‘You could barter for those, too,’ Jess says, watching me disapprovingly as I pick up a disco-ball garland. ‘Or even better, make decorations with recycled materials. It’s far more environmentally friendly.’
‘I know,’ I say patiently. ‘I should have dreary old paper-chains made of newspaper.’
‘I’m not talking about paperchains made out of newspaper!’ She looks offended. ‘There are lots of creative decorating ideas on the web. You can re-use silver foil, decorate plastic bottles …’
Silver foil? Plastic bottles? What am I, six years old?
‘Look, Jess!’ Janice’s bright voice interrupts us and I look up to see her rounding the corner, clutching a small packet. ‘I’ve found some vitamins! Folic acid! That’s supposed to be good for you young girls, isn’t it?’
I exchange looks with Jess.
‘Only if they’re planning to become pregnant,’ says Jess icily.
‘Well, I’ll just pop it in my basket, anyway.’ Janice’s casual air is fooling no one. ‘And look at this! It’s a baby-name book! A thousand names for only a pound! Girls and boys.’
‘I don’t believe this,’ mutters Jess, hunching her arms around herself defensively.
‘What do you need a baby-name book for, Janice?’ I ask.
‘Well!’ Janice’s cheeks grow pinker and she looks from me to Jess. ‘You never know …’
‘I do know!’ Jess suddenly erupts. ‘Listen, Janice. I’m not pregnant. And I’m not going to be pregnant. Tom and I have decided that when we have a family, we’ll be adopting a disadvantaged child from South America. And it won’t be a baby, and it’ll have a South American name. So you can keep your bloody folic acid and your baby-names book!’
She stalks off, out of the shop, leaving me and Janice both absolutely gobsmacked.
A South American child! That is so cool.
‘Did she just say … they’re adopting?’ says Janice at last, her voice quivering.
‘I think it’s a fab idea!’ I say firmly. ‘Hey, Mum!’ I call over to Mum, who’s filling a basket with dried flowers. ‘Jess is going to adopt a South American child!’
‘Ooh!’ Mum’s eyes light up. ‘How lovely!’
‘But what about all my knitting?’ Janice looks ready to burst into tears. ‘I’ve made a whole newborn layette! Yellow and white, for a girl or a boy, and little Christmas outfits up to age six!’
OK, Janice is officially insane.
‘Well, no one asked you to, did they?’ I point out. ‘Maybe you could give them all to charity.’
I think I’m turning into Jess. I’ve even got her hardness in my voice. But honestly! Why on earth was Janice knitting baby clothes before Jess and Tom were even engaged?
‘I’ll talk to Tom.’ Janice seems to come to a sudden decision. ‘He’s only going along with this silly plan to please Jess. He’ll want a child of his own, I know he will. He’ll want to carry on our gene pool. Martin’s family dates back to Cromwell, you know. He’s had a family tree done.’
‘Janice,’ I begin, ‘I really wouldn’t get involved—’
‘Look!’ Her gaze suddenly focuses on the shelf in front of her. ‘A pair of gardening gloves! Padded! For a pound!’
As we head back from our outing, everyone’s in an upbeat mood. We had to splash out on a taxi home because we had too many shopping bags to carry – but we’ve saved so much money, what’s a taxi fare?
Janice hasn’t mentioned babies or gene pools again, but keeps pulling items out of her bags and showing them to us.
‘A full dental kit with mirror! For a pound!’ She looks around the taxi to make sure everyone is as incredulous as her. ‘A miniature table-top snooker set! For a pound!’
Mum seems to have bought the entire stock of Tupperware, loads of kitchen utensils and big casseroles, several bottles of L’Oréal shampoo with Polish writing, some artificial flowers, a big box of birthday cards and a really cool mop with a pink stripy handle which Minnie will love.
And right at the end, I found a whole load of posh wooden hangers. Three for a pound, which is a total bargain. They’d cost at least two quid each, anywhere else. So I bought a hundred.
With the help of the taxi driver we stagger into the house with our bags and drop them in the hall.
‘Well!’ Mum says. ‘I’m exhausted after all that hard work! Do you want a cup of tea, love? And one of those bourbon biscuits …’ She starts rooting around in one of the pound-shop bags, just as Dad comes out of his study. For a moment he stares at us, his jaw slack.
I suppose seventeen carrier bags does look like quite a lot. You know, if you’re not expecting them.
‘What’s this?’ he says at last. ‘What’s all this?’
‘We’ve been to the pound shop,’ I say brightly. ‘We did really well!’
‘Jane …’ Dad is looking incredulously from bag to bag. ‘We’re supposed to be saving money, if you remember.’
Mum raises her head from the bag full of food, her cheeks red. ‘I have been saving money. Didn’t you hear? I’ve been shopping at the pound shop!’
‘Did you buy the whole bloody place?’ Dad’s looking at the sea of plastic bags. ‘Is there anything left?’
Uh-oh. Mum’s inhaling with one of her I’ve-never-been-so-insulted-in-all-my-life breaths.