Shopaholic & Sister

Synopsis

Rebecca Bloomwood is now happily married to Luke Brandon, and all her problems seem to be at an end. But suddenly into her life steps... a sister, of whose existence Becky had hitherto been completely unaware. Becky is only too anxious to welcome her into the bosom of the family. But there is only one snag — she HATES shopping. She is the antithesis of the shopaholic. It all makes for some very difficult family relationships...

From the Inside Flap

Becky Bloomwood thought being married to Luke Brandon would be one big Tiffany box of happiness. But to be honest, it's not quite as dreamy as she’d hoped. The trouble started on honeymoon, when she told Luke the tiniest little fib, about the teeniest little purchase. Now she’s on a strict budget, she doesn’'t have a job, and, worst of all, her beloved Suze has a new best friend. She's feeling rather blue — when she gets the biggest shock of her life. She has a long-lost sister!

Becky has never been more excited. Finally, a real sister! They’ll have so much in common! They can go shopping together... choose shoes together... have manicures together...

Until she meets her — and makes a dreadful discovery. It can’t be true. Surely Becky Bloomwood’s long-lost sister can’t... hate shopping?

A sister. A soulmate. A skinflint?

NAMI-NAMI TRIBE OF NEW GUINEA, p. 67

fraa (“frar”): elder tribesman; patriarch

mopi (“mop-i”): a small ladle for serving rice or meal

shup (“shop”): to exchange goods for money or beads. A concept unknown by the tribe until a visit in 2002 by British tourist Rebecca Brandon (formerly Bloomwood)

Mrs. Rebecca Brandon
c/o Nile Hilton Hotel
Tahrir Square
Cairo

January 15, 2003

Dear Mrs. Brandon

I am glad you are enjoying your honeymoon in Cairo. I was pleased to hear that you feel a bond with the Egyptian people and agree it is quite possible that you have Egyptian blood in you.

I also welcome your interest in the museum’s jewelry display. However, further to your inquiry, the “sweet little ring” you refer to is not for sale. It once belonged to Queen Sobeknefu of the 12th Dynasty and, I can assure you,
would
be missed.

I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay.

Yours sincerely,

Khaled Samir
Director

Fax for: Mrs Rebecca Brandon
c/o Four Seasons Hotel
Sydney
Australia

From: Denise O’Connor
Customer Service Coordinator

6 February 2003

Dear Mrs Brandon:

We are sorry to inform you that your Bondi Beach “carved sand mermaid” has disintegrated during shipping.

We would remind you that we made no guarantees as to its safety and advised you against the shipping process.

Yours sincerely,

Denise O’Connor
Customer Service Coordinator

FAX FOR:
 Mrs. Rebecca Brandon
c/o White Bear Lodge
Chugiak

FROM:
  Dave Crockerdale
Alaskan Trails and Adventures

February 16, 2003

Dear Rebecca:

Thank you for your inquiry.

I would strongly advise you against attempting to ship to Britain six husky dogs and a sleigh.

I agree that husky dogs are wonderful animals and am interested in your idea that they could be the answer to pollution in cities. However, I think it unlikely the authorities would allow them on the streets of London, even if you did “customize the sleigh with wheels and add a numberplate.”

I hope you are still enjoying your honeymoon.

Kind regards,

Dave Crockerdale
Trail Manager

OK. I CAN do this. No problem.

It’s simply a matter of letting my higher self take over, achieving enlightenment, and becoming a radiant being of white light.

Easy-peasy.

Surreptitiously I adjust myself on my yoga mat so I’m facing the sun directly, and push down the spaghetti straps of my top. I don’t see why you can’t reach ultimate-bliss consciousness and get an even tan at the same time.

I’m sitting on a hillside in the middle of Sri Lanka at the Blue Hills Resort and Spiritual Retreat, and the view is spectacular. Hills and tea plantations stretch ahead, then merge into a deep blue sky. I can see the bright colors of tea pickers in the fields, and if I swivel my head a little, I can glimpse a distant elephant padding slowly along between the bushes.

And when I turn my head still further, I can see Luke. My husband. He’s the one on the blue yoga mat, in the cutoff linen trousers and tatty old top, sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed.

I know. It’s just unbelievable. After ten months of honeymoon, Luke has turned into a totally different person from the man I married. The old corporate Luke has vanished. The suits have disappeared. He’s tanned and lean, his hair is long and sun-bleached, and he’s still got a few of the little plaits he had put in on Bondi Beach. Round his wrist is a beaded bracelet he got in Tanzania, and in his ear is a tiny silver hoop.

Luke Brandon with an earring! Luke Brandon sitting cross-legged!

As though he can feel my gaze, he opens his eyes and smiles, and I beam back happily. Ten months married. And not a single row.

Well. You know. Only the odd little one.

“
Siddhasana
,” says our yoga teacher, Chandra. He’s a tall, thin man in baggy white yoga trousers, and he always speaks in a soft, patient voice. “Clear your minds of all extraneous thought.”

Around me I’m aware of the eight or nine others in the group moving into position on their mats. Obediently I place my right foot on my left thigh.

OK. Clear my mind. Concentrate.

I don’t want to boast, but I find clearing my mind pretty easy. I don’t quite get why anyone would find it difficult! I mean, not thinking has to be a lot easier than thinking, doesn’t it?

In fact, the truth is, I’m a bit of a natural at yoga. We’ve only been on this retreat for five days but already I can do the Lotus and everything! I was even thinking I might set up as a yoga teacher when we go back home.

Maybe I could set up a partnership with Trudie Styler
, I think in sudden excitement. God, yes! And we could launch a range of yoga wear, too, all soft grays and whites, with a little logo—

“Focus on your breathing,” Chandra is saying.

Oh, right. Yes. Breathing.

Breathe in . . . breathe out. Breathe in . . . breathe out. Breathe—

God, my nails look fab. I had them done at the spa—little pink butterflies on a white background. And the antennae are little diamonds. They are so sweet. Except one seems to have fallen off. I must get that fixed—

“Becky.” Chandra’s voice makes me jump. He’s standing right there, gazing at me with this look he has. Kind of gentle and all-knowing, like he can see right inside your mind.

“You do very well, Becky,” he says. “You have a beautiful spirit.”

I feel a sparkle of delight all over. I, Rebecca Brandon, née Bloomwood, have a beautiful spirit! I knew it!

“You have an unworldly soul,” he adds in his soft voice, and I stare back, totally mesmerized.

“Material possessions aren’t important to me,” I say breathlessly. “All that matters to me is yoga.”

“You have found your path.” Chandra smiles.

There’s an odd kind of snorting sound coming from Luke’s direction, and I look round to see him looking over at us in amusement.

I
knew
Luke wasn’t taking this seriously.

“This is a private conversation between me and my guru, thank you very much,” I say crossly.

Although, actually, I shouldn’t be surprised. We were warned about this on the first day of the yoga course. Apparently, when one partner finds higher spiritual enlightenment, the other partner can react with skepticism and even jealousy.

“Soon you will be walking on the hot coals.” Chandra gestures with a smile to the nearby pit of smoldering ashy coals, and a nervous laugh goes round the group. This evening Chandra and some of his top yoga students are going to demonstrate walking on the coals for the rest of us. This is what we’re all supposed to be aiming for. Apparently, you attain a state of bliss so great, you can’t actually feel the coals burning your feet. You’re totally pain free!

What I’m secretly hoping is that it’ll work when I wear six-inch stilettos, too.

Chandra adjusts my arms and moves on, and I close my eyes, letting the sun warm my face. Sitting here on this hillside in the middle of nowhere, I feel so pure and calm. It’s not just Luke who’s changed over the last ten months. I have too. I’ve grown up. My priorities have altered. In fact, I’m a different person. I mean, look at me now, doing yoga at a spiritual retreat. My old friends probably wouldn’t even recognize me!

At Chandra’s instruction, we all move into the
Vajrasana
pose. From where I am, I can just see an elderly Sri Lankan man carrying two old carpetbags, approaching Chandra. They have a brief conversation, during which Chandra keeps shaking his head, then the old man trudges away over the scrubby hillside. When he’s out of earshot, Chandra turns to face the group, rolling his eyes.

“This man is a merchant. He asks if any of you are interested in gems. Necklaces, cheap bracelets. I tell him your minds are on higher things.”

A few people near me shake their heads as though in disbelief. One woman, with long red hair, looks affronted.

“Couldn’t he see we were in the middle of meditation?” she says.

“He has no understanding of your spiritual devotion.” Chandra looks around the group seriously. “It will be the same with many others in the world. They will not understand that meditation is food for your soul. You have no need for . . . sapphire bracelet!”

A few people nod in appreciation.

“Aquamarine pendant with platinum chain,” Chandra continues dismissively. “How does this compare to the radiance of inner enlightenment?”

Aquamarine?

Wow. I wonder how much—

I mean, not that I’m interested. Obviously not. It’s just that I happened to be looking at aquamarines in a shop window the other day. Just out of an academic interest.

My eye drifts toward the retreating figure of the old man.

“Three-carat setting, five-carat setting, he keeps saying. All half price.” Chandra shakes his head. “I tell him, these people are not interested.”

Half price? Five-carat aquamarines at half price?

Stop it. Stop it. Chandra’s right. Of course I’m not interested in stupid aquamarines. I’m absorbed in spiritual enlightenment.

Anyway, the old man’s nearly gone now. He’s just a tiny figure on top of the hill. In a minute he’ll have disappeared.

“And now.” Chandra smiles. “The
Halasana
pose. Becky, will you demonstrate?”

“Absolutely.” I smile at Chandra and prepare to get into position on my mat.

But something’s wrong. I don’t feel contentment. I don’t feel tranquillity. The oddest feeling is welling up inside me, driving everything else out. It’s getting stronger and stronger . . .

And suddenly I can’t contain it anymore. Before I know what’s happening, I’m running in my bare feet as fast as I can up the hill toward the tiny figure. My lungs are burning, my feet are smarting, and the sun’s beating down on my bare head, but I don’t stop until I’ve reached the crest of the hill. I come to a halt and look around, panting.

I don’t believe it. He’s gone. Where did he vanish to?

I stand for a few moments, regaining my breath, peering in all directions. But I can’t see him anywhere.

At last, feeling a little dejected, I turn and make my way back down the hillside to the group. As I get near I realize they’re all shouting and waving at me. Oh God. Am I in trouble?

“You did it!” the red-haired woman’s yelling. “You did it!”

“Did what?”

“You ran over the hot coals! You did it, Becky!”

What?

I look down at my feet . . . and I don’t believe it. They’re covered in gray ash! In a daze, I look at the pit of coals—and there’s a set of clear footprints running through it.

Oh my God. Oh my
God
! I ran over the coals! I ran over the burning hot smoldering coals! I did it!

“But . . . but I didn’t even notice!” I say, bewildered. “My feet aren’t even burned!”

“How did you do it?” demands the red-haired woman. “What was in your mind?”

“I can answer.” Chandra comes forward, smiling. “Becky has achieved the highest form of karmic bliss. She was concentrating on one goal, one pure image, and this has driven her body to achieve a supernatural state.”