Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle (138 page)

“Luke?”

“. . . hotel . . .”

He’s breaking up. Nothing is making any sense.

“I love you,” I call hopelessly as the phone goes dead. I look up to see all the others watching with compassion. Tarquin pats my shoulder kindly with a dripping hand.

“Come on, Becky. We’d better get you into the helicopter.”

Twenty-three

The hospital is all a bit of a blur. There’s lots of light and noise and being asked questions and wheeled around on a trolley, and eventually it turns out I’ve broken my ankle in two places and they’ve got to set my leg—plus give me stitches where I cut my forehead and check I haven’t got tetanus or mad cow disease or anything. While they’re doing all that, they give me an injection of some stuff that makes me feel a bit dopey, and when everything’s done I flop back on my pillows, suddenly exhausted. God, it’s nice to be somewhere clean and warm and white.

In the distance I can hear someone reassuring Jess that she didn’t do any damage by moving me, and then telling Suze several times that a full body scan won’t be needed in this case, and no, they’re not being cavalier with my health. And as it happens, he
is
the top man in the county.

“Becky?” I look up in a daze, to see Tarquin advancing toward my bed, holding out a mobile phone. “Luke again.”

“Luke?” I say into the receiver. “Hi! Guess what? I’ve got a broken leg!” I look admiringly at my plaster cast, which is propped up on a support. I have
always
wanted a plaster cast.

“I heard. My poor darling. Are they looking after you OK? Do you have everything you need?”

“Er . . . I think so. You know . . .” With no warning I give a huge yawn. “Actually . . . I’m pretty tired. I might go to sleep.”

“I wish I was there.” Luke’s voice is gentle and loving. “Becky . . . just tell me one thing. Why did you go running off to the North without telling anyone?”

I blink at the phone. He doesn’t know why?

“Because I needed help, of course,” I say matter-of-factly. By now, I’ve almost come to terms with the situation. “Our marriage was in tatters. Jess was the only person I could turn to.”

Luke seems to be struck dumb.

“Our marriage was in what?” he says at last.

“Tatters!” My voice wobbles. “You know it was! It was awful! You didn’t even kiss me goodbye!”

“Darling, I was pissed off. We had a row! That doesn’t mean our marriage is in tatters.”

“Oh. Well, I thought it was. I thought it was all over. I thought you wouldn’t care where I was.”

“Oh, Becky.” Luke’s voice has gone all strange, like he’s trying not to laugh. Or possibly cry. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through?”

“No.” I bite my lip, hot with shame. “Luke, I’m really sorry. I . . . I didn’t think . . . I never realized—”

He cuts me off. “Anyway, you’re safe. That’s all that matters now. You’re safe.”

I’m feeling totally guilty. He’s being so nice about it. But what kind of hell have I put him through? And there he is, stuck on Cyprus . . . In a rush of emotion I clutch the phone more tightly to my ear.

“Luke . . . come home. I know you’re hating it out there. I know you’re miserable. And it’s all my fault. Just leave stupid Nathan Temple and his horrible hotel. Find some excuse. You can blame me.”

There’s a bit of a pause.

“Yesss,” says Luke. “There’s something I need to say about that. I think that quite possibly—” He breaks off again. “You were right. And I was . . . wrong.”

What?
Did I hear that properly?

“I was prejudiced,” Luke says. “Now that I’ve gotten to know Nathan, he’s a very bright guy. Great commercial mind. We’re getting on well.”

“You’re getting on
well
? But . . . what about him having a conviction?”

“Ah,” says Luke, sounding sheepish. “Nathan explained about that. He was defending one of his motel staff from a drunken guest when it happened. He ‘went a little far,’ as he put it. He says it was a mistake. And I believe him.”

My head is throbbing. I can’t quite take all this in.

“In a lot of ways he’s a guy after my own heart,” Luke continues. “He told me the other night why he set up his motel chain. It was after he was refused entry to a smart hotel because he wasn’t wearing a tie. He went straight to a pub and sketched out a business plan for Value Motels. Had twenty up and running in a year. You have to admire that drive.”

“I don’t believe it,” I say, rubbing my forehead in a daze. “You
like
him.”

“I do like him.” Luke pauses. “And . . . he’s been tremendous over this whole affair. Couldn’t have been kinder. He stayed up all night with me, listening for news.”

I wince in guilt as I imagine the two of them in dressing gowns, waiting by the phone.

God, I am never, ever going to disappear again.

I mean, not that I was planning to. But, you know.

“What about the hotel?” I ask. “Is it tacky?”

“The hotel is supremely tacky,” Luke says, sounding cheerful. “But you were right. It’s top-quality tack.”

I can’t help a little giggle, which turns into an enormous yawn. I can really feel the drugs kicking in now.

“So . . . I was right all along,” I say, my voice bleary. “It was a brilliant networking coup.”

“It was a brilliant networking coup,” agrees Luke. “Becky . . . I’m sorry.” He suddenly sounds more serious. “For that and . . . a lot of things.” He hesitates. “I realize you’ve had it hard these last few weeks. I got too obsessed with the Arcodas deal. I haven’t supported you. And I didn’t appreciate what a crash it was for you, coming back to Britain.”

As his words filter into my brain they sound weirdly familiar.

Has he been talking to Jess?

Has Jess been . . .
sticking up
for me?

Suddenly I realize Luke is still talking.

“And another thing,” he’s saying. “I finally read through your pink folder on the plane. And I liked your idea. We should approach David Neville and see if he wants to sell.”

“You really liked my idea?” Through my stupor I feel a glow of delight.

“I really did. Although I have no idea where you’ve picked up all this specialist knowledge on business expansion—”

“At Barneys! I told you!” I sink contentedly into my pillows. “David’ll want to sell—I know he will. He’s really regretting having gone on his own. And they want another baby. . . .” I can hardly get the words out, I’m so tired. “And Judy says she just wants him to have a normal sara . . . salary . . .”

“Sweetheart, we’ll talk about it another time. You should rest.”

“All right.” My eyelids are getting really heavy now and it’s a struggle to keep them open.

“Let’s start over,” Luke says softly. “When I get back. No more tatters. OK?”

“What’s that?” a tart voice interrupts. It’s the head nurse, approaching. “Mobile phones are
not
allowed on the wards. And you need some sleep, young lady!”

“OK,” I quickly say into the phone. “OK.”

The nurse removes the phone from my fingers and my eyes crash shut.

When I open them again, everything is different. The room is dim. The chatter has gone. It must be nighttime.

I’m absolutely parched, and my lips are painfully dry. I remember there was a jug of water on my nightstand, and I’m trying to sit up and get it when I knock something onto the floor with a clatter.

“Bex? Are you OK?” I look over to see Suze in a chair by my bed. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes and leaps up. “D’you want something?”

“Some water,” I croak. “If there is any.”

“Here you are.” Suze pours me out a glassful and I drink it thirstily. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m . . . fine.” I put the glass down, feeling a lot better, then look around the dim, curtained cubicle. “Where is everyone? Where’s Jess?”

“She’s OK. The doctors looked her over and then Tarkie took her home. But they wanted to keep you in for observation.”

“Right.” I rub my dry face, wishing I had some moisturizer with me. Then suddenly I notice the time on Suze’s wristwatch.

“It’s two o’clock!” I look up in consternation. “Suze, why are you here? You should be in bed!”

“I didn’t want to go.” She bites her lip. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

“Shh!” hisses a voice from the other side of my curtain. “Keep the noise down!”

Suze and I look at each other in surprise—and suddenly I can feel the laughter rising. Suze sticks out her tongue at the curtain, and I give a helpless snuffle.

“Have some more water,” says Suze in a lower voice. “It’ll keep your skin hydrated.” She pours another glassful and perches on the side of my bed. For a while neither of us speaks. I take a few more sips of water, which is lukewarm and tastes of plastic.

“This reminds me of when Ernie was born,” says Suze. “Do you remember? You stayed with me all night then.”

“God, yes.” I have a sudden memory of a teeny, tiny Ernie in Suze’s arms, all pink and wrapped in a blanket. “That was some night.” I meet her eyes and she smiles.

“You know, when the twins were born . . . it didn’t feel quite right, you not being there.” Suze is still smiling, but her eyes are sheeny. “I know that sounds really stupid—”

“No. It’s not.” I look down at the white hospital sheet, pleating it hard between my fingers. “I’ve really missed you, Suze.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Her voice is a little husky. “And I . . . I need to say something. I’m sorry for the way I behaved when you got back.”

“No,” I say at once. “Don’t be silly. I overreacted. You had to make other friends while I was gone. Of course you did. I was . . . stupid.”

“You weren’t stupid.” Suze won’t meet my eye. “It was me. I was envious.”

“Envious?”
I’m utterly dumbfounded.

“There you were, all tanned and glamorous, with your Angel bag.” Her voice trembles a little. “And there I was, stuck in the country with three kids. You came swanning in with all these stories about your amazing round-the-world honeymoon, and I felt really . . . drab.”

“Suze, you could never be drab!” I say in dismay. “Never in a million years!”

“So I was thinking.” She looks at me, her face determined. “When you’re better, let’s go to Milan for the weekend. Just you and me. What do you think?”

“What about the babies?”

“They’ll be fine. Tarkie’ll look after them. It can be my late birthday treat.”

“What about the spa?” I say cautiously. “Wasn’t that your treat?”

For a moment Suze contemplates the floor.

“The spa was OK,” she says at last. “But it wasn’t the same as with you. No one’s like you, Bex.”

“So do you hate Lulu now?” I ask hopefully.

“Bex!” Suze gives a shocked giggle. “No, I don’t
hate
her. But . . .” She breaks off. “As I said, no one’s like you, Bex.”

I can’t quite find a reply, so I reach for my water glass again—and find myself looking at a small packet on the nightstand.

“Jess left you that,” says Suze, looking a bit puzzled. “She said we might want to eat it.”

I can’t help smiling. It’s Kendal Mint Cake.

“It’s kind of . . . a private joke,” I say. “I don’t think she’s expecting me to eat it.”

There’s quiet for a while, apart from the noise of a trolley being wheeled along in the distance, and the thwump of double doors opening and closing.

“So . . . you really have got a sister,” says Suze at last. I can hear the wistfulness in her voice. For a few moments I look through the dimness at her familiar, anxious, lovely face.

“Suze . . . you’ll always be my sister,” I say at last. And I hug her tight.

Twenty-four

It’s incredible, the number of things I was convinced I didn’t like . . . and now it turns out I love them!

For example:

1. Jess

2. Black pudding (If you put lots of tomato ketchup on it, it’s actually quite yummy!)

3. Being a skinflint

Honestly. I’m not joking. Being frugal is totally fantastic. It’s so
satisfying
! How come I never realized this before? Like, yesterday I sent Janice and Martin a postcard to thank them for their lovely flowers . . . and instead of buying one, I cut it out of a cereal box! It had
Kellogg’s
on the front! How cool is that?

Jess gave me that tip. She is teaching me so much. I’ve been staying with her ever since I got out of the hospital, and she’s been just brilliant. She gave me her bedroom because there are fewer stairs up to it than to the guest room, and she helps me get in and out of the bath with my plaster cast, and she makes vegetable soup every day for lunch. She’s even going to teach me how to make it, because if you do it with lentils and . . . and something else, which I can’t remember . . . it’s a fully balanced meal in itself and it only costs 30p a portion. And then, with the extra money you save, you can buy something really nice like one of Elizabeth’s homemade fruit pies! (That was the tip I gave to Jess. You see, we’re helping each other!)

Now I hobble over to the sink, carefully empty half the coffee grounds out of the cafetiere into the bin, sprinkle on some new ones, and switch on the kettle. The rule in this house is that you reuse coffee grounds, and, like Jess says, it does make total sense. The coffee only tastes a little bit tinny—and you save loads!

I have so changed. Finally, I am a frugal and sensible person. Luke will not believe it when he sees me again.

Jess is chopping an onion, and I helpfully pick up the mesh bag it came in, to throw away.

Jess looks up. “Don’t! We can use that!”

“An onion bag?” Wow. I’m learning new things all the time! “So . . . how can you use an onion bag?”

“You can turn it into a scourer.”

“Right.” I nod intelligently, even though I’m not
entirely
sure what a scourer is.

“You know.” Jess gives me a look. “Scouring. Like exfoliating, but for kitchens.”

“Oh
yes
!” I say, and beam at her. “Cool!”

I get out my Thrifty Household Tips notebook and write it down. There’s just so much to take in. Like, did you know you can make a garden sprinkler out of an old milk carton?

Not that I need a garden sprinkler . . . but still!

I make my way into the sitting room, one hand resting on my crutch, the other holding the cafetiere.

“Hi.” Suze looks up from where she’s sitting on the floor. “What do you think?” She lifts up the banner she’s been painting. It reads
LEAVE OUR LANDSCAPE ALONE
in vibrant red and blue with an amazing leafy, grassy border.

“Wow!” I gaze at it in admiration. “Suze, that’s fantastic! You’re such an amazing artist.” I look at the pile of banners, which Suze has been steadily painting over the last few days, draped on the sofa. “God, the campaign’s lucky to have you.”

It’s been so fantastic having Suze here, just like old times. She and Tarquin have been staying in Edie’s guesthouse for the last few days and Tarquin has pretty much taken charge of the babies, except when Suze needs to feed them in the mornings and evenings.

And it’s been so great. We’ve spent loads of time together, chilling, and eating, and talking about everything under the sun. Sometimes just me and Suze—and sometimes with Jess too. Like last night, the three of us made margaritas and watched
Footloose
. . . which I
think
Jess enjoyed. Even though she didn’t know every song by heart, like we did.

Then one night, when Suze went to visit some relation of hers who lives twenty miles away, Jess and I spent the evening together. She showed me all her rocks and told me all about them—and in return, I told her about my shoes and drew pictures. I think we both learned a lot.

“The campaign’s lucky to have
you,
” retorts Suze, lifting her eyebrows. “Let’s face it, Bex. If it weren’t for you, this protest would be three people and a dog.”

“Well, you know.” I shrug, trying to look modest. But I am secretly pretty pleased with the way things are going. I’ve been in charge of the protest publicity ever since I got out of the hospital, and we have gotten so much coverage! The rally is this afternoon, and at least four local radio stations ran news stories this morning. It’s been in all the local papers, and a TV crew is even talking about coming out!

It’s all due to a brilliant combination of factors. It turns out the head of news at Radio Cumbria is Guy Wroxley, who I used to know in London when I was a financial journalist. He gave me the phone numbers of everyone locally who might be interested, and ran a huge feature piece yesterday afternoon on
Cumbria Watch
. But the best thing is our fabulous human interest story! The first thing I did when I took control was call a meeting of the environmental group. Everyone had to tell me every little thing they knew about the site, even if it didn’t seem important. And it turns out that twenty years ago, Jim proposed to Elizabeth in the very field which is going to be wrecked by the shopping center!

So we set up a photo shoot in the field, with Jim kneeling down just like he did then (except, apparently, he didn’t kneel—but I told him not to mention that), looking all mournful. The
Scully and Coggenthwaite Herald
printed it on their front page yesterday morning under the headline
MASSACRE OF OUR LOVING MEMORIES
, and the protest hotline (Robin’s mobile) has been ringing with support ever since!

“How long have we got?” asks Suze, sitting back on her heels.

“Three hours. Here you are.” I hand her a cup of coffee.

“Oh, right.” Suze gives a slight grimace. “Is this your thrifty coffee?”

“Yes!” I eye her defensively. “What’s wrong? It’s delicious!”

There’s a ring at the doorbell and I hear Jess striding down the passage to answer it.

“Maybe that’s another bunch of flowers,” says Suze with a giggle. “From your admirer.”

I have been bombarded with bouquets ever since the accident. About half of them are from Nathan Temple, saying things like
In hugest gratitude
and
In appreciation of your supportive gesture.

Well. So he should be grateful. There was Luke, all set to fly home, and it was
me
who said he should stay in Cyprus and finish the job and I’d be fine staying with Jess for a few days. So he did, and he’s on his way home today. The plane should be landing any minute.

I just know things are going to work out well between me and Luke. We’ve had the ups and downs . . . we’ve had the tempests . . . but from now on it’s going to be smooth, easy waters. For a start, I’m a different person now. I’ve become a grown-up, prudent woman. And I’m going to have a grown-up relationship with Luke. I’m going to discuss everything with him. I’m going to tell him everything. No more stupid situations where we end up at loggerheads. We’re a team!

“You know, I honestly think Luke won’t know me,” I say, taking a pensive sip of coffee.

“Oh, I think he will,” says Suze, studying me. “You don’t look
that
bad. I mean, the stitches are pretty awful, but that huge bruise is looking a bit better. . . .”

“I don’t mean in appearance!” I say. “I mean in personality. I’ve totally changed.”

“Have you?” says Suze, looking puzzled.

She’s my best friend. Hasn’t she noticed
anything
?

“Yes! Look at me! Making thrifty coffee and organizing a protest march and eating soup and . . . everything!”

I haven’t even told Luke about organizing the protest. He’ll be so gobsmacked when he sees his wife has become an activist. He’ll be so impressed!

“Becky?” Jess’s voice interrupts us and we both look up to see her standing at the door, an odd expression on her face. “I’ve got something for you. Some walkers have just come back from Scully Pike, and . . . they found this.” From behind her back she produces a hand-painted calfskin bag adorned with diamanté.

My Angel bag.

I thought I’d never ever see it again.

“Oh my God,” I hear Suze breathe.

I’m speechless. It’s a bit battered and there’s a tiny scratch near the handle—but apart from that it looks just the way it did. The angel is the same. The sparkling
Dante
is the same.

“It seems fine,” Jess is saying, turning it over in her hands. “It must have gotten a bit wet and thrown about, but apart from that, no harm done. Here you are.” She holds it out.

But I don’t move. I can’t take it from her.

“Becky?” Jess looks perplexed. “Here!” She thrusts it toward me and I flinch.

“I don’t want it.” I look away. “This bag nearly ruined my marriage. From the moment I bought it, everything started going wrong. I think it’s cursed.”

“Cursed?”
says Jess, exchanging looks with Suze.

“Bex, it’s not cursed,” Suze says patiently. “It’s a totally fab bag! Everyone wants an Angel bag!”

“Not me. Not anymore. It’s only brought me trouble.” I look from face to face, feeling suddenly rather sage. “You know, the last few days have really taught me a lot. I’ve got a lot of things in perspective. And if it’s a choice between my marriage or a totally fab bag”—I spread my arms—“I’ll take the marriage.”

“Wow,” says Suze. “You
have
changed. Sorry,” she adds sheepishly, as she sees my face.

Honestly, what is she like? I would
always
have taken the marriage.

I’m . . . pretty sure I would have.

“So what will you do with it?” asks Jess. “Sell it?”

“You could donate it to a museum!” Suze says excitedly. “It could be ‘From the collection of Rebecca Brandon.’ ”

“I’ve got a better idea,” I say. “It can be star prize of the raffle this afternoon.” I grin at them. “And we’ll rig it so Kelly wins.”

By one o’clock the house is full of people. Everyone has gathered here for a final pep talk, and the atmosphere is just amazing. Jess and I are handing out bowls of vegetable soup, and Suze is showing all her painted banners to Robin, and everywhere there’s a buzz of conversation and laughter.

God, why have I never been on a protest before? It’s just the best thing ever!

“Isn’t it exciting!” says Kelly, coming up with a bowl of soup in her hand. She’s wearing camouflage combat pants and a T-shirt with hands off our land written on it in marker pen.

“It’s great!” I beam at her. “So . . . have you bought a raffle ticket for later?”

“Yes, of course! I’ve bought ten!”

“Have this one too,” I say casually, handing her number 501. “I’ve got a good feeling about it.”

“Oh, right!” She tucks the ticket into her pants pocket. “Thanks, Becky!”

I smile and sip my soup. “How’s the shop looking?”

“It’s fantastic!” Her eyes shine. “We’ve got helium balloons everywhere, and ribbons, and sparkling wine, and loads of free gifts all ready. . . .”

“It’s going to be a wonderful party. Don’t you think, Jess?” I add, as she walks by with a saucepan of soup. “The party in Jim’s shop.”

“Oh,” she says. “I suppose so.” She gives a grudging, almost disapproving shrug, and ladles more soup into Kelly’s bowl.

Like she’s really fooling me with that act.

I mean, come on. I’m her
sister
.

“So . . . it’s amazing that we got a donation to fund the party,” I remark to Kelly. “Don’t you think?”

“It’s incredible!” says Kelly. “A thousand pounds out of nowhere! We couldn’t believe it!”

“Amazing,” says Jess with a small frown.

“Funny that the donor wants to stay anonymous,” I add, taking a spoonful of soup. “Robin said they were quite firm about it.”

“Yes.” The back of Jess’s neck is reddening a little. “I heard.”

“You’d think they’d want some credit,” says Kelly, wide-eyed. “You know, for being so generous!”

“I agree. You’d think they would.” I pause, then add innocently, “What do you think, Jess?”

“I suppose,” she replies, roughly stacking bowls on a tray. “I wouldn’t know.”

“I guess not.” I hide a smile. “Great soup.”

“Everyone!” Jim bangs on a table and the hubbub dies down. “Just to remind you. Our Village Shop party begins at five, right after the protest. Everyone’s welcome to come along and spend as much as they can. Hear that, Edie?”

Edie brandishes her purse back at him, and the room erupts in laughter.

“Anyone spends more than twenty pounds gets a free gift,” adds Jim. “And everyone gets a free drink.”

“Now you’re talking!” shouts the gray-haired man, and there’s another huge laugh.

“Bex?” comes Suze’s voice in my ear. “Phone for you. It’s Luke.”

I hurry into the kitchen, still elated, and seize the receiver.

“Luke!” I say. “Hi! Where are you? At the airport?”

“Nope, I’m already in the car.”

“That’s great!” I cannot
wait
to see him. “How soon can you be here? There’s loads going on! I’ll give you directions to exactly where we’ll be—”

His voice cuts me off. “Becky . . . I’m afraid there’s a hitch. I don’t know how to tell you this . . . but I can’t make it to you until much later.”

“What? But . . . why? You’ve been away all week! I haven’t seen you!”

“I know. I’m livid. But something’s come up.” He exhales sharply. “There’s a PR crisis with the Arcodas Group. Normally I’d leave it to Gary and the team, but this is a new client. It’s the first problem, and I’m going to have to deal with it myself.”

“Right.” My whole body is drooping in disappointment. “I understand.”

“But I’ve had an idea.” He hesitates. “Becky, come and join me.”

“What?” I gape at the phone.

“Come now. I’ll send a car. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Me too.” I feel a pang. “I’ve so missed you.”

“But it’s not just that.” He hesitates. “I’ve spoken to Gary . . . and we’re both agreed. We’d love your input on this. We could do with a few bright ideas. What do you think?”