Sophie Kinsella - Shopaholic and sister

“Don’t let your mother see you like that,” is all Jim keeps saying as he walks by.

“If only I had my hairpieces,” I say, studying Kelly’s face critically. “I could give you the most fantastic ponytail.”

“I look amazing!” Kelly’s goggling at herself in the mirror.

“You’ve got wonderful cheekbones,” I tell her, and dust shimmery powder onto them.

“This is so much fun!” Kelly looks at me, eyes shining. “God, I wish you lived here, Becky! We could do this every day!”

She looks so excited, I feel ridiculously touched.

“Well… you know,” I say. “Maybe I’ll visit again. If I patch things up with Jess.”

But even at the thought of Jess, my insides kind of crumble. The more time goes by, the more nervous I am at seeing her again.

“I wanted to do makeovers like this with Jess,” I add, a bit wistfully. “But she wasn’t interested.”

“Well, then, she’s dumb,” says Kelly.

“She’s not. She’s… she likes different things.”

“She’s a prickly character,” Jim puts in, walking by with some bottles of cherryade. “It’s hard to credit you two are sisters.” He dumps the bottles down and wipes his brow. “Maybe it’s in the upbringing. Jess had it pretty hard going.”

“Do you know her family, then?” I ask.

“Aye.” He nods. “Not well, but I know them. I’ve had dealings with Jess’s dad. He owns Bertram Foods. Lives over in Nailbury. Five miles away.”

Suddenly I’m burning all over with curiosity. Jess has barely told me a word about her family, despite my subtle probing.

“So… what are they like?” I say, as casually as I can. “Her family.”

“Like I say, she’s had a pretty hard time. Her mum died when she was fifteen. That’s a difficult age for a girl.”

“I never knew that!” Kelly’s eyes widen.

“And her dad…” Jim leans pensively on the counter. “He’s a good man. A fair man. Very successful. He built up Bertram Foods from nothing, through hard work. But he’s not what you’d call… warm. He was always as tough on Jess as he was on her brothers. Expected them to fend for themselves. I remember Jess when she started big school. She got into the high school over in Carlisle. Very academic.”

“I tried for that school,” says Kelly to me, pulling a face. “But I didn’t get in.”

“She’s a clever girl, that Jess,” says Jim admiringly. “But she had to catch three buses every morning to get there. I used to drive past on my way here — and I’ll remember the sight till I die. The early-morning mist, no one else about, and Jess standing at the bus stop with her big schoolbag. She wasn’t the big, strong lass she is now. She was a skinny little thing.”

I can’t quite find a reply. I’m thinking about how Mum and Dad used to take me to school by car every day. Even though it was only a mile away.

“They must be rich,” says Kelly, rooting around in my makeup bag. “If they own Bertram Foods. We get all our frozen pies from them,” she adds to me. “And ice cream. They’ve a huge catalog!”

“Oh, they’re well off,” says Jim. “But they’ve always been close with their money.” He rips open a cardboard box of Cup-a-Soups and starts stacking them on a shelf. “Bill Bertram used to boast about it. How all his kids worked for their pocket money.” He straightens a bundle of chicken and mushroom sachets on the shelf. “And if they couldn’t afford a school trip or whatever… they didn’t go. Simple as that.”

“School trips?” I can’t get my head round this. “But everyone knows parents pay for school trips!”

“Not the Bertrams. He wanted to teach them the value of money. There was a story going around one year that one of the Bertram boys was the only kid in school not to go to the pantomime. He didn’t have the money and his dad wouldn’t bail him out.” Jim resumes stacking the soups. “I don’t know if that was true. But it wouldn’t surprise me.” He gives Kelly a mock-severe look. “You don’t know you’re born, young lady. You’ve got the easy life!”

“I do chores!” retorts Kelly at once. “Look! I’m helping out here, aren’t I?”

She reaches for some chewing gum from the sweets counter and unwraps it, then turns to me. “Now I’ll do you, Becky!” She riffles in my makeup bag. “Have you got any bronzer?”

“Er… yes,” I say, distracted. “Somewhere.”

I’m still thinking about Jess standing at the bus stop, all little and skinny.

Jim is squashing the empty Cup-a-Soup box down flat. He turns and gives me an appraising look.

“Don’t worry, love. You’ll make up with Jess.”

“Maybe.” I try to smile.

“You’re sisters. You’re family. Family always pull through for each other.” He glances out the window. “Ay-up. They’re gathering early today.”

I follow his gaze, and see two old ladies hovering outside the shop. One of them squints at the bread display, then turns and shakes her head at the other.

“Does nobody buy bread full price?” I say.

“Not in this village,” says Jim. “Except the tourists. But we don’t get so many of those. It’s mostly climbers who want to have a go at Scully Pike — and they don’t have much call for bread. Only emergency services.”

“How d’you mean?” I say, puzzled.

“When the stupid buggers get stuck.” Jim shrugs and reaches for the half-price sign. “No matter. I’ve got to thinking of bread as a loss leader, like.”

“But it’s so yummy when it’s all fresh and new!” I say, looking along the rows of plump loaves. Suddenly I feel really sorry for them, like they haven’t been asked to dance. “I’ll buy some. Full price,” I add firmly.

“I’m about to reduce it,” Jim points out.

“I don’t care. I’ll have two big white ones and a brown one.” I march over to the bread display and pluck the loaves off the shelf.

“What are you going to do with all that bread?” says Kelly.

“Dunno. Make toast.” I hand Kelly some pound coins and she pops the three loaves into a bag, giggling.

“Jess is right, you are mad,” she says. “Shall I do your eyes now? What look do you want?”

“Customers’ll be coming in,” warns Jim. “I’m about to put the sign up.”

“I’ll just do one eye,” says Kelly, quickly reaching for a palette of eye shadows. “Then when they’ve all gone, I’ll do the other one. Close your eyes, Becky.”

She starts to brush eye shadow onto my eyelid, and I close my eyes, enjoying the brushing, tickling sensation. I’ve always adored having my makeup done.

“OK,” she says. “Now I’m doing some eyeliner. Keep still… ”

“Sign’s going up now,” comes Jim’s voice. There’s a pause — then I hear the familiar tinkling sound, and the bustle of people coming in.

“Er… don’t open your eyes yet, Becky.” Kelly sounds a bit alarmed. “I’m not sure if this has gone right… ”

“Let me see!”

I open them and grab my makeup mirror. One of my eyes is a wash of bright pink eye shadow, with shaky red eyeliner across the top lid. I look like I have some hideous eye disease.

“Kelly!”

“It said in Elle!” she says defensively, gesturing to a picture of a catwalk model. “Pink and red is in!”

“I look like a monster!” I can’t help bursting into giggles at my lopsided face. I have never looked so terrible in my life. I glance up to see if any of the customers have noticed and my laughter dies away.

Jess is coming into the shop along with the other reduced-price shoppers.

She looks so cold and hostile, a far cry from that skinny eleven-year-old waiting for the bus in the early morning. Her gaze runs dismissively over the magazines, the open makeup case, and all my makeup scattered over the counter. Then she turns away without speaking and begins to root through the basket of reduced cans.

The bustle of the shop has dwindled to nothing. I’m sure everyone knows exactly what’s been going on.

I glance at Jim, who gives me an encouraging nod.

“Er… Jess,” I begin. “I came to see you this morning. I wanted to explain… ”

“Nothing to explain.” She turns over the cans roughly, not even looking at me. “I don’t know what you’re still doing here.”

“She’s doing makeovers with me,” Kelly says loyally. “Aren’t you, Becky?”

I dart a grateful smile at her, but my attention is still fixed on Jess.

“I stayed because I want to talk to you. To… to apologize. Could I take you out to supper tonight?”

“I wouldn’t have thought I was well-dressed enough to have supper with you, Becky,” Jess says tonelessly. Her face is still and set — but now I can see the hurt underneath.

“Jess—”

“And anyway, I’m busy.” Jess dumps three battered cans on the counter, together with one that has lost its paper covering altogether and is marked at 10p. “Do you know what this is, Jim?”

“Fruit cocktail, I think.” He frowns. “But it could be carrots…”

“OK. I’ll take it.” She plonks some coins on the counter and fishes a crumpled paper carrier out of her pocket. “I don’t need a bag. Thanks.”

“Another night, then!” I say desperately. “Or lunch…”

“Becky, leave me alone.”

She strides out of the shop and I just sit there, my face tingling as though I’ve been slapped. Gradually the hush turns into whispers, which grow into full-blown chatter. I’m aware of people’s prying eyes as they come up to the counter to pay, but I’m too defeated to care.

“Are you OK, Becky?” Kelly says, touching my shoulder tentatively.

“I’ve blown it.” I drop my arms in a hopeless gesture. “You saw her.”

“She always was a stubborn little cuss.” Jim shakes his head. “Even when she was a kid. She’s her own worst enemy, that Jess. Hard on herself and hard on the rest of the world too.” He pauses, cleaning some dirt off his Stanley knife. “She could do with a sister like you, Becky.”

“Well, too bad,” Kelly says robustly. “You don’t need her! Just forget she’s your sister. Pretend she doesn’t exist!”

“Not as simple as that, though, is it?” says Jim. “Not with family. You can’t walk away so easy.”

“I don’t know.” I give a dispirited shrug. “Maybe we can. I mean, we’ve gone twenty-seven years without knowing each other… ”

“And you want to make it another twenty-seven?” Jim looks at me, suddenly stern. “Here’s the two of you. Neither of you has a sister. You could be good friends to one another.”

“It’s not my fault… ” I begin defensively, then tail off as I remember my little speech last night. “Well, it’s not all my fault… ”

“Didn’t say it was,” says Jim. He serves another two customers, then turns to me. “I’ve an idea. I know what Jess is doing tonight. In fact, I’ll be there too.”

“Really?”

“Aye. Local environmental protest meeting. Everyone’ll be there.” His eyes twinkle. “Why not come along?”

FAX MESSAGE

TO: LUKE BRANDON

APHRODITE TEMPLE HOTEL

CYPRUS

FROM: SUSAN CLEATH — STUART

6 JUNE 2003

URGENT — EMERGENCY

Luke

Becky isn’t at the flat. No one has seen her anywhere. I still can’t get through on her phone.

I’m really getting worried.

Suze

OK. THIS IS my chance to impress Jess. This is my chance to show her I’m not shallow and spoiled. I must not fuck this one up.

The first crucial thing is my outfit. With a frown I survey all my clothes, which I’ve strewn over the bed in the B&B room. What is the perfect environmental protest group meeting outfit? Not the leather trousers… not the glittery top… My eyes suddenly alight on a pair of combat trousers, and I pluck them from the pile.

Excellent. They’re pink, but I can’t help that. And… yes. I’ll team them with a T-shirt with a slogan. Genius!

I haul out a T-shirt that has the word HOT on it and goes really well with the combats. It’s not very protest-y, though, is it? I think for a minute, then get a red pen out of my bag and carefully add the word BAN. BAN HOT doesn’t exactly make sense… but it’s the thought that counts, surely. Plus I won’t wear any makeup, except a bit of eyeliner and some mascara and a translucent lip gloss.

I put it all on, and tie my hair into plaits, then admire myself in the mirror. I actually look pretty militant! I raise my hand experimentally in a power salute, and shake my fist at the mirror.

“Up with the workers,” I say in a deep voice. “Brothers unite.”

God, yes. I think I could be really good at this!

The protest meeting is being held in the village hall, and as I arrive I see people milling about, and posters up everywhere, with slogans like DON’T SPOIL OUR COUNTRYSIDE. I head to a table with cups of coffee and biscuits on it.