Shopaholic And Sister Part 10

I can't hear myself think. I can't hear anything except the screaming of twenty excited children running round a room, bas.h.i.+ng each other.

"Er . . . excuse me . . ." I begin.

The shrieks increase in volume. I'm sure someone's being murdered in here, only I can't see who because it's all a blur.

"Sit down!" I bellow over the noise. "Sit down, everyone!"

They're not even stopping for a beat. I climb up onto a chair and put my hands round my mouth.

"Anyone who sits down . . ." I roar. "Will get a sweetie!"

Abruptly the screaming stops and there's a crash as twenty children b.u.mp down onto the floor.

"h.e.l.lo, everybody!" I say brightly. "I'm . . . I'm Wacky Becky!" I waggle my head. "Everybody say . . . 'h.e.l.lo, Wacky Becky!' "

There's silence.

"Where's my sweetie?" pipes up a little girl.

"Er . . ."

I scrabble in my bag, but there's nothing except some herbal sleeping tablets I bought for getting over jet lag. Orange flavored.

Could I- No. No.

"Later!" I say. "You have to sit still . . . and then you get a sweetie."

"This conjurer is rubbish," says a boy in a Ralph Lauren s.h.i.+rt.

"I'm not rubbis.h.!.+" I say indignantly. "Watch! Er . . ."

I quickly put my hands over my face, then pull them away. "Boo!"

"We're not babies," the boy says scornfully. "We want tricks!"

"Why don't I sing you a nice song," I say in soothing tones. "Row, row, row the boat . . . la la la . . . the moat . . ."

"Do a trick!" squeals a little girl.

"We want a trick!" yells a boy.

"Do-a-trick! Do-a-trick!"

Oh G.o.d. They're chanting. And the boys are banging the floor with their fists. Any minute, they're going to get up and start bas.h.i.+ng each other again. A trick. A trick. My mind scurries about frantically. Do I know any tricks?

"OK!" I say in desperation. "I'll do a trick! Watch this!"

I spread my arms with a flourish, then reach behind my back with swirly, elaborate movements, spinning it all out as long as I can.

Then I unhook my bra through my s.h.i.+rt, trying to remember what color it is.

Oh yes. It's my bright pink gingham one with the bows. Perfect.

The entire room is agog.

"What are you doing?" says a little girl with wide eyes.

"Wait and see!"

Trying to keep the air of mystery, I loop one bra strap discreetly over my arm, then the other. The children are all staring at me avidly.

Now I've got my confidence back, I think I'm doing rather well at this. In fact, I'm a bit of a natural!

"Watch very carefully," I say in a solemn, magician-like voice, "as I am now going to make something . . . appear!"

A couple of children gasp.

I really could do with a drumroll here.

"One . . . two . . . three . . ." In a flash of pink I pull my bra out from my sleeve and hold it aloft. "Ta-daah!"

The whole room erupts in ecstatic cheers.

"She did magic!" a red-haired boy shouts.

"Again!" squeals a little girl. "Do it again!"

"Do you want to see me do it again?" I say, beaming in delight.

"Yaaaaay!" they all scream.

"I don't think so!" comes a bright, clipped voice from the door. I turn round-and Lulu is standing there, looking at me with undisguised horror.

Oh no.

Oh G.o.d. My bra is still whirling round in my hand.

"They wanted me to do a trick," I explain, attempting a nonchalant shrug.

"I hardly think those are the sort of 'tricks' that children are going to appreciate!" she says, raising her eyebrows. She turns to the room with a bright, mummyish smile. "Who wants to see Mr. Happy?"

"We want Wacky Becky!" yells a boy. "She took off her bra!"

f.u.c.k.

"Wacky Becky's got to . . . er . . . go now!" I say brightly. "But see you next time, children!"

Without quite meeting Lulu's eye I squash my bra into a tiny ball, stuff it into my bag, and back out of the room. I head over to the buffet table, where Luke is helping himself to salmon.

"Are you OK?" he says in surprise. "You're very pink."

"I'm . . . fine." I grab his gla.s.s and take a deep gulp of champagne. "Everything's fine."

But it's not really fine.

I keep waiting for Lulu to leave, so I can have a good chat with Suze-but she doesn't. She hangs around, helping to make the children's tea and clear up. Every time I try to help, she's there before me with a damp cloth or a beaker or some piece of mummy advice. She and Suze keep up a constant dialogue about the children, and it's impossible for me to get a word in.

It's not until about ten o'clock at night that she leaves, and I finally find myself alone in the kitchen with Suze. She's sitting by the huge Aga stove, feeding one of the twins and yawning hugely every three minutes.

"So, you had a lovely honeymoon?" she says wistfully.

"It was fantastic. Totally perfect. We went to this amazing place in Australia where you could scuba dive, and-"

I break off as Suze yawns again. Maybe I'll tell her tomorrow.

"How about you? How's life with three kids?"

"Oh, you know." She gives a tired smile. "It's fine. Exhausting. Everything's different."

"And . . . you've been spending loads of time with Lulu," I say casually.

"Isn't she great?" says Suze, her face lighting up.

"Er . . . great." I pause carefully. "She does seem a teeny bit bossy. . . ."

"Bossy?" Suze looks up in shock. "Bex, how can you say that? She's been my total savior out here! She's helped me so much!"

"Oh, right." I backtrack hastily. "I didn't mean-"

"She knows exactly what I'm going through." Suze sighs. "I mean, she's had four! She really understands."

"Right."

And I don't understand. That's what she means.

As I stare into my gla.s.s of wine, there's a sudden heaviness about my head. None of my reunions are going quite like I thought they would.

I stand up and wander over to the Aga, where lots of family photos are always pinned up on the cork wall. There's a picture of me and Suze dressed up for a party in feather boas and glittery makeup. And one of Suze and me in hospital with a tiny Ernie.

Then, with a pang, I notice a brand-new picture of Suze and Lulu, sitting on their horses, in matching riding jackets and hairnets. They're beaming at the camera and look just like identical twins.

And as I gaze at it, I feel a sudden determination growing. I'm not losing my best friend to some bossy, horse-faced riding queen. Whatever Lulu can do, I can do.

"Maybe I'll come riding with you and Lulu tomorrow," I say casually. "If you've got a spare horse."

I'll even wear a hairnet, if that's what it takes.

"You'll come?" Suze looks up, staggered. "But . . . Bex. You don't ride."

"Yes, I do," I say airily. "Luke and I did some riding on our honeymoon, actually."

Which is . . . sort of true. Nearly. We were going to go on a camel ride in Dubai, except in the end we went snorkeling instead.

But anyway, it doesn't matter. I'll just hold on tight . . . and it'll be fine!

Six.

BY TEN O'CLOCK the next morning I'm ready. And I don't want to boast, but as I survey myself in the mirror, I look utterly fab! I went to the riding shop in the next village first thing in the morning, and totally kitted myself out. I'm wearing snowy white jodhpurs, a tailored black riding jacket, s.h.i.+ny boots, and a beautiful new velvet riding hat.

Proudly I reach for my piece de resistance-a big red rosette with s.h.i.+ny ribbons. There were loads of them for sale, so I bought one in every color! I carefully pin it onto my collar like a corsage, smooth down my jacket, and look at the effect.

G.o.d, I look so cool. I look like I'm going to win at Crufts.

No. I don't mean Crufts, that's the dog show. I mean the other one. The horse one.

I can start riding every day in Hyde Park, I think in a sudden burst of excitement. I'll practice hard and get really good! Then I can come down here every weekend and ride with Suze. While I was in the shop I even filled out a form for a riding compet.i.tion next month, as a little incentive.

"Tallyho!" says Luke, coming into the bedroom. "You look very das.h.i.+ng. Very s.e.xy." He raises his eyebrows. "Great boots. How long are you going to be?"

"Not that long," I say knowledgeably. "We're just going to go for a hack through the woods."

"Becky . . ." Luke looks at me carefully. "Have you ever been on a horse in your life?"

"Yes! Of course I have!"

Once. When I was ten. And I fell off. But I probably wasn't concentrating or something.

"Just be careful, won't you?" he says. "I'm not quite ready to become a widower."

"I'll be fine!" I say, glancing at my special new "equestrian" watch with compa.s.s built in. "I'd better go!"

The horses are all kept some way from the house in a stable block, and as I approach I can hear the sounds of whinnying and hooves clattering in the stable yard.

"Hi!" says Lulu, appearing round the corner in a pair of ancient jodhpurs and a fleece jacket. "All set-" She breaks off as she sees me. "Oh my G.o.d." She snorts with laughter. "Suze, come and look at Becky!"

"What is it?" Suze hurries round the corner and stops dead.