Shopaholic & Sister (6 page)

“It’s OK!” I say, panting a little. “I just need to . . . there!”

The whole thing has splintered. Triumphantly I pull out a MasterCard, which was glued to the backing. My Defcon One, code-red-emergency card. Luke
really
doesn’t know about this one. Not unless he’s got X-ray vision.

I got the idea of hiding a credit card in a powder compact from this brilliant article I read on money management. Not that I have a big problem with money or anything. But in the past, I have had the odd little . . . crisis.

So this idea really appealed to me. What you do is, you keep your credit card somewhere really inaccessible, like frozen in ice or sewn into the lining of your bag, so you’ll have time to reconsider before making each purchase. Apparently this simple tactic can cut your unnecessary purchases by 90 percent.

And I have to say, it really does work! The only, tiny, flaw is, I keep having to buy new powder compacts, which is getting a bit expensive.

“I’ll pay with this,” I say, and hand it to Silvia, who is peering at me as though I’m a dangerous lunatic. She swipes it gingerly through her machine, and a minute later I’m scrawling my signature on the slip. I thrust it back at her, and she files it away in a drawer.

There’s a tiny pause. I’m almost exploding with anticipation.

“So . . . can I have it?” I say.

“Here you are,” she says sulkily, and hands me the creamy carrier.

My hands close over the cord handles and I feel a surge of pure, unadulterated joy.

It’s mine.

As I get back to the hotel that evening I’m floating on air. This has been one of the best days of my life. I spent the whole afternoon walking up and down the via Montenapoleone with my new Angel bag prominently displayed on my shoulder . . . and everyone admired it. In fact, they didn’t just admire it . . . they gawped at it. It was like I was a sudden celebrity!

About twenty people came up to me and asked where I got it, and a woman in dark glasses who
had
to be an Italian movie star got her driver to come and offer me three thousand euros for it. And best of all, all I kept hearing was people saying, “
La ragazza con la borsa di Angel”
! Which I worked out means the Girl with the Angel Bag! That’s what they were calling me!

I drift blissfully through the revolving doors into the foyer of the hotel to see Luke standing by the reception desk.

“There you are!” he says, sounding relieved. “I was beginning to worry! Our taxi’s here.” He ushers me out into a waiting taxi and slams the door. “Linate Airport,” he says to the driver, who immediately zooms into an oncoming stream of traffic, to a chorus of horns.

“So, how was your day?” I say, trying not to flinch as we’re nearly hit by another taxi. “How was the meeting?”

“It went well! If we can get the Arcodas Group as clients it’ll be seriously good news. They’re expanding hugely at the moment. It’s going to be an exciting time.”

“So . . . do you think you’ll get them?”

“We’ll have to woo them. When we get back I’m going to start preparing a pitch. But I’m hopeful. I’m definitely hopeful.”

“Well done!” I beam at him. “And was your hair OK?”

“My hair was fine.” He gives a wry smile. “In fact . . . it was admired by all.”

“You see?” I say with delight. “I knew it would be!”

“And how was your day?” says Luke as we swing round a corner at about a hundred miles an hour.

“It was fantastic!” I’m glowing all over. “Absolutely perfect. I adore Milan!”

“Really?” Luke looks intrigued. “Even without this?” He reaches into his pocket and produces my purse.

God, I’d forgotten all about that.

“Even without my purse!” I say with a little laugh. “Although . . . I did manage to buy you a little something.”

I hand over the bronze-wrapped package and watch excitedly as Luke pulls out the belt.

“Becky, that’s . . . wonderful!” he says. “Absolutely . . .” He trails off, turning it over in his hands.

“It’s to replace the one I ruined,” I explain. “With the hot wax, remember?”

“I remember.” He sounds utterly touched. “And . . . this is really all you bought in Milan? A present for me?”

“Er . . .”

I give a kind of noncommittal shrug and clear my throat, playing for time.

Marriages are based on honesty and trust. If I don’t tell him about the Angel bag, then I’m betraying that trust.

But if I
do
tell him . . . I’ll have to explain about my Defcon One, code-red-emergency credit card. Which I’m not sure is such a solid idea.

I don’t want to spoil the last precious moments of our honeymoon with some stupid argument.

But we’re married
, I think in a rush of emotion.
We’re husband and wife! We shouldn’t have secrets
! OK, I’m going to tell him. Right now.

“Luke—”

“Wait.” Luke cuts me off, his voice a little gruff. “Becky, I want to apologize.”

Apologize?

“You said you’d changed. You said you’d grown up. And . . . you have.” He spreads his hands. “To be honest, I was expecting you to come back to the hotel having made some huge, extravagant purchase.”

Oh God.

“Er . . . Luke . . .” I venture.

“I’m ashamed of myself,” he says, frowning. “Here you are, your first visit to the fashion capital of the world—and all you’ve bought is a present for me. Becky . . . I’m really moved.” He exhales sharply. “Chandra was right. You do have a beautiful spirit.”

There’s silence. This is my cue to tell him the truth.

But how can I tell him I don’t have a beautiful spirit, I have a crappy old normal one?

“Well . . .” I find myself obsessively refolding the bronze wrapping paper. “Er . . . you know. It’s just a belt!”

“It’s not just a belt to me,” he says quietly. “It’s . . . a symbol of our marriage.” He clasps my hand for a few moments, then smiles. “I’m sorry . . . what did you want to say?”

I could still come clean.

I could still do it.

“Um . . . well . . . I was just going to tell you . . . the buckle’s adjustable.” I give him a slightly sickly smile and turn away, pretending to be fascinated by the view out the window.

OK. So I didn’t tell the truth.

But in my defense, if he’d just paid attention when I’d read him
Vogue
he would have seen for himself. I mean, I’m not hiding it or anything. Here I am with one of the most coveted status symbols in the world on my arm—and he hasn’t even noticed!

And anyway, this is absolutely the last time I lie to him. From now on, no more white lies, no more gray lies, no more fibs. We will have a perfect marriage of honesty and truth. Yes. Everyone will admire our harmonious, loving ways, and people will call us the Couple Who—

“Linate Airport!” The driver’s voice interrupts my thoughts. I turn and look at Luke with a sudden apprehensive thrill.

“Here we are,” he says, and meets my eyes. “Still want to go home?”

“Absolutely!” I reply firmly, ignoring the nervous flutters in my stomach.

I get out of the taxi and stretch my legs. Passengers are milling about with trolleys, and a plane is taking off with a thunderous roar, almost right above me.

God, we’re really doing it. In a few hours we’ll be in London. After all these months traveling.

“By the way,” says Luke. “There was a message from your mother on my mobile this afternoon. She wanted to know if we were still in Sri Lanka, or had we gone to Malaysia yet?”

He lifts his eyebrows comically at me, and I feel a giggle rise. They are all going to get such a shock! They’re all going to be so thrilled to see us!

And suddenly I’m full of excitement. We’re on our way home!

OH MY GOD. We’ve done it. We’re back! We’re actually back on English soil.

Or, at least, English tarmac. We spent last night in Luke’s flat, and now we’re driving along the Surrey roads in a hired car, all ready to surprise Mum and Dad. In about two minutes we’ll arrive at their house! It’s just after eleven, so they’ll be having coffee in the garden as usual, with no idea!

I can barely keep still for excitement. In fact, I keep banging my knee on the South American tribal mask. I can just see the looks on Mum and Dad’s faces when they see us! Mum’s face will light up, and Dad will look astounded, then his face will break into a smile . . . and we’ll be running to each other through the clouds of smoke. . . .

Actually, maybe there won’t be any clouds of smoke. I’m thinking of
The Railway Children
. But anyway, it’ll be fantastic. The most fantastic reunion ever!

To be honest, Mum and Dad have probably found it quite hard-going without me. I’m their only daughter, and this is the longest they’ve ever had to go without seeing me. Ten whole months.

I will so make their day, coming back home.

We swing into Mayfield Avenue and for the first time I feel just the tiniest twinge of nerves.

“Luke, should we have called?” I say.

“Too late now,” Luke replies calmly, and signals left.

We’re nearly at our street. Oh God. I really am starting to feel jittery.

“What if they’re so shocked to see us that they have heart attacks?” I say in sudden panic.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine!” Luke laughs. “Don’t worry!”

And now we’re in Elton Road, my parents’ road. We’re coming up to their house. We’re here.

Luke pulls into the drive and turns off the engine. For a moment neither of us moves.

“Ready?” says Luke.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, I get out of the car and slam the door. It’s a bright, sunny day and the street is quiet, apart from a few birds twittering and the distant sound of a lawn mower.

I walk up to the front door, hesitate, and then, with a sudden surge of excitement, lift my hand and firmly press the bell.

Nothing happens.

I wait a few moments, then ring again. But there’s silence.

They’re not in.

How can they not be in?

I feel indignant. Where on earth are my parents? They’re always home! That’s where they belong! Don’t they realize their only beloved daughter is back from her round-the-world trip?

“We could go for a coffee and come back later,” suggests Luke.

“I suppose so,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment.

This has ruined my whole plan. I was all ready for our great emotional reunion—not going off for a stupid cup of coffee!

Disconsolate, I walk up the path and lean on the wrought-iron gate. I fiddle with the broken catch, which Dad has said for twenty years he’s going to mend, and look at the roses which Mum and Dad had put in last year for our wedding. God, we’ve been married nearly a year. That’s a weird thought.

Suddenly I hear the distant sound of voices traveling along the street. I raise my head and squint. A pair of figures has just rounded the corner.

It’s them! It’s Mum and Dad! Mum’s in a print dress and Dad’s in a pink short-sleeve shirt, and they both look tanned and healthy.

“Mum!” I shriek. “Dad!” I open my arms wide. “
We’re back
!”

Mum and Dad look up, and both freeze to the spot. Suddenly I notice they’ve got someone else with them. Some woman. Or girl. I can’t see properly in this bright sunlight.

“Mum!” I cry again. “Dad!”

The strange thing is, they aren’t moving. They must be too shell-shocked by my appearance or something. Maybe they think I’m a ghost.

“I’m back!” I yell. “It’s me, Becky! Surprise!”

Then, to my utter astonishment, Mum and Dad start retreating.

What . . . What are they doing? They were supposed to be running
toward
me.

They disappear round the corner and for a few moments I’m too baffled to speak.

“Luke, was that Mum and Dad?” I say at last.

“I think so.” Luke sounds equally puzzled.

“And did they really . . . run away from me?”

I’m stricken. My own parents, running away from me as though I’ve got the plague.

“No!” Luke says quickly. “Of course not. They probably just didn’t see you. Look!” He suddenly points. “There they are again.”

Sure enough, Mum and Dad have appeared round the corner again, this time without the girl. They walk along for a few steps, then Dad dramatically grabs Mum and points at me.

“Look!” he says. “It’s Becky!”

“Becky!” Mum exclaims in a stilted voice. “It can’t be true!”

She sounds just like she did in the amateur dramatics Agatha Christie last year, when she played the lady who discovered the body.

“Becky! Luke!” Dad calls.

And now they really are running toward us, and I feel a huge swell of emotion rising.

“Mum!” I shout. “Dad! We’re back!”

I race toward them, throwing my hands out. I land in Dad’s arms, and the next moment Mum’s there too, and we’re all in a great big hug.

“You’re home!” Dad exclaims. “Welcome back, darling!”

“Is everything all right?” Mum peers at me anxiously. “Are you OK?”

“We’re fine! We just decided to come home early! We wanted to see you all!” I squeeze Mum tightly. “We knew you’d be missing us!”

All three of us walk back to the house, where Dad shakes Luke’s hand and Mum gives him an enormous hug.

“I can’t believe it,” she says, looking from Luke to me. “I just can’t believe it. Luke, your hair! It’s so
long
!”

“I know.” He grins at me. “It’ll be coming off before I go to work.”

I open my mouth automatically to protest, then close it again. I’m feeling too joyful to start arguing. Instead I beam happily back at him, my arm still linked inside Dad’s.
This
is how I imagined it. Everyone together and happy. Although . . . I’m still wondering what was going on earlier.

Impulsively I hug Mum again with my free arm. “It’s so lovely to see you!”

“It’s lovely to see
you
, darling!” She hugs me back and I inhale the familiar scent of her Green Irish Tweed perfume, which she’s been wearing as long as I can remember.

“That’s a relief to hear!” I laugh. “Because it almost looked like you were . . .” I break off, feeling a bit awkward.