Sophie Kinsella: Shopaholic ties the knot

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for sharing money. In fact, hand on heart, I love sharing Luke’s money. It gives me a real buzz! I just don’t love it when he suddenly asks, “What was this seventy dollars in Bloomingdale’s for?” and I can’t remember. So I’ve worked out a whole new tactical response — which is so simple, it’s brilliant.

It’s to spill something on the statement, so he can’t read it.

“I’m going to take a shower,” says Luke, gathering up the post. And he’s almost out of the room — when he stops. Very slowly he turns back and looks at the cocktail cabinet as though seeing it for the first time.

“What is that?” he says slowly.

“It’s a cocktail cabinet!” I say brightly.

“Where has it come from?”

“It… umm… actually, I bought it today.”

“Becky…” Luke closes his eyes. “I thought we said no more crap.”

“It’s not crap! It’s genuine 1930s! We can make amazing cocktails every night!” I’m feeling a bit nervous at his expression, so I start to gabble. “Look, I know we said no more furniture. But this is different. I mean, when you see a one-off like this, you have to grab it!”

I trail away and bite my lip. Luke silently walks toward the cabinet. He runs a hand along the top, then picks up a cocktail shaker, his mouth tight.

“Luke, I just thought it would be fun! I thought you’d like it. The guy in the shop said I’ve got a really good eye…”

“A really good eye,” echoes Luke as though in disbelief.

I gasp and scream as he throws the cocktail shaker in the air, and I’m wincing, waiting for it to land with a crash on the wooden floor — when Luke neatly catches it. Danny and I gape as he throws it again, twirls round, and rolls it down his arm.

I don’t believe it. I’m living with Tom Cruise.

“I worked as a barman for a summer,” says Luke, his face breaking into a smile.

I never knew that! Luke is so driven and businesslike and you think he doesn’t care about anything except work… and then all of a sudden, he surprises you.

“Teach me how to do it!” I cry excitedly. “I want to be able to do that!”

“And me!” says Danny. He picks up the other cocktail shaker, gives it an inexpert twirl, then tosses it at me. I make a grab, but it lands on the sofa.

“Butterfingers!” mocks Danny. “Come on, Becky. You need to get in practice for catching the bouquet at this wedding.”

“No, I don’t!”

“Sure you do. You wanna be next, don’t you?”

“Danny…” I try to give a lighthearted laugh.

“You two should definitely get married,” Danny continues, ignoring me. He picks up the cocktail shaker and begins tossing it from hand to hand. “It’s perfect. Look at you. You live together, you don’t want to kill each other, you’re not already related… I could make you a fabulous dress…” He puts down the shaker with a suddenly intent expression. “Hey, listen, Becky. Promise me, if you get married, I can make your dress.”

This is appalling. If he carries on like this, Luke will think I’m trying to pressure him. He might even think I told Danny to bring up the subject deliberately.

I’ve got to redress the balance somehow. Quickly.

“Actually, I don’t want to get married,” I hear myself saying. “Not for at least ten years.”

“Really?” Danny looks taken aback. “You don’t?”

“Is that so?” Luke looks up with an unreadable expression. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

“Weren’t you?” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant. “Well… now you know!”

“Why don’t you want to get married for ten years?” says Danny.

“I… erm…” I clear my throat. “As it happens, I have a lot of things I want to do first. I want to concentrate on my career, and I want to… explore my full potential… and… get to know the real me first… and… be a whole… umm… rounded person.”

I tail off and meet Luke’s quizzical gaze slightly defiantly.

“I see,” he says, nodding. “Well, that sounds very sensible.” He looks at the cocktail shaker in his hand, then puts it down. “I’d better go and pack.”

He wasn’t supposed to agree with me.

WE ARRIVE AT Heathrow at seven the next morning and pick up our rental car. As we drive along to Suze’s parents’ house in Hampshire, I peer blearily out of the window at the snowy countryside, the hedgerows and fields and little villages, as though I’ve never seen them before. After Manhattan, everything looks so tiny and pretty. For the first time I realize why Americans go around calling everything in England “quaint.”

“Which way now?” says Luke, as we arrive at yet another little crossroads.

“Erm, you definitely turn left here. I mean… right. No, I mean left.”

As the car swings round, I fish in my bag for the invitation, just to check the exact address.

Sir Gilbert and Lady Cleath-Stuart

request the pleasure of your company…

I stare, slightly mesmerized, at the grand swirly writing. God, I still can’t quite believe Suze and Tarquin are getting married.

I mean, of course I believe it. After all, they’ve been going out for well over a year now, and Tarquin’s basically moved into the flat I used to share with Suze — although they seem to be spending more and more time in Scotland. They’re both really sweet and laid back, and everyone’s agreed that they make a brilliant couple.

But just occasionally, when I’m not concentrating, my mind will suddenly yell, “Whaat? Suze and Tarquin?”

I mean, Tarquin used to be Suze’s weird geeky cousin. For years he was just that awkward guy in the corner with the ancient jacket and a tendency to hum Wagner in public places. He was the guy who rarely ventured beyond the safe haven of his Scottish castle — and when he did, it was to take me on the worst date of my life (although we don’t talk about that anymore).

But now he’s… well, he’s Suze’s boyfriend. Still slightly awkward, and still prone to wearing woolly jumpers knitted by his old nanny. Still a bit tatty round the edges. But Suze loves him, and that’s what counts.

Oh God, I can’t start crying yet. I have to pace myself.

“Harborough Hall,” reads Luke, pausing at a pair of crumbling stone pillars. “Is this it?”

“Erm…” I sniff, and try to look businesslike. “Yes, this is it. Just drive in.”

I’ve been to Suze’s house plenty of times before, but I always forget quite how impressive it is. We sweep down a great big long avenue lined with trees and into a circular gravel drive. The house is large and gray and ancient-looking, with pillars at the front and ivy growing over it.

“Nice house,” says Luke as we head toward the huge front door. “How old is it?”

“Dunno,” I say vaguely. “It’s been in their family for years.” I tug at the bell pull to see if by any remote chance it’s been mended — but it obviously hadn’t. I knock a couple of times with the heavy door knocker — and when there’s no answer to that either, I push my way into the huge flagstoned hall, where an old Labrador is asleep by a crackling fire.

“Hello?” I call. “Suze?”

Suddenly I notice that Suze’s father is also asleep by the fireplace, in a large winged armchair. I’m a bit scared of Suze’s father, actually. I certainly don’t want to wake him up.

“Suze?” I say, more quietly.

“Bex! I thought I heard something!”

I look up — and there’s Suze standing on the staircase, in a tartan dressing gown with her blond hair streaming down her back and a huge excited smile.

“Suze!”

I bound up the stairs and give her a huge hug. As I pull away we’re both a bit pink about the eyes, and I give a shaky laugh. God, I’ve missed Suze, even more than I’d realized.