Shopaholic & Sister (32 page)

“Dunno. Make toast.” I hand Kelly some pound coins and she pops the three loaves into a bag, giggling.

“Jess is right, you are mad,” she says. “Shall I do your eyes now? What look do you want?”

“Customers’ll be coming in,” warns Jim. “I’m about to put the sign up.”

“I’ll just do one eye,” says Kelly, quickly reaching for a palette of eye shadows. “Then when they’ve all gone, I’ll do the other one. Close your eyes, Becky.”

She starts to brush eye shadow onto my eyelid, and I close my eyes, enjoying the brushing, tickling sensation. I’ve always adored having my makeup done.

“OK,” she says. “Now I’m doing some eyeliner. Keep still. . . .”

“Sign’s going up now,” comes Jim’s voice. There’s a pause—then I hear the familiar tinkling sound, and the bustle of people coming in.

“Er . . . don’t open your eyes yet, Becky.” Kelly sounds a bit alarmed. “I’m not sure if this has gone right. . . .”

“Let me see!”

I open them and grab my makeup mirror. One of my eyes is a wash of bright pink eye shadow, with shaky red eyeliner across the top lid. I look like I have some hideous eye disease.

“Kelly!”

“It said in
Elle
!” she says defensively, gesturing to a picture of a catwalk model. “Pink and red is in!”

“I look like a monster!” I can’t help bursting into giggles at my lopsided face. I have never looked so terrible in my life. I glance up to see if any of the customers have noticed and my laughter dies away.

Jess is coming into the shop along with the other reduced-price shoppers.

She looks so cold and hostile, a far cry from that skinny eleven-year-old waiting for the bus in the early morning. Her gaze runs dismissively over the magazines, the open makeup case, and all my makeup scattered over the counter. Then she turns away without speaking and begins to root through the basket of reduced cans.

The bustle of the shop has dwindled to nothing. I’m sure everyone knows exactly what’s been going on.

I glance at Jim, who gives me an encouraging nod.

“Er . . . Jess,” I begin. “I came to see you this morning. I wanted to explain. . . .”

“Nothing to explain.” She turns over the cans roughly, not even looking at me. “I don’t know what you’re still doing here.”

“She’s doing makeovers with me,” Kelly says loyally. “Aren’t you, Becky?”

I dart a grateful smile at her, but my attention is still fixed on Jess.

“I stayed because I want to talk to you. To . . . to apologize. Could I take you out to supper tonight?”

“I wouldn’t have thought I was well-dressed enough to have supper with you, Becky,” Jess says tonelessly. Her face is still and set—but now I can see the hurt underneath.

“Jess—”

“And anyway, I’m busy.” Jess dumps three battered cans on the counter, together with one that has lost its paper covering altogether and is marked at 10p. “Do you know what this is, Jim?”

“Fruit cocktail, I think.” He frowns. “But it could be carrots . . .”

“OK. I’ll take it.” She plonks some coins on the counter and fishes a crumpled paper carrier out of her pocket. “I don’t need a bag. Thanks.”

“Another night, then!” I say desperately. “Or lunch . . .”

“Becky, leave me alone.”

She strides out of the shop and I just sit there, my face tingling as though I’ve been slapped. Gradually the hush turns into whispers, which grow into full-blown chatter. I’m aware of people’s prying eyes as they come up to the counter to pay, but I’m too defeated to care.

“Are you OK, Becky?” Kelly says, touching my shoulder tentatively.

“I’ve blown it.” I drop my arms in a hopeless gesture. “You saw her.”

“She always was a stubborn little cuss.” Jim shakes his head. “Even when she was a kid. She’s her own worst enemy, that Jess. Hard on herself and hard on the rest of the world too.” He pauses, cleaning some dirt off his Stanley knife. “She could do with a sister like you, Becky.”

“Well, too bad,” Kelly says robustly. “You don’t need her! Just forget she’s your sister. Pretend she doesn’t exist!”

“Not as simple as that, though, is it?” says Jim. “Not with family. You can’t walk away so easy.”

“I don’t know.” I give a dispirited shrug. “Maybe we can. I mean, we’ve gone twenty-seven years without knowing each other. . . .”

“And you want to make it another twenty-seven?” Jim looks at me, suddenly stern. “Here’s the two of you. Neither of you has a sister. You could be good friends to one another.”

“It’s not my fault. . . .” I begin defensively, then tail off as I remember my little speech last night. “Well, it’s not
all
my fault. . . .”

“Didn’t say it was,” says Jim. He serves another two customers, then turns to me. “I’ve an idea. I know what Jess is doing tonight. In fact, I’ll be there too.”

“Really?”

“Aye. Local environmental protest meeting. Everyone’ll be there.” His eyes twinkle. “Why not come along?”

FAX MESSAGE

TO: 
LUKE BRANDON
APHRODITE TEMPLE HOTEL
CYPRUS

FROM: 
SUSAN CLEATH–STUART

6 JUNE 2003

URGENT—EMERGENCY

Luke

Becky
isn’t
at the flat. No one has seen her anywhere. I still can’t get through on her phone.

I’m really getting worried.

Suze

OK. THIS IS my chance to impress Jess. This is my chance to show her I’m not shallow and spoiled. I must
not
fuck this one up.

The first crucial thing is my outfit. With a frown I survey all my clothes, which I’ve strewn over the bed in the B&B room. What
is
the perfect environmental protest group meeting outfit? Not the leather trousers . . . not the glittery top . . . My eyes suddenly alight on a pair of combat trousers, and I pluck them from the pile.

Excellent. They’re pink, but I can’t help that. And . . . yes. I’ll team them with a T-shirt with a slogan. Genius!

I haul out a T-shirt that has the word HOT on it and goes really well with the combats. It’s not very protest-y, though, is it? I think for a minute, then get a red pen out of my bag and carefully add the word BAN. BAN HOT doesn’t exactly make sense . . . but it’s the thought that counts, surely. Plus I won’t wear any makeup, except a bit of eyeliner and some mascara and a translucent lip gloss.

I put it all on, and tie my hair into plaits, then admire myself in the mirror. I actually look pretty militant! I raise my hand experimentally in a power salute, and shake my fist at the mirror.

“Up with the workers,” I say in a deep voice. “Brothers unite.”

God, yes. I think I could be really good at this!

The protest meeting is being held in the village hall, and as I arrive I see people milling about, and posters up everywhere, with slogans like DON’T SPOIL OUR COUNTRYSIDE. I head to a table with cups of coffee and biscuits on it.

“Cup of coffee, love?” says an elderly man in a waxed jacket.

“Thanks,” I say. “Er, I mean . . . thanks, brother. Right on.” I give him the power salute. “Up the strike!”

The man looks a bit confused, and I suddenly remember they’re not striking. I keep getting this mixed up with
Billy Elliot
. But it’s the same thing, isn’t it? Solidarity and fighting together for a good cause. I wander into the center of the hall, holding my cup, and catch the eye of a youngish guy with spiky red hair and a denim jacket covered in badges.

“Welcome!” he says, breaking away from the group he’s in and extending his hand. “I’m Robin. I haven’t seen you at the group before.”

“I’m Becky. Actually, I’m just a visitor. But Jim said it would be OK to come. . . .”

“Of course!” says Robin, shaking my hand with enthusiasm. “Everyone’s welcome. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a resident or a visitor . . . the issues are the same. Awareness is as important as anything else.”

“Absolutely!” I take a sip of coffee and notice the bundle of leaflets he’s holding. “I could take some of those back to London with me and give them out, if you like. Spread the word.”

“That would be great!” Robin’s face creases into a smile. “That’s the kind of proactive attitude we need more of! What kind of environmental issues are you into particularly?”

Think. Environmental issues. “Um . . .” I take a sip of coffee. “All sorts, really! Trees . . . and er . . . hedgehogs . . .”

“Hedgehogs?” Robin looks puzzled.

Damn. That only came out because I was thinking that his hair looks just like a hedgehog’s.

“When they get squashed by cars,” I improvise. “It’s a real danger in today’s society.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Robin frowns thoughtfully. “So, are you in an action group specifically looking at the plight of hedgehogs?”

Right. Change the subject, Becky.

“Yes,” I hear myself saying. “I am. It’s called . . . Prickle.”

“Prickle!” He smiles. “Great name!”

“Yes,” I say confidently. “It stands for Protect . . . Really . . . Innocent . . . er . . .”

OK. Maybe I should have chosen a word with an
H
in it.

“Creatures . . .” I’m floundering. “. . . of all Kinds . . . including hedgehogs . . .”

I break off in relief as I see Jim approaching, together with a thin, wiry woman dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt. This must be Jim’s wife!

“Greetings, Jim,” says Robin with a friendly smile. “Glad you could make it.”

“Hi, Jim!” I say, and turn to the woman with him. “You must be Elizabeth.”

“And you must be the famous Becky!” She clasps my hand. “Our Kelly can’t talk about anything but you.”

“Kelly’s really sweet! We had such fun today doing makeovers . . .” I suddenly catch Jim’s frown. “And . . . er . . . revisions for her exams,” I hastily add. “Lots of algebra and French vocab.”

“Is Jess here?” Jim asks, looking around the room.

“I don’t know,” I say, feeling the usual apprehension at the mention of her name. “I haven’t spotted her yet.”

“It’s a shame.” Elizabeth clicks her tongue. “Jim’s told me all about it. Two sisters, not speaking to each other. And you’re so young! You’ve got your whole lives ahead to be friends, you know. A sister is a blessing!”

“They’ll make up,” Jim says easily. “Ah. Here she is!”

I swivel round and sure enough, there’s Jess, striding toward us, looking totally gobsmacked to see me.

“What’s
she
doing here?” she says to Jim.

“This is a new member of our group, Jess,” says Robin, coming forward with a smile. “Meet Becky.”

“Hi, Jess!” I say with a nervous smile. “I thought I’d get into the environment!”

“Becky’s special interest is hedgehogs,” adds Robin.

“
What
?” Jess takes a few seconds to absorb this news, then starts to shake her head. “No. No. She’s not a member of the group. And she’s not coming to the meeting. She has to go. Now!”

“Do you two know each other?” asks Robin, trying to put all this together. Jess looks away.

“We’re sisters,” I explain.

“They don’t get on,” says Jim, in a stage whisper.

“Now, Jess,” says Robin earnestly. “You know our group ethos. We put our personal differences aside at the door. Everyone’s welcome. Everyone’s a friend!” He smiles at me. “Becky’s already volunteered for some outreach work!”

“No!” Jess clasps her head. “You don’t understand what she’s like—”

“Come on, Becky,” says Robin, ignoring Jess. “I’ll find you a chair.”

Gradually the chatter abates and everyone sits down on chairs arranged in the shape of a horseshoe. As I look around the row of faces I spot Edie and Lorna, and several more people I recognize as customers from Jim’s shop.

“Welcome, everyone,” says Robin, taking up a position in the center of the horseshoe. “Before we start, I have a few announcements. Tomorrow, as you know, is the sponsored endurance hike up Scully Pike. Can we have numbers, please?”

About half the people there put up their hands, including Jess. I’m half tempted to put mine up too, only there’s something about the word
endurance
that puts me off, not to mention
hike
.

“Great!” Robin looks around, pleased. “Those of you attempting it, please remember all your gear. I’m afraid the weather forecast is not good. Mist, and possibly rain.”

There’s a unified rueful groan, mixed with laughs.

“But be assured, a welcoming party will be waiting at the end with hot drinks,” he adds. “And good luck to all participants. Now.” He smiles around the room. “I’d like to introduce a new member to the group. Becky comes to us with a specialist knowledge of hedgehogs and . . .” He looks over at me. “Is it other small endangered creatures, or just hedgehogs?”

“Er . . .” I clear my throat, aware of Jess’s eyes on me like daggers. “Er . . . mainly just the hedgehogs.”

“So, a warm welcome to Becky from all of us. OK. The serious business.” He reaches for a leather satchel and pulls out a sheaf of papers. “The proposed Piper’s Hill Shopping Center.”

He pauses as though for effect, and there are murmurs of hostility around the room.

“The council is still playing ignorant. However”—he flips through the sheaf with a flourish—“by hook or by crook, I have managed to get hold of a copy of the plans.” Robin hands the papers to a man on the end of the row, who starts passing them along. “Obviously we have a lot of major objections. If you could all study the material for a few minutes . . .”

I obediently read the plans along with everyone else, and look at all the drawings. As I glance around, people are shaking their heads in anger and disappointment, which, frankly, doesn’t surprise me.

“Right.” He looks around and his eyes alight on me. “Becky. Maybe we could hear from you first. As an outsider, what’s your initial reaction?”

Everyone turns to look at me, and I feel my cheeks grow hot.

“Er . . . well, I can see the problems straightaway,” I say tentatively.

“Exactly,” Robin says with satisfaction. “This proves our point. The problems are obvious at first glance, to someone who doesn’t even know the area. Carry on, Becky.”