Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle (134 page)

“Well, nothing,” I admit. “Except I used to work as a journalist. So I know about press releases and marketing campaigns.” I look around, sensing interest on a few faces. “And for two years I worked at Barneys, the department store in New York. We used to run loads of events, like parties, and special sale weekends, and promotional evenings. . . . In fact, that’s an idea!” I turn to Jim in sudden inspiration. “If you want to boost the village shop, you should celebrate it! Do something positive! You should have a shopping festival. Or a party! It would be such fun! You could have special offers, and free gifts . . . tie it in to the protest—”

“Shut up!”
I stop, startled, to see Jess on her feet, white with anger. “Just shut up for once, Becky! Why does everything have to be a party? Why do you have to trivialize everything? Shopkeepers like Jim aren’t interested in parties! They’re interested in solid, well-thought-out action.”

“I might be interested in a party,” Jim says mildly, but Jess doesn’t seem to hear him.

“You don’t know anything about the environment! You don’t know about bloody hedgehogs! You’re making it up as you go along! Just butt out and leave us alone.”

“Now, that’s a little aggressive, Jess,” says Robin. “Becky’s only trying to help.”

“We don’t need her help!”

“Jess,” says Jim in soothing tones. “This is your sister. Come on, love. Be a bit more welcoming.”

“Are these two sisters?” says the white-haired man in surprise. An interested murmuring grows throughout the room.

“She’s not my sister.” Jess has folded her arms tight. She’s refusing even to look at me, and suddenly I feel a swell of angry hurt.

“I know you don’t want me to be your sister, Jess,” I say, standing up to face her. “But I am! And there’s nothing you can do about that! We have the same blood! We have the same genes! We have the same—”

“Yeah, well, I don’t believe we do, OK?” Jess’s voice reverberates in the room.

“What?” I’m not sure I’ve heard her correctly.

“I don’t believe we share the same blood,” she says in calmer tones.

“But . . . but we know we do!” I say in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Jess sighs and rubs her face. When she looks up, there’s only a trace of animosity left.

“Look at us, Becky,” she says, almost kindly. She gestures to me and then to herself. “We have nothing in common. Not one thing. We can’t be from the same family.”

“But . . . but my dad’s your father!”

“Oh God,” says Jess, almost to herself. “Look, Becky, I wasn’t going to bring this up till later.”

“Bring up what?” I feel a dreadful foreboding. “Bring up what?”

“OK. Here’s the thing.” Jess exhales sharply. “Originally I was given the name of your dad as my father. But . . . it just doesn’t seem to be making sense. So last night I had a long talk about it with my aunty Florence. She admitted my mum was a bit . . . wild. There might have been other men.” Jess hesitates. “She thought there probably
had
been other men, although she didn’t have any names.”

“But . . . you had a test!” I say, bewildered. “A DNA test! So that proves . . .” I trail off as Jess shakes her head.

“No. We never did. We were going to. But I had your dad’s name, the dates made sense, and . . . we all just assumed.” She looks down at the ground. “I think we assumed wrong.”

My head is spinning. They never did a DNA test? They just
assumed
?

The entire room is silent. I don’t think anyone is breathing. I catch sight of Jim’s anxious, kind face, and quickly look away.

“So . . . this has all been a big mistake,” I say at last. Suddenly there’s a huge lump in my throat.

“I think it was a mistake,” agrees Jess. She looks up and sees my stricken face. “Come on, Becky. If you looked at us as an outsider . . . would you say we were sisters?”

“I . . . I suppose not,” I manage.

I’m reeling with shock and disappointment, but at the same time, deep down, a tiny voice is telling me that this makes sense. I feel like for the last few weeks I’ve been trying to force my foot into a wrong-size shoe. I’ve been ramming and ramming, chafing the skin . . . and at last I’m admitting it doesn’t fit.

She’s not my sister. She’s not my flesh and blood. She’s just . . . a girl.

I’m standing here staring at a girl I barely know, who doesn’t even like me.

I really don’t want to be here anymore.

“Right,” I say, trying to compose myself. “Well . . . I think I’ll go. Bye, everybody. Good luck with the protest.”

Nobody says anything. Everyone looks too thunderstruck. With trembling hands I pick up my bag, then push back my chair. As I make my way past everyone to the door I catch the odd sympathetic look. I pause when I reach Jim, who looks almost as disappointed as I feel.

“Thanks for everything, Jim,” I say, trying to smile.

“Goodbye, love.” He clasps my hand warmly. “It was good to know you.”

“You too. Say goodbye to Kelly for me.”

I reach the door and turn to face Jess.

“Bye, then.” I swallow hard. “Have a nice life and everything.”

“Bye, Becky,” she says, and for the first time there’s a flicker of something like compassion in her eyes. “I hope you patch it up with Luke.”

“Thanks.” I nod, not quite sure what else to say. Then I turn and walk out into the night.

Twenty

I feel numb. I don’t have a sister. After all that.

I’ve been sitting on the bed in my room at the guesthouse for about an hour, just gazing out the window at the distant hills. It’s all over. My stupid dream of having a sisterly soul mate to chat and giggle with and go shopping with and eat peppermint creams with . . . is over for good. Not that Jess would ever have gone shopping or eaten peppermint creams with me. Or giggled, come to that. But she might have chatted. We might have got to know each other better. We might have told each other secrets and asked each other’s advice. I hug my knees tight to my chest. This never happened in
Long-Lost Sisters: The Love They Never Knew They Had
.

Actually, it happened once. With these two sisters who were going to have a kidney transplant and then they did the DNA test and realized they weren’t sisters after all. But the point was, they went ahead with the kidney transplant anyway, and afterwards they said they would always be sisters in the heart. The point was, they
liked
each other.

I feel a single tear roll down my cheek and brush it away crossly. There’s no point getting upset. I’ve been an only child all my life . . . and now I am again. I only had a sister for a few weeks. It’s not like I got used to it. It’s not like we got attached or anything.

In fact . . . in fact, I’m
glad
this has happened. Who would want Jess for a sister? Not me. No way. I mean, she’s right. We have absolutely nothing in common. We don’t understand one thing about each other. We should have realized it was a mistake right from the word go.

Abruptly I get to my feet, open my suitcases, and start throwing in my clothes. I’ll spend the night here, then head back to London first thing in the morning. I can’t waste any more time. I’ve got a life to get back to. I’ve got a husband.

At least . . . I think I’ve got a husband.

As my mind flashes back to the last time I saw Luke I feel a hollow dread in my stomach. He’s probably still furious with me. He’s probably having a terrible time in Cyprus and cursing me every moment. I hesitate halfway through folding up a jumper. Just the thought of going back and facing him makes me feel a bit sick. But then my chin stiffens and I throw the jumper into the case. So what if things with Luke are shaky? I don’t need some crummy sister to help me save my marriage. I’ll sort it out myself. Maybe I’ll buy a book. There must be one called
How to Save Your Year-Old Marriage
.

I cram in all the souvenirs I bought at Jim’s shop, sit on the lid of my lime green case, and snap it shut. That’s it. The end.

Just then there’s a knock. “Hello?”

Edie puts her head round the door. “You’ve got a visitor,” she says. “Downstairs.”

I feel an immediate flicker of hope.

“Really?” I scramble to my feet. “I’m just coming!”

“I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you of the rules.” Edie’s booming voice follows me as I run down the stairs. “No visitors after eleven o’clock. If there’s any carousing I’ll have to call the authorities.”

I jump down the last few steps and hurry into the little sitting room. “Hi!”

I stop dead in my tracks. It’s not Jess. It’s Robin. And Jim. And a couple of other people from the meeting. I can see a few glances flying about.

“Hi, Becky,” says Robin, taking a step toward me. “Are you OK?”

“Er . . . yes. I’m fine, thanks.”

Oh God. This is a pity visit. Maybe they’re worried I’m going to slash my wrists or something. As Robin takes breath to speak again, I cut in.

“Really. Everybody. You don’t need to worry about me. It’s very sweet of you to be concerned. But I’ll be all right. I’m just going to go to bed, and catch the train home tomorrow, and . . . just take it from there.”

“Er . . . that’s not why we’re here,” says Robin, ruffling his hair awkwardly. “We wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Right.”

“We wondered . . . all of us . . . if you’d help us with the protest.” He looks about as though for support, and everyone nods.

“
Help
you?” I stare back, bewildered. “But . . . I don’t know anything about it. Jess was right.” Even the memory is painful. “I was making it all up. I don’t even know about hedgehogs.”

“Doesn’t matter,” says Robin. “You’ve got loads of ideas, and that’s what we need. You’re right. We
should
think big. And Jim likes the idea of the party. Don’t you, Jim?”

“If it gets folk into the shop before four o’clock, it can’t be bad,” says Jim.

“You’ve got experience with these kind of events,” chimes in the white-haired man who challenged me at the meeting. “You know how to go about it. We don’t.”

“When you left the meeting we had a quick straw poll,” says Robin. “And it was practically unanimous. We’d like to invite you onto the action committee. Everyone’s waiting back at the hall, to hear.”

All their faces are so warm and friendly, I feel tears pricking at my eyes.

“I can’t.” I look away. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. There’s no need for me to be in Scully anymore. I’ve got to get back to London.”

“Why’s that, then?” says Jim.

“I have . . . things to do,” I say. “Commitments. You know.”

“What commitments would they be?” Jim says mildly. “You don’t have a job. Your husband’s abroad. Your flat’s empty.”

This is why you shouldn’t pour out your entire sob story to people you’ve just met. I gaze at Edie’s pink and purple swirly carpet, trying to get my thoughts straight. Then I raise my head.

“What does Jess think about all this?”

I look around the group, but no one replies. Robin won’t quite meet my eyes. The white-haired man is gazing at the ceiling. Jim just has that same sad expression he had at the village hall.

“I bet she’s the only one who voted against me, isn’t she?” I try to smile, but my voice wobbles.

“Jess has . . . certain opinions,” begins Robin. “But she doesn’t have to come into it—”

“She
does
! Of course she does! She’s the whole reason I’m here! Look, I’m sorry. But I can’t come on your committee. I hope your protest goes really well . . . but I can’t stay.”

I can see Robin drawing breath to speak again.

“I can’t.” I look directly at Jim. “You have to understand. I can’t.”

And I can see it in his eyes. He does understand.

“Fair enough,” he says at last. “It was worth a try.” He nods at the others as though to say “It’s over.”

They awkwardly murmur goodbyes and good lucks and file out of the little room. The front door bangs shut and I’m left alone, feeling flatter than ever.

When I wake up the next morning the sky is dark and swollen with gray clouds. Edie serves me a full English breakfast complete with black pudding, but I manage only a cup of tea. I pay her with the rest of my cash, then head upstairs to get ready to leave. Out the window I can just see the hills in the distance, stretching into the mist.

I’ll probably never see those hills again. Which is fine by me, I think defiantly. I hate the country. I never wanted to be here in the first place.

I put the last of my things in my red case, then decide to change into my turquoise kitten heels with diamanté straps. They always make me feel cheerful. As I step into them I feel something small and nubby under my toes and reach down, puzzled. I pull out a small wrapped object and look at it in sudden realization.

It’s the bean. It’s the silver Tiffany bean necklace that I was going to give Jess, still in its little blue bag.

God, that seems a lifetime ago.

I shove it into my pocket, then pick up my cases and stripy hatbox and head downstairs, passing the pay phone in the hall.

Maybe I should call Luke. . . . But then, what’s the point?

Edie’s nowhere to be seen, so I just pull the door of the bed-and-breakfast closed behind me and trundle my cases across the green to the shop. I want to say goodbye to Jim before I leave.

As I push open the door with its familiar tinkle, Jim looks up from pricing cans of beans. He sees my suitcases and gives a resigned nod.

“So you’re off.”

“Yes. I’m off.”

“Don’t go!” Kelly says mournfully from behind the counter, where she has
Julius Caesar
propped up behind
100 Hot Hair Styles
.

“I have to.” I put my cases down. “But I’ve got some more Stila stuff for you. A goodbye present.”

As I hand her a selection of lip glosses and eye glazes, her face lights up.

“I’ve got a present for you too, Becky,” she says abruptly. She pulls a friendship bracelet off her wrist and hands it to me. “So you won’t forget me.”

I’m unable to speak. The simple plaited band in my hand is just like the bracelets Luke and I were given in the Masai Mara ceremony. Luke took his off when he went back to corporate life.

I’ve still got mine on.

“That’s . . . fab.” I rouse myself and smile. “I’ll always wear it.” I slip it onto my wrist and give Kelly a tight hug.

“I wish you weren’t going.” Kelly’s bottom lip sticks out. “Will you ever come back to Scully?”

“I don’t know,” I say after a pause. “I don’t think so. But listen, if you ever come to London, give me a call. OK?”

“OK.” Kelly brightens. “Can we go to Topshop?”

“Of course!”

“Should I start saving now?” Jim says ruefully, and we both start giggling.

A tinkle at the door interrupts us and we all look up to see Edie walking into the shop in her green head scarf, together with Lorna and the well-dressed lady from the night before. They’re all looking exceedingly self-conscious.

“Edie!” says Jim, glancing at his watch in surprise. “What can I do for you?”

“Morning, Jim,” says Edie, avoiding his eye. “I’d like some bread, please. A wholemeal and a bloomer.”

“Bread?” says Jim, looking dumbfounded. “But Edie . . . it’s ten o’clock in the morning.”

“I know the time, thank you,” she retorts stiffly.

“But . . . it’s full price.”

“I’d like some bread,” she snaps. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Of . . . course not!” says Jim, still looking dazed. He gets down the loaves and wraps them in paper. “That’ll be . . . one pound ninety-six.”

There’s a pause, and I can hear Edie breathe in sharply. Then she rummages in her bag for her purse and unclips it.

“Two pounds,” she says, handing over the coins. “Much obliged.”

I do not believe it. Kelly and I just sit there, goggling in silence, as the other two women buy three loaves of bread and a bag of sandwich rolls between them. Lorna even throws in a couple of Chelsea buns at the last moment.

As the door closes behind them, Jim sinks down onto his stool.

“Well. Who would have thought it?” He shakes his head in wonder, then points at me. “That’s you, Becky.”

“It’s not
me,
” I say, flushing a little. “They probably just needed bread.”

“It was you!” says Kelly. “It was what you said! Mum told me all about the meeting,” she adds. “She said you seemed a nice girl, even if you were a bit—”

“Kelly,” Jim puts in quickly. “Why don’t you make Becky a cup of tea?”

“No, it’s OK. I’m going.” I hesitate, then reach into my pocket and pull out the little Tiffany bag. “Jim, I wanted to ask you a favor. Could you give this to Jess? It’s something I bought for her a while ago. I know everything’s different now . . . but still.”

“I’m heading up to her house just now, to take a delivery,” says Jim. “Why not leave it there yourself?”

“Oh.” I shrink back. “No. I . . . I don’t want to see her.”

“She won’t be there. They’ve all gone off for the endurance hike. I’ve got a key to her house.”

“Oh, right.” I hesitate.

“I could do with the company,” Jim adds with a shrug, and picks up a sack of potatoes.

“Well . . .” I put the Tiffany bag back in my pocket. “OK. I’ll come.”

The clouds are growing thicker as we walk along the empty streets, and I can feel spots of rain on my face. I’m aware of Jim shooting me the odd concerned glance.

“You’ll be all right, back in London?” he says eventually.

“I guess.”

“Have you spoken to your husband?”

“No.” I bite my lip. “I haven’t.”

Jim pauses, and transfers his potatoes to the other shoulder.

“So,” he says easily. “How did a nice girl like you end up with a marriage in trouble?”

“It’s my own fault. I did some . . . stupid things. And my husband got really angry. He said . . . he said he wished I were more like Jess.”

“Did he?” Jim looks a bit taken aback. “I mean, Jess is a fine lass,” he hastily amends. “But I wouldn’t have . . . anyway, that’s not here or there.” He coughs and rubs his nose.

“That’s why I came up here. To learn from her. But it was a stupid idea.”

We’ve reached the end of Jess’s street, and Jim pauses for a rest before climbing the steep incline. The gray stone houses are glistening in the drizzle, stark against the distant misty hills. I can just see a flock of sheep grazing high up, like dots of cotton wool on the green.

“Too bad about you and Jess,” says Jim, and he does sound genuinely sorry. “It’s a shame, that is.”

“It’s just one of those things.” I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “I should have known all along. We’re so different.”

“You’re different, all right.” His face crinkles in amusement.

“She just seems so . . .
cold
.” I hunch my shoulders, feeling a familiar resentment rising. “You know, I made every effort. I really did. But she never showed any pleasure . . . or feelings, even. She doesn’t seem to care about anything! She doesn’t seem to have any passions!”

Jim seems surprised.

“Oh . . . Jess has got passions,” he says. “She’s got passions, all right. When we get to the house, I’ll show you something.”

He picks up the sack of potatoes and we resume walking up the hill. As we get nearer Jess’s house, I start to feel tiny prickles of curiosity. Not that she’s anything to do with me anymore, but still.

As we reach the door, Jim roots in his pocket for a large key ring, selects a Yale key, and unlocks it. I walk into the hall and look around. But the place doesn’t give much away. It’s a bit like Jess herself. Two tidy sofas in the sitting room. A plain white kitchen. A couple of well-tended potted plants.