Shopaholic Takes Manhattan (14 page)

Option Two: Tell Mum and Dad in private that Luke isn’t really here.

But they’ll be so disappointed. They’ll be mortified, and they won’t enjoy the day and it’ll be all my fault.

Option Three: Bluff it out—and tell Mum and Dad the truth at the end of the day.

Yes. That could work. It has to work. I can easily convince everyone Luke’s here for about an hour or so—and then I’ll say he’s got a migraine, and has gone off to lie down quietly.

Right, this is what I’m going to do. OK—let’s go.

And you know, it’s easier than I thought. Before long, everyone seems to be taking it for granted that Luke is around somewhere. Tom’s granny even tells me she’s already spotted him, and isn’t he handsome and will it be my turn next? I’ve told countless people that he was here just a minute ago, have collected two plates of food from the buffet—one for me, one for Luke (tipped one into the flower bed), and have even borrowed some stranger’s morning coat and put it on the chair next to me, as though it’s his. The great thing is, no one can prove he’s not here! There are so many people milling about, it’s impossible to keep track of who’s here and who isn’t. I should have done this ages ago.

“Group photograph in a minute,” says Lucy, bustling up to me. “We all have to line up. Where’s Luke?”

“Talking to some guy about property prices,” I reply without hesitation. “They were over by the drinks table.”

“Well, make sure you introduce me,” says Lucy. “I still haven’t met him!”

“OK!” I say, and give her a bright smile. “As soon as I track him down!” I take a swig of champagne, look up—and there’s Mum in her lime-green wedding outfit, heading toward me.

So far, I’ve managed to avoid her and Dad completely, basically by running away whenever they’ve come close. I know it’s really bad of me—but I just won’t be able to lie to Mum. Quickly I slip out of the marquee into the garden, and head for the shrubbery, dodging the photographer’s assistant, who’s rounding up all the children. I sit down behind a tree and finish my glass of champagne, staring up blankly at the blue afternoon sky.

I stay there for what seems like hours, until my legs are starting to ache and the breeze is making me shiver. Then at last, I slowly wander back, and slip inconspicuously into the tent. I won’t hang around much longer. Just long enough to have a piece of wedding cake, maybe, and some more champagne . . .

“There she is!” comes a voice behind me.

I freeze for an instant—then slowly turn round. To my utter horror, all the guests are standing in neat rows in the center of the marquee, while a photographer adjusts a tripod.

“Becky, where’s Luke?” says Lucy sharply. “We’re trying to get everybody in.”

Shit.
Shit
.

“Erm . . .” I swallow, trying to stay nonchalant. “Maybe he’s in the house?”

“No, he’s not,” says Kate the bridesmaid. “I’ve just been looking in there.”

“Well, he must be . . . in the garden, then.”

“But you were in the garden!” says Lucy, narrowing her eyes. “Didn’t you see him?”

“Erm . . . I’m not sure.” I look round the marquee hurriedly, wondering if I could pretend to spot him in the distance. But it’s different when there are no milling crowds. Why did they have to stop milling?

“He must be somewhere!” says a cheerful woman. “Who saw him last?”

There’s a deathly silence. Two hundred people are staring at me. I catch Mum’s anxious eye, and quickly look away again.

“Actually . . .” I clear my throat. “Now I remember, he was saying he had a bit of a headache! So maybe he went to—”

“Who’s seen him
at all
?” cuts in Lucy, ignoring me. She looks around the assembled guests. “Who here can say they’ve actually seen Luke Brandon in the flesh? Anyone?”

“I’ve seen him!” comes a wavering voice from the back. “Such a good-looking young man . . .”

“Apart from Tom’s gran,” says Lucy, rolling her eyes. “Anyone?”

And there’s another awful silence.

“I’ve seen his morning coat,” ventures Janice timidly. “But not his actual . . . body,” she whispers.

“I knew it. I knew it!” Lucy’s voice is loud and triumphant. “He never was here, was he?”

“Of course he was!” I say, trying to sound confident. “I expect he’s just in the—”

“You’re not going out with Luke Brandon at all, are you?” Her voice lashes across the marquee. “You just made the whole thing up! You’re just living in your own sad little fantasy land!”

“I’m not!” To my horror, my voice is thickening, and I can feel tears pricking at my eyes. “I’m not! Luke and I are a couple!”

But as I look at all the faces gazing at me—some hostile, some astonished, some amused—I don’t even feel so sure of that anymore. I mean, if we were a couple, he’d be here, wouldn’t he? He’d be here with me.

“I’ll just . . .” I say in a trembling voice. “I’ll just check if he’s . . .”

And without looking anyone in the eye, I back out of the marquee.

“She’s a bloody fruit loop!” I hear Lucy saying. “Honestly, Tom, she could be dangerous!”

“
You’re
dangerous, young lady!” I hear Mum retorting, her voice shaking a little. “Janice, I don’t know how you could let your daughter-in-law be so rude! Becky’s been a good friend to you, over the years. And to you, Tom, standing there, pretending this has nothing to do with you. And this is the way you treat her. Come on, Graham. We’re going.”

And a moment later, I see Mum stalking out of the marquee, Dad in tow, her lime-green hat quivering on her head. They head toward the front drive, and I know they’re going back to our house for a nice, calming cup of tea.

But I don’t follow them. I can’t bring myself to see them—or anyone.

I walk quickly, stumbling slightly, toward the other end of the garden. Then, when I’m far enough away, I sink down onto the grass. I bury my head in my hands—and, for the first time today, feel tears oozing out of my eyes.

This should have been such a good day. It should have been such a wonderful, happy occasion. Seeing Tom get married, introducing Luke to my parents and all our friends, dancing together into the night . . . And instead, it’s been spoiled for everyone. Mum, Dad, Janice, Martin . . . I even feel sorry for Lucy and Tom. I mean, they didn’t want all this disruption at their wedding, did they?

For what seems like ages I sit without moving, staring down at the ground. From the marquee I can hear the sounds of a band starting up, and Lucy’s voice bossing somebody about. Some children are playing with a bean bag in the garden and occasionally it lands near me. But I don’t flicker. I wish I could just sit here forever, without having to see any of them ever again.

And then I hear my name, low across the grass.

At first I think Lucy’s right, and I’m hearing imaginary voices. But as I look up, my heart gives an almighty flip and I feel something hard blocking my throat. I don’t believe it.

It’s him.

It’s Luke, walking across the grass, toward me, like a dream. He’s wearing morning dress and holding two glasses of champagne, and I’ve never seen him looking more handsome.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he reaches me. “I’m beyond sorry. Four hours late is . . . well, it’s unforgivable.” He shakes his head.

I stare up at him dazedly. I’d almost started to believe that Lucy was right, and he only existed in my own imagination.

“Were you . . . held up?” I say at last.

“A guy had a heart attack. The plane was diverted . . .” He frowns. “But I left a message on your phone as soon as I could. Didn’t you get it?”

I grab for my phone, realizing with a sickening thud that I haven’t checked it for a good while. I’ve been too busy dealing with imaginary Luke to think about the real one. And sure enough, the little message icon is blinking merrily.

“No, I didn’t get it,” I say, staring at it blankly. “I didn’t. I thought . . .”

I break off and shake my head. I don’t know what I thought anymore.

“Are you all right?” says Luke, sitting down beside me and handing me a glass of champagne. He runs a finger gently down my face and I flinch.

“No,” I say, rubbing my cheek. “Since you ask, I’m not all right. You promised you’d be here. You
promised
, Luke.”

“I
am
here.”

“You know what I mean.” I hunch my arms miserably round my knees. “I wanted you to be there at the service, not arrive when it’s all nearly over. I wanted everyone to meet you, and see us together . . .” My voice starts to wobble. “It’s just been . . . awful! They all thought I was after the bridegroom—”

“The bridegroom?” says Luke incredulously. “You mean the pale-faced nonentity called Tom?”

“Yes, him.” I look up and give a reluctant half-giggle as I see Luke’s expression. “Did you meet him, then?”

“I met him just now. And his very unlovely wife. Quite a pair.” He takes a sip of champagne and leans back on his elbows. “By the way—she looked rather taken aback to meet me. Almost . . . gobsmacked, one might say. As did most of the guests.” He gives me a quizzical look. “Anything I should know?”

“Erm . . .” I clear my throat. “Erm . . . not really. Nothing important.”

“I thought as much,” says Luke. “So the bridesmaid who cried out, ‘Oh my God, he exists!’ when I walked in. She’s presumably . . .”

“Mad,” I say without moving my head.

“Right.” He nods. “Just checking.”

He reaches out for my hand, and I let him take it. For a while we sit in silence. A bird is wheeling round and round overhead, and in the distance I can hear the band playing “Lady in Red.”

“Becky, I’m sorry I was late.” His voice is suddenly grave. “There was really nothing I could do. I gave a lot of people a lot of grief, believe me.”

“I’m sure you did.” I exhale sharply. “You couldn’t help it. Just one of those things.”

For a while longer we’re both silent.

“Good champagne,” says Luke eventually, and takes a sip.

“Yes,” I say. “It’s . . . very nice. Nice and . . . dry . . .” I break off and rub my face, trying to hide how nervous I am.

There’s part of me that wants to sit here, making small talk for as long as we can. But another part is thinking, what’s the point in putting it off any longer? There’s only one thing I want to know. I feel a spasm of nerves in my stomach, but somehow force myself to take a deep breath and turn to him.

“So. How did your meetings in Zurich go? How’s the . . . the new deal coming along?”

I’m trying to stay calm and collected—but I can feel my lips starting to tremble, and my hands are twisting themselves into knots.

“Becky . . .” says Luke. He stares into his glass for a moment, then puts it down. “There’s something I need to tell you. I’m moving to New York.”

I feel cold and heavy. So this is the end to a completely disastrous day. Luke’s leaving me. It’s the end. It’s all over.

“Right,” I manage, and give a careless shrug. “I see. Well—OK.”

There’s silence—and I force myself to look up. The love in Luke’s dark eyes hits me like a thunderbolt.

“And I’m really,
really
hoping . . .” He takes both my hands and squeezes them tight. “. . . that you’ll come with me.”

Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood
Flat 2
4 Burney Rd.
London SW6 8FD

17 September 2000

Dear Rebecca Bloomwood:

Thank you for your letter of 15 September.

I am glad that you are looking forward to flying with us and have already recommended us highly to all your friends. I agree that word-of-mouth business is invaluable for a company such as ours and may well send our revenues “rocketing.”

Unfortunately this does not, as you suggest, qualify you for “a special little thank-you” regarding luggage. Regal Airlines is unable to increase your luggage allowance beyond the standard 20 kg. Any excess weight will be subject to a charge; I enclose an explanatory leaflet.

Please enjoy your flight.

Mary Stevens
Customer Care Manager

Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood
Flat 2
4 Burney Rd.
London SW6 8FD

19 September 2000

GOOD NEWS!
YOUR NEW CREDIT LIMIT IS £10,000

Dear Ms. Bloomwood:

We are delighted to announce that you have been given an increase to your credit limit. Your new credit limit of £10,000 is available for you to spend immediately and will be shown on your next statement.

You can use your new credit limit to do many things. Pay for a holiday, a car, even transfer balances from other cards!

However, we realize that some customers do not wish to take advantage of increased credit limits. If you would prefer your credit limit to remain at its original level, please call one of our Customer Satisfaction Representatives, or return the form below.

Yours sincerely,

Michael Hunt
Customer Satisfaction Manager

NEW YORK! I’m going to New York!
New York!

Everything is transformed.
This
is why Luke has been so secretive. We had a lovely long chat at the wedding, and Luke explained everything to me, and suddenly it all made sense. It turns out he’s opening up a new office of Brandon Communications in New York, in partnership with some advertising supremo called Michael Ellis who is based in Washington. And Luke’s going to go over there and head it up. He said he’s been wanting to ask me all along to come with him—but he knew I wouldn’t want to give up my career just to trail along with him. So—this is the best bit—he’s been speaking to some contacts in television, and he reckons I’ll be able to get a job as a financial expert on an American TV show! In fact, he says I’ll get “snapped up” because Americans love British accents. Apparently one producer has already practically offered me a job just from seeing a tape Luke sent him. Isn’t that great?

The reason he didn’t say anything before was he didn’t want to raise my hopes before things started looking definite. But now, apparently, all the investors are on board, and everyone’s really positive, and they’re hoping to finalize the deal as soon as possible. Michael Ellis’s agency advertises for most of the big financial players—and he’s already been talking to them all about the new company. So there are loads of potential clients out there for Luke, and that’s before he’s even started.