Sophie Kinsella: The Secret Dreamworld of a Shopaholic

'Oh yes,' I say, and pull an apologetic face. 'Sorry about that. It's just my dad, you know. He's a bit weird.'

'I'd all but given up on you,' says Derek Smeath, his voice rising. 'I'd all but given up. And then I'm passing a television shop this morning – and what should I see, on six different screens, but the missing, vanished Rebecca Bloomwood, advising the nation… And what are you advising them on?' He begins to shake with laughter. (At least, I think it's laughter,) 'Finance! You are advising the British public… on finance!'

I stare at him crossly. It's not that funny.

'Look, I'm very sorry I couldn't make the last meeting,' I say, trying to sound businesslike. 'Things were a bit difficult for me at that time. But if we could reschedule…'

'Reschedule!' cries Derek Smeath, as though I've just cracked a hysterical joke. 'Reschedule!'

I gaze at him indignantly. He's not taking me seriously at all, is he? He's not even listening to what I'm saying. I'm telling him I want to come in for a meeting – I actually want to – and he's just treating me like a joke. He's treating me like some sort of comedy act.

And no wonder, interrupts a tiny voice inside me. Look at the way you've behaved. Look at the way you've treated him. Frankly it's a wonder he's being civil to you at all.

I look up at his face, still crinkled in laughter… and feel rather chastened.

Because the truth is, he could have been a lot nastier to me than he has been. He could have taken my card away a long time ago. Or sent the bailiffs round. Or had me blacklisted. He's actually been very nice to me, one way or another.

'Listen,' I say quickly. 'Please. Give me another chance. I really want to sort my finances out. I want to repay my overdraft. But I need you to help me. I'm…' I swallow. 'I'm asking you to help me, Mr Smeath.'

There's a long pause. Derek Smeath looks around for a place to put his coffee cup, takes a white handkerchief out of his pocket and rubs his brow with it. Then he puts it away and gives me a long look.

'You're serious,' he says at last.

'Yes.'

'You'll really make an effort?'

'Yes. And…' I bite my lip. 'And I'm very grateful for all the allowances you've made for me. I really am.'

Suddenly I feel almost tearful. I want to be good… I want to get my life in order. I want him to tell me what to do.

All right,' says Derek Smeath at last. 'Let's see what we can sort out. You come into the office tomorrow, 9.30 sharp and we'll have a little chat.'

'Thanks,' I say, my whole body subsiding in relief. 'Thank you so much. I'll be there. I promise.'

'You'd better be,' he says. 'No more excuses.' Then a faint smile passes over his features. 'By the way,' he adds, gesturing to the set. 'I thought you did very well up there. Spot on with all your advice.'

'Oh,' I say in surprise. 'Well… thanks. That's really…' I clear my throat. 'How did you get into the studio, anyway? I thought they had quite tight security.'

'They do,' replies Derek Smeath. 'But my daughter works in television.' He smiles fondly. 'She used to work on this very show.'

'Really?' I say incredulously.

God, how amazing. Derek Smeath has got a daughter. He's probably got a whole family, come to that. A wife, and everything. Who would have thought it?

'I'd better go,' he says, and drains his polystyrene cup. 'This was a bit of an unscheduled detour.' He gives me a severe look. 'And I'll see you tomorrow.'

'I'll be there,' I say quickly, as he walks off towards the exit. 'And… and thanks. Thanks a lot.'

As he disappears, I sink down onto a nearby chair. I can't quite believe I've just had a pleasant, civilized conversation with Derek Smeath. With Derek Smeath! And he seems quite a sweetheart. He's been so nice and kind to me, and his daughter works in television … I mean, who knows, maybe I'll get to know her, too. Maybe I'll become friends with the whole family. Wouldn't that be great? I'll start going to dinner at their house, and his wife will give me a warm hug when I arrive, and I'll help her with the salad and stuff…

'Rebecca!' comes a voice from behind me, and I turn round to see Zelda approaching, still clutching her clipboard.

'Hi,' I say happily. 'How's it going?'

''Great,' she says, and pulls up a chair. 'Now, I want to have a little talk.'

'Oh,' I say. 'OK. What about?'

'We thought you did tremendously well today,' says Zelda, crossing one jeaned leg over the other. 'Tremendously well. I've spoken to Emma and Rory and our senior producer' – she pauses for effect – 'and they'd all like to see you back on the show.'

I stare at her in disbelief.

'You mean…'

'Not every week,' says Zelda. 'But fairly regularly. We thought maybe three times a month. Do you think your work would allow you to do that?'

'I… I don't know,' I say dazedly. 'I expect it would.'

'Excellent!' says Zelda. 'We could probably plug your magazine as well, keep them happy.' She scribbles something on a piece of paper and looks up. 'Now, you don't have an agent, do you? So I'll have to talk money directly with you.' She pauses, and looks down at her clipboard. 'What we're offering, per slot, is…'

I put my key in the lock and slowly open the door of the flat. It feels like about a million years since I was here last, and I feel like a completely different person. I've grown up. Or changed. Or something.

'Hi,' I say cautiously into the silence, and drop my bag onto the floor. 'Is anyone-'

'Bex!' gasps Suze, appearing at the door of the sitting room. She's wearing tight black leggings and holding a half-made denim photograph frame in one hand. 'Oh my God! Where've you been? What have you been doing? I saw you on Morning Coffee and I couldn't believe my eyes! I tried to phone in and speak to you, but they said I "had to have a financial problem. So I said, OK, how should I invest half a million? but they said that wasn't really-' She breaks off. 'Bex, where have you been? What happened?'

I don't reply straight away. I'm gazing at the pile of letters addressed to me on the table. White, official looking envelopes, brown window envelopes, envelopes marked menacingly, 'Final Reminder'. The scariest pile of letters you've ever seen.

Except somehow…, they don't seem quite so scary any more.

'I was at my parents' house,' I say, looking up. 'And then I was on television.'

'But I phoned your parents! They said they didn't know where you were!'

'I know,' I say, flushing slightly. 'They were…, protecting me from a stalker.' I look up, to see Suze staring at me in utter incomprehension. Which I suppose is fair enough. 'Anyway,' I add defensively, 'I left you a message on the machine, saying not to worry, I was fine. '

'I know,' wails Suze, 'but that's what they always do in films. And it means the baddies have got you and you've got a gun jammed against your head. Honestly, I thought you were dead! I thought you were, like, cut up into a million pieces somewhere.'

I look at her face again. She isn't kidding. She really was worried. Suddenly I feel awful. I should never have vanished like that. It was completely thoughtless and irresponsible and selfish.

'Oh Suze.' On impulse, I hurry forward and hug her tightly. 'I'm really sorry. I never meant to worry you.'

'It's OK,' says Suze, hugging me back. 'I was worried for a bit – but then I knew you must be all right when I saw you on the telly. You were fantastic, by the way.'

'Really?' I say, a tiny smile flickering round the corners of my mouth. 'Did you really think so?'

'Oh yes!' says Suze. 'Much better than whatshisface Luke Brandon. God, he's arrogant.'

'Yes,' I say after a tiny pause. 'Yes, I suppose he is. But he was actually quite nice to me afterwards.'