Mini Shopaholic

by Sophie Kinsella

  ‘I couldn’t invite you,’ I add bluntly. ‘You know I couldn’t.’ Even if I wanted to, I don’t add.

  Elinor moves her head about a millimetre without replying, and I press on.

  ‘There were already loads of glitches.’ I rub my face. ‘I mean, I was already pretty stressed out. But now I’ve just heard that Luke’s arranged a meeting with this guy Christian Scott-Hughes on the same day as the party, in Paris. And we can’t get him to change it. He’s been wanting to meet Christian Scott-Hughes for ages. His assistant doesn’t know what to do and nor do I. Either I pinch his passport and he’s totally livid, or we move the whole party to Paris somehow, or I just give in and tell him the truth …’

  I trail off miserably. I so, so, so don’t want to tell Luke. But I have a horrible feeling that’s what it might come to.

  ‘I’ve kept it a secret all this time.’ I nibble on the slice of martini-infused apple. ‘Luke has no idea what I’m up to. I can’t bear to spoil it. But what else am I going to do?’

  There’s a knock at the door and a waiter silently comes in with another apple martini. He takes my empty glass, replaces it with the full one and glides out again.

  I gape stupidly. Does that always happen here? Or is it just Elinor?

  ‘Do you mean Christian Scott-Hughes who works for Sir Bernard Cross?’ enquires Elinor, who has made no comment on the second apple martini.

  ‘Exactly. Luke’s desperate to make contact with Bernard Cross for some environmental client.’

  I take a sip of my new cocktail, which is just as delicious as the first, then glance up to see if I’m going to get any sympathy from Elinor. If this was anyone normal, they’d already be going ‘You poor thing!’ or even giving me a hug. But her face is as rigid and distant as ever.

  ‘I know Bernard,’ she says eventually. ‘We met at St Tropez on his yacht. A charming man.’

  Great. Just typical. Here I am, sharing my problems, and all she can do is boast about her superior social connections. And by the way, does Elinor even know what the word ‘charming’ means? Maybe she’s mixed it up with ‘rich’. That would explain a lot.

  ‘I’m sure you do know him,’ I say shortly. ‘Well done.’ I know I’m being rude, but I don’t care. Does she think I care whose stupid yacht she’s been on? I fish out the slice of apple from the second martini and stuff it in my mouth, but not before Minnie has spotted it.

  ‘Apple! Miiiine apple!’ She tries to reach inside my mouth and get it back out.

  ‘No, Minnie,’ I manage to say, and remove her wriggling fingers from my mouth. ‘Not your apple. It was a grown-up apple and it’s all gone now.’

  ‘Mine juice!’ Now she focuses on the cocktail. ‘Miiiine juice—’

  ‘I could speak to Bernard.’ Elinor’s calm voice hits my ears. ‘I could explain the situation and arrange to have the meeting changed. Luke would never know who had been behind it.’

  Startled, I meet Elinor’s eyes. She looks so detached I can barely believe I heard her right. Is she actually offering to help me? Could she fix my problem, just like that?

  Something is sparking in my stomach. It feels a bit like hope.

  But already I know I have to damp it down somehow. I can’t let myself even think about it. Let alone hope, let alone … I mean, this is Elinor. Elinor. Luke would kill me if he even knew Minnie and I were here, let alone giving away information about his business, let alone inviting offers of help …

  ‘No. You can’t help. I’m sorry, but you just can’t. If Luke ever found out I was even talking to you …’ A familiar anxiety is washing over me and I get to my feet, dumping my cocktail on the table. ‘I’ve already stayed too long. We should go. Minnie, say “Bye-bye, Lady”’

  ‘Lad-eeee!’ Minnie flings herself at Elinor’s legs.

  ‘So what will you do?’

  She frowns with a kind of dispassionate interest, as though I’m one of her jigsaw puzzles and she wants to see how it comes out.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say hopelessly. ‘I’ll just have to think of something.’

  As I get back the house is empty and silent and there’s a note on the table in Janice’s handwriting. Nanny Sue’s assistant rang. Please call to arrange meeting regarding Minnie.

  In a reflex action I crumple the note up and throw it in the bin, then make myself a cup of tea, trying to keep my spirits up. Come on, Becky. Think positive. I can’t let my problems get me down. I’ll just have to come up with a solution.

  But even though I load my cup with sugar and sit down with a pencil and paper, no solution comes to my mind. I feel blank and empty and defeated. I’m just wondering whether I could mix myself another comforting cocktail when the doorbell rings. In surprise I head to the hall and open the door to see a grizzled old guy in overalls standing on the doorstep. His hands are filthy and he has about three teeth and there’s a van pulled up behind him in the drive.

  ‘Marquee?’ he says without preamble.

  For a moment I just stare at him uncertainly.

  ‘Love?’ He waves a hand in front of my face. ‘You want a marquee?’

  ‘Yes!’ I come to. ‘Yes please!’

  Finally, some good news. This is a sign! Everything is going to turn around for the better. Already, the thought of a marquee billowing in Janice’s garden is making me excited.

  ‘So, are you from Cliff’s company?’ I say as he undoes the back of the van.

  ‘Sends his apologies. Most of the lads were called away to an emergency job in Somerset. It’s manic.’

  ‘I thought everything was really quiet,’ I say in surprise.

  ‘We had cancellations.’ He nods. ‘Then people change their minds, don’t they? Lot of it about. Most of our tents have gone down to the West Country, but Cliff said you could have this.’

  He briskly unloads a pile of white tarpaulin on to the drive, and I eye it a bit uncertainly. It’s not quite as big as I was expecting.

  ‘Is that a marquee?’

  ‘Gazebo, innit? Got a bit of damp on one side, but give it a go with some bleach, it’ll scrub up.’ He’s already back in his cab and switching on the engine. ‘Cheers, love.’

  ‘Wait!’ I call out. ‘Where do I return it?’

  A look of amusement passes over the guy’s face.

  ‘Nah, you’re all right. We don’t need that one back.’

  The van disappears out of the drive and I take a tentative step towards the pile of white tarpaulin. Maybe it’s bigger than it looks.

  ‘Blanket!’ Minnie rushes out of the house behind me, leaps on to the tarpaulin and starts jumping up and down.

  ‘It’s not a blanket! It’s a … a tent. Get off, sweetheart. Let’s look at it.’

  Gingerly I lift up one of the layers and feel a pang of dismay. Underneath, it’s green with mould. I lift up another panel –and there’s a massive flapping rip in it.

  I feel a bit light-headed. This was the one bit of the party that was supposed to be sorted. It’ll take me hours to clean this and try to mend the rip.

  And it’s not even a proper marquee. It’s tiny. How am I supposed to hold a party for two hundred in this?

  My whole body is pulsing with compressed panic. But I don’t have any options. It’s this or nothing.

  ‘Right!’ I say as brightly as I can to Minnie. ‘Well … Mummy needs to clean this, doesn’t she? Don’t touch!’ I whip her hand away from the green mould.

  ‘Jelleeee!’ she wails crossly. ‘Miiine!’

  ‘It’s not jelly! It’s yucky!’

  I find rubber gloves, bleach and a washing-up brush under the sink, and after I’ve parked Minnie safely in front of the TV, I start scrubbing. I thought the bleach would cut straight through the green grime like in the telly ads. But it doesn’t. The mould is stuck to the tarpaulin and caked over with mud in some places. It must have been there for years. It takes me ten minutes’ solid scrubbing to remove about six square inches of crust, and then I sit back on my heels, exhausted.
<
br />   I can’t clean this whole thing.

  But I have to. I can’t afford anything else.

  I scrub for another ten minutes, then dunk my brush in the bowl of water and bleach, which is now black with dirt. My back’s aching. My head’s throbbing. As I push my hair off my hot face, I feel hollow with fear. For the first time, the worst-case-scenario, no-more-delusions reality of my situation is hitting me. Why did I think I could throw a massive grown-up party, all on my own? It’s too big.

  I want to cry.

  No. I’m not going to cry.

  Almost without meaning to, I find myself slowly reaching into my pocket and pulling out my phone. And pressing Suze’s speed-dial number with my thumb.

  I’m not going to ask her for help. I can’t bring myself to go that far. But if she offers again … then I’ll accept.

  ‘Bex! Hi!’ She answers straight away.

  ‘Suze?’ I say tremulously. ‘How’s it all going?’

  I won’t bring up the subject directly. I’ll just wait till she mentions the party and take it from there.

  ‘I’m still furious!’ Suze replies hotly. ‘Do you know what I did today? I got all Tarkie’s team in for a meeting and I said, “Why weren’t you there? Why was no one at the photoshoot?” And do you know the worst thing? One of them was!’ Her voice rises indignantly. ‘He said he did think it all looked rather odd, but he thought it must be the latest thing in fashion and he didn’t want to interfere. I’m telling you, Bex, I’m becoming Tarkie’s manager. Have you heard from Danny?’ she adds. ‘Because I keep calling him, and he won’t return my calls.’

  ‘No, he won’t answer my calls either.’ I hear a sudden screaming in the background and a faint banging sound.

  ‘Wilfie! Stop that! Bex, I’d better go. How are you, anyway?’

  She hasn’t even mentioned it.

  And suddenly I feel a stab of humiliation. I can’t tell her. I can’t admit I’m knee deep in manky marquee with no money and no job and no idea how I’m going to throw this party together.

  ‘I’m … I’m good! I’ll talk to you later, Suze …’ I ring off and sit in complete stillness for a moment. The drive is becoming chilly and dark. I can see a light coming on in Janice’s house and have a sudden thought. I scroll down my numbers again and press ‘Jess’.

  I’ll ask her round for a cup of tea and she’ll see the marquee and volunteer to help clean it. I know she will. I should have asked Jess ages ago. She’s my sister, after all!

  ‘Hi, Jess!’ I say eagerly as soon as she answers. ‘Are you around? Do you want a cup of tea or anything?’

  ‘Tom and I are in Staffordshire,’ she says, her voice sounding distant. ‘I’ve come to do some research at the museum here. I couldn’t bear Janice a minute longer. You won’t believe her latest stunt.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She stole our contraception! Took it! She denies it, but I know she did. Why else would our condoms have been in her bedroom drawer? I said to her, “Don’t tell me they’re yours, Janice, because I won’t believe you.” I mean she’s probably never even heard of Fair Trade ethical condoms, let alone bought them. We had a massive row. Martin went and hid in the tree house, he was so embarrassed.’

  Despite everything I can’t help a half-giggle as I try to imagine Jess and Janice having a stand-up row about condoms.

  ‘So we had to get out of there for a few days,’ Jess is continuing. ‘Becky, I can’t stand her. What am I going to do?’ Her voice dips away.

  ‘Jess? Are you there?’

  ‘Sorry! Listen, my phone’s running out. Can I call you back later?’

  ‘Sure!’ I try to sound light-hearted. ‘Give my love to Tom!’

  As the light in my phone dies away the drive seems darker than ever.

  My head droops down on to my knees. I feel exhausted. All my last remaining energy has been sapped away by those two calls. I’ve got nothing left. I’ve got no hope, no plans, no answers. I don’t know why I thought I could throw a party. I must have been crazy.

  A tear suddenly rolls down the side of my nose, followed by another. I’m going to have to admit defeat. I’m going to have to cancel the party. I can’t see any other way. It’s just too overwhelmingly massive. There’s no way I can pull it off.

  I give a huge sob and bury my face in my hands. I can’t believe I’m giving up. But what else can I do?

  I’ll call Bonnie and ask her to email all the guests. We’ll make up some excuse. Luke can go to Paris. He’ll never even know what I was planning. Life will just carry on. It’s the easiest solution. It’s the only solution.

  ‘Rebecca?’ My head jerks up and I blink at the tall, shadowy figure standing in front of me.

  ‘Elinor?’ I feel a sudden choking panic. ‘What are you doing here? You can’t come here! This is where I live! What if Luke saw you, or my parents—’

  ‘Luke isn’t here,’ replies Elinor calmly. She’s wearing the dove-grey Chanel coat which I sold her at The Look, belted tightly around her waist. ‘No one is here except you and Minnie. My driver ascertained these facts before I approached.’

  Her driver? Where did she get him from, MI5?

  ‘I will be brief.’ Her eyes are focused on the middle distance, away from me. ‘I wish to offer you my assistance again. I believe you rejected it too hastily, for reasons which I can only surmise. However, it seems to me that you need a personal contact with Sir Bernard Cross. I can ask him to rearrange Luke’s meeting and I’m sure he will do so.’ She hesitates. ‘If you would like me to do this, then please let me know.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say dully. ‘But there’s no point now. I’m cancelling the party.’

  For the first time Elinor looks at me directly, and I can see the flash of surprise in her eyes.

  ‘Cancelling? Why?’

  ‘Because I can’t do it.’ A fresh tear runs down my nose. ‘It’s all a disaster. I bartered for this marquee, but it’s all mouldy and I’ll never clean it in time, and it’s not even big enough. And then I ran out of money, so I was going to ask for a raise, but I got suspended from work, and Luke’s going to Paris anyway …’ I wipe my eyes. ‘What’s the point? What’s the point even trying any more?’

  Elinor is running her gaze coldly over the marquee.

  ‘Do you have no one to help you with this endeavour? Your friend Susan, perhaps?’

  God, I had no idea she even knew Suze’s name.

  ‘I kind of …’ I break off and flush. ‘I told all my friends I didn’t want their help.’

  It’s really getting dark now and I can barely see Elinor. I’m just psyching myself to ask if she would like a cup of tea, hoping she’ll say no, when she speaks again, sounding even more stiff and awkward than usual.

  ‘I have remembered the conversation we had and considered it often over the past few weeks. You are a perceptive young woman, Rebecca. I have never given anything to Luke outright. There have always been … expectations attached. Now I would like to give him something. Unconditionally. And that is why I should like to help you.’

  ‘Elinor …’ I wince. ‘It’s kind of you. It really is. But like I said, there’s no point. Even if Luke doesn’t go to Paris, I can’t put this party together in time.’ I lift up a mouldy flap of marquee and let it drop. ‘You expect me to entertain two hundred people in this?’

  ‘So you’re simply giving up?’

  I feel stung by her tone. What does she care? It’s not her party. She’s not even invited.

  ‘I suppose so.’ I shrug. ‘Yes. I am.’

  ‘I find this disturbing.’ She eyes me stonily. ‘I have never known you give up on any project before. You have been misguided, yes. Unpolished, yes. Impulsive, yes. Foolish, yes.’

  Is she trying to make me feel better?

  ‘OK, thanks,’ I interrupt. ‘I get the picture.’

  ‘But you have always been tenacious,’ continues Elinor as though I haven’t spoken. ‘You have always refused to give in, whatever factors are moun
ting against you. It is one of the things I’ve always admired about you.’

  She’s always admired me? Now I’ve heard it all.

  ‘Well, maybe this one is just too big, OK?’ I say wearily. ‘Maybe I’m not Superwoman.’

  ‘If the will is there, anything is achievable with enough resources.’

  ‘Yes, well that’s the whole point!’ I erupt in frustration. ‘Don’t you understand? I’ve been suspended from work! My credit cards are all used up! I don’t have any bloody—’

  ‘I have resources.’ Elinor cuts me off.

  I stare at her uncertainly for a few moments. Is she saying … She can’t be …

  ‘I have resources,’ she repeats. ‘We could … do it together.’

  Oh my God.

  Together? Is she trying to come on board as joint hostess?

  ‘Elinor …’ The idea is so preposterous I almost want to laugh. ‘You can’t be serious. Luke would … He’d be …’

  ‘Luke would not know. Luke would never know.’ She sounds so resolute, I stare at her, taken aback. She really means this, doesn’t she?

  ‘Mummy!’ Minnie comes rocketing out of the house, then stops dead in astonishment. ‘Ladeee!’ She throws herself on Elinor with delight.

  ‘Elinor …’ I rub my forehead. ‘You can’t just … Do you know how bad things are? Do you know how Luke would react if—’

  ‘I do know. This is why I am asking you for this chance.’ Her face is as stony as ever, but suddenly I notice the tiny quivering by her eye that I noticed before.

  Unless it’s just the dusky light.

  ‘It is impossible for me to give anything to Luke.’ Her voice is entirely without self-pity. ‘He has cut me out of his life. He mistrusts me. Any gift I attempted to make would be met with short shrift. If you say yes to my offer, then you are giving me the opportunity to make Luke an unconditional gift. Perhaps even to make my own reparation.’ Elinor pauses. ‘The kind of gift … that his real mother would have made him.’

  What? Did she just call Annabel his real mother?