Mini Shopaholic
Page 28
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Reverend Parker is starting to look seriously pissed off by now.
‘Thank you, everyone, for your interesting contributions,’ he says tightly. ‘And now, if you could gather round the font …’
‘Wait!’ I interrupt him. ‘As Minnie’s mother, I would just like to make a short speech.’
‘Rebecca!’ snaps Reverend Parker. ‘We really do have to proceed.’
‘Just a quick one!’
I hurry to the front of the church, almost tripping up in my haste. I’ll just keep talking till Luke arrives. It’s the only way.
‘Welcome, friends and family.’ I gaze around, avoiding Reverend Parker’s stony eye. ‘What a special day this is. A special, special day. Minnie is being christened.’
I pause as though to let this thought sink in and quickly check my phone. Nothing.
‘But what do we mean by that?’ I lift a finger, just like Reverend Parker does in his sermons. ‘Or are we all just here for the ride?’
There’s an interested ripple in the audience and a couple of people nudge each other and whisper. I’m quite flattered, actually. I hadn’t thought my speech would cause such a stir.
‘Because it’s easy to go through life without ever looking around at the flowers.’ I give a significant nod, and there are more whispers and nudges.
This reaction I’m getting is amazing! Maybe I could get into preaching! I’ve obviously got a natural gift for it and I do have quite a lot of profound ideas.
‘It makes you think, doesn’t it?’ I continue. ‘But what do we mean by think?’
Everyone’s whispering now. People are passing iPhones along the pews and pointing at something. What’s going on?
‘I mean, why are we all here?’ My voice is drowned out by the growing hubbub.
‘What’s happening!’ I exclaim. ‘What are you all looking at?’ Even Mum and Dad are fixated by something on Mum’s BlackBerry.
‘Becky, you’d better look at this,’ says Dad in a strange voice. He gets up and passes me the BlackBerry, and I find myself looking at a TV newsreader on the BBC website.
‘… latest on our breaking news that the Bank of London has agreed emergency funding from the Bank of England. This comes after days of secret talks, in which bosses battled to save the situation …’
The newsreader continues talking, but I don’t hear what he’s saying. I’m gripped by the picture. It’s of several men in suits leaving the Bank of England, looking grim. One of them is Luke. Luke was at the Bank of England?
Oh God. Is he at the Bank of England now?
The picture on the screen has changed to a group of commentators sitting round a table, looking grave, with that girl TV presenter in the glasses who always interrupts people.
‘So, essentially, the Bank of London is bust, is that right?’ she says in that forceful way she has.
‘“Bust” is a very strong word …’ one of the commentators begins – but I can’t hear what else he says because of the havoc breaking out in the church.
‘It’s bust!’
‘The Bank of London’s gone bust!’
‘But that’s where all our money is!’ Mum looks a bit hysterical. ‘Graham, do something! Get it out! Get the money!’
‘Our holiday fund!’ Janice moans.
‘My pension!’ An elderly man is struggling to his feet.
‘I’m sure we shouldn’t overreact,’ Jess is saying above the hubbub. ‘I’m sure no one will lose anything, banks are guaranteed …’ But no one’s listening to her.
‘My portfolio!’ Reverend Parker rips off his robes and heads for the door of the church.
‘You can’t just leave!’ I call after him incredulously. ‘You haven’t christened Minnie yet!’ But he totally ignores me – and to my amazement, Mum is hotfooting it after him.
‘Mum! Come back!’
I grab Minnie’s hand before she legs it too. Everyone’s leaving. Within moments the church is empty, except for me and Minnie, Suze, Tarkie, Jess, Tom and Danny. We all glance at each other – then in silent accord, hurry to the back of the church. We burst out of the big wooden door – and then all just stand there in the porch in shock.
‘Sweet Jesus,’ breathes Danny.
The high street is full of people. There must be two hundred, three hundred, maybe. All streaming the same way along the pavement to the tiny branch of Bank of London, outside which a queue has already formed. I can see Mum anxiously jostling for a place, and Reverend Parker blatantly queue-barging in front of an old lady, while a young, panic-stricken guy in bank-teller’s uniform tries to keep order.
‘Thank you, everyone, for your interesting contributions,’ he says tightly. ‘And now, if you could gather round the font …’
‘Wait!’ I interrupt him. ‘As Minnie’s mother, I would just like to make a short speech.’
‘Rebecca!’ snaps Reverend Parker. ‘We really do have to proceed.’
‘Just a quick one!’
I hurry to the front of the church, almost tripping up in my haste. I’ll just keep talking till Luke arrives. It’s the only way.
‘Welcome, friends and family.’ I gaze around, avoiding Reverend Parker’s stony eye. ‘What a special day this is. A special, special day. Minnie is being christened.’
I pause as though to let this thought sink in and quickly check my phone. Nothing.
‘But what do we mean by that?’ I lift a finger, just like Reverend Parker does in his sermons. ‘Or are we all just here for the ride?’
There’s an interested ripple in the audience and a couple of people nudge each other and whisper. I’m quite flattered, actually. I hadn’t thought my speech would cause such a stir.
‘Because it’s easy to go through life without ever looking around at the flowers.’ I give a significant nod, and there are more whispers and nudges.
This reaction I’m getting is amazing! Maybe I could get into preaching! I’ve obviously got a natural gift for it and I do have quite a lot of profound ideas.
‘It makes you think, doesn’t it?’ I continue. ‘But what do we mean by think?’
Everyone’s whispering now. People are passing iPhones along the pews and pointing at something. What’s going on?
‘I mean, why are we all here?’ My voice is drowned out by the growing hubbub.
‘What’s happening!’ I exclaim. ‘What are you all looking at?’ Even Mum and Dad are fixated by something on Mum’s BlackBerry.
‘Becky, you’d better look at this,’ says Dad in a strange voice. He gets up and passes me the BlackBerry, and I find myself looking at a TV newsreader on the BBC website.
‘… latest on our breaking news that the Bank of London has agreed emergency funding from the Bank of England. This comes after days of secret talks, in which bosses battled to save the situation …’
The newsreader continues talking, but I don’t hear what he’s saying. I’m gripped by the picture. It’s of several men in suits leaving the Bank of England, looking grim. One of them is Luke. Luke was at the Bank of England?
Oh God. Is he at the Bank of England now?
The picture on the screen has changed to a group of commentators sitting round a table, looking grave, with that girl TV presenter in the glasses who always interrupts people.
‘So, essentially, the Bank of London is bust, is that right?’ she says in that forceful way she has.
‘“Bust” is a very strong word …’ one of the commentators begins – but I can’t hear what else he says because of the havoc breaking out in the church.
‘It’s bust!’
‘The Bank of London’s gone bust!’
‘But that’s where all our money is!’ Mum looks a bit hysterical. ‘Graham, do something! Get it out! Get the money!’
‘Our holiday fund!’ Janice moans.
‘My pension!’ An elderly man is struggling to his feet.
‘I’m sure we shouldn’t overreact,’ Jess is saying above the hubbub. ‘I’m sure no one will lose anything, banks are guaranteed …’ But no one’s listening to her.
‘My portfolio!’ Reverend Parker rips off his robes and heads for the door of the church.
‘You can’t just leave!’ I call after him incredulously. ‘You haven’t christened Minnie yet!’ But he totally ignores me – and to my amazement, Mum is hotfooting it after him.
‘Mum! Come back!’
I grab Minnie’s hand before she legs it too. Everyone’s leaving. Within moments the church is empty, except for me and Minnie, Suze, Tarkie, Jess, Tom and Danny. We all glance at each other – then in silent accord, hurry to the back of the church. We burst out of the big wooden door – and then all just stand there in the porch in shock.
‘Sweet Jesus,’ breathes Danny.
The high street is full of people. There must be two hundred, three hundred, maybe. All streaming the same way along the pavement to the tiny branch of Bank of London, outside which a queue has already formed. I can see Mum anxiously jostling for a place, and Reverend Parker blatantly queue-barging in front of an old lady, while a young, panic-stricken guy in bank-teller’s uniform tries to keep order.
