Shopaholic to the Stars
Page 28
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“How much have you spent?” he demands.
“I don’t think we should talk about money in front of Minnie,” I say primly, and take her hand.
“Becky …” Luke gives me a long, sort of sighing look. His mouth is tucked in at one side and his eyebrows are in a “V” shape. This is another of Luke’s expressions I’m familiar with. It means: How am I going to break this to Becky without her overreacting?
(Which is very unfair, because I never overreact.)
“What?” I say. “What is it?”
Luke doesn’t answer straightaway. He walks over to one of the monster armchairs and fiddles with a striped Mexican throw. You might almost say that he’s putting the armchair between himself and me.
“Becky, don’t get offended.”
OK, this is a rubbish way to start any conversation. I’m already offended that he thinks I’m someone who could get offended. And anyway, why would I be offended? What’s he going to say?
“I won’t,” I say. “Of course I won’t.”
“It’s just that I’ve been hearing some really good stuff about a place called …” He hesitates. “Golden Peace. Have you heard of it?”
Have I heard of it? Anyone who’s ever read People magazine has heard of Golden Peace. It’s the place where they wear bracelets and do yoga and where celebrities dry out and then pretend they were just a little tired.
“Of course I have. The rehab place.”
“Not only rehab,” says Luke. “They do a lot of programs and deal with all kinds of … disorders. The guy I was talking to has a girlfriend who was a terrible hoarder. It was ruining her life. She went to Golden Peace and they really sorted out her issues. And I wondered if somewhere like that could be helpful. For you.”
It takes me a moment to realize what he’s saying.
“Me? But I’m not a hoarder. Or an alcoholic.”
“No, but you do …” He rubs his nose. “You have had a history of spending issues, wouldn’t you agree?”
I inhale sharply. That’s below the belt. Waaay below the belt. So I’ve had a few minor problems in my time. So I’ve had a couple of teeny financial blips. If I were an FTSE company, you’d call them “corrections” and just shove them at the back of the annual report and forget about them. Not drag them up at every opportunity. Not suggest rehab.
“So, what, I’m an addict now? Thanks a lot, Luke!”
“No! But—”
“I can’t believe you’re making these accusations in front of our child.” I clasp Minnie to me dramatically. “What, you think I’m an unfit mother?”
“No!” Luke rubs his head. “It was just an idea. Nanny Sue suggested the same, remember?”
I glare at him balefully. I don’t want to be reminded of Nanny Sue. I’m never hiring a so-called “expert” again. Her brief was to help us with Minnie’s behavior, and what did she do? Turn the spotlight on me. Start talking about my behavior, as if that’s got anything to do with anything.
“Anyway, Golden Peace is an American place.” I suddenly think of a winning argument. “I’m British. So.”
Luke looks perplexed. “So what?”
“So it wouldn’t work,” I say patiently. “If I had issues, which I don’t, they’d be British issues. Totally different.”
“But—”
“Want Grana,” chimes in Minnie. “Want Grana make cupcakes. Please. Pleeeease.”
Both Luke and I stop mid-flow and turn in surprise. Minnie has sunk down crosslegged onto the floor and looks up, her bottom lip trembling. “Want Grana make cupcakes,” she insists, and a tear balances on her lashes.
“Grana” is what Minnie calls my mum. Oh God, she’s homesick.
“Darling!” I put my arms round Minnie and hug her tight. “Sweetheart, lovely girl. We all want to see Grana, and we’ll see her very soon, but right now we’re in a different place and we’re going to make lots of new friends. Lots of new friends,” I repeat, almost to convince myself.
“Where’s this come from?” murmurs Luke above Minnie’s head.
“Dunno.” I shrug. “I suppose because I mentioned making cupcakes with sprinkles, and she often makes cupcakes with Mum.”
“Minnie, my love.” Luke comes down onto the floor, too, and sits Minnie on his knee. “Let’s look at Grana and say hello, shall we?” He’s taken my phone from off the carved chest and summons up my photos. “Let’s see … there she is! Grana and Grandpa!” He shows Minnie a picture of Mum and Dad dressed up for a flamenco night at their bridge club. “And there’s Wilfie …” He scrolls to another picture. “And Auntie Suze …”
“I don’t think we should talk about money in front of Minnie,” I say primly, and take her hand.
“Becky …” Luke gives me a long, sort of sighing look. His mouth is tucked in at one side and his eyebrows are in a “V” shape. This is another of Luke’s expressions I’m familiar with. It means: How am I going to break this to Becky without her overreacting?
(Which is very unfair, because I never overreact.)
“What?” I say. “What is it?”
Luke doesn’t answer straightaway. He walks over to one of the monster armchairs and fiddles with a striped Mexican throw. You might almost say that he’s putting the armchair between himself and me.
“Becky, don’t get offended.”
OK, this is a rubbish way to start any conversation. I’m already offended that he thinks I’m someone who could get offended. And anyway, why would I be offended? What’s he going to say?
“I won’t,” I say. “Of course I won’t.”
“It’s just that I’ve been hearing some really good stuff about a place called …” He hesitates. “Golden Peace. Have you heard of it?”
Have I heard of it? Anyone who’s ever read People magazine has heard of Golden Peace. It’s the place where they wear bracelets and do yoga and where celebrities dry out and then pretend they were just a little tired.
“Of course I have. The rehab place.”
“Not only rehab,” says Luke. “They do a lot of programs and deal with all kinds of … disorders. The guy I was talking to has a girlfriend who was a terrible hoarder. It was ruining her life. She went to Golden Peace and they really sorted out her issues. And I wondered if somewhere like that could be helpful. For you.”
It takes me a moment to realize what he’s saying.
“Me? But I’m not a hoarder. Or an alcoholic.”
“No, but you do …” He rubs his nose. “You have had a history of spending issues, wouldn’t you agree?”
I inhale sharply. That’s below the belt. Waaay below the belt. So I’ve had a few minor problems in my time. So I’ve had a couple of teeny financial blips. If I were an FTSE company, you’d call them “corrections” and just shove them at the back of the annual report and forget about them. Not drag them up at every opportunity. Not suggest rehab.
“So, what, I’m an addict now? Thanks a lot, Luke!”
“No! But—”
“I can’t believe you’re making these accusations in front of our child.” I clasp Minnie to me dramatically. “What, you think I’m an unfit mother?”
“No!” Luke rubs his head. “It was just an idea. Nanny Sue suggested the same, remember?”
I glare at him balefully. I don’t want to be reminded of Nanny Sue. I’m never hiring a so-called “expert” again. Her brief was to help us with Minnie’s behavior, and what did she do? Turn the spotlight on me. Start talking about my behavior, as if that’s got anything to do with anything.
“Anyway, Golden Peace is an American place.” I suddenly think of a winning argument. “I’m British. So.”
Luke looks perplexed. “So what?”
“So it wouldn’t work,” I say patiently. “If I had issues, which I don’t, they’d be British issues. Totally different.”
“But—”
“Want Grana,” chimes in Minnie. “Want Grana make cupcakes. Please. Pleeeease.”
Both Luke and I stop mid-flow and turn in surprise. Minnie has sunk down crosslegged onto the floor and looks up, her bottom lip trembling. “Want Grana make cupcakes,” she insists, and a tear balances on her lashes.
“Grana” is what Minnie calls my mum. Oh God, she’s homesick.
“Darling!” I put my arms round Minnie and hug her tight. “Sweetheart, lovely girl. We all want to see Grana, and we’ll see her very soon, but right now we’re in a different place and we’re going to make lots of new friends. Lots of new friends,” I repeat, almost to convince myself.
“Where’s this come from?” murmurs Luke above Minnie’s head.
“Dunno.” I shrug. “I suppose because I mentioned making cupcakes with sprinkles, and she often makes cupcakes with Mum.”
“Minnie, my love.” Luke comes down onto the floor, too, and sits Minnie on his knee. “Let’s look at Grana and say hello, shall we?” He’s taken my phone from off the carved chest and summons up my photos. “Let’s see … there she is! Grana and Grandpa!” He shows Minnie a picture of Mum and Dad dressed up for a flamenco night at their bridge club. “And there’s Wilfie …” He scrolls to another picture. “And Auntie Suze …”
