The Personal Shopper by Carmen Reid Page B

evening. In fact,’ she sat up and grinned at him: she had just had one of her best ideas of the day, ‘I’m going to hire you a kilt.’
    ‘A kiltie?’ Connor grinned back, revealing perfect – and laser-treated – teeth. ‘Oh yes, Annie, yes! One of those black leather ones?’
    ‘Whatever turns you on, darlin’.’
     
    ‘A black leather kiltie with nothing underneath?’ In a passable Sean Connery purr, he added: ‘Moneypenny, how can I rrrefuse? And what will my delectable date for the evening be wearing?’
    ‘Now that is a good question,’ Annie replied.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Six
     
    Paula on parade:
     
    Genuine Asian hair extensions, braided (Blaxx salon)
    Spray-on black Gucci dress (The Store’s sale preview)
    Fuchsia thong (Brick Lane market, three for £1)
    A ‘Hollywood’ wax (Blaxx)
    Orange and fuchsia striped false nails (Blaxx)
    Orange suede Jimmy Choo stilettos (mates’ rates at Annie V’s Trading Station)
    Est. cost: £805
     
    ‘What’s on special offer at Asda?’
     
     
    ‘Delia, girl, you’re in early, aren’t you?’ On spotting the bustling, well-upholstered figure of the floor’s cleaning lady, Annie had checked her watch and noted that it was still an hour and a half till closing time.
    ‘I’m tidying out my cupboard,’ Delia explained. Annie found this hard to understand, as Delia kept the neatest cleaning cupboard in the Western world. The frayed mops were carefully rinsed out, squeezed and hung to dry; the cloths were pegged up on their own little washing line and the bottles of industrial cleansers and polishes were always wiped down and lined up on the shelves with all the labels facing outwards.
    ‘Then I’m planning a little shop for myself.’ Delia’s gleaming dark face split with a giggle which set her short shiny wig jiggling. ‘No point working here if I can’t spoil myself from time to time.’
    Stepping close to Annie, she asked, ‘I take it we’re still OK with our little arrangement?’
    ‘We certainly are,’ Annie assured her, trying not to imagine what Donna would think of it.
    On the very rare occasion when Delia bought something from The Store, Annie put it through the till under her name because she was entitled to a 20 per cent staff discount, whereas Delia, employed by a subcontracted cleaning company, was not. An injustice Annie was delighted to subvert. ‘What are you buying?’ she couldn’t help asking.
    ‘Oh, I’m going to enjoy myself looking for a while, then I’ll come to you with my extravagances,’ Delia chuckled and gave Annie’s arm a squeeze, her chubby, dark brown hand adorned with five short, but beautifully lacquered plum fingernails.
    ‘Trying anything on?’
    ‘Oh no, you know me, Annie, I only shop for clothes at Harvey Nichols!’ came Delia’s reply with a hefty wink. ‘Anyways, I couldn’t get my big butt into anything you sell.’
    ‘Yes you could,’ Annie protested. ‘Look, look, girl, just over here we have—’
    But Delia cut her off: ‘Stop your sales pitch right there, you devil woman,’ she said, waggling a fingertip. ‘I’m not falling for it. I know just what I’m buying and first off, I’m walking my butt to lingerie.’
    ‘Oooh!’ Annie teased. ‘Something fancy?’
    Delia gave her great rattling, throaty, chest-clearing laugh at this. Now her gold hoop earrings were jangling. ‘Oh yeah . . . I’m gonna make some lucky man’s day,’ she chuckled. ‘See you later.’
    Annie watched Delia walk off in the direction of the underwear department, still chuckling and swishing her substantial derrière from side to side just for Annie’s benefit.
    Delia had three jobs, four children and one cramped council flat on the very outer reaches of Isleworth. She had to take three buses to make it in for her 6 a.m. start   every weekday morning. The bags under her eyes were   like two broad sweeps of kohl, except they looked irremovable. Delia would have to be knocked out for a