| |
I’ve got it!
As M has been quiet on the present front and it’s a bit too soon in our marriage to make demands, I’m taking matters into my own hands.
I’m going to buy and present M with his gift in advance. This will give him plenty of time to leg it to Oxford Street to get me a proportionate gift, if he hasn’t already.
How cunning I am.
As Bryony and I spend valuable press release writing time scouring the men’s section of Selfridges (lets call it a working lunch offsite), I discover that too much choice is a curse.
Granted, this isn’t exactly my comfort zone. I’m more familiar with the back of the store clearance section than the full priced new arrivals. The hunt is so exciting, rifling through the sale rack in search of a one-off gem. Well, it’s usually the last one, so that’s why it’s a one off. Here, where there is an abundance of every item in every size, it all looks so... generic.
“How can you tell the difference between a £50 belt and a £250 one?” I ask Bryony.
“It’s down to the quality of the leather.” Bryony holds up a thin, tan-coloured belt with a bronze buckle. “See this one? It’ll start creasing up within a year. Whereas this one...” She strokes a thick, black shiny belt, compelling me to do the same. “You see? It’s like butter.”
I can’t tell much difference. “Will it last longer, too?” I’m feeling a bit naive at this point, however Bryony and I are now close enough for me to not have to PR myself.
“It sure will,” she says, still stroking the belt in a borderline erotic fashion. “It’s not only the quality of the leather. It’s the craftsmanship. And this is British made, so you know you’re getting something good.”
Ooh, you can just smell the old money on this girl.
Despite Bryony’s ringing endorsement, it still feels too impersonal for me. I leave her to violate the belt alone, while I migrate to the adjacent cufflinks section.
This is more like it. At least each piece looks unique, rather than one big boring rainbow of brown and black. There are Union Jack cufflinks, simple silver ones and even gem encrusted pieces. My eyes are drawn to a silver pair with a clock face. Upon closer examination, it looks like a working clock. Imagine that! M wouldn’t need to wear that Armani watch I bought on the cheap.
“Do you need any help at all?” a silver-haired lady asks Bryony, who’s still assaulting the belt. I’m guessing with her green waxed Barbour jacket and expensive-smelling perfume, Bryony fits in better here, as opposed to me with my navy high street blazer that’s crumpled at the elbows. Oh, how I wish I’d taken a few minutes to iron in the morning.
“No, but my friend is looking for an anniversary gift,” she replies.
The lady smiles, adding more lines around her mouth. “How lovely! And congratulations! I’m guessing it’s your first year?”
I’m guessing my youthful visage hints that I haven’t clocked many marital years.
“It is,” I reply.
“Lovely. The first year of marriage is the paper anniversary.”
“I never knew that.” I force a laugh. “Truth be told, even though I work in PR and write for a living, I’d be pretty annoyed if my husband gifted me a notepad.”
I’m not quite sure why I had to throw in my line of work. Why do I feel this overwhelming need for the sales woman to take me seriously and realise I can spend big, should I choose to?
My attempt at a joke is met with the shortest of chuckles. “Indeed. Anyway, that’s just an old, stuffy tradition. Who’s to say you can’t splash out?”
She can smell the commission.
“I was just looking at these cufflinks...” I point towards the pretty clockface ones.
“Ah... the Big Ben.” She unclips a huge ring from her skirt belt, weighed down by more keys than her narrow hips should be able to handle. With a swift hand she unlocks the glass case, freeing the blue velvet tray of cufflinks from their shiny captor.
“They’re an actual working clock?” I notice the tiny hand tick around the white circle.
“Oh yes. It’s a timepiece as well as a cufflink.”
I play around with each one in my hand, stroking the satin-smooth finish. This is all foreplay, before I ease myself into the business end of the conversation. “How much are they?”
“These ones are...” She checks against a file underneath the cabinet. The suspense is killing me. “£200.”
I try to hide my shock, while Bryony lets out a gasp. However, my rubbish poker face gives me away and the sales lady excuses herself to pester another couple who look like more serious buyers.
What to do? I roll the cufflinks around in my hand like a pair of dice. I take a sneaky photo to send to Julia for a second opinion. She’s got expensive taste, so will be able to tell me if I’m getting ripped off.
It would be a lavish gift. Then again, I’m never lavish and most of my buys aren’t original price. Maybe this is the time I should be generous?
“You know, the belts we saw before are just as nice. Plus, it is supposed to be a paper anniversary.” Bryony is pandering to my thrifty nature.
I look back at the rail of belts across the store, looking limp, colourless and lifeless. These cufflinks, on the other hand, are beautiful, even majestic. Now I’ve seen them the belts don’t do justice. I’m also a bit peed off with being dismissed by the sales assistant. I’m worthy of being in this very shiny room. I can show her that my brown pound is powerful. Just like the middle-class couple she’s pandering to now, I too can drop some serious cash.
“Excuse me, I’ll take these, please.” I hold the clock face cufflinks up for the sales assistant - and the couple she’s pitching - to see.
The leather-skinned sales assistant’s eyes widen as she fails to mask her surprise. Her thin lips crack another smile.
She places my expensive purchase into a neat little black and yellow bag, then says: “I wonder what he’s getting you.”
You and me both, lady.
“Gosh, that’s proper adulting,” says Bryony. “I’ve not even reached a one year anniversary with a boyfriend and there’s you buying for your husband! You wouldn’t think we were the same age.”
I love Bryony. She owns her single status in a way I never could.
My phone pings. It’s Julia:
You won’t believe, I got the exact same cufflinks for Miles! It’s like we’re telepathic. I did hesitate a bit about the price tag, but it was his birthday. M will love them :)
I reply: You think so? It’s not too much for an anniversary?
Julia: I think he’ll be blown away by the surprise. Especially as it’s a little out of character for you.
How rude. It’s okay for me to call myself stingy but it’s a bit below the belt coming from her.
Julia again: No offence but you know what I mean. I figured London living would change you eventually ;)
Just before we head out, I have one last question for the sales assistant. “Do you sell Barbour jackets?”
***
M barely steps through the door before I pounce on him with my purchase.
“What did you get? Show me, show me!” He peers into my bag making a binoculars face with his hands. He’s childish like that and I love him for it.
“Oh, that’s a Barbour coat for me.” I reach into the carrier for the smaller gift bag.
“Check you out. I always said you should get one and you finally gave in. Which one did you go for? Let me see.”
He’s missing the point and ruining my surprise.
“Okay, I will show you later. But I want you to see something else first.”
“Did you get Ben’s Cookies?”
“No. I didn’t go past there.”
“Lola’s Cupcakes?”
“It’s nothing edible. It’s something even better.”
“What could be better than Ben’s Cookies?”
“This!” I throw the small gift bag at him.
“What’s this? What’s the occasion?” He has the face of a man that’s terrified he’s forgotten something.
As M slowly opens the faux leather trim box, I launch into my explainer. “As it’s our first anniversary coming up, I wanted to get you something special.”
I couldn’t have timed it better as the word ‘special’ coordinates with him opening the box and looking on in wonder at the treasure inside.
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah. They’re nice. But you didn’t have to.”
Yes I bloody did. And so do you, too, go my inner thoughts.
“You don’t need to spend so much,” he says.
Is that the segue I need to drop in the price? No, it’s too obvious. Vulgar, even.
“But thanks, anyway. They’re really nice.” He puts the cufflinks back in the box.
M hasn’t cottoned on to just how special they are. “Look closer,” I say as he is about to close the lid. “They’ve got real working clock faces.”
“Oh yeah.” M winds up the clock like it’s a new toy. “That’s pretty smart.”
Damn. I was hoping my little infomercial on the cufflinks would prompt him to ask how much it was. I might just have to be vulgar.
“Okay, don’t go crazy but, they are quite expensive.”
Yeah, that was vulgar. What can I say? I’m new money.
“How much?”
“£200.”
“What?”
“You’re worth it. It is a special occasion, after all.”
Okay, my last statement was a bit heavy-handed but I feel the need to bring the point home. Why can’t men read too much into things like we do?
He examines the cufflinks with fresh eyes, as though this added piece of intel warrants a more detailed inspection.
“Have you got the receipt?” he asks.
“What? Why? You better not take them back.” Did I make the wrong call? Should I have bought a notepad?
“You’ve spent so much and you didn’t need to -”
“Don’t worry about it. I could have bought you any old thing but these are special. You can keep them forever, unlike a belt or a notepad.”
M inspects the cufflinks yet again. They haven’t changed since the last time he looked.
“They are pretty cool,” he says. “I just feel bad that you spent so much.”
“It’s fine,” I say, for what feels like the hundredth time. “You can make it up to me with your gift.”
If that doesn’t hammer the message home, I don’t know what will.
“Anyway, do you want to see my new Barbour coat?”
***
The next morning, on the tube to work, M has a confession.
“I couldn’t sleep last night. I was so worried about the expensive present you got me, because I haven’t bought anything yet.”
“Oh okay,” I say, though my thoughts are more along the lines of: Well, you’ve got ample time to rectify this. Get yourself to Bond Street.
“To be honest with ya, I was thinking, as we’re going to Marrakesh, I’d get you something there. You’ve been talking about wanting a new handbag.”
Wait, what? That was a throwaway comment I made on one of our tube journeys to fill the silence around us. That said, a new bag would be nice.
“And as they’ve got decent leather over there, it would be a good place to shop. I was going to make it a surprise but since you’ve bought me such a fancy gift, I thought I better let you know. I don’t want you to think you won’t be getting anything for our anniversary. You will get something.”
Okay, so my plan didn’t result in a spontaneous, lavish gift, but it put my mind to rest that I will at least have something to open on our anniversary, even if I’ll have to wait for the bigger present.
The tube is held at lights. We’ve been here for about a minute and I barely noticed because I’ve got my husband safety blanket. I must get used to travelling without him. I am an independent woman, after all.
“Ooh,” says M as the carriage pulls away, like he’s made a new discovery.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“No, go on. What were you going to say?”
“Nothing, really. Except, you’ve got two long hairs on your upper lip. I never noticed before, to be honest with ya. They’ve not always been there, have they?”
I put my fingers to my moustache to feel a couple of spiky hairs. I must have missed those when threading. I know he’s pointing it out innocently but honestly, if I could jump out of the moving tube carriage and die, I would.