Shopaholic to the Rescue

  “Bex—”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Stop it. Honestly. It’s all good.”

  We walk on a little, neither speaking, into an adjoining tent, which is full of leather accessories laid out on tables.

  “So…what are you guys going to do after this?” says Suze at last, as though she’s thinking this all through for the first time. “Is Luke going back to the UK?”

  “Yes.” I nod. “When we’ve finished this trip, we’ll pack up and go back. I suppose I’ll try to get a job in England. Although I don’t know if I’ll find one. It’s pretty tough out there, you know.” I pick up a plaited leather belt, look at it blankly, and put it down again.

  “I wish you’d made it as a Hollywood stylist,” says Suze wistfully, and I feel so shocked I actually lurch against the table.

  “No, you don’t! You gave me a hard time about it!”

  “I did at the time.” Suze chews her lip. “But I’d love to have seen your name on a cinema screen. I’d have been so proud.”

  “Well. All that’s over.” I look away, my face set. It’s still quite painful to think about. “And I don’t have a job to go back to.”

  “You can pick up your career in England. Easy!”

  “Maybe.”

  I walk over to another stall, away from her penetrating eyes. I don’t want Suze getting under my protective shell. I feel too sore inside. And I think she senses this, because when she comes over, all she says is, “D’you want one of these?”

  She holds up the most hideous leather necklace, decorated with wine corks.

  “No,” I say firmly.

  “Thank God. Because that would worry me.”

  Her eyes are dancing comically, and I can’t help giving a little smile. I’ve missed Suze. The old Suze. I miss the old us.

  I mean, it’s wonderful being a grown-up wife and mother and all of it. It’s fulfilling. It’s joyful. But sometimes I’d love to be drunk on a Saturday night, watching Dirty Dancing and deciding to dye our hair blue.

  “Suze, d’you remember when we were single, in our flat?” I say abruptly. “D’you remember when I tried to cook you curry? And neither of us was anywhere near getting married. Let alone having children.”

  “Let alone committing adultery,” Suze puts in heavily.

  “Don’t think about that! I was just wondering…is this what you thought married life would be like?”

  “Dunno,” she says, after mulling it over for a while. “No, not really. What about you?”

  “I thought it would be simpler,” I admit. “My mum and dad always made it seem so easy. You know, Sunday lunch, rounds of golf, glasses of sherry—everything was so calm and ordered and sensible. But now look at them. Look at us. It’s all so stressy.”

  “You’re OK,” says Suze at once. “You and Luke are fine.”

  “Well, you and Tarkie will be fine too,” I reply as robustly as I can. “I’m sure of it.”

  “And what about us?” Suze’s face is uneasy. “Bex, I’ve been so mean to you.”

  “No, you haven’t!” I say at once. “I mean…we’re…it’s—”

  I break off, my face hot. I don’t know what to say. I know Suze is being all warm and lovely now—but what about when Alicia comes back? Will I be left out again?

  “Friendships move on.” I try to sound bright. “Whatever.”

  “Move on?” Suze sounds shocked.

  “Well, you know,” I say awkwardly. “You’re better friends with Alicia now….”

  “I’m not! Oh God…” Suze shuts her eyes, looking agonized. “I’ve been obnoxious. I just felt so guilty…but it came out wrong. It came out as being horrible.” Her blue eyes pop open. “Bex, Alicia’s not my best friend. She could never be my best friend. You are. At least…I hope you still are.” She comes to face me, head on, her eyes all anxious. “Aren’t you?”

  My throat is tight as I stare back at her familiar face. I feel like a cord is being untied from my chest. Something that had been hurting for so long that I’d kind of got used to it is being released.

  “Bex?” Suze tries again.

  “If I phoned you up at three A.M….” My voice is suddenly small. “Would you answer?”

  “I’d come straight round,” Suze replies forthrightly. “I’d be there. Whatever you needed, I’d do it.” Tears are glistening in her eyes. “And I don’t have to ask you the same, because when I was in trouble you came. You’re here.”

  “It wasn’t three A.M., though,” I say, to be fair. “More like eight P.M.”

  “Same thing.” Suze gives me a push, and I laugh, although I almost feel like crying. I’d felt unmoored, losing Suze. And now I have her back. I think I have her back.

  I take a step away, trying to gather myself. Then, on impulse, I pick up an ugly leather bracelet decorated with beer-bottle tops—it’s even worse than the wine-cork necklace—and hold it out to Suze, deadpan. “You know what? You’d really suit this.”

  “Is that right?” counters Suze, her eyes sparkling. “Well, you’d look divine in this.” She picks up a hairband covered in lurid fake grapes, and we both snuffle with laughter. I’m just searching for the worst possible thing I can find on the table, when my eye is distracted by a familiar figure coming through the tent.

  “Hey, Luke!” I wave an arm. “Over here! Any news from Mum?”

  “Mummy!” yells Minnie, who is dragging on Luke’s arm. “Sheep!”

  “No news that I know of,” says Luke over the noise. “How’s it going?” He greets me with a kiss, then his gaze travels from me to Suze and back again. I can see the question in his eyes: Have you two made up?

  “All good,” I say emphatically. “I mean, not all good, but…you know.”

  Good apart from Suze being blackmailed by her secret lover and possibly facing the end of her marriage, I try to convey with my eyes, but I’m not sure he gets it.

  “Luke, have you ever been round the trees at Letherby Hall?” Suze asks, the tense tone suddenly back in her voice. “Or has Tarkie told you about them? Do you remember one called Owl’s Tower?”

  “Um, no. Sorry.” Luke seems a bit puzzled at the non sequitur, as well he might be.

  “Right.” Suze slumps.

  “I’ll explain later,” I say. “Er…Suze, you don’t mind me telling Luke, do you? About…everything?”

  A pink flush whips over Suze’s face, and she stares at the ground.

  “I suppose not,” she says morosely. “But not in front of me. I’d die.”

  What? Luke mouths at me.

  Later, I mouth back.

  “Sheep!” Minnie is still yelling passionately. “Sheeeeeep!” She’s dragging on Luke’s arm so hard, he winces.

  “Wait, Minnie! We need to talk to Mummy first.”

  “What does she want? Does she want to buy a sheep?”

  “She wants to ride on a sheep,” says Luke with a grin. “That’s what mutton bustin’ is. Small children riding on sheep. It’s in the arena.”

  “No way.” I goggle at him. “They ride on sheep? Is that a thing?”

  “Well, ‘cling on for dear life’ more than ‘ride.’ ” He laughs. “It’s quite comical.”

  “Oh my God.” I stare at him in horror. “Minnie, darling, you’re not doing that. We’ll buy you a lovely toy sheep instead.” I put a hand on Minnie’s arm, but she bats it away.

  “Ride sheeeeep!”

  “Oh, let her!” says Suze, coming out of her trance. “I used to ride sheep in Scotland.”

  Is she serious?

  “But it’s dangerous!” I point out.

  “No, it’s not!” Suze scoffs. “They wear helmets. I’ve seen them.”

  “But she’s too young!”

  “Actually, they start at two and a half.” Luke raises his eyebrows. “I was coming along to suggest we let her do it.”

  “Let her do it?” I’m almost speechless. “Are you nuts?”

  “Where’s your spirit of adventure, Bex? I’m Minnie’s go
dmother, and I say we let her ride a sheep.” Suddenly Suze’s eyes are shining in the old Suze way. “Come on, Minnie, we’re in the Wild West now. Let’s bust some mutton.”

  —

  Am I the only responsible adult around here? Am I?

  As we arrive at the mutton-bustin’ arena, I’m silent with shock. I don’t even know where to start. These are wild animals. And people are putting their children on them. And cheering. Right now a boy in a bandanna, who looks about five years old, is grasping on to the back of a big white woolly sheep, which is cavorting round the arena. The audience is yelling encouragement and filming on their phones, and the man on the microphone is giving a running commentary.

  “And young Leonard’s still holding on….You go there, Leonard!…He’s got some grit….Aaaaaah.”

  Leonard has fallen off the sheep, which is no surprise, because honestly it looks like a savage beast. Three men rush forward to catch the sheep, while Leonard leaps to his feet, beaming proudly, and the crowd goes even wilder.

  “Let’s hear it for Leonard!”

  “Leo-nard! Leo-nard!” A whole group of people, who must be Leonard’s adoring family, are chanting. Leonard gives a cocky little bow, then rips his bandanna from around his neck and throws it into the crowd.

  He what? He’s a child who just fell off a sheep, not a Wimbledon champion! I look at Suze, to share my disapproval with her, but her whole face is lit up.

  “This reminds me of my childhood,” she says enthusiastically. Which makes no sense. Suze was brought up in an aristocratic family in Britain, not on a ranch in Arizona.

  “Did your mum and dad wear cowboy hats?” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “Sometimes,” says Suze without batting an eyelid. “You know what Mummy’s like. She used to come to gymkhanas in the most frightful outfits.”

  Actually, that I can believe. Suze’s mum has such an eclectic collection of clothes, it should be in Vogue. She’s also very attractive, in that bony, horsey way. If she had a good stylist on hand all the time—e.g., me—she’d look brilliantly, wonderfully weird. (As it is, most of the time she just looks weird.)

  Another child has entered the arena, on the same sheep. Or maybe a different one. How am I meant to tell? It looks equally lively, and the little girl is almost falling off already.

  “And here’s Kaylee Baxter!” proclaims the announcer. “Kaylee is six years old today!”

  “Come on!” says Suze. “Let’s get Minnie entered!”

  She grabs Minnie’s hand and heads toward the entry tent. There’s a form to fill in and places to sign, and Luke does all that, while I try to think of more reasons why this is a bad idea.

  “I think Minnie’s feeling a bit unwell,” I tell him.

  “Sheep!” chimes in Minnie, jumping up and down. “Ride-da-sheep. Ride-da-sheep.” Her eyes are bright and her cheeks are flushed with excitement.

  “Look, she’s feverish.” I clamp a hand on her forehead.

  “No, she’s not.” Luke rolls his eyes.

  “I mean, I think she twisted her ankle earlier.”

  “Does your ankle hurt?” Luke inquires of Minnie.

  “No,” Minnie replies emphatically. “Does not hurt. Ride sheep.”

  “Becky, you can’t wrap her up in cotton wool.” Luke addresses me directly. “She needs to experience the world. She needs to take some risks.”

  “But she’s two! Excuse me.” Crisply, I address the woman who’s collecting the forms. She’s skinny and tanned, and her bomber jacket reads, WILDERNESS JUNIOR HIGH TWIRLERS: HEAD COACH.

  “Yes, hon?” She glances up from the table. “Got your form?”

  “My daughter’s only two,” I explain. “I think she’s probably too young to enter. Aren’t I right?”

  “She two and a half yet?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Then she’s fine.”

  “She’s not fine! She can’t ride a sheep! No one can ride a sheep!” I throw my hands in the air. “This is all crazy!”

  The woman gives a throaty laugh. “Ma’am, don’t panic. The dads hold on to the little ’uns.” She gives me a hearty wink. “They don’t really get to ride. They just think they do.”

  She pronounces it “rahd.” They don’t really get to rahd.

  “I don’t want my little ’un to rahd at all,” I say firmly. “But if she does rahd, I really, really don’t want her to fall off.”

  “She won’t, ma’am. Her daddy’ll hold her firm. Won’t you, sir?”

  “I will,” says Luke, nodding.

  “So, if she’s gonna rahd, I need her form.”

  There’s nothing I can do. My precious daughter is going to rahd a sheep. A sheep. Luke hands over the form, and we head to the competitors’ entrance. A guy in an Arizona State Fair T-shirt fits Minnie with a helmet and a body protector, then leads her to a little pen with about six sheep of different sizes in separate chutes.

  “Now, you rahd that sheep good,” he instructs Minnie, who’s listening avidly. “You don’t let go that naughty sheep. Don’t let go, you hear me?”

  Minnie nods with eager eyes, and the guy laughs.

  “The little ’uns crack me up,” he says. “She’ll be off before you know it. Sir, you keep a tight grip on her.” He looks at Luke.

  “OK.” Luke nods. “Let’s do this. Ready, Minnie?”

  Oh God. I feel sick. I mean, basically it’s a rodeo. They’re putting her onto a sheep. And they’ll open the gate and she’ll be in the arena….It’s like Gladiator.

  OK, it’s not exactly like Gladiator. But it’s almost as bad. My stomach is churning as I watch through my fingers, while Suze takes pictures on her phone and whoops, “Go, Minnie!”

  “Now we both run alongside,” the guy’s saying to Luke. “Don’t take your hands off her, and whip her off soon’s you can.”

  “OK.” Luke nods.

  “This sheep’s an old docile one. We keep her for the little ’uns. But still and all…”

  I glance at Minnie. Her eyebrows are lowered with intent. I’ve never seen her look so focused, except for that time she wanted to wear her fairy dress and it was in the wash, and she refused to put anything else on, the whole day.

  Suddenly a buzzer is sounding. It’s happening. The gate is opening.

  “Go, Minnie!” Suze yells again. “You can do it! Stay on!”

  My whole body is braced, waiting for the sheep to start bucking crazily and throwing Minnie ten feet in the air. But it doesn’t, partly because the guy in the Arizona State Fair T-shirt has a firm hold of it. It’s squirming, but basically it can’t go anywhere.

  Oh. Oh, I see.

  OK, it’s not quite as bad as I thought.

  “Good job, honey!” says the guy to Minnie after about ten seconds. “You rode the sheep good! Off you come, now….”

  “Is that it?” says Suze, as Luke steps away to take a picture. “For God’s sake, that was nothing!”

  “Ride sheep!” shouts Minnie with determination. “Want to ride sheep!”

  “Off you come—”

  “Ride sheep!”

  And I don’t know what happens—if Minnie kicks the sheep or what—but suddenly the sheep gives a leap, dodges the grasp of the guy in the T-shirt, and starts off around the arena at a brisk trot, with Minnie clutching on for dear life.

  “Oh my God!” I scream. “Help!”

  “Stay on, Minnie!” Suze is screaming beside me.

  “Save my daughter!” I’m almost hysterical. “Luke, get her!”

  “Well, look at this!” the announcer is booming through the loudspeaker. “Minnie Brandon, age two, ladies and gentlemen—only two years old and she’s still on!”

  The sheep is trotting and wriggling all over the place, with Luke and the T-shirt guy trying to catch it, but Minnie is grimly fastened to its back. The thing about Minnie is, if she wants something badly, her fingers get a kind of super-strength.

  “She’s amazing!” Suze is gasping. “Look at her!”
br />   “Minn-eeeee!” I cry in desperation. “Heeeelp!” I can’t watch anymore. I have to do something. I clamber over the fence and run into the arena, as best I can in my flip-flops, my breath coming fast and hard. “I’ll save you, Minnie!” I yell. “You put my daughter down, you sheep!”

  I charge at the sheep and grab it by the wool, intending to wrestle it to the ground in one simple move.

  Bloody hell. Ow. Sheep are strong. And it trod on my foot.

  “Becky!” Luke yells. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Stopping the sheep!” I yell back. “Get it, Luke!”

  As I start chasing the sheep, I can hear laughter from the audience.

  “And Minnie’s mom has joined the fray!” booms the announcer. “Go, Minnie’s mom!”

  “Go, Minnie’s mom!” a crowd of teenage boys at once echoes. “Minnie’s mom! Minnie’s mom!”

  “Shut up!” I say, flustered. “Give me my daughter!” I launch myself at the sheep as it trots by, but it’s too quick, and I end up crashing down into a patch of mud, or even worse. Ow. My head.

  “Becky!” cries Luke from the other end of the arena. “Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine! Get Minnie!” I flail my arms. “Get that bloody sheep!”

  “Get that bloody sheep!” the teenage boys immediately echo, in fake British accents. “Get that bloody sheep!”

  “Shut up!” I glower at them.

  “Shut up!” they joyfully return. “Oh, guvnor. Shut up!”

  I hate teenage boys. And I hate sheep.

  By now Luke, the guy in the Arizona State Fair T-shirt, and a couple of others have cornered the sheep. They pin it down and try to remove Minnie, who is totally ungrateful for their help.

  “Ride sheeeeep!” I can hear her yelling crossly as she clutches on to its wool. She looks round the audience, realizes she’s the star of the moment, and beams, lifting one hand to wave at everyone. She is such a show-off.

  “Well, look at this, ladies and gentlemen!” The announcer is chortling. “Our youngest competitor stayed on the longest! Let’s give her a huge hand….”

  The audience erupts in a cheer as finally Luke gets Minnie off the sheep and holds her aloft, still in her little helmet and body protector, her legs kicking in protest.