Which means the surveillance could still be on.
As we leave the flat together the next morning to go to the pram center, all my senses are on high alert. I feel sure someone’s watching us. But where? Hiding in the trees? Sitting in a parked car with a long lens trained on us? I edge down the steps of the building, my eyes darting from side to side. There’s an electronic clicking sound to my left, and I instinctively shield my face with my hand — until I realize it’s not a camera, it’s someone opening their car.
“Are you all right, darling?” Luke is watching me, bemused.
The postman comes by, and I shoot a suspicious glance at him. Is he really the postman?
Oh, yes. He is.
“OK.” I hurry to Luke. “Let’s get in the car. Now.”
We should have bought a car with blacked-out windows. I told Luke all along. And a built-in fridge.
My mobile rings just as we reach the gates of our block, and I jump a mile. That timing is too coincidental. It’ll be the private detective, telling me he’s in the boot of the car. Or he’s in the building opposite, with a sniper rifle aimed at Luke….
Stop it. I didn’t hire an assassin. It’s fine.
Even so, as I get my phone out, my hands are trembling. “Er…hello?” I say nervously.
“Hi, it’s me!” comes Suze’s breezy voice, with the clamor of children’s voices in the background. “Listen, if they have a twin Urban Baby cozy-toes in red trim, will you get it for me? I’ll pay you back.”
“Oh. Er…of course.” I grab a pen and scribble it down. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s it. I’d better go! Talk later!”
I put my phone away, still feeling jumpy. We’re being followed — I just know we are.
“So, where is this place?” Luke consults the leaflet and starts pressing buttons on his sat nav. The map pops up and he pulls a face. “It’s bloody miles away. Do we have to go here?”
“It’s the best place in London! Look!” I read from the leaflet. “You get to try all the top-quality prams on a variety of terrains and a consultant will help guide you through the maze.”
“The maze of pram-buying or a literal maze?” inquires Luke.
“I don’t know,” I admit, after searching through the leaflet. “But anyway, it’s got the widest choice and Suze said we should go there.”
“Fair enough.” Luke raises his eyebrows and does a U-turn. Then he frowns at the rearview mirror. “That car looks familiar.”
Shit.
Trying to appear casual, I swivel my head to see. It’s a brown Ford and a guy is driving it. A dark-haired, pockmarked, private detective kind of guy.
Shit shit shit.
“Let’s listen to the radio!” I say. I start tuning into different stations, turning the volume up, trying to distract him. “And anyway, so what if it’s familiar? There are lots of brown Fords in the world. Who knows how many? Probably…five million. No, ten…”
“Brown Ford?” Luke gives me a strange look. “What?”
I turn my head again. The brown Ford has disappeared. Where did it go?
“I meant that convertible BMW we passed,” Luke says, turning the radio down. “It looked like Mel’s husband’s car.”
“Oh, right,” I say after a pause, and subside. Maybe I’ll just keep my mouth shut for a bit.
I hadn’t quite realized it would take an hour to get to Pram City. It’s a warehouse based right out in North London, and there’s a special park-and-ride scheme where you get on a bus. I didn’t realize that, either. But still. It’ll be worth it when we have the most cool uber-pram in the world!
As we descend the bus steps, I have a surreptitious scope around — but I can’t see anyone who looks like a private investigator. It’s mostly pregnant couples like us. Unless…maybe Dave Sharpness has hired another pregnant couple to trail us?
No. I’m getting paranoid. I have to stop obsessing about this. Anyway, would it be the worst thing in the world if Luke found out? At least I care about our marriage. In a way, he should be flattered I’m having him followed.
Exactly.
We head toward the vast doors along with all the other couples, and as we enter, I can’t help feeling a little glow of pleasure. Here we are, choosing prams together. Just like I always imagined!
“So!” I beam up at Luke. “What do you think? Where shall we start?”
“Jesus,” Luke says, looking around. It’s a big domed building, with vicious air-conditioning and nursery rhymes playing over the sound system. Colorful ten-foot banners hanging from the rafters read STROLLERS, ALL- TERRAINS, TRAVEL SYSTEMS, TWINS AND MORE.
“What do we need?” Luke rubs his brow. “A pram? A travel system? A buggy?”
“It depends.” I try to sound knowledgeable, but the truth is I’m still foxed by this whole pram and pushchair business. Suze tried to explain the system to me, but it was just like going to press conferences when I was a financial journalist. I glazed over at the pros and cons of swiveling front wheels — and then when she finished I was too embarrassed to admit I hadn’t taken in a word.
“I’ve done some research,” I add, and reach in my bag for my Pram List, which I hand to Luke with pride. Over the last few weeks, every time I’ve seen a cool pram or buggy, I’ve written down its name — and it hasn’t been easy. I had to chase one all the way down High Street Kensington.
Luke is leafing through the pages in disbelief. “Becky, there’s about thirty prams here.”
“Well, that’s the long list! We just need to whittle it down a bit.”
“May I help you?” We both look up to see a guy with a round head and close-cropped hair approaching us. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt and a Pram City badge saying My Name Is Stuart, and he’s propelling a purple buggy along with one expert hand.
“We need a pram,” says Luke.
“Ah.” Stuart’s eyes drop to my stomach. “Congratulations! Is this your first visit here?”
“First and only,” says Luke firmly. “Not wishing to be rude, but we’d like to get everything wrapped up in one visit, wouldn’t we, Becky?”
“Absolutely!” I nod.
“Of course. Glenda? Take care of this, please? Back to Section D.” Stuart pushes the purple buggy across the shiny floor to a girl about ten yards away, then turns back to us. “Now, what kind of a pram were you looking for?”
“We’re not quite sure,” I say, glancing at Luke. “I think we need some help.”
“Of course!” Stuart nods. “Step this way.”
He leads us into the center of the Travel Systems area, then stops, like a museum guide.
“Every couple is different,” he says in a singsong voice. “Every baby is unique. So before we go any further, I’d like to ask you a few questions about your lifestyle, the better to steer your choice.” He reaches for a small pad of paper which is attached to his belt by springy wire. “Let’s look at terrain. What will you be requiring of your vehicle? Pavement walking and shopping? Off-road hiking? Extreme mountaineering?”
“All of them,” I say, slightly mesmerized by his voice.
“All of them?” exclaims Luke. “Becky, when do you ever go extreme mountaineering?”
“I might!” I retort. “I might take it up as a hobby!” I have an image of myself lightly pushing a pram up the foothills of Everest while the baby goos happily up at me. “I don’t think we should rule anything out at this stage.”
“Uh-huh.” Stuart is scribbling some notes. “Now, will you require the pram to fold down quickly and easily for car use? Will you want it to convert to a car seat? Will you be looking for something light and maneuverable or sturdy and secure?”
I glance at Luke. He looks as flummoxed as I feel.
Stuart relents. “Let’s look at some models. That’ll get you started.”
Half an hour later, my head is spinning. We’ve looked at prams that turn into car seats, pushchairs that fold
