Home > Christmas Shopaholic (Shopaholic #9)(3)

Christmas Shopaholic (Shopaholic #9)(3)
Author: Sophie Kinsella

Mum and Dad are thrilled, too, because 1. Letherby isn’t too far from Oxshott, where they live, and 2. our rented house has off-street parking. Off-street parking is, like, my parents’ religion. That and double glazing. And “good quality” curtains.

(Though Mum and I don’t exactly agree on what “good quality” curtains means. We discovered this when she dragged me to a curtain exchange place and tried to make me buy some wadded blue flowery curtains, which were “a fraction of what they’d cost new, Becky, love, a fraction.” At last I said, “Actually, I might get blinds,” and she looked devastated and said, “But these are such good quality!” and I said, “But they’re gross.” Which I shouldn’t have done.)

(I mean, it was fine. Mum was only offended for about half an hour. And every time I visit her, I say, “Those curtains look great in the spare room, Mum, and the matching duvet is gorgeous.”)

As we pull up in front of Suze’s massive front door, Minnie starts wriggling with excitement. She loves having sleepovers with Suze’s children so much, I almost get offended. I mean, what’s wrong with home?

“Wilfie!” she’s already yelling, as he appears in the drive. “Wilfie! I’m here, I’m here! Let’s play monter tucks!”

“Monter tucks” is Minnie-talk for “monster trucks.” Minnie, Wilfie, and Wilfie’s twin, Clemmie, spend hours happily running monster trucks up and down the endless corridors of Letherby Hall. I’ve even bought Minnie her own truck to keep there.

I’ve also made sure to mention this fact when I write emails to Jess, who’s living in Chile at the moment. Jess and her husband have applied to adopt a child, rather than add to the world’s population problem, and meanwhile Jess is always lecturing me about bringing up Minnie in a gender-neutral way and sending me books called things like The Zero-Carbon Child.

So last week I wrote her an email—I’m really encouraging Minnie in non-gender-aligned play—and attached a photo of Minnie clutching a truck, wearing a pair of Wilfie’s jeans. (She’d fallen in the mud and had to change out of her frilly skirt.) Jess wrote back: That’s sound thinking, Becky, we have to fight the sexist stereotypes, but couldn’t you find trucks crafted from sustainable wood?

I haven’t got back to her about that yet. (I did ask Luke if he could whittle a monster truck for Minnie out of sustainable wood, and he just looked at me.)

Nor have I mentioned to Jess Minnie’s massive collection of dolls and sparkly fairy wings or the way she begs to wear a pink dress every day. Because you don’t have to tell your frugal, vegan, principled sister everything, do you?

I just manage to kiss Minnie goodbye before she hurtles into the house with Wilfie, carrying her little backpack with all her overnight stuff. Next moment, Suze arrives in the drive, wearing yoga leggings and a sweatshirt, her blond hair piled up and secured with a bulldog clip.

“I’ll make sure Minnie’s OK,” says Luke, heading into the house.

“Thanks so much for having her, Suze,” I say as I hug her.

“Anytime!” says Suze. “And give my love to your parents.”

“Of course.” I pause before adding casually, “Hey, Suze. You know how you have that sculpture park bit in the garden here?”

I’ve suddenly remembered the North Lawn at Letherby Hall, which is littered with metal orbs and carved bits of stone and stuff. It’s open to the public and has loads of room in it and is the perfect solution.

“Yes?” Suze looks a bit surprised. “What about it?”

“Well, I wondered if you’d like an art donation?”

“An art donation?” She stares at me.

“Yes, two statues. Very avant-garde,” I add carelessly. “If you can transport them, then you have them for free.”

“Statues?” Suze peers at me in bewilderment—then her face suddenly changes. “Not those two monstrosities in your hall.”

Drat. I didn’t think she’d seen them.

“They’re not monstrosities,” I say defensively. “They’re art. When did you see them, anyway?”

“When I dropped Minnie back home the other day. Bex, they’re vile. Why on earth did you buy them?”

“Because they’re made by a very deserving youth group,” I say loftily. “And I think they have artistic merit, actually.”

“Well, good for you,” says Suze. “I hope you enjoy them. Although if you think they’re so great, why is there a bag over the head of one of them?”

Oh God. I can’t keep up the pretense any longer.

“Suze, please have them,” I beg in a rush. “You’ve got so much room. You could hide them behind a tree, and no one would even see them.”

“No way.” Suze folds her arms. “Just send them back.”

Honestly. Wasn’t she listening?

“I can’t send them back! They were made by a youth group!”

“Well, give them to someone else.”

“Who?” I say desperately.

“Dunno.” Suze shrugs. “But they’re not coming here.”

I’m about to plead their case further when Luke appears out of the house.

“All set?” he says to me.

“What are you wearing?” says Suze, glancing at my navy satin legs. “Is that a new pair of trousers?”

“Jumpsuit,” I say smugly.

“Ooh, I want one of those!” says Suze at once. “Show me!”

I automatically start unbuttoning my coat—then pause.

“It’s a bit…adventurous.”

“Great!” Suze gestures at me to carry on unbuttoning, but my fingers don’t move. For some reason, I’m feeling apprehensive at revealing my whole outfit.

“I mean, it’s quite out there,” I add, playing for time.

“Sounds fab!” says Suze enthusiastically. “Go on, Bex, show me!”

Even Luke is looking interested now.

Ribs are the new cleavage, I remind myself. Then, almost defiantly, I throw open my coat and say, “Ta-daah!”

I feel the November evening air on my chest and silently thank God for my silicone stick-on “mini bra replacements,” although if either of them falls to the floor I will die.

No one seems able to speak. Luke’s jaw has actually dropped. Suze takes a step back, and she blinks about twenty times.

“Wow,” she manages at last. “That’s…”

“Is there a part missing?” inquires Luke, deadpan. “In the front-ish area?”

“No!” I say boldly. “It’s the look.”

“Well, I think you look amazing.” Suze rallies. “It’s really cool, Bex.”

“Thank you. What?” I add, turning to Luke.

“No. Nothing. Great. Let’s go.” His mouth twitches a tiny bit. “I’m sure your parents will be blown away.”

* * *

Luigi’s is one of those lovely warm, cozy restaurants that hit you with the scent of garlic and wine as soon as you enter. Our table is waiting for us—although Mum and Dad aren’t there yet—and as I let my coat slither from my shoulders, I feel insanely cool. This jumpsuit is fantastic. I should get it in every single color! I can see my reflection in the windows as I walk along, and I can’t help shimmying like a model, watching the satin ripple and shine.

I even mentally itemize my outfit as if I’m in a magazine, which is an old habit of mine. Coat: Topshop. Jumpsuit: ASOS. Shoes: See by Chloé. Bracelet: model’s own (can’t remember where I got it).

A teenage girl sitting with her parents is gaping at me, wide-eyed, and I smile kindly back. I remember what it was like to be a suburban teenager, looking enviously at sophisticated women with amazing clothes. An old man nearby splutters his soup as I pass, but he’s probably never even heard of Miranda Kerr, so he doesn’t count.

I have sticky “fashion tape” attaching the jumpsuit to my skin, so I’m not too worried about anything popping out; I’m just loving my fashion-forward moment. As our waiter draws out my chair, I smile at him gracefully before sinking down into it and…

Shit.

Shit. Oh my God.

It gapes. When you sit. It gapes.

To my blood-chilling horror, as soon as I sat down, the satin ripped away from my fashion tape (which is not “fully secure in all emergencies”; they’re liars). The entire neckline has concertina-ed into a kind of horizontal letterbox shape, and you can see my…

Oh God, oh God…

My hands have instinctively grabbed the neckline back into place, but I’ve only got ten fingers. There’s still far too much flesh and tape and silicone on view. The waiter, after one aghast glance at my chest area, hastily dropped the leather-bound menus on the table and backed away. I’m frozen, my whole body stiff with stress. Did anyone notice? Is the entire restaurant staring at me? What do I do now?

I lift my eyes desperately, to see Luke regarding me quizzically.

“Is that the look?” he says. “Sorry, I know I’m not as fashion-literate as I might be.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” I mutter furiously.

It’s a cocktail-party jumpsuit, I’ve realized. Not a sitting-down jumpsuit. They should have made this clear on the website. They should have added a caption: Suitable only for standing/posing with shoulders well back/laughing at witty quips.

“Luke, I need your jacket,” I add in an agitated undertone. “Quick, pass it over.”

“Don’t have one.” He shrugs. “Sorry.”

He what?

“How can you not have a jacket?” I demand. “You always have a jacket!”

“Because you told me not to wear one,” Luke replies calmly.

“What?” I stare at him. “No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did. Last time we went out for supper you said, ‘You always wear a jacket, Luke. It’s so boring. Why don’t you mix it up a bit?’ ”

   
Most Popular
» Magical Midlife Meeting (Leveling Up #5)
» Magical Midlife Love (Leveling Up #4)
» The ​Crown of Gilded Bones (Blood and Ash
» Lover Unveiled (Black Dagger Brotherhood #1
» A Warm Heart in Winter (Black Dagger Brothe
» Meant to Be Immortal (Argeneau #32)
» Shadowed Steel (Heirs of Chicagoland #3)
» Wicked Hour (Heirs of Chicagoland #2)
» Wild Hunger (Heirs of Chicagoland #1)
» The Bromance Book Club (Bromance Book Club
» Crazy Stupid Bromance (Bromance Book Club #
» Undercover Bromance (Bromance Book Club #2)
romance.readsbookonline.com Copyright 2016 - 2024