Shopaholic to the Stars

by Sophie Kinsella

  Oh God, I don’t know what I wish.

  ‘Anyway, there’s my father to think about,’ I point out, relieved to have another reason to grab on to. ‘I can’t just leave him with no warning.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Luke has retreated into his detached, everyday mood. ‘Oh, I meant to tell you. Your mother called me. She asked what’s going on. Apparently you didn’t ring her back yesterday?’

  I feel another guilty twinge. My mum’s left so many messages on my phone, I can’t keep track of them any more.

  ‘I’ll call her. She’s just stressing about my dad. She can’t stop.’

  ‘Well, she’s got a point,’ says Luke dryly. ‘What’s up with your father? Why is he here, anyway? Have you got to the bottom of it?’

  ‘Not yet,’ I admit. ‘I haven’t had a chance to talk to him.’

  ‘You haven’t had a chance?’ says Luke incredulously. ‘He’s staying with us, for God’s sake!’

  ‘I’ve been really busy!’ I say, stung. ‘I had my filming this morning, and I had to prepare for it, and I’ve got to put together some looks for Sage now … I’ve been frantic. And it doesn’t help that he went out with Tarquin and got drunk! They made no sense at all when they got in last night.’

  ‘Well, I’d talk to him when you have a chance.’

  ‘I will. I’m totally planning to. Is he here?’

  Luke shakes his head. ‘I haven’t seen him. Or Tarkie. They must have gone out.’ He glances at his watch. ‘I must get some things ready. See you later.’ He kisses me briefly and heads out. I slump into a chair, feeling totally and utterly deflated.

  So far, today has been pretty much the opposite of what I hoped. I thought I’d do an amazing TV interview. I thought I’d arrive back from the studios in clouds of glory. I thought Luke would be waiting, proud and beaming, maybe toasting me with champagne. My phone bleeps with a text and I reach for it despondently. It’s probably Luke saying, And by the way, your outfit looked crap, too.

  But it’s not from Luke. It’s from Elinor.

  I sit bolt upright, my heart suddenly beating fast. Elinor. I open the text and read the message:

  Dear Rebecca, I have arrived in Los Angeles.

  Oh my God. She’s here? Already?

  A moment later, a whole load more text appears:

  I look forward to my meeting with Luke and I trust you have prepared the ground with him. Perhaps you could contact me at your earliest convenience. I am staying at the Biltmore. Kind regards, Elinor Sherman.

  That’s so Elinor. She writes texts as though she’s using a quill pen on parchment.

  I read the message through a few more times, trying not to panic. It’s fine. It’s all fine. I can handle this. In fact, this is good timing. This could be the answer to everything. Luke and I need to clear the air; Luke and Elinor need to clear the air; everyone needs to clear the air. We need one big honest, cathartic session, and then everyone will be a lot happier.

  Maybe this will even bring me and Luke together. He’ll realize that I do care about more than being on the red carpet. He’ll realize that, all this time, I’ve been thinking about his welfare and happiness. And then he’ll be sorry for calling me shallow. (OK, maybe he didn’t actually call me shallow. But he thought it, I know he did.)

  I haven’t prepared any ground with Luke, but how can I? If I mention Elinor’s name he just shuts down. The best thing is just to get them in the same room and lock the door. That’s what you do with interventions: you take people by surprise.

  What I have done is write a letter. Because that’s the other thing you do with interventions. You write down all the ways in which the individual is hurting you by their behaviour, and you read it out and they say, ‘My God, now I understand,’ and immediately give up alcohol/drugs/rifts with family members. (Well, that’s the idea.)

  I’ll buy some candles and some calming room spray, and … what else? Maybe we should all chant first. I did a brilliant chanting class at Golden Peace, except I never quite learned what words we were supposed to be saying. So I usually just chanted ‘Pra-daaaaa …’ over and over. No one seemed to notice.

  And maybe I should coach Elinor. Because if she arrives and gives Luke that icy look and says, ‘You need a haircut,’ then we might as well not bother.

  I consider for a moment, then type a reply:

  Dear Elinor, I will be glad to meet you later today. Perhaps we could have tea together before seeing Luke in the evening. Shall we say 3 p.m.?

  I’ve sent it before I realize that I have no idea where to have tea in LA. In London it’s easy. You can’t move for teapots and silver tiered plate stands and scones with cream slathered on them. But in LA?

  I think for a second then text Aran:

  Do you know the best place to have afternoon tea in LA?

  Immediately his reply pings back:

  Sure. The Purple Tea Room. Latest place. Always booked up. Shall I get you a reservation?

  After a few more texts it’s all set up. I’m meeting Elinor at 3 p.m. and we’ll talk everything through. And then she’ll come here to see Luke at 7 p.m., and I guess we’ll take it from there.

  The trouble with Luke is, he’s so stubborn. He’s decided he hates his mother and that’s it. But if he only knew. If he’d only give her a chance. Elinor may have done all kinds of terrible things when he was growing up, but while we were planning his birthday party I saw how much she regrets it. I saw how much she wants to make amends. I even saw how much she loves him, in her own chilly, Vulcan weirdo way. And the thing is, she won’t live for ever, will she? Does Luke really want to be estranged from his own flesh and blood?

  As I’m gazing through the kitchen window, Suze’s car turns into the drive, and I watch her park carefully under a tree. Thank God. Suze will help me. I haven’t seen Suze properly for ages, I realize. I’ve missed her. What’s she been up to? Where was she last night?

  I’m about to yell ‘Suze!’ out of the kitchen window when, to my surprise, the front passenger door opens and two long legs in capri leggings emerge, followed by a sinewy body and unmistakable blonde hair.

  I stare, discomfited. It’s Alicia. What’s Suze doing with Alicia?

  Suze is just in jeans and a black top, but as usual, Alicia is wearing an amazing yoga outfit. There are slits in the side of her orange top and I can see her tanned, lean torso. Urgh. She’s such a show-off. The two are talking earnestly. Then to my horror, Suze leans forward and gives Alicia a big hug. Alicia is patting her back and seems to be talking soothingly. I feel outraged at the sight. In fact, I almost feel sick. Suze and Alicia Bitch Long-legs? Hugging each other? How can she?

  Suze turns and heads towards the house, and a moment later I hear her key in the lock.

  ‘Suze!’ I call, and I hear her turn her footsteps towards the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, hi.’ She stands in the doorway, but doesn’t rush up or smile, or anything normal. She looks strained. She’s clutching on to the door frame and I can see the tendons in her hand standing out.

  ‘How was the TV?’ she says, as though she really couldn’t care less. ‘Are you even more famous now?’

  ‘It was fine. Suze, where on earth have you been? Were you out last night with Alicia?’

  ‘Yes I was – but why do you care?’ she says, with a taut little smile. ‘If you’re lonely, why not hang out with Sage? Or you must have some celebrity event you should be at, surely?’

  ‘Don’t be like that!’ I say, feeling hurt. ‘I need you. Guess what’s happened. Elinor’s arrived, and I’ve got to stage my intervention, and I’m not nearly ready, and—’

  ‘Bex, I really don’t care.’ Suze cuts me off roughly. ‘I have other things to worry about. In fact, I’m just here to pick up a couple of things and then I have to go.’ She turns on her heel and I hurry after her.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I demand, following her up the stairs.

  ‘To Golden Peace.’

  ‘Is that why you’re with Alicia?’
I try not to let myself sound resentful, but I can’t help it. ‘I saw you with her. I saw her hugging you.’

  ‘I expect you did.’

  ‘You were hugging Alicia Bitch Long-legs? On purpose?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Again, Suze couldn’t sound less interested. She grabs a jacket and puts it in her tote bag, followed by a set of notes that look like they’re in Tarquin’s handwriting. ‘OK, I’m off.’ She pushes past me and strides out of the room.

  I stare after her, mortified. She’s behaving as though I don’t exist. What’s wrong?

  ‘Suze!’ I run down the stairs behind her. ‘Listen. What time will you be back? Because I’d really like to talk. Things haven’t been great with Luke, and now Elinor’s here, and it’s going to be really tricky, and I’m just feeling a bit—’

  ‘Things haven’t been great with Luke?’ She wheels round, her blue eyes suddenly blazing with anger, and I take a step back in alarm. ‘You know what, Bex? Things haven’t been great with Tarquin, either! But you weren’t interested in that, were you? So why should I be interested in your stupid problems?’

  For a moment I’m too shocked to reply. She looks livid. In fact, she looks in a terrible state. Her eyes are bloodshot, I now notice. Has something happened that I don’t know about?

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I say anxiously.

  ‘I’m talking about the fact that he’s been taken away from me by that evil man,’ she says, trembling. ‘I’m talking about the fact that he’s been brainwashed.’

  She’s not still on about that, is she?

  ‘Suze,’ I say as patiently as I can. ‘Bryce’s not evil—’

  ‘You don’t get it, Bex!’ Suze explodes. ‘They’ve fired him!’

  ‘What?’ I gape at her.

  ‘The wellbeing committee think he’s introduced unhealthy practices into Golden Peace. They’re really worried. They want Tarkie to come into Golden Peace and tell them what’s been going on in all those one-to-one sessions. I’m going to see an expert on cults today. He’s going to advise me. I’m on my way there right now with Alicia. She’s been totally supportive and brilliant,’ she adds tremulously. ‘In fact, it was Alicia who alerted her husband and pushed for Bryce to get fired.’

  I’m speechless with shock. My head’s spinning with all this new information. Bryce fired? Alicia brilliant? Tarquin brainwashed?

  ‘Suze,’ I falter at last. ‘Suze, I had no idea—’

  ‘Of course you didn’t,’ she says with an edge which makes me flinch. ‘You were too busy choosing clutch bags.’

  ‘That was for work,’ I say defensively. ‘It wasn’t fun!’

  ‘Oh, yes, work. I forgot.’ She sounds even more scathing. ‘Your super new career which we all have to tiptoe around because you’re famous. Well, I hope you’re enjoying your dream, Becky. I’ll just get on with sorting out my nightmare.’ She reaches for her car keys, her hands shaking.

  ‘Suze!’ I say in horror. ‘Wait! Look, let’s have a cup of tea …’

  ‘It’s beyond a cup of tea!’ she almost shrieks. ‘Don’t you get that? No, of course you don’t. Luckily I had Alicia. She’s been amazing. So helpful and so kind …’ Suze’s voice gives a sudden wobble. ‘I knew something was wrong, I knew it …’

  I gaze at Suze, stricken. I’ve never felt so bad in all my life. This is all my fault. I introduced Tarquin to Golden Peace, I didn’t listen when Suze was worried …

  ‘I’m so sorry …’ I swallow. ‘I didn’t realize … Suze, whatever I can do to help I’ll do …’ I move forward to give her a hug, but she bats me off.

  ‘I have to go. Alicia’s waiting.’

  ‘Where’s Tarkie?’

  ‘I don’t know. With Bryce, I should think. Being told a load of vile rubbish.’ She opens the front door but I jam a foot across it.

  ‘Suze, please,’ I say desperately. ‘Tell me. What can I do?’

  Suze surveys me silently, and for one hopeful moment I think she’s going to relent and treat me like her oldest, best friend again. But then, with a weary sigh, she shakes her head.

  ‘No, Bex. You deal with your problems. I’ll deal with mine.’

  She’s gone. I peep through the little side window, staying out of sight. I can see her hurrying to the car. I can see her face relaxing as she calls something to Alicia. My throat is tight and there’s a hotness in my chest.

  The car moves off down the drive and I press my head against the window, breathing a cloud on to the glass. What’s happening to my life? Ever since that awards evening when everything kicked off, I’ve felt like I’m living in a kaleidoscope. It’s whizzing around, making different patterns every moment, and as soon I get used to one, it shifts again. Why can’t things stay the same for just one second?

  The electric gates are slowly shutting. The car’s gone. My heart feels full to bursting, except I’m not sure what it’s most full of: stress about Luke, worry for Tarkie, longing for Suze to come back, or hatred for Alicia. Because I don’t care what Suze says – I don’t believe Alicia’s changed. She plays games. If she’s being nice and supportive to Suze now, it’s only because she wants to damage her in some way later. She’s got some poisonous plan up her sleeve, I know it. And Suze trusts her more than me … Suze likes her more than me …

  Tears are welling up in my eyes and one suddenly trickles down my nose. Another is following it as my phone rings, and I hastily wipe them both away as I answer.

  ‘Aran! Hi! How are you?’

  ‘Hey, babe,’ comes his easy voice. ‘I hear you’re styling Sage for the Big Top premiere. Congratulations, that’s pretty big!’

  ‘Thanks!’ I try to sound as bright as I can. ‘I’m so excited!’

  ‘Did you tell Luke? Is he psyched?’

  ‘Kind of,’ I say after a pause.

  Not only is he not psyched, I want to say miserably, he isn’t even a tiny bit proud. He thinks I should fire the bodyguards. He won’t eat grain soup. He doesn’t want to be an A-lister. I mean, if you don’t want to be an A-lister, why come to Hollywood in the first place?

  ‘Well, guess who wants to meet you at the premiere? Nenita Dietz.’

  ‘No!’ I gasp. ‘Nenita Dietz has heard of me?’

  In spite of everything, my spirits rocket up. I spent that whole stupid studio tour trying to find Nenita Dietz. And now she’s trying to find me!

  ‘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, darli
ng, 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.