carrying one of The Store’s pink rubber shopping baskets and waving a shiny, gold-lettered bag from the cosmetics department: ‘Oh, I’ve been pampered,’ she confided, ‘let me tell you!’
She held open the bag to show Annie the array of mini pots, sachets and trial sizes the girls in Cosmetics had no doubt been charmed into handing over to her.
‘OK, here’s my basket.’
Annie ushered her to a till well away from the shopping suite. Donna would be out of there like an angry wasp any moment and Annie didn’t want to be caught doing anything Donna could sting her for. But there was no question of letting Delia down.
Annie tapped her code into the computer and rang up Delia’s treats: four pairs of Sloggi super-comfort thongs, size 22, Chanel’s No. 5 bath soap and a Mac nail varnish in brightest orange.
All good choices. Every woman, no matter how hard pressed, needed box-new, comfortable thongs in the knicker drawer, a perfectly indulgent bar of soap and a flash of designer colour, even if it was just on the nails.
Delia picked up the soap and sniffed it deeply: ‘I love this. Absolutely love it. And I get to smell like Nicole Kidman,’ she cackled. ‘In a big bag please, Annie.’ Delia winked at her. ‘Today I’m a customer at The Store, not just the cleaner.’
Delia was just bustling out of sight when Donna stormed out, looking for her next assassination victim. Annie should really spike Donna’s mineral water with Valium, she thought. For everyone’s benefit.
Donna spotted her at the till and for one long, eerie moment stared straight at her. But then she carried on.
With a selection of ties in her hand, Annie headed back to the suite, taking a moment to pep-talk Paula, before she returned to Spencer.
‘C’mon, girl,’ she said and passed Paula a tissue. ‘Don’t let the Queen of Spleen get you down. Do a stint on the sales floor and then I’ll wangle you back in here again. Honest. You just need practice. More experience with the customers. Donna forgets how long I’ve been doing this for. C’mon.’ Annie worried about the proximity of Paula’s nails to her tearful eyes. ‘We’re supposed to go out tonight, aren’t we?’ Annie reminded her. ‘So, get changed. Glad rags on. Touch up the face. I’ll be with you in’ – she checked her watch – ‘twenty or so.’
Spencer was tiring of trying new things on. Men’s shopping tolerance was so tragically low, she’d noted before. It was time to close the deal with him . . . on all fronts.
Two suits, four shirts, two green ties (he must have liked the eye compliments), a pale suede blazer – dangerously expensive but he went for it when she told him ( fairly truthfully) how very like Pierce Brosnan he looked in it – two T-shirts and six pairs of new boxers, because ‘You never know,’ she’d winked at him cheekily.
‘I’ve never, ever bought this much all at once before.’ He looked concerned at the packed rail they’d amassed.
‘You look great in everything,’ she assured him. ‘You’re going to love wearing these clothes, you’re going to get total value for money from them and wear them to bits. You’ve got to start going out straight away. This week! Tonight!’ Was that hint enough?
But nothing came, so she prompted: ‘What’s your idea of a good night out?’
He thought for a moment before telling her: ‘You know what I like? A really well-made gin and tonic in a great bar. Somewhere with atmosphere, not too noisy, not too quiet. Somewhere . . .’
‘Classy,’ she finished his sentence.
‘I can’t stand cocktails and girlie drinks, happy hour all that sort of thing,’ he added.
‘No, no. Me neither,’ she nodded and fibbed outrageously, ‘Cocktails? Oh no . . .’ but these words just served to summon up Paula, in a spray-on black dress and neon heels, and her high-volume question: ‘Annie, are you ready yet?! We’re going to miss happy hour at Freddy’s and we’re
She held open the bag to show Annie the array of mini pots, sachets and trial sizes the girls in Cosmetics had no doubt been charmed into handing over to her.
‘OK, here’s my basket.’
Annie ushered her to a till well away from the shopping suite. Donna would be out of there like an angry wasp any moment and Annie didn’t want to be caught doing anything Donna could sting her for. But there was no question of letting Delia down.
Annie tapped her code into the computer and rang up Delia’s treats: four pairs of Sloggi super-comfort thongs, size 22, Chanel’s No. 5 bath soap and a Mac nail varnish in brightest orange.
All good choices. Every woman, no matter how hard pressed, needed box-new, comfortable thongs in the knicker drawer, a perfectly indulgent bar of soap and a flash of designer colour, even if it was just on the nails.
Delia picked up the soap and sniffed it deeply: ‘I love this. Absolutely love it. And I get to smell like Nicole Kidman,’ she cackled. ‘In a big bag please, Annie.’ Delia winked at her. ‘Today I’m a customer at The Store, not just the cleaner.’
Delia was just bustling out of sight when Donna stormed out, looking for her next assassination victim. Annie should really spike Donna’s mineral water with Valium, she thought. For everyone’s benefit.
Donna spotted her at the till and for one long, eerie moment stared straight at her. But then she carried on.
With a selection of ties in her hand, Annie headed back to the suite, taking a moment to pep-talk Paula, before she returned to Spencer.
‘C’mon, girl,’ she said and passed Paula a tissue. ‘Don’t let the Queen of Spleen get you down. Do a stint on the sales floor and then I’ll wangle you back in here again. Honest. You just need practice. More experience with the customers. Donna forgets how long I’ve been doing this for. C’mon.’ Annie worried about the proximity of Paula’s nails to her tearful eyes. ‘We’re supposed to go out tonight, aren’t we?’ Annie reminded her. ‘So, get changed. Glad rags on. Touch up the face. I’ll be with you in’ – she checked her watch – ‘twenty or so.’
Spencer was tiring of trying new things on. Men’s shopping tolerance was so tragically low, she’d noted before. It was time to close the deal with him . . . on all fronts.
Two suits, four shirts, two green ties (he must have liked the eye compliments), a pale suede blazer – dangerously expensive but he went for it when she told him ( fairly truthfully) how very like Pierce Brosnan he looked in it – two T-shirts and six pairs of new boxers, because ‘You never know,’ she’d winked at him cheekily.
‘I’ve never, ever bought this much all at once before.’ He looked concerned at the packed rail they’d amassed.
‘You look great in everything,’ she assured him. ‘You’re going to love wearing these clothes, you’re going to get total value for money from them and wear them to bits. You’ve got to start going out straight away. This week! Tonight!’ Was that hint enough?
But nothing came, so she prompted: ‘What’s your idea of a good night out?’
He thought for a moment before telling her: ‘You know what I like? A really well-made gin and tonic in a great bar. Somewhere with atmosphere, not too noisy, not too quiet. Somewhere . . .’
‘Classy,’ she finished his sentence.
‘I can’t stand cocktails and girlie drinks, happy hour all that sort of thing,’ he added.
‘No, no. Me neither,’ she nodded and fibbed outrageously, ‘Cocktails? Oh no . . .’ but these words just served to summon up Paula, in a spray-on black dress and neon heels, and her high-volume question: ‘Annie, are you ready yet?! We’re going to miss happy hour at Freddy’s and we’re
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