’ Dad looks equally flabbergasted.
‘Well, if I didn’t, and Luke didn’t …’
‘Where shall I put them?’ The delivery guy interrupts us. ‘Inside the front door?’
‘No! I don’t want them! You’ll have to take them back.’
‘Can’t do that.’ He shakes his head. ‘If you want to return ‘em, you’ll have to take delivery, use the return form and send ‘em back.’
‘But what’s the point of taking delivery?’ I say in frustration. ‘I don’t want them.’
‘Well, next time you don’t want something, can I suggest you don’t order it?’ says the delivery guy, and gives a hoarse chuckle at his own wit. Next thing I know, he’s lifting a big box down from the back of the van. It’s about the size of Dad.
‘Is that all of them? Actually, it’s not as bad as I thought.’
‘That’s one.’ The guy corrects me. ‘Come individually packaged on a hanging rail, they do.’ Already he’s hefting down another one. I stare in horror. What are we going to do with sixteen great big coats in boxes?
‘You are a naughty, naughty girl, Minnie.’ I can’t help taking it out on her. ‘You do not order Miu Miu coats off the internet. And I am going to … to … cut your pocket money this week!’
‘Miiiine box!’ Minnie reaches longingly towards the boxes, her honey sandwich still in her hand.
‘What’s all this?’ Mum appears out of the front door. ‘What are these?’ She gestures at the massive boxes. They look like upturned coffins, standing there in a row.
‘There’s been a mix-up,’ I say hurriedly. ‘They’re not staying. I’m going to return them as soon as I can.’
‘That’s eight …’ The guy hefts another one down. He’s enjoying this, I can tell.
‘There are sixteen in all,’ says Dad. ‘Maybe we can fit some in the garage.’
‘But the garage is full!’ says Mum.
‘Or the dining room …’
‘No.’ Mum starts shaking her head wildly. ‘No. No. Becky, this really is enough. Do you hear me? It’s enough! We can’t deal with any more of your stuff!’
‘It’s only for a day or two …’
‘That’s what you always say! That’s what you said when you moved in here! We can’t do it any more! We can’t deal with your stuff any more!’ She sounds hysterical.
‘It’s only another two weeks, Jane.’ Dad takes hold of her shoulders. ‘Come on now. Another two weeks. We can do it. We’re going to count it down, day by day, remember? One day at a time. Yes?’
It’s like he’s coaching her to get through labour, or a prisoner-of-war camp. Having us to stay is the equivalent of a –prisoner-of-war camp?
And all of a sudden I’m stricken with mortification. I can’t put Mum through this any more. We have to go. We have to move out right now, before she loses it completely.
‘It’s not two weeks!’ I say hurriedly. ‘It’s … two days! That’s what I was about to tell you. We’re moving out in two days!’
‘Two days?’ echoes Luke incredulously.
‘Yes! Two days!’ I avoid his gaze.
Two days should give us enough time to pack. And find somewhere to rent.
‘What?’ Mum lifts her head from Dad’s chest. ‘Two days?’
‘Yes! The house suddenly all came together, so we’re moving out. I meant to tell you.’
‘You’re really going in two days?’ falters Mum, as if she can’t let herself believe it.
‘Promise.’ I nod.
‘Hallelujah,’ says the delivery guy. ‘If you could sign, madam?’ His eyes swivel to his lorry. ‘Oi! Young lady!’
I follow his gaze and gasp. Shit. Minnie’s climbed up into the cab of his lorry.
‘Drive!’ she yells joyously, her hands on the wheel. ‘Miiiine drive!’
‘Sorry!’ I hurry to get her down. ‘Minnie, what on earth are you—’ I clap a hand to my mouth.
There’s honey smeared all over the steering wheel. Honey and crumbs are decorating the seat and the window and the gear stick.
‘Minnie!’ I say furiously, under my breath. ‘You naughty girl! What have you done?’ A horrible thought suddenly strikes me. ‘Where’s your sandwich? What have you done with it? Where did you—’