Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle (114 page)

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!

Four

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.

“What, love?”

“Well, it kind of
looked
as if you were . . . trying to avoid me!” I give another little laugh, to show what a ridiculous idea this is.

There’s a pause—and I’m not totally sure, but I think I see Mum and Dad glance at each other.

“Dad dropped his spectacles!” says Mum brightly. “Didn’t you, love?”

“That’s right!” Dad chimes in heartily. “I dropped my specs.”

“We had to go back for them,” Mum explains.

Both she and Dad are watching me with alert expressions.

What’s going on? Are they
hiding
something?

“Is that Becky?” A shrill voice pierces the atmosphere, and I look round to see Janice, our next-door neighbor, peering over the fence. She’s wearing a pink flowery dress with matching eye shadow, and her hair has been dyed a very strange shade of auburn. “Becky!” She clasps her hands breathlessly to her chest. “It
is
you!”

“Hi, Janice!” I say, trying to hide my discomfiture. “We’re back!”

“You look so well!” she exclaims. “Don’t they look well?” she says to my parents. “So
brown
!”

“That’s traveling for you,” I say nonchalantly.

“And Luke! You look just like Crocodile Dundee!” Janice is goggling at both of us with open admiration, and I can’t help feeling gratified.

“Let’s go in,” says Mum. “And you can tell us all about it!”

This is the moment I’ve pictured so many times. Sitting down with friends and family and telling all about our foreign adventures. Spreading out a crinkly map . . . describing sunrises over mountains . . . looking at the avid faces . . . listening to the gasps of admiration. . . .

Except that now it’s actually happening, it isn’t going quite like I imagined.

“Did you go to Tenerife?” Janice keeps interrupting as I try to describe wading through the Amazon. “Or Majorca? You can get some lovely packages. . . .”

“Er . . . no,” I say, feeling a twinge of annoyance. “We went to Africa . . . India . . .” I spread my arms. “Everywhere!”

“I can’t stand the heat.” Janice shakes her head. “Never could. Even in Florida.” She suddenly brightens. “Did you go to Disneyland?”

“Er . . . no.”

“Oh well.” Janice looks sympathetic. “Never mind. Maybe next time!”

Next time? What, next time we spend ten months traveling round the world?

“It certainly sounds like a lovely holiday,” she adds encouragingly.

It wasn’t a
holiday
! I want to exclaim. It was a
traveling experience
! Honestly. I bet when Christopher Columbus came back from America, people didn’t meet him off the boat with “Ooh, Christopher, did you go to Disneyland?”

I glance up at Mum and Dad, but they’re not even listening. They’re standing by the sink, and Mum’s murmuring something to Dad.

I don’t like this. There is definitely something going on. I glance at Luke, and he’s watching Mum and Dad too.

“We brought you presents!” I exclaim loudly, reaching for my carrier bag. “Mum! Dad! Have a look!”

With some difficulty I pull out the South American mask and present it to Mum. It’s in the shape of a dog’s face, with big teeth and huge circular eyes, and I have to say, it looks pretty impressive.

“I brought it all the way back from Paraguay!” I add with a glow of pride.

I feel like such an explorer! Here I am, bringing rare artifacts of the indigenous South American culture to Oxshott. I mean, how many people in Britain have even
seen
one of these? Maybe a museum will ask to borrow it for an exhibition or something!

“Goodness!” says Mum, turning it over a little nervously. “What is it?”

“It’s a traditional ritual mask made by Chiriguano Indians, isn’t it?” Janice says brightly.

“Have you been to Paraguay, Janice?” I say, taken aback.

“Oh no, love.” She takes a sip of coffee. “I’ve seen them in John Lewis.”

For a moment I can’t quite speak.

“You’ve seen them in . . . John Lewis?” I say at last.

“In Kingston. The gift department.” She beams. “You can buy everything in John Lewis these days!”

“Never knowingly undersold,” chimes in Mum.

I do not believe this. I’ve lugged this mask approximately six thousand miles around the globe. It was supposed to be a rare and exotic treasure. And all the time it’s been on sale at bloody John Lewis.

Mum glimpses my face.

“But yours will be the real thing, love!” she says quickly. “We’ll put it on the mantelpiece next to Dad’s golf trophy!”

“OK,” I say a bit gloomily. I glance up at Dad, and he’s still staring out the window, not listening to a word. Maybe I’ll give him his present later.

“So, what’s been happening here?” I say, taking a cup of coffee from Mum. “How’s Martin? And Tom?” I ask Janice.

“Both well, thank you!” says Janice. “Tom’s living with us for a while.”

“Ah.” I give an understanding nod.

Tom is Janice and Martin’s son, and he’s had a bit of a disaster with his marriage. His wife, Lucy, left him, basically because he wouldn’t have a tattoo done to match hers.

“They’ve sold their house,” Janice says, looking wistful. “Did very well out of it, actually.”

“And is he OK?”

Mum and Janice exchange looks.

“He’s been throwing himself into his hobbies,” Janice says at last. “Keeping himself busy. His new thing is woodworking. He’s made all sorts of things for us!” She looks slightly beleaguered. “Three garden benches . . . two bird tables . . . and now he’s working on a two-story summerhouse in the garden!”

“Wow!” I say politely. “That’s great!”

An oven timer suddenly starts pinging, and I look up in surprise. Has Mum taken to baking while we’ve been away?

“Are you cooking something?” I peer at the oven, which appears to be dead.

“No!” Mum gives a trill of laughter. “That’s to remind me to check eBay.”

“eBay?” I stare at her. “What do you mean, eBay?”

How would Mum know about eBay? She doesn’t know anything about computers. Two years ago I suggested she give Luke a new mouse mat for Christmas and she went to a pet shop.

“You know, darling! Internet shopping. I’m bidding on a Ken Hom wok, a pair of candlesticks”—she pulls a flowery notepad out of her pocket and consults it—“oh yes, and a hedge trimmer for Dad. Used only once!”

“eBay is marvelous!” chimes in Janice. “Such fun. Have you used it, Becky?”

“Well . . . no.”

“Oh, you’d love it,” says Mum at once. “Although I couldn’t get through last night to check on my Portmeirion plates.” She clicks her tongue. “I don’t know
what
was wrong.”

“The domain servers were probably down,” Janice says knowledgeably. “I’ve been having trouble with my modem all week. Biscuit, Becky?”

I cannot get my head round this. Mum? On eBay? Next she’ll be saying she’s up to level six on Tomb Raider.

“But . . . you haven’t even got a computer,” I say. “You hate modern technology.”

“Not anymore, love! Janice and I did a course. We’ve gone broadband!” She looks at me seriously. “Let me give you a word of advice, Becky. If you’re going broadband, I’d install a decent firewall.”

OK. This is all wrong. Parents are not supposed to know more about computers than their children. I nod carelessly and take a sip of coffee, trying to hide the fact that I don’t have a clue what a firewall is.

“Jane, it’s ten to twelve,” Janice says cautiously to Mum. “Are you going to . . .”

“I don’t think so,” Mum says. “You go on.”

“What is it?” I look from face to face. “Is something wrong?”

“Of course not!” says Mum, putting down her coffee cup. “It’s just we agreed to go to the Marshalls’ lunch party today, with Janice and Martin. But don’t worry. We’ll send our apologies.”