Shopaholic and Sister
Page 89
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At last I snap the case shut and haul it off the bed. I grab a jacket, wheel the case down the hall and out onto the landing, then turn and double-lock the front door. I take one last look at it, then step into the lift, feeling strong with a new resolve. Everything’s going to change from this moment on. My new life starts here. Off I go, to learn what’s really important in—
Oh. I forgot my hair straighteners.
Instinctively I jab at the halt button. The lift, which was about to descend, gives a kind of grumpy little bump but stays put.
I can’t possibly go without my hair straighteners. And my Kiehl’s lip balm.
OK, I might have to rethink the whole it-doesn’t-matter-what-you-take strategy.
I hurry back out of the lift, unlock the front door, and head back into the bedroom. I haul another case out from under the bed, this one bright lime green, and start tossing things into that too.
Finally I pick up my Angel bag. And as I glimpse my reflection in the mirror, with no warning, Luke’s voice resounds through my head: I just hope the handbag was worth it, Becky.
I stop still. For a few moments I feel a bit sick.
I almost feel like leaving it behind.
Which would be just ridiculous. How can I leave behind my most prized possession?
I heft it over my shoulder, trying to recapture the desire and excitement I felt when I first saw it. It’s an Angel bag, I remind myself defiantly. I have the most coveted item in existence. People are fighting over these. There are waiting lists all over the world.
I shift uncomfortably. Somehow it feels heavier on my shoulder than before. Which is very weird. A bag can’t just get heavier, can it?
Oh, right. I put my mobile phone charger in there. That’s why.
OK. Enough of this. I’m going, and I’m taking the bag with me.
I descend to the ground floor and wheel the cases out of the gates. A lit-up taxi comes barreling along, and I stick out my hand. I load in my cases, feeling suddenly rather stirred up by what I’m planning to do.
“Euston Station, please,” I say to the driver, my voice catching in my throat. “I’m going to reconcile with my long-lost-found-then-estranged sister.”
The driver eyes me, unmoved.
“Is that the back entrance you want, love?”
Honestly. You’d think taxi drivers would have some sense of drama. You’d think they’d learn it at taxi school.
The roads are clear, and we arrive at Euston in about ten minutes. As I totter toward the ticket booth, dragging my cases behind me, I feel as though I’m in some old black-and-white movie. There should be clouds of steam everywhere, and the shriek and whistle of trains, and I should be wearing a well-cut tweed suit and fur stole, with marcelled hair.
“A ticket to Cumbria, please,” I say with a throb of emotion, and drop a fifty-pound note on the counter.
This is where a lantern-jawed man should notice me and offer me a cocktail, or get grit out of my eye. Instead, a woman in an orange nylon uniform is regarding me as though I’m a moron.
“Cumbria?” she says. “Where in Cumbria?”
Oh. That’s a point. Does Jess’s village even have a station?
Suddenly I have a blinding flash of memory. When I first met Jess, she talked about coming down from—
“North Coggenthwaite. A return, please. But I don’t know when I’m coming back.” I smile bravely. “I’m going to reconcile with my long-lost-found—”
The woman cuts me off unsympathetically.
“That’ll be a hundred and seventy-seven pounds.”
What? How much? I could fly to Paris for that.
“Er… here you are,” I say, handing over some of my Tiffany clock cash.
“Platform nine. Train leaves in five minutes.”
“Right. Thanks.”
I turn and start walking briskly over the concourse to platform nine. But as the huge intercity train comes into view, my confidence wanes a little. People are streaming round me, hugging friends, hefting luggage, and banging carriage doors.
I’ve come to a standstill. My hands feel sweaty round the suitcase handles. This has all felt like a kind of game up until now. But it’s not a game. It’s real and I can’t quite believe I’m really going to go through with it.
Am I really going to travel hundreds of miles to a strange place — to see a sister who hates me?
Seventeen
OH MY GOD. I’m here.
It’s five hours later and I’m actually here, in Cumbria, in Jess’s village. I’m in the North!
I’m walking along the main road of Scully — and it’s so scenic! It’s just like Gary described, with the drystone walls and everything. On either side of me are old stone houses with slate roofs. Beyond the houses are steep, craggy hills with rocks jutting out and sheep grazing on the grass, and looming high above all the others is one huge hill which is practically a mountain.
Oh. I forgot my hair straighteners.
Instinctively I jab at the halt button. The lift, which was about to descend, gives a kind of grumpy little bump but stays put.
I can’t possibly go without my hair straighteners. And my Kiehl’s lip balm.
OK, I might have to rethink the whole it-doesn’t-matter-what-you-take strategy.
I hurry back out of the lift, unlock the front door, and head back into the bedroom. I haul another case out from under the bed, this one bright lime green, and start tossing things into that too.
Finally I pick up my Angel bag. And as I glimpse my reflection in the mirror, with no warning, Luke’s voice resounds through my head: I just hope the handbag was worth it, Becky.
I stop still. For a few moments I feel a bit sick.
I almost feel like leaving it behind.
Which would be just ridiculous. How can I leave behind my most prized possession?
I heft it over my shoulder, trying to recapture the desire and excitement I felt when I first saw it. It’s an Angel bag, I remind myself defiantly. I have the most coveted item in existence. People are fighting over these. There are waiting lists all over the world.
I shift uncomfortably. Somehow it feels heavier on my shoulder than before. Which is very weird. A bag can’t just get heavier, can it?
Oh, right. I put my mobile phone charger in there. That’s why.
OK. Enough of this. I’m going, and I’m taking the bag with me.
I descend to the ground floor and wheel the cases out of the gates. A lit-up taxi comes barreling along, and I stick out my hand. I load in my cases, feeling suddenly rather stirred up by what I’m planning to do.
“Euston Station, please,” I say to the driver, my voice catching in my throat. “I’m going to reconcile with my long-lost-found-then-estranged sister.”
The driver eyes me, unmoved.
“Is that the back entrance you want, love?”
Honestly. You’d think taxi drivers would have some sense of drama. You’d think they’d learn it at taxi school.
The roads are clear, and we arrive at Euston in about ten minutes. As I totter toward the ticket booth, dragging my cases behind me, I feel as though I’m in some old black-and-white movie. There should be clouds of steam everywhere, and the shriek and whistle of trains, and I should be wearing a well-cut tweed suit and fur stole, with marcelled hair.
“A ticket to Cumbria, please,” I say with a throb of emotion, and drop a fifty-pound note on the counter.
This is where a lantern-jawed man should notice me and offer me a cocktail, or get grit out of my eye. Instead, a woman in an orange nylon uniform is regarding me as though I’m a moron.
“Cumbria?” she says. “Where in Cumbria?”
Oh. That’s a point. Does Jess’s village even have a station?
Suddenly I have a blinding flash of memory. When I first met Jess, she talked about coming down from—
“North Coggenthwaite. A return, please. But I don’t know when I’m coming back.” I smile bravely. “I’m going to reconcile with my long-lost-found—”
The woman cuts me off unsympathetically.
“That’ll be a hundred and seventy-seven pounds.”
What? How much? I could fly to Paris for that.
“Er… here you are,” I say, handing over some of my Tiffany clock cash.
“Platform nine. Train leaves in five minutes.”
“Right. Thanks.”
I turn and start walking briskly over the concourse to platform nine. But as the huge intercity train comes into view, my confidence wanes a little. People are streaming round me, hugging friends, hefting luggage, and banging carriage doors.
I’ve come to a standstill. My hands feel sweaty round the suitcase handles. This has all felt like a kind of game up until now. But it’s not a game. It’s real and I can’t quite believe I’m really going to go through with it.
Am I really going to travel hundreds of miles to a strange place — to see a sister who hates me?
Seventeen
OH MY GOD. I’m here.
It’s five hours later and I’m actually here, in Cumbria, in Jess’s village. I’m in the North!
I’m walking along the main road of Scully — and it’s so scenic! It’s just like Gary described, with the drystone walls and everything. On either side of me are old stone houses with slate roofs. Beyond the houses are steep, craggy hills with rocks jutting out and sheep grazing on the grass, and looming high above all the others is one huge hill which is practically a mountain.
