Mini Shopaholic (Shopaholic #6)

Mini Shopaholic (Shopaholic #6) Page 74

‘Shopping?’ I say incredulously. ‘He thought I was shopping?’

‘It’s possible, don’t you think?’ She twinkles. ‘It could be rather a good cover.’

‘But … but you don’t understand! I’ve promised not to shop! We’ve had this agreement, ever since that bank went bust! And I’m totally keeping to it!’

My mind is whirling with indignation. Did Luke think I was breaking my promise and covering up with a story about Botox? Is that why he kept looking so suspiciously at my bag?

I feel like marching into his office, throwing down my purse like a gauntlet and declaiming, ‘Rebecca Brandon née Bloomwood keeps her word, sir!’ And challenging him to a duel, maybe.

‘Oh dear.’ Bonnie looks troubled. ‘Becky, this is only surmise …’

‘No, I’m sure you’re right. He thinks I was shopping. Well, fine. Let him.’ I lift my chin firmly. ‘I’ll use it as a decoy.’

After all, the more Luke suspects I’m secretly shopping, the less he’ll suspect I’m secretly organizing a party. As I head off down the street, I’m full of resolve. If shopping is what Luke thinks I’m up to … then shopping is what he’ll get. Big time.

As I hear Luke’s key in the lock that evening, I’m ready for him. I’m wearing a vivid lime-green jumper that I’ve never worn before (total mistake, what was I thinking?) and that still has the shop tag hanging from the label. On top of that, I’ve got the leather jacket that I bought in the sales, with its Whistles label carefully reattached and poking out, plus a scarf, a necklace and a bright-orange belt, none of which I’ve ever worn.

I mean, I was planning to wear them. You know. When the right moment came.

I’ve dragged down some posh carrier bags from the top of the wardrobe and put them under the kitchen table, just peeking out. I’ve stuffed some Prada-logoed tissue paper into the kitchen bin, and half-hidden some old receipts behind the microwave. Minnie is following me around in her pyjamas and dressing gown, eating a honey sandwich and watching in wonderment. As I hear Luke heading towards the kitchen I say ‘Sshh!’ to her, just in case.

‘Sshh!’ she instantly replies, putting her finger to her lips. ‘Sshh, Mummy!’ She looks so serious, I can’t help laughing. Then I set up position in the kitchen, checking out my reflection in the fridge door with my best fashionista pose. When Luke comes in, I give quite a convincing jump.

‘You startled me, Luke!’ I say, and hastily rip off my jacket, making sure the pink Whistles tag bobs into view. ‘I was just … um … This is nothing. Nothing at all!’ I squash the jacket into a ball and whip it behind my back, as Luke gives me a puzzled look. He heads to the fridge and gets out a beer.

Ooh. Maybe I should have put the receipts in the fridge.

No. Too obvious.

‘Sshh, Daddy!’ says Minnie importantly to Luke, her finger still on her lips. ‘Hide-seek.’

That’s what she thinks I was doing. (Hide and seek is Minnie’s favourite game. Except it isn’t like normal hide and seek. You only count to three and you have to tell her where you’re going to hide. And when it’s her turn she always hides in the same place, which is the middle of the room.)

‘I’ll play in a minute, poppet. Interesting jumper,’ he says to me, raising his eyebrows. As well he might, since I look like a lime-green jelly bean.

‘It’s ancient!’ I say at once. ‘I bought it ages ago. You can ask Suze. Ring her up now if you don’t believe me! Go on!’

‘Becky …’ Luke gives a little laugh. ‘I never said I don’t believe you. Why are you so paranoid?’

‘Because … no reason!’ I edge over to the table and kick the carrier bags underneath in a surreptitious yet obvious manner. I can see Luke’s eyes zip down and clock them.

Ha! Result!

‘So, what were you up to today?’ he says easily, reaching for the bottle-opener.

‘Nothing! I didn’t go anywhere! God, you’re always quizzing me, Luke.’ I stuff the necklace inside my jumper as though to hide it.

Luke opens his mouth to speak – then seems to decide against it and instead uncaps his beer.

Take the cap to the bin … I silently will him. Go on, take it to the bin.

Yes!

I really should be a choreographer. Just as Luke’s about to pull out the bin, I leap across the kitchen with spot-on timing and plant a hand on the handle to stop him.

‘I’ll do that,’ I say super-casually. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.’