How I learned to get my money back

I used to be mortified when my mother took items back to the shop for a refund, which she always got. Then I realized I'd inherited her skill...

I know a lot about taking things back to shops. My mum was an expert and I spent much of my childhood hiding behind clothes rails in Marks & Spencer and BHS, not wanting to be associated with the woman having loud and embarrassing conversations at the counter with the poor sales staff.

She would return anything and everything, but some of her returns stood out as exceptional triumphs. One of the most impressive had to be the skirt she took back to M&S because the zip had broken. I was 20 at the time and home for the weekend from university. Naturally, our lunch out had to involve a stop at the customer services counter of M&S - by then I'd given up hiding and just stood by Mum's side, letting her get on with it.

When Mum took the skirt out, I remember thinking that it looked about five years old. Not only that, it quickly became obvious that the garment had been taken up and hemmed - by hand. The manager was called. There followed a fervent discussion between two - or was it three? - members of staff and various no doubt sensible points were raised.

Mum stood her ground. She did consider for a split second that she wasn't going to win. That sense of purpose was almost terrifying: it was disgusting that a zip should break - how dare the shop assistant ask when she'd bought the skirt? She couldn't remember! She couldn't wear skirt any more and wanted her money back!

She left M&S with a voucher and an awe-struck student daughter who had learned far more from her mother that day than she had from reading Moby Dick at university. 

The teapot she returned was also impressive. I was in my teens and hoping to be bought some new clothes at the Brent Cross shopping center when Mum dragged me along to Fenwick's and placed the teapot on the returned counter. "It's chipped," she said and waited.

The teapot was, without a doubt, chipped - and there were tea stains visible inside the spout. The sale assistant, a young woman in her 20s, seemed confused.

She opened her mouth as if to say something and faltered. The issue hanging in the air, of course, was that Mum could have chipped it herself. I could sense that the assistant was about to suggest as much. She looked down at Mum (who was just under 5ft tall) and Mum looked back up at her. There was fire in the eyes of that diminutive, middle-aged woman. "Go on!" her eyes said. "I dare to you to confront me on this!" As if held at gunpoint, the sales assistant opened the till and handed over the cash.

Watching Mum in action was like watching Muhammad Ali in the boxing ring - she flew like a butterfly and stung like a bee but, unlike Ali, she won every fight. I think she had an innate skill, but whether nature or nurture turned her into a demon goods returner, she lived for and loved the thrill of the "win".

The bigger the challenge, the better. When I was 10 I rode horses and Mum decided to give riding a try. She bought an entire outfit - jodhpurs, hacking jacket, boots, hat, crop, the lot. She turned up at the stables looking like an Olympic show jumper, had one lesson, decided riding wasn't for her and then that wily woman returned the whole outfit and got her money back on the lot. No problem.

Mortified Mum's shop behavior, I was for years unable to return anything to a shop. Then the day came when I discovered I had inherited her skill. I was in my first job when I bought a jacket that I soon decided I didn't like. It was a major purchase and I couldn't afford to write the money off. I knew what I had to do.

Resolute, I headed to the shop. I suppose I don't have Mum's natural "Don't mess with me" gravitas because the shop assistant asked if I had worn it. "No," I lied, as she lifted a hair that was obviously mine off of the collar.

Then I dug right down to the bottom of my soul and stood strong. I was having that money back, I told myself. If worked - I won!

Since then I've had plenty of consumer triumphs. I've returned raspberries that weren't "luscious" as the label had promised. I bought a book at a train station, boarded a train, and returned said book at my destination because, "it wan't any good". Mum taught me that winning in shops is about your state of mind. You must not appear to be nervous or desperate. There are times when I've been a bit low and have failed to get my money back. I once tried to return a phone that didn't work. I'd had it only a few weeks and had proof of purchase - it should have been a piece of cake. But I was under the weather and felt just a teeny bit needy... and I failed. I could sense Mum peeing over my shoulder with a "You're no daughter of mine!" look on her face.

There are of course, laws about this. Under the Consumer Rights Act, you can get a refund for a faulty item returned within 30 days without a receipt. If the item isn't faulty, the retailer does not have to give you a refund. However, most have a goodwill returns policy and will offer an exchange, refund or credit for returns within 28 days.

If you want to wield as much power as possible, your returns ammunition should include: your receipt,the card you paid with (if you used one) and the packaging. Which? magazine even recommends keeping the cable ties. If you don't have the receipt and are taking something back that's not faulty, many stores will nonetheless offer you an exchange or credit note. So there are still grey areas and room in which the talented returner of goods can manoeuvre. 

To a pro like Mum, laws were unnecessary but, as she got older, she couldn't always get out to the shops. We'd take her to restaurants and waiters replaced customer service counters as the great joy of her life - she'd send back plate after plate perfectly good food, toying with staff like a cat toys with a mouse before the kill. 

When Mum passed away, I was faced with the task of going through her things. A horrendous job. One of the things I came across was a Fenwick's plastic bag. I looked in it and my heart skipped a beat - inside I found a red leotard, some electric blue tights and a pair of cowboy boots. If I had ever doubted that returning goods was Mum's hobby, this was confirmation.