Mini Shopaholic (36 page)

Gary managed to spin out his nervous-breakdown act for three hours, and now Luke’s with Davina, doing his medical in some basement suite at her hospital. She’s just phoned to give me an update.

‘I’ve got him on the treadmill for an hour to assess his heart. He’s
really
not enjoying this,’ she adds cheerily. ‘So where will he go after me?’

‘I … don’t quite know,’ I admit. ‘I’ll call you back.’

I haven’t yet formulated the next part of the Luke-containment plan, and it’s starting to worry me – especially as now there are thirteen ‘Happy Birthday Luke Brandon’ videos on YouTube. All day, Martin’s been going online to look, and shouting out ‘There’s a new one!’ And now someone’s created a web-page called happybirthdaylukebrandon.com, which has links to them all and invites people to post their funny/fond/rude stories about ‘The City’s King of Spin’, which is what they’re calling Luke.

The whole thing makes my mind boggle. Who’s
done
that? Danny’s theory is, no one in the City is doing any work at the moment and they’re all dead bored, so they’ve seized on this as a diversion.

‘Number fourteen’s just gone up,’ calls out Martin from his laptop as I put the phone down. ‘Some girls from Prestwick PR, singing ‘Happy Birthday’ like Marilyn Monroe. In the nude,’ he adds.

‘Nude?’
I hurry over to see, followed swiftly by Suze.

OK, so they’re not totally nude. Their crucial bits are hidden by office plants and files and corners of photocopiers. But honestly. Don’t they know Luke’s married? Especially that one with the dark curly hair and the swivelly hips. I hope
she’s
not coming to the party.

‘What are you going to do with Luke next?’ says Suze, who overheard me talking to Davina. ‘I mean, he can’t do a medical all day, can he? He must be spitting by now.’

‘I know.’ I bite my lip. ‘I thought I’d get Bonnie to send him loads of emails. Like, pages of really dense paperwork, saying it’s urgent and he’s got to read it all at once.’

‘And tomorrow?’ persists Suze.

‘Dunno. More paperwork, I suppose.’

Suze is shaking her head. ‘You need something bigger. What is the one thing that you can guarantee will grab his attention? Like with Tarkie I know exactly what I’d say. I’d say the Historical Society have phoned with evidence that Great-Great-Great-Uncle Albert
didn’t
fire the cannon, after all. He’d drop everything instantly.’

‘Wow.’ I stare at Suze in admiration. ‘That’s really specific. Who was Great-Great-Great-Uncle Albert?’

Suze makes a face. ‘It’s quite boring. Do you really want to know?’

Hmm. Maybe not.

‘The point is, I know what presses Tarkie’s buttons,’ Suze is saying. ‘And you know Luke. So what will get him going?’

‘A work crisis,’ I say after a moment’s thought. ‘That’s all I can think of. He always jumps when some big client is in trouble.’

‘Can you invent a work crisis?’

‘Maybe.’ On impulse, I reach for my phone and call Bonnie.

‘Hey, Bonnie. Have you seen the latest YouTube?’

‘Oh Becky,’ begins Bonnie miserably. ‘I feel so wretched. If only I hadn’t sent that email—’

‘Don’t worry about that now,’ I say quickly. ‘But maybe we can
use
the fact that everyone knows. Could you email his clients and say we’re trying to distract him till tomorrow night and ask them to invent a crisis that will keep him busy?’

‘What sort of crisis?’ says Bonnie doubtfully.

‘I don’t know! They could pretend they’re going bust, or make up some sex scandal … anything! Just to keep him occupied for a few hours. Tell them that anyone who comes up with any ideas should call you and you can coordinate them.’

One of his clients will come up with something clever. I mean, if they can make videos then they can invent a crisis, surely?

Already my phone is ringing again and I glance at the ID as I answer, but it’s not a number I know.

‘Hello?’

‘Rebecca?’ booms a jolly voice.

‘Yes,’ I say cautiously. ‘Who’s this?’

‘Eric Foreman,
Daily World
. Remember me?’

‘Eric!’ I exclaim in delight. ‘How are you?’

Eric is a journalist at the
Daily World
and I first met him when I was a financial journalist. I use to write pieces for him, in fact, but then I gave that up and we lost touch. How come he’s tracked me down?

‘I’m good, my beauty. Just putting together a piece about your husband’s birthday for the City diary and I was after a quote from you. Or even better, him. Is he around?’

‘What?’
I stare at the phone, aghast. ‘Why are you doing a piece about his birthday?’

‘Are you joking? Prime bit of gossip like this? Have you seen YouTube? Have you seen how many hits he’s got?’

‘I know,’ I say desperately. ‘But that wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a secret!’

Eric’s guffaw of laughter nearly deafens me. ‘Is that your quote?’ he says. ‘ ”It was supposed to be a secret?” I’ve been emailed about it eight times today already. I thought this was your own viral campaign, my love.’

‘No! I want it to stop!’

He roars with laughter again. ‘You can’t control it now. It’s all over the place. Even people who don’t know him are passing it on. You know the marketing team from Atlas Fund Management are on retreat in Kent? They’ve written “Happy Birthday Luke” with their cars in the car park. Just sent me the picture. I’m going to print it tomorrow unless I get a better one.’

‘No!’ I nearly shout in horror. ‘You can’t! I’m throwing Luke a surprise party! Which means he’s supposed to be
surprised.’
I feel hot with frustration. Doesn’t anyone
get
this?

‘Oh, this gets better and better. So he has no idea, does he?’

‘None!’

‘And the party’s tomorrow night?’

‘Yes,’ I say automatically, then curse myself. Eric might be my friend, but first and foremost he’s a tabloid journalist.

‘Don’t let him near the
Daily World
, then.’ Eric gives a laugh. ‘I’ll be featuring this as my main story. The City needs a good cheer-up after all that’s happened recently. You, young lady, have given everyone a reason to have a bit of fun. I’m not spiking that. General features editor’ll be on to you too, I’m sure.’

‘But—’

‘And we won’t be the only ones, either. So you’d better keep your old man away from the press.’

‘No! You can’t!’

But he’s gone. I stare dumbly at the phone. This can’t be happening. My top-secret, surprise party which no one was supposed to know about … is being printed in the
newspapers?

By the evening, I’m just about holding it together, even though there are now twenty-three YouTube tributes and Eric has already put a piece about Luke’s party on the
Daily World
online City page. I’ve sent a desperate email out to all the guests and Brandon Communications clients, telling them the party
is
still a surprise and asking them please, please not to try and contact Luke.

Bonnie has biked round a big pile of paperwork to distract Luke tonight, and a couple of friendly clients have agreed to try and occupy him tomorrow with various made-up issues. But none of them sounds that convincing. To be honest, I’m stressed out. We still have a whole night and day before the party and the whole world knows about it and there’s a massive great marquee flapping next door. I mean, how am I going to keep this a secret?

‘Don’t worry. Not long now.’ Suze gives me a kiss, her coat and scarf already on. ‘I’ll be off now. See you tomorrow for the big day!’

‘Suze.’ I catch her hands. ‘Thanks so much. I don’t know what I would have done without you, and Tarkie and … and everything.’

‘Don’t be silly. It’s been fun! Anyway, Elinor did most of it. And Bex …’ She pauses, suddenly more serious. ‘Luke
will
be blown away. He really will.’

‘You really think so?’

‘I know it. It’s going to be sensational.’ She squeezes my hands. ‘I’d better run, or he’ll see me.’

As the front door closes, my phone rings yet again and I look at it wearily. I’ve been on the phone so long today, I feel like my vocal cords are wearing out. At last I summon the energy to pick it up. I don’t recognize the number, which is no surprise.

‘Hello? Becky here.’

‘Becky?’ comes a soft, female voice. ‘You don’t know me, but my name is Sage Seymour.’

What?

A huge spurt of adrenalin shoots through me, like three cans of Red Bull and winning the Olympics, all at once. I’m talking to Sage Seymour? She knows my
name?

Sage Seymour is sitting somewhere, holding a phone, talking to me. Ooh, I wonder what she’s wearing. I mean, not in a pervy way. Just in a—

Come on, Becky.
Answer
.

‘Oh. Oh hi.’ I’m trying desperately to sound cool, but my stupid voice has shot up three octaves. ‘Um, hi! Hi!’

I can’t seem to move off the word ‘hi’.

‘I’ve hired your husband to do some publicity work,’ she says, her lilting voice totally familiar now. ‘But I guess you know that.’

My mind scampers in panic. Do I know? I mean, obviously not officially. But if I say Luke hasn’t told me, does it sound weird? Like he’s not interested or never talks to his wife?

‘It’s so exciting!’ I swallow. ‘I’m a huge fan.’

I want to shoot myself. I sound so
lame
.

‘It was a bit “out there” as a choice. But, you know, I was so sick of Hollywood bullshitters. Your husband had more sensible ideas for me in ten
minutes
than any of those bozos.’

I feel a flash of pride. I
knew
Luke would do a good job.

‘So, I heard about your party,’ Sage adds casually. ‘Sounds like a big deal.’

G’uh? How does she—

‘Y-yes,’ I stutter. ‘I mean, pretty big …’

‘I went on YouTube. Awesome tributes. Then my assistant got the email from Bonnie. You need to distract Luke, right?’

‘Yes! It’s all got out on the internet, and it’s supposed to be a big surprise and—’

‘How about I keep him busy for you?’ says Sage calmly. ‘I could demand he comes to the set. Throw a diva hissy. I can put on a good show. Once he’s at the set we’ll take care of him. Show him around, keep him occupied till you need him. Then we’ll send him off in a car.’

‘Wow.’ I gulp. ‘That would be amazing.’

I am so jealous. I
want to go to the movie set.
I
want to be shown around. I’m frantically trying to think of an essential reason why I should go there too, when she adds, ‘You used to be on the telly, right?
Morning Coffee?’

‘Yes!’ I say in amazement.

‘I used to watch you when I was off work. You were funny.’

‘Well … thanks!’ I gulp.

‘We should have a drink some time.’

It’s like the world tips on its side. I grip the phone, wondering if I just dreamed that. Sage Seymour has suggested we have a drink? A top, Oscar-winning movie star has suggested we have a drink? My whole
life
I’ve fantasized about this moment. I mean, I always felt it was meant to be. Didn’t I say? Didn’t I know all along I was meant to mix with movie stars?

Maybe we’ll become best friends!

Maybe I’ll be a bridesmaid at her wedding. You know, if she gets married or anything. I wouldn’t need to be the one standing next to her. I could be three along.

‘That would be … great.’ I somehow manage to get the words out.

‘Cool. Well, don’t worry about Luke. It’s in hand. And good luck tomorrow! Bye, Becky.’

And just like that, she’s gone. Feverishly I save her number in my phone. Sage Seymour. In my phone. Sage Seymour. Just like she’s any of my friends.

Oh my God, this is so cool
.

I’m just sending a quick text to Gary and Bonnie –
Good news! Sage Seymour says she will take care of Luke tomorrow till party
– when I hear the crackling sound of Luke’s key in the front door. I thrust my phone away and grab a magazine.

OK. Act natural. I have
not
just been chatting with my new best friend Sage Seymour.

‘Hi there!’ I say, glancing up. ‘Good day? How was Gary?’

‘Fuck knows.’ Luke shakes his head. ‘He was making no sense at all. I’ve told him he needs a holiday.’ He grimaces as he takes off his coat. ‘Bloody hell. My arm. I’ve had five thousand jabs.’

‘Oh dear!’ I say sympathetically. ‘Well, I’m sure they were all necessary. If it’s a matter of your health …’

‘I’ve never known a medical like it. That doctor made me run for an
hour.’
He looks incredulous. ‘And there were
six
questionnaires, all repeating each other. Whoever devises these things is an utter imbecile.’

Davina told me earlier that Luke was the stroppiest patient she’d ever had and that he’d given her a lecture on how inefficient and time-wasting her medical was. Which is fair enough, given that she spun it out for four hours longer than normal.

‘Poor you.’ I stifle a laugh. ‘Well, I’m afraid a whole pile of paperwork arrived for you to read urgently …’

Just in case you thought you were escaping for a minute
.

I drag over the box that Bonnie couriered round this afternoon, which is full of contracts and letters. That should keep him busy.

‘Let me get online.’ Luke perks up. ‘Is this my new laptop? Excellent.’

I feel prickles of alarm as he unpacks it from its box. Even though I know it’s safe. They promised me. Sure enough, after a little while, Luke curses again.

‘Bloody thing’s got no internet access!’ He jabs at it a few times. ‘What’s wrong with this bloody
server?’

‘Oh dear,’ I say innocently. ‘Never mind. Well, why not just deal with the paperwork? You can sort out your laptop tomorrow. Have you eaten? Would you like some risotto? Janice brought some round.’

I’m just heating up the risotto in the kitchen when I hear Luke’s phone ring.

‘Luke Brandon.’ I can just about hear him answer. ‘Oh, Sage! Hello there. Just wait a minute …’

The living-room door is shut. Damn.