Shopaholic and Sister
Page 27
“I’m… fine.” I grab his glass and take a deep gulp of champagne. “Everything’s fine.”
But it’s not really fine.
I keep waiting for Lulu to leave, so I can have a good chat with Suze — but she doesn’t. She hangs around, helping to make the children’s tea and clear up. Every time I try to help, she’s there before me with a damp cloth or a beaker or some piece of mummy advice. She and Suze keep up a constant dialogue about the children, and it’s impossible for me to get a word in.
It’s not until about ten o’clock at night that she leaves, and I finally find myself alone in the kitchen with Suze. She’s sitting by the huge Aga stove, feeding one of the twins and yawning hugely every three minutes.
“So, you had a lovely honeymoon?” she says wistfully.
“It was fantastic. Totally perfect. We went to this amazing place in Australia where you could scuba dive, and—”
I break off as Suze yawns again. Maybe I’ll tell her tomorrow.
“How about you? How’s life with three kids?”
“Oh, you know.” She gives a tired smile. “It’s fine. Exhausting. Everything’s different.”
“And… you’ve been spending loads of time with Lulu,” I say casually.
“Isn’t she great?” says Suze, her face lighting up.
“Er… great.” I pause carefully. “She does seem a teeny bit bossy… ”
“Bossy?” Suze looks up in shock. “Bex, how can you say that? She’s been my total savior out here! She’s helped me so much!”
“Oh, right.” I backtrack hastily. “I didn’t mean—”
“She knows exactly what I’m going through.” Suze sighs. “I mean, she’s had four! She really understands.”
“Right.”
And I don’t understand. That’s what she means.
As I stare into my glass of wine, there’s a sudden heaviness about my head. None of my reunions are going quite like I thought they would.
I stand up and wander over to the Aga, where lots of family photos are always pinned up on the cork wall. There’s a picture of me and Suze dressed up for a party in feather boas and glittery makeup. And one of Suze and me in hospital with a tiny Ernie.
Then, with a pang, I notice a brand-new picture of Suze and Lulu, sitting on their horses, in matching riding jackets and hairnets. They’re beaming at the camera and look just like identical twins.
And as I gaze at it, I feel a sudden determination growing. I’m not losing my best friend to some bossy, horse-faced riding queen. Whatever Lulu can do, I can do.
“Maybe I’ll come riding with you and Lulu tomorrow,” I say casually. “If you’ve got a spare horse.”
I’ll even wear a hairnet, if that’s what it takes.
“You’ll come?” Suze looks up, staggered. “But… Bex. You don’t ride.”
“Yes, I do,” I say airily. “Luke and I did some riding on our honeymoon, actually.”
Which is… sort of true. Nearly. We were going to go on a camel ride in Dubai, except in the end we went snorkeling instead.
But anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll just hold on tight… and it’ll be fine!
Six
BY TEN O’CLOCK the next morning I’m ready. And I don’t want to boast, but as I survey myself in the mirror, I look utterly fab! I went to the riding shop in the next village first thing in the morning, and totally kitted myself out. I’m wearing snowy white jodhpurs, a tailored black riding jacket, shiny boots, and a beautiful new velvet riding hat.
Proudly I reach for my pièce de résistance — a big red rosette with shiny ribbons. There were loads of them for sale, so I bought one in every color! I carefully pin it onto my collar like a corsage, smooth down my jacket, and look at the effect.
God, I look so cool. I look like I’m going to win at Crufts.
No. I don’t mean Crufts, that’s the dog show. I mean the other one. The horse one.
I can start riding every day in Hyde Park, I think in a sudden burst of excitement. I’ll practice hard and get really good! Then I can come down here every weekend and ride with Suze. While I was in the shop I even filled out a form for a riding competition next month, as a little incentive.
“Tallyho!” says Luke, coming into the bedroom. “You look very dashing. Very sexy.” He raises his eyebrows. “Great boots. How long are you going to be?”
“Not that long,” I say knowledgeably. “We’re just going to go for a hack through the woods.”
But it’s not really fine.
I keep waiting for Lulu to leave, so I can have a good chat with Suze — but she doesn’t. She hangs around, helping to make the children’s tea and clear up. Every time I try to help, she’s there before me with a damp cloth or a beaker or some piece of mummy advice. She and Suze keep up a constant dialogue about the children, and it’s impossible for me to get a word in.
It’s not until about ten o’clock at night that she leaves, and I finally find myself alone in the kitchen with Suze. She’s sitting by the huge Aga stove, feeding one of the twins and yawning hugely every three minutes.
“So, you had a lovely honeymoon?” she says wistfully.
“It was fantastic. Totally perfect. We went to this amazing place in Australia where you could scuba dive, and—”
I break off as Suze yawns again. Maybe I’ll tell her tomorrow.
“How about you? How’s life with three kids?”
“Oh, you know.” She gives a tired smile. “It’s fine. Exhausting. Everything’s different.”
“And… you’ve been spending loads of time with Lulu,” I say casually.
“Isn’t she great?” says Suze, her face lighting up.
“Er… great.” I pause carefully. “She does seem a teeny bit bossy… ”
“Bossy?” Suze looks up in shock. “Bex, how can you say that? She’s been my total savior out here! She’s helped me so much!”
“Oh, right.” I backtrack hastily. “I didn’t mean—”
“She knows exactly what I’m going through.” Suze sighs. “I mean, she’s had four! She really understands.”
“Right.”
And I don’t understand. That’s what she means.
As I stare into my glass of wine, there’s a sudden heaviness about my head. None of my reunions are going quite like I thought they would.
I stand up and wander over to the Aga, where lots of family photos are always pinned up on the cork wall. There’s a picture of me and Suze dressed up for a party in feather boas and glittery makeup. And one of Suze and me in hospital with a tiny Ernie.
Then, with a pang, I notice a brand-new picture of Suze and Lulu, sitting on their horses, in matching riding jackets and hairnets. They’re beaming at the camera and look just like identical twins.
And as I gaze at it, I feel a sudden determination growing. I’m not losing my best friend to some bossy, horse-faced riding queen. Whatever Lulu can do, I can do.
“Maybe I’ll come riding with you and Lulu tomorrow,” I say casually. “If you’ve got a spare horse.”
I’ll even wear a hairnet, if that’s what it takes.
“You’ll come?” Suze looks up, staggered. “But… Bex. You don’t ride.”
“Yes, I do,” I say airily. “Luke and I did some riding on our honeymoon, actually.”
Which is… sort of true. Nearly. We were going to go on a camel ride in Dubai, except in the end we went snorkeling instead.
But anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll just hold on tight… and it’ll be fine!
Six
BY TEN O’CLOCK the next morning I’m ready. And I don’t want to boast, but as I survey myself in the mirror, I look utterly fab! I went to the riding shop in the next village first thing in the morning, and totally kitted myself out. I’m wearing snowy white jodhpurs, a tailored black riding jacket, shiny boots, and a beautiful new velvet riding hat.
Proudly I reach for my pièce de résistance — a big red rosette with shiny ribbons. There were loads of them for sale, so I bought one in every color! I carefully pin it onto my collar like a corsage, smooth down my jacket, and look at the effect.
God, I look so cool. I look like I’m going to win at Crufts.
No. I don’t mean Crufts, that’s the dog show. I mean the other one. The horse one.
I can start riding every day in Hyde Park, I think in a sudden burst of excitement. I’ll practice hard and get really good! Then I can come down here every weekend and ride with Suze. While I was in the shop I even filled out a form for a riding competition next month, as a little incentive.
“Tallyho!” says Luke, coming into the bedroom. “You look very dashing. Very sexy.” He raises his eyebrows. “Great boots. How long are you going to be?”
“Not that long,” I say knowledgeably. “We’re just going to go for a hack through the woods.”
