Shopaholic And Sister Part 7

"You look so well!" she exclaims. "Don't they look well?" she says to my parents. "So brown!"

"That's traveling for you," I say nonchalantly.

"And Luke! You look just like Crocodile Dundee!" Janice is goggling at both of us with open admiration, and I can't help feeling gratified.

"Let's go in," says Mum. "And you can tell us all about it!"

This is the moment I've pictured so many times. Sitting down with friends and family and telling all about our foreign adventures. Spreading out a crinkly map . . . describing sunrises over mountains . . . looking at the avid faces . . . listening to the gasps of admiration. . . .

Except that now it's actually happening, it isn't going quite like I imagined.

"Did you go to Tenerife?" Janice keeps interrupting as I try to describe wading through the Amazon. "Or Majorca? You can get some lovely packages. . . ."

"Er . . . no," I say, feeling a twinge of annoyance. "We went to Africa . . . India . . ." I spread my arms. "Everywhere!"

"I can't stand the heat." Janice shakes her head. "Never could. Even in Florida." She suddenly brightens. "Did you go to Disneyland?"

"Er . . . no."

"Oh well." Janice looks sympathetic. "Never mind. Maybe next time!"

Next time? What, next time we spend ten months traveling round the world?

"It certainly sounds like a lovely holiday," she adds encouragingly.

It wasn't a holiday! I want to exclaim. It was a traveling experience! Honestly. I bet when Christopher Columbus came back from America, people didn't meet him off the boat with "Ooh, Christopher, did you go to Disneyland?"

I glance up at Mum and Dad, but they're not even listening. They're standing by the sink, and Mum's murmuring something to Dad.

I don't like this. There is definitely something going on. I glance at Luke, and he's watching Mum and Dad too.

"We brought you presents!" I exclaim loudly, reaching for my carrier bag. "Mum! Dad! Have a look!"

With some difficulty I pull out the South American mask and present it to Mum. It's in the shape of a dog's face, with big teeth and huge circular eyes, and I have to say, it looks pretty impressive.

"I brought it all the way back from Paraguay!" I add with a glow of pride.

I feel like such an explorer! Here I am, bringing rare artifacts of the indigenous South American culture to Oxshott. I mean, how many people in Britain have even seen one of these? Maybe a museum will ask to borrow it for an exhibition or something!

"Goodness!" says Mum, turning it over a little nervously. "What is it?"

"It's a traditional ritual mask made by Chiriguano Indians, isn't it?" Janice says brightly.

"Have you been to Paraguay, Janice?" I say, taken aback.

"Oh no, love." She takes a sip of coffee. "I've seen them in John Lewis."

For a moment I can't quite speak.

"You've seen them in . . . John Lewis?" I say at last.

"In Kingston. The gift department." She beams. "You can buy everything in John Lewis these days!"

"Never knowingly undersold," chimes in Mum.

I do not believe this. I've lugged this mask approximately six thousand miles around the globe. It was supposed to be a rare and exotic treasure. And all the time it's been on sale at b.l.o.o.d.y John Lewis.

Mum glimpses my face.

"But yours will be the real thing, love!" she says quickly. "We'll put it on the mantelpiece next to Dad's golf trophy!"

"OK," I say a bit gloomily. I glance up at Dad, and he's still staring out the window, not listening to a word. Maybe I'll give him his present later.

"So, what's been happening here?" I say, taking a cup of coffee from Mum. "How's Martin? And Tom?" I ask Janice.

"Both well, thank you!" says Janice. "Tom's living with us for a while."

"Ah." I give an understanding nod.

Tom is Janice and Martin's son, and he's had a bit of a disaster with his marriage. His wife, Lucy, left him, basically because he wouldn't have a tattoo done to match hers.

"They've sold their house," Janice says, looking wistful. "Did very well out of it, actually."

"And is he OK?"

Mum and Janice exchange looks.

"He's been throwing himself into his hobbies," Janice says at last. "Keeping himself busy. His new thing is woodworking. He's made all sorts of things for us!" She looks slightly beleaguered. "Three garden benches . . . two bird tables . . . and now he's working on a two-story summerhouse in the garden!"

"Wow!" I say politely. "That's great!"

An oven timer suddenly starts pinging, and I look up in surprise. Has Mum taken to baking while we've been away?

"Are you cooking something?" I peer at the oven, which appears to be dead.

"No!" Mum gives a trill of laughter. "That's to remind me to check eBay."

"eBay?" I stare at her. "What do you mean, eBay?"

How would Mum know about eBay? She doesn't know anything about computers. Two years ago I suggested she give Luke a new mouse mat for Christmas and she went to a pet shop.

"You know, darling! Internet shopping. I'm bidding on a Ken Hom wok, a pair of candlesticks"-she pulls a flowery notepad out of her pocket and consults it-"oh yes, and a hedge trimmer for Dad. Used only once!"

"eBay is marvelous!" chimes in Janice. "Such fun. Have you used it, Becky?"

"Well . . . no."

"Oh, you'd love it," says Mum at once. "Although I couldn't get through last night to check on my Portmeirion plates." She clicks her tongue. "I don't know what was wrong."

"The domain servers were probably down," Janice says knowledgeably. "I've been having trouble with my modem all week. Biscuit, Becky?"

I cannot get my head round this. Mum? On eBay? Next she'll be saying she's up to level six on Tomb Raider.

"But . . . you haven't even got a computer," I say. "You hate modern technology."

"Not anymore, love! Janice and I did a course. We've gone broadband!" She looks at me seriously. "Let me give you a word of advice, Becky. If you're going broadband, I'd install a decent firewall."

OK. This is all wrong. Parents are not supposed to know more about computers than their children. I nod carelessly and take a sip of coffee, trying to hide the fact that I don't have a clue what a firewall is.

"Jane, it's ten to twelve," Janice says cautiously to Mum. "Are you going to . . ."

"I don't think so," Mum says. "You go on."

"What is it?" I look from face to face. "Is something wrong?"

"Of course not!" says Mum, putting down her coffee cup. "It's just we agreed to go to the Marshalls' lunch party today, with Janice and Martin. But don't worry. We'll send our apologies."

"Don't be silly!" I say at once. "You must go. We don't want to mess up your day."

There's a pause.

"Are you sure?" says Mum.

She wasn't supposed to say that. She was supposed to say, "How could my precious daughter mess up my day?"

"Of course!" I say, in overbright tones. "You go to your lunch party and we'll have a proper chat later."

"Well, OK," says Mum. "If you're sure."

"I'll pop over and get ready," says Janice. "Lovely to see you back, Becky!"

As she disappears through the kitchen door I look at Dad, who's still staring out the window, brooding.

"Are you OK, Dad?" I say. "You've been really quiet."

"Sorry," he says, turning round with a quick smile. "I'm just a little distracted at the moment. Thinking about . . . a golf match I've got next week. Very important." He mimes playing a putt.

"Right," I say, trying to sound cheerful.

But inside I feel more and more uneasy. He's not really thinking about golf. Why is he so cagey?

What is going on?

"So . . ." I say lightly. "Who was that I saw you with earlier? That woman you were with."

It's like I've let off a gunshot or something. Mum and Dad are both paralyzed. I can see their eyes darting toward each other, then looking away again. They both look totally panic-stricken.

"Woman?" says Mum at last. "I didn't . . ." She looks at Dad. "Did you see a woman, Brian?"

"Maybe Becky means . . . that pa.s.serby," he says in a stilted tone.

"That's right!" exclaims Mum in her theatrical voice again. "There was a woman just pa.s.sing by on the street. A stranger. That must have been it, love."

"Right. Of course."

I try to smile, but inside I feel a bit sick. Are Mum and Dad lying to me?

"Well . . . you go off to your lunch party!" I say. "Have a great time!"

As the front door slams I feel like bursting into tears. I was so looking forward to today. But now I almost wish we'd never come back. No one seems particularly excited to see us. My rare, exotic treasure isn't exotic or rare. And why are Mum and Dad being so weird?

"Do you want another cup of coffee?" asks Luke.

"No, thanks." I scuff my foot on the kitchen floor.

"Are you OK, Becky?"

"No," I admit in a small voice. "Not really. Coming home isn't like I thought it would be."

"Come here." Luke holds out his arms and I nestle into his chest. "What were you expecting? That they would drop everything and throw a party?"

"No! Of course not!" I look up and meet Luke's eye. "Well . . . maybe. Kind of. We've been away all this time and it's like . . . we just popped out to the shops!"

"It was always going to be a gamble, surprising everyone," he says reasonably. "They weren't expecting us for another two months. It's no wonder they're a bit thrown."

"I know. But it's not just that." I take a deep breath. "Luke-do you think Mum and Dad are . . . hiding something?"

"Yes," says Luke.

"Yes?"

I'm gobsmacked. I was expecting him to say, "Becky, you're imagining things," like he usually does.

"There's certainly something going on." Luke pauses. "And I think I know what it might be."

"What?" I stare at him, agog.

"That woman who was with them. The one they wouldn't tell us about? I reckon she's an estate agent. I think they're considering moving."

"Moving?" I echo in dismay. "Why would they do that? This is a lovely house! It's perfect!"