Shopaholic to the Stars

“So you think we’re quits now?” I say, just to make sure I’ve got this right. “You think everything’s square?”

“If that’s the way you see it, then that works.” She shrugs easily. “For me, the world isn’t so linear.” She gives me a patronizing smile, like she used to when she was in financial PR and I was a journalist and her suit was more expensive than mine and we both knew it.

“Forget linear!” My thoughts are so scattered and furious, I’m finding it hard to articulate them. Let alone stay digna-dive. “Just answer me one question, Alicia. Are you actually sorry for anything you did to me? Are you sorry?”

The words hang in the air like a challenge. And as I stare at her, my heart is suddenly pounding in expectation. My cheeks are hot and I feel like a ten-year-old on the playground. After all the damage she caused Luke and me. If she really wants to make amends, she has to say sorry. She has to say it and mean it. I’m holding my breath, I realize. I’ve been waiting to hear this for a long time. An apology from Alicia Bitch Long-legs.

But there’s silence. And as I look up to meet her blue eyes, I know she’s not going to do it. Of course she isn’t. All this talk of amends. She isn’t sorry a bit.

“Rebecca …” she says thoughtfully, “I think you’re obsessed.”

“Well, I think you’re still an evil witch!” The words burst from me before I can stop them, and I hear a loud gasp from behind me. I wheel round to see a cluster of mothers standing behind us in the corridor, all with eyes wide and some with hands to their mouths.

My heart plummets. They all heard me. And they all love Alicia. They would never understand in a million years.

“Rebecca, I know you didn’t mean that,” says Alicia at once, in her most syrupy, new-agey voice. “You’re at a stressed time in your life; it’s understandable. We’re all here for you.…” She reaches for my hand, and, in a slight daze, I let her hold it.

“Queenie, sweetheart, you’re so understanding!” exclaims Carola, shooting me daggers.

“Queenie, are you OK?” chimes in Sydney as she walks into the parents’ lounge. As the other mothers file past, everyone has a kind word for Alicia and everyone avoids looking at me. It’s like I’ve got an infectious disease.

“I’m going,” I mutter, and pull my hand away from Alicia’s cool grasp.

“Not coming to the talk, Rebecca?” says Alicia sweetly. “You’re very welcome.”

“Not this time,” I say, and turn on my heel. “Thanks anyway.” As I stride away down the corridor, my head is high, but my face is puce and I’m dangerously near tears. I failed and Alicia won again. How come she won again? How is this fair?

As I get back home, I feel at my lowest ebb since we’ve arrived in L.A. It’s all going wrong, in every direction. I’ve failed on my mission to meet Nenita Dietz. I’ve failed on my mission to make lots of new friends. Everyone at Little Leaf will think I’m some awful psycho.

I’m just going into the kitchen and wondering whether to pour myself a glass of wine when my phone rings. To my surprise, it’s Luke. He doesn’t usually phone in the middle of the day.

“Becky! How’s it going?”

He sounds so warm and kind and familiar that for an awful moment I think I might burst into tears.

“I just saw Alicia,” I say, slumping into a chair. “Tried to be digna-dive.”

“How’d that work out?”

“Well, you know how you said not to call her an evil witch? I called her an evil witch.”

Luke’s laugh is so hearty and reassuring, I feel better at once.

“Never mind,” he says. “Ignore her. You’re so much bigger than her, Becky.”

“I know, but she’s at school every day, and everyone thinks she’s lovely …” I trail off feebly. Luke doesn’t really get the whole school-gate thing. Whenever he picks Minnie up, he strides straight to the door and leads her away and doesn’t even seem to notice that there are any other parents. Let alone what they’re wearing or gossiping about or what sidelong looks they’re shooting at whom.

“Are you at home?” he says now.

“Yes, just got back. Why, have you forgotten something? D’you want me to bring it in?”

“No.” Luke pauses. “Now, Becky, I want you to relax.”

“OK,” I say, puzzled.

“Please stay relaxed.”

“I am relaxed!” I say impatiently. “Why do you keep telling me to relax?”