Authors: Sophie Kinsella
She rings off and I watch the light in my phone die away. I walk over to the willow tree in the middle of the front lawn and sit on the old wooden bench. To be honest, I feel a bit unsettled. What’s going on with Luke? And how am I going to manage this party? I thought I was doing so well; I was so pleased with myself. But now I’m feeling panicky.
Security guards. Valet parking. Kosher food. Loos. Foot masseurs. Oh God, oh God. How am I going to afford all this? Why have I spent so long making stupid pom-poms? What
else
do I need to think about?
Suze would know. Suze goes to posh parties all the time. But I can’t ask her. Not now.
On impulse I open my BlackBerry and scroll down the acceptance list. The more names I read, the worse I feel. Why can’t Luke have
normal
friends? Why do they all have to be so posh and important? These people will be used to grand receptions in smart venues. They’re used to marble pillars and string quartets and waiters in white coats …
‘Becky?’ Mum is looking out of the front door with a concerned look. ‘Are you OK, love?’
‘I’m fine,’ I say brightly. ‘Just … thinking.’
There’s no way in a million years I’m admitting I’m worried about the party.
Mum disappears again and I nibble my thumbnail. Well, I don’t have any choice, do I? I’ll have to book the bouncers and the loos and the masseurs and everything else. And just pay for it … somehow.
I wince as I think over my finances. I can’t take the money out of the joint account because Luke will see. And I can’t take it out of my own account because there’s nothing to take out. There’s no way the bank will extend my overdraft. Not at the moment. And I’ve already maxed out half my cards. All the credit companies are so
stingy
these days.
Could I contact my old bank manager, Derek Smeath, and plead for a special emergency party overdraft? He’d understand, surely. And he always liked Luke, and I could invite him to the party …
I suddenly sit bolt upright. No. I’ve got it. I’ll ask Trevor for my Employee of the Year money in advance. He can’t refuse me, can he? Not after all those nice things he said about me.
In fact, while I’m at it … why don’t I ask him for a raise?
I’m so relieved, I almost laugh out loud. Why didn’t I think of that before? He’s just presented me with flowers, for God’s sake. My department is the best by miles. It’s bucking all the trends. It’s
obvious
I should get a raise. I’ll ask for a confidential meeting and I’ll calmly ask for a small yet significant raise, and together with the Employee of the Year money, that will pay for everything.
Maybe a medium-sized yet significant raise. Even better.
And meanwhile I’ll Google ‘expensive luxury-party planning details’, just to see what else I’ve forgotten.
Feeling a million times better I get up from the bench, and am heading inside as a text bleeps on my phone. I pull it out, to see it’s from Bonnie.
Becky dear. I have been torn by guilt. I feel you are right. Your friendship has come to mean a great deal to me and the major part of any friendship has to be trust. I will therefore trust you and send by separate text the name of the new client which Luke is keeping from you (for all the best reasons, I must assure you).
Please delete these texts straight away after reading. I hope and believe that you will respect the fact that I am risking a certain amount by divulging this information. Please try not to give away to Luke the fact that you know it. Some self-restraint may be required on your part.
Your affectionate friend
Bonnie
I feel so touched as I read the words. Bonnie
is
my friend. And I’m her friend. And that’s what’s important. I hardly even care about the name of the client any more. I mean, it’ll only be some boring bigshot finance type I’ve never heard of, probably.
As for saying I’ll need self-restraint … for God’s sake. I think sometimes people who work in PR start to believe their own hype. I press ‘Reply’ and start texting back:
Dear Bonnie, thank you so much. You are a great friend to me. Don’t worry, I will not give away to Luke by a smidgen that I know the name of this client, and I really don’t think self-restraint will be a problem—
A bleep interrupts me. Ooh, that might be Bonnie’s second text. I might as well have a look before I continue. I click on it and wait for the message to appear on the screen.
It consists of two words only. For a moment I stand stock still, blinking, not quite able to process what I’m seeing.
Sage Seymour.
Sage Seymour the movie star?
She’s
the new client? But … but … how on earth …
No. It can’t be true. It’s ridiculous. Luke doesn’t represent movie stars.
But then, Bonnie wouldn’t say it unless—
Sage Seymour?
How did this happen? How did he go from representing boring old banks to actresses? And why has he kept so quiet about it?
I’m almost hyperventilating. I keep looking up and then looking down at the screen again, just to check it still says the same thing.
Sage Seymour’s the coolest movie star
ever
. She was in that one about the Nazis. She wore that amazing nude beaded dress to the Oscars. I’ve always, always, always wanted to meet her.
And Luke’s
met
her? He’s
working
with her?
Why didn’t he TELL ME?
Sage Seymour – Google Search
Suggestions
Google earth
Google maps
Google.com
Google wave
Google translate
Google chrome
Google voice
Recent Searches
sage seymour luke brandon
sage seymour luke brandon new publicist
sage seymour becky brandon
sage seymour fashion
jimmy choo 50 per cent off
madonna children school
claudia schiffer children school
expensive luxury party planning details
budget luxury party planning details
valet parking oxshott
alexander wang handbag
alexander wang handbag sale
venetia carter discredited and ruined
sage seymour pink swimming pool
sage seymour new best friend
FOURTEEN
I cannot believe Luke hasn’t told me about Sage Seymour.
I would never, ever,
ever
keep such a big secret from him. In fact, I’m quite shocked. Is this how he thinks a marriage works? With one person knowing a movie star and not telling the other one?
Obviously I can’t let him know that I know, because that would be betraying Bonnie’s confidence. But I
can
give him cutting little glances now and then, as though to say, ‘Yes, well, someone’s got a great big secret, haven’t they?’
‘Becky, is something wrong?’ Luke looks at me, puzzled, as he passes by, hefting two massive carrier bags to the removal lorry. The guys have been here for an hour and we’re nearly all packed up.
‘No!’ I say tartly. ‘What could possibly be wrong?’
Luke scans my face for a minute, then sighs. ‘Oh God. I get it.’ He dumps the bags down and puts his arms around me. ‘I know it’s a difficult day for you. Of course, it’ll be great to have our own space – but we’ve been happy living here. It’s the end of an era.’
It’s not about the ‘end of an era’! I want to yell at him. Why would I care about that? It’s ‘Why didn’t you let me meet the famous movie star?’
I just can’t believe I’ve missed such an amazing opportunity. We could all have had dinner together by now. We probably would have really hit it off. Sage and I would have exchanged phone numbers and become best friends and she would have invited me out to her home in Malibu where she’s got that shell-pink-mosaic swimming pool. It looks
amazing
.
I can just see us, floating on lilos, drinking smoothies, chatting about life. She could have told me how she gets her hair that amazing treacly colour and I could have told her exactly where she’d gone wrong with that last boyfriend of hers. (Because I totally disagree with that columnist in
Heat
magazine – the split was
not
inevitable.) And then we could have gone shopping and been snapped by paparazzi and started a whole new trend with scarves or something.
But Luke’s keeping me out of it. On purpose. He doesn’t
deserve
a surprise party. I’m so grouchy, I almost feel like telling him.
‘Becky?’ I look up to see Jess coming up the drive. ‘Good luck with your new house,’ she says matter-of-factly. ‘Here’s a house-warming present.’
She hands me a massive bulky bag made of strong brown paper and I peep inside. Bloody hell. What on earth is that?
‘Wow, thanks! Is it … candy floss?’ I say uncertainly.
‘Insulation lagging,’ says Jess. ‘Houses in this country are shockingly poor on insulation. Put it in your loft. Save some energy.’
‘Lovely!’ I pat it gingerly. ‘So, how are you? I’ve hardly seen you.’
‘I’ve been visiting friends. I try not to stay here for more than a night at a time.’ Jess lowers her voice darkly. ‘She’s doing my head in. Tom’s, too.’
‘Janice?’ I whisper back sympathetically. ‘Is she still going on about you having a baby?’
‘Worse! She knows she can’t talk about it because Tom’ll shout her down. So she’s resorted to other measures.’
‘What measures?’ I say, intrigued.
‘She gave me this herbal drink the other day. She said I seemed “run down”. But I didn’t trust her, so I looked it up online. It’s only a natural fertility drug and libido enhancer.’ She looks outraged. ‘Tom had already drunk three cups!’
‘No way!’ I feel like giggling, except Jess is so fierce, I don’t dare.
‘I wish this was us, moving out to our own place.’ She looks wistfully at the van.
‘Well, why don’t you?’
‘We’ll be going back out to South America in a few weeks.’ Jess shrugs. ‘There’s no point and we don’t have any spare cash. But I’m telling you, if she does one more thing—’
‘Come and stay with us!’ Impulsively I squeeze her arm. ‘We’ll have a fab time and I promise not to feed you any fertility drugs.’
‘Really?’ Jess looks surprised. ‘But your mum and dad said you didn’t want anyone visiting your house till it was ready.’
‘Er … kind of.’ I clear my throat.
I haven’t had a chance to explain the situation to Jess. I’ll call her later, when we’re at the rented place.
‘Ready to go?’ Luke is calling. He dropped our car off at the house yesterday, so we’re going in the removal truck. It’s the coolest thing
ever
. It’s got a row of seats at the front so there’s room for all of us, even Minnie. She’s already strapped into her booster with her snack box and is passing raisins one by one to the removal driver. (He’s called Alf and luckily seems a very patient guy.)
We should
so
buy a great big truck, I think idly. I mean, it’s the perfect family car. You’d never have to worry about having too much shopping again. We could all sit in the front and people would call us The Family in the Cool Truck, and—
‘Becky?’
Oh. Oops. Everyone’s waiting.
I head over to Mum and give her a hug. ‘Bye, Mum. And thanks so much for putting up with us.’
‘Oh, love.’ Mum waves it off. ‘Don’t be silly.’ She glances at Dad. ‘Shall we …’
Dad nods, and clears his throat self-consciously. ‘Before you go, darling, I’d just like to say a few words,’ he begins. Luke descends from the cab of the lorry with a questioning look and I shrug back. I had no idea Dad was planning to make a speech.
‘I thought this day would never happen.’ Dad’s voice rings round the tarmac drive. ‘Our daughter has bought a house!’ He pauses momentously. ‘We’re very, very proud, aren’t we, Jane?’
‘We used to say, who on earth would ever give our little Becky a mortgage?’ Mum chimes in. ‘We were quite worried, love! But now you’ve got a beautiful house in Maida Vale!’
I can’t look at Luke. I’m standing there in silence, chewing my lip, feeling more and more uncomfortable. I mean, I know we will have a house soon. So I haven’t
exactly
lied. But still.
‘And so, in honour of the occasion …’ Dad clears his throat, suddenly sounding choked up. ‘Becky, we’d like you to have this.’ He hands me a present, wrapped up in tissue paper.
‘Oh my God! You shouldn’t have!’ I pull the tissue off – and it’s the picture of the lady with the flowers. The painting that’s been hanging on the upstairs landing for as long as I can remember.
‘Wh—
What?’
I look up in shock. ‘I can’t take this! This belongs here!’
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ Mum suddenly looks misty-eyed. ‘When you were a little girl, you always said you wanted that picture in your room. And I used to say, “You can have it when you’re a grown-up lady with your very own house.”’ She dabs at her eyes. ‘And now here you are, darling. A grown-up lady with your very own house.’
I’ve never felt more guilty in my life.
‘Well … thanks, Mum,’ I stutter. ‘I’m really honoured. It’ll have pride of place in our home.’
‘Maybe in that lovely hallway!’ suggests Mum. ‘It would look beautiful with that fireplace.’
‘Yes, maybe.’ My face is boiling by now.
Oh God. This is unbearable. We must get on to the lawyer and speed everything up. And as
soon
as we’re in the proper house, we’ll have them over, and we’ll put the picture up and everything will be OK.
‘You will tell us when we can visit,’ says Mum longingly.
‘Well … we’ll come and see
you
very soon,’ I say, avoiding a direct answer. ‘I’ll call you later, Mum.’
Luke and I clamber up into the cab of the lorry and Alf looks over. He’s so wizened he looks about a hundred and three although apparently he’s only seventy-one. He’s already told us he’s got a bad hip and a dodgy shoulder and a dicky chest, so the other lads are meeting him at the site to help move the boxes. ‘Ready?’ he rasps, his gold tooth glinting.
‘Yes, let’s go.’
‘Young lady want her raisins back?’ He’s got a whole fistful of them, I suddenly notice. Some of them chewed.
‘Minnie!’ I scold. ‘I’m
so
sorry, let me take those from you …’ I hastily cram the raisins back into Minnie’s snack box, then breathe out as the lorry rumbles out of the drive.
‘So, Mrs Home-owner,’ says Luke sardonically. ‘You must be feeling very proud.’
‘Shut up!’ I clasp my head in my hands. ‘Look … it’ll be OK. I’ll give it a couple of days and then I’ll phone home and make something up about the house needing renovation and say we’re renting somewhere. They’ll be fine. And then as soon as we
do
get the house we’ll have a big dinner for everyone.’
‘Christmas dinner, maybe.’ Luke nods. ‘Next year.’
‘What?’ I stare at him in horror. ‘Don’t be silly! It’s not going to take
that
long to get the house. The lawyer said it would all be sorted out quickly!’
‘Which in lawyer-speak means Christmas next year.’
‘No it
doesn’t
—’
‘Is that your mum?’ interrupts Alf conversationally.
‘What?’
‘Blue Volvo? They’re following us.’ He nods at the wing mirror and I stare into it in disbelief. There they are. Driving along right behind us. What’s Mum doing, following us?
I whip out my phone and speed-dial her number.
‘Mum, what are you
doing?’
I say with no preamble.
‘Oh, Becky!’ Her voice rings out. ‘You’ve ruined the surprise! Graham, I
told
you to stay further back! They’ve seen us!’
‘Mum, listen to me.’ I know I sound jumpy but I can’t help it. ‘You’re not supposed to be coming with us. We said we’d
tell
you when we were ready for you to come and visit.’
‘Becky, love!’ Mum laughs. ‘This is your first house! The first property you’ve ever owned! We don’t mind what state it’s in!’
‘But—’
‘Darling, I know what you said. And to be honest, we were planning to let you have your privacy. But then we just couldn’t resist it! We couldn’t let you just slip off without helping you. I’ve brought some teacakes and Dad’s got his tools. We’ll help you get ship-shape in no time …’
My heart is thudding. There’s no way I can let them turn up at some crummy rented townhouse. Not after Dad’s speech.
‘We could even pop round and meet your new neighbours!’ Mum’s still talking cheerily. ‘They might turn out to be good friends to you, Becky. I mean, look at me and Janice, still friends after thirty years. I can remember the day we first moved in, and Janice came round with a bottle of sherry … Ooh, Dad says, can you remind him of the address in case we get separated?’
My mind works like a spring trap.
‘Mum, I can’t hear you … I’m losing you …’ I rub the phone against my bag to make a kerfuffly noise, then switch it off and look at Luke. ‘It’s OK. They don’t know the address.’ I turn urgently to Alf. ‘We need to lose them.’
‘Lose
them?’
‘Yes! Like in cop films. Duck down a side alley or whatever.’
‘A side alley?’ He sounds startled. ‘What side alley?’
‘I don’t know! Find one. You know, like in car chases!’ Doesn’t he
watch
movies?
‘I think my wife wants you to drive very fast down a narrow one-way street the wrong way, knock over a barrow of fruit, send crowds of people screaming, roll the van 360 degrees, and manage to elude my parents-in-law
that
way,’ says Luke in a deadpan voice. ‘I’m assuming you are a stunt removal driver?’
‘Shut up.’ I hit him on the chest. ‘Do you realize the situation we’re in?’
‘If it were up to me we wouldn’t be in this situation,’ he says calmly. ‘Because we would have told your parents the truth in the first place.’
We pull up at a set of traffic lights. Mum and Dad pull up alongside and wave merrily, and I wave back with a sick grin.
‘OK,’ I instruct Alf. ‘When the lights change, you go!’
‘This is a lorry, duck, not a Ferrari.’
The lights change, and I start gesturing ‘Go, go!’ with my hands. Alf just shoots me a baleful look and puts the truck into gear unhurriedly.
Honestly. I feel like offering to drive myself.
‘Sorry folks. Fuel stop.’ Alf pulls into a service station, and sure enough, Mum and Dad’s Volvo follows us. A few moments later, Mum has got out of the car, bustled over and is knocking on the door of the cab.
‘Everything all right?’ she calls up.
‘Of course!’ I wind down the window and smile brightly. ‘Just getting some petrol.’
‘Only, I’ve got Janice on the line. You wouldn’t mind if she came along too, would you, love?’
What?
Before I can answer, Mum’s turned back to the phone. ‘Yes, we’re at the BP with the café … see you in a tick! Janice and Martin were in the car already, coming back from Yogacise …’ She turns to me. ‘There they are!’ She waves frantically as a black Audi turns in at the service-station entrance. ‘Yoo-hoo!’
‘Becky!’ Janice leans out of the window as the Audi approaches. ‘You don’t mind, do you, dear? Only your mum’s told us
all
about the house. So exciting!’
‘You follow us,’ Mum is telling Martin. ‘And we’ll follow the truck.’
I don’t believe this. We’ve got a convoy.
‘Put “Maida Vale” in your sat nav, Martin,’ Mum’s saying bossily ‘That way, even if we
do
get separated – Becky, what’s the exact address?’ She suddenly calls over to me.
‘I … er … I’ll text you …’
I’ve got to tell her the truth. I’ve got to. Right now.
‘The thing is, Mum …’ I swallow and look over at Luke for support, but he’s got out of the truck and is taking a call on the forecourt.
‘No, it’s
not
fucking OK,’ I can hear him saying.
Oh God. He looks really angry. What’s going on?
‘Becky.’ I jump as Janice appears out of nowhere, blinking at me through the cab window. She’s wearing a bright-pink yoga outfit which makes my eyes hurt just to look at it, together with pop socks and clogs. It’s a look which some edgy nineteen-year-old model could just about carry off. ‘I just wanted a little discreet word, while Luke is out of the way.’ She lowers her voice almost to a whisper. ‘It’s about the
P. A. R. T. Y
. I was reading
Hello!
the other day. That “Royal Fashion” party. Did you see it?’