Shopaholic to the Rescue (18 page)

“I’ll take Minnie to Toddlerville and buy her a balloon, and we’ll be on third,” says Luke in that commanding way he has. “And, Becky, why don’t you and Suze take the fourth hour? You could just hang out meanwhile. Enjoy the fair together. That OK by you, Suze?”

Oh God. I know exactly what Luke’s doing. He’s trying to push Suze and me together so we can make up. Which is really sweet of him. But I feel like a panda being told to mate with another panda that clearly doesn’t fancy me. Suze looks totally unenthusiastic at the idea of hanging out with me. Her forehead is puckered in a frown, and she shoots me a dark, unfriendly look.

“I don’t mind staking out the tent on my own,” she says. “You and Becky and Minnie should stay together.”

I feel a little stabbing pain in my heart. Is she really that anti-me? She can’t even bear to spend a couple of hours in my company?

“No, it’s better to do it this way,” says Luke briskly. “And as we’re walking round the fair, we can all keep an eye out for Raymond.”

Last night, Luke found a photo of Raymond on a Tucson news website. And I don’t want to boast, but my dad is
so
much handsomer than all his old friends. If Corey looks plasticky and weird, then Raymond looks ancient. He has these big gray tufty eyebrows, and in the picture he’s frowning at the camera in a really moody way.

“There’s a bit of phone signal,” Luke is saying, “although it’s patchy. So if anyone sees Raymond, immediately text the others. OK?”

As everyone disperses, Luke shoots me a little meaningful look, which I think is supposed to mean
Chin up
—then he and Minnie disappear into the mêlée. And it’s just Suze and me.

I haven’t been alone with Suze for…I can’t even remember. The sun suddenly seems hot on my head, and my skin feels prickly. I take a few deep breaths, trying to relax. As I glance at Suze, I see she’s staring down at the ground, as though she doesn’t even want to acknowledge my existence. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know where to begin.

She’s sitting on a stack of upturned crates, wearing blue jeans and a white T-shirt and these ancient cowboy boots which she always used to wear in London. They look perfect here, and I want to tell her so, but something’s blocking my throat. As I draw breath to say something—
anything—
her phone bleeps. She pulls it out, stares at it intently, and closes her eyes.

“Suze?” I say nervously.

“What?”
she lashes out. I haven’t even suggested anything yet and she’s being aggressive.

“I just…What do you want to do first?” I pull out the fair guide with trembling fingers. “Shall we go and look at the pigs?”

This is a supreme sacrifice on my part, because I’m actually quite scared of pigs. I mean, I’m not wild about sheep either, but pigs are terrifying. Suze and Tarkie have some on the farm in Hampshire, and honestly, they’re like these malevolent, squealing monsters.

But Suze loves them and gives them all names. And maybe if we go and look at them here, we can bond over how pointy their ears are, or whatever.

“American pigs are probably really interesting,” I persist, as Suze hasn’t replied. “Or sheep? They have all these rare species…or, look, there’s a pygmy-goat event!”

As Suze looks up, her gaze is absent. I don’t think she heard a word.

“Bex, I’ve got to do something,” she says. “I’ll catch up with you later, OK?” She swings her legs off the crates and is instantly gone, hurrying past the ceramics tent and into the crowd.

“Suze?” I stare after her in shock.
“Suze?”

She can’t just leave me like that. We’re supposed to be a team. We’re supposed to stick together. Before I stop to think whether this is a good idea or not, I’m following her.

Luckily, Suze is so tall and her hair is so fair, it’s easy to keep track of her, even though the crowds are getting heavier by the minute. She heads determinedly past the rodeo stadium, through the Food Village, past the kids’ petting zoo, and even stalks straight past an arena where a guy is getting his dog to jump through a hoop. She doesn’t even
look
at all the stalls of cowboy hats and boots and saddles, even though I know she’d normally spend hours stroking them. She’s tense and preoccupied. I can see it in the set of her shoulders. And I can see it in her expression as she finally comes to a stop, in a clearing behind the hog roast.

She leans against a tall wooden post and gets out her phone. She looks worse than preoccupied, I realize with a lurch. She looks desperate. Who’s she texting, Alicia?

As my own phone bleeps, I hastily back away, well out of sight. I’m fully expecting a text from Mum, or Luke, or even Danny—but it’s from Tarquin.

Hi Becky. Just checking in. Is Suze OK?

I stare at the phone in sudden outrage. No, she is not OK. She is
not OK
! I jab at Tarkie’s number and retreat into a tent full of homemade preserves.

“Becky?” Tarquin sounds surprised I’ve phoned. “Everything all right?”

“Tarkie, do you have any idea what we’re going through?” I practically scream. “Suze is utterly miserable, we’re staking out some guy at a county fair, my mum has no idea what my dad’s been up to—”

“You’re not still on that, are you?” Tarquin sounds shocked.

“Of course we are!”

“Can’t you give your dad some privacy, for God’s sake?” Tarquin sounds quite angry. “Can’t you
trust
him?”

I’m drawn up short. I hadn’t thought of it like that. And just for a moment, I feel chastened—until my blood starts boiling again. It’s all very well for these blokes to rush off on their mission, thinking they’re all cool and hero-like. What about those of us left behind, who thought they were dead?

“Couldn’t he trust my mum?” I counter furiously. “Couldn’t you trust Suze? You’re married! You should share things!”

There’s silence, and I know I’ve touched a nerve. I want to say more. I want to wail,
Be happy with Suze! Be happy!

But you can’t interfere in another couple’s relationship. It’s like trying to step inside a cloud. The whole thing kind of dissipates, till you get back out again.

“Anyway, you can’t follow us anymore,” says Tarkie, after a painful pause. “The three of us have split up. There’s nothing to follow.”

“You’ve split
up
?” I stare at the phone. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve all gone our separate ways. I’m helping your dad out with…” He hesitates. “Something. He’s doing his own thing. Bryce has disappeared, God knows where.”

“Bryce has
disappeared
?” I say in shock.

“Left last night. No idea where.”

“Oh, right.”

I feel totally wrong-footed. After all that. Bryce hasn’t ensnared Tarquin in his evil plan at all. He hasn’t brainwashed him or fleeced him or even made him start selling time-shares. He’s just buggered off.

“Becky, go back to L.A.,” says Tarquin, as though reading my mind. “Call off the search. Give it up.”

“But we might be able to help you,” I persist. “What are you doing? What’s going on?”

Let us in!
I feel like shouting.
Please!

“We don’t need your help,” says Tarquin adamantly. “Tell Suze I’m OK. I’m helping your dad. I’m feeling useful for the first time in…forever. I’m going to do this, OK? And I don’t need any interference from you or Suze. Bye, Becky.”

And with that, he rings off. I’ve never felt so powerless in my life. I want to cry with frustration, or at least savagely kick a barrel.

OK, it turns out savagely kicking a barrel didn’t make me feel any better. (I’m wearing flip-flops, and barrels are really hard.) Nor did pounding a fist into my palm like they do in the movies. (I’ve never understood the appeal of boxing, and now I understand it even less. My hand hurts just from
me
punching it. Imagine if it was someone else and you couldn’t tell them to stop.)

The only thing that will make me feel better, I realize, is talking to Suze. I need to tell her about Tarkie’s calls. I have to tell her that he’s safe and away from Bryce. This is a matter of urgency, and I must be brave and not shy away from the task.

But as I creep out of the preserves tent, I feel a swoop of nerves. Suze looks about as approachable as a lioness who’s guarding her cubs, the family food, and the crown jewels, all at once. She’s prowling around the clearing, her phone grasped in her right hand, her brows lowered, and her eyes flitting from side to side.

I’ve started to rehearse possible casual conversational openers in my mind—
Gosh, Suze, fancy bumping into you here
—when she stops dead. She’s standing still, watching alertly. Waiting for something. What?

A moment later I can see what she can see coming toward her, and I gasp so strongly, I nearly black out.
No
. I must be hallucinating. I can’t be seeing what I’m seeing. But the tall, loping figure is unmistakable.

It’s Bryce.

Bryce.
Himself. Here. At the Wilderness County Fair.

My jaw sags as I watch him approach Suze. He’s as good-looking and burnished as ever, wearing cutoffs and flip-flops. He looks easy and relaxed, whereas Suze looks absolutely desperate. But she doesn’t look surprised to see him. Clearly this was all prearranged. But…what?

I mean,
what
?

How can Suze be meeting Bryce? How?

We’ve been chasing Bryce. We’ve been worrying about what Bryce was up to. We’ve been talking about Bryce, trying to get inside his mind, practically believing he was a serial killer. Was Suze
in touch with him all along
?

Inside, I’m whimpering with confusion. I want to cry out,
Whaaaaat? Explain!
I want to barge up and say,
You can’t do this!

But all I can do is watch mutely as they have some kind of conversation I can’t hear. Suze’s arms are crossed protectively across her body and she’s talking in short, jabbing sentences, whereas Bryce looks as calm and laid-back as he always did. I half-expect to see him produce a volleyball and start bouncing it around.

At last they seem to come to some conclusion. Bryce gives a single nod, then puts a hand on Suze’s arm. She shakes it off with such ferocity that even I jump, and Bryce gives a shrug. He seems quite amused. Then he lopes away, through the crowd, and Suze is left alone.

She slumps down on a nearby decorative hay bale, her head bowed, looking so despairing that a couple of passersby give her mildly concerned looks. She’s in such a trance that I almost don’t dare disturb her. Something tells me she’s going to lash out at me even more viciously when she realizes I saw her with Bryce.

But I have to. This isn’t just about our friendship anymore. This is about everything.

I step forward resolutely, one foot in front of the other, and wait till she looks up. Her head jerks, and for a moment she looks like a cornered animal. Every muscle in her body is tense. Her eyes dart about frantically, as though to check whether anyone else is with me—then, as she accepts I’m alone, they gradually settle back on me.

“Suze…” I begin, but my voice comes out all husky and I don’t quite know where I’m going.

“Did you…” She swallows, as though she can’t bring herself to say it, and I nod.

“Suze—”

“Don’t.” She cuts me off, her voice trembling. Her eyes are bloodshot. She looks ill, I think suddenly. Ill with worry. And it’s not because she thinks Tarkie’s unsafe. It’s something else, something she’s been keeping from all of us.

For what seems like an age, we just look at each other, and it’s almost as if we’re having a silent conversation.

I wish you’d talked to me.

I do too.

Things have got pretty bad, haven’t they?

Yes.

So let’s sort it out.

I can see Suze’s defenses lowering, little by little. Her shoulders slowly drop. Her jaw relaxes. She meets my eye properly for the first time in ages, and I feel a horrible pang at how desperate she looks.

But there’s something else going on here. There’s a kind of shift in the balance between us. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been the one to get in scrapes and Suze has been the one to help me out of them. It’s just the way we are. Now, though, things feel reversed. I don’t know exactly what’s been going on—but I do know something: Suze is in a big old mess.

I have a zillion questions I want to fire at her, but I think she needs to calm down a bit first.

“C’mon,” I say. “I don’t care what time in the morning it is, we need a titchy.”

I lead her into the tequila-tasting tent, and she meekly follows, her face downcast. I order tequila shots and hand her one. Then I face her full-on, with a businesslike look, and say, “OK, Suze. You need to tell me everything. What’s up with you and Bryce?”

And of course, as soon as I see her face, I know.

I mean, I pretty much knew as soon as I saw him appear. But it’s seeing her face which drives a kind of dagger blow into my heart. “Suze, you
didn’t
.”

“No!” she says, as though I’ve scalded her. “Not
completely
…”

“What’s not completely?”

“I…we…” She looks around the bar. “Shall we find a better place to sit?”

“Suze. Just tell me.” There’s a lump in my throat. “Have you been unfaithful to Tarkie?”

I’m having a flashback to their wedding. Suze looked so radiant and beautiful. She and Tarkie were so hopeful and optimistic. We were all so hopeful and optimistic.

And, OK, Tarkie may be a bit weird at times. He may have odd taste in clothes. And music. And everything. But there’s no way he’d ever be unfaithful to Suze, no
way
. The thought of how hurt he’d be if he found out is bringing tears to my eyes.

“I…” Her hands flutter round her throat. “What counts as unfaithful? Kissing?”

“You only kissed?”

“Not exactly.”

“Did you—”

“No!” She hesitates. “Not
exactly
.”

There’s a pause, while my imagination gallops round several assorted scenarios.