Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle

by Sophie Kinsella

  I pull a chair over and sit down in front of him, and he starts kneading my tight muscles.

  “Luke, that reminds me,” I say, still watching Malcolm. “Does Iain always talk to you like that?”

  Luke’s fingers stop moving briefly. “Like what?”

  “The way he did in the car yesterday. He’s so unpleasant!”

  “That’s just his business style. Arcodas has a different working culture.”

  “But it’s awful!”

  “Well, we’re just going to have to get used to it.” Luke sounds a bit defensive and snappy. “We’re playing with the big boys now. Everyone’s just got to—” He stops himself.

  “What?” I twist my head, trying to see his expression.

  “Nothing,” says Luke after a moment. “Just…thinking aloud. Let’s turn this off.” He kisses me on the top of my head. “Shoulders feel better now?”

  “A million times. Thanks.”

  I get up, pour myself a glass of orange-cranberry mix, and flip the TV over to The Simpsons. Meanwhile, Luke picks up the Evening Standard and starts leafing through the pages. A bowl of olives is on the counter, and we pass it back and forth between us.

  There now, isn’t this nice? Just a nice quiet evening at home. Just the two of us, relaxing together in our stable relationship. Not thinking about old girlfriends or anything like that.

  In fact, I’m so relaxed, maybe I will bring the subject up. Just in a casual way. To show I don’t care one way or the other.

  “So…that must have been weird for you,” I say lightly. “Coming across Venetia again after all those years.”

  “Uh-huh.” Luke nods absently.

  “Why did you and she break up?” I say, still lightly. “Just out of interest.”

  “God knows.” Luke shrugs. “It was a long time ago.”

  You see? It was so long ago, he can’t even remember. It’s ancient history. I really don’t care what the gory details were. In fact, let’s talk about something else. Current affairs or something.

  “Did you love her?” I hear myself saying.

  “Love?” Luke gives a short laugh. “We were students.”

  I wait for him to expand on the subject, but he turns a page of the paper and frowns at a headline.

  That is not an answer. “We were students” is not an answer.

  I open my mouth to demand “What’s that supposed to mean?” Then, after a moment’s thought, I close it again. This is ridiculous. I’d never even met Venetia Carter till yesterday—and already Mum and Suze have made me all paranoid. Of course he never loved her.

  I’m not going to ask him anything else about their relationship. I’m not even going to think about it. Subject officially closed.

  SHORT QUIZ FOR LUKE BRANDON

  1. How would you describe the relationship you had with your old girlfriend Venetia?

  a) Passionate Romeo/Juliet-style romance.

  b) V. boring relationship.

  c) I never really liked her.

  d) She stalked me.

  2. In general, do you prefer girls’ names that begin with

  a) R

  b) B

  c) V

  d) Don’t know.

  3. Have you ever been in love? If so, with how many people?

  a) Your wife and only your wife, because she taught you what love really is.

  b) Your snooty girlfriend Sacha, the bitch who stole the luggage.

  c) Your student girlfriend Venetia, with whom you had a brief fling but never mentioned her, so how could you have been in love with her?

  d) Other.

  4. What do you think of long red hair?

  a) It’s a bit obvious and show-offy.

  b) It swishes too much.

  (Please turn over and complete remaining three sections.)

  * * *

  KENNETH PRENDERGAST

  Prendergast de Witt Connell Financial Advisers

  Forward House

  394 High Holborn

  London WC1V 7EX

  Mrs. R Brandon

  37 Maida Vale Mansions

  Maida Vale

  London NW6 0YF

  28 August 2003

  Dear Mrs. Brandon,

  Thank you for your letter.

  I fear you have misconstrued the meaning of an “investment in gold.” I would strongly recommend you purchase gold bullion through a recommended broker, rather than, as you suggest, “get the starfish pendant out of the Tiffany catalog, and maybe a ring.”

  Please do not hesitate to contact me again should you need further guidance.

  Yours sincerely,

  Kenneth Prendergast

  Family Investment Specialist

  * * *

  SEVEN

  I’M NOT REALLY GOING to give Luke a questionnaire. In fact I’ve thrown it in the bin for various reasons, namely:

  1) We have a mature, trusting marriage where you don’t quiz each other on what color hair you prefer.

  2) He would never have time to fill it in (especially the section “describe the qualities of your wife you most admire in 500 words”).

  3. I have far more important things to think about. Suze and I are going to a big baby fair at Earl’s Court today, and there’s going to be about five hundred stands, plus freebies, and a mother-and-baby fashion show, and the biggest collection of prams under one roof in Europe!

  As I come out of the tube station, there are already crowds streaming toward the entrances. I have never seen so many pushchairs in my life, and we haven’t even got in yet!

  “Bex!”

  I turn to see Suze, in a fantastic lime sundress, holding the handles of her double buggy. Wilfrid and Clementine are sitting up, side by side, wearing the cutest stripy hats.

  “Hi!” I hurry over and give her a big hug. “Isn’t this fab?”

  “I’ve got our tickets in here….” Suze rifles in her bag. “Plus vouchers for a smoothie each…”

  “Has Tarquin got Ernie today?”

  “No, my mother’s looking after him. They’ll have a lovely day together,” Suze adds fondly. “She’s going to teach him how to pluck a pheasant.”

  It’s not just Tarquin. Suze’s entire family really is the weirdest.

  As we enter the fair, I can’t help a tiny gasp. This place is huge. All around are gigantic photographs of babies, and colorful stalls, and promo girls handing out carrier bags. The music from The Lion King is playing out of loudspeakers, and a clown on stilts is juggling foam bananas.

  “So,” says Suze in a businesslike manner as we join the queue. “Have you got a list?”

  “List?” I echo vaguely. I can’t stop looking around at everyone’s prams and changing bags and babies’ outfits. A few people are smiling at the sight of Wilfrid and Clementine, sitting up side by side with their bright blue eyes, and I beam back proudly.

  “Your list of baby gear,” says Suze patiently. “What do you still need?” She rifles in the envelope containing the tickets. “Here we are. The New Baby Checklist. Do you have a sterilizer yet?”

  “Er…no.” My eyes are fixated on a bright red stroller with a cool polka-dot hood. That would look fab going down the King’s Road.

  “Or a nursing pillow?”

  “No.”

  “Are you planning to use an electric breast pump?”

  “Urgh.” I recoil slightly. “Do I have to? Ooh, look, they’ve got mini cowboy boots!”

  “Bex…” Suze waits till I turn. “You do know having a baby is about more than buying them clothes, don’t you? You do have…realistic expectations?”

  “I have totally realistic expectations!” I say with slight indignation. “And I’m going to get everything on that list. I’m going to be the best-prepared mother ever. Come on, let’s get started.”

  As we head down between the stands, my head is swiveling from side to side. I’ve never seen so many gadgets…and baby outfits…and adorable-looking toys….

  “You’ll need a car seat,” Suze is say
ing. “Some fix into the car, and some also clip onto wheels….”

  “OK.” I nod vaguely. I can’t get that excited by car seats, to be honest.

  “And look, here’s a sterilizer and bottle system,” says Suze. She pauses by the Avent stand and picks up a leaflet. “They have microwave ones…electric ones…. Even if you’re breast-feeding, you’ll need to express….”

  My attention has been caught by a stand named Disco Baby. “Hey, Suze!” I interrupt her. “Baby leg warmers!”

  “Right.” She nods. “Do you want a four-bottle sterilizer or a six-bottle sterilizer, or—”

  “And rattles in the shape of little glitter balls! Suze, look!”

  “Oh my God.” Suze’s face lights up. “I have to buy those for the twins.” She abandons the Avent leaflets, grabs her double buggy, and pushes it over. There are little “disco girl” and “disco boy” sweatshirts, and the cutest little baseball caps.

  “I just wish I knew what I was having,” I say, picking up a tiny pink skirt and stroking it longingly.

  “Did you try the ancient Chinese chart?” says Suze.

  “Yes. It said I was having a boy.”

  “A boy!” Suze’s face lights up.

  “But then I found this Web site called Analyze Your Cravings, and according to that, I’m having a girl.” I sigh in frustration. “I just want to know.”

  Suze looks perplexed, then reaches for a hat. “Buy this. It’s unisex.”

  I buy the hat and a pair of the most fabulous kitsch platform bootees, and a Groove Baby miniature dressing gown. At the next stall I buy a baby beach towel and mini-sunshade, and a remote-controlled Winnie the Pooh mobile. I’m getting quite laden, to be honest, but Suze just keeps stashing all her stuff in the double buggy. Prams are so handy for shopping. I’d never quite appreciated it before.

  And we’ve got all day here.

  “Suze, I need a pram,” I say, making a snap decision.

  “I know.” She nods vigorously. “The Pram City stand is just here, behind Zone C. You’ll probably need a whole travel system, and you might want to get a lightweight buggy for traveling….”

  I’m barely listening as I head for the Pram City sign. The entrance is decorated with bunting and balloons, and as I step through, I can see prams stretching into the distance like an endless chrome shrubbery.

  “Hi!” I say to a man in a green jacket and PRAM CITY badge. “I need a pram straightaway.”

  “Of course!” He beams at me. “We normally deliver within four weeks—”

  “No, I need one now,” I interrupt. “To take away. I don’t mind what kind.”

  “Ah.” His face falls. “These are all for display only, I’m afraid….”

  “Please?” I give him my most winsome smile. “You must have one you can sell me. Just one little pram? Some old one you don’t need anymore?”

  “Um…right.” He glances nervously at my stomach. “I’ll…see what I can do.”

  He bustles away, and I look around at the trendy prams. Suze is swooning over some state-of-the-art double buggy on a special podium of its own, and to my right, a pregnant woman and her husband are pushing an amazing contraption upholstered in black leather, with built-in drink holders.

  “I knew you’d like it.” The woman is glowing with pleasure.

  “Of course I do.” The man kisses the back of her neck, cradling her bump. “Let’s order it.”

  I feel a sudden pang, deep inside. I want to try out prams with Luke. I want to go as a couple, and push prams around and for Luke to kiss me like that.

  I mean, I know it’s a hectic time for him and he’s really busy at work. I know he’s never going to be some New Man who knows every brand of diaper and wears a fake pregnancy stomach. But still, I don’t want to have to do everything on my own.

  And I bet he’d love that black leather one too. It’s probably even got a BlackBerry holder.

  “Hey, Bex.” Suze comes over, pushing the twins with one hand and the state-of-the-art buggy with the other. “Do you think I need a new pram?”

  “Er…” I look at the twins. “Isn’t that double buggy quite new?”

  “Yes, but, I mean, this one’s really maneuverable. It would be really practical! I think I should get it. I mean, you can’t have too many prams, can you?”

  There’s a kind of lust in her eyes. Since when did Suze become such a pramaholic?

  “Definitely,” I say. “Maybe I should get it too!”

  “Yes!” says Suze in delight. “Then we’d be matching! Have a go!” She hands it to me and I push it about for a bit. It is pretty cool, I have to say.

  “I love the squidgy handles,” I say, squeezing them.

  “Me too! And the cool wheel design.”

  This is just how we used to be in clothes shops together. God, I never thought I’d get as excited by a pushchair as I do about a dress.

  “Madam?” The assistant is back. “Here we are. I can let you buy this model today. Seventy pounds.”

  He’s pushing an old-fashioned coach pram in an uninspiring shade of gray, with a pink lacy pillow and quilt. Suze stares at it, aghast.

  “Bex, you can’t put the baby in that!”

  “It’s not for the baby,” I say. “It’s for my shopping!” I plonk all my carrier bags inside and grasp the handles. “That’s better!”

  I pay for it, and prize Suze away from the hi-tech buggy, and we head off to the Refreshment Zone, passing lots of stalls on the way. I buy a paddling pool, and a box of building blocks and a huge teddy and just sling them all on top of the pram. And there’s still room for loads more! Honestly, I should have bought a pram years ago.

  “I’ll get the coffees,” says Suze as we near the café area.

  “I’ll be there in a sec,” I say absently. I’ve spotted a stand with vintage-style hobbyhorses, which are absolutely gorgeous. I’ll buy one for the baby and one each for Suze’s children.

  The only trouble is, there’s a massive queue. I maneuver the pram into line as best I can and lean on the handles with a sigh. I’m quite tired actually, after all this walking. In front of me is an old woman in a dark red raincoat. She turns, then pulls an expression of horror as she sees me leaning on the pram.

  “Let this young lady through!” she exclaims, tapping the woman in front of her. “She has a baby and she’s expecting! The poor thing’s exhausted—look at her!”

  “Oh!” I say, taken aback. Everyone is moving aside like I’m royalty, and the raincoat woman is urging me to push the pram forward. “Um…I don’t actually have a…”

  “Come through, come through! How old’s your wee one?” The old woman peers into the pram. “I can’t see the poor little thing for all your gubbins!”

  “Er…well…”

  The stand owner is beckoning me forward encouragingly. Everyone’s waiting for me to go first.

  OK. I know I should be honest. I do know that.

  But the queue’s gigantic, and Suze is waiting…and what does it really matter if there’s a baby in here or not?

  “Is it a boy or a girl?” the old woman persists.

  “It’s…a girl!” I hear myself saying. “She’s asleep,” I add hurriedly. “I’d like four hobbyhorses, please.”

  “Ah, the dear little thing,” says the old woman fondly. “And her name?”

  Ooh! Names!

  “Tallulah,” I say impulsively. “I mean…Phoebe. Tallulah-Phoebe.” I hand the stall owner the money, take the hobbyhorses, and somehow balance them on the pram. “Thanks very much!”

  “You be a good girl, Tallulah-Phoebe,” the old woman is clucking into the pram. “You be good for your mum and the new arrival.”

  “Oh, she will!” I say brightly. “Nice to meet you! Thanks very much!” And I hastily wheel the pram away, feeling a giggle rise inside. I turn the corner and immediately spot Suze at the coffee counter, chatting to a girl with highlights and an off-road pushchair and three children in matching stripy tops tied to it with reins
.

  “Hi, Bex!” she calls. “What do you want?”

  “Can I have a decaf cappuccino and a choc chip muffin?” I call back. “And I have to tell you what just happened—” I break off as the girl with highlights turns.

  I don’t believe it.

  It’s Lulu.

  Lulu, Suze’s horrible friend from the country. My heart sinks like a stone as I wave cheerfully. What’s she doing here? Just as we were having such a good time.

  They’re coming over toward me now, all the toddlers trailing in their wake like kites being dragged along a beach. Lulu is looking as sensible-mummy as ever, in her pink cords and white shirt and pearl earrings, which probably all came out of the same sensible-mummy catalog.

  Oh God, I know that’s really bitchy. But I can’t help it. Lulu has rubbed me the wrong way ever since the first time we met and she totally looked down on me because I didn’t have any kids.(And also maybe because I took my bra off in front of all the children to entertain them. But I was really desperate, OK? And it’s not like they saw anything.)

  “Lulu!” I force a smile. “How are you? I didn’t know you were coming today!”

  “I didn’t know myself!” Lulu’s voice is so sharp and posh, it makes me wince. “I was offered a sudden promotion opportunity. For my new children’s cookbook.”

  “Yes, Suze told me about that. Congratulations!”

  “And congratulations to you!” Lulu eyes my bump. “We’ll have to get together sometime! Talk baby things!”

  Lulu has never been anything other than mean and patronizing to me, all the times I’ve met her. But now suddenly because I’m having a baby we’re supposed to be friends?

  “That would be super!” I say pleasantly, and Suze shoots me a look.

  “There’s a section on pregnancy in my cookbook, actually….” Lulu rifles in her bag for a shiny book, illustrated with a photo of herself holding an armful of vegetables in her kitchen. “I must send you a copy.”

  “Like, on cravings and stuff?” I take a sip of decaf. “I could do with some good nonalcoholic cocktail recipes.”