Shopaholic and Baby s-5

by Sophie Kinsella

  “What—” I look up.

  “Open it up.” Jess’s face is shining. “Go on!”

  I tug it open, and there are little shelves, sloped and lined with white suede. On one of them is resting the smallest pair of red baseball boots I’ve ever seen.

  It’s a little tiny Shoe Room.

  “Jess…” I can feel tears welling up. “You made this?”

  “Tom helped.” She gives a self-deprecating shrug. “We did it together.”

  “But it was Jess’s idea,” chips in Suze. “Isn’t it brilliant? I wish I’d thought of it….”

  “It’s perfect.” I’m totally bowled over. “Look at the way the doors fit…and the way the shelves are carved….”

  “Tom always was good with his hands.” Janice clamps a hanky to her eyes. “This can be his memorial. We’ll probably never have a tombstone.”

  I exchange looks with Mum, who pulls a familiar Janice-has-lost-it expression.

  “Janice, I’m sure he’s not dead—” Jess begins.

  “We can engrave his dates on the back,” Janice continues. “If you don’t mind, Becky, love.”

  “Er…well no,” I say uncertainly. “Of course not.”

  “He’s not dead, Janice!” Jess almost yells. “I know he’s not!”

  “Well, where is he?” Janice pulls her hanky from her eyes, which are smudgy with mauve eye shadow. “You broke that boy’s heart!”

  “Wait!” I suddenly remember. “Jess, I got a package for you this morning. Maybe it’s from him.”

  I hurry to the hall and bring back the parcel. Jess rips it open and a CD falls out. On it is written simply “From Tom.”

  We all stare at it for a moment.

  “It’s a DVD,” says Danny, picking it up. “Put it on.”

  “It’s his last will and testament!” cries Janice hysterically. “It’s a message from beyond the grave!”

  “It’s not from beyond the grave,” Jess snaps, but as she heads to the DVD player I can see that she’s gone pale.

  She presses Play and crouches down on the floor. We all wait in silence as the screen flickers. Then suddenly there’s Tom, facing the camera, against a blue sky. He’s wearing an old green polo shirt and looks pretty disheveled.

  “Hi, Jess,” he says momentously. “By the time you see this, I’ll be in Chile. Because…that’s where I am now.”

  Jess stiffens. “Chile?”

  “Chile?” Janice shrieks. “What’s he doing in Chile?”

  “I love you,” Tom’s saying. “And I’ll move to the other side of the world if that’s what it takes. Or farther.”

  “Oh, that’s so romantic,” sighs Kelly.

  “He’s such a stupid prat,” Jess says, knocking a fist against her forehead. “I’m not going out there for three months!”

  But her eyes are glistening, I notice.

  “Look what I’ve found you.” Tom is holding a chunk of some black shiny rock up to the camera. “You’ll love this country, Jess.”

  “He’ll get cholera!” Janice is saying in agitation. “Or malaria! Tom’s always had a weak system—”

  “I can get work as a carpenter,” Tom is saying. “I can write my book. We’ll be happy here. And if Mum gives you any grief, just remember what I told you about her.”

  “Told you?” Janice looks up sharply. “What did he tell you?”

  “Er…nothing.” Jess hastily presses Stop and whips the DVD out of the machine. “I’ll watch the rest later.”

  “So!” says Mum cheerily. “He’s alive, Janice love. That’s good news!”

  “Alive?” Janice is still in a state of hysteria. “What’s the use of being alive in Chile?”

  “At least he’s out in the world!” says Jess with sudden passion. “At least he’s doing something with his life! You know, he’s been really depressed, Janice. This is just what he needs.”

  “I know what my son needs!” Janice retorts indignantly as the doorbell rings. I heave myself to my feet, glad of an excuse to get out of the line of fire.

  “I’ll just get this….” I head into the hall and pick up the entry phone. “Hello?”

  “I have a delivery for you,” comes a crackly voice.

  My heart skips a beat. A delivery. This has to be it. It has to be. As I press the buzzer I can hardly breathe. I’m telling myself firmly not to hope, it’ll be another package for Jess, or a catalog, or a computer part for Luke….

  But when I open the door, there’s a motorbike courier standing in his leathers, holding a big padded envelope, and I already recognize Dave Sharpness’s writing in bold black marker pen.

  I lock myself in the cloakroom and feverishly rip the envelope open. There’s a manila folder inside, marked “Brandon.” On the front is stuck a Post-it note, with a scribbled message: Hope this helps. Any further assistance required, do not hesitate. Yours, Dave S.

  I open it up, and it’s all there. Copies of all the notes, transcripts of conversations, photos…I leaf through, my heart thumping. I’d forgotten quite how much stuff they had collected on Iain Wheeler. For a crappy private detective agency in West Ruislip, they actually did a great job.

  I quickly bundle it all up again and head into the cool, empty kitchen. I’m about to pick up the phone to call Luke, when it rings, making me jump.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Mrs. Brandon,” comes an unfamiliar male voice. “Mike Enwright from the Press Association here.”

  “Oh, right.” I stare at the phone, puzzled.

  “I just wondered if you could comment on rumors that your husband’s company is going down?”

  I feel a shiver of shock.

  “It’s not going down,” I say robustly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “News is, he’s lost the Arcodas account. And the latest rumor is Foreland Investment is going the same way.”

  “He has not lost Arcodas!” I exclaim, furious. “They have parted ways for reasons which I cannot discuss. And for your information, my husband’s company is as strong as ever. Stronger! Luke Brandon has been courted by high-caliber clients all his career, and he always will be. He is a man of immense integrity, talent, intelligence, good looks, and…and dress sense.”

  I break off, breathing hard.

  “OK then!” Mike Enwright is chuckling. “I get the picture.”

  “Are you going to quote all that?”

  “I doubt it.” He chuckles again. “But I like your attitude. Thanks for your time, Mrs. Brandon.”

  He rings off and, flustered, I run water into a glass. I have to talk to Luke. I dial his direct line and get through on the third ring.

  “Becky!” Luke sounds alert. “Has anything—”

  “No, it’s not that.” I check outside the kitchen door and lower my voice. “Luke, the Press Association just rang. They wanted a quote about you”—I swallow—“going down. They said Foreland were leaving you.”

  “That is bullshit!” Luke’s voice erupts in anger. “Those Arcodas fuckers are feeding stories to the press.”

  “They couldn’t really damage you, could they?” I say fearfully.

  “Not if I have anything to do with it.” Luke sounds resolute. “The gloves are off. If they want to fight, we’ll fight. We’ll take them to court if it comes to it. Charge them with harassment. Expose the whole bloody lot of them.”

  I feel a huge surge of pride as I hear him speak. He sounds like the Luke Brandon I first met. Assured and in charge of the situation. Not running around after Iain Wheeler like some lackey.

  “Luke, I’ve got something for you.” My words spill out. “I have…material on Iain Wheeler.”

  “What did you say?” says Luke after a pause.

  “There were some old cases of harassment and office bullying that were hushed up. I’ve got a whole dossier on him, right here in my hands.”

  “You’ve got what?” Luke sounds flabbergasted. “Becky…what are you talking about?”

  Maybe I won’t
get into the whole private-detective-in-West-Ruislip story just now.

  “Don’t ask me how,” I say hurriedly. “I just do.”

  “But how—”

  “I said don’t ask! But it’s true. I’ll have it all biked round to the office. You should probably have your lawyers ready to take a look. There are photos, notes, all kinds of evidence…. Honestly, Luke. If this all comes out…he’s finished.”

  “Photos? You’ve been taking photos of Iain?”

  “Er…not me, exactly…”

  “Becky, what is this?” he demands. “What the hell have you been up to?”

  “I’ll explain later. Just trust me, Luke, please. This is going to help you, I promise.”

  “Becky…” Luke’s voice is incredulous. “You constantly amaze me.”

  “I love you,” I say impulsively. “Cream them.” I put the phone down and push my hair back with sweaty hands. I take a few gulps of water, then speed-dial Luke’s regular courier firm and order a bike.

  In half an hour or so, the folder will be with Luke. I just wish I could see his face when he opens it.

  “Hi, Bex!” I jump as Suze comes sauntering into the kitchen. Her expression changes as she sees me. “Bex…are you OK?”

  “I’m…fine!” I put on a hasty smile. “Just taking some time out.”

  “We’re going to play games next!” Suze opens the fridge and gets out a carton of orange juice. “Guess the baby food…hunt the nappy pin…celebrities’ babies names…”

  I can’t believe the trouble she’s gone to, organizing all this.

  “Suze…thanks so much,” I say. “It’s all amazing. And my photo frame!”

  “It came out well, didn’t it?” Suze looks pleased. “You know, it really inspired me. I’m thinking of starting the frame business again.”

  “You should!” I say with enthusiasm. Suze used to make brilliant photo frames till she had the children. They were stocked in Liberty’s and everything!

  “I mean, the children are getting older now,” Suze is saying. “And if Lulu can write cookery books, why can’t I make frames? It won’t kill the kids if I work a few hours a day, will it? I’ll still be a good mother.”

  I can see the anxiety in her eyes. I totally blame that cow Lulu. Suze never worried about being a good mother till she met her.

  OK. Payback time.

  “Suze…I’ve got something for you,” I say, reaching into the kitchen drawer. “But you can’t show Lulu, ever. Or tell her. Or tell anybody.”

  “I won’t!” Suze looks intrigued. “What is it?”

  “Here.”

  I hand Suze the long-lens photograph — the only thing I saved from the original folder. It’s of Lulu in the street with her children. She looks pretty frazzled — in fact, she seems to be yelling at one of them. In her hands are four Mars Bars, which she’s doling out. She’s holding a couple of cans of Coke too, and under her arm is a jumbo packet of chips.

  “No.” Suze appears almost too staggered to speak. “No. Are those—”

  “Mars Bars.” I nod. “And Cheesy Wotsits.”

  “And Coke!” Suze gives a gurgle of laughter and claps a hand over her mouth. “Bex, that has made my day. How on earth…”

  “Don’t ask.” I can’t help giggling too.

  “What a hypocritical…cow!” Suze is still peering at the picture in disbelief. “You know, she really got to me. I used to feel so inferior.”

  “I think you should go on her TV show after all,” I say. “You could take that photo with you. Show the producer.”

  “Bex!” Suze giggles. “You’re evil! I’m just going to keep it in a drawer and look at it when I need cheering up.”

  The phone suddenly shrills through the kitchen and my smile tightens. What if this is the press again? What if it’s Luke with more news?

  “Hey, Suze,” I say casually. “Why don’t you go and make sure everyone’s OK? I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Sure.” Suze nods, and picks up her juice, her eyes still fixed on the photo. “I’ll just put this somewhere safe….”

  I wait until she’s gone and the door is firmly closed, then steel myself and pick up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Becky.” The familiar drifty voice comes down the line. “It’s Fabia.”

  “Fabia!” I subside in relief. “How are you? Thanks so much for letting us use the house the other day. The Vogue people thought it was amazing! Did you get my flowers?”

  “Oh, wonderful,” Fabia says vaguely. “Yeah, we got the flowers. Listen, Becky, we’ve just heard you can’t pay cash for the house.”

  Luke must have called the agent and told him. News travels fast. “That’s right.” I nod, trying to stay upbeat. “There’s been a slight change in our circumstances, but it should only delay us by a couple of weeks….”

  “Yeah…” Fabia sounds distracted. “The thing is, we’ve decided to exchange with the other buyers.”

  For a moment I think I’ve hallucinated. “Other buyers?”

  “Did we not mention the other buyers? The Americans. They made the same offer as you. Before you, in fact, so strictly speaking…” She trails off.

  “But…but you took our offer! You said the house was ours.”

  “Yeah, well. The other buyers can move faster, so…”

  I’m light-headed with shock. We’ve been screwed.

  “Were you just stringing us along the whole time?” I’m trying to keep control of myself.

  “It wasn’t my idea.” Fabia sounds regretful. “It was my husband. He likes to have a fallback position. Anyway, good luck with the house hunt….”

  No. She can’t really be doing this. She can’t be leaving us in the lurch.

  “Fabia, listen.” I wipe my clammy face. “Please. We’re having a baby any day. We don’t have anywhere to go. Our flat is sold—”

  “Mmm…yeah. I hope it all goes well. Bye, Becky….”

  “But what about the Archie Swann boots?” I’m almost crying in anger. “We did a deal! You owe me a boot!” I realize I’m talking into silence. She’s rung off. She doesn’t care.

  I switch the phone off. Slowly I walk over to the fridge and lean my head against the cool steel, feeling dizzy. We don’t have our dream house anymore. We don’t have any house anymore.

  I lift the phone to call Luke, then stop. He’s got enough on his plate as it is right now.

  In a few weeks we have to move out of our flat. Where are we going to go?

  “Becky?” Kelly bursts into the kitchen, giggling. “We’ve put candles on your cake. I know it’s not your birthday, but you should blow them out anyway.”

  “Yes!” I jolt into life. “I’m coming!”

  Somehow I manage to hold myself together as I follow Kelly back to the sitting room. Inside, Danny and Janice are playing guess the baby food and writing down their answers on sheets. Mum and Jess are perusing pictures of celebrity babies.

  “It’s Lourdes!” Mum is saying. “Jess, love, you should be more aware of the world.”

  “Pureed beet,” says Danny knowledgeably as he tastes a spoonful of purple goo. “All it needs is a shot of vodka.”

  “Becky!” Mum looks up. “Everything all right, love? You keep running off to answer the phone!”

  “Yes, Bex, what’s up?” Suze’s brow wrinkles.

  “It’s…”

  I wipe my damp upper lip, trying to keep steady. I don’t even know where I’d start.

  Luke’s fighting to save his company. He’s hemorrhaging money. We’ve lost the house.

  I can’t tell them. I can’t spoil the party — everyone’s having such a good time.

  I’ll tell them later. Tomorrow.

  “Everything’s fine!” I force my brightest, best, happiest smile. “Couldn’t be better!” And I blow out my candles.

  At last the tea and champagne are all drunk and all the guests gradually leave. It was such a great baby shower. And everyone got on so well! Janice and Jess made up in the e
nd, and Jess promised she’d look after Tom in Chile and not let any guerrilla bandits get him. Suze and Kelly had a long conversation while they played guess the baby food, ending up with Suze offering Kelly a job as au pair during her year off. But the really amazing thing is, Jess and Danny have hit it off! Danny started talking to her about some new collection he wants to do using shards of rocks — and she’s going to take him to a museum to see some specimens.

  The bike arrived while everyone was eating cake, and the package went off OK. I haven’t heard back from Luke, though. I guess he’s in talks with his lawyers or whoever it is. So he doesn’t know about the house yet, either.

  “Are you all right, Becky?” says Mum, giving me a hug at the front door. “Would you like me to stay with you till Luke arrives home?”

  “No, it’s OK. Don’t worry.”

  “Well, have a nice afternoon rest. Save your energy, love.”

  “I will.” I nod. “Bye, Mum.”

  The place feels silent and flat with everyone gone. It’s just me and all the stuff. I wander into the nursery, gently touching the handcrafted crib and the little white rocking cradle. And the Moses basket with its gorgeous linen canopy. (I wanted to give the baby a choice of sleeping accommodations.)

  It’s like a stage set. We’re just waiting for the lead character to appear.

  I prod my tummy, wondering if it’s awake. Maybe I’ll play it a tune and it can be a musical genius when it’s born! I wind up the mobile I ordered from the Intelligent Baby catalog and press it against my tummy.

  Baby, listen to that! That’s Mozart.

  I think…. Or Beethoven or someone.

  God, now I’ve confused it. I’m just looking on the box to see if the tune is by Mozart, when there’s a small crash from the hall.

  Christmas cards. That’ll make me feel better. Abandoning the Intelligent Baby mobile, I head to the front door, pick up the huge pile of post lying on the doormat, and waddle back to the sofa, leafing through the envelopes.