‘And I’m a mother!’ She claps a hand to her chest dramatically. ‘You wait, love! It doesn’t go away! Ever!’
Oh my God. Is that true? Am I still going to be stressing about Minnie when she’s twenty-nine and married?
No. No way. I’m nothing like Mum. I’ll be on a Caribbean cruise by then, having a good time.
‘Anyway,’ Mum’s saying, ‘Dad and I have done a lot of talking over the last few days, in the steam room and during massages …’
Honestly. Have my parents once made it out of the spa?
‘I can see why you might have felt you needed to mislead us about the house,’ Mum presses on, her face pink. ‘I’m sorry I overreacted, love. And I realize I’ve been a bit … tense, these last few weeks.’ She sighs gustily. ‘It’s just been a tricky time, what with all of us in the house … and the Cutting Back didn’t help …’
‘I know.’ Instantly I’m full of remorse. ‘And we’ve been so grateful to live here …’
‘You don’t need to feel grateful! This is your home, love!’
‘But even so, it was too long. No wonder we all got a bit tetchy. I’m sorry all our stuff stressed you out, and I’m sorry about fibbing …’ My cool façade has totally crumbled too. ‘And of course I want you to come to the party, if you want to.’
‘Of course I want to! Janice says it’s going to be wonderful. She says she’s doing touch-ups! She’s bought three extra tubes of Touche éclat!’
I have to talk to Janice.
‘It is going to be wonderful. Just wait.’ I can’t help bubbling over. ‘Wait till you see the birthday cake, Mum. And the decorations.’
‘Oh, love, come here.’ Mum holds out her arms for a hug and squeezes me tight. ‘I’m so proud of you. I’m sure it’ll be wonderful! Janice says it’s a Pride and Prejudice theme now? Luke’ll look super as Mr Darcy! I’ve bought a bonnet and Dad’s got some breeches, and I’m going to curl my hair—’
‘What?’ I draw away. ‘It’s not bloody Pride and Prejudice! Where did that come from?’
‘Oh.’ Mum looks taken aback. ‘Well, I’m sure Janice said she was wearing that lovely blue dress from the am dram production …’
For God’s sake. Just because Janice is wearing her Mrs Bennet costume, suddenly the whole thing is Pride and Prejudice?
‘It’s not Pride and Prejudice. And it’s not Japanese. So don’t get any ideas about kimonos.’
‘Well, what is it? Is there a theme?’
‘Kind of.’ I debate internally for a moment – then make a snap decision. ‘Come and see.’
I pull her into the kitchen, unlock my box file and pull out Danny’s drawings. ‘Here are the designs. Top secret. Don’t say a word to anybody.’
Mum peers at them uncertainly for a moment – then recognition flashes over her face.
‘Oh, Becky,’ she says at last. ‘Oh, love.’
‘I know.’ I can’t help beaming. ‘Isn’t it amazing?’
It was me who insisted it should be an individual, bespoke party that would be more meaningful to Luke than to anybody else there. And it was me who came up with the actual idea. But to be truthful, it was Elinor who made all this happen. Elinor and her multi-million-dollar clout and her multimillion-dollar cheque book and her complete refusal to take ‘no’ for an answer.
‘But how on earth …’ Mum is leafing through the pages, looking stunned.
‘I’ve had help,’ I say vaguely. ‘Lots of help.’
The only people who know about EIinor’s involvement are Suze, Jess, Bonnie and Danny. Somehow Elinor’s managed to orchestrate everything from the background. As far as all the caterers and serving staff are concerned, I’m in charge and I’m paying for everything and I’m the boss. Even Janice has no idea.
Which is making me feel more and more uncomfortable as time goes on. I mean, Elinor has done so much. She should get the credit. But what can I do about it?
‘So what have you done with Luke?’ Mum looks around, as though I might have stuffed him in a cupboard.
‘He’s fine. He’s on a film set with this new client of his.’
‘Film set?’ Mum goggles.
‘Sssh! I’m not supposed to know about it! He’s being taken care of for another three hours.’ I glance at my watch. ‘Then he’s coming here and … surprise!’
‘And what are you going to wear, Becky love?’ Mum interrupts my thoughts, her eyes suddenly bright and inquisitive. ‘Have you bought something new?’
For a while I pretend I didn’t hear the question. I’ve been avoiding thinking about this.
‘Becky? Have you bought something?’
‘No,’ I say finally. ‘I haven’t. I’m going to pick something out of my wardrobe.’
‘Darling!’ Mum sounds astonished. ‘That’s not like you!’
‘I know.’ I sink down into a chair and pick at my nails, my spirits deflating a little. ‘But I couldn’t go shopping, could I? Not after I’d promised Luke.’
‘He didn’t mean for a party, surely. I mean, surely he’d make an exception—’
‘I didn’t want to risk it. You don’t understand, Mum, he’s taking it all really seriously. Nanny Sue said I’m a shopaholic,’ I add gloomily. ‘She said I need to go to boot camp or Minnie will turn into one too.’
‘What?’ Mum looks satisfactorily outraged. ‘What nonsense! Don’t listen to a word of it. Money-making charlatans, all of them. Boot camp sounds like “rip-off” to me. You’re not going to go, are you, love?’
I love Mum. She always says the right thing.
‘Dunno. Maybe. The point is, Luke totally believed her.’ I sigh. ‘And after all, it’s his birthday. It’s his day. How would I be making it his day by buying myself a new dress?’
I don’t want to admit to the scenario I’m secretly afraid of –which is that I organize a brilliant surprise party but then ruin it when he asks me how much my new shoes cost and we end up having a row.
‘So I’ve decided, Mum.’ I raise my head. ‘It’s something out of my wardrobe. I’m adamant.’
‘Well … good for you, love.’ She gives me an encouraging smile. ‘Tell you what, let’s go and look in your wardrobe right now. See what we can find. Chop, chop!’
As I follow her up the stairs, my feet are heavy. This is why I’ve been putting off the whole outfit moment. Everyone else will have a new dress tonight, even Minnie.
Anyway. Never mind. I made a promise and I have to make the best of it. It’s not like I don’t have any clothes.
‘So, did you have any ideas?’ says Mum as we enter the room. ‘What’s already in your wardrobe?’
‘Maybe my black lace dress?’ I’m trying to sound upbeat. ‘Or that blue dress I wore before Christmas? Or maybe—’ I open the wardrobe door and stop mid-stream. What’s that?
What’s that brand-new posh garment carrier from The Look, hanging right in the middle of my wardrobe? And why has it got a big red bow on it?
‘Open it!’ Mum says excitedly. ‘Go on!’
Shooting her looks of suspicion, I pull it open. I see a glimpse of sumptuous dark-green silk and inhale sharply. No. That can’t be—
I drag the zip all the way down, just to be sure … And it flows out of the garment carrier, like a deep-green glimmering river.
It’s the Valentino.
It’s the Valentino dress with the single jewelled shoulder which came into The Look a month ago. I must have tried it on about twenty times, but there’s no way I could ever afford it and—
I suddenly spot a gift card tied to the hanger and open it with scrabbling fingers.
To Becky. A little something for you to pick out of your wardrobe. With love from Mum and Dad.
‘Mum.’ Tears have shot to my eyes and I blink furiously. ‘You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t.’
‘It was Janice!’ Mum can’t contain herself any longer. ‘She told me you weren’t buying yourself anything new. Well, we couldn’t have that! Not our little Becky! And this way, it’
s in your wardrobe! Do you see? Do you get it, love?’ She’s beside herself with triumph. ‘It’s already in your wardrobe! You’re keeping your promise to Luke!’
‘I get it, I do,’ I say, half-laughing, half-tearfully. ‘But Mum, this is Valentino! It costs a fortune!’
‘Well, it wasn’t nothing!’ Mum sucks in her breath. ‘You know, Wendy’s Boutique in Oxshott does very reasonable evening dresses and I do sometimes wonder why you girls—’
She breaks off at my expression. We’ve disagreed about Wendy’s Boutique many times, over the years.
‘Anyway. I asked your nice colleague Jasmine what I should get and she suggested this dress at once. And she gave it to me at the discount staff rate, with another big discount for damage!’ she ends in triumph.
‘Damage?’ I peer at it. ‘It’s not damaged!’
‘She snipped the hem,’ says Mum conspiratorially. ‘She’s clever, that one. And then all your nice friends rallied round and chipped in. So it’s from them, too.’
‘What friends?’ I’m not following this at all. ‘You mean Jasmine?’
‘No! All your shopping friends. Your clients! They were all there, you know. They signed a card, too. Where is it?’ She starts to root around in her bag. ‘Here we are.’
She presents me with a plain Smythson card, on which someone has scrawled: ‘Have a great time tonight, Becky, and see you back at The Look VERY SOON! With all our love from Davina, Chloe and all your loyal friends.’
Underneath are about twenty more signatures, and I read them in growing bewilderment.
‘But what were they all doing at the store at once?’
‘Getting refunds!’ says Mum, as though it’s obvious. ‘Didn’t you know? They’ve started a campaign to reinstate you!’
She hands me a bright-pink, printed piece of paper and I take it in disbelief. Is this what Davina was talking about?
BRING BACK BECKY!!!
We, the undersigned, would like to protest at the treatment of our esteemed friend and fashion consultant, Becky Brandon (née Bloomwood).
As a result of her callous and unjustified treatment by The Look we will be
– Boycotting the Personal Shopping Department
– Spreading the word amongst our friends and contacts, and
– Unshopping with immediate effect.
‘Unshopping?’ I look up with a giggle. ‘What does that mean?’
‘They’re returning everything they’ve bought,’ says Mum with satisfaction. ‘Quite right, too. There was a whole line of them, beautifully dressed, all bringing back expensive things, still in their wrappers. All getting the money back on their gold cards. I dread to think how much it was all worth. One woman had three long dresses. Yves Saint whatsit? Five thousand pounds each, apparently. Blonde woman from Russia or some such?’
‘Olenka?’ I say in astonishment. ‘Those dresses were special order. She returned them?’
‘She threw them down on the counter like this.’ Mum demonstrates with a flamboyant gesture. ‘Quite dramatic, isn’t she? “Thees is for Becky and thees is for Becky.” Then the manager came down to the department.’ Mum is warming to her tale. ‘I can tell you, he got the heebie-jeebies when he saw how long the queue was. Quite flustered, he was. He said, “Ladies, please reconsider.” Offered them all a free cappuccino. But they laughed at him.’
‘I bet they did!’ I can just imagine Trevor trying to keep control of all my clients. They’re a pretty sassy lot.
‘So if he isn’t on the phone to you apologizing within the day, then I’m a monkey’s uncle,’ says Mum comfortably. ‘From what I heard, you should be claiming from them, love.’
‘Wait.’ Suddenly the blood is pulsing in my face. ‘Wait a minute. Mum, I never told you I’d been suspended from work.’
‘I know you didn’t,’ she says equably. ‘I was a bit surprised, I must admit. I mean, I knew it was your day off. I didn’t realize every day was your day off now!’ She laughs merrily.
‘So you came here …’ I say disbelievingly, ‘and you knew I’d been suspended and you didn’t say a word?’
‘What’s there to say? You’ll work it out. We do worry about you, Becky. But we’ve got faith in you, too.’ Mum pats my hand. ‘You’ll be all right.’
‘Oh Mum.’ I look from the Valentino to her kind, cosy face, feeling the tears rise again. ‘I can’t believe you bought me a dress.’
‘Well, love.’ She pats my hand again. ‘We’ve had such a super time at The West Place. We wanted to say thank you. Shoes too!’ She nods at a shoe box at the bottom of the wardrobe.
‘Shoes too?’ I grab the box.
‘Yes, Cinderella!’ Mum twinkles. ‘I hear even Jess is wearing a lovely new frock for the occasion.’
‘She is now.’ I roll my eyes.
Jess’s dress has been such a saga. At first she was going to order this drab unbleached cotton shift from the worthy-lentil catalogue. So I said she had to wear something more glam and she got on her high horse and said why should she support throwaway consumerism just for one night? Whereupon I said, ‘I meant you should borrow something. All the celebs do it, and it’s far more green than buying something out of a catalogue.’ To which she couldn’t find an answer. So she’ll be in an exclusive Danny Kovitz number and there’s no way she can get out of it.
I’m ripping the shoe box open in excitement as my mobile rings.
‘I’ll get it, love.’ Mum reaches over to the chair where my mobile’s lying. ‘It’s …’ She peers more closely at the screen and her mouth drops open. ‘Sage Seymour? Sage Seymour the actress?’
‘Yes!’ I giggle. ‘Ssh! Be cool!’
I expect Sage will be giving me another update on Luke. Last time she phoned, he was eating a burrito and talking to the choreographer, apparently.
‘Hi Sage! How’s it going?’
‘He’s gone!’ She sounds desperate. ‘I’m so sorry. We’ve lost him.’
‘What?’ I sit back on my heels, a piece of tissue paper trailing from my fingers. ‘But … how?’
‘He just upped and left. Booked himself a car and went. Didn’t even pick up his mobile from the floor manager. I was in make-up, I had no idea …’
‘How long ago?’
‘Half an hour, maybe?’
Half an hour? My pulse is quickening in alarm. ‘So, where’s the car gone? Can you find out?’
‘No! It’s not even one of ours. Apparently he’d been saying he needed to go and the line producer had been promising to get him a car as soon as one was ready, you know, stringing him along … But I guess he couldn’t wait.’
That is so typical of Luke. He can’t just sit still and enjoy being on a movie set like any normal person. He has to organize himself a car and go back to work. Celebrities are wasted on him.
‘I need to get back,’ Sage is saying. ‘But Becky, I’m sorry. We fucked up.’ She sounds genuinely apologetic.
‘No! Don’t be silly! You did an amazing job. It’s not your fault he left. I’m sure I’ll find him.’
‘Well, let me know how it works out, yeah?’
‘Of course.’ I turn off my phone, breathing hard, and look at Mum. ‘You won’t believe this. Luke’s gone missing. No one knows where he is.’
‘Well, ring him, love! He’ll have his mobile—’
‘He hasn’t got a mobile!’ I almost wail. ‘I broke his BlackBerry and he had some crappy substitute which he’s left behind. I don’t know what car company he’s using. I mean, I guess he’s heading back to the office, but I don’t know …’
I feel a drumbeat of panic as the full enormity of this sinks in. What if he’s not on his way to the office? What if he’s coming here? He could stumble on the whole thing before we’re ready.
‘OK.’ I snap into action. ‘We need to warn everybody. I’ll call Bonnie, you tell Janice, we’ll call all the car companies … we’ll track him down.’
Within ten minutes, I’ve got everyone gathered in Janice’s kitchen
for an emergency crisis meeting.
It’s all even worse than I thought. Bonnie has just forwarded me an email from Luke, which he sent before he left the studio, using the film’s email account. He told her he wouldn’t be able to get back to the office in time for the company training programme, sent his apologies and told her to have a good weekend.
What the fuck is he doing? Where is he going?
OK, Becky. Stay calm. He’ll turn up.
‘Right,’ I announce to the assembled group. ‘Oxshott, we have a major problem. Luke has gone AWOL. Now, I’ve drawn a map.’ I point to my hastily constructed flip chart. ‘These are the directions he might have gone in from Pinewood Studios. I think we probably can rule out north …’
‘Ooh!’ Suze suddenly exclaims, looking at her phone. ‘Tarkie says one of the Royal Family has seen the YouTube clips and wants to send Luke a happy birthday text. They’re out shooting together,’ she explains bashfully as everyone looks at her, agog.
‘Which member?’ Janice clasps her hands. ‘Not Prince William!’
‘Tarkie didn’t say. It might be Prince Michael of Kent,’ Suze adds apologetically.
‘Oh.’ Everyone subsides a little in disappointment.
‘Or David Linley?’ Janice perks up. ‘I do love his furniture, but have you seen the prices?’
‘Stop it!’ I wave my arms frustratedly. ‘Focus! Who cares about furniture? This is an emergency. First, we need a lookout stationed outside, so if Luke comes back here we can head him off. Second, we need to think hard where he might have gone. Third—’
‘Your phone,’ says Mum suddenly. My BlackBerry is vibrating on the table, with a central London number I don’t recognize.
‘It might be him!’ says Dad.
‘Ssh!’
‘Quiet!’
‘Put him on speaker!’
‘No!’
‘Everyone quiet!’
It’s as though the terrorist kidnapper is on the line after days of waiting. Everyone goes quiet and watches as I answer.
‘Hello?’
‘Becky?’ Luke’s voice is unmistakable. And relaxed. Doesn’t he realize how stressed we’ve all been?