‘Come on, Minska!’ I say experimentally. ‘Time to go and get christened! Take off that hat.’
‘Mine.’ She clings on to my red Phillip Treacy with the big feather. ‘Mine hat.’
She looks so cute, I can’t bring myself to drag it off her. Plus I might rip the feather. And does it really matter if she wears a hat?
‘OK, darling.’ I relent. ‘You can wear the hat. Now, let’s go.’ I hold out my hand.
‘Mine.’ She instantly clings on to the Balenciaga bag which was lying on the bed. ‘Mine. Miiiine.’
‘Minnie, that’s Mummy’s bag,’ I point out reasonably. ‘You’ve got your own little bag. Shall we find it?’
‘Miiiiine! Miiiiine bag!’ she cries furiously and backs away from me. She’s holding on to the Balenciaga bag like it’s the last lifebelt in the ocean and she’s not about to relinquish it to anybody.
‘Minnie …’ I sigh.
To be fair, she does have a point. The Balenciaga bag is way nicer than her own little toy bag. Put it this way, if I were being christened, I’d want a Balenciaga bag too.
‘Well, OK. You have it and I’ll take the Miu Miu. But just for today. Now give me those sunglasses …’
‘Miiiine! Miiiine!’
She clings on to the vintage Seventies shades which she swiped from my dressing table earlier. They’re pink hearts and keep slipping down her nose.
‘Minnie, you can’t go to your christening in sunglasses. Don’t be so silly!’ I try to sound severe.
Although actually, she’s rocking quite a good look, what with the hat, the pink shades and the Balenciaga bag.
‘Well … fine,’ I say at last. ‘Just don’t break them.’
As we stand in front of the mirror in our Russian dresses, I can’t help feeling a swell of pride. Minnie looks so gorgeous. Maybe Suze is right. Maybe today will change Luke’s mind. He’ll see her looking adorable and instantly soften and decide he wants a whole brood of ten.
(Actually, he’d better not. There’s no way I’m doing the birth thing ten times. Even twice is asking a lot and the only way I’ll get through it another time is by focusing on the matching pom-pom hats.)
Speaking of Luke, where is he? He popped into the office this morning, but he swore he’d be back by eleven. It’s quarter to, already.
How are u doing? I text him quickly. On way back I hope? Then I pop my phone into my bag and take Minnie’s arm.
‘Come on,’ I beam at her. ‘Time for your special day.’
As we head downstairs I can hear the bustle of the caterers, and Dad humming to himself as he does his tie. There are flower arrangements in the hall, and glasses being arranged on the hall table.
‘I’ll call you from the church …’ Mum is saying to someone as she comes out of the kitchen.
‘Oh, hi, Mum.’ I look at her in surprise. She’s wearing the Japanese kimono that Janice brought her back from Tokyo, her hair is scraped back into a bun and her feet are in little silk slippers. ‘What are you doing in that outfit? Shouldn’t you be changed by now?’
‘This is what I’m wearing, love.’ She pats it self-consciously. ‘Janice gave it to me, remember? Pure silk. Such good quality.’
Have I missed a step here?
‘It’s lovely. But it’s Japanese. The theme’s Russian, remember?’
‘Oh.’ Mum looks vaguely around as though distracted by something. ‘Well, I don’t suppose it really matters …’
‘Yes it does!’
‘Oh, love.’ Mum makes a face. ‘You know fur irritates my skin. I’ve been longing to wear this. And Janice has the most exquisite Japanese wedding coat, you’ll love it—’
‘What, you mean Janice is coming in a Japanese outfit as well?’ I cut her off in indignation.
I should have known this would happen. Mum’s been pushing a Japanese theme ever since Janice came back from her holiday to Tokyo and started holding sushi-and-bridge evenings. But the point is, I’m in charge, and I said the theme was Russian.
‘Sorry to interrupt!’ A cheerful woman from the caterers comes past with a covered silver tray. ‘Where shall I put the Asian platters, Jane?’
What?
‘Excuse me.’ I whip round to the caterer. ‘I ordered Russian food! Caviar, smoked salmon, little Russian cakes, vodka …’
‘Plus Asian platters, sushi and sashimi.’ The woman looks alarmed. ‘Isn’t that right? And sake.’
‘Quite right,’ says Mum hastily. ‘Take them into the kitchen. Thanks, Noreen.’