Shopaholic and Sister

by Sophie Kinsella

  I tear it open and a stiff card falls out.

  “It’s an invitation!” I exclaim. “To the christening of the twins.”

  I gaze at the formal, swirly engraving, feeling a slight pang. Wilfrid and Clementine Cleath-Stuart. Suze has had two more babies and I haven’t even seen them. They must be about two months old by now. I wonder what they look like. I wonder how Suze is doing. So much has been going on without us.

  I turn the card over and see that Suze has scrawled a message.

  I know you won’t be able to come, but thought you’d like it anyway… Hope you’re still having a wonderful time!All our love, SuzexxxPS Ernie loves his Chinese outfit, thank you so much!

  “It’s in two weeks,” I say, showing Luke the card. “Shame, really. We won’t be able to go.”

  “No,” agrees Luke. “We won’t.”

  There’s a short silence. Then Luke meets my eye. “I mean… you’re not ready to go back yet, are you?” he says casually.

  “No!” I say at once. “Of course not!”

  We’ve been traveling for only ten months, and we planned to be away for at least a year. Plus, we’ve got the spirit of the road in our feet now. Maybe we’ll never be able to go back to normal life, like sailors who can’t go back and live on the land.

  I put the invitation back in its envelope and take a sip of my drink. I wonder how Mum and Dad are. I haven’t heard much from them recently. In fact, the last time I called home, they both seemed a bit distracted. Mum hardly listened to my story about the elephant orphanage, and before I could ask Dad how he did in the golf tournament, he said he had to go.

  And little Ernie will be walking by now. I’m his godmother and I’ve never even seen him walk.

  Anyway. Never mind. I’m having amazing world experiences instead.

  “We need to decide where to go next,” says Luke, leaning back on his elbows. “After we finish the yoga course. We were talking about Malaysia.”

  “Yes,” I say, after a pause. It must be the heat or something, but I can’t actually get up much enthusiasm for Malaysia.

  “Or back to Indonesia? Up to the northern bits?”

  “Mmm,” I say noncommittally. “Oh look, a monkey.”

  I cannot believe I’ve gotten so blasé about the sight of monkeys. The first time I saw those baboons in Kenya I was so excited I took about six rolls of film. Now it’s just, “Oh look, a monkey.”

  “Or Nepal… or back to Thailand…”

  “Or we could go back,” I hear myself saying out of nowhere.

  How weird. I didn’t intend to say that. I mean, obviously we’re not going to go back yet. It hasn’t even been a year!

  Luke sits up straight and looks at me.

  “Back back?”

  “No!” I say with a little laugh. “I’m just joking!” I hesitate. “Although…” There’s a still silence between us.

  “Maybe… we don’t have to travel for a year,” I say tentatively. “If we don’t want to.”

  Luke passes a hand through his hair, and the little beads on his plaits all click together.

  “Are we ready to go back?” he says.

  “I don’t know.” I feel a little thrill of trepidation. “Are we?”

  I can hardly believe we’re even talking about going home. I mean, look at us! My hair’s all dry and sun-bleached, I’ve got henna on my feet, and I haven’t worn a proper pair of shoes for months.

  An image comes to my mind of me walking down a London street in a coat and boots. Shiny high-heeled boots by L.K. Bennett. And a matching handbag.

  Suddenly I feel a wave of longing so strong I almost want to cry.

  “I think I’ve had enough of the world.” I look at Luke. “I’m ready for real life.”

  “Me too.” Luke takes my hand and weaves his fingers between mine. “I’ve been ready for a while, actually.”

  “You never said!” He seemed so into it! I’ve never had an inkling he’s been bored.

  “I didn’t want to break up the party. But I’m certainly ready.”

  “You would have kept traveling… just for me?” I say, touched.

  “Well, it’s not exactly hardship.” Luke looks at me wryly. “We’re hardly roughing it, are we?”

  I feel a slight flush come to my cheeks. When we set off on this trip, I told Luke I was determined we were going to be real travelers, like in The Beach, and sleep only in little huts.

  That was before I’d spent a night in a little hut.

  “So when we say ‘back’ ”—Luke pauses—“we are talking London?”

  He looks at me questioningly.

  Oh God. Finally, it’s decision time.

  We’ve been talking for ten months about where we should live after the honeymoon. Before we got married, Luke and I were living in New York. And I loved it. But I kind of missed home, too. And now Luke’s U.K. business is expanding into more of Europe, and that’s where all the excitement is. So he’d like to go back to London, at least for a while.

  Which is fine… except I won’t have a job. My old job was as a personal shopper at Barneys New York. And I adored it.

  But never mind. I’m bound to find a new job. An even better one!

  “London,” I say decisively, and look up. “So… can we be back in time for the christening?”

  “If you like.” Luke smiles, and I feel a sudden leap of exhilaration. We’re going to the christening! I’m going to see Suze again! And my mum and dad! After nearly a year! They’ll all be so excited to see us. We’ll have so many stories to tell them!

  I have a sudden vision of myself presiding over candlelit supper parties with all my friends gathered round, listening avidly to tales of faraway lands and exotic adventures. I’ll be just like Marco Polo or someone! Then I’ll open my trunk to reveal rare and precious treasures… everyone will gasp in admiration—

  “We’d better let them know,” says Luke, getting up.

  “No, wait,” I say, grabbing his trousers. “I’ve had an idea. Let’s surprise them! Let’s surprise everybody!”

  “Surprise everybody?” Luke looks doubtful. “Becky, are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “It’s a brilliant idea! Everyone loves a surprise!”

  “But…”

  “Everyone loves a surprise,” I repeat confidently. “Trust me.”

  We walk back through the gardens to the main hotel — and I do feel a slight twinge at the thought of leaving. It’s so beautiful here. All teak bungalows and amazing birds everywhere, and if you follow the stream through the grounds, there’s a real waterfall! We pass the wood-carving center, where you can watch craftsmen at work, and I pause for a moment, inhaling the delicious scent of wood.

  “Mrs. Brandon!” The head craftsman, Vijay, has appeared at the entrance.

  Damn. I didn’t know he’d be around.

  “Sorry, Vijay!” I say quickly. “I’m in a bit of a hurry. I’ll see you later… Come on, Luke!”

  “No problem!” Vijay beams and wipes his hands on his apron. “I just wanted to tell you that your table is ready.”

  Shit.

  Slowly Luke turns to look at me.

  “Table?” he says.

  “Your dining table,” says Vijay in happy tones. “And ten chairs. I show you! We display the work!” He snaps his fingers and barks some orders and suddenly, to my dismay, about eight men troop out, carrying a huge carved teak table on their shoulders.

  Wow. It’s a tad bigger than I remembered.

  Luke looks absolutely stunned.

  “Bring the chairs!” Vijay is bossing the men. “Set it up properly!”

  “Isn’t it lovely?” I say in superbright tones.

  “You ordered a dining table and ten chairs… without telling me?” says Luke, goggling as the chairs arrive.

  OK. I don’t have many options here.

  “It’s… my wedding present to you!” I say with sudden inspiration. “It’s a surprise! Happy wedding, darling!” I plant a kiss on his ch
eek and smile hopefully up at him.

  “Becky, you already gave me a wedding present,” says Luke, folding his arms. “And our wedding was a fairly long time ago now.”

  “I’ve been… saving it up!” I lower my voice so Vijay can’t hear. “And honestly, it isn’t that expensive…”

  “Becky, it’s not the money. It’s the space! This thing’s a monstrosity!”

  “It’s not that big. And anyway,” I quickly add before he can reply, “we need a good table! Every marriage needs a good table.” I spread my arms widely. “After all, what is marriage about if not sitting down at the table at the end of the day and sharing all our problems? What is marriage, if not sitting together at a solid wooden table and… and eating a bowl of hearty stew?”

  “Hearty stew?” echoes Luke. “Who’s going to make hearty stew?”

  “We can buy it at Waitrose,” I explain.

  I come round the table and look up at him earnestly. “Luke, think about it. We’ll never again be in Sri Lanka with authentic wood-carvers right in front of us. This is a unique opportunity. And I’ve had it personalized!”

  I point to the panel of wood running down the side of the table. There, beautifully carved in among the flowers, are the words Luke and Rebecca, Sri Lanka, 2003.

  Luke runs a hand over the table. He feels the weight of one of the chairs. I can see him relenting. Then suddenly he looks up with a slight frown.

  “Becky, is there anything else you’ve bought that you haven’t told me about?”

  I feel a nervous flip inside, which I disguise by pretending to examine one of the carved flowers.

  “Of course not!” I say at last. “Or… you know. Maybe just the odd little souvenir along the way. Just here and there.”

  “Like what?”

  “I can’t remember!” I exclaim. “It’s been ten months, for goodness’ sake!” I look at the table again. “Come on, Luke, you must love it. We can have fantastic dinner parties… and it’ll be an heirloom! We can hand it down to our children—”

  I break off a bit awkwardly. For a moment I can’t quite look at Luke.

  A few months ago we had this huge big discussion and decided that we’d like to try for a baby. But so far nothing’s happened.

  I mean, not that it’s a big deal or anything. It will happen. Of course it will.

  “All right,” says Luke, his voice a little gentler. “You’ve won me over.” He gives the table a pat, then looks at his watch. “I’m going to e-mail the office, tell them about our change of plans.” He gives me a wry look. “Presumably you weren’t expecting me to burst open the door of the boardroom and yell ‘Surprise, I’m back!’?”

  “Of course not!” I retort, barely missing a beat.

  That is, actually, kind of what I’d pictured. Except I’d be there too, with a bottle of champagne and maybe some party poppers.

  “I’m not quite that stupid,” I add witheringly.

  “Good.” Luke grins at me. “Why don’t you order us some drinks and I’ll be out in a moment.”

  As I sit down at a table on the shady terrace, I’m just a tad preoccupied. I’m trying to remember all the things I’ve bought and had shipped home without telling Luke.

  I mean, I’m not worried or anything. It can’t be that much stuff. Can it?

  Oh God. I close my eyes, trying to remember.

  There were the wooden giraffes in Malawi. The ones Luke said were too big. Which is just ridiculous. They’ll look amazing! Everyone will admire them!

  And there was all that gorgeous batik art in Bali. Which I did intend to tell him about… but then kind of never got round to it.

  And there were the twenty Chinese silk dressing gowns.

  Which… OK, I know twenty sounds like quite a lot. But they were such a bargain! Luke just didn’t seem to understand my point that if we bought twenty now, they would last us a lifetime and be a real investment. For someone who works in financial PR, he can be a bit slow off the mark sometimes.

  So I snuck back to the shop and bought them anyway, and had them shipped home.

  The thing is, shipping just makes everything so easy. You don’t have to lug anything about — you just point and ship: “I’d like that shipped, please. And that. And that.” And you give them your card and off it goes, and Luke never even sees it…

  Maybe I should have kept a list.

  Anyway, it’s fine. I’m sure it’s fine.

  And, I mean, we want a few souvenirs, don’t we? What’s the point of going round the world and coming back empty-handed? Exactly.

  I see Chandra walking past the terrace and give him a friendly wave.

  “You did very well in class today, Becky!” he says, and comes over to the table. “And now I would like to ask you something. In two weeks’ time I am leading an advanced meditation retreat. The others are mainly monks and long-term yoga practitioners, but I feel you have the commitment to join us. Would you be interested?”

  “I’d love to!” Then I pull a regretful face. “But I can’t. Luke and I are going home!”

  “Home?” Chandra looks shocked. “But… you are doing so well. You are not going to abandon the path of yoga?”

  “Oh no,” I say reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I’ll buy a video.”

  As Chandra walks off, he looks a little shell-shocked. Which actually, isn’t surprising. He probably didn’t even realize you could get yoga videos. He certainly didn’t seem to have heard of Geri Halliwell.

  A waiter appears and I order a beer for Luke, plus a mango and papaya cocktail, which in the menu is called Happy Juice. Well, that just about suits me. Here I am in the sunshine, on my honeymoon, about to have a surprise reunion with all the people I love. Everything’s perfect!

  I look up to see Luke approaching the table, holding his handheld computer. Is it my imagination, or is he walking faster and looking more animated than he has for months?

  “OK,” he says. “I’ve spoken to the office.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “It certainly is.” He seems full of a suppressed energy. “It’s going very well. In fact, I want to set up a couple of meetings for the end of this week.”

  “That was quick!” I say in astonishment.

  Blimey. I’d thought it would take about a week just to get ourselves organized.

  “But I know how much you’re getting out of this yoga retreat,” he adds. “So what I propose is that I go on ahead, and you join me later… and then we return to Britain together.”

  “So, where are your meetings?” I say, confused.

  “Italy.”

  The waiter appears with my Happy Juice and Luke’s beer.

  “But I don’t want to be separated from you!” I say as the waiter retreats. “This is our honeymoon!”

  “We have had ten solid months together… ” Luke gently points out.

  “I know. But still…” I take a disconsolate sip of Happy Juice. “Where are you going in Italy?”

  “Nowhere exciting,” Luke says after a pause. “Just a… northern Italian city. Very dull. I recommend you stay here. Enjoy the sunshine.”

  “Well…” I look around, feeling torn. It is pretty nice here. “Which city?”

  There’s silence.

  “Milan,” Luke says reluctantly.

  “Milan?” I nearly fall off my chair with excitement. “You’re going to Milan? I’ve never been to Milan! I’d love to go to Milan!”

  “No,” says Luke. “Really?”

  “Yes! Definitely! It’s the fashion capital of the world! I mean, it’s got Prada… and Dolce—” I break off as I catch his expression. “And… er… it’s a place of great cultural interest which no modern traveler should miss. Luke, I have to come.”

  “OK.” Luke shakes his head ruefully. “I must be mad, but OK.”

  Elated, I lean back in my chair and take a big slurp of Happy Juice. This honeymoon just gets better and better!

  Two

  OK, I CANNOT believe Luke
was planning to come to Milan without me. How could he come here without me? I was made for Milan.

  No. Not Milan, Milano.

  I haven’t actually seen much of the city yet except for a taxi and our hotel room — but for a world traveler like me, that doesn’t actually matter. You can pick up the vibe of a place in an instant, like bushmen in the wild. And as soon as I looked round the hotel foyer at all those chic women in Prada and D&G, kissing each other while simultaneously downing espressos, lighting cigarettes, and flinging their shiny hair about, I just knew, with a natural instinct: this is my kind of city.

  I take a gulp of room-service cappuccino and glance across at my reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Honestly, I look Italian! All I need is some capri pants and dark eyeliner. And maybe a Vespa.

  “Ciao,” I say casually, and flick my hair back. “Sì. Ciao.”

  I could so be Italian. Except I might need to learn a few more words.

  “Sì.” I nod at myself. “Sì. Milano.”

  Maybe I’ll practice by reading the paper. I open the free copy of Corriere della Sera, which arrived with our breakfast, and start perusing the lines of text. The first story is all about the president washing his piano. At least I’m pretty sure that’s what presidente and lavoro pieno must mean.

  “You know, Luke, I could really live in Italy,” I say as he comes out of the bathroom. “I mean, it’s the perfect country. It has everything! Cappuccinos… yummy food… Everyone’s so elegant… You can get Gucci cheaper than at home… ”

  “And the art,” says Luke, deadpan. “Da Vinci’s The Last Supper, for instance.”

  I was just about to mention the art.

  “Well, obviously the art,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I mean, the art goes without saying.”

  I flick over a page of Corriere della Sera and briskly skim the headlines. Then my brain suddenly clicks.