Shopaholic Ties the Knot
Page 111
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Which is basically what I’m pinning my hopes on now. I’ve lit fifty candles at St. Thomas’s, and fifty more at St. Patrick’s, and I’ve put up a petition on the prayer board at the synagogue on Sixty-fifth, and given flowers to the Hindu god Ganesh. Plus a group of people in Ohio who I found on the Internet are all praying hard for me.
At least, they’re praying that I find happiness following my struggle with alcoholism. I couldn’t quite bring myself to explain the full two-weddings story to Father Gilbert, especially after I read his sermon on how deceit is as painful to the Lord as is the Devil gouging out the eyes of the righteous. So I went with alcoholism, because they already had a page on that.
There’s no respite. I can’t even relax at home. The apartment feels like it’s closing in on me. There are wedding presents in huge cardboard boxes lining every room. Mum sends about fifty faxes a day, Robyn’s taken to popping in whenever she feels like it, and there’s a selection of veils and headdresses in the sitting room that Dream Dress sent to me without even asking.
“Becky?” I look up from my breakfast coffee to see Danny wandering into the kitchen. “The door was open. Not at work?”
“I’ve taken the day off.”
“I see.” He reaches for a piece of cinnamon toast and takes a bite. “So, how’s the patient?”
“Very funny.”
“Seriously.” For a moment Danny looks genuinely concerned, and I feel myself unbend a little. “Has Luke snapped out of it yet?”
“Not really,” I admit, and his eyes brighten.
“So are there any more items of clothing going?”
“No!” I say indignantly. “There aren’t. And don’t think you can keep those shoes!”
“Brand-new Pradas? You must be kidding! They’re mine. Luke gave them to me. If he doesn’t want them anymore—”
“He does. He will. He’s just… a bit stressed at the moment. Everyone gets stressed! It doesn’t mean you can take their shoes!”
“Everybody gets stressed. Everybody doesn’t give away hundred-dollar bills to total strangers.”
“Really?” I look up anxiously. “He did that?”
“I saw him at the subway. There was a guy there with long hair, carrying a guitar… Luke just went up to him and handed him a wad of money. The guy wasn’t even begging. In fact, he looked pretty offended.”
“Oh God—”
“You know my theory? He needs a nice, long, relaxing honeymoon. Where are you going?”
Oh no. Into free fall again. The honeymoon. I haven’t even booked one yet. How can I? I don’t know which bloody airport we’ll be flying out of.
“We’re… it’s a surprise,” I say at last. “We’ll announce it on the day.”
“So what are you cooking?” Danny looks at the stove, where a pot is bubbling away. “Twigs? Mm, tasty.”
“They’re Chinese herbs. For stress. You boil them up and then drink the liquid.”
“You think you’ll get Luke to drink this?” Danny prods the mixture.
“They’re not for Luke. They’re for me!”
“For you? What have you got to be stressed about?” The buzzer sounds and Danny reaches over and presses the entry button without even asking who it is.
“Danny!”
“Expecting anyone?” he says as he replaces the receiver.
“Oh, just that mass murderer who’s been stalking me,” I say sarcastically.
“Cool.” Danny takes another bite of cinnamon toast. “I always wanted to see someone get murdered.”
There’s a knock at the door, and I get up to answer.
“I’d change into something snappier,” says Danny. “The courtroom will see pictures of you in that outfit. You want to look your best.”
I open the door, expecting yet another delivery man. But it’s Michael, wearing a yellow cashmere jumper and a big smile. My heart lifts in relief just at the sight of him.
“Michael!” I exclaim, and give him a hug. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“I would’ve been here sooner if I’d realized how bad it was,” says Michael. He raises his eyebrows. “I was in at the Brandon Communications offices yesterday, and I heard Luke was sick. But I had no idea…”
“Yes. Well, I haven’t exactly been spreading the news. I thought it would just blow over in a couple of days.”
“So is Luke here?” Michael peers into the apartment.
“No, he went out early this morning. I don’t know where.” I shrug helplessly.
At least, they’re praying that I find happiness following my struggle with alcoholism. I couldn’t quite bring myself to explain the full two-weddings story to Father Gilbert, especially after I read his sermon on how deceit is as painful to the Lord as is the Devil gouging out the eyes of the righteous. So I went with alcoholism, because they already had a page on that.
There’s no respite. I can’t even relax at home. The apartment feels like it’s closing in on me. There are wedding presents in huge cardboard boxes lining every room. Mum sends about fifty faxes a day, Robyn’s taken to popping in whenever she feels like it, and there’s a selection of veils and headdresses in the sitting room that Dream Dress sent to me without even asking.
“Becky?” I look up from my breakfast coffee to see Danny wandering into the kitchen. “The door was open. Not at work?”
“I’ve taken the day off.”
“I see.” He reaches for a piece of cinnamon toast and takes a bite. “So, how’s the patient?”
“Very funny.”
“Seriously.” For a moment Danny looks genuinely concerned, and I feel myself unbend a little. “Has Luke snapped out of it yet?”
“Not really,” I admit, and his eyes brighten.
“So are there any more items of clothing going?”
“No!” I say indignantly. “There aren’t. And don’t think you can keep those shoes!”
“Brand-new Pradas? You must be kidding! They’re mine. Luke gave them to me. If he doesn’t want them anymore—”
“He does. He will. He’s just… a bit stressed at the moment. Everyone gets stressed! It doesn’t mean you can take their shoes!”
“Everybody gets stressed. Everybody doesn’t give away hundred-dollar bills to total strangers.”
“Really?” I look up anxiously. “He did that?”
“I saw him at the subway. There was a guy there with long hair, carrying a guitar… Luke just went up to him and handed him a wad of money. The guy wasn’t even begging. In fact, he looked pretty offended.”
“Oh God—”
“You know my theory? He needs a nice, long, relaxing honeymoon. Where are you going?”
Oh no. Into free fall again. The honeymoon. I haven’t even booked one yet. How can I? I don’t know which bloody airport we’ll be flying out of.
“We’re… it’s a surprise,” I say at last. “We’ll announce it on the day.”
“So what are you cooking?” Danny looks at the stove, where a pot is bubbling away. “Twigs? Mm, tasty.”
“They’re Chinese herbs. For stress. You boil them up and then drink the liquid.”
“You think you’ll get Luke to drink this?” Danny prods the mixture.
“They’re not for Luke. They’re for me!”
“For you? What have you got to be stressed about?” The buzzer sounds and Danny reaches over and presses the entry button without even asking who it is.
“Danny!”
“Expecting anyone?” he says as he replaces the receiver.
“Oh, just that mass murderer who’s been stalking me,” I say sarcastically.
“Cool.” Danny takes another bite of cinnamon toast. “I always wanted to see someone get murdered.”
There’s a knock at the door, and I get up to answer.
“I’d change into something snappier,” says Danny. “The courtroom will see pictures of you in that outfit. You want to look your best.”
I open the door, expecting yet another delivery man. But it’s Michael, wearing a yellow cashmere jumper and a big smile. My heart lifts in relief just at the sight of him.
“Michael!” I exclaim, and give him a hug. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“I would’ve been here sooner if I’d realized how bad it was,” says Michael. He raises his eyebrows. “I was in at the Brandon Communications offices yesterday, and I heard Luke was sick. But I had no idea…”
“Yes. Well, I haven’t exactly been spreading the news. I thought it would just blow over in a couple of days.”
“So is Luke here?” Michael peers into the apartment.
“No, he went out early this morning. I don’t know where.” I shrug helplessly.
