Shopaholic to the Rescue (8 page)

“OK. Well. Enjoy your evening.”

“You do realize we have breakfast with Tarkie and your father at nine tomorrow morning?” Suze fixes me with an accusing gaze.

“Of course!”

“So you won’t be up till all hours, drinking free cocktails and passing out over the roulette table?”

“No!” I say defiantly. “I will not. I’ll be sitting here, bright as a button, at eight-thirty
A.M
.”

“Well, see you then.”

Suze and Alicia head off down a corridor which looks just like the Sistine Chapel, and I stare after her miserably, then turn back to the others.

“
You’ll
come and watch the fountains with me?” I appeal to Luke. “And you, Mum? And Janice?”

“Of course we will!” says Mum, who procured a drink from somewhere while Luke was checking us in and is now swigging from it. “You can’t hold us back! My time has come, love. My time has come.”

“What do you mean?” I say, puzzled.

“If your father can go kicking his heels up, then so can I! If your father can run through the family fortune, then so can I!”

Mum has had a slightly mad look in her eye ever since we heard from Dad. Now, gulping her drink, she looks even madder.

“I don’t think Dad’s running through the family fortune,” I say warily.

“How do we know
what
he’s doing?” counters Mum wildly. “All these years, I’ve been that man’s dutiful wife. I’ve cooked him supper, I’ve made his bed, I’ve hung on his every word….”

OK, that’s rubbish. Mum has
never
hung on Dad’s every word, and half the time she buys ready meals from Marks & Spencer.

“And now I find that he has secrets and mysteries!” continues Mum. “Lies and conspiracies!”

“Mum, he’s just gone on a little trip, it’s not the end of the world—”

“Lies and conspiracies!” repeats Mum, ignoring me. “Janice, do you fancy a go on the slot machines? Because I know I do.”

“We’ll be back in a jiffy,” says Janice breathlessly, as she follows Mum across the lobby.

Oooookay. I think I’ll need to keep an eye on Mum.

“Minnie, shall we go and see the big fishies?” I turn and give her a hug. She’s been such a poppet, sitting nicely all day in the RV. She deserves a bit of fun now.

“Fishies!” Minnie starts opening her mouth and gulping like a fish.

There’s a little guidebook in the welcome pack which Luke was given, and as I read through the
Top Ten Attractions for Kids,
I feel a bit gobsmacked. There’s everything here! There’s the Eiffel Tower and New York skyscrapers and Egyptian pyramids and dolphins
and
circus acts. It’s like someone’s crunched the entire world into one street and left out all the boring bits.

“Come on, sweetheart!” I say, and hold out my hand. I can give Minnie a good time, anyway.

SIX

Two hours later, my head is a whirl of lights and music and traffic noise. And, above all, bleeps. Las Vegas is the bleepiest city I’ve ever known. It’s like, everywhere you go there’s a live band playing at full volume, and the only instruments are slot machines, and they only play one track:
bleep-bleep-bleepy-bleep
. And they never stop. Except when they occasionally disgorge money, which would be the percussion section.

I actually have a headache from all the clamor, but I don’t care, because we’re having a brilliant time. We’ve driven up and down the Strip in a limo which the Venetian concierge fixed up for us, and we’ve hopped out at this hotel and that hotel, and I feel as though I’ve been round the world. I even gave Minnie “Parisian Poulet” for supper. (It was chicken strips.)

Now we’re back at the Venetian, which feels quite calm and normal compared to some of the places we’ve been. (Well, “normal” bearing in mind that the sky, clouds, canals, and St. Mark’s Square are all fake.) Luke has gone off to the conference center to work through a backlog of emails. Mum and Janice have taken Minnie to investigate gondola rides, and I’m wandering round the shops. Or, rather, “Shoppes.” (Why do they call them “Shoppes”? Isn’t that olden-days English? And surely we’re supposed to be in Italy?)

There are loads of Shoppes, from designer stores to galleries to souvenir outlets. It’s pretty impressive, as malls go. As I walk along, the air is a perfect temperature and the fake sky is blue with wispy clouds. There’s an opera singer wandering around in a velvet dress, trilling some lovely aria. I’ve just been in to Armani and seen a gray cashmere jacket which would look
stunning
on Luke. (Except it’s eight hundred dollars, so I hesitated. I mean, he should try it on first, at least.) The whole thing is amazing, and I should be having the time of my life. But the truth is, I’m not.

I keep picturing Suze’s face and feeling a great rolling sadness. It’s as if she doesn’t want to know me. But she’s the one who begged me to come on this trip. She’s the one who stood, holding my hands, saying, “I need you.” It makes no sense.

I lost Suze once before, when I’d been away on honeymoon. But that was different. That was drifting apart. This is more like she’s cutting me off.

By now I’ve wandered into the Big Souvenir Store, and as I start to fill my basket, my chest is heaving in distress.
Stop it, Becky,
I tell myself desperately.
Come on, focus on the souvenirs.
I have a snow globe of the Las Vegas skyline, and some dollar-sign fridge magnets, and a load of T-shirts saying W
HAT
H
APPENS
I
N
V
EGAS
.
I reach for an ashtray in the shape of a shoe, wondering if I know anyone who smokes….

But the thoughts keep piling in. Is this it? Is our friendship over? After all these years, all our ups and downs…are we really at the end of the line? I just can’t work out what’s gone wrong. I know I didn’t behave brilliantly in L.A. But did I really wreck things
this
badly?

There’s a rack of jewelry made out of dice, and miserably I stuff a couple of necklaces into my basket. Maybe Mum and Janice will like them. In the old days, I would have bought matching ones for Suze and me and we would have thought it was hilarious, but I don’t have the confidence to do that now.

What am I going to do? What
can
I do?

My feet are taking me round and round the shop and I keep passing the same items, over and over. I have to stop.
Come on, Becky,
focus
. I can’t just keep walking and brooding. I’ll get these things and then see if Mum has had any joy with the gondolas.

The shop is pretty busy and has three checkout lines. As I finally reach the front of the queue, a pretty cashier in a sparkly jacket dimples at me.

“Hi! I hope your shopping experience today was enjoyable!”

“Oh,” I say. “Well…yes. It was great, thank you.”

“If you could grade it for us, we’d really appreciate it,” she says, ringing up my items. She hands me a little card, which reads:

MY SHOPPING EXPERIENCE TODAY WAS:

⎕ Awesome. (We’re so pleased!)

⎕ Only OK. (Uh-oh—any reason why?)

⎕ Terrible. (So sorry to hear that! Please tell us the problem!)

I take the pen from her and stare at the card. I should tick
Awesome
. There was nothing wrong with the store, and I got what I wanted. I have no complaints. Come on.
Awesome.

But somehow…my hand won’t do it. I don’t feel Awesome.

“That’ll be sixty-three ninety-two,” says the girl, and peers at me curiously as I give her the money. “Are you OK?”

“Um…I don’t know.” To my horror, tears are suddenly trembling on my lashes. “I don’t know what to tick. I know I should choose
Awesome,
but I can’t tick it, I just can’t. I’ve fallen out with my best friend, and that’s all I can think about, and so nothing’s Awesome right now. Not even shopping.” I stare at her miserably. “I’m sorry. I won’t waste your time anymore.”

I hold out my hand for my receipt. But the girl doesn’t give it to me. She’s gazing at me in concern. She’s called Simone, I notice from her name tag.

“Well, are you happy with your purchases?” She opens the carrier bag for me to see them, and I stare at all the stuff, feeling a bit dazed.

“I don’t know,” I say despairingly. “I don’t even know why I’ve bought all this stuff. It’s meant to be presents for people. You know. Souvenirs.”

“OK…”

“But I don’t know what I’ve bought for who, or anything, and I’m only supposed to buy meaningfully. I went on a whole program at Golden Peace.”

“Golden Peace!” Her eyes light up. “I did that program.”

“No way.” I stare at her.

“Online.” She flushes faintly. “I couldn’t afford to visit. But, you know, they have an app, so…I was in big trouble, spending-wise. You can imagine, working here….” Simone gestures around at the shop. “But I kicked my problem.”

“Wow.” I blink at her. “Well, then, you know what I’m talking about.”

“ ‘Buy calmly and with meaning,’ ” she quotes.

“Exactly!” I nod in recognition. “I have that in a frame!”

“ ‘
Why
are you buying?’ ”

“Yes!”

“Do you need this?”

“Exactly! We had a whole session about that one issue—”

“No.” Simone looks at me directly. “I’m asking you a question. Do you need this? Or are you just trying to soothe yourself?” Simone has taken the snow globe out of my bag and is holding it in front of me. “
Do
you need it?” she persists.

“Oh,” I say, disconcerted. “I don’t know. Well, I mean, obviously I don’t
need
it. Nobody
needs
a snow globe. I thought I’d give it to…I don’t know. Maybe my husband.”

“Great! Will it bring him consistent joy and pleasure?”

I try to picture Luke shaking the snow globe and watching it whirl around. I mean, he might do it once.

“Dunno,” I admit, after a pause. “It might do.”

“It
might
?” She shakes her head. “It only
might
? What was your thought process when you put it in your basket?”

I stare at her, caught out. I didn’t have a thought process. I just bunged it in.

“I don’t think I need it.” I bite my lip. “Or even want it, really.”

“So don’t buy it. You want me to refund it?”

“Yes, please,” I whisper gratefully.

“These T-shirts.” Simone pulls them out of the bag. “Who are they for, and will they really suit those people?”

I look at the T-shirts blankly. I hadn’t worked out who was going to
wear
them. I bought them because I was in a souvenir shop and they were souvenirs.

Simone shakes her head at my expression. “Refund?” she says succinctly.

“Yes, please.” I pull out the dice necklaces. “And these. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll give them to my mum and her friend and they’ll wear them for five seconds and then they’ll take them off, and they’ll knock around the house and in about three years’ time they’ll go to the charity shop, but no one there will want them either.”

“Oh my God, you’re right,” comes a husky voice behind me, and I turn to see a middle-aged woman pulling about six dice necklaces out of her basket. “I got these for my girlfriends back home. They won’t wear them, will they?”

“Never.” I shake my head.

“I want a refund.” A denim-clad woman at the next register has been listening in, and now she turns back to her cashier, who is a red-haired woman. “I’m sorry. I just bought a heap of crap. I don’t know what I was doing.” She pulls a diamanté Las Vegas baseball cap out of her carrier bag. “My stepdaughter is
never
going to wear this.”

“Sorry, you want a refund?” The red-haired cashier looks affronted.
“Already?”

“She’s doing it.” The denim-clad woman points at me. “She’s returning everything.”

“Not everything,” I say hastily. “I’m just trying to shop calmly and with meaning.”

The red-haired cashier gives me a nasty look. “Well, please don’t.”

“I
love
that,” the denim-clad woman says emphatically. “ ‘Calmly and with meaning.’ OK, so what else in here don’t I need?” She rootles in her carrier bag and brings out a Las Vegas hip flask. “This. And this.” She produces a dollar-sign beach towel. “This is going back.”

At the far register, I can see a third woman pausing. “Wait a minute,” she says to her cashier. “Maybe I don’t need that flashing Las Vegas sign. Could I get a refund on that?”

“Stop it!” says the red-haired cashier, looking more and more flustered. “No more refunds!”

“You can’t refuse refunds!” objects the denim-clad woman. “I’m returning this too.” She plonks a shiny pink photo album onto the counter. “Who am I kidding? I’ll never put an album together.”

“I don’t want any of this!” The woman in the far line empties her entire carrier bag onto the counter. “I’m only shopping because I’m bored out of my skull.”

“Me too!”

Down the lines, I can see other women listening in and looking in their baskets and taking things out. It’s like some contagious wave of unshopping has hit the crowd.