This is Matt. I would like to have sex with Ava. Could she stand down from the WhatsApp group for a while please?
Then, of course, a moment later the replies started coming in.
Sure!
Have fun, you two!
How long will you be? Just a ballpark?
Nell, you can’t ask them that!!!
Just did.
Followed by a million eggplant emojis.
I mean, it was quite funny. It was even quite hot, in a weird way.
“Ava.” Nihal interrupts my thoughts as he walks into the kitchen, a dreamy expression on his face. “I’ve been thinking about Harold. If not a robotic leg, what about a new means to communicate? He’s very bright. If we could harness his brain patterns somehow…”
“Maybe,” I say dubiously. “Although I think he can communicate quite well already, don’t you?”
I’m about to add that Harold’s not available for Nihal’s pioneering sci-fi experimentation, when an alarm bleeps on my phone. I’ve had alarms set all day, just in case. I quickly load up my browser, search out the right Internet page…and, oh my God! It’s time!
“Nihal!” I exclaim. “Come with me! It’s urgent!”
“What?” Nihal looks alarmed but follows me back into the sitting room, where I clap my hands.
“Ladies and gentlemen! I have important news! The number of Internet users in the world is approaching…five billion!”
“What?” Matt puts down his drink. “How do you know?”
“Because I’ve been following it obsessively,” I tell him proudly. “Every hundred words I write, I check the counter. It’s like my reward. And now, look! You were going to miss it! We’re on 4,999,999,992!”
I hold up my phone so everyone can see the giant number increasing. There’s a breathless hush as the last digit inexorably rises. It’s mesmerizing. It’s addictive. I totally get this now.
4,999,999,997…4,999,999,998…4,999,999,999…
“Oh my God!” squeaks Maud excitedly, and then the numbers turn over one more time:
5,000,000,000.
The room erupts into instant, ecstatic cheers. Matt and Nihal are high-fiving each other, and Topher is kissing Nell. And the whole thing is so silly, so pointless…but it’s kind of special too.
“You’re amazing!” Matt has come over to me, his eyes still bright. “I had no idea. You’re a dark horse, Ava.”
“Oh, I’ve just begun.” I wink at him.
“Really?” He raises his eyebrows at me. “What does that mean?”
“Watch out, that’s all I can say. But now.” I turn to Topher and Nell. “Come on, you two. We’ve waited long enough. Show us your poster!”
“Right.” Topher glances at Nell and puts down his champagne, then helps her out of her chair and escorts her over to the window.
When Topher helps Nell get along, it never looks like help. He manages to look like a guy who’s just casually arm in arm with his girl. It’s one of the reasons I’m so fond of him.
“So, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our launch.” Topher addresses the room. “The Real Life Party is at an early stage of development, as you know.” He glances at Nell.
She takes over. “But we wanted to share with you this image and slogan. We’ve worked hard at making this poster say what we wanted to say.”
“Exactly.” Topher nods. “We feel it represents the ethos we are trying to present and the future we feel this country needs. So, without further ado…”
He reaches for the sheet and pulls it off the easel, revealing a huge mounted poster. And we all gape at it. Across the top, in a bold black typeface, are the words:
Life, huh?
It’s a shitshow. But we’re here for you.
Below this slogan is a photo of Nell with her cane, her pink hair on end, scowling straight ahead. And next to her is Topher, glaring at the camera, his eyebrows heavier than ever, and his skin looking particularly pitted.
I mean, I love Nell. I love Topher. But they look terrifying.
I swallow several times, wondering what to say and noticing that nobody else has spoken either.
“It’s powerful,” says Maud at last.
“It’s a bit scary,” ventures Nihal.
“Good font,” says Matt. “Very solid. Very strong.”
“Yes,” I say, gratefully seizing on this idea. “The font’s perfect! Couldn’t be better.”
“Can you say ‘shitshow’ on a political poster?” queries Sam.
“No,” says Sarika firmly. “You wanted feedback, Nell? Well, Sam’s right. You can’t say ‘shitshow.’ ”
“What are we going to say, life’s a macaroon?” counters Nell combatively. “Life’s a feather pillow? Life’s a dumpling? No! Wrong! Life is a shitshow. It’s chaos! It’s a shambles! And if you don’t agree, don’t vote for us.”
Glances are flying around the room, and I think we’ve probably reached the end of “feedback” time.
“OK!” says Maud brightly. “Well, it’s a brilliant poster, and I’m sure you’ll both be prime minister.” She leads a round of applause, and we all join in with enthusiasm. “Shall we order pizza now?” she adds hopefully.
Sarika is already summoning up a pizza menu on her phone and working out the cheapest way to order, in that über-efficient way she has. Except now she has competition, because Sam is also working it out, but he’s coming to a different result. (They really were made for each other.)
Topher helps Nell to the sofa, and they join in the pizza discussion with animation. While they’re all arguing about percentages, I wander over to where Matt is standing in front of the giant poster. He’s grown his hair out a little since he started working with Topher, and he’s lost the uptight business attire. It suits him. In fact, the whole setup suits him so well, it’s as if they’ve been working together forever.
“She’s got a point,” he says, looking up as I approach. “Life is a shitshow. But I wouldn’t change it.”
“Do you mean your life? Or mine?” I raise my chin teasingly. “Because my life is not a shitshow, thank you. My life is wonderfully under control.”
“I meant both,” he says, smiling.
“Both our lives are shitshows?”
“Not our lives. Our life.” He hesitates, his eyes questioning. “Our…one joint life.”
Our one joint life. As the words float in the air, I feel a little tingle, because that sounds almost like…Almost like…
“Our one joint shitshow life.” I roll my eyes. “Sounds great. Where do I sign up?”
Matt’s face crinkles in amusement.
“Sorry, should have been clearer. I meant…” He thinks for a moment. “I meant our one joint shitshow, hopeless, hopeful, messy, exhilarating life. With ice cream in the interval.”
“OK,” I say. “Now I get it. Sounds good. The ice cream does, anyway.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He takes hold of my hand, low down, where no one can see, and his thumb rubs gently against my skin. Not wanting to be left out, Harold trots over to rub against our legs, and we both instinctively reach down to pet him.
“It’s twenty percent off!” Sarika is exclaiming to Sam, so indignantly that I can’t help laughing. Nell and Topher are now having a disagreement about the gig economy, and Nihal is sketching something, nodding politely as Maud makes suggestions. Harold is at my feet. And Matt is by my side. What more could I ever want?
I clasp his hand more firmly and breathe out sharply, listening to the voices, watching the faces. Wanting to save this precious-but-ordinary moment forever.
I don’t know where we’ll go from here, but right now I don’t care. Because I’m here with everything that matters. Our friends. Our loves. Our life.
In memory
of Susan Kamil
Acknowledgments
Publishing a book is always a team effort. With this book I’ve felt the team spirit all the more, as we all communicated by various means through lockdown and beyond.
I would like to thank Frankie Gray and Kara Cesare for their wonderful, insightful editing, which helped me so much.
Thanks to Araminta Whitley and Kim Witherspoon, my fantastic agents, and the endlessly fabulous Marina de Pass.
Thanks to all my friends at PRH, especially Gina Centrello, Andy Ward, Avideh Bashirrad, Whitney Frick, Debbie Aroff, Jess Bonet, Sharon Propson, Madison Dettlinger, Belina Huey, Paolo Pepe, Loren Noveck, Dana Blanchette, Kristin Cochrane, Amy Black, Val Gow, Emma Ingram, and Dan French.
I would like to thank my dear friend Athena McAlpine for introducing me to Puglia while I was on holiday at her magical Convento di Santa Maria di Costantinopoli—a loose inspiration for the monastery.
Shout-out to the charming and charismatic Henry, who sparked my inspiration for Harold.
Special thanks to the residents of Windsor Close for the Bastard Chart.
I edited this book in lockdown and would like to thank my entire household for being brilliant throughout.
BY SOPHIE KINSELLA
Confessions of a Shopaholic
Shopaholic Takes Manhattan
Shopaholic Ties the Knot
Can You Keep a Secret?
Shopaholic & Sister
The Undomestic Goddess
Shopaholic & Baby
Remember Me?
Twenties Girl
Mini Shopaholic
I’ve Got Your Number
Wedding Night
Shopaholic to the Stars
Finding Audrey
Shopaholic to the Rescue
My Not So Perfect Life
Surprise Me
I Owe You One
Christmas Shopaholic
Love Your Life
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SOPHIE KINSELLA is the author of the bestselling Shopaholic series, as well as the novels Can You Keep a Secret?, The Undomestic Goddess, Remember Me?, Twenties Girl, I’ve Got Your Number, Wedding Night, My Not So Perfect Life, Surprise Me, and I Owe You One. She lives in the UK.
sophiekinsella.com
Facebook.com/SophieKinsellaOfficial
Twitter: @KinsellaSophie
Instagram: @sophiekinsellawriter
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