Christmas Shopaholic

by Sophie Kinsella

  “Becky?” I feel his arms come around me. “Becky! Oh my God! What’s happened?”

  “Oh. Hi.” I hastily lift my head, rubbing my face. “It’s all fine. You know. It’s just…um…everyone’s pulled out of Christmas, so I was a bit disappointed. But it’ll be fine.”

  “Pulled out?” Luke stares at me blankly.

  “Canceled.”

  “Who’s canceled?”

  “Everyone. Mum and Dad, Janice, Suze…Jess…”

  For a moment, Luke seems incapable of speech. Then he says, in the polite parental voice we use in front of Minnie, “Becky, could you come into the kitchen for a moment?”

  I follow him in and we close the door. Then Luke wheels round.

  “What the fuck? What the fuck? Start from the beginning. What happened?”

  “Well,” I falter, “first Jess sent a text saying she didn’t want to come to ours for personal reasons. And then Mum said she and Dad were ill. And Janice said she wanted to spend a quiet day with Martin, and Suze said she’s going to Tarkie’s Uncle Rufus.”

  “This is beyond belief,” says Luke in quiet, ominous tones. “This is beyond belief.” His face has actually gone white. I don’t often see Luke this livid. “You don’t pull out of Christmas on Christmas Eve. You don’t treat people like that.”

  “If they don’t want to come, it’s their choice,” I say miserably.

  “Fuck that!” explodes Luke. “They need to explain themselves. I’m not having this, Becky. I’m not having it. You have worked bloody hard at this Christmas, and they are not treating you like this.”

  “You helped too,” I say, to be fair, but Luke shakes his head.

  “I haven’t taken it on like you’ve taken it on. It’s your shout. It’s your creation. It’s your dedication. You don’t deserve this.”

  Already he’s taking out his phone and dialing. After a moment he frowns and says, “Voicemail…Hi, Jane,” he says shortly. “Luke here. I’d be grateful if you’d call me.”

  He leaves the same message for Suze, Janice, and Jess, then puts his phone away, taut-faced. The kitchen seems very flat suddenly. Not Christmassy at all.

  “D’you want a coffee?” says Luke at last. “Or a drink?”

  I shake my head, feeling out of energy. Luke nods, then turns on the kettle. As he does, his attention is caught by the cardboard box. He lifts it and recoils at the sight of the doughnut turkey.

  “Jesus. What the hell’s that?”

  “A vegan turkey,” I say dispiritedly. “It’s called Peppa Pig.”

  “Right.”

  I can see Luke attempting to process this, then abandoning the attempt and replacing the box. He makes a cup of coffee and stirs it slowly.

  “So you didn’t speak to any of them? Take me through it again.”

  “I spoke to Suze and Mum. Suze sounded weird. Kind of shifty. Not like her at all. Luke, I think something’s up,” I say despairingly. “I know it sounds paranoid, but I do. They all phoned up within about ten minutes of each other. It was like…a coordinated strike.”

  Luke exhales slowly, his eyes distant. His rage has abated, and his face is creased with thought.

  “But what the hell would make everyone cancel Christmas?”

  “I don’t know!” I raise my arms hopelessly. “I’ve been trying and trying to think. Is it still because of Flo? Or some other row? Have they all got a secret WhatsApp group I don’t know about? I feel like everyone knows something I don’t,” I conclude desperately. “That’s how I feel. And no one will tell me.”

  Luke sips his coffee silently for a moment, then meets my eyes. “OK,” he says. “Who’s the straightest-talking person in your family?”

  “Jess,” I say without hesitation.

  “Exactly. Jess. We’ll get it out of Jess.” He takes out his phone again and dials. “Voicemail. What’s her landline?”

  “It’s home,” I remind him. “Mum and Dad’s number in Oxshott.”

  “Of course.” He dials again, listens intently—then says, “The line’s busy. She’s home.” He strides to the door of the kitchen and calls out, “Minnie! Sweetheart! Get your shoes on. And your coat. We’re going to see Jess right now,” he says to me, his jaw set. “And we’re not leaving till she tells us what’s up.”

  * * *

  —

  It takes half an hour to reach Oxshott, and as we near the house, my stomach is jumping. I keep expecting the worst. Except what is the worst?

  Everyone’s having Christmas together, without us, because they suddenly hate us. No, they always did hate us. Our whole life has been a lie and a sham. Oh God, no, that can’t be it. I feel a bit deranged, to be honest.

  When we arrive, we get out of the car silently, approach the house, and Luke rings the bell. I’m secretly half-hoping no one will answer, but after a while the front door opens and Jess stares at us.

  “Hi.” She looks from me to Luke and back again. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “No,” says Luke curtly. “Well, we didn’t expect everyone to pull out of Christmas. May we come in, please?”

  “Yes,” says Jess after a pause, and without another word she shows us into the sitting room.

  It looks the same as it always does. Jess hasn’t imposed anything of her own, as far as I can see, apart from some geology books on the coffee table and a gym mat rolled up in the corner with the heftiest-looking dumbbells I’ve ever seen. We all sit down, and I resume playing The Snowman on the iPad for Minnie. Then Luke glances at me as though encouraging me to speak.

  “Jess,” I begin. “I know you said you had personal reasons for not wanting to spend Christmas with us. And I respect those reasons. I do. But we find it quite coincidental that everyone pulled out of Christmas at the same moment.” My voice trembles. “We find it weird. And…and hurtful. And what I want to know is, why?”

  Jess peers at me as though trying to read my expression.

  “You’re upset,” she says at length.

  “Yes! Of course I’m upset!”

  “You’re not relieved?”

  “Relieved?” I gape at her. “My whole Christmas is ruined! Why would I be relieved?”

  There’s a long silence, during which time Jess’s eyes flicker between Luke and me as though she’s performing some internal algorithm. Then she frowns and says, “Luke, things have clearly misfired. You need to speak up. Tell Becky what you did. Be honest.”

  “Luke?” I say blankly, then turn to face him. “Luke?”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Jess,” says Luke, looking perplexed. “What did I do?”

  “Your email,” says Jess flatly.

  “What email?”

  “To Suze. She forwarded it to all of us. We’ve all seen it.”

  “What email to Suze?” expostulates Luke. “What are you talking about? I haven’t sent any emails. I’ve been away. I came back to find Becky devastated, and that’s all I know. What’s going on?”

  There’s another silence, and Jess’s eyes flicker between us again. Then she reaches for her phone, scrolls down for a few moments, and passes it to Luke.

  “You didn’t write this email?”

  As Luke peers at the screen, his eyes nearly pop out.

  “ ‘Lukebrandonwork@LBC.com,’ ” he says, aghast. “That’s not my email address, for a start. What the hell?”

  I’m not looking at the email address; I’m feverishly scanning the text.

  Dear Suze,

  I don’t know how to put this, but I’m going to ask you to withdraw from Christmas, as tactfully as possible. Please find an excuse, any excuse. Becky is beyond frazzled, miserable, and dreading the day. We always planned a quiet Christmas, just the three of us, until everyone invited themselves over. Since then, Becky has been so stressed out I’m worried about her
, what with all your demands and WhatsApps. She’s tearful, exhausted, and resentful of you all….

  I lift my head in agitation, my cheeks burning. Is that what everyone thinks?

  “Jess, I’m not resentful,” I say. “I’m not exhausted. I don’t know what this is, but it’s not me….”

  “I didn’t write this.” Luke flicks it angrily. “I did not write this, this is absolute bollocks….”

  I’m already scrolling down to read the ending:

  Above all, do NOT contact Becky or let her know I have emailed. She is very proud and will deny everything, thus jeopardizing her health. Believe you me, what Becky needs is for Christmas to be discreetly canceled. I will leave it with you.

  Best,

  Luke

  I stare at the words, my heart beating hard. Something’s chiming…something’s ringing a bell….

  Believe you me…believe you me…

  “Oh my God!” My head jerks up. “Nadine! Nadine sent this!”

  “Nadine?” Luke stares at me, astounded. “Nadine?”

  “Isn’t that your new friend?” Jess crinkles her brow, looking puzzled.

  “She’s not our friend,” I say fervently. “She’s our enemy. She hates us. And she knew.” I turn to Luke. “She knew this was the way to get back at us. We talked about Christmas, remember? She knew I was stressed out.” I feverishly count off on my fingers. “She knew everyone had invited themselves for Christmas. She knew about the WhatsApps.” I jab at the email. “No one else says ‘Believe you me.’ And she’s into tech. It was her. Didn’t you see the way she glared at us before she left? She was out for revenge.”

  “Jesus.” Luke breathes out.

  I suddenly recall Nadine’s syrupy voice that evening at the cottage. “You’ll get your Christmas with your family and friends, Becky.”

  She knew what was most precious to me—and she tried to take it away. We underestimated her.

  “She’s worse than the Grinch,” I say darkly. “She’s Grinchier than the Grinch. The Grinch only stole stuff. She stole people.”

  “But we shouldn’t have let ourselves be stolen!” exclaims Jess in distress. “Becky, I’m so sorry—”

  “So, what happened?” I swing round to her, sounding hurt. “You read this email and all just said, ‘Oh OK, let’s cancel’?”

  “No!” says Jess, looking shocked. “Of course not. We talked about it extensively. For days. But in the end we all agreed to pull out of Christmas, using different reasons so you wouldn’t guess the truth.”

  “You might have decided not to all contact Becky at once,” says Luke dryly. “Slightly gave the game away.”

  “But why did you believe it?” I demand, my voice almost a wail.

  “Because it seemed…plausible,” says Jess uncomfortably. “You have seemed stressed recently, Becky. You seemed rattled at Minnie’s birthday party. And Suze said you were babbling about putting fish under a duvet—”

  “I was rattled at the party because Flo was a nightmare!” I say defensively. “And my cake was a disaster and Nadine had a go at Luke on the doorstep. That’s why. And the fish under the duvet had a totally reasonable explanation. And anyway,” I add, gathering steam, “even if I have been a bit stressed out, everyone gets stressed out by Christmas! It doesn’t mean you cancel it! I mean, didn’t anyone try to call Luke?” I can’t help sounding accusing, and Jess flinches.

  “Yes!” she says. “Of course! Suze did. But he was out of reach.”

  “Nadine knew I’d be traveling,” Luke puts in wryly.

  “Suze left a message for you, though, Luke,” adds Jess—and I stiffen.

  “Message? What message?” I swivel to face Luke. “Did you get a message?”

  I can see a kind of light dawning in Luke’s face.

  “Ah,” he says evasively. “Right. Yes. There might have been a message from Suze. But it began, ‘Luke, about Christmas,’ and I thought I could probably leave it till I got back.”

  I half-want to exclaim, “So this is all your fault!” But of course it’s not. Nor Suze’s fault. Nor any of them. I look up to see both Jess and Luke watching me anxiously and feel a sudden prickle in my nose.

  “When everyone pulled out, I felt…I thought…” I swallow hard. “I didn’t know what to think.”

  There’s silence, then Jess comes and puts a hand on my shoulder.

  “We didn’t know what to think either,” she says. “If it’s any consolation, we’ve all been beating ourselves up.” She summons WhatsApp on her phone and shows me a group entitled Is Becky OK??

  I knew it! I wasn’t paranoid. There is a secret WhatsApp group.

  I begin to scan the messages—and feel little prickles of shock as I read them.

  Janice

  This is all my fault. I should NEVER have invited Flo to Becky’s house. I blame myself.

  Jane

  It’s MY fault, love. We shouldn’t have moved to Shoreditch.

  Janice

  We don’t need a piñata!!! Why couldn’t I see what I was doing with my endless unreasonable demands???

  Suze

  We all put so much pressure on Becky. I feel REALLY bad that we invited ourselves for Christmas. I never even thought about it.

  Jane

  It’s come back to me now—when I asked Becky to host Christmas, she said she was terrified by the idea. She said it would give her “sleepless nights.” Those were her ACTUAL WORDS, Janice, love. “Sleepless nights.”

  I pause, puzzled. I’m sure Mum’s invented this. I’m sure I didn’t say it would give me “sleepless nights.”

  Jane

  I didn’t listen to my OWN DAUGHTER IN HER TIME OF STRESS.

  Janice

  Love, don’t feel bad. We’re all guilty.

  “Jess…” I raise my head. “This is insane. We have to put everyone right.”

  “Yes.” Jess nods and takes the phone. She swiftly types a message, then looks up. “You’ve had enough hassle, Becky. We’ll sort it. And just to double-check…” She hesitates. “We’re back on for Christmas at yours, yes?”

  “Yes,” I say firmly. “Yes!”

  As Jess types a follow-up message, I watch her fingers, feeling a bit overwhelmed that all these conversations have been going on.

  “On the plus side, at least everyone’s talking again,” I say as she finishes, and Jess meets my eye with a little grin.

  “Even better, your mum and Janice have totally bonded over fretting about you. Flo’s out of the picture.”

  “Really?” I say, my spirits lifting. “Well, there’s a silver lining!”

  “I’ll make some tea,” says Luke cheerfully. “Come on, Minnie, you help me. You can bring the iPad,” he adds as she opens her mouth to protest.

  “This Nadine character sounds…” Jess shakes her head wonderingly. “Vindictive.”

  “I think she’s a really, really entitled person,” I say, frowning in thought. “She thought she was entitled to Luke’s money. When she couldn’t get that, she decided she was entitled to us having a miserable Christmas. Anyway,” I add hastily, as Jess winces, “let’s not dwell. We found out in time, so…no harm done.”

  “Thank God you came round.” Jess gives a sudden massive yawn and claps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. Sorry.”

  “Oh God,” I say, stricken by remorse. “Are you tired, Jess? Are you not well?”

  I’ve been so obsessed by Christmas I haven’t paid proper attention to Jess. But now I survey her, she looks terrible. Pale and thin. And kind of agitated. Her eyes keep flicking away from mine, as though there’s some massive distraction in her head.

  “Jess, speaking of well-being…” I say in softer tones, “how are you?”

  Jess gazes at me. “You’re still worried about me, ar
en’t you?”

  There are huge shadows under her eyes, I notice with a twinge. Just like under Steph’s. Oh God, here am I, selfishly worrying about Christmas, when it’s Jess who looks as if she’s on the edge.

  “Yes,” I say bluntly. “I am. Jess, I know it’s none of my business, but I was just talking to a friend who’s had…difficulties. She said you might be feeling so vulnerable you couldn’t open up. And I want you to know that if you’re hurting—”

  “You think I’m hurting,” Jess cuts me off in a weird, constricted voice, “because of Tom’s infidelity.”

  I stare back at her, breathless. Is she going to lower her defenses, finally?

  “Becky,” she continues in the same weird voice. “Haven’t the events of today taught you anything about making assumptions?”

  “What?” I say, not following, and there’s another strange beat of silence—then she seems to relent.

  “I’ve got something to show you.” She gets to her feet and beckons to me to follow. “We’re coming upstairs,” she calls.

  “Who are you calling to?” I ask, puzzled, as we begin to mount the stairs.

  “Tom.”

  “Tom?” I echo, flabbergasted. “Tom’s here?”

  “Of course he’s here. I told you he was coming home for Christmas.”

  “Right,” I say hurriedly. “Of course.” But my mind is flailing. I can’t catch up.

  “You’re astute, Becky,” says Jess, reaching the top of the stairs. “I have been keeping something from you. From all of you. We were so anxious not to jinx it.”

  “What?” A breathless hope is growing in me that I don’t even want to articulate, just in case. “What is it, Jess? What?”

  “Hi, Becky.” Tom greets me from the doorway. He’s tanned and smiling, although there are shadows under his eyes too. “Come and see.”

  Oh my God…oh my God…it can’t be….

  Tom leads me into the spare room, and I stop dead, tears flooding my eyes. In the double bed, fast asleep, is a child with dark curls.

  “This is our new son, Santiago. We arrived late last night. Long flight.” Tom grimaces. “But worth it.”