Shopaholic Takes Manhattan

“Why don’t you check the messages?” he says, giving me a kiss, and heads toward the shower. After a few sips of tea, I lift the telephone receiver and press the star button.

“You have twenty-three messages,” says the telephone voice — and I gape at it in astonishment. Twenty-three?

Perhaps they’re all job offers! is my first thought. Perhaps it’s people calling from Hollywood! In great excitement I press the button to hear the first one. But it’s not a job offer — it’s Suze — and she’s sounding really hassled.

“Bex, please ring me. As soon as you get this. It’s… it’s really urgent. Bye.”

The voice asks me if I’d like to hear my remaining messages — and for a moment I hesitate. But Suze did sound pretty desperate — and I remember with a twinge of guilt that she called last night, too. I dial the number — and to my surprise, it clicks onto her answer machine.

“Hi! It’s me!” I say as soon as Suze’s voice has finished speaking. “Well, you’re not in, so I hope whatever it is has sorted itself—”

“Bex!” Suze’s voice practically bursts my eardrum. “Oh my God, Bex, where have you been?”

“Out,” I say puzzledly. “And then asleep. Suze, is everything—”

“Bex, I never said those things!” she interrupts, sounding distressed. “You have to believe me. I’d never say anything like that. They just… twisted everything round. I told your mum, I didn’t have any idea—”

“My mum?” I say in puzzlement. “Suze, slow down. What are you talking about?”

There’s silence.

“Oh God,” says Suze. “Bex, haven’t you seen it?”

“Seen what?” I say.

“The Daily World,” says Suze. “I… I thought you got all the British papers.”

“We do,” I say, rubbing my dry face. “But they’ll still be outside the door. Is there… is there something about me?”

“No,” says Suze a little too quickly. “No. I mean… there is this one very tiny thing. But it’s not worth looking at. I really wouldn’t bother. In fact — throw The Daily World away, I would. Just… put it in the bin, without even opening it.”

“There’s something nasty, isn’t there?” I say apprehensively. “Do my legs look really fat?”

“It’s really nothing!” says Suze. “Nothing! So anyway… have you been to Rockefeller Center yet? It’s supposed to be great! Or FAO Schwarz? Or…”

“Suze, stop,” I interrupt. “I’m going to go and get it. I’ll call you back.”

“OK, look, Bex, just remember,” says Suze in a rush. “Hardly anyone reads The Daily World. You know, like about three people. And it’s tomorrow’s fish-and-chips. And everyone knows the newspapers make up complete lies…”

“Right,” I say, trying to sound relaxed. “I’ll remember that. And don’t worry, Suze! These stupid little things don’t faze me!”

But as I put the phone down, my hand is trembling slightly. What on earth can they have said about me? I hurry to the door, grab the pile of papers, and cart them all back to the bed. I seize hold of The Daily World and feverishly start to leaf through it. Page after page… but there’s nothing there. I go back to the beginning and leaf through more carefully, looking at all the tiny box items — and there really is no mention of me at all. I lean back on my pillows, bemused. What on earth is Suze going on about? Why on earth is she so—

And then I spot the center double-page spread. A single folded sheet, lying on the bed, which must have fallen out as I grabbed hold of the paper. Very slowly I reach for it. I open it. And it’s as though someone’s punched me in the stomach.

There’s a picture of me. It’s a photo I don’t recognize — not very flattering. I’m walking along, in some street… A New York street, I realize with a lurch. And I’m holding lots of shopping bags. And there’s a picture of Luke, in a circle. And a little picture of Suze. And the headline reads…

I can’t even tell you what it says. I can’t even say it. It’s… it’s too awful.

It’s a huge article, spanning the whole center spread. As I read it, my heart is thudding; my head feels hot and cold. It’s so nasty. It’s so… personal. Halfway through I can’t stand it anymore. I close the paper, and stare ahead, breathing hard, feeling as though I might throw up. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">