Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle (119 page)

Nine

For the past week I haven’t been able to sleep. Or concentrate on anything. All I can think about is the fact that I have a real, blood sister.

At first I felt totally shaken up. It’s OK for Mum and Dad; they’ve had weeks to get used to the idea. But to find out Dad had an affair years ago . . . and got somebody
pregnant. . . .
I never thought Dad was like that, to be honest.

But he’s been really sweet about it. The day he and Mum came round to tell me, he could see I was a bit shell-shocked. So he sat down on the sofa with me and told the whole story. He kept reiterating that this all happened before he even met Mum, and that he had no idea he’d fathered a child. Apparently Marguerite the stewardess broke off their relationship with no warning. Dad got on the train one Monday morning, and she just wasn’t there. Another stewardess told him she’d had a whirlwind romance and married another passenger, who owned a frozen food business. Dad was so crushed, he started taking another train. And then they moved his work to Birmingham . . . and that was the end of it. He had no idea there was a baby.

But there was. A little girl called Jessica. All my life, without knowing it, I’ve had a sister, growing up miles away, with no idea I existed either.

And today, at last, I’m going to meet her!

Just the thought makes me feel exhilarated and jumpy all at once. How will we be the same? How will we be different? What will her voice be like? What will her
clothes
be like?

“Do I look OK?” I ask Luke, while anxiously surveying my appearance in the mirror. We’re in my old bedroom at my parents’ house, and I’m putting the finishing touches to my meeting-my-long-lost-sister outfit. It’s taken me several days, but after a lot of thought I’ve decided on my most flattering Seven jeans, some boots with spiky heels, a gorgeous pale pink Marc Jacobs jacket, and a T-shirt made ages ago for me by Danny.

“You look great,” Luke says patiently.

“It’s like . . . balancing formal with informal,” I explain. “So the jacket says ‘This is a special occasion,’ whereas the jeans say, ‘We’re sisters, we can be relaxed with each other!’ And the T-shirt says . . .”

I pause. Actually, I’m not sure what the T-shirt says, apart from “I’m friends with Danny Kovitz.” And I’m not even sure how true that is anymore. He hasn’t called back, even though I’ve left two messages.

“Becky,” says Luke, “I don’t honestly think it matters what you wear.”

“What?” I wheel round in disbelief. “Of course it matters! This is one of the most important moments of my life! I’ll always remember what I was wearing the day I met my sister for the first time. I mean . . . you remember what
you
were wearing when you met me for the first time, don’t you?”

Luke looks blank.

He doesn’t remember? How can he not remember?

“Well,
I
remember,” I say crossly. “You were wearing a gray suit and a white shirt and a dark green Hermès tie. And I was wearing my short black skirt and my suede boots and that awful white top which made my arms look fat.”

“If you say so.” Luke raises his eyebrows.

I smooth down my T-shirt. “I just want to look right. Like a sister.”

“What do sisters look like?” Luke asks, looking amused.

“They look . . . fun!” I think for a moment. “And friendly. And supportive. And like they’ll tell you if your bra strap is showing.”

“Then you do look exactly like a sister.” Luke kisses me. “Becky, relax! It’s going to be fine!”

I know I’m a bit wound-up, but I just can’t get over the idea of having a sister after being an only child for so long.

Not that I’ve
minded
being on my own or anything. Mum and Dad and I have always had a great time together. But sometimes I’ve heard other people talking about their brothers and sisters and wondered what it was like. I never thought I would actually get to find out!

What’s really spooky is that all this week, I’ve suddenly been noticing sisters. They’re everywhere! For example, the film of
Little Women
was on telly the other afternoon—and right after was a program about the Beverley Sisters! And every time I’ve seen two women together in the street, instead of just noticing what they were wearing, I’ve thought, “Are they sisters?”

It’s like there’s a whole world of sisters out there and finally I’m part of it.

I feel a smarting in my eyes and blink hard. It’s ridiculous, but ever since I heard about Jessica, my emotions have been all over the place. Last night I was reading this brilliant book called
Long-Lost Sisters: The Love They Never Knew They Had
and tears were streaming down my cheeks! The stories were just amazing. One was about these three Russian sisters who were in the same concentration camp during the war but didn’t know it. Then there was this woman who was told her sister had been killed but she would never believe it, and then she got cancer and there was no one to look after her three children, but they found the sister alive, just in time for them to say goodbye. . . .

Oh God, I’m going to cry just thinking about it.

I take a deep breath and wander over to the table where I’ve put my present for Jessica. It’s a big basket full of Origins bath stuff, plus some chocolates, plus a little photo album of pictures of me when I was little.

I also got her a silver bean necklace from Tiffany, which exactly matches mine, but Luke said it might be a bit overwhelming, presenting her with jewelry on our first meeting. Which I didn’t really understand. I mean, I’d love it if someone gave me a Tiffany necklace! But he was really insistent, so I said I’d keep it for later.

I run my eyes over the basket, slightly dissatisfied. Should I maybe—

“The present is fine,” says Luke, just as I open my mouth. “You don’t need to add any more.”

How did he know what I was going to say?

“OK,” I say reluctantly. I look at my watch and feel a swoop of excitement. “Not long now! She’ll be here soon!”

The plan is, Jessica’s going to phone when her train gets in to Oxshott Station, then Dad will go and pick her up. It’s pure coincidence that she’s going to be in London this week. She lives in Cumbria, which is miles away, but apparently she was coming down anyway, for an academic conference. So she’s come down a day early, especially to meet me!

“Becky, before all the excitement starts . . . I wanted to have a quick word. On the subject of our honeymoon purchases.”

“Oh, right.”

I feel a twinge of resentment. Why does Luke have to bring this up
now
? This is a special day! There should be a general reprieve from all arguments, like in the war when they played football on Christmas Day.

Not that we’re at war or anything. But we did have a bit of a row yesterday when Luke found the twenty Chinese dressing gowns under the bed. And he keeps asking when I’m going to sort out the apartment.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ve spoken to the furniture merchants,” says Luke. “They’ll be coming by on Monday to take away the Danish table.”

“Oh, right,” I say sheepishly. “Thanks. So, are they giving us a full refund?”

“Almost.”

“Oh, well! So we didn’t do too badly in the end!”

“No, we didn’t,” agrees Luke. “Unless you count the storage costs, the delivery costs, the expense of packaging it all up again . . .”

“Right,” I say hurriedly. “Of course. Well, anyway . . . all’s well that ends well!”

I try a conciliatory smile, but Luke’s not even looking. He’s opening up his briefcase and pulling out a wad of—oh God.

Credit card bills. My secret code-red-emergency bills, to be exact. Luke asked for them the other day and I had no choice but to get them out of their hiding place.

I was kind of hoping he’d be too busy to read them, though.

“Right!” I say, my voice slipping up two notches. “So . . . you’ve seen those, then!”

“I’ve paid them all off,” Luke says shortly. “Have you cut up the card?”

“Er . . . yes. And thank you for paying them off,” I add humbly. Luke gives me a hard look.

“Have you really cut it up?”

“Yes! I threw the pieces in the bin!”

“OK.” Luke turns back to the bills. “And there isn’t anything else to come? Anything you’ve paid for recently?”

I feel a tiny clenching in my stomach.

“Er . . . no,” I say. “That’s all.”

I can’t tell him about the Angel bag. I just can’t. He still thinks all I bought in Milan was a present for him. That’s about my only redeeming feature right now.

And, anyway, I can pay it off myself, no problem. I mean, in three months I’ll have a job and my own income! It’ll be easy!

To my slight relief my mobile phone starts ringing. I scrabble in my bag and pull it out. Suze’s number is flashing on the display.

Suze.

At once I feel a gigantic leap of nerves and a familiar hurt starting to rise inside me.

I haven’t spoken once to Suze since I left her house. She hasn’t called . . . and neither have I. If she’s all busy and happy with a fab new life, then so be it. She doesn’t even know I’ve got a sister.

I press the green button and take a deep breath.

“Hi, Suze!” I exclaim in airy tones. “How are you? How’s the family?”

“I’m fine,” says Suze. “We’re all fine. You know . . . same old . . .”

“And how’s Lulu?” I say lightly. “I expect you two have been busy doing lots of fun things together?”

“She’s . . . fine.” Suze sounds awkward. “Listen, Bex . . . about that. I wanted to—”

I cut her off. “Actually, I’ve got a bit of exciting news of my own. Guess what? It turns out . . . I’ve got a long-lost sister!”

There’s a shocked silence.

“What?” Suze says at last.

“It’s true! I’ve got a half sister that I never knew about. I’m meeting her today for the first time. She’s called Jessica.”

“I . . . can’t believe it.” Suze sounds totally poleaxed. “You’ve got a
sister
? How come . . .”

“My dad. Before he met my mum. It’s quite a long story. But isn’t it great? I’ve always wanted a sister!”

“How . . . how old is she?”

“Only two years older than me. Hardly any difference! I expect we’ll become really good friends,” I add carelessly. “In fact . . . we’ll be much
closer
than friends. I mean, we’ve got the same blood and everything. We’ll have a lifelong bond.”

“Yes,” Suze says after a pause. “I . . . suppose you will.”

“Anyway, I must go! She’ll be here any moment! I can’t wait!”

“Well . . . good luck. Have fun.”

“We certainly will!” I say brightly. “Oh . . . and do give my love to Lulu. Have a lovely birthday with her, won’t you?”

“I . . . will,” says Suze, sounding defeated. “Bye, Bex. And . . . congratulations.”

As I switch off the phone I’m a bit hot about the face. Suze and I have never been like this with each other before.

But she’s the one who went out and got a new best friend. Not me.

I thrust my mobile phone back into my bag and look up to see Luke regarding me with a raised eyebrow.

“Suze all right?”

“She’s fine,” I say a little defiantly, shaking my hair back. “Come on.”

As I come down the stairs, Suze’s hurt voice lingers in my mind, but I try to ignore it. I can’t spend time dwelling on her. I’ve got important things to focus on. Jessica will be arriving here soon! This is one of the biggest days of my life . . . ever!

“All set?” says Mum, as we go into the kitchen. She’s wearing a smart blue dress and is wearing her “special occasion” makeup—she uses lots of shiny highlighter under her eyebrows to “open up the eyes.” I’ve seen it in the makeup book Janice gave her for Christmas.

“Did I hear you say you’re selling some furniture?” she adds as she turns on the kettle.

“We’re returning a table,” Luke says easily. “We seem to have ordered two by mistake. But it’s been taken care of.”

“Only I was going to say, you should sell it on eBay!” says Mum. “You’d get a good price!”

eBay.

“So . . . you can sell anything on eBay, can you?” I ask casually.

“Oh yes!” says Mum. “Anything at all.”

Like, say, hand-painted eggs depicting the legend of the Dragon King. Yes! This is the answer. It’ll solve everything!

I have to stop myself from punching the air with glee.

“It’s exciting, isn’t it, love?” says Mum, watching me fondly. “Let’s all have some nice coffee while we’re waiting.”

We all involuntarily glance at the clock. Jessica’s train should arrive at Oxshott in five minutes. Five minutes!

“Toodle-oo!” There’s a knocking at the back door and we all look round, to see Janice peering through the glass.

Oh my goodness. Where did she get that sparkly blue eyeshadow?

Please don’t let her give any to Mum, I find myself praying.

“Come on in, Janice!” says Mum, opening the door. “And Tom! What a nice surprise!”

Blimey, Tom’s looking rough. His hair is rumpled and unwashed, his hands are all blistered and cut, and there’s a deep furrow in his brow.

“We just came to wish you luck,” says Janice. “Not that you need it!” She pops her box of Canderel sugar substitute down on the counter, then turns to look at me. “So, Becky. A sister!”

“Congratulations,” says Tom. “Or whatever you say.”

“I know!” I say. “Isn’t it amazing?”

Janice shakes her head and looks at Mum a bit reproachfully.

“I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this a secret from us, Jane!”

“We wanted Becky to be the first to know,” says Mum, patting me on the shoulder. “Hazelnut whirl, Janice?”

“Lovely!” says Janice, taking a biscuit from the plate and sitting down. She nibbles it thoughtfully for a few moments, then looks up. “What I don’t understand is . . . why did this girl get in touch? After all this time?”

“There was a very good reason,” I say with an air of solemn drama. “It’s because we’ve got a hereditary disease.”

Janice gives a little scream.

“A disease! Jane! You never told me that!”

“It’s not a
disease,
” says Mum. “Becky, you know it’s not a disease! It’s a ‘factor.’ ”

“A . . . ‘factor’?” echoes Janice, looking even more horrified than before. “What kind of factor?” I can see her eyeing her hazelnut whirl as though she’s afraid it might contaminate her.