Shopaholic & Baby

SHE’S a REDHAiRED BiTCH and I HATE HER

Shit.

“Actually, I’m quite cold!” I clamp the boa round my neck again, trying desperately to cover up the words. “Brrrrr! It’s freezing in here. Isn’t it freezing, for the time of year?”

“What does that say?” Venetia says in a peculiar voice. “On your T-shirt.”

“It’s nothing,” I say, flustered. “Nothing! It’s just a…joke! I mean, obviously it’s not you. It’s another redhaired bitch. Er…woman. Person.”

This is not going well.

“Good work, Becky,” says Danny in my ear. “Tactful.”

Venetia is inhaling deeply, as though trying to control herself. She looks pretty annoyed, now I come to notice it.

“Becky,” she says at last. “Might we have a little talk?”

“Talk?” I echo nervously.

“Yes, talk. The two of us. Speaking to each other alone. If you wouldn’t mind?” She glances at Danny.

“Sure. I’ll get us some drinks.” He disappears off to the bar and I feel a quailing inside as I turn to face Venetia. There’s a frown line between her eyes and she’s tapping her fingers against the stem of her glass. She looks like a young, glamorous headmistress who’s about to tell me I’ve let down the whole school.

“So!” I muster a bright tone. “How are you?”

She can’t read your mind, I’m telling myself feverishly. She doesn’t know you had her trailed. She can’t prove the T-shirt is about her. Just act innocent.

“Look, Becky.” Venetia drains her glass in one gulp. “Let’s cut the crap.”

I stare at her in shock. Did she just say “crap”?

“We were trying to spare you any unpleasantness.” Venetia’s frown deepens. “We wanted to be as…I don’t know…as amicable as possible. But if this is the attitude you’re going to take…” She gestures at the T-shirt.

I’m missing something here. In fact, I’m missing everything.

“What do you mean, ‘we’?” I say.

Venetia gazes at me as though suspecting a trick. Then, very slowly, her expression changes. She exhales and rubs her brow. “Oh God,” she says, almost as though to herself.

I feel a thud of foreboding deep inside. A kind of hot nausea is slowly rising through me. She can’t mean what I—

She can’t.

The noise and chatter of the bar has dwindled to a rushing in my ears. I swallow several times, trying to keep a grip on myself. I know I thought something might be going on. I know I talked about it with Suze and Jess and Danny.

But all of a sudden, standing here now, I realize I didn’t ever really think it was true. Not really. Not really.

“What are you saying?” I can’t quite control my voice. “Exactly.”

A waiter is passing with a tray of drinks, and Venetia puts out a hand to stop him.

“Vodka tonic on the rocks, please,” she says. “Straightaway. Anything for you, Becky?”

“Just…tell me.” My eyes burn into hers. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

The waiter moves away and Venetia thrusts a hand through her hair. She looks a little ruffled by my reaction. “Becky…this was always going to be difficult. You should know, Luke feels terrible about what’s been going on. He really cares about you. He’ll be livid that I’ve spoken to you, even.”

For a few moments I can’t reply. I’m just staring at her, my whole body tensed up. I feel like I’ve swung into some parallel universe.

“What are you saying?” I repeat huskily.

“He really doesn’t want to hurt you.” Venetia leans closer, and I get a sickening waft of Allure. “As he keeps saying…he made a mistake. Pure and simple. He married the wrong person. But that’s not your fault.”

Something starts stabbing at my chest. For a moment I’m not sure I can speak, for shock.

“Luke didn’t marry the wrong person,” I manage at last. “He married the right person. He loves me, OK? He loves me.”

“You met right after he split up from Sacha, didn’t you?” Venetia nods, even though I haven’t replied. “He told me all about it. You were a refreshing change, Becky. You make him laugh. But you’re hardly on the same level. You don’t really understand what he’s about.”

“I do.” My throat isn’t working properly. “I totally understand Luke! We went round the world on our honeymoon—”

“Becky, I’ve known Luke since he was nineteen.” She cuts across me, invincible, inexorable. “I know him. What we had at Cambridge was powerful. It was intoxicating. He was my first real love. I was his. We were like Odysseus and Penelope. When we saw each other again in my consulting room…” She breaks off. “I’m sorry. But we both knew, instantly. It was just a matter of when and where.”