Shopaholic Takes Manhattan
Page 97
“Why?” I say, stopping in surprise. “What’s in your…” I tail off as Suze’s cheeks slowly turn pink. “Suze!” I say, backing quietly away from the door. “No. Is there someone in there?”
I stare at her, and she pulls her dressing gown around her defensively, without saying anything.
“I don’t believe it!” My voice squeaks incredulously. “I go away for five minutes and you start having a torrid affair!”
This is cheering me up more than anything else. There’s nothing like hearing a juicy piece of gossip to raise your spirits.
“It’s not a torrid affair!” says Suze at last. “It’s not an affair at all.”
“So, who is it? Do I know him?”
Suze gives me an agonized look.
“OK, just… I just have to explain. Before you… you jump to the wrong conclusion, or…” She closes her eyes. “God, this is hard.”
“Suze, what’s wrong?”
Suddenly there’s the sound of stirring from inside Suze’s bedroom, and we stare at each other.
“OK, listen. It was just a one-off,” she says quickly. “Just a… a really impetuous, stupid… I mean…”
“What’s wrong, Suze?” I pull a face. “Oh God, it’s not Nick, is it?”
Nick is Suze’s last boyfriend — the one who was constantly depressed and getting drunk and blaming Suze. A complete nightmare, to be honest. But I mean, that was over months ago.
“No, it’s not Nick. It’s… Oh God.”
“Suze—”
“OK! But you have to promise to—”
“To what?”
“To not… react.”
“Why should I react?” I say, laughing a little. “I mean, I’m not a prude! All we’re talking about is…”
I tail off as Suze’s door opens — and it’s only Tarquin, looking not at all bad, in chinos and the jumper I gave him.
“Oh,” I say in surprise. “I thought you were going to be Suze’s new—”
I break off and look at Suze with a grin.
But she doesn’t grin back. She’s chewing her nails, avoiding my eyes — and her cheeks growing redder and redder.
I glance at Tarquin — and he looks away, too.
No. No.
She can’t mean—
No.
But…
No.
My brain can’t cope with this. Something’s about to short-circuit.
“Erm, Tarquin,” says Suze, in a high-pitched voice. “Could you go and buy some croissants?”
“Oh, ahm… OK,” says Tarquin, a little stiltedly. “Morning, Becky.”
“Morning!” I say. “Nice to… to see you. Nice… jumper.”
There’s a frozen silence in the kitchen as he walks out, which remains until we hear the front door slam. Then, very slowly, I turn to face Suze.
“Suze…”
I don’t even know how to begin.
“Suze… that was Tarquin.”
“Yes, I know,” she says, studying the kitchen counter intently.
“Suze… are you and Tarquin—”
“No!” she exclaims, as though she’s been scalded. “No, of course not! It’s just… we just…” She stops.
“You just…” I say encouragingly.
“Once or twice…”
There’s a long pause.
“With Tarquin,” I say, just to make sure.
“Yes,” she says.
“Right,” I say, nodding my head as though this is a completely reasonable scenario. But my mouth is twitching and I can feel a strange pressure rising inside me — half shock, half hysterical laughter. I mean, Tarquin. Tarquin!
A sudden giggle escapes from me and I clamp my hand over my mouth.
“Don’t laugh!” wails Suze. “I knew you’d laugh!”
“I’m not laughing!” I protest. “I think it’s great!” I give another snort of laughter, and try to pretend I’m coughing. “Sorry! Sorry. So — how did it happen?”
“It was at that party in Scotland!” she wails. “There was no one else there except loads of ancient aunts. Tarquin was the only other person under ninety. And somehow… he looked all different! He had on this really nice Paul Smith jersey, and his hair looked kind of cool — and it was like, is that really Tarquin? And I got quite pissed — and you know what that does to me. And there he was…” She shakes her head helplessly. “I don’t know. He was just… transformed. God knows how it happened!”
I stare at her, and she pulls her dressing gown around her defensively, without saying anything.
“I don’t believe it!” My voice squeaks incredulously. “I go away for five minutes and you start having a torrid affair!”
This is cheering me up more than anything else. There’s nothing like hearing a juicy piece of gossip to raise your spirits.
“It’s not a torrid affair!” says Suze at last. “It’s not an affair at all.”
“So, who is it? Do I know him?”
Suze gives me an agonized look.
“OK, just… I just have to explain. Before you… you jump to the wrong conclusion, or…” She closes her eyes. “God, this is hard.”
“Suze, what’s wrong?”
Suddenly there’s the sound of stirring from inside Suze’s bedroom, and we stare at each other.
“OK, listen. It was just a one-off,” she says quickly. “Just a… a really impetuous, stupid… I mean…”
“What’s wrong, Suze?” I pull a face. “Oh God, it’s not Nick, is it?”
Nick is Suze’s last boyfriend — the one who was constantly depressed and getting drunk and blaming Suze. A complete nightmare, to be honest. But I mean, that was over months ago.
“No, it’s not Nick. It’s… Oh God.”
“Suze—”
“OK! But you have to promise to—”
“To what?”
“To not… react.”
“Why should I react?” I say, laughing a little. “I mean, I’m not a prude! All we’re talking about is…”
I tail off as Suze’s door opens — and it’s only Tarquin, looking not at all bad, in chinos and the jumper I gave him.
“Oh,” I say in surprise. “I thought you were going to be Suze’s new—”
I break off and look at Suze with a grin.
But she doesn’t grin back. She’s chewing her nails, avoiding my eyes — and her cheeks growing redder and redder.
I glance at Tarquin — and he looks away, too.
No. No.
She can’t mean—
No.
But…
No.
My brain can’t cope with this. Something’s about to short-circuit.
“Erm, Tarquin,” says Suze, in a high-pitched voice. “Could you go and buy some croissants?”
“Oh, ahm… OK,” says Tarquin, a little stiltedly. “Morning, Becky.”
“Morning!” I say. “Nice to… to see you. Nice… jumper.”
There’s a frozen silence in the kitchen as he walks out, which remains until we hear the front door slam. Then, very slowly, I turn to face Suze.
“Suze…”
I don’t even know how to begin.
“Suze… that was Tarquin.”
“Yes, I know,” she says, studying the kitchen counter intently.
“Suze… are you and Tarquin—”
“No!” she exclaims, as though she’s been scalded. “No, of course not! It’s just… we just…” She stops.
“You just…” I say encouragingly.
“Once or twice…”
There’s a long pause.
“With Tarquin,” I say, just to make sure.
“Yes,” she says.
“Right,” I say, nodding my head as though this is a completely reasonable scenario. But my mouth is twitching and I can feel a strange pressure rising inside me — half shock, half hysterical laughter. I mean, Tarquin. Tarquin!
A sudden giggle escapes from me and I clamp my hand over my mouth.
“Don’t laugh!” wails Suze. “I knew you’d laugh!”
“I’m not laughing!” I protest. “I think it’s great!” I give another snort of laughter, and try to pretend I’m coughing. “Sorry! Sorry. So — how did it happen?”
“It was at that party in Scotland!” she wails. “There was no one else there except loads of ancient aunts. Tarquin was the only other person under ninety. And somehow… he looked all different! He had on this really nice Paul Smith jersey, and his hair looked kind of cool — and it was like, is that really Tarquin? And I got quite pissed — and you know what that does to me. And there he was…” She shakes her head helplessly. “I don’t know. He was just… transformed. God knows how it happened!”
