Shopaholic And Sister Part 37

"Er . . . yes."

"Emily Masters has got Stila lip gloss," she says wistfully. "She thinks she's all that."

I look at her lit-up eyes and flushed cheeks, and suddenly I want to be thirteen again. Going to the shops on Sat.u.r.day to spend my allowance. With nothing to worry about except biology homework and whether James Fullerton fancied me.

"Look . . . have this," I say, scrabbling in my makeup bag for a brand-new Stila lip gloss in grapefruit. "I'm never going to use it."

"Really?" Kelly gasps. "Are you sure?"

"And do you want this cream blusher?" I hand over the box. "Not that you need blusher . . ."

"Wow!"

"Now, wait just a moment," comes Jim's voice from across the shop. "Kelly, you can't take this lady's makeup off her." He shakes his head at her. "Give them back, love."

"She offered, Dad!" says Kelly, her translucent skin staining pink. "I didn't ask for them or anything-"

"Honestly, Jim. Kelly can have them. I'm never going to use them. I only bought them in the first place because you got a free perfume if you spent over eighty quid. . . ."

Suddenly tears spring up in my eyes again. G.o.d, Jess is right. I'm a total flake.

"Are you OK?" says Kelly in alarm. "Have them back-"

"No, I'm fine." I force a smile. "I just need to . . . think about something else."

I dab my eyes with a tissue, get to my feet, and wander over to the gift display. I might as well get some souvenirs while I'm here. I pick up a pipe rack for Dad and a painted wooden tray which Mum will like. I'm just looking at a gla.s.s model of Lake Windermere and wondering whether to get it for Janice, when I notice two women standing outside the window. As I watch, they're joined by a third.

"What are they waiting for?" I say in puzzlement.

"This," says Jim. He looks at his watch, then puts out a sign reading TODAY'S BREAD HALF PRICE.

Immediately the women come bustling into the shop.

"I'll take two bloomers, please, Jim," says one with metal-gray hair and a beige mac. "Have you any reduced croissants?"

"Not today," says Jim. "All full price."

"Oh . . ." She thinks for a moment. "No, I won't bother."

"I'll take three large wholemeal," chimes in the second woman. She's wearing a green head scarf and holding a big brown handbag. "Who's this?" She jerks her thumb at me. "We saw you crying on the green. Are you a tourist?"

"They always get themselves lost," says the first woman. "Which hotel are you at, love? Does she speak English? Speke Inglese?"

"She looks Danish," says the third woman knowledgeably. "Who speaks Danish?"

"I'm English," I say. "And I'm not lost. I was upset because . . ." I hesitate, trying to sound matter-of-fact. "Because my marriage is in trouble. And I came up here to ask my sister for help, but she wouldn't give it to me."

"Your sister?" says the woman in the head scarf suspiciously. "Who's your sister?"

"She lives in this village." I take a sip of tea. "She's called Jessica Bertram."

The women look like I've hit them over the head with a hammer. I look around in confusion, to see Jim's jaw has dropped by about a foot.

"You're Jess's sister?" he says.

"Well . . . yes. I am. Her half sister."

I look around the shop, but no one's moved. Everyone is still gaping at me as if I'm an alien.

"I know we're a bit different to look at . . ." I begin.

"She said you were mad," says Kelly bluntly.

"Kelly!" says Jim.

"What?" I look from face to face. "She said what?"

"Nothing!" says Jim, darting a warning look at Kelly.

"We all knew she was going to see her long-lost sister," says Kelly, ignoring him. "And when she came back, she said you were crazy and lived in a fantasy world. I'm sorry, Dad, but it's true!"

I can feel my cheeks growing bright red.

"I'm not crazy!" I say. "I'm normal! I'm just . . . a bit different from Jess. We like different things. She likes rocks. I like . . . shops."

"Are you not interested in rocks, then?" says the woman with the green head scarf.

"Not really," I admit. "In fact . . . that was a bit of an issue between us."

"What happened?" Kelly asks, clearly rapt.

"Well . . ." I scuff my foot awkwardly on the floor. "I told Jess I'd never heard of a more boring hobby than rocks in my life, and that it suited her."

There's a universal gasp of incredulity.

"You don't want to be rude about rocks to Jess," says the beige-mac woman, shaking her head. "She loves those rocks of hers, bless her."

"Jess is a good girl," chimes in the greenhead-scarf woman, giving me a stern look. "St.u.r.dy. Reliable. She'd make a fine sister."

"Couldn't hope for better," agrees the third woman, pulling her cable-knit cardigan around her.

Their looks make me feel defensive.

"It's not my fault! I want to reconcile with her! But she isn't interested in being my sister! I just don't know how it all went wrong. I so wanted to be friends. I arranged this whole weekend for her, but she didn't like any of it. And she was so disapproving. We ended up having a huge row . . . and I called her all sorts of things. . . ."

"What things?" Kelly asks avidly.

"Well . . ." I rub my nose. "I said she was a misery. I said she was really boring. . . ."

There's another huge gasp. Kelly raises a hand as though to stop me, but I don't want to stop. This is cathartic. Now I've started, I want to confess everything.

". . . and the most skinflint person I'd ever met in my life." I'm goaded by their appalled faces. It's like I'm on the crest of a roller coaster. "With zero dress sense, who must have had a fun bypa.s.s operation-"

I realize there's a tinkling sound in the air. A tinkling sound which, now that I think about it, has been going on for a few seconds. Cold to the core, I turn round.

Jess is standing in the doorway, her face pale.

"Jess!" I stammer. "G.o.d, Jess! I wasn't . . . I didn't mean any of . . . I was just explaining. . . ."

"I heard you were in here," she says, speaking with an obvious struggle. "I came to see if you were OK. To see if you wanted a bed for the night. But . . . I think I've changed my mind." She looks directly at me. "I knew you were shallow and spoiled, Becky. I didn't realize you were a two-faced b.i.t.c.h as well."

She turns and strides out, closing the door behind her with a bang.

Kelly is bright red; Jim's looking anywhere but me. The whole atmosphere is p.r.i.c.kling with awkwardness.

Then the woman in the green head scarf folds her arms.

"Well," she says. "You b.u.g.g.e.red that one up, didn't you, love?"

I'm in a state of total shock.

I came up here to reconcile with Jess-and all I've done is made things worse.

"Here you are, love," says Jim, placing a fresh mug of tea in front of me. "Three sugars."

The three women are all drinking cups of tea too. Jim's introduced them to me as Edie (green head scarf), Lorna (metal-gray hair), and Bea (cable-knit cardigan) and has even produced a cake. I get the feeling they're all waiting for me to do something else to entertain them.

"I'm not a two-faced b.i.t.c.h," I say in despair. "Honestly! I'm nice! I came here to build bridges! I mean, I know Jess and I don't get along. But I wanted to learn from her. I thought she could help me save my marriage. . . ."

There's a sharp intake of breath around the shop.

"Is her marriage in trouble as well?" Edie says to Jim, and clicks her tongue. "Dear, oh, dear."

"It never rains but it pours," booms Lorna lugubriously. "Run off with a fancy woman, has he?"

Jim glances at me, then leans toward the women, lowering his voice.

"Apparently he's gone to Cyprus with a man called Nathan."

"Oh." Edie's eyes open very wide. "Oh, I see."

"What are you going to do, Becky?" says Kelly, biting her lip.

Go home, flashes through my mind. Give up.

But I keep seeing Jess's pale face in my mind, and feeling a little stab in my heart. I know just what it's like to be b.i.t.c.hed about. I've known enough horrible b.i.t.c.hes in my time. An image comes to me of Alicia b.i.t.c.h Long-legs, the meanest, snidest girl I ever knew.

I can't bear it if my own sister thinks I'm like her.

"I have to apologize to Jess," I say, looking up. "I know we'll never be friends. But I can't go home with her thinking the worst of me." I take a sip of scalding tea, then look up. "Is there anywhere I can stay around here?"

"Edie runs a bed-and-breakfast," says Jim. "Got any rooms free, Edie?"

Edie reaches into her huge brown bag, then brings out a notebook and consults it.

"You're in luck," she says, looking up. "I've one deluxe single left."

"Edie'll take good care of you," Jim says, so kindly that I feel ridiculous tears welling up again.

"Could I take it for tonight, please?" I say, wiping my eyes. "Thank you very much." I take another sip of tea, then notice my mug. It's blue pottery with Scully handpainted on it in white. "This is nice," I say with a gulp. "Do you sell them?"

"On the rack at the back," says Jim, looking at me with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Could I have two? I mean, four?" I reach for a tissue and blow my nose. "And I just want to say . . . thank you. You're all being so nice."

The bed-and-breakfast is a large white house directly across the green. Jim carries my suitcases and I carry my hatbox and my carrier bag full of souvenirs, and Edie follows behind me, giving me a list of rules I have to keep.

"No gentleman visitors after eleven . . . no parties of more than three people in the room . . . no abuse of solvents or aerosol cans . . . payment in advance, cash or check accepted, much obliged," she concludes as we reach the lit-up door.

"All right from here, Becky?" says Jim, putting my cases down.

"I'll be fine. And thank you so much," I say, feeling so grateful, I half-want to give him a kiss. But I don't quite dare to-so I just watch as he walks off across the gra.s.s again.

"Much obliged," repeats Edie meaningfully.

"Oh!" I say, realizing she means she wants to be paid. "Absolutely!"

I scrabble inside my bag for my purse, and my fingers brush against my mobile phone. From force of habit I pull it out and peer at the display. But there's still no signal.

"You can use the pay phone in the hall if there's anyone you want to call," says Edie. "We have a pull-down privacy hood."

Is there anyone I want to call?

With a twinge I think of Luke in Cyprus, still furious with me; Mum and Dad engrossed in a therapy workshop on their cruise; and Suze, picnicking on some picturesque sun-dappled lawn with Lulu and all their children in cute overalls.

"No. It's OK," I say, trying to smile. "I haven't got anyone to call. To be honest . . . no one will have even noticed I've gone."