Shopaholic to the Stars (46 page)

‘Minnie, Lady had to go to her own home,’ I say hurriedly. ‘But I’ll tell you a bedtime story about Lady, how about that? And then you can go to sleep and then tomorrow we’ll do something nice—’ I break off, noticing a weird flicker pass over Luke’s face. ‘What is it?’

Luke says nothing. He’s just gazing at his phone. He glances at me, then focuses on his screen again. OK, I don’t like this.

‘What?’ I say. ‘Tell me!’

Silently, Luke turns his phone round. I squint at the screen and see a picture of Minnie, standing in our drive, in a sexy, grown-up pose.

‘It’s on the
USA Today
website,’ he says, and my heart plummets.

‘Let me see.’ I grab the phone and wince at the image. They’ve managed to make Minnie look all grown-up and knowing and … awful. I’m
sure
they’ve touched up her mouth so she looks like she’s wearing make-up.

‘That was Sage’s fault,’ I say, handing the phone back. ‘She encouraged Minnie. I stopped her as soon as I saw what they were doing. Who sent it to you?’

‘Aran. But I think he got our numbers mixed up, because the message is to you. He seems to think you’ll be pleased. It’s “all raising the family profile”, as he puts it.’

There’s an accusing note to Luke’s voice, I suddenly realize.

‘Pleased?’
I echo in horror. ‘Of course I’m not pleased. I was livid! I told them to stop! Luke, you can’t think—’ I stop at his expression. He’s staring at his phone again, with a look of revulsion.

‘Aran’s just sent me another text for you by mistake,’ he says. ‘You really must tell him your correct number.’

‘Oh,’ I say nervously. ‘What does he say?’

‘He’s set up the meeting you discussed with the producers of
Even More Beautiful
,’ says Luke in an odd, toneless voice. ‘He’s told them you’re super-excited, and they can’t wait to meet you.’

I don’t believe it. I
told
Aran I wasn’t interested.

‘That’s nothing,’ I say hurriedly. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s just a—’

‘I know exactly what it is,’ says Luke, still in the same odd voice. ‘It’s a reality show involving plastic surgery. Are you so desperate for fame, Becky? Are you willing to butcher your body to become a celebrity? Are you willing to leave Minnie and put yourself at risk of injury, or death, just so you can stand on the red carpet?’

‘No!’ I say, appalled. ‘Luke, I wouldn’t actually
do
it—’

‘So why are you having the meeting?’

‘I’m not! I told Aran I didn’t want to do it! This is all a mix-up.’

‘Why would Aran set up a meeting unless you’d expressed interest?’ His voice is inexorable.

‘I don’t know!’ I say desperately. ‘Luke, please believe me! I told Aran I wasn’t interested. I wouldn’t lie to you—’

‘Oh really? That’s a good one, Becky.’ He gives a short, ill-humoured laugh. ‘You wouldn’t lie to me. That’s a brilliant one.’

‘OK.’ I clutch my hair. ‘I know I fibbed about Minnie seeing Elinor. And Sage and Lois. But that was different. Luke, you
can’t
think I’d be willing to have plastic surgery on TV!’

‘Becky, to be absolutely honest,’ he says, his face hard, ‘I have no idea how your mind works any more.’

‘But—’

‘Where Ladeee?’ Minnie interrupts. ‘Where Ladeee gone?’

Her little face is so innocent and trusting that with no warning, I burst into tears. I would never,
ever
use her for publicity. I would never,
ever
put myself at risk for some stupid reality show. How could Luke think that?

He’s shrugging on his jacket and now he heads to the kitchen door, still with that distant expression. ‘Don’t worry about supper for me.’

‘Where are you going?’ I say.

‘My assistant had a place held for me on the midnight flight to New York. Then I decided I didn’t want to go till the morning. But I don’t know why I’m waiting around. I’ll see if she can still get me out tonight, then I can hook up with Gary.’

‘You’re leaving?’ I say, stricken.

‘Do you care?’

‘Of course I care!’ My voice wobbles perilously. ‘Luke, you’re not listening! You don’t understand!’

‘No,’ he lashes back. ‘You’re right. I don’t. I don’t know what you want or why you want it or what your values are any more. You’re lost, Becky. Completely lost.’

‘I’m not!’ I give a sudden sob. ‘I’m not
lost!
’

But Luke has gone. I sink back into my chair, feeling shaky with disbelief. So much for my intervention. Elinor stalked out. Luke stalked out. I’ve made everything a zillion times worse.

How could he think I’d have plastic surgery? How could he think I’d use Minnie?

‘Where Ladeeeee?’ says Minnie again. She looks curiously at my face. ‘Mummy crying,’ she adds dispassionately.

‘Come on, darling.’ With a huge effort I force myself out of my chair. ‘Let’s get you to bed.’

Minnie isn’t too keen on the idea of bed, and I don’t really blame her, to be honest. It takes ages to cajole her back under the blankets, and I end up reading
Guess How Much I Love You
about ten times, because each time we finish, she says, ‘Again! More! Moooooore!’ and I can’t resist her pleas. Reading the familiar words is soothing me as much as her, I think.

And then just as I’m creeping out of her darkened room, I hear the front door slam down below. It’s like a stab in the heart. He’s gone and he didn’t say goodbye. He
always
says goodbye.

I feel dazed. I don’t know what to do with myself. At last, I head back into the kitchen, but I can’t bring myself to eat, and that’s not only because it’s revolting quinoa bake from that stupid Eat Good & Clean website which I am never, ever visiting again. So I just sit at the table, my mind circling round and round, trying to work out where exactly I went so disastrously wrong.

And then there’s the sound of a key in the front door, and my heart lifts. He’s back. He came back! I knew he would.

‘Luke!’ I go running into the hall. ‘Luke— Oh.’

It’s not Luke, it’s Suze. She’s looking tired, and as she takes off her jacket I can see she’s been nibbling the skin on her fingers, which she does whenever she’s stressed.

‘Hi,’ she says shortly. ‘Are the children OK?’

‘Watching
Wall-E.
’ I nod. I have a feeling they might have put it on for a second time, although I won’t mention this to Suze. ‘What happened about Tarkie? Did you find him? Is he OK?’

Suze surveys me silently for a moment. She looks as if I’ve made some joke, which isn’t that funny; in fact, is quite tasteless.

‘I have no idea if he’s OK, Bex,’ she says at last, in a strange manner. ‘Because it turns out Tarkie wasn’t at Golden Peace. He’s not in LA at all. He texted me from some roadside diner.’

‘A roadside diner?’ I echo in astonishment. ‘Where?’

‘He didn’t say.’ I can tell Suze is trying to keep it together, but she’s not really succeeding. ‘He didn’t tell me anything. And now he won’t answer the phone at all. I have no idea where he is, I have no idea what he’s doing, he could be anywhere …’ Her voice rises to an accusing roar. ‘And it’s all your dad’s fault!’

‘My
dad’s
fault?’ I say, staggered.

‘He’s dragged him off on some wild goose chase.’ Suze’s eyes blaze at me accusingly. ‘Apparently he’s got to “put something right”. What is it? What’s he got to put right? Where’ve they gone?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You must have some idea.’

‘No! I don’t!’

‘Didn’t you talk to your dad, Bex? Don’t you know what he’s doing here? Weren’t you
interested?
’ Suze sounds so scathing that I flinch. First Mum, then Luke, now Suze.

‘I was going to talk to him.’ I know how feeble this sounds, and a warm shame creeps over me.
Why
didn’t I sit down properly with Dad? ‘All I know is it was something to do with some old friend from a trip, years ago.’

‘Some old friend,’ repeats Suze sarcastically. ‘Could you be any more vague?’

Her tone is so lacerating, I suddenly find myself lashing back. ‘Why are you blaming me? It’s not
my
fault!’

‘It is your fault! You’ve totally ignored your dad, so he’s latched on to Tarkie! They were drunk last night, you know that? Tarkie’s in a vulnerable place at the moment. He shouldn’t be getting drunk. Your dad’s a total alkie.’

‘No he isn’t! If anything, Tarquin got
him
drunk.’

‘Rubbish.’

‘It’s not rubbish!’

We’re both glaring at each other, and I suddenly realize we’ll wake Minnie, standing here and yelling.

‘Look,’ I say more quietly. ‘Look, I’ll find out. I’ll find out where they’ve gone. We’ll track them down.’

‘Where’s Luke?’

I feel a spasm of pain, but hide it. I don’t feel like sharing this evening’s events with Suze right now.

‘Gone back to the UK,’ I say matter-of-factly. ‘He has to talk to the Treasury.’

‘Great. Just great.’ Suze lifts her hands and drops them despairingly. ‘I thought he’d be able to help.’

She looks so devastated, I feel instantly nettled. So what if Luke’s away? We don’t need him. We don’t need a man. I may have messed up on this, but I can put things right.

‘I’ll help,’ I say, with determination. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll find them, Suze. I promise.’

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Where am I supposed to start? I mean, how do you find a middle-aged man and a slightly troubled aristocrat who could be anywhere in LA, or California or …
anywhere
?

Suze rang the police last night, but it wasn’t a success. They didn’t exactly rush round to the house with their sirens blaring. In fact, they didn’t rush anywhere. Suze didn’t tell me what they said, but I could hear her getting quite shirty down the phone. I think they implied that Dad and Tarkie were probably just at a nightclub and would reel back in the morning and she should stop stressing out.

Which, you know. Might be true.

I’ve searched Dad’s room for clues, of course. The first thing I found was a jolly note on his pillow, telling me that he was off on a ‘little trip’ and he had ‘something to put right’, but that I wasn’t to worry and he would be back with Tarquin in ‘two shakes of a duck’s tail’. Apart from that, my findings consist of:

1. The map from his trip, all those years ago
.

2. A copy of Vanity Fair from 1972
.

3. A napkin from Dillon’s Irish Bar. (Relevant?)

I look yet again at the map. I’m holding it really carefully, because it’s pretty fragile, and I’m tracing my finger over the ancient red-biro line marking their route. Los Angeles … Las Vegas … Salt Lake City …

What is he ‘putting right’? What’s been going on?

I wish for the millionth time that I’d listened more carefully when Dad was telling me about his trip. I can remember vague details and stories – like the time they staked their hire car in a poker game, and the time they got lost in Death Valley and thought they were going to die – but nothing solid. Nothing that actually helps us.

Mum had no idea about it when I spoke to her on the phone, either. In fact, she was in such a state that I couldn’t get much sense out of her at all. She was packing, and Janice was helping, and the two of them were getting in a total tizzy about how to carry their money without being mugged. She and Janice are both coming out on the next possible flight to LA, leaving Martin to ‘man the phones at home’ as Mum put it. She’s convinced that Dad is dead in a ditch somewhere, and kept talking about ‘If the worst should happen’ and ‘
If
he’s alive, God willing’ until I finally snapped and yelled, ‘Mum, he’s not dead!’ Then she accused me of being insensitive.

I’ve left about five messages for Brent Lewis’s sister, Leah, but she hasn’t replied. The only thing I can think of doing now is going back to that trailer park where Brent Lewis lived. I know he’s been evicted, and I haven’t heard from his daughter, but maybe some neighbour will have a number for him, or something? He’s my only connection with Dad’s trip, or any of it.

‘If you’ll take the children to school, I’ll head over to the trailer park straight away,’ I say to Suze. ‘Jeff will drive me.’