Shopaholic and Sister
Page 120
“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 glassful and I drink it thirstily. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m… fine.” I put the glass 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, wishing I had some moisturizer with me. Then suddenly I notice the time on Suze’s wristwatch.
“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 glassful 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.”
“God, 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 glass 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.
“Some water,” I croak. “If there is any.”
“Here you are.” Suze pours me out a glassful and I drink it thirstily. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m… fine.” I put the glass 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, wishing I had some moisturizer with me. Then suddenly I notice the time on Suze’s wristwatch.
“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 glassful 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.”
“God, 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 glass 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.
