Mini Shopaholic
Page 75
‘I’m just putting it in recycling.’ Luke seems puzzled. He makes to open the bin and I let just a bit of Prada tissue paper become visible before I grab the handle again.
‘I said I’ll do it!’ I say feverishly.
‘Becky, it’s fine.’ He wrenches the whole bin drawer open and the Prada tissue paper gusts up with the draught as though to say ‘Here I am! Look at me! Prada!’
For a moment neither of us speaks.
‘Gosh, what’s that doing there?’ I say in a high-pitched, unnatural voice, and start stuffing it down again. ‘That’s old. Really, really old. I mean, I can’t even remember the last time I went into a Prada. Or bought anything Prada. Or anything!’
I’m stumbling over my words and I’ve never sounded so guilty in my life.
In fact, I’m beginning to feel guilty. I feel like I’ve just maxed out my credit card and all the stuff is hidden under the bed.
‘Becky …’ Luke passes a hand over his brow. ‘What the hell is going on?’
‘Nothing!’
‘Nothing.’ He gives me a sceptical look.
‘Nothing at all.’ I try to sound firm and confident. Although I’m now wondering if I’ve overdone it.
Maybe he’s not fooled by my act for a moment. Maybe he’s thinking, ‘Well, she obviously hasn’t been shopping so what else could she be trying to hide, aha, I know, a party.’
For a few moments we just look at each other. I’m breathing hard and my hand is still clenched round the handle of the bin drawer.
‘Found?’ Minnie’s voice breaks the spell. She’s standing in the middle of the room with her hands clasped tightly over her eyes, which is how she hides.
‘Becky!’ Dad appears at the door. ‘Darling, you’d better come. You’ve got a delivery.’
‘Oh, right,’ I say, taken aback. I wasn’t expecting a delivery. What can this be?
‘Found?’ Minnie’s voice rises to a wail. ‘Found?’
‘Found you!’ Luke and I hastily say in unison. ‘Well done, Minnie!’ I add as she opens her eyes and beams proudly at us. ‘Very good hiding! Who’s this delivery from?’ I turn to Dad again.
‘It’s a van from fashionpack.co.uk,’ says Dad as we follow him out to the hall. ‘Quite a lot of stuff, apparently.’
‘Really?’ I wrinkle my brow. ‘That can’t be right. I haven’t been shopping on fashionpack.co.uk. I mean, not recently.’
I can see Luke eyeing me quizzically, and flush. ‘I haven’t, OK? It must be a mistake.’
‘Delivery for Rebecca Brandon,’ the delivery guy says as I reach the front door. ‘If you could sign here …’ He holds out an electronic device and a stylus.
‘Wait a minute!’ I hold up my hands. ‘I’m not signing anything. I didn’t order anything from you! I mean, I don’t remember ordering anything—’
‘Yeah, you did.’ He sounds bored, as though he’s heard this before. ‘Sixteen items.’
‘Sixteen?’ My jaw drops.
‘I’ll show you the receipt if you like.’ He rolls his eyes and heads back to the van.
Sixteen items?
OK, this makes no sense. How can I have ordered sixteen items from fashionpack.co.uk and not even remember? Am I getting Alzheimer’s?
A minute ago I was pretending to be guilty about shopping, and now it’s all coming true, like some kind of bad dream. How can this be happening? Did I somehow make it happen?
I suddenly notice Luke and Dad exchanging looks above my head.
‘I didn’t do it!’ I say, rattled. ‘I didn’t order anything! It must have been some kind of weird computer glitch.’
‘Becky, not the computer-glitch excuse again,’ says Luke wearily.
‘It’s not an excuse, it’s true! I didn’t order this stuff.’
‘Well someone clearly did.’
‘Maybe my identity’s been stolen. Or maybe I was sleep-shopping!’ I say in sudden inspiration.
Oh my God. Now, that makes total sense. It explains everything. I’m a secret sleep-shopper. I can see myself rising silently from my bed, coming downstairs with a glassy stare, logging on to the computer, tapping in my credit-card details …
But then, why didn’t I buy that fab bag from Net-A-Porter that I’ve been lusting after? Does my sleep-shopping self have no taste?
Could I write a note to my sleep-shopping self?
‘Sleep-shopping?’ Luke raises an eyebrow. ‘That’s a new one.’
‘No it’s not,’ I retort. ‘Sleepwalking’s a very common ailment, I think you’ll find, Luke. And I expect sleep-shopping is, too.’
‘I said I’ll do it!’ I say feverishly.
‘Becky, it’s fine.’ He wrenches the whole bin drawer open and the Prada tissue paper gusts up with the draught as though to say ‘Here I am! Look at me! Prada!’
For a moment neither of us speaks.
‘Gosh, what’s that doing there?’ I say in a high-pitched, unnatural voice, and start stuffing it down again. ‘That’s old. Really, really old. I mean, I can’t even remember the last time I went into a Prada. Or bought anything Prada. Or anything!’
I’m stumbling over my words and I’ve never sounded so guilty in my life.
In fact, I’m beginning to feel guilty. I feel like I’ve just maxed out my credit card and all the stuff is hidden under the bed.
‘Becky …’ Luke passes a hand over his brow. ‘What the hell is going on?’
‘Nothing!’
‘Nothing.’ He gives me a sceptical look.
‘Nothing at all.’ I try to sound firm and confident. Although I’m now wondering if I’ve overdone it.
Maybe he’s not fooled by my act for a moment. Maybe he’s thinking, ‘Well, she obviously hasn’t been shopping so what else could she be trying to hide, aha, I know, a party.’
For a few moments we just look at each other. I’m breathing hard and my hand is still clenched round the handle of the bin drawer.
‘Found?’ Minnie’s voice breaks the spell. She’s standing in the middle of the room with her hands clasped tightly over her eyes, which is how she hides.
‘Becky!’ Dad appears at the door. ‘Darling, you’d better come. You’ve got a delivery.’
‘Oh, right,’ I say, taken aback. I wasn’t expecting a delivery. What can this be?
‘Found?’ Minnie’s voice rises to a wail. ‘Found?’
‘Found you!’ Luke and I hastily say in unison. ‘Well done, Minnie!’ I add as she opens her eyes and beams proudly at us. ‘Very good hiding! Who’s this delivery from?’ I turn to Dad again.
‘It’s a van from fashionpack.co.uk,’ says Dad as we follow him out to the hall. ‘Quite a lot of stuff, apparently.’
‘Really?’ I wrinkle my brow. ‘That can’t be right. I haven’t been shopping on fashionpack.co.uk. I mean, not recently.’
I can see Luke eyeing me quizzically, and flush. ‘I haven’t, OK? It must be a mistake.’
‘Delivery for Rebecca Brandon,’ the delivery guy says as I reach the front door. ‘If you could sign here …’ He holds out an electronic device and a stylus.
‘Wait a minute!’ I hold up my hands. ‘I’m not signing anything. I didn’t order anything from you! I mean, I don’t remember ordering anything—’
‘Yeah, you did.’ He sounds bored, as though he’s heard this before. ‘Sixteen items.’
‘Sixteen?’ My jaw drops.
‘I’ll show you the receipt if you like.’ He rolls his eyes and heads back to the van.
Sixteen items?
OK, this makes no sense. How can I have ordered sixteen items from fashionpack.co.uk and not even remember? Am I getting Alzheimer’s?
A minute ago I was pretending to be guilty about shopping, and now it’s all coming true, like some kind of bad dream. How can this be happening? Did I somehow make it happen?
I suddenly notice Luke and Dad exchanging looks above my head.
‘I didn’t do it!’ I say, rattled. ‘I didn’t order anything! It must have been some kind of weird computer glitch.’
‘Becky, not the computer-glitch excuse again,’ says Luke wearily.
‘It’s not an excuse, it’s true! I didn’t order this stuff.’
‘Well someone clearly did.’
‘Maybe my identity’s been stolen. Or maybe I was sleep-shopping!’ I say in sudden inspiration.
Oh my God. Now, that makes total sense. It explains everything. I’m a secret sleep-shopper. I can see myself rising silently from my bed, coming downstairs with a glassy stare, logging on to the computer, tapping in my credit-card details …
But then, why didn’t I buy that fab bag from Net-A-Porter that I’ve been lusting after? Does my sleep-shopping self have no taste?
Could I write a note to my sleep-shopping self?
‘Sleep-shopping?’ Luke raises an eyebrow. ‘That’s a new one.’
‘No it’s not,’ I retort. ‘Sleepwalking’s a very common ailment, I think you’ll find, Luke. And I expect sleep-shopping is, too.’
