Shopaholic & Sister (16 page)

“What is it, love?” Mum asks, looking at it with interest.

To be honest, I’m not actually quite sure.

“It’s a food saver,” explains Jess. “You can keep leftovers in it, and they all stay separate. Rice . . . casserole . . . whatever. I couldn’t live without mine.”

“That’s brilliant! It’ll be
so
useful.” I look at the three compartments thoughtfully. “I think I’ll keep all my lip balms in it.”

“Lip balms?” says Jess, clearly taken aback.

“I’m
always
losing them! Aren’t you?” I put the lid back on and admire it for a few more moments. Then I pick up the wrapping paper and crumple it into a ball.

Jess winces as though someone just trod on her foot.

“You could have folded that up,” she says, and I look at her, puzzled.

Why on earth would I
fold
used wrapping paper?

But then, maybe this is one of her pet habits that I’ll have to get used to. We all have little quirks.

“Oh, right!” I say. “Of course. Silly me!”

I uncrease the crumpled paper, smooth it out, and fold it carefully into quarters.

“There we are.” With a cheerful smile I drop it in the wastepaper bin. “Let’s go!”

IT ONLY TAKES fifteen minutes by car to get to Kingston, which is the nearest big shopping center to Mum and Dad. I find a meter, and after about twenty attempts manage to park the car vaguely in a straight line. Jess sits stoically beside me in the passenger seat, saying nothing. Not even when the lorry driver starts hooting at me.

Anyway, never mind. The point is, we’re here! It’s a fantastic day, sunny but not too warm, with tiny clouds scudding across the blue sky. As I get out, I look around the sunlit street, feeling all buzzy with anticipation. My first shopping trip with my sister! What shall we do first?

As I start to feed the parking meter, I go through all the options in my head. We should definitely get a free makeover, and check out that new underwear shop Mum was talking about. . . .

“How long exactly are we planning to stay here?” Jess asks as I shove in my sixth pound coin.

“This should take us up to six o’clock . . . and after that, parking’s free!”

“Six o’clock?” She looks a bit stunned.

“Don’t worry!” I say reassuringly. “The shops don’t close at six. They’ll be open till at least eight.”

And we
have
to go into a department store, and try on lots of evening dresses. One of my best times ever was when I spent a whole afternoon trying on posh dresses in Harrods with Suze. We kept putting on more and more outrageous million-pound frocks, and swooshing around, and all the snooty assistants got really annoyed and kept asking had we made our choice yet?

At last Suze said she
thought
she had . . . but she wanted to see it with a Cartier diamond tiara just to make sure, and could Jewelry possibly send one up?

I think that’s when they asked us to leave.

God, Suze and I used to have fun together. She is just the best person in the world for saying “Go on! Buy it!” Even when I was stone broke, she’d say “Buy it! I’ll pay! You can always pay me back.” And then she’d buy one too, and we’d go and have a cappuccino.

But anyway. There’s no point getting all nostalgic.

“So!” I turn to Jess. “What do you feel like doing first? There are loads of shops here: two department stores . . .”

“I hate department stores,” says Jess. “They make me feel ill.”

“Oh, right.” That’s fair enough. Loads of people hate department stores.

“Well, there are lots of boutiques too. In fact, I’ve just thought of the perfect place!”

I lead her off the main high street, away from the pedestrianized shopping precinct, and turn left down a cobbled side road. As we walk, I hitch my Angel bag higher on my shoulder, admiring its reflection in a shop window across the street. That bag was worth every single penny.

I’m slightly surprised Jess hasn’t said anything about it, actually. If my sister had an Angel bag, it would be the
first
thing I’d mention. But then, maybe she’s trying to be all cool and blasé.

“So . . . where do you normally shop?” I ask.

“Wherever’s cheapest,” replies Jess.

“Me too! I got the most fab Ralph Lauren top at this designer outlet in Utah. Ninety percent off!”

“I tend to do a lot of bulk buying,” says Jess with a little frown. “If you buy large enough quantities, you can get pretty good savings.”

Oh my God. We are totally on the same wavelength. I
knew
we would be!

“You are so right!” I exclaim in delight. “That’s what I keep trying to explain to Luke! But he just can’t see the logic.”

“So, do you belong to a warehouse club?” Jess looks at me with interest. “Or a food co-op?”

A food co-op?

“Er . . . no. But on my honeymoon, I did loads of excellent bulk buying! I bought forty mugs and twenty silk dressing gowns!”

“Silk dressing gowns?” echoes Jess, looking taken aback.

“They were such an investment! I
told
Luke it made financial sense, but he just wouldn’t listen. . . . OK! Here we are! This is it.”

We’ve arrived at the glass doors of Georgina’s. It’s a big, light boutique selling clothes, jewelry, and the most gorgeous bags. I’ve been coming here since I was twelve, and it’s one of my favorite shops in the world.

“You are going to
love
this shop,” I say to Jess happily, and push the door open. Sandra, one of the assistants, is arranging a collection of beaded purses on a pedestal, and she looks up as the door pings. Her face lights up immediately.

“Becky! Long time no see! How was the honeymoon?”

“Great, thanks!”

“And how’s married life treating you?” She grins. “Had your first big bust-up yet?”

“Ha-ha,” I say, grinning back. I’m about to introduce Jess, when Sandra shrieks.

“Oh my God! Is that an Angel bag? Is it
real
?”

“Yes,” I glow. Owning an Angel bag is just total bliss.

“I don’t believe it. She’s got an Angel bag!” Sandra calls out to the other two assistants. They rush to the front of the shop, gasping, “Can I touch it? Where did you
get
it?”

“Milan.”

“Only Becky Bloomwood.” Sandra’s shaking her head. “Only Becky Bloomwood would walk in here with an Angel bag. So how much did that cost you?”

“Er . . . enough!”

“Wow.” She strokes it gingerly. “It’s absolutely . . .
amazing
.”

“What’s so special?” Jess asks blankly. “I mean . . . it’s just a bag.”

There’s a stunned pause, then we all burst out laughing. God, Jess is quite witty!

“Sandra, I want to introduce you to someone.” I pull Jess forward. “This is my sister!”

“Your
sister
?” Sandra looks at Jess in shock. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Neither did I! We’re long-lost sisters, aren’t we, Jess?” I put an arm round her.

“Half sisters,” corrects Jess, a little stiffly.

“Georgina!” Sandra is calling to the back of the shop. “Georgina, you have to come out here! You won’t believe it! Becky Bloomwood’s here—and she’s got a sister! There are
two
of them!”

A curtain swishes back and Georgina, the owner of the shop, comes out. She’s in her fifties, with slate-gray hair and the most amazing turquoise eyes. She’s wearing a velvet tunic top with pencil-thin black trousers and she’s holding a fountain pen. Her eyes sparkle when she sees me and Jess.

“Two Bloomwood sisters,” she says softly. “Well. What a wonderful thing.”

She exchanges looks with the assistants.

“We’ll reserve two fitting rooms,” says Sandra promptly.

“If there aren’t enough, we can always share a fitting room, can’t we, Jess!” I say.

“I’m sorry?” Jess looks startled.

“We’re sisters!” I give her an affectionate squeeze. “We shouldn’t be shy with each other!”

“It’s OK,” says Sandra, glancing at Jess’s face. “There are plenty of fitting rooms. Take your time walking round . . . and enjoy!”

“I told you this was a nice place!” I say happily to Jess. “So . . . let’s start here!”

I head over to a rack full of delicious-looking tops and start leafing through the hangers. “Isn’t this gorgeous?” I pull out a pink T-shirt with a little butterfly motif. “And this one with the daisy would really suit you!”

“Do you want to try them?” says Sandra. “I can pop them in the fitting rooms for you.”

“Yes, please!” I hand them over and smile at Jess.

But she doesn’t smile back. In fact, she hasn’t moved from the spot.

I suppose it can be a bit weird, shopping for the first time with someone new. Sometimes it just clicks straightaway, like when I went shopping for the first time with Suze and we both reached for the same Lulu Guinness makeup bag
simultaneously
. But sometimes it can be a bit awkward, not knowing what each other’s tastes are yet . . . and you keep trying different things and asking “Do you like this? Or this?”

I think Jess might need a bit of encouragement.

“These skirts are fabulous!” I say, going over to another rack, which is filled with evening wear. “This black one with the netting would look amazing on you!” I take it down and hold it up against Jess. She reaches for the price tag, looks at it, and goes pale.

“I can’t believe these prices,” she murmurs.

“They’re pretty reasonable, aren’t they?” I murmur back.

“And the skirt?” says Sandra, popping up behind us.

“Yes, please! And I’ll try it in the gray . . . ooh, and the pink!” I add, suddenly noticing a rose-colored skirt hiding at the back.

Twenty minutes later we’ve been round the whole shop and two piles of clothes are waiting for us in the fitting rooms at the back. Jess hasn’t spoken much. In fact, she hasn’t spoken at all. But I’ve made up for it, picking out all the clothes I think would look great on her, and adding them to the pile.

“OK!” I say, exhilarated. “Let’s go and try them on! I bet you look fantastic in that pink skirt! You should put it with the off-the-shoulder top, and maybe—”

“I’m not going to try anything on,” says Jess. She shoves her hands in her pockets and leans against a patch of empty wall.

I can’t have heard her correctly.

“What did you say?”

“I’m not going to try anything on.” She nods toward the fitting rooms. “But you go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

Did I miss something?

“But . . . why?”

“I don’t need any new clothes,” replies Jess.

Now I’m utterly baffled. Across the shop, I’m aware of the assistants exchanging bewildered glances.

“You must need
something
!” I say. “A T-shirt . . . a pair of trousers . . .”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Don’t you even want to try on one of those gorgeous tops?” I hold up a fabulous little Juicy T-shirt encouragingly. “Just to see what they look like on?”

“I’m not going to buy them.” Jess shrugs. “So what’s the point?”

“It’s on me!” I say, suddenly realizing. “You do know this is all my treat?”

“I don’t want to waste your money. Don’t let me stop you, though,” she adds.

I’m at a complete loss. What should I do?

“Everything’s in the fitting room,” Sandra puts in.

“Go on.” Jess nods.

“Well . . . OK,” I say at last. “I won’t be long.”

I try on most of the clothes, but my excitement’s evaporated. It’s not the same on my own. I wanted us to try things on together. I wanted it to be
fun
.

I just don’t understand it. How can she not try anything on?

She must totally hate my taste, I realize with a plunge of despair. And she hasn’t said anything because she wants to be polite.

“Any good?” says Georgina as I finally emerge.

“Er . . . yes!” I say, trying to sound upbeat. “I’ll take two of the tops and the pink skirt. It’s really gorgeous on!”

I glance at Jess, but she’s staring into space. Suddenly she comes to, as if she’s just noticed me.

“Ready?” she says.

“Er . . . yes. I’ll just go and pay.”

We head over to the front desk, where Sandra starts scanning in my purchases. Meanwhile Georgina is surveying Jess.

“If you’re not in the mood for clothes,” Georgina says suddenly, “what about jewelry?” She pulls out a tray from under the cash desk. “We’ve got some lovely bracelets in. Only ten pounds. This might suit you.” She lifts up a beautiful bracelet made of plain silver ovals linked together. I hold my breath.

“It’s nice.” Jess nods, and I feel a huge pang of relief.

“For Becky’s sister . . .” says Georgina, “three pounds.”

“Wow!” I beam at her. “That’s fantastic! Thank you so much, Georgina!”

“No, thanks,” says Jess. “I don’t need a bracelet.”

What?

My head swivels in shock. Did she not understand?

“But . . . it’s only three pounds,” I say. “It’s a total bargain!”

“I don’t need it.” Jess shrugs.

“But . . .”

I’m at a loss for words. How can you not buy a bracelet for three pounds? How?

“There you are, Becky!” says Sandra, handing over the rope cords of my carrier bags. There are two of them—all pale pink and glossy and scrumptious—but as my hands close round the handles I don’t feel my customary rush of delight. In fact, I barely feel anything. I’m too confused.

“Well . . . bye, then!” I say. “And thanks! See you soon!”

“Bye, Becky darling!” says Georgina. “And . . . Jess,” she adds. “See you again, I hope.”

“Becky!” says Sandra. “Before you go, just let me give you the leaflet about our sale.”

She hurries over, hands me a glossy leaflet, and leans forward.

“I’m not being funny or anything,” she says into my ear. “But . . . are you
sure
she’s your sister?”

“So!” I say uncertainly as we emerge into the street. “That was fun!” I glance at Jess, but she’s got that composed, matter-of-fact expression and I can’t tell what she’s thinking. I wish just
once
she’d smile. Or say, “Yes, it was fab!”

“It’s a shame you didn’t find anything in Georgina’s,” I venture. “Did you . . . like the clothes?”