Shopaholic and Sister
Page 70
“So… how come you can afford luxury coffee and strawberry jam with champagne?” She gestures at all the food laid out on the counter.
“Thrifty management,” I say smoothly. “Prioritizing. If you save on some items you can splash out on others. That’s the first rule of financial management. As I learned at financial journalism school,” I add.
OK, that’s a slight lie. I didn’t go to financial journalism school.
“So — which items are you saving on?” says Jess, her brow creased. “I can’t see anything in this kitchen that doesn’t come from Fortnum’s or Harrods.”
I’m about to make an indignant rejoinder when I realize she might be right. I got into a bit of a Harrods Food Hall habit after I started making all this money off eBay. But then, Harrods is a perfectly legitimate food shop.
“My husband appreciates a good standard of living,” I say crisply, opening a fresh jar of marmalade.
“But you could do it on less.” Jess leans forward, looking animated. “You could make savings everywhere! I could give you some tips.”
Tips? Tips from Jess?
Suddenly the oven timer goes off with a ping. It’s time!
“Are you cooking something?” says Jess, looking puzzled.
“Er… not exactly. Just help yourself… I’ll be back in a minute… ”
I hurry into the study and switch on the computer. Bidding on the orange vintage coat ends in five minutes, and I am bloody well going to get it. I tap my fingernails impatiently, and as soon as the screen clears I bring up the saved eBay page.
I knew it. Kittybee111 has bid again—£200.
She thinks she’s so clever. Well, take this, kittybee111.
I get out Luke’s stopwatch from the desk and set it for three minutes. As the time gets near I poise my hands over the keyboard like an athlete on the starting blocks.
OK. One minute before the bidding ends. Go.
As quickly as I can, I type in *@00.50.
Shit. What have I typed? Delete… retype… £200.50.
I jab SEND and the next screen comes up. User ID… password… I’m typing as fast as I can.
You are the current high bidder.
Ten seconds to go. My heart is thumping. What if someone else is bidding right now?
Frantically I click on REFRESH.
“What are you doing, Becky?” comes Jess’s voice at the door. Shit.
“Nothing!” I say. “Why don’t you make yourself some nice toast, while I just—”
The page is coming back up again. Did I… did I…
Congratulations! You won the item!
“Yeeess!” I cry out, unable to stop myself, and punch the air. “Yes! I got it!”
“Got what?” Jess has advanced across the room and is peering over my shoulder at the screen. “Is that you? You’re on a tight budget and you’re buying a coat for two hundred pounds?”
“It’s not like that!” I say, rattled at her disapproving expression. I get up, close the door of the study, and turn to face her.
“Look,” I say, keeping my voice lowered. “It’s OK. I’ve got all this money which Luke doesn’t know about. I’ve been selling off all the stuff we bought on our honeymoon — and I’ve made loads! I sold ten Tiffany clocks the other day and made two thousand quid!” I lift my chin proudly. “So I can easily afford this.”
Jess’s expression doesn’t waver.
“You could have put that money into a high-interest savings account,” she says. “Or used it to clear an outstanding bill.”
I quell a sudden urge to snap.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t,” I say, forcing a pleasant tone. “I bought a coat.”
“And Luke has no idea?” Jess fixes me with an accusing gaze.
“He doesn’t need to have any idea! Jess, my husband is a very busy man.”
“So you lie to him.”
“Every marriage needs an air of mystery,” I respond coolly. “It’s a well-known fact.”
Jess shakes her head.
“And is this how you can afford all the Fortnum’s jam, too?” She gestures to the computer. “Shouldn’t you just be honest?”
Oh, for God’s sake. Doesn’t she understand anything?
“Jess… let me explain,” I say kindly. “Our marriage is a complicated, living organism, which only the two of us can really understand. I naturally know what to tell Luke and what not to bother him with. Call it instinct… call it discretion… call it emotional intelligence, if you will.”
“Thrifty management,” I say smoothly. “Prioritizing. If you save on some items you can splash out on others. That’s the first rule of financial management. As I learned at financial journalism school,” I add.
OK, that’s a slight lie. I didn’t go to financial journalism school.
“So — which items are you saving on?” says Jess, her brow creased. “I can’t see anything in this kitchen that doesn’t come from Fortnum’s or Harrods.”
I’m about to make an indignant rejoinder when I realize she might be right. I got into a bit of a Harrods Food Hall habit after I started making all this money off eBay. But then, Harrods is a perfectly legitimate food shop.
“My husband appreciates a good standard of living,” I say crisply, opening a fresh jar of marmalade.
“But you could do it on less.” Jess leans forward, looking animated. “You could make savings everywhere! I could give you some tips.”
Tips? Tips from Jess?
Suddenly the oven timer goes off with a ping. It’s time!
“Are you cooking something?” says Jess, looking puzzled.
“Er… not exactly. Just help yourself… I’ll be back in a minute… ”
I hurry into the study and switch on the computer. Bidding on the orange vintage coat ends in five minutes, and I am bloody well going to get it. I tap my fingernails impatiently, and as soon as the screen clears I bring up the saved eBay page.
I knew it. Kittybee111 has bid again—£200.
She thinks she’s so clever. Well, take this, kittybee111.
I get out Luke’s stopwatch from the desk and set it for three minutes. As the time gets near I poise my hands over the keyboard like an athlete on the starting blocks.
OK. One minute before the bidding ends. Go.
As quickly as I can, I type in *@00.50.
Shit. What have I typed? Delete… retype… £200.50.
I jab SEND and the next screen comes up. User ID… password… I’m typing as fast as I can.
You are the current high bidder.
Ten seconds to go. My heart is thumping. What if someone else is bidding right now?
Frantically I click on REFRESH.
“What are you doing, Becky?” comes Jess’s voice at the door. Shit.
“Nothing!” I say. “Why don’t you make yourself some nice toast, while I just—”
The page is coming back up again. Did I… did I…
Congratulations! You won the item!
“Yeeess!” I cry out, unable to stop myself, and punch the air. “Yes! I got it!”
“Got what?” Jess has advanced across the room and is peering over my shoulder at the screen. “Is that you? You’re on a tight budget and you’re buying a coat for two hundred pounds?”
“It’s not like that!” I say, rattled at her disapproving expression. I get up, close the door of the study, and turn to face her.
“Look,” I say, keeping my voice lowered. “It’s OK. I’ve got all this money which Luke doesn’t know about. I’ve been selling off all the stuff we bought on our honeymoon — and I’ve made loads! I sold ten Tiffany clocks the other day and made two thousand quid!” I lift my chin proudly. “So I can easily afford this.”
Jess’s expression doesn’t waver.
“You could have put that money into a high-interest savings account,” she says. “Or used it to clear an outstanding bill.”
I quell a sudden urge to snap.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t,” I say, forcing a pleasant tone. “I bought a coat.”
“And Luke has no idea?” Jess fixes me with an accusing gaze.
“He doesn’t need to have any idea! Jess, my husband is a very busy man.”
“So you lie to him.”
“Every marriage needs an air of mystery,” I respond coolly. “It’s a well-known fact.”
Jess shakes her head.
“And is this how you can afford all the Fortnum’s jam, too?” She gestures to the computer. “Shouldn’t you just be honest?”
Oh, for God’s sake. Doesn’t she understand anything?
“Jess… let me explain,” I say kindly. “Our marriage is a complicated, living organism, which only the two of us can really understand. I naturally know what to tell Luke and what not to bother him with. Call it instinct… call it discretion… call it emotional intelligence, if you will.”
