Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle

by Sophie Kinsella

  Jess doesn’t move. In fact . . . she seems frozen to the spot.

  “Hi, Jess,” Luke says more calmly. “Welcome to London.”

  “Come on in!” I spread my arms. “Make yourself at home! No avocados here!”

  Jess stares at me uncertainly, then glances at the buttons of the lift, almost like she wants to go back down again.

  “Let me take your bag,” says Luke. “How was your conference?”

  He ushers Jess into the flat, and she looks around warily.

  “It was good, thanks,” she says. “Hi, Becky.”

  “Hi! It’s so great you’re here! I’ll show you your room.”

  I open the door of the guest room proudly, waiting for her to comment on the cave picture, or Potholing Monthly. But she says nothing, just “Thanks,” as Luke puts down her bag.

  “Look,” I point out. “It’s a cave!”

  “Er . . . yes,” says Jess, looking slightly bewildered.

  There’s a pause—and I feel a tiny spasm of alarm.

  “Let’s all have a drink!” I exclaim. “Let’s open a bottle of champagne!”

  “Becky . . . it’s only four o’clock,” says Luke. “Maybe a cup of tea would be more appropriate?”

  “I’d love a cup of tea,” says Jess.

  “Tea, then!” I say. “Excellent idea!”

  I lead the way into the kitchen, and Jess follows, peering all around the flat.

  “Nice place,” she says.

  “Becky’s done a great job on it,” Luke says pleasantly. “You should have seen it this time last week. We’d had a load of purchases delivered from our honeymoon . . . and you could not move for the stuff.” He shakes his head. “I still don’t know how you did it, Becky.”

  “Oh, you know,” I say modestly. “Just a question of organization.”

  I’m switching on the kettle as Gary comes into the kitchen.

  “This is my associate, Gary,” says Luke. “This is Becky’s half sister, Jess. She comes from Cumbria.”

  “Ah!” says Gary as he shakes Jess’s hand. “I know Cumbria! Beautiful part of the country. Whereabouts do you live?”

  “A village called Scully,” replies Jess. “It’s pretty rural. Very different from this.”

  “I’ve been to Scully!” says Gary. “Years ago. Isn’t there a famous walk nearby?”

  “You probably mean Scully Pike.”

  “That’s it! We tried to climb it, but the weather took a turn. Nearly fell off the bloody thing.”

  “It can be dangerous,” says Jess. “You have to know what you’re doing. Idiots come up from the south and get in all sorts of trouble.”

  “That’s me,” Gary says cheerfully. “But it’s worth it for the scenery. Those drystone walls are spectacular,” he adds to Luke. “Like works of art. Miles and miles of them, strung out across the countryside.”

  I’m listening to the conversation in total fascination. I’d love to get to know a bit of rural England a bit better. I’d love to see some drystone walls. I mean, all I know is London and Surrey, which is practically London anyway.

  “We should buy a cottage in Cumbria!” I say enthusiastically. “In Jess’s village! Then we could see you all the time,” I add to Jess. “Wouldn’t that be great?”

  There’s quite a long silence.

  “Yes,” says Jess at last. “Great.”

  “I don’t think we’ll be buying any cottages in the near future,” says Luke. “We’re on a budget, remember?”

  “Yes, I know,” I retort. “And I’m sticking to it, aren’t I?”

  “Well, yes,” says Luke. “Incredibly, you are.” He looks at the tin of Fortnum biscuits on the counter. “Although, quite frankly, I have no idea how you’re managing it.” He opens the fridge. “Look at all this. Stuffed olives . . . smoked lobster . . . and this is supposed to be on a budget?”

  I can’t help feeling a little glow of pride. All that food is courtesy of selling those Tiffany clocks! I was so delighted, I went straight out and bought a big hamperful of all Luke’s favorite things.

  “Just a question of good household management,” I say nonchalantly.

  “Hmm.” Luke gives me a suspicious look, then turns to Gary. “We must get on.”

  The two men head out of the kitchen, and I’m left alone with Jess. I perch on a bar stool opposite her.

  “So!” I say. “What would you like to do?”

  “I’m easy,” Jess says with a shrug.

  “It’s up to you! Totally!”

  “I don’t really mind.” Jess sips her tea.

  The kitchen is still and quiet, apart from the tap dripping slowly into the sink.

  Which is fine. This is just one of those companionable, quiet moments you can have with members of your family. In fact, it shows we’re easy with each other. It’s not remotely awkward or anything—

  Oh God, speak. Please.

  “I’d like to do some weight training,” says Jess suddenly. “I normally work out every day. But I haven’t had time this week.”

  “Right!” I say in delight. “That’s a brilliant idea! I’ll do it too!”

  “Really?” Jess looks surprised.

  “Of course!” I take a final sip of tea, then put my cup down. “I’ll just go and get ready!”

  What a marvelous idea. Doing exercise together will be totally bonding! We can go to Taylor’s Health Club round the corner, where I’m a gold member, do a bit of a workout, and then head to the juice bar. I know the juice bar will be open, because I’ve been there loads of times before at about this hour of the day.

  And I should think the gym bit will be open too, downstairs.

  Or is it upstairs?

  Anyway. Wherever it is.

  I yank open my wardrobe doors and pull out my drawer full of gym kit. I could wear my Juicy tracksuit, except I might get too hot . . . or that really cool pink top, except I’ve seen a girl in the juice bar wearing the same exact one. . . .

  At last I select some black leggings with retro piping up the sides, plus a white T-shirt and my fab hi-tech trainers that I got in the States. They cost quite a lot, but then, as the leaflet points out, they are biomechanically balanced with a dual-density midsole. Plus their advanced engineering means you can take them seamlessly from the marathon track to the outdoor terrain of the trail hike.

  I quickly put on the whole outfit, tie my hair up in a ponytail, and add my cool Adidas sports watch. (Which just shows how wrong Luke is. I knew I would need a sports watch one day.) I hurry to the guest room and knock on the door.

  “Hi!”

  “Come in.” Jess’s voice sounds muffled and kind of weird. Cautiously I push open the door. She’s changed into old gray shorts and a cropped T-shirt and to my surprise is lying on the floor.

  Doing sit-ups, I suddenly realize as her entire torso rises off the ground. Blimey. She’s quite good at them. And I’ve never seen such a muscled stomach, except in a Cindy Crawford video.

  Now she’s doing those twisty ones that I’ve never been able to manage more than about three of.

  “So . . . shall we go?” I say.

  “Go where?” Jess says without missing a beat.

  “To the gym! I thought you wanted to . . .” I trail off as she starts raising her legs off the ground too.

  OK, now that’s just showing off.

  “I don’t need to go anywhere. I can work out here.”

  Here? Is she serious? But there aren’t any mirrors. There isn’t any MTV. There isn’t a juice bar.

  My gaze falls on a snakelike scar at the top of Jess’s shin. I’m about to ask how she did it, when she catches me looking and flushes red.

  Maybe she’s sensitive. I’d better not mention it.

  “Don’t you need weights?” I say instead.

  “I’ve got them.” She reaches in her rucksack and pulls out two old water bottles filled with sand.

  Those are her weights?

  “I wouldn’t go near a gym,” she says, startin
g to raise the bottles above her head. “Waste of money. Half the people who join gyms never go, anyway. They buy expensive outfits and never even wear them. What’s the point in that?”

  “Oh, absolutely!” I say quickly. “I totally agree.”

  Jess stops and adjusts her grip on one of the weights. Then her eye falls on the back of my leggings.

  “What’s that?” she says.

  “Er . . .” I reach round with my hand.

  Damn. It’s the price tag hanging out.

  “Er . . . nothing!” I say, hastily tucking it in. “I’ll just go and get some . . . weights of my own.”

  As I return from the kitchen with two bottles of Evian, I can’t help feeling a bit disconcerted. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind. I’d pictured the two of us running effortlessly along on adjacent machines, with some upbeat song playing and the spotlights making our hair look all shiny.

  Anyway, never mind.

  “So . . . I’ll follow you, shall I?” I say, joining Jess on the carpet.

  “I’m going on to some biceps work,” says Jess. “It’s pretty straightforward.” She starts raising her arms up and down, and I copy what she’s doing. God, she exercises quite fast, doesn’t she?

  “Shall I put on some music?” I say after a few moments.

  “I don’t need music,” says Jess.

  “No. Neither do I,” I say quickly.

  My arms are starting to ache. This can’t be good for them, surely. I glance at Jess, but she’s steadfastly pumping away. Casually I lean down, pretending to adjust my shoelace. Then suddenly I have a thought.

  “I won’t be a moment,” I say, and hurry out to the kitchen again. A few moments later I’m back, holding two slim silver bottles.

  “Here’s a health drink,” I say, proudly holding one out to Jess. “So you can rebalance.”

  “So I can what?” Jess puts down her weights with a frown.

  “It says it on the bottle, look,” I explain. “It has a unique blend of life-enhancing vitamins and herbs.”

  Jess is scanning the label.

  “It’s just sugar and water. Look. Water . . . glucose syrup . . .” She puts it down. “No, thanks.”

  “But it’s got special properties!” I say in surprise. “It rebalances, revitalizes, and moisturizes your skin from the inside.”

  “How does it do that?”

  “I . . . don’t know.”

  “How much is it?” Jess picks the bottle up again and looks at the price tag. “It’s £2.95!” She seems totally scandalized. “Three pounds for some sugar and water? You could buy a twenty-kilo sack of potatoes for that!”

  “But . . . I don’t want a twenty-kilo sack of potatoes.”

  “Then you should!” says Jess. “Potatoes are one of the most nutritious, cost-effective foods available.” She eyes me reprovingly. “People underestimate them. But did you know a potato in its skin has more vitamin C than an orange?”

  “Er . . . no,” I say nervously. “No, I didn’t.”

  “You could live off potatoes and milk.” She starts hefting her weights again. “You’d get practically every nutrient the body needs, just from those two.”

  “Right!” I say. “That’s . . . really good! Er . . . I’ll just go and have a shower.”

  As I close the door of the bedroom, I feel totally bewildered. What was all that about potatoes? I’m not even sure how we got onto the subject.

  I head down the corridor and see Luke through the door of the study, getting something down from a shelf.

  “You look very sportif,” he says, glancing up. “Going to the gym?”

  “Jess and I have been working out together,” I reply, flicking my ponytail.

  “Excellent. So you’re getting along?”

  “We’re getting along brilliantly!” I say, and carry on along the corridor.

  Which . . . I think is true. Although to be honest, it’s a bit hard to tell with Jess. She doesn’t exactly overwhelm you.

  But anyway, so far so good. And now we’ve done our workout, we can reward ourselves! What we need is a few drinks, and a bit of a party atmosphere and some music. Then we’ll really loosen up.

  As I shower, I start to feel excited. You cannot beat a good girls’ night in. Suze and I had so many great evenings when we were living together. There was the time Suze had been dumped by her awful boyfriend and we spent the whole evening sending off forms in his name to receive impotence cures. There was the time we made mint juleps and both nearly got alcohol poisoning. There was the time we decided to become redheads—and then had to find a twenty-four-hour hairdresser. And then there were lots of evenings when nothing special happened . . . except we watched movies and ate pizza and talked and laughed, and had a good time.

  I pause, halfway through toweling my hair. It’s weird, not speaking to Suze anymore. She hasn’t called once since I told her about having a sister. Nor have I called her. My chin stiffens. But that’s what happens in life. People find new friends and new sisters. It’s called natural selection.

  And Jess and I will have a fab time tonight. Better than I ever had with Suze.

  I throw on some jeans and a T-shirt with SISTERHOOD emblazoned in silver, then turn on my dressing table lightbulbs and get out every single item of makeup I own. I rummage in a box under the bed and retrieve my three wigs, four hairpieces, false eyelashes, spray glitter, and temporary tattoos. Then I open up my special cupboard, where all my shoes are stored.

  I love my shoe cupboard.

  I mean, I love my shoe cupboard. It is the best thing in the entire world! All my shoes are arranged in gorgeous rows, and there’s even a built-in light so you can see them properly. I look with satisfaction along the rows of L.K. Bennetts and Jimmy Choos for a few moments, then choose all the most fun, spangly high-heeled ones and toss them onto the bed.

  Ready for the makeovers!

  Next the sitting room. I spread all my favorite videos out in a fan on the floor, and add piles of magazines. Back in the kitchen I empty crisps, popcorn, and sweets into bowls, light some candles, and get out the champagne. As I look around the kitchen the granite is gleaming, and the stainless steel sparkles in the light. It looks so pretty!

  It’s nearly six o’clock. Jess must have finished working out by now. I head to the guest room and tap on the door.

  “Jess?” I say tentatively.

  No answer. She must be in the shower or something.

  But as I head to the kitchen, I suddenly hear her voice coming from the study. That’s weird. I gently push open the door—and there’s Jess, sitting at the computer with Luke and Gary on either side of her, peering at the screen, where I can see Luke’s head, talking against a green background.

  “You can superimpose the graphics like this,” she’s saying, tapping at the keyboard. “And synchronize with the sound track. I can do it for you, if you like.”

  “What’s going on?” I say in surprise.

  “It’s our new corporate CD,” says Luke. “The guys who did it had no bloody idea. The whole thing needs reediting.”

  “Your sister is a real whiz at this software!” says Gary.

  “I just know it backwards,” says Jess, clicking rapidly. “The whole university went over to it a year ago. And I’m a bit of a techie. I like this kind of stuff.”

  “That’s fantastic!” I say. I hover at the door for a few moments as Jess taps at the keyboard some more. “So . . . do you want to come and have a drink? I’ve got everything ready for our girls’ night in.”

  “I’m sorry,” says Luke, looking at me in sudden realization. “I’m keeping you, Jess. We’ll be OK from here. But thanks!”

  “Thanks!” echoes Gary.

  They’re both looking at her with such admiration, I can’t help but feel a tiny bit jealous.

  “Come on!” I say brightly. “There’s champagne waiting.”

  “Thanks again, Jess,” says Luke. “You’re a star!”

  “No problem.” Jess gets up and
follows me out of the room.

  “Men!” I say as soon as I’m out of earshot. “All they think about is computers!”

  “I like computers,” says Jess.

  “Er . . . me too,” I backtrack hastily. “Absolutely!”

  Which is kind of true.

  I mean, I love eBay.

  As I lead Jess into the kitchen I feel a rush of excitement. I reach for the CD remote control, and a moment later, Sister Sledge belts through the kitchen speakers at top volume. I bought the album especially for this!

  “ ‘We are family!’ ” I sing along, while taking the champagne bottle out of its ice bucket. I pop the cork. “Have some champagne!”

  “I’d prefer something soft, if you’ve got it,” she says, looking at the bottle without enthusiasm. “Champagne gives me a headache.”

  “Oh,” I say, halted. “Well . . . OK!”

  I pour her out a glass of Aqua Libra and quickly put the bottle away before she can see the price and start talking about potatoes again.

  “I thought tonight we could just relax,” I say over the music. “Just enjoy ourselves . . . talk . . . have fun . . .”

  “Sounds good,” says Jess, nodding.

  “So, my idea was, we could do makeovers!”

  “Makeovers?” Jess looks as though she’s never even heard the word.

  “Come with me!” I pull her along the corridor and into the bedroom. “We can do each other’s makeup . . . try on all different clothes . . . I could blow-dry your hair if you like. . . .”

  “I don’t know.” Jess’s shoulders are hunched uncomfortably.

  “It’ll be fun! Look, sit down in front of the mirror. Try on one of my wigs!” I pull the blond Marilyn one onto my own head. “Isn’t that fab?”

  Jess flinches.

  “I hate mirrors,” she says. “And I never wear makeup.”

  I stare at her, a bit nonplussed. How can anyone hate mirrors?

  “Besides, I’m happy with the way I look,” she adds a bit defensively.

  “Of course you are!” I say in astonishment. “That’s not the point! It’s just supposed to be . . . you know. Fun.”

  Jess doesn’t reply.

  “But anyway!” I say, trying to hide my deflation. “It was just an idea. We don’t have to do it.”