Shopaholic to the Stars (43 page)
‘Of course she’s heard of you.’ Aran laughs. ‘We’ll set up a meeting, a photo opportunity on the red carpet, maybe you guys can chat at the party … How does that sound?’
‘Amazing!’ I breathe.
As I ring off I feel heady. Me and Nenita Dietz on the red carpet. Making friends and talking fashion. I couldn’t even have
dreamed
that.
‘Hey, guess what?’ I call out, before I realize that there’s no one to hear me. A moment later, Jeff appears around the door.
‘You OK?’ he says.
‘I’m going to meet Nenita Dietz!’ I say. ‘On the red carpet!
She’s
asked to meet
me
. Do you know how important she is?’ Jeff’s face is blank, but I can see his eyes reading my expression for clues.
‘Awesome,’ he says at last, and nods. He disappears again, and I quell a feeling of disappointment that he wasn’t more excited. No one’s proud of me, not even my bodyguard. Another tear suddenly rolls down my cheek and I brush it away impatiently. This is stupid.
Stupid
. Life is great. Why am I feeling like this?
I’ll call Mum. The solution hits me out of the blue. Of course. Mum will make me feel better. I should have thought of this ages ago. And I can reassure her about Dad, too. It’s evening in the UK. Perfect. I lean back in my chair, dialling the number, and as I hear her familiar voice answering, I feel a relief all over my body.
‘Mum! How are you? Listen, I’m styling Sage for a premiere tomorrow! And I’m meeting Nenita Dietz! She especially called Aran to say she wanted to meet me! Can you believe it?’
‘That’s lovely, Becky.’ Mum sounds tense and distracted. ‘Listen, darling, where’s Dad? Can I speak to him?’
‘He’s out at the moment. I’ll get him to call you back.’
‘Well, where is he?’ I hear a shrill of alarm in her voice. ‘Where’s he gone? Becky, you said you’d keep an eye on him!’
‘I
am
keeping an eye on him!’ I retort, a bit impatiently. Honestly, what does she expect, that I stalk my own father? ‘He’s been out with Tarquin, Mum. They’ve really bonded. It’s so sweet. Yesterday they went out sightseeing and had supper together and—’ I break off just before I say ‘got drunk’. ‘They had a good time,’ I amend. ‘Mum, you mustn’t worry.’
‘But what’s this all
about
? Why did he suddenly fly to LA?’ She still sounds distressed. ‘Have you found out? What’s he said to you, love?’
I feel a huge twinge of guilt. I should have made more time to talk to Dad yesterday. I really should. And I should have got those autographs for him. I feel terrible about that.
‘He hasn’t said
that
much,’ I admit. ‘But we’ll have a big old talk tonight. I promise. I’ll wheedle it out of him.’
As I put the phone down ten minutes later, I feel both better and worse. Better, because it’s always good to talk to Mum. But worse, because I can see how I’ve let things unravel. I’ve been too distracted. I should be more on the case with Dad … I should have been there for Suze … I close my eyes, burying my face in my palms. Everything feels painful and wrong. I’ve messed up in all directions, all at once, and I didn’t even realize I was doing it, and now I don’t know where to start to put things right … What am I going to
do
…?
For what seems like ages I simply sit there, letting my thoughts whirl around and gradually settle. Then, full of determination, I grab a piece of paper from the kitchen notepad, and write a heading:
Resolutions
. I’m going to make my life work for me. I’m not going to let it whirl around like a kaleidoscope any more. It’s
my
life, which means
I
get to choose how it goes. Even if that means wrestling it to the floor and bashing it on the head and saying, ‘Take, that, life!’
I scribble hard for a while, then sit back and look at my list with resolve. It’s quite a lot – it’ll be a challenge – but I can do it all. I
have
to do it all.
Resolutions:
- Bring peace to Luke and Elinor. (Like St Francis.)
- Go on the red carpet and get a million autographs for Dad
. - Come up with perfect outfit for Sage and get hired by Nenita Dietz
. - Make friends with Suze again
. - Save Tarkie from cult
. - Find out reason for Dad’s trip and reassure Mum
. - Buy strapless bra
.
OK, so the last one isn’t quite as life-changing as the others, but I really do need a new strapless bra.
By 3 p.m. I’m feeling a lot calmer. I’ve bought my new bra and I’ve sent over three dresses, six pairs of shoes and a tuxedo suit for Sage to try on. (I don’t think she’ll go for the tuxedo suit, but she should. She’d look amazing.) I’ve also taken Minnie out of pre-school early, and dressed her up in her sweetest smocked pink-lawn frock, with a big sash and puffed sleeves. It has matching pink-lawn knickers, too, and I’m actually quite envious. Why don’t grown-up dresses have matching knickers? Everyone would buy them. I might write to a few designers and suggest it.
Jeff has driven us to the Purple Tea Room, which is halfway along Melrose Avenue and has a big hand-painted sign with swirly letters. I help Minnie down from the SUV, shake out her skirts and say, ‘See you later, Jeff. I’ll call.’ Then we head towards the sign and push open the glass-paned door.
Crikey.
OK, so I don’t think Aran and I mean quite the same thing by ‘afternoon tea’. When I say ‘afternoon tea’ I mean silver teapots and waitresses in frilly white aprons and tiny cucumber sandwiches. I mean starched tablecloths and maybe a harp playing and Miss Marple-type ladies sitting at the next table.
The Purple Tea Room is nothing like that. For a start there aren’t any chairs or tables, only cushions and bean bags and odd-shaped stools made out of wood. The room is big, but it’s dimly lit, with candles casting a wavery glow over the walls. There’s music playing, but it’s Eastern sitar music, and the air smells scented, but not of scones or cinnamon. More of …
Well. Hmm. You’d think they’d be more subtle; I mean, this isn’t Amsterdam, is it?
Everywhere I look I can see hip young people lying around, sipping at tea cups, typing on Apple Macs and having their feet or shoulders rubbed by what seem to be therapists in baggy Indian trousers. And in the middle of it all is sitting Elinor, bolt upright, wearing her usual stiff bouclé suit and chilly expression. She’s perched on a stool in the shape of a mushroom, holding a glass of water and looking around as though she’s Queen Victoria and these are the savages. I bite my lip, trying not to giggle. Poor Elinor. She was probably expecting starched tablecloths, too.
She’s looking rather pale and wan, but her dark helmet of hair is as immaculate as ever, and her back is ramrod straight.
‘Ladeee!’ shrieks Minnie as she spots Elinor. ‘Mummy!’ She turns to me in joy. ‘Is
Ladeeee!
’ Then she wrenches herself out of my grasp, runs to Elinor and hurls herself affectionately against Elinor’s legs. Everyone in the place turns to watch and I can hear a few ‘Aaahs’. I mean, whatever you think of Elinor, it’s a very sweet sight.
In fact, I can’t remember the last time I saw Minnie quite so thrilled. Her whole body is shaking with excitement and her eyes are bright and she keeps glancing up at me as though to share the wondrous moment. Elinor looks pretty delighted to see Minnie, too. Her cheeks have turned a kind of almost-pink and her frozen face has come alive.
‘Well, Minnie,’ I can hear her saying. ‘Well, now, Minnie. You’ve grown.’
Minnie is delving in Elinor’s crocodile-skin bag, and triumphantly produces a jigsaw puzzle. Every time Elinor sees Minnie, she brings a different jigsaw puzzle, and puts it together while Minnie watches in awe.
‘We’ll do it together,’ says Elinor. ‘It’s a view of the Wellesley-Baker Building in Boston. My great-grandfather used to own it. Your ancestor, Minnie.’ Minnie nods blankly, then turns to me.
‘Mummy, Ladeeeee!’ Her joy is so infectious that I find myself beaming, and saying, ‘Yes, darling! Lady! Isn’t that lovely?’
The whole ‘Lady’ thing began because we had to keep Minnie’s meetings with Elinor a secret from Luke, and we couldn’t risk her saying, ‘I saw Granny Elinor today.’
I mean, they still are secret. This meeting today is secret. And as I watch Minnie and Elinor gazing at each other in delight, I feel a sudden fresh resolve. This rift is stupid and sad and it has to end now. Luke and Elinor have to make up. They have
family
together.
I know Elinor said something tactless, or worse, about Luke’s beloved stepmother which he was upset by. (I never got the exact details.) That’s how this whole argument began. But life can’t be about holding on to the bad things. It has to be about grabbing on to the good things and letting the bad things go. Looking at Elinor as she opens the jigsaw with an ecstatic Minnie, I know she’s a good thing. For Minnie, and for me, and for Luke. I mean, she’s not perfect, but then, who is?
‘Can I offer you some tea?’ A drifty girl in a linen apron and baggy white trousers has come up so silently, she makes me jump.
‘Oh, yes please,’ I say. ‘Lovely. Just normal tea for me, thanks. And milk for my daughter.’
‘“Normal tea”?’ the girl echoes, as though I’m speaking Swahili. ‘Did you look at the tea menu?’ She nods at a booklet on Elinor’s lap which seems to be about forty pages long.
‘I gave up,’ says Elinor crisply. ‘I would like hot water and lemon, please.’
‘Let’s just have a look …’ I start to skim through the booklet, but before long my eyes are blurring with type. How can there be so many teas? It’s stupid. In England you just have
tea
.
‘We have teas for different needs,’ says the girl helpfully. ‘We have Fennel and Peppermint for digestion, or Red Clover and Nettle for skin complaints …’
Skin complaints? I eye her suspiciously. Is she trying to say something?
‘The white teas are very popular …’
Honestly, tea isn’t supposed to be
white
. I don’t know what Mum would have to say to this girl. She’d probably produce a Typhoo teabag and say, ‘
This
is tea, love.’
‘Do you have a tea for making life totally brilliant in every way?’ I say, just to wind the girl up.
‘Yes,’ she says, without missing a beat. ‘Our Hibiscus, Orange and St John’s Wort tea promotes an improved sense of wellbeing through mood enhancement. We call it our happy tea.’
‘Oh,’ I say, taken aback. ‘Well, I’d better have that one, then. Would you like that, Elinor?’
‘I do not wish to have my mood enhanced, thank you.’ She gives the girl a stern look.
That’s a shame. I’d love to see Elinor on happy pills. She might smile properly, for once. Except then she’d probably crack, it occurs to me. White powder would fall from the corners of her lips and suddenly her whole face would disintegrate into plaster dust and whatever else they’ve patched her up with.
The girl has given our order to a passing guy in what looks like a Tibetan monk’s outfit, and now turns back.
‘May I offer you a complimentary reflexology session or other holistic therapy?’
‘No thanks,’ I say politely. ‘We just want to talk.’
‘We’re very discreet,’ says the girl. ‘We can work with your feet, or your head, or the pressure points in your face …’
I can see Elinor recoiling at the very idea. ‘I do not wish to be touched,’ she says stiffly. ‘Thank you.’
‘We can work without touching you,’ persists the girl. ‘We can do a tarot reading, or we have a humming meditation, or we can work with your aura.’
I want to burst into giggles at Elinor’s expression. Her aura? Do they mean that chilly cloud of disapproval that follows her around like her own atmosphere?
‘I do not possess an aura,’ she says, her tones like icicles. ‘I had it surgically removed.’ She glances sidelong at me and then, to my utter astonishment, she gives the faintest of winks.
Oh my God. Did Elinor just make a joke?
At her own expense?
I’m so gobsmacked I can’t speak, and the girl seems a bit nonplussed as well, because she backs away without trying to press any more therapies on us.
Minnie has been surveying Elinor intently throughout all of this, and now Elinor turns to her.
‘What is it, Minnie?’ she says, uncompromisingly. ‘You shouldn’t stare at people. Aren’t you going to sit down?’
Elinor always talks to Minnie as though she’s another adult, and Minnie loves it. Minnie doesn’t answer, but leans forward and picks a tiny thread off Elinor’s skirt.
‘All gone,’ she says dismissively, and drops the thread on the floor.
Ha! Ha-di-ha!
How many times has Elinor picked me up for some tiny bit of fluff or speck on my clothes? And now Minnie’s got her revenge. Only, Elinor doesn’t look remotely put out.
‘Thank you,’ she says to Minnie gravely. ‘The housekeeper at my hotel is somewhat lax.’
‘Lax,’ agrees Minnie, equally gravely. ‘Lax bax …
Guess
how much I love you,’ she adds inconsequentially.
I know that Minnie’s quoting from her bedtime book, but Elinor doesn’t – and I’m stunned by her instant reaction. Her cheekbones start to tremble and there’s a sheen to her eye.
