Shopaholic and Baby s-5

by Sophie Kinsella

  Divorce proceedings? Injunctions? Scandals?

  I can’t reply. My mouth is opening and shutting like a goldfish. Every instinct in my body is on red alert.

  She’s after Luke.

  I watch Luke cleaning his teeth as though with Venetia’s eyes. He’s wearing only pajama bottoms, and he’s still tanned from the summer, and the muscles of his shoulders are rippling faintly as he brushes. Oh God, oh God. Of course she’s after him. He’s good-looking and he owns a multimillion-pound company and they had a romance when they were much younger. Maybe he was her first love and she’s never given her heart to anyone else.

  Maybe she was his first love.

  There’s a hollow kind of feeling in my stomach. Which is ridiculous, bearing in mind how much is in my stomach right now.

  “So!” I try to sound confident and lighthearted. “Do I need to be worried?”

  Luke’s splashing water on his face. “What do you mean?”

  “I…” I can’t bring myself to say it. What am I implying, that I don’t trust him? “She could maybe try going after single men!” I change tack. “Then life wouldn’t be so complicated for her!” I give a small laugh, but as Luke turns, he’s frowning.

  “Venetia’s made some…unwise choices. But none of them were deliberate or out of malice. She’s just a hopeless romantic.”

  He’s defending her. I feel totally wrong-footed.

  A bleep suddenly comes from Luke’s jacket. He comes out of the bathroom, drying his face, and takes his phone out of his pocket.

  “It’s a text from Venetia.” He looks at it and smiles. “Look. It’s a picture of this evening.”

  I take the phone from him and study the display. There’s Venetia, dressed for off duty in long, rangy jeans, a leather jacket, and high, spiky boots. She’s gazing at the camera with a confident smile, her arm round Luke like she owns him.

  Home-wrecker flashes through my brain before I can stop it.

  Well, she’s not wrecking this home. No way. Luke and I have been through a lot over the years, and it’ll take more than some swishy-haired, spiky-heeled doctor to break us up. I’m 110 percent confident.

  INTERNATIONAL OMBUDSMAN

  BANKING AUTHORITY

  Floors 16–18 Percival House Commercial Road London EC1 4UL

  Mrs R Brandon 37 Maida Vale Mansions Maida Vale

  London NW6 0YF

  10 September 2003

  Dear Mrs. Brandon,

  I regret to inform you that your application to found an online bank, “Becky’s Online Bank for Girls,” has been turned down by the committee.

  There were many grounds for the decision, in particular your statement that to run an online bank “you just need a computer and somewhere to put all the money.”

  I wish you success in any further ventures, but suggest that banking is not one of them.

  Yours sincerely,

  John Franklin

  Internet Business Committee

  TEN

  MAYBE I’M NOT 110 percent confident. Maybe just 100 percent.

  Or even…95.

  It’s a few weeks since Luke went out for that evening with Venetia, and my confidence has wobbled ever so slightly. It’s not that anything has happened, exactly. On the surface, Luke and I are as happy as ever and nothing’s wrong. It’s just that…

  Well, OK. Here is my evidence so far:

  1) Luke keeps getting texts and smiling and sending replies straight back. And I know they’re from her. And he never shows them to me.

  2) He’s been out with her three more times. Without me. One time when I’d already arranged to meet Suze, he said he might as well use the evening to see some friends, and it turned out the “friends” was Venetia. Once with all the Cambridge gang at some big fancy dinner with their old tutor, where partners weren’t invited. And once for lunch, which was apparently because she was going to be “right by his office.” Yeah, right. Delivering a baby in an office block?

  That was when we had our teeny row, where I said (very lightly), that wow, he was spending a lot of time with Venetia — maybe too much? Whereupon Luke replied that she was feeling low right now and needed an old friend to talk to. So I said, “Well, I feel low too when you go off partying without me!” And Luke said that meeting up with his old university friends had been the highlight of his year, and it was his chance to switch off and if I came along too, I’d understand. So I said, “I’d come if you’d invite me.” And he said he had invited me, and I said—

  Anyway. We said a few things.

  That’s all the evidence I have. I don’t even know why I’m calling it evidence — it’s not like I think something’s actually going on. I mean…it’s a ludicrous idea. This is Luke I’m talking about. My husband.

  “I can’t believe anything’s happening, Bex.” Suze shakes her head and stirs her raspberry and apricot smoothie. She’s come over for the morning so we can do the gender predictor test, but so far all we’ve done is talk about Luke. Luckily the children are all in the living room, eating sandwiches and watching Teletubbies in a total trance (which Suze let them do only after I swore an oath never, ever to tell Lulu).

  “I can’t believe it either!” I spread my arms wide. “But they see each other all the time, and she’s always texting him, and I have no idea what they talk about….”

  “Did you stake your claim?” Suze takes a bite of chocolate-chip cookie. “Last time you saw her?”

  “Totally! But she didn’t take any notice.”

  “Hmm.” Suze ponders for a while. “Have you thought about going to another doctor?”

  “I keep thinking about it. But I don’t think it would make any difference. She’s already made contact with Luke, hasn’t she? In fact, she’d probably love to get me out of the picture.”

  “And what does Luke say?”

  “Oh well.” I start fiddling with my straw. “He says she’s all lonely and vulnerable since she split up from her boyfriend. He behaves like she’s this poor tragic victim. And he always takes her side. I called her Cruella de Venetia the other day and he got really cross.”

  “Cruella de Venetia.” Suze splutters cookie crumbs over the counter. “That’s good.”

  “It’s not good! We ended up having an argument! She’s this…presence in our life, even though I never see her.”

  “Don’t you have appointments with her?” Suze looks surprised.

  “I have, but the last two times I’ve been to the clinic she was with a client in labor, and I got seen by one of her assistant doctors.”

  “She’s avoiding you.” Suze gives a knowing nod and slurps on her straw, her brow furrowed. “Bex, I know this is a really dreadful thing to suggest…but what about looking at Luke’s texts?”

  “I already have,” I admit.

  “And?” Suze looks agog.

  “They’re in Latin.”

  “Latin?”

  “They both studied Latin at university,” I say resentfully. “It’s their ‘thing.’ I don’t understand a word of it. But I wrote one down.” I reach in my pocket and unfurl a small bit of paper. “This is it.”

  We both look at the words in silence.

  Fac me laetam: mecum hodie bibe!

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” says Suze at last.

  “Nor do I.”

  We both regard the words for a few moments longer, then Suze sighs and pushes the paper back toward me. “Bex, I hate to say it…but you should be on your guard. In fact, you should strike back. If she can spend all this time with Luke, then so can you. When was the last time you did something romantic, just the two of you?”

  “Dunno. Not for ages.”

  “Well, then!” Suze slaps the table triumphantly. “Go to his office and take him out for lunch as a surprise. He’d love that.”

  That’s a good idea. I never want to bother Luke at work, because he’s so busy. But if Venetia can do it, then why can’t I?

  “OK, I’ll try it,” I say, cheering up. �
�And I’ll let you know how it goes. Thanks, Suze.” I drain my smoothie and put my glass down with a flourish. “So.”

  “So.” Suze meets my eyes. “Are you ready?”

  “I think so.” I feel a squirm of nerves. “Let’s go!”

  I pull the gender predictor box toward me along the counter and tug at the plastic wrapping, my hands trembling a little. In a matter of minutes I’ll know. This is almost as exciting as the birth itself!

  I secretly think it’s a boy. Or maybe a girl.

  “Hey, Bex, wait,” says Suze suddenly. “How will you fool Luke?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When they deliver the baby! How will you convince him you didn’t know the sex beforehand?”

  I stop ripping at the plastic. That’s a good point.

  “I’ll just act surprised,” I say at last. “I’m really good at acting — look.” I put on my most astonished expression. “It’s a…boy!”

  Suze pulls a face. “Bex, that was terrible!”

  “I wasn’t ready,” I say hastily. “Let’s try again.” I concentrate for a moment, then gasp. “It’s a girl!”

  Suze is shaking her head and wincing. “Totally fake! Bex, you need to get into your character. You need to use some Method.”

  Oh no. Here we go. Suze went to drama school for a term before university, so she thinks she’s practically Judi Dench. (It wasn’t a real drama school, like RADA. It was a private one where your father pays and you do cooking in the afternoon. But we don’t mention that.)

  “Stand up,” she instructs me. “Do some loosening-up exercises….” She rolls her head around and shakes out her arms. Reluctantly, I copy her. “Now, what’s your motivation?”

  “Fooling Luke,” I remind her.

  “No! Your interior motivation. Your character.” Suze closes her eyes for a moment, as if communing with the spirits. “You’re a new mother. You’re seeing your baby for the first time. You’re delighted…yet surprised…. The sex is not what you expected…. You’ve never been so amazed in your life…. Really feel it….”

  “It’s…a boy!” I clutch at my chest. Suze is whirling her arms at me.

  “More, Bex! Again, with passion!”

  “It’s a boy! My God, it’s a BOY!!!” My voice resounds around the kitchen, and a spoon falls off the counter onto the floor.

  “Hey, that was pretty good!” Suze looks impressed.

  “Really?” I’m panting.

  “Yes! You’ll definitely fool him. Let’s do the test.”

  As I head to the sink for some water, Suze rips the box open and pulls out a syringe.

  “Ooh, look,” she says cheerfully. “You have to have an injection.”

  “An injection?” I look round in dismay.

  “‘The blood test is quick and easy to perform,’” she reads aloud from the leaflet. “‘Simply ask a doctor, nurse, or other qualified person to take a vial of blood from a vein.’ Here’s the needle,” she adds, taking out a plastic box. “I’ll be the doctor.”

  “Right.” I nod, trying to hide my qualms. “Er, Suze…have you ever actually done an injection before?”

  “Oh, yes.” She nods confidently. “I’ve injected a sheep. Come on!” She’s fitting the needle to the syringe. “Roll up your sleeve!”

  A sheep?

  “So, what do we do with the vial of blood?” I ask, playing for time.

  “We send it away to the lab,” says Suze, reaching for the leaflet. “‘Your results will be posted to you in anonymous, discreet packaging. Please expect them within’”—she turns the page—“‘approximately ten to twelve weeks.’”

  What?

  “Ten to twelve weeks?” I grab the leaflet from her. “What good is that? I’ll have had it by then.” I turn the pages over, trying to find some express delivery option, but there isn’t one. At last I give up and subside onto a bar stool in disappointment. “Twelve weeks. There’s no point even doing it!”

  Suze sighs and sits down beside me. “Bex, didn’t you read any of the instructions before you bought this test? Didn’t you find out how it worked?”

  “Well…no,” I admit. “I thought it would be like a pregnancy stick test. With a blue line and a pink line.”

  Stupid rubbishy test. It cost me forty quid too. What a total rip-off. I mean, do they think pregnant women are that desperate to know what sex their baby is? It’s only a few months to wait, for goodness’ sake. And it’s not like it matters. As long as it’s a healthy baby, then really, what is the—

  Suze breaks into my thoughts. “Shall we do the ring test again? See what it says?”

  “Ooh!” I look up, brightening. “Yes, let’s.”

  We do the ring test five times, and decide the odds are 3–2 on it being a boy. So we make a great big list of boys’ names and Suze tries to persuade me to call it Tarquin Wilfrid Susan. Yup. I don’t think so.

  By the time she’s bundled up all the children, fed them lots of fish oil capsules (to counteract the dumbing-down effect of TV), and left, I feel a lot better. She’s right — Luke and I just need to spend a bit more time together. And I’ve thought of a much better plan than taking him out to lunch. I mean, he goes to boring old business lunches all the time. I want to do something different. Something romantic.

  So the next day at work, I phone down to the Food Hall and order a picnic basket of all Luke’s favorite food. I’ve already checked with Mel, his assistant, and he hasn’t got any appointments booked for lunchtime. (I didn’t tell her why I was asking, because there’s no way she’d keep it secret.) My plan is to surprise him and have a picnic lunch in his office and it’ll be all intimate and lovely! I’ve even got them to put in a bottle of champagne, a checked cloth, and a plastic “picnic” candelabra from Homewares, just to set the scene.

  As I set off for Luke’s office at lunchtime I’m feeling quite excited. It’s been ages since we did something spontaneous like this! Plus I haven’t been to Brandon Communications for weeks, and I’m looking forward to seeing everyone. There’s been the most amazing buzz at the company, ever since they won the Arcodas pitch. The Arcodas Group is so huge, and so different from all the financial clients they normally deal with, it’s been the biggest challenge they’ve ever faced. (I know this from helping Luke write his motivational speeches.)

  But then, what is life without new adventures and new dreams? Brandon Communications is the best in the business, stronger and more dynamic every year, thriving on new enterprises. Together they can take on any challenge, meet it, and conquer it. As a team. As a family. (I wrote that bit.)

  I arrive at the offices just before one, and sidle across the marble foyer to Karen, the receptionist. She’s talking to her colleague Dawn in a low voice, and she looks all pink and upset. I hope nothing’s wrong.

  “It’s not right,” I can hear her saying in a guarded voice as I approach the desk. “It’s just not right. No one should behave like that, boss or no boss. I know I’m old-fashioned—”

  “It’s not,” Dawn interrupts her. “It’s having respect for your fellow human beings.”

  “Respect.” Karen nods vigorously. “How she’s feeling, poor thing…”

  “Have you seen her? Since…” Dawn trails off meaningfully.

  Karen shakes her head. “No one has.”

  I’m following their conversation with slight unease. What are they talking about? Who’s “she”?

  “Hi!” I say, and they both jump.

  “Becky! Goodness!” Karen looks quite flustered at the sight of me. “What are you…Did we know you were coming today?” She starts leafing through the papers on her desk. “Dawn, is it in the appointment book?”

  In the appointment book? Since when do I have to make an appointment to see my own husband?

  “I just thought I’d surprise Luke. He’s free at lunchtime; I’ve already checked. So I thought we could have a nice picnic in his office!” I nod at the basket hanging on my arm.

  I’m expecting them to
say, “What a lovely idea!” But instead, Karen and Dawn both look kind of nervous.

  “Right!” says Karen at last. “Well. Let’s just…see if…” She presses a couple of buttons on her switchboard. “Hello, Mel? It’s Karen at reception here. I have Becky here. Becky Brandon. She’s here to…surprise Luke.” There’s quite a long silence, during which Karen listens intently. “Yes. Yes, I’ll do that.” She looks up and smiles at me. “Take a seat, Becky. Someone will be with you shortly.”

  Take a seat? Someone will be with me? What on earth has happened to them?

  “Why don’t I just go straight up?” I suggest.

  “We’re…not quite sure where Luke is.” Karen definitely looks shifty. “It’s probably better if you…” She clears her throat. “Adam will be down shortly.”

  I don’t believe this. Adam Farr is head of corporate communications at Brandon C. He’s the guy they always summon for tricky situations. Luke says Adam is the consummate expert at handling people.

  I’m being handled. Why am I being handled? What’s going on?

  “Do take a seat, Becky!” Karen says, but I don’t move.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing you earlier,” I say casually. “Is something wrong?”

  “Of course not!” Karen’s reply is too swift, as though she’s been waiting for me to ask. “We were talking about…something on TV last night. Weren’t we, Dawn?”

  Dawn is nodding agreement, but her eyes are edgy.

  “What about you?” says Karen. “Keeping well, are you, Becky?”

  “Not long to go, is it?” puts in Dawn.

  I try to think of a natural, friendly reply — but how can I? This whole conversation is fake. Just then, the lift doors open and Adam Farr strides out.

  “Rebecca!” He has his corporate smile on and is slipping a BlackBerry into his pocket. “What a pleasure to see you!”