The Shoe Princess's Guide to the Galaxy by Emma Bowd Read Free Book Online

around thinking it’s Millie. Suddenly, I spy Kate marching up the path towards us. Without Tim or Millie. And frowning. My throat dries and my heart goes all fluttery.
            ‘You’d better come. Tim’s in a bit of a state. Millie still won’t take the bottle and he’s talking to some woman who has really put the wind up him.’
            We all rush out of the café and follow the sound of Millie’s bellowing to where Tim is being held captive by an impeccably groomed woman in a black fur-trimmed Escada ski jacket, and black skinny jeans that are tucked into ultra-pointy-toed, black-leather knee-high boots. She’s leaning on a red Bugaboo pushchair with a flock of those psychedelic mobiles that promise future Mensa membership dangling from the hood.
            I hurriedly take off my beanie and try to fluff my hair from its matted mass, all the while wishing I’d changed out of my tracksuit. My face feels hot and blotchy from running in the cold.
            ‘This is Victoria,’ says Tim. He looks like a deer caught in headlights. ‘Her baby girl, Allegra, was born on the same day as Millie.’
            ‘Oh, how lovely,’ I say. Tim virtually throws Millie at me as I try to hack a way through my layers of clothes with one hand.
            ‘You’re feeding her,’ Victoria observes, with just the right amount of voice inflection and eyebrow gesticulation – in case I didn’t realise this was code for breast-feeding . She nods approvingly. ‘I couldn’t help but notice your husband and sister struggling to give her the bottle – if she won’t take it now, she never will. Rod for your own back, I’m afraid.’
            Great.
            ‘What centile is Millie on?’ Tim asks. ‘Allegra’s on the eightieth.’
            ‘Ninetieth,’ corrects Victoria.
            ‘Um, I don’t know. I mean, I’m not sure.’ I really can’t remember.
            ‘And did you know that there’s a new nursery by the park – InfinityPlusOne – for gifted children. Have you got Millie’s name down there ... I think we should put her name down ...’ Tim is almost breathless with panic.
            All I care about right now is feeding Millie. Kate’s packing away the ill-fated bottle, and Fi’s texting Marco – both of them politely keeping out of the eye of the storm.
            Victoria asks more questions about teething, neck-control, rolling and sleeping – all of which I seem to be doing wrong – before flying off on her broomstick.
            I could weep.
            Tim’s in full-on rant mode now, and decides to rub my nose in it a little more, bombarding me with questions, stats and more bloody stats.
            ‘Did you know that there is not one nursery within a ten-mile radius of us with a vacancy? Or a waiting list of fewer than thirty kids? And that they’re staffed by underpaid sixteen-year-old girls of questionable IQ and body piercings! Victoria’s friend in Notting Hill had to provide her nanny with a new Peugeot 206 and a flat for her sole use – otherwise she wouldn’t have got anyone decent. We can’t compete with that! How have we not thought of this? We need to redo our sums – maybe we can survive on just my wage for a year or so ... Do you use the sling much? Eskimos, whose mothers carry them around in slings for the first two years, have higher than average IQs ...’ Blah de blah de bloody blah.
            Fi’s in shock.
            Kate’s holding Tim by the arm and comforting him.
            I’ve zoned out completely.
            And Millie, thank goodness, is blissfully asleep on a full tummy of milk.
            Bloody Victoria and her bloody perfect baby.
            Mmm ... Maybe I should have taken more notice of Alison’s advice on organising childcare, and not spent my entire pregnancy coordinating Millie’s nursery with her silver-lamé baby booties?
     
From:        Jane (home)
 
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