The Minor Adjustment Beauty Salon by Alexander McCall Smith Page A

assistant of yours – your Mma Makutsi – is a lady who likes shoes, I believe,’ said Mmakosi. ‘And if the mother likes shoes, then you can be pretty sure that the baby is going to like shoes too.’
    Mma Ramotswe was astonished that Mmakosi should have known this detail of Mma Makutsi’s life, and expressed her surprise.
    ‘But I have seen her,’ exclaimed Mmakosi. ‘I have seen her going into the Pick and Pay. You can tell that she is a woman who appreciates shoes. You just have to look at her feet.’
    ‘I suppose so,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘She has some nice pairs of shoes now that she is married to Phuti Radiphuti. But even when she was single – and did not have much money – she was careful with her shoes.’
    ‘She is very wise,’ said Mmakosi. ‘If you look after your shoes…’ She left the unfinished aphorism hanging in the air, imparting to it a slight air of warning. And what, wondered Mma Ramotswe, would be the consequences of
not
looking after your shoes?
    ‘Then your shoes will last a long time,’ Mmakosi concluded.
    Mma Ramotswe savoured this piece of wisdom. ‘That is certainly true, Mma,’ she said at last. ‘As long as the shoes are well made in the beginning. That is the important thing.’
    Mmakosi was in complete agreement. ‘You get what you pay for,’ she said. ‘You don’t get what you deserve.’
    This, Mma Ramotswe felt, was dubious. Mmakosi’s observations about shoes might be true enough, but she was not sure that this proposition about life in general was entirely supportable. ‘That may be so sometimes, Mma,’ she pointed out. ‘But there are many cases, I think, in which people get exactly what they deserve. And that may not be what they think they should get.’
    She was thinking of Violet Sephotho as she said this. Violet, who seemed to have dedicated herself to being Mma Makutsi’s nemesis – on the grounds of jealousy going way back to their days in the Botswana Secretarial College – had got her just deserts in that her ploys had consistently failed. She had been dramatically exposed when she worked for a short time as an assistant at the Double Comfort Shop, her short-lived political career had been nipped in the bud, and her attempts to secure a wealthy husband had similarly met with no success. She had brought all of this on herself, and so she had, in a sense, got what she deserved. But even so, Mma Ramotswe reminded herself, she had a soul like everybody else and one should not crow over the defeat even of those who richly deserve to be defeated. That was dangerous because then you yourself might get what you deserve for revelling in the misfortunes of another. It was safer, perhaps, not to think of Violet at all…
    They had returned to the subject of shoes. ‘Children’s feet grow so quickly,’ said Mmakosi. ‘So I always say to people: get shoes that are always slightly too big for your child. Then turn your head for a week or two and – whoosh – the child’s toes will have filled the extra space. That is what I say, Mma Ramotswe.’
    Mma Ramotswe examined the tiny red shoes – boots, really – that had been selected for Mma Makutsi’s son. ‘These are size zero, Mma,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we should go for size one. Then he will grow into them.’
    Mmakosi shook her head. ‘No, Mma. These shoes are not like ordinary shoes. If you feel the toes, you will notice that the leather is very supple. These shoes can expand very easily to allow for growth. And they are not shoes for walking in, you know. These shoes are called crawling shoes. They are for when the child begins to crawl.’
    ‘But he’s only a few days old,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘He’s going nowhere.’
    ‘But he will,’ said Mmakosi. ‘He will start to crawl before too long, and these shoes will be there, ready for him. They are a very sensible present.’
    Mma Ramotswe was drawn to the shoes. It tickled her to think that she was giving shoes to Mma Makutsi, who had