Shopaholic And Sister Part 47

When I open them again, everything is different. The room is dim. The chatter has gone. It must be nighttime.

I'm absolutely parched, and my lips are painfully dry. I remember there was a jug of water on my nightstand, and I'm trying to sit up and get it when I knock something onto the floor with a clatter.

"Bex? Are you OK?" I look over to see Suze in a chair by my bed. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes and leaps up. "D'you want something?"

"Some water," I croak. "If there is any."

"Here you are." Suze pours me out a gla.s.sful and I drink it thirstily. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm . . . fine." I put the gla.s.s down, feeling a lot better, then look around the dim, curtained cubicle. "Where is everyone? Where's Jess?"

"She's OK. The doctors looked her over and then Tarkie took her home. But they wanted to keep you in for observation."

"Right." I rub my dry face, wis.h.i.+ng I had some moisturizer with me. Then suddenly I notice the time on Suze's wrist.w.a.tch.

"It's two o'clock!" I look up in consternation. "Suze, why are you here? You should be in bed!"

"I didn't want to go." She bites her lip. "I didn't want to leave you."

"Shh!" hisses a voice from the other side of my curtain. "Keep the noise down!"

Suze and I look at each other in surprise-and suddenly I can feel the laughter rising. Suze sticks out her tongue at the curtain, and I give a helpless snuffle.

"Have some more water," says Suze in a lower voice. "It'll keep your skin hydrated." She pours another gla.s.sful and perches on the side of my bed. For a while neither of us speaks. I take a few more sips of water, which is lukewarm and tastes of plastic.

"This reminds me of when Ernie was born," says Suze. "Do you remember? You stayed with me all night then."

"G.o.d, yes." I have a sudden memory of a teeny, tiny Ernie in Suze's arms, all pink and wrapped in a blanket. "That was some night." I meet her eyes and she smiles.

"You know, when the twins were born . . . it didn't feel quite right, you not being there." Suze is still smiling, but her eyes are sheeny. "I know that sounds really stupid-"

"No. It's not." I look down at the white hospital sheet, pleating it hard between my fingers. "I've really missed you, Suze."

"I've missed you too." Her voice is a little husky. "And I . . . I need to say something. I'm sorry for the way I behaved when you got back."

"No," I say at once. "Don't be silly. I overreacted. You had to make other friends while I was gone. Of course you did. I was . . . stupid."

"You weren't stupid." Suze won't meet my eye. "It was me. I was envious."

"Envious?" I'm utterly dumbfounded.

"There you were, all tanned and glamorous, with your Angel bag." Her voice trembles a little. "And there I was, stuck in the country with three kids. You came swanning in with all these stories about your amazing round-the-world honeymoon, and I felt really . . . drab."

"Suze, you could never be drab!" I say in dismay. "Never in a million years!"

"So I was thinking." She looks at me, her face determined. "When you're better, let's go to Milan for the weekend. Just you and me. What do you think?"

"What about the babies?"

"They'll be fine. Tarkie'll look after them. It can be my late birthday treat."

"What about the spa?" I say cautiously. "Wasn't that your treat?"

For a moment Suze contemplates the floor.

"The spa was OK," she says at last. "But it wasn't the same as with you. No one's like you, Bex."

"So do you hate Lulu now?" I ask hopefully.

"Bex!" Suze gives a shocked giggle. "No, I don't hate her. But . . ." She breaks off. "As I said, no one's like you, Bex."

I can't quite find a reply, so I reach for my water gla.s.s again-and find myself looking at a small packet on the nightstand.

"Jess left you that," says Suze, looking a bit puzzled. "She said we might want to eat it."

I can't help smiling. It's Kendal Mint Cake.

"It's kind of . . . a private joke," I say. "I don't think she's expecting me to eat it."

There's quiet for a while, apart from the noise of a trolley being wheeled along in the distance, and the thwump of double doors opening and closing.

"So . . . you really have got a sister," says Suze at last. I can hear the wistfulness in her voice. For a few moments I look through the dimness at her familiar, anxious, lovely face.

"Suze . . . you'll always be my sister," I say at last. And I hug her tight.

Twenty-four.

IT'S INCREDIBLE, THE number of things I was convinced I didn't like . . . and now it turns out I love them!

For example:

1. Jess2. Black pudding (If you put lots of tomato ketchup on it, it's actually quite yummy!)3. Being a skinflint

Honestly. I'm not joking. Being frugal is totally fantastic. It's so satisfying! How come I never realized this before? Like, yesterday I sent Janice and Martin a postcard to thank them for their lovely flowers . . . and instead of buying one, I cut it out of a cereal box! It had Kellogg's on the front! How cool is that?

Jess gave me that tip. She is teaching me so much. I've been staying with her ever since I got out of the hospital, and she's been just brilliant. She gave me her bedroom because there are fewer stairs up to it than to the guest room, and she helps me get in and out of the bath with my plaster cast, and she makes vegetable soup every day for lunch. She's even going to teach me how to make it, because if you do it with lentils and . . . and something else, which I can't remember . . . it's a fully balanced meal in itself and it only costs 30p a portion. And then, with the extra money you save, you can buy something really nice like one of Elizabeth's homemade fruit pies! (That was the tip I gave to Jess. You see, we're helping each other!) Now I hobble over to the sink, carefully empty half the coffee grounds out of the cafetiere into the bin, sprinkle on some new ones, and switch on the kettle. The rule in this house is that you reuse coffee grounds, and, like Jess says, it does make total sense. The coffee only tastes a little bit tinny-and you save loads!

I have so changed. Finally, I am a frugal and sensible person. Luke will not believe it when he sees me again.

Jess is chopping an onion, and I helpfully pick up the mesh bag it came in, to throw away.

Jess looks up. "Don't! We can use that!"

"An onion bag?" Wow. I'm learning new things all the time! "So . . . how can you use an onion bag?"

"You can turn it into a scourer."

"Right." I nod intelligently, even though I'm not entirely sure what a scourer is.

"You know." Jess gives me a look. "Scouring. Like exfoliating, but for kitchens."

"Oh yes!" I say, and beam at her. "Cool!"

I get out my Thrifty Household Tips notebook and write it down. There's just so much to take in. Like, did you know you can make a garden sprinkler out of an old milk carton?

Not that I need a garden sprinkler . . . but still!

I make my way into the sitting room, one hand resting on my crutch, the other holding the cafetiere.

"Hi." Suze looks up from where she's sitting on the floor. "What do you think?" She lifts up the banner she's been painting. It reads LEAVE OUR LANDSCAPE ALONE in vibrant red and blue with an amazing leafy, gra.s.sy border.

"Wow!" I gaze at it in admiration. "Suze, that's fantastic! You're such an amazing artist." I look at the pile of banners, which Suze has been steadily painting over the last few days, draped on the sofa. "G.o.d, the campaign's lucky to have you."

It's been so fantastic having Suze here, just like old times. She and Tarquin have been staying in Edie's guesthouse for the last few days and Tarquin has pretty much taken charge of the babies, except when Suze needs to feed them in the mornings and evenings.

And it's been so great. We've spent loads of time together, chilling, and eating, and talking about everything under the sun. Sometimes just me and Suze-and sometimes with Jess too. Like last night, the three of us made margaritas and watched Footloose . . . which I think Jess enjoyed. Even though she didn't know every song by heart, like we did.

Then one night, when Suze went to visit some relation of hers who lives twenty miles away, Jess and I spent the evening together. She showed me all her rocks and told me all about them-and in return, I told her about my shoes and drew pictures. I think we both learned a lot.

"The campaign's lucky to have you," retorts Suze, lifting her eyebrows. "Let's face it, Bex. If it weren't for you, this protest would be three people and a dog."

"Well, you know." I shrug, trying to look modest. But I am secretly pretty pleased with the way things are going. I've been in charge of the protest publicity ever since I got out of the hospital, and we have gotten so much coverage! The rally is this afternoon, and at least four local radio stations ran news stories this morning. It's been in all the local papers, and a TV crew is even talking about coming out!

It's all due to a brilliant combination of factors. It turns out the head of news at Radio c.u.mbria is Guy Wroxley, who I used to know in London when I was a financial journalist. He gave me the phone numbers of everyone locally who might be interested, and ran a huge feature piece yesterday afternoon on c.u.mbria Watch. But the best thing is our fabulous human interest story! The first thing I did when I took control was call a meeting of the environmental group. Everyone had to tell me every little thing they knew about the site, even if it didn't seem important. And it turns out that twenty years ago, Jim proposed to Elizabeth in the very field which is going to be wrecked by the shopping center!

So we set up a photo shoot in the field, with Jim kneeling down just like he did then (except, apparently, he didn't kneel-but I told him not to mention that), looking all mournful. The Scully and Coggenthwaite Herald printed it on their front page yesterday morning under the headline Ma.s.sACRE OF OUR LOVING MEMORIES, and the protest hotline (Robin's mobile) has been ringing with support ever since!

"How long have we got?" asks Suze, sitting back on her heels.

"Three hours. Here you are." I hand her a cup of coffee.

"Oh, right." Suze gives a slight grimace. "Is this your thrifty coffee?"

"Yes!" I eye her defensively. "What's wrong? It's delicious!"

There's a ring at the doorbell and I hear Jess striding down the pa.s.sage to answer it.

"Maybe that's another bunch of flowers," says Suze with a giggle. "From your admirer."

I have been bombarded with bouquets ever since the accident. About half of them are from Nathan Temple, saying things like In hugest grat.i.tude and In appreciation of your supportive gesture.

Well. So he should be grateful. There was Luke, all set to fly home, and it was me who said he should stay in Cyprus and finish the job and I'd be fine staying with Jess for a few days. So he did, and he's on his way home today. The plane should be landing any minute.

I just know things are going to work out well between me and Luke. We've had the ups and downs . . . we've had the tempests . . . but from now on it's going to be smooth, easy waters. For a start, I'm a different person now. I've become a grown-up, prudent woman. And I'm going to have a grown-up relations.h.i.+p with Luke. I'm going to discuss everything with him. I'm going to tell him everything. No more stupid situations where we end up at loggerheads. We're a team!

"You know, I honestly think Luke won't know me," I say, taking a pensive sip of coffee.

"Oh, I think he will," says Suze, studying me. "You don't look that bad. I mean, the st.i.tches are pretty awful, but that huge bruise is looking a bit better. . . ."

"I don't mean in appearance!" I say. "I mean in personality. I've totally changed."

"Have you?" says Suze, looking puzzled.

She's my best friend. Hasn't she noticed anything?

"Yes! Look at me! Making thrifty coffee and organizing a protest march and eating soup and . . . everything!"

I haven't even told Luke about organizing the protest. He'll be so gobsmacked when he sees his wife has become an activist. He'll be so impressed!

"Becky?" Jess's voice interrupts us and we both look up to see her standing at the door, an odd expression on her face. "I've got something for you. Some walkers have just come back from Scully Pike, and . . . they found this." From behind her back she produces a hand-painted calfskin bag adorned with diamante.

My Angel bag.

I thought I'd never ever see it again.

"Oh my G.o.d," I hear Suze breathe.

I'm speechless. It's a bit battered and there's a tiny scratch near the handle-but apart from that it looks just the way it did. The angel is the same. The sparkling Dante is the same.

"It seems fine," Jess is saying, turning it over in her hands. "It must have gotten a bit wet and thrown about, but apart from that, no harm done. Here you are." She holds it out.

But I don't move. I can't take it from her.

"Becky?" Jess looks perplexed. "Here!" She thrusts it toward me and I flinch.

"I don't want it." I look away. "This bag nearly ruined my marriage. From the moment I bought it, everything started going wrong. I think it's cursed."

"Cursed?" says Jess, exchanging looks with Suze.

"Bex, it's not cursed," Suze says patiently. "It's a totally fab bag! Everyone wants an Angel bag!"

"Not me. Not anymore. It's only brought me trouble." I look from face to face, feeling suddenly rather sage. "You know, the last few days have really taught me a lot. I've got a lot of things in perspective. And if it's a choice between my marriage or a totally fab bag"-I spread my arms-"I'll take the marriage."