Free Late Night Shopping: by Carmen Reid

baffled.
     
'Own colostomy bag.'
     
'Annie!' Fern ticked her off. But as Annie's mother had been single for such a very long time now, dating jokes were not just permissible, they were an expected part of their conversation.
     
'So you want me to put Aunty H up for a week? Is that what I'm picking up?'
     
'Oh would you?!' Fern gushed, as if the idea had just occurred to her. 'It's not a whole week dear, it's about five days. She's getting quite mobile and she can manage the best part of the day on her own, so between you and Ed . . . and now that you have that nice big house. Dinah just hasn't got any space at all and I'll bring Hilda down myself, obviously.'
     
'Which week are we talking about anyway?' Annie asked, waving a cheery goodbye to Kelly-Anne as Marco ushered her off to the salon.
     
And here was Paula, showing in Annie's next client for the afternoon. This woman had very short hair, Annie noted, at least nothing could go horribly wrong on that front.
     
'September the 18th,' Fern told her, 'from Thursday until Tuesday. I'm back on Tuesday.'
     
'You know, I think Ed and the children are off . . . there's some special Centenary Founder's Day long weekend,' Annie told her. 'One hundred years since the old boy who set up the place popped his clogs or something. I've only just got them back into school and then they're coming out again,' she added with exasperation. 'Well, we've no plans. We'll all be delighted to look after Hilda for you, Mum.'
     
'I know, she's not the easiest,' Fern admitted.
     
'It's no problem, Mum,' Annie assured her, 'you'll need the break. I have to go, darlin'. Love you.'
     
Clicking off the phone, she hurried out to meet her new client, passing the rack of clothes Kelly-Anne hadn't bought and would never, ever buy. Annie doubted whether the poor woman would ever set a stiletto inside The Store again. She might even try and sue them. Maybe Annie should be filing an accident report for The Store's insurance policy right now . . .
     
She tried to overlook the lost commission and put all thoughts of owning The Bag Downstairs to the back of her mind.
     
'Hi, I'm Elsa,' her next client began. 'I know it's a bit boring, but I'm looking for some new suits.'
     
The most surprising thing happened halfway through Elsa's session. The bank executive was in one of the criminally chic grey dresses Annie had brought down for her, examining herself very closely in the mirror, when in breezed Kelly-Anne.
     
Well, not that it was immediately obvious.
     
The great towering, lacquered beehive construction was gone. Completely away! Instead, a short, silky-soft dark bob framed a sweetheart face, highlighting the most delicate of features.
     
Kelly-Anne didn't even make a big deal out of her first haircut in twenty years, she just waved over at Annie and said, 'Please, don't let me disturb you, I've just come down to get the clothes.'
     
Before Annie could even ask which clothes? Kelly-Anne went over to the rack that Paula had put to the side but not yet had time to set back out on the shop floor, and scooped up the lot. Then she left, thanking Annie profusely and promising she would be back soon.
     
Marco must have slipped her a Valium. This was the only conclusion Annie could come to. No doubt about it.
     

Chapter Six
Owen's comfort clothes:
     
Green camouflage combats (Army Surplus Shop)
Orange and white T-shirt (Quicksilver)
Khaki sandals (Geox)
Total est. cost: £70
     
'No, not raspberry, I think we have to go with . . . Aunty
Dinah's homemade plum.'
     
'I'm thinking thick white bread toast with butter and honey,' Ed was telling Owen as they walked along the pavement together.
     
'Yup, toast,' Owen agreed, 'but not honey. How about peanut butter with jam?'
     
'Mmmm,' Ed had to concede, 'I like your style. Peanut butter with raspberry jam?'
     
'No . . . not raspberry, I think we have to go with . . .' Owen considered carefully for a minute then threw down the decider, 'Aunty