Shopaholic Takes Manhattan s-2

by Sophie Kinsella

Don’t get the wrong idea here. It’s not like I have a problem or anything. It’s just that a few months ago, I did get into a… Well. A very slight money scrape. It was really just a tiny blip — nothing to worry about. But Suze got really freaked out when she found out how much I owed, and said that for my own good, she’d vet all my spending from now on.

  And she’s been as good as her word. She’s very strict, actually. Sometimes I’m really quite scared she might say no.

  “I see what you mean,” she says at last. “You haven’t really got a choice, have you?”

  “Exactly,” I say in relief. I take the plan from her, fold it up, and put it into my bag.

  “Hey, Bex, is that new?” says Suze suddenly. She pulls my wardrobe door open and I feel a twinge of nerves. She’s frowning at my lovely new honey-colored coat, which I smuggled into the flat the other day when she was in the bath.

  I mean, obviously I was planning to tell her about it. I just never got round to it.

  Please don’t look at the price tag, I think feverishly. Please don’t look at the price tag.

  “Erm… yes,” I say. “Yes, it is new. But the thing is… I need a good coat, in case I get asked to do an outside broadcast for Morning Coffee.”

  “Is that likely?” asks Suze, puzzledly. “I mean, I thought your job was just sitting in the studio, giving financial advice.”

  “Well… you never know. It’s always best to be prepared.”

  “I suppose so…” says Suze doubtfully. “And what about this top?” She pulls at a hanger. “That’s new, too!”

  “That’s to wear on the show,” I reply promptly.

  “And this skirt?”

  “For the show.”

  “And these new trousers?”

  “For the—”

  “Bex.” Suze looks at me with narrowed eyes. “How many outfits have you got to wear on the show?”

  “Well — you know,” I say defensively. “I need a few backups. I mean, Suze, this is my career we’re talking about. My career.”

  “Yes,” says Suze eventually. “Yes, I suppose it is.” She reaches for my new red silk jacket. “This is nice.”

  “I know,” I beam. “I bought it to wear on my January special!”

  “Have you got a January special?” says Suze. “Ooh, what’s it about?”

  “It’s going to be called Becky’s Fundamental Financial Principles,” I say, reaching for my lip gloss. “It should be really good. Five ten-minute slots, just me!”

  “So — what are your fundamental financial principles?” asks Suze interestedly.

  “Erm… well, I haven’t really got any yet,” I say, carefully painting my lips. “But you know. I’ll work them out a bit nearer the time.” I snap my lip gloss shut and reach for my jacket. “See you later.”

  “OK,” says Suze. “And remember. Just one pair of shoes!”

  “All right! I promise!”

  It’s really sweet of Suze to be so concerned about me. But she doesn’t need to be. To be honest, she doesn’t really understand what a changed person I am. OK, I did have a very slight financial crisis earlier this year. In fact, at one point, I was in debt by… Well. Really quite a lot.

  But then I landed my job on Morning Coffee, and everything changed. I turned my life around completely, worked really hard, and paid off all my debts. Yes, I paid them all off! I wrote out check after check — and cleared every single outstanding credit card, every store card, every scribbled IOU to Suze. (She couldn’t believe it when I presented her with a check for several hundred pounds. At first she didn’t want to take it, but then she changed her mind and went out and bought this most amazing sheepskin coat.)

  Honestly, paying off those debts was the most wonderful, exhilarating feeling in the world. It was a few months ago now — but I still feel high as I think about it. There’s really nothing to beat being completely and utterly financially solvent, is there?

  And just look at me now. I’m a completely different person from the old Becky. I’m a reformed character. I haven’t even got an overdraft!

  Two

  WELL, OK. I have got a bit of an overdraft. But the only reason is, I’ve been taking the long view recently, and investing quite heavily in my career. Luke, my boyfriend, is an entrepreneur. He’s got his own financial PR company and everything. And he said something a few weeks ago which really made sense to me: “People who want to make a million borrow a million first.”

  Honestly, I must have a naturally entrepreneurial mind or something, because as soon as he said it, I felt this amazing chord of recognition. I even found myself murmuring it aloud. He’s so right. How can you expect to make any money if you don’t spend it first?

  So I’ve invested in quite a few outfits to wear on television — plus a few good haircuts, and quite a few manicures and facials. And a couple of massages. Because everyone knows you can’t perform well if you’re all stressed.

  I’ve also invested in a new computer, which cost £2,000—but is an essential item because guess what? I’m writing a self-help book! Just after I’d become a regular on Morning Coffee, I met these really nice publishers, who took me out to lunch and said I was an inspiration to financially challenged people everywhere. Wasn’t that nice? They paid me £1,000 before I’d even written a word — and I get a lot more when it’s actually published. The book’s going to be called Becky Bloomwood’s Guide to Money. Or possibly Manage Money the Becky Bloomwood Way.

  I haven’t quite had time to start writing it yet, but I really think the most important thing is to get the title right, and then the rest will just fall into place. And I’ve already jotted down loads of ideas about what to wear in the author photograph.

  So basically, it’s no surprise that I’m a little overdrawn at the moment. But the point is, all that money is out there, working for me. And luckily my bank manager, Derek Smeath, is very sympathetic to my needs. He’s a real sweetie, actually. For a long time we didn’t get on at all — which I think was more a communications problem than anything else. But then we met up and had a nice long chat (plus I gave him some advice on what to buy his wife for Christmas) and now I really think he understands where I’m coming from. And the truth is, of course, I’m a lot more sensible than I used to be.

  For example, I have a completely different attitude toward shopping. My new motto is “Buy Only What You Need.” I know, it sounds almost too simple — but it really does work. Before each purchase, I ask myself one question: “Do I need this?” And only if the answer is yes do I make the purchase. It’s all just a matter of self-discipline.

  So, for example, when I get to LK Bennett, I’m incredibly focused and direct. As I walk in, a pair of high-heeled red boots catches my eye — but I quickly look away and head straight for the display of sandals. This is how I shop these days: no pausing, no browsing, no eyeing up other items. Not even that gorgeous new range of sequined pumps over there. I simply go straight to the sandals I want, take them from the rack, and say to the assistant, “I’d like to have these in a six, please.”

  Direct and to the point. Just buy what you need and nothing else. This is the key to controlled shopping. I’m not even going to glance at those cool pink stilettos, even though they’d match my new pink denim skirt perfectly.

  Nor those slingbacks with the glittery heels.

  They are nice though, aren’t they? I wonder what they look like on?

  Oh God. This is really hard.

  What is it about shoes? I mean, I like most kinds of clothes, but a good pair of shoes can just reduce me to jelly. Sometimes, when Suze isn’t at home, I open my wardrobe and just stare at all my pairs of shoes, like some mad collector. And once I lined them all up on my bed and took a photograph of them. Which might seem a bit weird — but I thought, I’ve got loads of photos of people I don’t really like, so why not take one of something I really love?

  “Here you are!”

  Thank goodness, the assistant is back, with my lilac sandals in a box
— and as I see them, my heart leaps. Oh, these are gorgeous. Gorgeous. All delicate and strappy, with a tiny little blackberry by the toe. I fell in love with them as soon as I saw them. They’re a bit expensive — but then, everyone knows you should never skimp on shoes, because you’ll hurt your feet.

  I slip my feet into them with a frisson of delight — and they’re just fantastic. My feet suddenly look elegant, and my legs look longer… and OK, it’s a tiny bit difficult to walk in them, but that’s probably because the shop floor is all slippery.

  “I’ll take them, please,” I say, and beam happily at the assistant.

  You see, this is the reward for taking such a controlled approach to shopping. When you buy something, you really feel as though you’ve earned it.

  We both head toward the checkout, and I keep my eyes carefully away from the rack of accessories. In fact, I barely even notice that purple bag with the jet beading. And I’m just reaching for my wallet, congratulating myself on being so single-minded, when the assistant says conversationally, “You know, we’ve got these sandals in clementine, as well.”

  Clementine?

  “Oh… right,” I say after a pause.

  I’m not interested. I’ve got what I came in to buy — and that’s the end of the story. Lilac sandals. Not clementine.

  “They’ve just come in,” she adds, rooting around on the floor. “I think they’re going to be even more popular than the lilac.”

  “Really?” I say, trying to sound as indifferent as I can. “Well, I’ll just take these, I think…”

  “Here it is!” she exclaims. “I knew there was one around here somewhere…”

  And I freeze, as she puts the most exquisite sandal I’ve ever seen onto the counter. It’s a pale, creamy orange color, with the same strappy shape as the lilac one — but instead of the blackberry, there’s a tiny clementine by the toe.

  It’s instant love. I can’t move my eyes away.

  “Would you like to try it?” says the girl, and I feel a lurch of desire, right to the pit of my stomach.

  Just look at it. It’s delicious. It’s the most darling shoe I’ve ever seen. Oh God.

  But I don’t need a pair of clementine shoes. I don’t need them.

  Come on, Becky. Just. Say. No.

  “Actually…” I swallow hard, trying to get control of my voice. “Actually…” I can hardly say it. “I’ll just take the lilac ones today,” I manage eventually. “Thank you.”

  “OK…” The girl punches a code into the till. “That’ll be £89, then. How would you like to pay?”

  “Er… VISA, please,” I say. I sign the slip, take my bag, and leave the shop, feeling slightly numb.

  I did it! I did it! I completely controlled my desires! I only needed one pair of shoes — and I only bought one. In and out of the shop, completely according to plan. You see, this is what I can do when I really want to. This is the new Becky Bloomwood.

  Having been so good, I deserve a little reward, so I go to a coffee shop and sit down outside in the sun with a cappuccino.

  I want those clementine shoes, pops into my head as I take the first sip.

  Stop. Stop it. Think about… something else. Luke. The holiday. Our first ever holiday together. God, I can’t wait.

  I’ve been wanting to suggest a holiday ever since Luke and I started going out, but he works so hard, it would be like asking the prime minister to give up running the country for a bit. (Except come to think of it, he does that every summer, doesn’t he? So why can’t Luke?)

  Luke’s so busy, he hasn’t even met my parents yet, which I’m a bit upset about. They asked him over for Sunday lunch a few weeks ago, and Mum spent ages cooking — or at least, she bought apricot-stuffed loin of pork from Sainsbury’s and a really posh chocolate meringue pudding. But at the last minute he had to cancel because there was a crisis with one of his clients in the Sunday papers. So I had to go on my own — and it was all rather miserable, to be honest. You could tell Mum was really disappointed, but she kept saying brightly, “Oh well, it was only a casual arrangement,” which it wasn’t. He sent her a huge bouquet of flowers the next day to apologize (or at least, Mel, his assistant, did), but it’s not the same, is it?

  The worst bit was that our next-door neighbors, Janice and Martin, popped in for a glass of sherry “to meet the famous Luke,” as they put it, and when they found out he wasn’t there, they kept giving me all these pitying looks tinged with smugness, because their son Tom is getting married to his girlfriend Lucy next week. And I have a horrible suspicion that they think I have a crush on him. (Which I don’t — in fact, quite the reverse. I actually turned him down when we were teenagers. But once people believe something like that, it’s completely impossible to convince them otherwise. Hideous.)

  When I got upset with Luke, he pointed out that I’ve never met his parents, either. But I have once — although very briefly. And anyway it’s not the same thing, because his family lives miles away, and it’s all much more complicated.

  To be honest, I find Luke’s family setup just a tad weird. He’s got a dad and a stepmum in Britain who brought him up with his two half-sisters, and whom he calls Mum and Dad. And then he’s got his real mum, Elinor, who left his dad when he was little, married some rich American, and left Luke behind. Then she left the rich American and married another, even richer American and then… was there another one? Anyway, the point is, she lives in New York. So of course I haven’t met her. And the rest of his family is in Devon, not exactly handy for a quick Sunday lunch.

  I said all this to Luke and I think he got my point. And at least he’s making the effort to come on this little holiday. It was Mel, actually, who suggested the weekend idea. She told me Luke hadn’t had a proper holiday for three years — and maybe he had to warm up to the idea. So I stopped talking about holidays and started talking about weekends away — and that did the trick! All of a sudden Luke told me to set aside this weekend. He booked the hotel himself and everything. I’m so looking forward to it. We’ll just do nothing but relax and take it easy — and actually spend some time with each other for a change. Lovely.

  I want those clementine shoes.

  Stop it.

  I take another sip of coffee, lean back, and force myself to survey the bustling street. People are striding along, holding bags and chatting, and there’s a girl crossing the road with nice trousers on, which I think come from Nicole Farhi and… Oh God.

  A middle-aged man in a dark suit is coming along the road toward me, and I recognize him. It’s Derek Smeath, my bank manager.

  Oh, and I think he’s seen me.

  OK, don’t panic, I instruct myself firmly. There’s no need to panic. Maybe once upon a time I would have been thrown by seeing him. I might have tried to hide behind a menu, or perhaps even run away. But that’s all in the past. These days, Sweetie Smeathie and I have a very honest and amicable relationship.

  Still, I find myself shifting my chair slightly farther away from my LK Bennett bag, as though it hasn’t got anything to do with me.

  “Hello, Mr. Smeath!” I say brightly as he approaches. “How are you?”

  “Very well,” says Derek Smeath, smiling. “And you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine, thanks. Would you… would you like a coffee?” I add politely, gesturing to the empty chair opposite me. And I’m not really expecting him to say yes — but to my astonishment he sits down and picks up a menu.

  How civilized is this? I’m having coffee with my bank manager at a pavement cafe! You know, maybe I’ll find a way to work this into my Morning Coffee slot. “I myself prefer the informal approach to personal finance,” I’ll say, smiling warmly into the camera. “My own bank manager and I often share a friendly cappuccino as we discuss my current financial strategies…”

  “As it happens, Rebecca, I’ve just written a letter to you,” says Derek Smeath, as a waitress puts an espresso down in front of him. Suddenly his voice is more serious, and I feel a small lurch of alarm. Oh
God, what have I done now? “You and all my customers,” he adds. “To tell you that I’m leaving.”

  “What?” I put my coffee cup down with a little crash. “What do you mean, leaving?”

  “I’m leaving Endwich Bank. I’ve decided to take early retirement.”

  “But…”

  I stare at him, appalled. Derek Smeath can’t leave Endwich Bank. He can’t just leave me in the lurch, just as everything was going so well. I mean, I know we haven’t always exactly seen eye to eye — but recently we’ve developed a really good rapport. He understands me. He understands my overdraft. What am I going to do without him?

  “Aren’t you too young to retire?” I say, aware of the dismay in my voice. “Won’t you get bored?”

  He leans back in his chair and takes a sip of espresso. “I’m not planning to give up work altogether. But I think there’s a little more to life than looking after people’s bank accounts, don’t you? Fascinating though some of them have been.”

  “Well… yes. Yes, of course. And I’m glad for you, honestly.” I shrug, a little embarrassed. “But I’ll… miss you.”

  “Believe it or not,” he says, smiling slightly, “I think I’ll miss you too, Rebecca. Yours has certainly been one of the most… interesting accounts I’ve dealt with.”

  He gives me a penetrating look and I feel myself flush slightly. Why does he have to remind me of the past? The point is, that’s all over. I’m a different person now. Surely one should be allowed to turn over a new leaf and start again in life.

  “Your new career in television seems to be going well,” he says, taking a sip of espresso.

  “I know! It’s so great, isn’t it? And it pays really well,” I add, a little pointedly.

  “Your income has certainly gone up in recent months.” He puts down his coffee cup and my heart sinks slightly. “However…”

  I knew it. Why does there always have to be a however?

  “However,” repeats Derek Smeath. “Your outgoings have also risen. Substantially. In fact, your overdraft is now higher than it was at the height of your… shall we say, your excesses.”